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hatethysinner · 23 days ago

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ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ x ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ!ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴍᴏᴅᴇʟ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: New York, 1970. You’ve come too far from Mississippi to be told no. Your agent, Remmick, calls you his masterpiece, and he’ll do anything to make the world see you the same. You don’t ask what it costs him, but every time the spotlight hits your skin, his eyes shine like it’s worth it.

ᴡᴄ: 22.5k (including cont'd)

ᴀ/ɴ: title taken directly from this incredible song. if there's any fanfic writer reading this, mix your settings up! it's so fun to go out of your comfort zone and just go batshit crazy with your ideas and that's exactly what i did. the fact that i had to split this into two posts makes me so mad like i promise i'm not interaction farming tumblr just can't handle the heat of 20k+ words. i've done grateful remmick, pathetic remmick, and now we've got obsessive remmick. collecting his archetypes like infinity stones 💋! as always, white girls i promise you can have your fun with this too. enjoy reading divas! i don't do taglists personally, so just follow me if you want to be updated when i post c:

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: (including cont'd) SLOWburn, obsession, murder, vampirism, blood, bloodplay i think, praise kink, breeding kink, body worship, eye contact, biting, cunnilingus, very light dubcon, exhibitionism, p in v, monsterfucking, overstimulation, dacryphillia, cockwarming, the wildest possible time to have sex (you won't guess it), i'm sorry yall this shit is just freaky as fuck, overt affection from the start, fluff, a little domesticity never hurts, remmick being an unhinged control freak but in the least toxic way possible, reader did not prepare herself for ts, maybe a little angsty but that depends on your definition, codependency, power imbalance but it's never abused(?), religious undertones if you squint, depictions of racism, texturism, and microaggressions in the fashion industry, amateur knowledge of 1970s fashion and modeling (i was living on the devil wears prada and a prayer), excessive use of dividers, minor vampire rule changes for writing convenience

New York City, 1970.

The city shimmered in the distance like a mirage, flickering orange and gold against the horizon, then hardening into glass and steel as you drew closer. Manhattan rose from the ground like something alive, wild and bristling, all sirens and streetlamps and noise thick enough to taste. The car hummed low beneath you, headlights slicing through the last stretch of night. You leaned against the window, forehead pressed to the cool glass, watching the skyline appear piece by piece like it was being conjured just for you.

It had been a long drive. A strange one. Not quick, not smooth. Over twenty-four hours, maybe more. Time bled at the edges when you were with Remmick.

He wouldn’t drive during the day. Not once. Every time the sky began to lighten, he’d pull off the road. Into a gas station, a motel lot, once even behind an abandoned diner where the air smelled like rust and pine needles, and he’d wait. In silence. Crouched low in the driver’s seat, sunglasses on even in the dark. You’d offered to take the wheel more than once, half-joking, half-worried, but he’d only chuckled and said, "Ain’t no use rushin’. Best things bloom slow, darlin’. Let the night do her part."

The highways felt endless. Flat fields, flickering street signs, the quiet rhythm of tires against asphalt. You dozed in and out, lulled by his steady driving and the scratch of his thumb against his lighter. He didn’t play the radio. He didn’t sing. Sometimes he talked to himself, voice low and rhythmic like a sermon, words you couldn’t quite catch. Other times, he said your name like it was the only thing worth saying.

And then: the city.

He pulled the car to the curb, the engine softening into silence. You blinked up at the brownstone. Tall and narrow, made of worn red brick with black trim and a wrought-iron gate that looked older than both of you. The street around it was quiet, lit by just a few streetlamps buzzing with moths. It wasn’t a mansion, but it was nice. Too nice, as if it'd been detailed just minutes before you arrived. Clean front stoop. Big bay window. Flower boxes under the sills.

You frowned. “This yours?”

Remmick stepped out of the car, rounded the hood, and opened your door with a little bow. “Ours,” he said simply, like that explained everything.

You stood slowly, stretching your spine after hours curled in the seat. The New York air was colder than Mississippi. Sharper. The kind that cut clean and left you blinking. You looked up at the brownstone again. It had to be expensive. The kind of place a real agent might have. The kind of place someone powerful stayed, not someone who drifted into a backwoods general store and offered to make you a star.

But he just smiled. Like he already knew what you were thinking.

“Ain’t much yet,” he said, his voice low, accent thick and lazy and true. “But it’s the start. From here on out, we climb.”

You stared at him. Your so-called agent, your midnight stranger, the man who found you counting change behind the counter of your uncle’s store in Mississippi, under flickering fluorescents and a ceiling fan that squealed with every turn.

You hadn’t been looking to be found.

You hadn’t even meant to speak to him.

He’d come in just before closing, tall and tired-looking, dressed like he didn’t belong. Black turtleneck, coat that didn’t suit the heat, and those eyes. Blue, yes, but something off about them. Ancient. Red flashed in his pupils if the light hit just right, like a warning. You caught yourself staring too long.

Then he said it. “You ever thought about modeling, sweetheart?”

You laughed in his face.

He didn’t leave.

He came back the next night. And the one after that.

He didn’t try to touch you. Didn’t leer or flirt. Just leaned on the counter and looked at you like you were already on the cover of Vogue or Life. Like he was just waiting for the world to catch up.

“You’re a fuckin’ star,” he said again and again. “You don’t see it, but I do.”

Now here you were.

He carried your suitcase without asking, easy like it weighed nothing, and led you up the narrow staircase. Inside, the apartment smelled faintly of lavender and old books. The walls were clean, freshly painted, but the baseboards and window frames still bore signs of age. The floors creaked under your feet, polished wood catching the light. The front room had a velvet couch in a deep wine color, a small but elegant fireplace, and shelves that already held a few books. Some old, some new, all carefully arranged.

There was a vase on the windowsill. Empty, waiting.

It wasn’t just an apartment. It felt like someone had made space for you here.

You dropped your bag near the door and looked around slowly, jaw slack with disbelief.

“You… really live like this?”

Remmick leaned against the doorframe, his shirt collar open just enough to reveal the top of his pale chest. That red glint shimmered faintly behind his tired blue eyes, not threatening, just… different. Other. He didn’t hide it. You didn’t want him to.

He grinned, showing the faint edge of his canines. Too sharp to be human, too familiar to scare you. “I told you, didn’t I?” he said softly. “You’re gonna be a fuckin’ star.”

You stepped toward him, unsure if you meant to laugh or cry. “And this is part of that?”

He nodded once, serious now. “You deserve a place to start from. A place that ain’t tryin’ to drag you back down. I meant it when I said I’d take care of you.”

And in his voice, you heard it again. That vow he’d made in a gas station parking lot under moth-covered lights. That strange devotion that didn’t ask for anything in return.

You looked around one last time, then back at him.

“So what now?”

He stepped into the room, slow and certain, like he’d been waiting years for this moment.

“Now,” he said, brushing a stray curl from your face, “we get to work.”

You very quickly learned the situation you’d gotten yourself into.

It wasn’t subtle. There were no illusions of partnership or shared footing. You weren’t splitting rent, trading favors, or learning the city together like other girls who moved north with dreams and no real plan. No, you were being kept. Thoroughly, obsessively, deliberately kept.

It started small. You mentioned your shoes were falling apart. The next morning, a pair of Ferragamos appeared beside the bed. You half-joked about not owning a proper winter coat, and he was gone for twenty minutes, then returned with three. Leather. Wool. Something French you couldn’t pronounce, still with the tag attached.

The closet filled before you realized what was happening. It started with a rack of dresses, mostly black, some red, some blue, a few greens and golds, all tailored like they knew your body before you’d ever tried them on. Then came the heels. Then the jewelry. Not flashy, but real. Real enough to catch light. Real enough to turn heads.

You didn’t ask for it. Sometimes, you weren’t even sure you wanted it.

But he noticed everything.

You lingered a second too long looking at a photo in a magazine, the jacket the model wore, the earrings that matched her lipstick, and the next day, something damn near identical was folded neatly at the foot of the bed.

“Remmick, I don’t need-”

“Didn’t ask what you need, darlin’,” he’d say, brushing past you with a cigarette tucked behind his ear. “I asked what you want.”

He never lit that cigarette inside. Not even once. Wouldn’t so much as hold a lighter within ten feet of you. He’d smoke out on the stoop or disappear to the far end of the street, muttering something about “not stinkin’ up the air you breathe.” The first time you joked about wanting one yourself, just to see what the fuss was about, he looked at you like you’d cursed, warning “not with a smile like yours, not a chance.”

It wasn’t just the clothes.

You ran out of conditioner once. Just once. The bottle was still in the trash when you stepped out of the shower and found five new ones lined up on the bathroom sink. Different brands, all familiar, all from back home. Stuff you didn’t even think they sold up north. He’d stocked them like he’d raided a beauty supply store in Jackson and brought the entire aisle to you.

When you tried to thank him, he shook his head and looked at you like you’d insulted him.

“Don’t need thanks,” he murmured, turning the sink knobs absently, like making sure the water still ran. “Don’t want it neither. Just want you ready. Prepared. You look the part, they treat you like the part.”

That was the other thing. He never wavered.

You could be barefaced and groggy, hair wrapped, in slippers and one of his oversized shirts, and he’d still say it: “You’re the most beautiful thing in this city.”

Always with that voice, like gravel and honey, and always with that look. Like he was memorizing you for when you weren’t there.

He refused to let you carry groceries. Refused to let you pay at restaurants, even diners. The one time you tried, fumbling for your wallet while he was in the bathroom, he damn near lost it. Quietly, of course. Never loud. Never unkind. But the look on his face when he stepped out and saw you holding your purse?

He took your wrist gently and leaned in close. “You ain’t got to do that, darlin’. You never will.”

And you believed him.

Because Remmick didn’t make promises lightly.

He’d booked your first photoshoot before your second night in the city. He knew a guy who knew a guy. Shady as hell, probably, but the studio was real, the lighting was good, and the photographer never once looked at you sideways. You didn’t have a portfolio yet, didn’t know how to pose, but Remmick stood just out of frame, nodding, giving you small, soft corrections. Not criticism. Just reminders.

“Chin up. Eyes sharper. That’s it, darlin’. Just like that.”

He was everywhere. In the corner of the room, watching. Waiting. Always watching.

You got used to it. Maybe too fast. Maybe too easy.

But something about his presence didn’t unnerve you. It calmed you. Like if anything went wrong, if anyone tried anything, he’d handle it before you even knew to be afraid.

The girls you passed on the sidewalk in Harlem, downtown, SoHo, they looked at you with curiosity. Some with admiration, others with judgment. You didn’t blame them. You were the new face, the quiet one with an older man who opened every door and paid every bill and looked at you like you were something exquisite and holy.

And you noticed him too.

The way he never ate. The way his canines always looked a little too sharp when he smiled too wide. The way his eyes gleamed red sometimes when the light dipped low.

You weren’t stupid.

You weren’t scared either.

Because when he looked at you, it wasn’t hunger. It was worship.

Like he’d waited lifetimes for you. Like now that he had you, there wasn’t a single thing on this earth. living or dead. he wouldn’t rip apart to keep you standing.

And the strangest part?

You were starting to believe it.

You still didn’t know what exactly he was. He hadn’t told you, not directly. But there were nights when the city seemed to go still around him, when your reflection in the apartment window looked younger than it had the day before, when he came back from “errands” with dirt on his sleeves and a strange, metallic smell clinging to his coat.

You didn’t ask.

You just watched him move through your life like a secret you didn’t want solved.

And when he knelt in front of your vanity, helping you fasten the strap of your heels, he looked up at you like you were the moon.

“Whatever you want, darlin’,” he said. “All you ever gotta do is ask.”

And you believed him. Again.

The proofs arrived in a thick envelope, crisp and neatly stacked, smelling like ink and developer fluid. Remmick slit it open with his finger, careful not to smudge the edges, then spread the photos out across the kitchen table like cards in a high-stakes hand.

You hovered nearby, still in your robe, coffee cooling untouched between your hands. He’d barely said a word all morning, just paced between windows and rearranged the chairs until the light hit the table just right. Now he sat, back straight, fingers laced under his chin like he was studying scripture.

“Alright,” he muttered, nodding to himself. “Let’s see what we’re workin’ with.”

He picked up the first photo, held it close to his face, then glanced at you with a small, stunned kind of smile.

“Goddamn, darlin’,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “Look at you. Look at those eyes. Like they know somethin’ nobody else does.”

Your lips twitched. “That good or bad?”

He flicked his eyes up. “That’s perfect.”

The next photo didn’t get the same reaction. He turned it sideways, then back, then let out a thoughtful little hum before setting it aside.

“Not that one?”

“Too wide on the lens. Warps the shoulder line.” He looked up again, serious now. “Ain’t you. That’s on the camera, not the subject.”

You sat across from him, watching the small pile of rejects begin to form at his elbow. But with each one he discarded, he gave an explanation. Real, technical, thorough.

“This one’s too soft. Focus is just off the eye, makes you look unsure.”

“Lighting’s dirty on this one. Sinks the skin tone. Not your fault, not on you.”

“Angle’s wrong here. Nose ain’t shaped like that, lens just thinks it knows better.”

He never let it seem like you’d done something wrong.

Even the ones he didn’t like, he lingered on first. Admired them. Complimented the tilt of your head, the curve of your mouth, the way you held your hands. He only tossed them aside if the frame failed you, if the shot wasn’t worthy.

“You’re not a problem to fix, darlin’,” he said at one point, tapping one of the keeper shots. “You’re a truth they gotta learn how to capture right.”

You were starting to understand how his mind worked. Not just as your agent, but as someone who genuinely couldn’t stand seeing the world misunderstand you. It mattered to him, deeply. Almost violently.

He ended up with four he liked. Four out of thirty.

“This one for the face,” he said, sliding the first forward. “No smile, just eyes. Says take me serious.”

The second: “This one shows the angles. That jaw? That neck? You’ll have girls tryin’ to grow bones like yours.”

The third: “Little softness. You look like someone’s dream here.”

And the last, his favorite, he didn’t explain. Just stared at it for a long while, thumb grazing the edge, eyes unreadable.

When you reached for it, he didn’t let go right away. Then he finally handed it over.

It was a shot of you mid-turn, hair caught in motion, dress pulling just slightly at the hip, your mouth parted like you’d been about to laugh.

You didn’t even remember posing like that.

“I love this one,” you said quietly.

“I know,” Remmick replied, watching you with something almost reverent in his face. “That’s why it works.”

You leaned your cheek into your hand, tracing the edge of the photo with your finger. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen myself like this before.”

“’Cause you haven’t had someone show you right. Not till now.”

He stood, collecting the rejected prints and sliding them back into the envelope. You watched him move. Graceful in that slow, deliberate way of his, like every motion was premeditated.

At the counter, he paused to straighten the stack of fashion magazines he’d brought home the night before, flipping through one until he found a dog-eared page. A model with your same cheekbones, but none of your soul.

“See that?” he asked, tilting it toward you. “They’ll chase this look ‘til they die tryin’, but you-” He tapped the table beside your photo. “You got it. Easy.”

He lingered a moment longer, then returned to the table, his thumb brushing a speck of dust from the corner of your favorite shot. You noticed his hands. Always busy, always precise. Even when they trembled a little, like they did now, like he was holding something too precious to mess up.

“Gonna send these four out by noon,” he said, tapping the chosen shots. “Couple magazines, two scouts. I’ll follow up by phone tomorrow.”

Your brow lifted. “That fast?”

He gave a small shrug, lips tugging into a lopsided grin. “You think I came all this way just to sit on my ass?” He leaned across the table, close enough for you to see the faint red gleam flicker at the edge of his irises. Subtle, quick. “Told you I’d make you a fuckin’ star. Didn’t say when. Just said I would.”

He leaned back in the chair, exhaling slowly, then looked at you with that soft, satisfied expression he wore whenever he thought you weren’t watching. “Put somethin’ nice on, sweetheart,” he said, voice low and warm. “I’m takin’ you out tonight. Gotta celebrate your first real shoot.”

The look in his eyes told you it wasn’t just about the pictures. It was about you. Everything was.

He didn’t call it a date. Wouldn’t even come close.

When you stepped out of the bedroom in one of the dresses he’d picked out days ago, red, silky, and cut to fit like it had been stitched directly onto you, he only gave a low whistle and said, “Now that’s how a star walks into a room.” Not you look beautiful. Not I can’t stop starin’ at you. But it was there in his face, plain as anything. The way he let his eyes trace you, slow and reverent, like he was seeing something sacred.

He held the door for you like always, one hand at the small of your back, guiding you toward the black town car idling at the curb. The engine was quiet, the driver already waiting. No one had told you where you were going, and Remmick didn’t say. He just tucked you into the backseat like you were made of porcelain and leaned close with a grin, his fingers grazing your bare shoulder.

“Big night,” he murmured, low and warm. “You should eat like it.”

You didn’t expect what came next. The restaurant didn’t have a name on the front. Just a narrow archway tucked between a boutique hotel and a shuttered tailor shop, with a single golden plaque bolted to the brick. You wouldn’t have noticed it at all if he hadn’t guided you up the steps like he belonged there.

The maître d’ recognized him instantly. “Right this way, sir,” he said without even asking for a name, and suddenly you were being led into the kind of place people waited months to get into. The dining room was dim and hushed, wrapped in warm light and the clink of expensive silverware. Velvet chairs, fresh flowers at every table, real wax candles instead of electric flickers. The sort of atmosphere where everyone whispered even when they didn’t have to, because they could.

You were seated in the center of it all, surrounded by couples in tailored suits and silk shawls, sparkling jewelry and moneyed quiet. The moment you sat down, you felt them. Eyes, subtle and sideways, glancing over menus and martinis to look at you. You were the only Black woman in the room. Probably the only one who’d been here in a while, if ever. Their stares weren’t loud, but they were there. Lingering. Curious. Unwelcome.

Remmick didn’t miss it.

His hand was already on the table, fingers brushing yours. “Hey,” he said, soft enough only you could hear. “They look ‘cause they don’t get it. ‘Cause you’re sittin’ there lookin’ like a fuckin’ dream, and they’re not used to seein’ somethin’ that real.”

You looked up at him, and he was already watching you, something dangerous and steady behind the softness in his voice. “Let ‘em stare. You belong right here, sweetheart. You belong everywhere.”

That was all he had to say. The weight of the room shifted. Not for them, for you. Like suddenly you were immune. Like the whispering walls of that restaurant had never held a woman like you before, but they were damn lucky to now.

He ordered for both of you, waving off the menu like he already knew what was good. “She’ll have the oysters and the saffron risotto,” he said with a smile that was somehow both charming and firm. “Bring us the champagne. The good kind.”

You laughed and asked how he even got a reservation. He just shrugged. “Told ‘em I had someone I needed to impress. They didn’t ask more’n that.”

The food came in careful courses, small and perfect, each bite richer than anything you’d ever tasted. He didn’t eat much, just pushed things around on his plate while watching you. Every time you made a face or hummed in surprise at the flavor, he looked like he was cataloging it, like he’d remember what you liked forever.

“Tell me which dish you want me to learn to cook,” he said at one point. “I’ll have the whole damn kitchen figured out by next week if you ask.”

You told him that wasn’t necessary, and he smiled. “That ain’t the point.”

Between courses, he kept the compliments coming. Not like a man trying to win favor, more like someone stunned into reverence. He said it like a fact, like gravity: you were stunning, and you should already be on magazine covers. “The cameras don’t even get it yet,” he said. “They ain’t caught what I see.”

Still, he never called it a date.

Even when his gaze lingered on your mouth for too long. Even when he wiped a smear of sauce from the corner of your lip with his thumb and let it stay there for a beat too long. Even when his voice went low again and he said, “We’ll remember this night. First of many, I promise you that.”

You smiled down at your plate, cheeks warm, heart louder than it had been all day. He watched you like you were the only one left in the world. Like he could feel the pull of it just as much as you could, but wouldn’t name it. Not yet.

Dessert was something ridiculous with gold leaf and dark chocolate, something you didn’t ask for but he somehow knew you’d love. When you took the first bite, he grinned wide and leaned back in his chair.

“A star and her agent,” he said. “That’s all this is.”

But his voice was thick, and his eyes didn’t leave yours, and when he reached out to adjust the strap of your dress where it slipped on your shoulder, his hand lingered, slow and possessive.

“And stars oughta be spoiled, don’t you think?”

You nodded, quiet, caught between the warmth of the food and the fizz of champagne and the impossible softness in his voice. He said nothing more, just sat there across from you like he’d already decided you were the best thing he’d ever done.

And maybe he had.

Watching Remmick work was your favorite pastime.

You curled your legs up beneath you on the couch, still wearing the oversized tee he’d laid out for you. Not one of yours, of course. Something soft and perfectly worn, smelling faintly of cedar and whatever cologne he only ever seemed to wear around the apartment. The plate on your lap was empty now, just crumbs and the last smear of blackberry preserves from the toast he’d made fresh that morning. No burnt edges. No crusts. The way you liked it.

He’d sat with you through the whole thing, elbows on the table, watching every bite like it fed him instead. When you asked if he was gonna eat too, he only smiled.

“I’ll grab somethin’ later. You go on.”

He never ate around you, not really. Said mornings weren’t his time. Said he didn’t like the taste of breakfast. Said he’d already had his coffee. A lie, probably, because you never once saw him make a cup. But he’d sat there all the same, chin in his hand, smiling at you like you were the sunrise itself.

Now he stood across the apartment, back to you, the long cord of the house phone stretched taut from the wall to where he leaned against the kitchen counter. His voice was calm but firm, syrupy in a way that meant he was negotiating. You could only hear his side, but it was enough to understand.

“...I know what I’m askin’, but you ain’t looked at her yet, Mary. Once you see her in front of you, you’ll understand-”

A long pause. The hand not gripping the phone gestured in frustration, but his voice didn’t budge.

“Yeah. I get that. But what I’m sayin’ is, she ain’t just a checkmark on a theme issue, alright? She’s talent. She’s the face. Whether that issue’s in January or June or never, she deserves ink. You know it.”

Your stomach tightened a little. He hadn’t said what magazine it was, not directly, but you’d caught the hint yesterday when he started listing off dream shots. Glamour, he’d said. Cosmopolitan. Vogue, if they bite, but Glamour’s got that open slot sooner. At the time, you’d thought he was dreaming big. Shooting for the stars to see what stuck.

Now, listening to him wrangle a gatekeeper with the kind of slick charm only he could wield, you realized he hadn’t just dreamed. He’d promised.

And he was fighting tooth and nail to deliver.

“Mmhm. Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure. I read it.” His voice thinned slightly, though he still sounded smooth. “Saw the whole spread. Good issue.”

A beat. You caught the flicker of his jaw tightening.

“Nah, I’m not sayin’ you shouldn’t have done it. Just sayin’ maybe you oughta take another look at your timing. Feels a little... seasonal. Like maybe you think color only matters once a year.”

Your eyebrows rose.

There was a longer pause now. You heard a faint tinny buzz from the other end of the line, though the words were too muffled to catch. Remmick didn’t speak. He just waited, staring out the tiny kitchen window at nothing. His fingers tapped the countertop, slow and even. You could feel it. The moment. That low boil of something restrained. Whatever she’d said next, it had hit a nerve.

Then finally, he spoke again.

“Listen, Mary. I’m not askin’ you to do her a favor. I’m offerin’ you a face your readers are gonna be grateful for. She’s got the look and the movement. She’s camera-trained and runway-ready, and she just got off a shoot with a photographer I know you’ve pulled from before. You want numbers? You’ll get numbers. All I need is fifteen minutes in front of your casting director.”

Another pause.

His eyes flicked to you.

You offered the smallest smile, and he smiled back. Just slightly, just enough to soften the line of his mouth. Then turned back to the phone.

“Perfect. Yeah. Tuesday’s good. Tell ‘em she’ll be there.”

He hung up with the kind of gentleness that didn’t match the fight you’d just heard in his voice. As if slamming the phone down would’ve undone the win. He stayed there a second longer, hand resting on the receiver, then turned toward you and ran a hand through his hair.

“Well,” he said, voice back to its usual slow drawl. “Hope you didn’t make other plans for Tuesday.”

He'd already made sure you didn't.

You blinked, throwing the first name that came to your mind out. “That was Glamour?”

He gave a short nod and crossed the room in two strides, crouching down in front of the couch. “That was me doin’ what I said I would. You’re in, sweetheart. Casting preview, ten a.m. I’ll walk you in myself.”

Your heart was thudding, too fast to hide. “Remmick... they said no at first, didn’t they?”

He didn’t lie. Didn’t pretend. Just shrugged. “Didn’t matter what they said at first. You got me. I make sure first ain’t never final.”

You looked at him, really looked. The way his blue eyes caught the light and shimmered red in the middle, something not quite right about them, something old and endless that had never scared you. Something that felt like fire behind glass. You’d never asked what he was, not out loud. But you knew.

And you knew whatever he was, it loved you. Or worshipped you. Or both.

“Remmick,” you said, quieter now. “What if it doesn’t go well?”

He reached up, thumb brushing just beneath your cheek. “Then I raise hell.”

You laughed, half from nerves and half from wonder. You’d come to this city with nothing but a suitcase, a dream, and a man who’d found you behind a dusty counter and said star like he already believed it. And now here you were. Toast crumbs on your lap, your agent on fire, and Tuesday morning shining in the near distance like something impossible.

You weren’t sure if you were ready.

But with Remmick at your side, it almost didn't matter.

Tuesday morning came earlier than you'd hoped, though you weren’t the one who set the alarm. Remmick had been up before the sun, half-dressed and humming under his breath in the next room while laying your outfit out across the back of the couch.

He’d picked it the night before, but apparently that hadn’t stopped him from fussing over it again in the morning. You heard the crisp flick of a lint roller, the brush of fingers smoothing seams, the rustle of tissue paper as he checked the shoes a third time.

When you finally dragged yourself out of bed, you found the kettle already whistling and the lights dimmed low, the way you liked them. Remmick was standing by the window, fingers pressed lightly to the frame, eyes flicking up toward the gray, dim sky like he expected it to turn on him.

You watched him for a moment, leaning against the doorframe in your feather-trimmed robe, half-curious, half-sleepy.

“You waitin’ on somethin’?” you asked.

He turned slightly, not startled, just aware. That quiet, humming attention he always gave you.

“Mm? No,” he said, too quickly. “Just checkin’ the weather. They were callin’ for sun earlier. Thought maybe it’d clear.”

You blinked. “And that’s bad?”

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Only if you don’t want your hair frizzin’ before the cameras roll.”

You didn’t buy that, not fully, but you didn’t press. Especially not when you caught the way his shoulders dropped just a little with relief as he turned back toward the window and muttered, “Overcast’s good. Real good.”

Then, as if a switch had been flipped, all his focus was back on you.

“Went with the green. It’ll set off your skin like it’s already been retouched,” he said, running a hand over the fabric. “Open collar, mid-thigh hem. You’re showin’ just enough to make ‘em lean forward, not enough to make ‘em blink wrong. You’ll kill in it.”

He’d chosen your heels too. Pearlescent and soft. He bent to help buckle them before you could even sit down fully, kneeling in front of you like it was the most natural thing in the world. He looked up after the second one clicked into place.

He pulled you in front of the small mirror in the hallway, fingers brushing through your curls. Careful but firm, like he was memorizing every strand, every coil.

“You look damn beautiful like this,” he said quietly, his voice low enough that it felt like a secret meant only for you. “This hair? It’s got fire. It’s you. Ain’t no straightening iron gonna fix what’s already perfect.”

You watched his face, how his lips twitched into a rare smile, how his sharp canines flashed for a moment when he spoke. It was like he was showing you a piece of a world you hadn’t dared to claim yet.

“If they try to tell you to change it, you tell ’em exactly what I’m tellin’ you.” He leaned in, voice dropping lower, the kind of serious that makes you hold your breath. “If they don’t like this, they can choke on it.”

You couldn't help but laugh.

The walk to the Glamour offices wasn’t long, but he stretched it out like a runway. Kept looking you up and down with a quiet smile that made your stomach dip.

“You remember what to say if they ask about work history?”

“Freelance,” you said. “New Orleans, mostly. Catalogue stuff. A few showroom calls.”

“Good girl.” His hand found the small of your back. “And if they ask who’s representin’ you?”

“You.”

“Damn right.”

Every few steps, he’d stop to adjust your sleeve, or reposition your collar just slightly, or brush a speck of lint off your back like it was a threat. All the while, compliments rolled off him like breath.

“Walkin’ like you got six hundred cameras on you already.”

“No one else out here looks like you. That’s why they’re gonna remember.”

“God, darlin’, if they don’t pick you up after this, I’ll make a whole new magazine just to show ‘em what they missed.”

He meant it too. That was the thing.

When you reached the building, the receptionist barely had time to look up before Remmick had already introduced you both. “Ten o’clock, casting preview for senior editorial. We’re expected.”

He kept his hand low at your back as you were ushered toward the elevators, nodding politely but not waiting to be led. He knew the layout better than he should have. Knew exactly which floor. Which door. Which office.

You didn’t ask how.

Just like you didn’t ask how he managed the reservation for that dinner, or the money for the apartment, or the pull it must’ve taken to get a Tuesday meeting with Glamour on less than a week’s notice.

He stood with you right up to the waiting room. Talked you through every possible scenario. Repeated it all again. Not like he didn’t think you remembered, but like he needed to be sure. His hand curled around yours for a moment, thumb brushing your knuckles.

“You’re gonna go in there, and you’re gonna own it,” he said low. “Chin up. Shoulders back. They ain’t doin’ you a favor, darlin’. You’re the one bringin’ value.”

You smiled, even if your heart was loud in your ears. “You’re staying, right?”

“As long as they let me.”

The door cracked open then. A woman in a gray blazer stepped out and gave you a polite, clipped smile. “They’re ready for you.”

Remmick looked at her, then back at you.

“You got this,” he whispered, eyes catching the light like glass. “Go turn ‘em to mush.”

You stepped through the door with a deep breath, feeling him at your back even after it shut behind you.

The room wasn’t anything like you’d imagined. No flashbulbs. No velvet couches. Just white walls, a long table, and a row of people behind it. Only three today, though it felt like more.

The man in the middle leaned forward, adjusting his glasses as he looked you over. His suit was tan. His tie was brown. He looked like he belonged on the cover of a retirement brochure.

He didn’t smile.

His eyes landed on your hair, soft and natural, shaped carefully the way you and Remmick had discussed, and he frowned.

“You didn’t straighten your hair?”

The air thinned.

He said it casually. Like it was a reasonable question. Like you were the one who’d missed a memo. There was no malice in his voice. No edge. Just that neutral, evaluative tone. The kind that made your skin prickle.

You opened your mouth, unsure whether to answer. Whether to defend. But you didn’t get the chance.

Remmick’s words came back to you.

If they don’t like it, they can choke on it.

You straightened your spine. Lifted your chin.

“No,” you said, clearly. “I didn’t.”

His brow lifted, but he didn’t comment further. Just made a note on the paper in front of him and gestured toward the far end of the room. “We’ll have you stand there, please.”

You moved without trembling. Stood where he told you. But just as he looked up again, his tone shifted. Cool, clinical, condescending, like he was correcting a child.

“Next time, I’d encourage you to tame it a little,” he said, making a vague swirling motion near his own head. “It tends to interfere with the shape of the editorial spread. Distracts from the clothes.”

You held your breath for a second.

Then exhaled, choosing to respond with your silence.

You couldn’t see Remmick from here, but you knew, if he could, he’d be watching through the walls. Jaw set. Eyes sharp. Fingers curled around the armrest of some uncomfortable waiting room chair, burning with the need to intervene but holding back for your sake. Because he trusted you. Because he’d prepared you for this.

They smiled at you.

All three of them. The old white man in the center, still reeking of cedar cologne and importance. The younger one on his left with the narrow glasses and tight mouth. And the woman, quiet, polished, seated from the start, offered the warmest smile of all, like it might soften what was coming.

“You’ve got something,” the man in the center said, folding his hands like he was giving you the world instead of brushing you off. “Undeniably. And that face? It tells a story.”

You waited. Chin high. Shoulders set. The reader in you knew a setup when you heard one.

“But,” he continued, “we just couldn’t find the right fit for you on the cover. The concept’s already tight, and we’re working with established talent.”

The woman nodded sympathetically. “We’ll absolutely include you in the spread, though. There’s a great piece near the back. Beauty-focused, intimate lighting. You’ll photograph beautifully there.”

“Somewhere in the centerfold,” the younger man added. “Where you’ll pop.”

Pop.

You kept smiling. Even thanked them. Told them it was an honor.

The hallway outside felt colder than it had earlier. Like whatever heat had filled the building this morning had been drained just for you. You glanced around, expecting to see Remmick waiting in that same corner you assumed he'd been pacing in for the last hour, but he wasn’t there.

“Your agent?” the receptionist offered, catching your look. “He was asked to wait in the lobby. Waiting room’s only for models.”

You nodded, once. Of course it was.

You stepped into the elevator, then down through the marble lobby, each heel-click a reminder. Not of rejection exactly, because they hadn’t said no. But of all the ways a person can still be told not quite.

Remmick was already rising from the bench opposite of the window when you turned the corner. The second he saw you, he stood fast. Palms brushing down the front of his shirt, like his whole body was waiting for your cue. For your expression to tell him what to feel.

His mouth opened, but you beat him to it.

“They said I’ll be in the magazine,” you said.

His face didn’t move. Not right away.

Then slowly, his brow lifted.

“And?”

“Not on the cover.”

You watched it hit him. Watched how his expression stayed still for half a second too long. Just long enough for it to twist into something else. Something dangerous.

His jaw set hard. A muscle ticked. The color beneath his skin seemed to shift, just faintly, as if whatever fire lived inside him didn’t know where to go yet.

You almost thought he’d go back upstairs. March into that office and ask those men if they had any idea who they’d just handed a consolation prize to. If they knew how much talent they’d looked straight in the eye and passed over like it was nothing. He looked like he wanted blood.

But instead, he turned back to you.

His voice was quiet when it came. Measured.

“Well,” he said, lips tight around the word, “it’s a start.”

You gave a small nod. You didn’t trust your voice yet.

“And every star,” he added, smoothing his thumb along the back of your hand, “has to get her start somewhere.”

You looked down.

There was something about the way he said it. Not forced, not fake. But like he was trying to convince himself as much as you. Like he was clinging to the shape of the words because they were the only thing keeping him from sinking into whatever fury had been building behind his eyes.

“I wore what you told me,” you murmured. “Said what you told me to say. Stood still, smiled, kept my tone light. Did everything right.”

“You did more than right,” he said quickly. “You were brilliant.”

You looked back up.

“Then why wasn’t it enough?”

His face twisted. Something old passed over it. A flicker of pain he couldn’t hide fast enough.

“It was enough,” he said, voice low. “You are enough. You’re more than they’ve ever had walk through those doors, and they know it. That’s why they smiled so damn hard, ’cause they were too scared to admit they didn’t have the guts to hand you what you earned.”

You blinked.

He softened immediately.

“Darlin’,” he said gently, and that was the first time he’d called you that in a place like this. Not in the safety of your brownstone, not in the hush of his voice during quiet mornings or late nights. Here. Now. On a marble floor that didn’t want to carry your name.

He pulled you close, just enough to press his hand to the small of your back, shielding you from the glances nearby. “This is the last time someone underestimates you and walks away proud of it. I swear on my fuckin’ life.”

You exhaled, shaky. His hand rubbed small circles into your back, smoothing over the ache like he could press all the disappointment down until it flattened into something manageable.

“You said it yourself. You'll be in the magazine,” he went on. “A spread still gets eyes. Still gets press. They’ll see your face, your name, and the next time we walk into a building like this-” his voice dropped, almost growled, “-they’ll beg to put you on the front.”

You knew it wasn’t just a promise. It was a threat. A vow.

Remmick didn’t get loud. He didn’t need to. But the intensity in his voice had a gravity all its own, like if the world didn’t bend for you, he’d find a way to crack it open with his bare hands.

“I’ll make sure of it,” he said, softer now. “No matter what it takes.”

You leaned into him. Just slightly. Enough for him to steady you.

The world had felt heavier in the elevator. More than disappointment. It was like it had reinforced something you’d been trying to unlearn: that the door would still close, even when you did everything right.

But here, in the curve of his palm and the grit of his words, it felt manageable. Not fixed. But seen.

You didn’t say anything else as you both walked toward the exit, his hand never once leaving your back. His touch didn't say Keep moving. It said I’ve got you, and for now, that was enough.

He didn’t take you out that night.

You thought maybe he would. Half-expected it, honestly, with the way he’d looked at you in the car. Like you were glass and flame all at once, and he couldn’t decide which part to reach for first. His hand had stayed on your knee the whole ride, but not in that idle, drifting way men sometimes did when they got comfortable. No, his touch had been still. Focused. His thumb pressing slow, precise circles into the fabric, as if committing the shape of you to memory.

But when you stepped into the brownstone, he didn’t say a word about dinner, or drinks, or anything at all that required going back out into the city.

The door clicked softly shut behind you.

He locked it. Then checked it again, like he always did. Not once. Twice. Fingers lingering on the bolt like the world couldn’t be trusted not to knock again.

Then he turned, caught your eye in the dim hallway light, and you caught the redshift in his.

“Let me keep you in tonight,” he said.

Not a plea. Not a command. Just a fact.

You nodded before you even realized it.

It wasn’t long before the apartment was quiet again, save for the distant hum of traffic and the rustle of Remmick moving through the kitchen. You stood in the living room, still in your casting outfit, watching him open the fridge with that same thoughtful care he brought to everything. Like every bottle or jar might be hiding something important.

You didn’t expect him to cook. You’d never seen him eat. But the man knew his way around a pan, that much was clear.

He tied your apron around his waist without asking, rolling the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows as he set to work with the kind of slow, methodical focus that made the whole kitchen seem quieter.

Olive oil warmed in the pan. Garlic hit it next, the sizzle sharp and sudden before mellowing into something rich and familiar.

You leaned against the doorway, arms folded. Watching.

He didn’t look up, but you saw his shoulders shift like he could feel your eyes.

“I had somethin’ else in mind for tonight,” he said. “Somethin’ with music. White tablecloths. Wine list thick enough to kill a man. But figured you might need a minute to breathe.”

“I’m fine.”

“I know,” he said softly. “Still.”

You didn’t say anything to that. Just watched him toss fresh herbs into the pan. Basil, thyme, a pinch of something red from a spice jar he’d labeled in your handwriting. You didn't allow yourself to consider how he even learned to write like you.

“What’re you making?”

“Pasta,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “The real kind. Not that boxed stuff.”

You raised a brow. “You knead dough too, Remmick? That part of the agency job description?”

His mouth twitched, knowingly so. “Never hurts to be versatile.”

You smirked, but didn’t push it.

The radio played something low and old from the corner of the room, letting its dusty melody thread through the space like smoke. You sank into the armchair by the window, curling one leg beneath you as you listened to the rhythmic scrape of Remmick’s knife against the cutting board.

It was peaceful. Domestic in a way that felt almost unreal.

He plated your food with a flourish and brought it over without a word, setting it gently in front of you like he’d done it a thousand times before.

“Don’t wait,” he said, already moving to clear space on the coffee table.

You didn’t.

The pasta was perfectly done. Homemade sauce, deep and savory. You chewed slowly, trying to hide your surprise.

“You sure you didn’t work in a kitchen before this?”

“No ma’am,” he said, stretching out on the floor in front of you, back against the couch. “Just picked things up.”

He didn’t have a plate. You’d stopped asking about that after the third time it happened. He always said he’d eat later, that he’d already eaten, or that he wasn’t hungry. But the look in his eyes as he watched you always told a different story.

“Thank you,” you murmured, after a few more bites.

He looked up at you then. Eyes soft.

“You don’t gotta thank me.”

“I want to.”

Something shifted in his face. A flicker of something he didn’t say. He looked back down at the rug.

“I know today didn’t go like we wanted,” he said, voice quieter now. “But it’s a start. Ain’t no stars born in full blaze. You’ll get there.”

You hummed, letting the praise settle somewhere deep inside. The pasta disappeared slower after that. You were full before you finished, but you kept taking little bites just to keep him sitting there. Just to keep this moment still.

He cleared the plate when you finally set it down. Washed it, dried it, and returned like it was nothing. Like you hadn’t watched his shoulders flex through the thin linen of his shirt or followed the curve of his jaw as he leaned over the sink.

When he returned, he didn’t sit on the floor this time.

He eased onto the couch instead, the cushions dipping under his weight, the worn linen wrinkling beneath him. His body moved with the kind of slow care that wasn’t laziness, but calculation. Like he was measuring how much space he ought to take up, how much distance there was between your bodies.

Then he held out his hand.

Open. Bare. Still.

No words. Just that quiet, steady offering. Not an ask. Not a demand. An invitation.

You didn’t speak either. Just looked at him, looked at that hand, then back up into his face.

He wasn’t smiling. Not exactly. But there was a kind of soft hope carved into the lines of his mouth, a flicker in his eyes that said he needed the touch more than he wanted to admit.

So you reached for him.

Your fingers slid into his, warm and steady, and let him draw you forward. Not pulled. Not dragged or directed or coaxed, but simply… guided. Like gravity worked differently where he was.

You let yourself settle beside him.

His arm curled naturally along the back of the couch, but didn’t touch you. Not at first. He sat still as you tucked your legs beneath you, shifting until your shoulder just brushed his chest.

The lamp nearby cast long, slow shadows against the brick wall behind you. The whole apartment felt hushed, wrapped in soft amber and low sounds from the street that barely reached the window.

You tilted your head slightly, letting the silence stretch.

He looked at you then.

Really looked.

And not with that mask he wore around others, the one he used when smoothing the way for phone calls and photoshoots, all cleverness and quiet, careful charm.

This was different.

His hand slid from the cushion behind you, moved down and found yours again. He cradled it between both of his like it was delicate. Breakable. A thing too precious to be touched without veneration.

He traced the shape of your palm with the tip of one finger. Slow. Careful.

And said nothing.

You let him do it. Let him take your hand in his and explore it like it might disappear, like every line and fold and soft edge meant something more than flesh and skin.

You looked at him for a long moment, studying the lines around his eyes, the way his hair was still mussed from running his fingers through it. His jaw was tense, but not with anger. Something quieter. Something more internal.

“You okay?” you asked.

He smiled faintly. “Tired.”

“You sleep last night?”

He gave a soft snort. “Don’t need much.”

You let that go.

The apartment was quiet again. The kind of hush that felt deliberate. Sacred. The low hum of the refrigerator was the only thing keeping time now.

And then he spoke again.

“I ever tell you how much I hate bein’ helpless?” he said quietly. “Hate sittin’ in a hall waitin’ to hear how they gonna minimize you. Like I’m just supposed to swallow it.”

You didn’t answer. Just turned, leaning slightly into the curve of his arm where it hovered behind you.

“Hey,” you said after a pause. “You didn’t fail me.”

He didn’t speak.

“You hear me?” you pressed, voice firmer now. “You didn’t.”

He looked at you again then. That same old look. Like you were something just out of reach, Something he didn’t think he deserved but couldn’t stop staring at.

And then, like a dam breaking, he shifted.

His hand slid from yours, only to return a second later, cupping the back of your fingers, cradling them between both of his. He brought them close to his mouth, not quite kissing them, but holding them there like they warmed him.

“I just wanted it to be perfect,” he frowned.

You tilted your head.

“It is,” you said. “Not the job. Not them. But this? Us?”

He blinked.

“It’s getting there.”

That earned a small laugh. Quiet. Real.

You smiled.

“Thank you for dinner,” you said again, softer now.

His eyes lingered on your lips a moment too long.

“Anytime.”

And he meant it.

Anytime. Anything. Always.

Every inch of him said so.

You didn’t sleep much the night before.

Too much weight in your chest. Too many thoughts, all rustling like paper just out of reach. Every time your eyes drifted closed, they fluttered open again. The room was too quiet, the air too still. It felt like something was waiting. Or maybe you were.

But even if you had managed to drift off, you would’ve woken anyway. You always did, somehow, whenever he came close.

It was subtle at first. The soft creak of a floorboard just beyond the hallway. A change in pressure. Barely there, but enough to make your skin prickle. Like the atmosphere shifted slightly to accommodate him. The air grew heavier, like it recognized him before your eyes did.

You didn’t move. Kept your breath even. Let your lashes stay low, even though your eyes were cracked open just enough to see the shape in the corner.

Remmick.

Standing there. Still as a portrait, as if one stray blink might smear him from view. Bare-chested, in nothing but a pair of dark briefs that hung low on his hips, his skin pale and sharp against the dark. The moonlight didn’t dare touch him directly. It hovered in the corners instead, gathering where his shoulder met his throat, pooling in the shallow dip of his chest. His body looked almost carved. Lean, wiry muscle wrapped tight in skin that barely looked like it belonged to someone living.

But it was his eyes that held you in place.

They didn’t catch the light.

They made their own.

Twin glints of red shimmered low beneath his brow, steady and unblinking. Not the flash of a reflection. Not the glimmer of light hitting moisture. No. These burned from within, low and quiet, like embers buried deep beneath ash. They didn’t flicker. They didn’t pulse.

They glowed.

And in that glow was something else. Something wordless. Something ancient.

He didn’t say a word.

Didn’t make a sound.

Just stood there at the foot of your bed, breathing like he didn’t trust himself to get any closer. Like he’d been walking through a dream all night and didn’t want to wake you for fear of it ending.

It wasn’t hunger in his face. Not lust, either. It was… awe. Disbelief, maybe. As if he wasn’t entirely convinced you were still real.

And as you watched him, quiet, breath steady, you couldn’t help but wonder:

How long had he been doing this?

How many nights had he stood in that exact spot?

How many times had you not woken up? Had you not noticed?

The thought didn’t scare you. If anything, it stirred something softer. Stranger. Like the ghost of a heartbeat rising from the floorboards beneath you.

You didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

And neither did he.

By the time the alarm sounded, the sun wasn’t up yet, but he was already in the kitchen.

You heard the clink of porcelain, the soft scrape of a drawer sliding open, the rhythmic hush of his bare feet moving across the floor. The smell of something warm and faintly herbal drifted through the air. Something like honey and mint, but darker underneath. Earthier.

You sat up slowly, still heavy with the weight of half-slept dreams, and blinked against the dim light spilling in from the hallway.

Your clothes were already laid out again. Pressed and folded across the back of the couch. The same place as last time.

A blouse in cream and cinnamon tones. High-waisted slacks. The matching heels you'd only worn once, but that he’d polished clean anyway. Everything laid out with such care it made your chest ache. He didn’t miss a detail. He never did.

Even your hair products, combs, oils, moisturizers, pins, were already set neatly beside a warm towel on the kitchen counter. Like he’d anticipated the exact order you’d reach for them, the sequence of your morning carved into his mind.

You stepped in, still rubbing the sleep from your eyes, and found him whistling. Low and unhurried, some old tune you couldn’t place. He stood at the stove, stirring something in a small pan, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow. There was a quiet light to him this morning.

His hair was combed back, not slicked, but neat. The buttons on his shirt done all the way up, save for the top two, leaving his throat bare. His slacks were creased to perfection, and the leather belt cinched around his waist gleamed like he’d buffed it just for the occasion.

He looked over his shoulder at you, and his face lit up like it always did. Like you were the very thing he’d been hoping would walk through that doorway.

Because you were.

“Evenin',” he said with a smile, voice rough but still sweet.

You raised a brow. “It’s morning.”

His smile widened, almost sheepish. “Don’t feel like it.”

You moved closer, the floor cool beneath your bare feet, and leaned your hip against the counter beside him.

“You been up long?” you asked.

He shrugged, eyes flicking back to the pan. “Long enough. Wanted to make sure everything was just right.”

He handed you a steaming mug of tea without being asked. Your favorite, of course. Just the right amount of honey, just the way you liked it.

“You nervous?” he asked softly, not looking at you.

You didn’t answer right away.

Instead, you watched him. The set of his jaw. The way his fingers flexed slightly on the wooden spoon. His body was still, but the tension was there. It always was. Like the storm never fully left his bones.

“Not really,” you said. “Not yet.”

He nodded. Then turned toward you fully, wiping his hands on a towel tucked into the waistband of his slacks. He studied you, head tilted slightly, eyes trailing over your face with that same intent scrutiny you were starting to get used to.

You didn’t flinch from it anymore.

“C’mere,” he said gently, holding out a hand.

You hesitated. Only for a second.

Then reached forward.

His fingers wrapped around yours, warm and careful, and he tugged you closer. Slow, but certain.

“I had a dream about you,” he said softly.

“You were wearin’ that same look. All bright-eyed and sharpened up. Like you’d walked straight out of some storybook meant to ruin someone,”

He laughed, soft and half-embarrassed, but didn’t look away.

“You make it hard for a man to think straight, y’know that?”

You didn’t respond right away. You just let the words settle, warm and slow in the hollow of your throat. Something in the way he said those words made your stomach twist. Made your breath stick somewhere deep in your ribs. It didn’t feel like the usual flattery. Not cheap. Not performative. Not the kind of thing you’d heard a dozen times back home or whispered at castings with a sleazy grin.

This was different. Lower. Honest. Like it surprised even him.

And maybe it did.

Because as soon as he said it, he seemed to catch himself. Barely. His throat moved with the effort of swallowing it down. His eyes dropped, and he took a small step back, as if distance might fix whatever he’d let slip between you.

“Go wash up,” he said, voice quieter now. “I’ll get breakfast finished.”

You didn’t argue. Just nodded once and moved toward the bathroom, heartbeat louder than your footsteps.

By the time you stepped out again, hair wrapped in a towel and skin still warm from the steam, the apartment smelled faintly of sage and something sweet. Peaches, maybe. Or brown sugar. You couldn’t tell. Just that it was soft. Comforting.

The living room had a golden hue now, touched by early light filtered through overcast skies. Everything looked gentler, as if the whole city had been wrapped in gauze.

Remmick wasn’t at the stove anymore. The burner was off, the kettle still hot beside it.

He stood at the window instead, one hand resting on the sill, the other pulling the curtain back just a fraction. Not enough to see out fully. Just enough to check.

When he turned back around and saw you, whatever he’d been worrying about fell clean out of his face.

His eyes widened slightly. Jaw slackened. His whole posture shifted, like the breath had been pulled straight out of him.

“God damn,” he whispered, nearly under his breath. “Look at you.”

You didn’t need a mirror to know what he was seeing. The high-waisted pants he’d picked out the night before, fitted just right to your waist. The blouse with its delicate neckline and little pearl buttons, catching faint light. Your curls still damp but styled soft and neat. Face clean. Mostly bare, but radiant.

You let yourself smile. Just a little. “You picked the outfit.”

He didn’t deny it.

Didn’t nod, either.

Just walked toward you, slow and careful, like approaching something sacred. His boots barely made a sound on the old wood floor.

“Still,” he purred, reaching out to brush something, nothing, really, from your sleeve. His fingers lingered a little longer than needed. “You wear it better than I dreamed.”

He fussed over you the entire time. Fixing buttons. Adjusting seams. His fingers lingered where they shouldn’t have. On your hip, on your collarbone, but always under the guise of perfection.

“You’re gonna hate the cabs in this city,” he chuckled, smoothing a wrinkle from your skirt. “Good thing we’re not takin’ one.”

You raised a brow, though you weren't at all surprised. “We’re not?”

He looked up, pleased with himself in that quiet way. “Got a car waitin’. Somethin’ a little easier on the nerves. And the shoes.”

You laughed. “You got us another driver?”

“I got you a driver,” he corrected gently, brushing something invisible from your sleeve. “I just happen to be taggin’ along.”

His words tried to sound offhand, but his hands kept pausing. Kept hovering like they couldn’t quite bring themselves to let go.

The last touch lingered too long on your lower back.

“If it comes down to it,” he added lowly, “I’ll carry you myself.”

You smiled at the joke, but when you met his eyes, it wasn’t a joke at all.

He meant it.

And for a second, the air in the room felt heavier. Pressed in close. Charged.

You cleared your throat. “We better go.”

He nodded once, like it snapped him out of whatever spell he’d drifted into.

But just before you reached the door, he caught your hand. Gently. Held it between both of his, the edges of his fingers slightly trembling.

“Today ain’t just a shoot,” he said, voice steady, low. “It’s your beginnin’. Your real one. So when they look at you, don’t flinch. Don’t fold. Let ‘em see what I see.”

“And what’s that?” you asked softly.

He didn’t smile.

“Perfection.”

The car rolled to a stop outside a tall brick building tucked deep into SoHo, the kind with no sign on the front and a buzzer system you had to know how to work to get inside. From the curb, it didn’t look like much. A delivery van was parked at the corner. Two men with light meters and cases of film were hunched over a dolly at the service entrance. But inside was something different.

The photographer’s studio took up the entire top floor. High ceilings, polished concrete floors, wall-to-wall windows dressed in gauzy white fabric that filtered in the pale morning light like milk through cheesecloth. You stepped in and immediately noticed the quiet chill in the air, too sterile to feel artistic. Not cold exactly. Just... clinical.

The space had clearly been prepared. No one had cut corners. A fresh bouquet of lilies and peonies sat in a vase by the makeup station. Garment racks overflowed with gowns in every imaginable shade, some still tagged, some borrowed from designers who only lent to the best. Studio assistants buzzed around with clipboards and cups of coffee, walking fast but talking softly. Respectfully. Not to you, but to him.

Remmick.

He stood just behind your shoulder, as he always did, not saying much but radiating authority in a way that made people clear a path. There was no need for volume, no need for presence to be announced. His silence had weight. The kind that made a room shift without realizing it.

You saw it in the way spines straightened when he stepped close, the way assistants lowered their voices mid-sentence, as if whatever they were discussing might offend him by accident. He didn’t bark orders. He didn’t need to. His gaze alone, steady, unreadable, somehow both patient and predatory, did most of the work.

Every time someone turned, they looked at him first. Their questions never quite made it to your lips. The makeup artist. The stylist. Even the photographer, who was trying too hard to act like he didn’t notice. His eyes flicked to Remmick’s figure once, twice, like he was trying to place him. Like he didn’t understand why he felt nervous.

You’d started noticing it more often. How his presence rearranged a room. How the tone changed, the pace shifted. Like the energy bent around him before anyone knew it was happening.

The photographer, a trim white man in his late thirties with thin lips and thick-framed glasses, finally stepped forward. His pants were pressed too stiff. His cologne smelled sharp and expensive, but didn't mask the sweat already building beneath his collar. He gave you a quick glance. Nothing warm. Nothing memorable. Just a skim of the eyes like you were a fabric sample. He didn’t offer a name.

Instead, he turned his head, nose wrinkling ever so slightly, and addressed the stylist behind him.

“She’s darker than I expected,” he said, not bothering to lower his voice. Not even a whisper of shame. “We’ll need to be careful with lighting. That undertone catches weird on film.”

You felt Remmick stiffen behind you. So subtly you might’ve missed it if you hadn’t been so attuned to the way he breathed.

There was a silence, sudden and sharp, like someone had shut a drawer too hard.

But he didn’t speak.

Not yet.

You didn’t need to turn to know his hands were probably flexing at his sides, slow and deliberate. His restraint wasn’t the brittle kind. It was the kind that bided time. Waited for the perfect opening.

You kept your face smooth. Not blank, not soft, just controlled. Every inch of you brimming with dignity he clearly hadn’t expected. You caught one of the assistants glancing up from her clipboard, eyes wide and flicking from the photographer to you with something like alarm. Her jaw tensed, but she said nothing.

No one corrected him.

No one said a word.

But you simply walked past anyway, toward the makeup chair, head held high.

The chair sat beneath a ring of lights, too white and too bright. You sank into it with practiced grace, smoothing your robe over your thighs as a stylist bustled over, her nervous smile stretched too wide.

“Hey, sweetie,” she chirped. “Let’s get you glammed up, yeah?”

Her hands were quick, efficient. She swatched shades across your jawline with a speed that spoke more to panic than precision. None of them matched. Too yellow. Too gray. Too red. You didn’t say anything. Just watched as she fumbled, her fingers trembling slightly as she reached for another palette.

“Your undertone’s so unique,” she muttered. “Really gotta find that balance... can’t let the camera flatten it...”

You knew what she meant.

And what she didn’t say.

Remmick hadn’t moved from the edge of the room. He leaned against a column, arms crossed, eyes locked on the back of your head through the mirror. Not breathing heavy. Not shifting. Just watching.

Guarding.

The stylist was careful with your hair, at least. Didn't try to fight it. Just lifted and pinned and fluffed with dutiful fingers, whispering tiny praises under her breath like she was scared of doing too much. She was trying, you gave her that. Whether it was guilt or fear or something closer to decency, you didn’t care. So long as she kept her hands gentle and her thoughts to herself.

“Camera loves your cheekbones,” she said, and that part sounded honest.

When you were done, you stood slowly, caught your own reflection in the mirror.

You looked like yourself.

Yourself, but sharpened. Framed in gold and plum. Lips glossed, lashes full, jaw set just right.

Behind you, Remmick shifted. You saw him in the glass, his eyes not on the outfit, not on the hair.

On you.

Always on you.

You didn’t smile. Not yet. But something eased in your chest.

The first few rounds of photos went smoothly enough. You moved between backdrops in different gowns. Deep purples, yellows, something champagne-colored with a sheer overlay that caught the light like water. The fabric floated when you walked, whispering against your legs, pooling at your ankles in gentle, liquid waves.

You didn’t pose so much as exist the way Remmick had taught you: shoulders open, chin tilted with certainty, mouth soft but deliberate. Posture like armor. Expression like invitation. You didn’t chase the camera. You let it come to you. Let it find the angles it wanted, as if it had no choice but to follow the pull of your gravity.

The flashbulbs burst in rhythmic intervals, bright and brief, filling the space with the scent of heat and ozone. Stylists moved around you in a silent, efficient orbit. Patting down your skirt hem, adjusting the hang of your sleeve, brushing an invisible strand of hair from your brow. But it was the photographer who kept lagging behind. You could feel it in the pauses. In the hesitations. In the way he kept glancing toward Remmick like a man who had questions he didn’t know how to ask.

He didn’t know how to handle it.

“Give me something more demure,” he called at one point, standing behind the camera with a squint and a frown. “Less... confrontational. Softer eyes.”

Your brows lifted. Not high. Just enough. And just for a moment, you let your tongue slip.

“I’m looking into a lens.”

“Well, yes,” he said, chuckling like he thought that’d smooth things over. “But it’s just... try to be less direct. You’re a feature, not the focus.”

You didn't say anything back.

Your mouth didn't even twitch.

But Remmick did.

“She’s exactly the focus,” he said, stepping forward from the edge of the lights, voice low and firm and without a speck of humor. “That’s what centerfold means.”

The room went still again.

Even the stylist’s hands froze mid-pin near your waist. The assistant by the reflector stiffened, eyes darting between the two men.

The photographer adjusted a light. His fingers weren’t as steady as before.

“I meant it compositionally,” he said, clearing his throat, not quite meeting Remmick’s eye.

“No, you didn’t.”

Remmick said it without blinking.

His tone hadn’t changed. Calm. Crisp. But the weight behind it was enough to press the silence flat between every heartbeat in the room.

And for a moment, the only thing that moved was the slow flicker of the overhead bulb as it warmed.

The photographer looked down, fiddled with his light meter, and muttered something about “another angle.”

Eventually, the shoot resumed.

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t fold.

But you caught the way Remmick stayed closer now. Just outside the frame. Arms still crossed. Watching the photographer like a man making mental measurements. Every time the camera clicked, his eyes weren’t on the flash, but on the hands that adjusted it. On the words that came next. On every breath, every shift in tone, like he was deciding whether or not to let this man finish his job.

As the final shots were taken, dramatic lighting, a sheer backdrop, your hair full and proud against the white, he moved beside the stylist and spoke low, voice barely above a hum.

“She’s done after this one,” he said. “I’ll be handling approvals.”

The stylist didn’t argue. Just nodded, lips pressed together, hands folding neatly at her waist.

You were back in your clothes ten minutes later, the silk blouse clinging a little from the heat still radiating off your skin. The dressing room felt more cramped than it did before, the air heavy with setting spray and leftover perfume. Your throat was dry. One of the assistants handed you a paper cup with a straw, and you accepted it without a word, sipping slow, letting the cool water settle the heat in your chest.

Someone knelt beside you, working at the straps of the heels. Your feet ached, throbbing faintly from hours of posing. Never quite standing, never quite walking, just holding beauty in place.

Remmick was waiting by the door.

He hadn’t moved the entire time. Coat over his arm, one hand resting lightly against the wall as if to anchor himself. His body didn’t sway. Didn’t fidget. But his jaw ticked every few seconds, like he was grinding something silent between his teeth.

When you joined him, blouse tucked, shoulders square, he didn’t say anything right away. He just looked at you.

Looked long.

“You were perfect,” he hummed, voice barely above a hush.

“But?”

“But nothing,” he said, tone rough at the edges. “You were perfect.”

He opened the door with his free hand, held it until you passed through, his touch naturally settling the small of your back.

He didn’t comment on the photographer again.

He didn’t have to.

You saw it in the way he walked beside you. Shoulders set too tight, gait too rigid for someone supposedly at ease. His jaw was still clenched, the muscle there twitching with the rhythm of his steps. His fingers flexed every now and then, as if rehearsing something they’d wanted to do but hadn’t been given permission to.

And when you stepped into the elevator, he stood still. Hands folded in front of him. The red shimmer pulsed once, subtle and slow. You reached out, gently brushing the tips of your fingers against his wrist.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t flinch.

Just looked at you, like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the floor.

You weren’t sure what he would’ve done if you hadn’t been there to stop him.

But you were.

And he let you lead this time.

Just this once.

It had been a week since the shoot. Seven full days since your skin was powdered and styled, since camera bulbs flashed like lightning, and since Remmick’s hand hovered behind your back like a second spine. Steadier than any wall, quieter than any breath, always there.

And now, a week later, the magazines were out.

The sun hadn’t even gone down when you heard the lock click. You were barefoot in the living room, tea cooling untouched on the windowsill, your thumb slowly dragging across the same corner of the same page in a book you hadn’t really touched since morning. You weren’t reading. Just looking. Letting the quiet stretch long around you.

The soft hum of traffic rose from below, dulled behind brick and double glass. Somewhere across the alley, a radio crackled faintly from an open window. But inside, the air was hushed and warm, filled with the scent of sweet almond and black vanilla. Something Remmick had lit before he left, soft and curling in the corners of the apartment like memory. A clean smell. Luxurious in its calm.

You turned your head at the sound of the door creaking open.

Remmick stepped in, arms full. No coat, he hadn’t worn one in days now, but his favorite fitted blazer was slung on his shoulders. Brown and a little rumpled like he’d worn it too long. His sleeves were pushed to the elbows, forearms exposed, the collar open at his throat. His skin looked flushed, not from heat, but from effort. From thrill.

And in his hands?

Magazines.

Stacks and stacks of them.

Glamour. Thick, glossy. Dozens, no, maybe hundreds of copies, some with their spines still crisp, others already peeled open, like he couldn’t resist peeking before bringing them home. He kicked the door shut behind him with the heel of his shoe and dropped the load on the coffee table in a huff of breath and triumph.

You blinked at the pile.

Then looked up at him.

Then back down.

“…Remmick.”

He beamed at you.

Actually beamed.

And for just a second, just long enough to make your stomach flip, you saw them.

Fangs.

Not teeth. Not canines. Fangs.

They hadn’t fully retracted. The points glinted faintly behind his bottom lip, his mouth too wide with joy to contain them, like he’d forgotten what he was supposed to hide.

He didn’t notice. Not yet. Just stood there, catching his breath, eyes glowing faint and sweet in the lamplight like he'd returned from battle with spoils no one could take from him.

And you, watching from the couch, weren’t sure what took your breath first. His smile, or the fact that it wasn’t quite human.

“Every shop had a limit,” he said breathlessly, already tugging the first magazine open. “Three per customer, some of ’em said. Five, if I smiled real nice.”

You raised a brow.

He licked his thumb, flipped a page. “So I went to every damn shop in Manhattan.”

And he meant it. His shirt was damp at the collar, sleeves wrinkled at the elbows. A thin line of sweat traced his temple like he’d run half the way home. You could practically see the city on him. Subway grit on his cuffs, the faint scent of cold air and ink clinging to the folds of his blazer. He looked like a man who’d carried your name through the streets like it was gospel.

Then he found the spread.

Your spread.

Dead center in the glossy pages, your face filled the left half. Your body, the way they’d posed you, half reclined, your mouth parted like you’d just finished saying something worth listening to, took up the right. Above it, the title gleamed in embossed gold: A Southern Star on the Rise

He whistled low. “Would you look at that.”

He turned the magazine toward you like you hadn’t already lived it. Like you hadn’t memorized every contour, every careful arch of your brows, every piece of your expression caught in that still moment of light.

But he held it like it was sacred. Like scripture. Like he was revealing something you hadn’t quite grasped yet.

“Damn,” he muttered, opening another copy. “Print didn’t dull you a bit. Thought maybe it would. Thought maybe it’d catch you wrong. But no. You shine right through.”

He pulled open another magazine. Then another.

In seconds, your entire coffee table disappeared under layers of your own image. Identical pages laid side by side, all turned to the centerfold. There you were, over and over again. Still. Composed. Glowing.

Like a constellation laid across the living room. Like stars, just rearranged.

Remmick crouched beside the table, smoothing one copy flat with the care of someone laying down silk. He didn’t blink, just studied the page like it was breathing, alive. Like he was waiting for it to reach back.

Then he rose to full height, tucked a copy under his arm, and walked over to you. Still barefoot. Still silent.

Still watching.

And you, frozen on the couch, felt your throat tighten with something you hadn’t named yet.

“You seen yourself in these?” he asked, voice quiet and smooth. Like the question itself was fragile.

You nodded once.

He grinned and leaned in to kiss your cheek. Just a brush of lips. But slow. Like it meant something. Like it had waited all day to land there, and now that it had, the world could keep spinning again.

Then he reached for your chin. Callused fingers gentle as they tipped your face up, thumb brushing just beneath your jaw.

“I want you to say it,” he demanded, though so gently you could've mistaken it for a polite question.

You blinked. “Say what?”

He didn’t answer. Just looked at you. Really looked. His pupils were blown wide, red bleeding through the blue, burning steady in the low light of your living room.

Not glowing out of hunger.

Not now.

Out of pride. Out of something heavier. Older.

He waited.

So you said it.

Soft at first. A breath, barely formed.

“I’m a fuckin’ star.”

His smile widened. Slow, hungry, like it’d been waiting just beneath the surface.

So you said it again.

Louder this time.

“I’m a fuckin’ star!”

And this time, he didn’t stop at your cheek.

He kissed the corner of your mouth. Gentle. Noncommittal. A press of gratitude, of awe. Like you’d just named something holy.

Then he straightened, tapped your shoulder once with two fingers like sealing a blessing, and turned back toward the coffee table. Toward the sea of open pages like he couldn’t stand to look at just one.

He crouched again. Fingers drifting over the print, barely touching the paper. Just enough to feel the ink. Just enough to make sure it was real.

Behind him, you stared down at your own face. Again, and again, and again, until the whole room felt covered in you. Until your name echoed back at you from every glossy surface.

It was too much.

It wasn’t enough.

You reached for one of the magazines and ran your hand over the fold. The version of yourself staring back was powerful. Beautiful. Alive. You looked like a woman who knew exactly who she was.

The only thing stronger than the pride warming your chest was the look in his eyes every time he flipped a page.

He thumbed through another copy, quieter now. As if just the sound of turning paper was too loud. Then, almost absentmindedly, like the thought had just resurfaced between page turns, he said it:

“Oh, Vogue called.”

Your head snapped up.

He didn’t look at you right away. Just kept flipping, smoothing down a crease on one of the centerfolds.

“Said they had an opening next month. I booked it. Thursday, ten.”

You blinked.

“Vogue.”

“Yeah.” His voice was soft, distracted. Eyes still on the magazine in front of him. “Figured it was a good fit. Didn’t wanna wait.”

“You... booked a Vogue shoot?”

He finally looked up then, eyes wide and sincere, brows pinched like he was only just realizing something might be unusual.

“I mean… yeah. I told you, didn’t I?”

You stared at him.

He stared at your photo.

And then you laughed. Soft, incredulous, stunned.

Because of course he had.

Of course Vogue had called Remmick.

Of course they had seen the piece and knew exactly what they were looking at.

He hadn’t had to knock on their door, hadn’t begged or bargained. They came to him.

Because when they saw you, they didn’t see a gamble. They didn’t see a request.

They saw inevitability.

And Remmick?

He treated it like the most obvious thing in the world.

“You,” you said, smiling now, “are insane.”

He blinked once. Then gave a faint shrug, turning back to the magazine.

“Maybe,” he murmured. “But I’m not wrong.”

And when he looked at you again, spread out across a dozen pages, glowing under lamplight, you could see the truth settle in his expression.

He wasn’t just proud.

He was certain.

You were everything he said you were.

And now, the world was catching up.

You woke to the scent of freshly peeled citrus and the low sound of Remmick humming. The windows were still closed, the curtains drawn against a morning sky that hadn’t quite made up its mind. The apartment smelled sharper than usual. Grapefruit, maybe. Lemongrass. Something he knew cleared your head. You were still blinking the sleep from your eyes when his silhouette appeared in the doorway.

“Up,” he said gently. “Got somethin’ to tell you.”

You sat up slowly. “What time is it?”

“Little after six. But don’t panic,” he added, smile curling at the corners. “You’ve got hours.”

You raised a brow. “Remmick... what?”

He walked in, holding your outfit already pressed and draped across one arm. Light blue silk. Crisp ivory slacks. A bold, gold-buttoned jacket you didn’t recognize.

He held them out. “We’re goin’ to Vogue.”

You blinked. “I know. You said the shoot was today.”

He hesitated. Then, sheepishly, almost boyish, he added, “Right. But, uh… I didn’t tell you everything.”

You stared at him.

He cleared his throat. “It’s the cover. They want you on the cover.”

Your mouth went dry.

He took a step back. Just one. Holding the clothes like a peace offering. “Figured if I told you earlier, you’d start worryin’. Fret about posture. Or pores. Or your walk. Or-”

“Remmick.”

He looked at you then. Earnest. Glowing.

You pressed your palm against your chest, trying to slow the way your heart was kicking against your ribs.

“The cover?” you whispered.

“Front page. Full feature.”

It should’ve floored you. Maybe it still would. But right now, all you could do was nod and let him help you out of bed.

He guided you through the morning like a man who’d rehearsed it a hundred times. Hands careful, patient. Shirt laid out before you needed it. Jewelry untangled before you even glanced at the box. He pressed a warm cloth to your face, careful not to disturb the curl of your hair, freshly done the night before.

“You’re gonna knock ‘em dead,” he said, and you knew he believed every single word.

And then, quieter, almost to himself: “And I’ll be right there to see it.”

The car was waiting downstairs. Sleek and black and already running, the driver greeting Remmick with a nod and holding the door open for you like he’d been coached. Your nerves didn’t settle, not even on the drive. But Remmick’s hand rested gently against your knee the entire way. Grounding. Warm.

The studio was quiet when you arrived. Museum quiet, gallery quiet. The kind of stillness that felt curated, intentional, like someone had taken great care to make the space feel more like a cathedral than a workplace. The polished concrete floors were cool under your heels, spotless and reflecting faint outlines of the high arched windows that lined the walls. Exposed brick, original to the building, gave the room a sense of old, lived-in charm, and soft white curtains billowed ever so slightly from vents high above. The air was heavy with the scent of lavender, linen, and something powdery-sweet.

You moved through the entrance with Remmick just behind you, his hand barely grazing the small of your back. Never guiding, just anchoring. He didn’t speak, didn’t announce himself. He didn’t need to. His presence always did the talking.

The photographer met you before you’d taken more than three steps inside. “Étienne,” he said, with a faint bow of the head. His accent was French, thick and rounded at the edges, the syllables slipping from his mouth like warm sugar. His hair was silver at the temples, his blazer draped and elegant, and his handshake was firm but not aggressive. Warm, like he’d waited a long time to meet you.

“It is my absolute pleasure, mademoiselle,” he said. “I’ve admired your spread in Glamour. You moved with the camera. Not many know how to do that.”

He didn’t say your skin glowed.

Didn’t ask about your hair.

Didn’t say anything about being “surprised” by your presence.

He just met your eyes, quiet and open. Like you were someone worth listening to.

“Today,” he said, “you belong to the camera. Let’s make her fall in love.”

You let yourself breathe, just a little.

The rest of the team introduced themselves in a calm rhythm, one by one. No rushed hands. No clipped instructions. A stylist with a soft Brooklyn accent asked gently before adjusting your collarbone. A makeup artist barely older than you murmured a few compliments while swatching shades along your jaw. Matched your undertones on the first go. No hesitation. No apologies.

Your hair wasn’t “a challenge.” It wasn’t “big.” It was just yours. One woman, sharp-eyed and efficient, studied the fullness of your curls for a beat, then nodded once and said, “Let’s let it speak today.” No flattening. No translation.

You didn’t feel tolerated.

You felt expected.

Appreciated.

The way the room moved around you was not with caution, but with respect. Like your place had already been made, and they were just moving to match it.

And Remmick, he didn’t hover today.

He didn’t pace. Didn’t step in or offer unnecessary notes. He took a chair near the edge of the set, legs crossed, hands loosely clasped over one knee. His coat lay neatly across the back of the chair, and he looked like he was simply waiting for a performance he’d already seen, waiting to watch it unfold in the flesh.

He watched you the way a man watched a storm rolling in. Calm. Certain. Unwavering.

His eyes tracked your every step.

And when the camera clicked, when Étienne raised the lens and tilted his head just so, it began.

Soft commands, never harsh.

“Lift your chin just a touch, oui. That’s perfect.”

“Let the shoulder dip, like you’re sighing.”

“Not a smile. Just the idea of one.”

And you you didn’t pose. You existed. You did what Remmick had drilled into you for weeks: you let the room adjust to you. Shoulders drawn back, chin at just the right angle, spine fluid. You didn’t chase the lens. You let it orbit you.

Each frame caught something new: your strength, your softness, your refusal to shrink.

Backdrops shifted behind you. One faded into the next. Cool eggshell white to a moody, smoky grey. Then to a blush-rose curtain lit from behind to mimic early sunrise, and finally to a gold-toned gradient that bathed your skin in warmth, turning every line of your body into a celebration. Your hands, your mouth, the arch of your back. You weren’t just in the photo.

You were the photo.

At one point, as you adjusted in the sheer champagne gown, the stylist stepped close to smooth a wrinkle on your shoulder. She paused, tilted her head, then muttered under her breath, “I swear, you don’t have a bad angle.”

Remmick smiled at that.

Didn’t say anything.

But you saw his fingers twitch against his knee.

And when Étienne pulled the camera down after the final shot, when the room held its breath and the lights warmed one final time, he exhaled slow, his voice dropping.

“Mon dieu,” he said. “You are going to be the beginning of a new era.”

There weren’t cheers. No grand applause. Just a quiet stillness that settled over the room like snowfall.

The stylists nodded. One of the assistants wiped her eyes.

Your name passed around the room in whispers.

Back in your own clothes again, the familiar weight of your own scent folded into the fabric, you stood in front of the mirror, unsure what exactly had changed.

Something had.

You could still feel the echo of the lights on your skin, the soft heat of the set, the way Étienne had whispered magnifique under his breath more than once without knowing you heard him. The clothes they’d dressed you in had been draped and pinned and sculpted to fit your body like a second skin, but now that they were gone, what lingered wasn’t fabric.

It was power.

You weren’t wearing a magazine dress anymore.

But you still felt like a cover.

You gathered your things slowly. Slipped on your shoes one at a time. Tucked the lipstick you'd needlessly brought. Gave the studio one last glance over your shoulder, just to make sure it had all been real. That the lights weren’t a trick, that the hush in the room wasn’t some illusion of grandeur.

And then you saw him.

Remmick.

Standing at the edge of the studio floor, right where the light faded into shadow. His coat was folded neatly over one arm, the other hanging at his side, still and sure. He didn’t lean against the wall. Didn’t shift his weight. He just stood there like he’d been waiting for this exact moment, this exact you, to turn and meet his eyes.

And when you did?

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t grin. Didn’t offer some teasing remark or coy turn of phrase.

He just looked at you.

Like he couldn’t believe it.

Or maybe he could.

Like he’d known it all along but still wasn’t prepared for the truth of it staring back at him now, standing in her own skin, quiet and luminous and ready.

He extended his hand.

Not rushed. Not hesitant.

Like a gentleman.

Like a vow.

You stepped forward, each footfall soft against the studio floor, and reached out to take it.

His palm was warm. Slightly callused, as always. Big enough to hold you steady.

And when he leaned in close, closer than necessary, just so his breath could touch your ear, his voice dropped so low it barely cleared the air.

“They’re never gonna forget this.”

A beat passed. Two.

Neither did you.

Not the way the stylist said your name like it mattered. Not the way Étienne had bowed when the shoot wrapped, saying Merci, étoile. Not the way your hands hadn’t shaken once. Not the way Remmick’s thumb had grazed your knuckles on the way out, subtle and steady.

The door clicked shut behind you.

And the city welcomed its newest star.

You should’ve known not to get your hopes up.

Remmick had warned you once before. To not believe in the win until the ink dries and the check clears. And still, the moment the phone rang, you felt the breath catch in your chest like something was finally about to settle right.

It was early, too early, and the tea in your hand hadn’t even cooled yet. Steam curled in the morning light, soft and golden through the windows.

You heard him answer it in the kitchen. Not loud, not sharp. Just steady.

“Remmick.”

His voice, smooth. Polished. Still cold from sleep, but clipped with that quick professionalism he always wore when someone else was listening.

There was a pause. Long enough to tighten something at the base of your neck.

“…Come again?”

That was the first red flag.

You stood. Not rushed, not loud. Just enough to hear better. Half-expecting him to wave you off with a flick of his fingers, that little sideways smile he gave when things were under control.

But he didn’t.

He turned his back instead. Shoulders hunched slightly. Quiet. Like he didn’t want you to hear what was coming next.

He rubbed the back of his neck once, then pressed his thumb into the edge of the counter like he needed the grounding. His knuckles whitened around the phone cord, twisting it once, twice, tighter.

“Yes,” he said carefully, “I’m familiar with your lead editor.”

Another pause.

Then something darker entered his tone.

“Yes. The one with the impeccable eye for trend pieces.”

Your stomach dropped.

There was silence on his end. Long. Tense.

And then:

“They what?”

His voice didn’t rise. Not yet.

But it changed. Dropped lower. Flat and cold like steel before it’s drawn.

You stepped closer, quiet as breath, barefoot against the hardwood. Leaned just enough to see the side of his face. The angle of his jaw, sharp and flexed. The twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“They’ve already had their one for the year?” he repeated.

Low. Disbelieving. Dangerous.

His free hand came up, rubbing slow at his temple like he needed to press the words back out of his skull.

“Who’s they?” he asked, quieter now, but you felt the weight of it in your chest. “Go on. Say it clear.”

There was no response.

Just static. A voice on the other end fumbling for footing.

Remmick’s brows drew together.

“No, I’m not upset with you,” he said, voice thinning again into something cool and even. “I understand you’re just passing the message along.”

He closed his eyes a moment. You could see him working to keep it in. Like something old and sharp was waking in his blood, trying to claw its way out of his chest.

“I’d like to speak with the editor directly,” he said, softer now. “Yes. I’ll hold.”

And then his hand dropped to the counter. Fingers drumming.

Waiting. Ready.

The line clicked.

Then his jaw twitched.

“Good morning,” he said. Different now. Calmer, colder. Stripped of the courtesy he kept like a glove around secret hands. “Didn’t expect to catch you so early.”

You still couldn’t hear the voice on the other end. Not a single word. But you didn’t have to.

You could see everything you needed in him.

The stillness of his posture, the death grip he had on the base of the phone, the fine tremble running through the muscle of his forearm beneath that rolled-up cotton sleeve. It wasn’t the kind of rage that burst outward. It was the kind that boiled, thick and patient, one degree at a time.

“Yes,” he said, so polite it sounded rehearsed. “I was just speaking with your assistant.”

He closed his eyes a moment. Not a blink, but something longer. As if he needed to press the lids down tight to keep from rolling them.

“She told me they, meaning you, have reconsidered the cover.”

The pause that followed was electric. Tense.

Then, low and even:

“Right. Of course. Marketable. That’s the word you’re going with?”

He said it like the word itself offended him. Like it was dirty in his mouth. Too small for what he knew you were worth.

You moved forward without thinking. Just enough to lean your shoulder against the hallway wall. Careful. Watchful. Your arms folded tightly across your chest, heart beating fast and slow at once. He hadn’t seen you yet.

And you weren’t sure he was aware of anything anymore beyond that call.

“I see,” he said softly.

That was the shift.

The sound of something sliding into place. Like a bolt locking. A fuse catching.

“So let me get this straight,” he continued. Slow. Measured. Precise in a way that made your skin prickle.

“Your board approved the shoot. Your casting team signed off. Your editor watched the proofs. Sat on them. And now, after all that, you want to scale her back to a feature because you already had your cover for the year.”

The quiet that followed wasn’t empty.

It was dense.

He didn’t yell.

He didn’t curse.

He didn’t raise his voice by an inch.

But every word landed like a coin dropped on concrete. Heavy. Sharp. Deliberate.

“You think this city’s gonna run out of covers?” he asked, the ghost of a laugh in his voice, but it wasn’t amusement. It was disbelief, slicked with venom. “Or is it just that you think she’s the kind of beauty you ration out, so you don’t have to explain yourselves twice?”

His free hand braced against the counter now, steadying himself.

“Was she too sharp? Too soft? Too dark?” he asked, the last word clipped so hard it cracked in the air.

You watched him as he stood there, completely still except for the way his shoulders were rising. Measured. Controlled.

But underneath that, underneath every inch of him, he was seething.

He wasn’t shouting.

But something inside him was.

And you knew it. Could feel it.

Remmick was holding onto composure with a thread, not because he didn’t want to break, but because he knew what would happen if he did. Because if he said what he really meant, what lived behind that voice, that mouth, those glowing eyes, he might set the whole building on fire.

And you hadn’t even heard the worst of it yet.

His voice didn’t rise at first.

It stayed low, clipped, deliberate. But the sharpness in it grew. Line by line. Word by word. Like something uncoiling inside him, slick with heat and venom.

“You listen to me,” he said, voice climbing with a force that prickled the air, “and listen real good, if you think for one goddamn second that this is a numbers game, a market play, a token, you’ve already lost the future.”

You flinched. Not because he was yelling at you. He wasn’t.

He was yelling for you.

“You want safe? Go print another profile on Gunilla Lindblad. You want forgettable? Put some washed-out French girl on the cover in a turtleneck. But if you want history, if you want impact, you don’t remove the only name worth remembering.”

He turned then. Saw you.

And his eyes didn’t soften. Not even a little.

“She’s the only thing your readers are gonna remember come fall,” he snapped, jaw set, nostrils flaring. “Not the blonde. Not the brunette. Not whatever recycled face you’re tryin’ to float next. Her.”

There was a sputter of protest from the line. You couldn’t hear what was said. Didn’t need to. You were watching Remmick’s knuckles flare white around the phone.

“No, I don’t care what the board says. I don’t care what the sponsor says. And I sure as hell don’t care what you think’ll sell. I know what sells. You’re lookin’ at the future and treating it like it’s a fuckin’ one-shot.”

His voice cracked with how tightly it hit the consonants. Near shouting now, not just raised. Commanding.

“You owe her the same shot you’d give any other girl in her place. And if the only reason you’re pulling her is because you already had your one,” he hissed the word like it was venom, “then you better grow a spine before I walk you into a lawsuit so loud it echoes into next year’s masthead.”

Silence on the other end.

Remmick didn’t wait.

“I want you at the brownstone tomorrow night. Seven o’clock. Alone.”

His next words were a knife dragged slow.

“We’ll talk in person.”

And then he hung up.

Didn’t slam the receiver. Just lowered it with a kind of deliberate grace, a calm that only made the burn beneath more terrifying. He stared at the cradle for a moment like he could crush it just by looking hard enough.

Then sat, slowly, at the dining table. Exhaled through his nose.

He didn’t look up at you right away.

Just stared at the wood grain beneath his fingers, the set of his jaw making it clear he was holding something in.

Then his hand rose.

Palm up.

You crossed the room without a word and slid your fingers into his.

He pulled you down gently, like you were breakable, into his lap. One arm curled low across your waist, the other resting across your thighs. His hands were steady, even though you could still feel the tension in the muscles of his forearms, coiled and waiting, like it hadn’t quite drained from him yet.

His cheek pressed to your shoulder, his breath warm against the side of your neck.

“You’re goin’ on that cover,” he said, low and final.

There was no fire behind it. No venom.

Just certainty.

Like he was telling you the weather. Like it was already written in the next day’s paper.

You turned slightly in his arms. His hands tightened to keep you balanced, to keep you close. “Remmick…”

“No,” he cut in, soft. “No more backpedalin’. No more maybe next times. We play their game, we lose. You hear me?”

You nodded. You didn’t trust your voice not to shake.

He looked up then. Met your gaze dead on. The light in the kitchen caught in his irises, a faint, simmering red just beneath the blue. Not bright. Not threatening. Just there. Alive.

“Which means,” he continued, more gently now, “you’re not gonna be here tomorrow night.”

That made you blink. “What?”

“I want you out the house. Just for a few hours. Somewhere comfortable. I’ll make sure your ride’s arranged. I don’t care if it’s the theatre or a restaurant. Hell, spend it with friends if you want.”

You didn’t have any of those yet.

He knew that.

Still, his tone didn’t waver.

“I just need the place. Need it quiet. I don’t want you hearin’ what might be said.”

His fingers grazed your wrist, his thumb brushing along your pulse. You leaned back, just slightly, the movement slow. Measured. Testing.

“What are you gonna say?”

His expression didn’t change. Not even a flicker. “Enough.”

That was all he gave you.

And somehow, it was enough.

He kissed your temple then. Just once.

The kiss wasn’t sweet.

It was solemn.

Like a promise.

Like a man setting something in motion.

And you, sitting in his lap with your arms around his shoulders and your pulse kicking hard against your ribs, believed him. Felt something shifting under your skin.

A current.

A warning.

You’d seen Remmick angry before. Seen the quiet tension in his jaw when someone spoke over you. The cold way he looked at men who looked too long. The clipped tone when a stylist suggested straightening your hair or brightening your skin.

But not like this.

Not cold. Not still.

This wasn’t bluster.

It was a verdict.

You pressed your forehead to his, and he closed his eyes like the touch settled something in him. His fingers slid slowly along the small of your back. He didn’t squeeze. Didn’t grip.

He just held.

Quiet and firm.

And somewhere, under all your nerves, you felt that same fire rise too.

Because he was right.

This was your cover.

And they didn’t get to decide otherwise.

Not anymore.

cont'd.

#click cont'd CLICK CONT'D #remmick #sinners movie #remmick sinners #sinners 2025 #remmick x you #remmick x reader #remmick smut #smut #jack o'connell #remmick x black!reader #remmick x black!fem!reader #black!fem!reader #black!reader #sinners #1k!!!!!

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wackapedia · 15 days ago

Text

Hospital Barbie 🧰

Dr. John Shen x F admin!reader Word count: 2.2k guess who didnt proofread yes me

When you were assigned to "oBsErVe OpErAtiOns" as part of a vaguely defined Strategic Initiatives role (read: nepotism), no one expects much, least of all, The Pitt's freshest attending, Dr. John Shen, who's too busy keeping patients alive and admins at bay.🥤

Night 1: The elevator takes its time taking you down the lower level floor. Gloria Underwood, the CMO and your direct supervisor, had asked you to observe the emergency department's night shift and take notes. "Don't interfere, don't distract anyone. Just observe, and take notes." Were Gloria's stern instructions. Notes on what? You forgot to ask her. Its too late now though. Admin has clocked out hours ago.

The elevator doors open and you are immediately greeted by the strong smell of saline and disinfectant. You try to stride confidently, staying out of the way as you straighten the "Strategic Initiatives Assistant" badge on your dark blazer, a contrast to your "I 💉 PTMC" shirt underneath. On one hand, you're clutching your notebook, a cold cup of matcha on the other. You approach the central hub to look for an attending.

"Oh my god, we're totally getting shut down." Doctor Parker Ellis notices you walking by. Next to her, Doctor John Shen looks up from the chart. "What?" "She's here! That's the owner's daughter!" Ellis subtly tilts her head to your direction as you introduce yourself to the charge nurse.

John was on the loop with Gloria nagging the day shift about the hospital's satisfaction scores. Robby keeps the groupchat updated as often as he can and Abbot would respond with a thumbs up as soon as he reads it. Looks like its his turn to deal with admin today.

"Actually, not today." John turns away and heads to south when he sees the charge nurse look around for him.

You are offered one of the comfier swivel chairs in the station as you take in the 10pm emergency department war zone of your family's hospital. You were in a good mood, feeling really fortunate to have something to do to help.

"My god, that nepo hire doesnt know what she's doing.." a nurse whispers to John. He chuckles, giving you a quick glance before turning away. "She's smiling like she's watching puppies in a shelter…" he adds, chucking his gloves in the trash.

"Hey. I'm not really sure what's going on, but… you're doing a really good job." You suddenly appear next to Doctor Shen, startling him. "Sorry, what?" He asks, looking confused. "You. All of you. It's kind of amazing. This place is nuts, and you're still here. That's cool." You smile, keeping your hands in your blazer pockets. John blinks. "Oh!" You apologize and introduce yourself. "I'm the Strategic Initiatives Assistant. Gloria sent me here to loiter and write reports about your vibes." You explain. That doesn't make anything clearer for John.

Later in the shift, you return to your perch at the hub. During a lull, a couple of doctors ask you about your suspicious presence. "What, are you gonna write us up for not labeling IV lines fast enough?" Someone asks. "Not at all! I think you guys are very efficient. Its amazing. Great job, thank you for your service." You say sincerely. The nurses side-eye each other.

A few hours past midnight, the entire ED is unsettled with your presence. "Is she still here?" "Maybe she's, like, undercover?" "Do you think she's HR?" "She told me I was doing great. Am I… in trouble?" John tries to calm everyone.

The shift finally wraps up. John did his best to ignore you, even with your odd comments like: "Ooh, nice intubation!" "That was a really smooth IV!" "Your handwriting's actually readable. Iconic." Oh boy. He has a lot to report to the PTMC attendings groupchat.

JACK: "Is that a one time thing or is she observing tonight as well" JACK: "Question"

John huffs. He doesnt want to talk to her but Abbot deserves a heads up since he's taking tonight's shift. So he approaches you.

"Hi, hey uh.. will I see you again tonight-?" John blinks, "That's not what I meant." "I can come back if you want me to!" You laugh, playing along. 'NO! No, I mean, well, my colleague was just checking if are you still observing tonight is all…" John suddenly feels jittery. Shouldn't have had that third cup. "Oh so you won't be here tonight. That's a shame. I guess I'll sit tonight out." You shrug. John pauses. And then asks: "were you flirting with me?" "Ha! You started it!" You laugh. "I- I didn't mean it like that-" He's deadpans, trying not to be flustered.

"Okay fine, I'm flirting because your shoulders are kind of unfair and I think your face is cute when you get annoyed." You answer. He wished you didn't because he might be going into a cardiac arrest right now and he's half-blaming the coffee.

You head back to the administrative floor to hand off the notes you've taken. A gleaming report that concluded in "possible error in data collection and computation of satisfaction ratings" because how can someone be unhappy if they leave the emergency department in one piece?! (Usually)

Emergency Department Night Shift Staff Report

Patient Interactions: Positive! ✨ Responsiveness: Amazing!🤩 Doctor Highlight: Dr. John Shen😍 - composed, efficient, nice hands Notes: • Everyone's doing their best! 👍 • I would trust these people with my life!! 🫰 • One nurse called me 'sweetie.'😘 Loved that. • Did not observe any disorganization.💪 • Maybe a dog mascot would help?🐶

Meanwhile, John also types up his Attendings groupchat report: "She was sitting there. Smiling and being all cute while drinking matcha like it’s a goddamn high school lunch break.”

ROBBY: “And that upset you?” JOHN: “It’s weird. It's unprofessional. It’s distracting. Like, why is she even there?” ROBBY: “Maybe she likes the show. We’re sexy when we’re stressed.” JACK: 👍 ROBBY: “You like her. She's pretty, she's your type." JOHN: ????? ROBBY: “You’ve been talking about her here for the entire duration of your shift. Last week you only said five words to me total. And three of them were ‘need more gauze.’” JOHN: "Would you just get your ass here so I can go home?" ROBBY: "Already rounding the corner, brother😂"

Night 4: You have long abandoned taking notes after your first observation. Gloria didnt have any input on the notes you submitted, probably because she didn't read it in the first place. Of course, no one wants to hear the nepo baby's opinion. You haven't submitted anything since and no one seems to notice. You decide to just enjoy the view, observe the night shift, and watch John Shen.

The doctor in question walks by, and you perk up like a sunflower tracking the sun. John is fast, precise, cool as a cucumber and undeniably good at what he does.

"She's been doodling hearts around your name today…" Doctor Parker walks with him. John sighs and tries to ignore her, until he sees you walking up to him. "Hi, Dr. John!" You smile, like sunshine warming him all over. "oh, hey hospital Barbie…" He tries to keep his neutral expression, making sure his deadpan voice isn't giving away any giddy feelings. You gasp. Oh no, he's ruined it. He's ruined his job and his shot. "Hospital Barbie?! So you think I'm pretty?" You grin, stepping closer. He tries not to panic, pulling a bay curtain between the two of you so John can pretend to look into a patient.

You huff and walk back to the hub, watching the charge nurse pick up the phone. Her expression changes before announcing "guys, MVA inbound, 18 passengers, four confirmed critical."

Yikes. You get up and watch the department buzz to life. Gurneys pulled out, trauma bays restocked, comms explode. "Is there anything I can do to help?" You ask. A nurse glances at you. "Stay out of the way, sweetie." You gulp, feeling like you need to apologize for existing. John sees your reaction and makes his way over to you while putting on fresh gloves. "Hey, you good? There's a social worker on shift. She'll be in the waiting room. Families of the patients are going to start pouring in. You'd be good there." He instructs, firm but calm. You nod, feeling a little lost in his eyes. He quickly makes his way by the entrance as the first of the ambulances roll in.

You split your time between the waiting room and the main floor of the ER. Nurses run here and there, stressed and exhausted, juggling current patients with the MVA patients, making do with the lack of staffing and upstairs beds. It takes hours before it finally calms down. Handing a tissue to one of the families of the victims, you decide to head back to see how things are going.

John's name is already on your lips before you realize you're whispering it. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, but all you hear is the monitors beeping, tools clanking, nurses exchanging jargon. Then you see him: John Shen inside trauma bay 1, sweat lining his brows as he gives chest compressions to the teen laying motionless on the bed. Blood, sweat, and then silence. A nurse helps the attending down the gurney as he calls the time of death.

A gasp escapes your lips. Even when you're outside the bay, John seems to have heard you. He turns, pulls his gloves and gown off and squeezes some disinfectant before approaching you.

"Hey, you alright? Lets get you some air…" he ushers you out after noticing how you went pale.

It was quiet at the parking lot. John leans on one of the cars parked nearby and sighs. "You weren't supposed to see that." He says, suddenly feeling protective of you. "Why not?" You raise an eyebrow, watching him groan as he sits on the curb after being on his feet for hours. He shrugs. "This hospital has my last name on every wall. And I didn't even know what that meant until tonight. That kid… that kid died-" Your voice cracks. You try again. "There weren't enough nurses. There weren't enough beds. If the board had listened, if we actually fixed things instead of-" John takes your cold hand and gently pulls you to sit next to him. He doesn't say anything, and it makes you feel worse.

"I'm sorry. He was your patient. You lost him. And I'm here spiraling like it happened to me." John gives you a tired smile. "It did happen to you. Just differently." "I'm really sorry. How are you holding up?" You find yourself wanting to run your hands through his soft hair. So you do. John almost moans at the sensation. A few quiet beats almost lulls him to sleep as you continue massaging his scalp. "How do you even come back after this?" You whisper. "Sometimes… we win. We save someone who was never supposed to walk out. And it makes nights like this hurt a little less." He sighs, eyes closed. You take in his beautiful features in the low light. His eyelashes over tired eyes, his skin, his whole being. You spend a minute more in the quiet, just breathing, being next to each other, and being each other's support.

Back inside the emergency department, John slips right back to finish the last leg of his shift. Writing notes. Checking in with the residents. Staying naturally sharp and calm. But now he glances at you more often. He chuckles as he sees you nodding off at the hub, your messy bun lopsided, notebook long forgotten.

You are woken up by the man of your dreams about an hour later. John says your name as he gently shakes you awake. "Hey, come on. Let's get you home."

"You done?" You groan, your sore neck complaining as you sit up. "We both are. Come on, I'll drive you home."

You doesn't say a word. Just follow him to the car, and when he opens the door, you sink into the seat like it's where you're meant to be. You take in the smell of his car, his perfume, his coffee, and something rich and fragrant your brain can't name right now.

"Horizons Tower…" you murmur when he buckles up on the driver's seat. John glances over, brows lifting before he schools his expression into something neutral, polite, and professional. 'Of course she lives there.' He chuckles to himself.

You vaguely remember arriving. Maybe you offered him the pull-out couch. Maybe he was too tired to argue. Maybe you handed him a towel after he asked if he could shower first. Maybe he smiled and rolled his eyes at those cow-print pajamas you meant as a joke before disappearing into the shower.

It’s all a blur.

Hours later, you blink awake. Light is blocked out by your thick curtains. John is next to you, peacefully asleep, one arm tossed across your waist, absolutely hogging the blanket.

You don't move.

"I could get used to this." John mumbles. “Me too.”

You both fall quiet again, wrapped in the hush of the afternoon, the kind of silence that feels earned. Sunlight leaks through the gaps of your blackout curtains in lazy streaks, catching the rise and fall of his chest, warming the space between.

Your eyes flutter closed again. You think about snuggling closer. Maybe saying something stupid. Maybe meaning it. Maybe he feels that way too, after tonight. Your hand begins to drag closer to his when you hear a sudden knock on your door.

Your heart skips. Your eyes snap open.

Your phone had been buzzing on the coffee table. Three missed calls. From your dad.

You slowly glance at the door like it might bite and mutter under your breath: “…Please don’t be him.”

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

I loooove John Shen he's my gummybear

I might come up with a part 2 of this where he meets the dad uwu

#john shen x reader #dr. john shen x reader #john shen #Dr. John Shen #the pitt x reader #the pitt #the pitt hbo

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strawburry01 · 10 months ago

Text

Her Majesty

Ford Pines x Reader

Summary: A bunch of lil blurbs about your time with Stanford. All fluffy sweet stuff to make up for whatever comes next.

A/N: thanks for all the love guys! I hope you all appreciate these little snippets to make up for me missing sometimes :)

The next time you and Ford walked into Greasy’s Diner, you were holding hands. Everyone was nudging each other’s shoulders to look. They’d been waiting on this moment for a while, silently betting and gossiping on what your relationship was. The sweet waitress Susan paid for your brunch after insisting making the pancakes in the shape of a heart which caused Ford’s face to redden.

Your VCR tape library continued to grow as did Ford’s notebook collection. He kept saying he would build another real house for you both eventually that could fit everything you both needed.

You wrote back to your sister about how you were finally dating a guy and she responded back with endless phone calls until you eventually answered. She didn’t believe you until you put Ford on the phone to prove he existed.

On your first-year of dating anniversary Ford got you a new camcorder. The newest the town’s Radio Shack had at least. You got him a new Casio watch. One with the little calculator on it.

Many nights were spent with you having fallen asleep on top of Ford as he was reading a book. He didn’t dare move you.

You brought home a cat one day you found in the forest. “We need a pet” you insisted. Ford quickly informed you that it was a baby cougar.

Ford eventually told his brother Stan that you two were dating. He never told you how Stan responded, but he didn’t know you overheard him on the phone saying, “I can’t believe she’s with someone like me,”.

You and Ford always had strained relationships with your parents so you never felt a strong urge to introduce each other to them. When your grandma passed away though he flew back to the east coast with you to attend the funeral. He teased you about the science fair and soccer trophies in your childhood room when you two spent the night there.

On your third year anniversary you two went into the larger Oregon city of Portland for the night and went to an expensive dinner. Afterwards you two went to a midnight showing of 2001: A Space Odyssey.

You both mentally kept track of the overall wins and losses of your daily chess games.

He preferred coffee, you preferred tea.

Whenever Ford would put on one of his nature or paranormal documentaries you’d always wrap yourself around his arm and fall asleep immediately. The European narrators just lulled you straight to sleep.

Ford nearly tore your ear off when your earrings got stuck to his magnet-ray. He apologized profusely and bought you new earrings to make up for ruining yours.

You insisted on going out to the town fair and got him dancing with you when the band starting playing on the last night. You were both buzzed off of beer and cider and couldn’t stop laughing and bouncing into each other.

Everyone in town knew you as the two scientists outside of town, and everyone knew how much you two loved each other.

You both said ‘I love you’ for the first time when star gazing

Hope you enjoyed! Think of this as part 2.5 I guess? Whatever is next is gonna hurt the feelings I’m sorry but I can’t help it heeheehhehehe.

Update: here it is

#gravity falls x reader #gravity falls fanfic #gravity falls #ford pines x reader #ford pines #ford x reader #stanford pines x reader #stanford pines #gravity falls stanford #x reader

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aklaustaleteller · 11 months ago

Note

Hi sweetie! Hope you're doing well. Could you write a Klaus Mikaelson x reader (the reader is Hope's bio mom, so the whole Dahlia betrayal didn't happen and no one was turned into a wolf) where it's set in season 3, the reader and Klaus are married and happy until Aurora comes along, and with her jealousy she makes y/n believe she and Klaus slept together (they didn't) so they have a big fight where Klaus didn't deny he slept with her (cause he was hurt she didn't trust him and stuff) causing them to split out. They only saw each other because of Hope, and they were verbally hostile towards each other (not much, just petty arguments) and after a while he kills Aurora bcs she threatened yn (or something similar) and they go back together and it's all fluff.

Have a great day!

Said Yes To Heaven

Y/n and Klaus are in love, happy and overwhelmed, especially since having welcomed their newborn baby only weeks ago. But what happens when an unwanted guest appears on their doorstep out of the blue, and suddenly Y/n isn't sure if she's just going crazy or there truly has been some infidelity?

Warnings - Mentions of pregnancy, blood, thoughts + scenes of trying to unalive someone else, and some light after-birth changes/affects our reader is going through.

Word Count - 4.6k

Masterlist | please reblog the fic if you like it!

So, long time no see, everyone? Hahah, it's surreal to me how you have stuck around, but I'm very glad at the same time :) Thank you for sending in this request, anon, and I'm sorry for taking so long! This is part 1/2 and this mainly has fluff, as I wanted to show you the happiness and all about this family before I tore it down in the next part (just so it'd hurt a little better, yanno?) Anyways, I'm a little rusty but I hope you'll enjoy this one even a little and I'll let you go now! Have fun reading <3

UPDATE: You can now read part two here!

Klaus took a few steps back from his doorstep, looking rather unpleasant to see his guest for the day. Because of course, out of the very blue, his ex-lover had been reminded of him. On the very day he had woken up to a crying baby and a cranky wife who was high on hormones after just having given birth.

Some days, he just couldn't get it right. But today was going to be the hardest of it all and he was not ready to face the music.

"Aurora," Y/n spoke from somewhere behind Klaus, her voice carrying a threatening echo. "To what do we owe the pleasure?" She was approaching the door slowly, her eyes and tone an exact contrast to the welcoming words falling out of her mouth like sweet honey.

Klaus' shoulders relaxed when Y/n brushed against him while she moved past to stand in front of him, making him lean against the doorframe.

"It's a lovely day, isn't it?" Aurora spoke, her voice like a little girl’s – sweet and gentle. But Klaus saw straight through it as well as the tick in his wife's jaw. "Heard that you gave birth to a baby g --"

Before Aurora could've finished, Y/n had her pinned to the doorframe opposite to the one Klaus was leaning against.

"Don't you even dare speak of my family," Y/n snarled, her fingers digging into the woman's throat as everything in her told her to rip it out. But before she could've, Klaus' lulling voice began slipping into her ears.

"Now, love," He said softly, grabbing a hold of her shoulders and bringing her back into him, knowing fully well that this wasn't something she truly wanted to do. Then, tucking her lone hair strand back into her braid, he cupped her cheeks – "Why taint the porch with her blood, hm?"

"Because I'd rather see her dead than listen to that filth for another second," she smiled sweetly, her anger evident in the grit of her teeth.

And she'd just begun turning to take a look at an embarrassingly flushed Aurora, when a cry tore through the silent household. For a small second, both Klaus and Y/n shut their eyes, taking a deep breath simultaneously before Y/n was walking back into the house.

"Take a nap with her, why don't you?" Klaus proposed, his back facing the unwanted guest. "I'll take care of this and join you two in a bit," he nodded, passing the exhausted mother of his little girl a sweet smile, encouraging her.

Then he turned back around, almost shutting the door behind him to keep whatever noise was to come at bay.

"What do you think you're doing here, Aurora?"

"I just wanted to see you, Niklaus," she muttered softly, taking a step closer to him. "I miss you," she confessed, reaching to place her hands on his chest.

He backed away just in time, releasing a sharp breath. "I didn't suspect you to be so idiotic and careless with your life," he said sharply.

"Only for you, Klaus." She was looking up at him with a million emotions swirling in her eyes. But Klaus knew better than to not notice malice being one of them.

"Whatever you're planning to do, drop it," he gritted through his teeth. "And stay far, far away, from my family," he warned her as he walked her off their porch and out of their house’ perimeter, tempting the woman in front of him to backtrack.

"Don't test me against this Aurora,” he started, his hands placed behind his back but his frame remained all the more intimidating.

“I will kill you if you even bat an eye in the direction of this house," he was almost beginning to shake now, trying his best to keep his anger at bay and not cause any destruction out here while his little family rested inside the house not too far away.

Leaving her standing, Klaus turned to get back in the house when Aurora called out his name.

"You love me, though! You know you love me," she shouted at him, and Klaus' eyes glowed golden, knowing exactly what she was trying to do here.

And the moment she saw his eyes, she stumbled a little.

"I know you love me, do you not?" She managed to croak out just before Klaus had his hand wrapped around her throat, enhancing the bruising his wife had marked earlier.

"This is your final warning," he growled in her ear before slamming her against the wall behind her, walking away and trying to lose his temper at the same time as he entered the house and shut the door behind him, wincing when a baby's wails followed the noise.

—

As the next morning rolled around, so did the first official day of Summer.

With Hope's little frame already covered in fresh grass, Y/n couldn't foresee the day getting any better. A loud laugh escaped her when Klaus pretended for it to have been hard work getting a hold of the very frantic Hope, who was as happy to see the sun as Y/n was.

"Look who's gotten herself all dirty," Y/n pouted, dusting off as much dirt as she could off of Hope's onesie, while Klaus softly wiped her face.

"Just learned to crawl and of course she's abusing the skill," Klaus murmured, only making his wife laugh again.

Y/n kept Hope caged in her lap with one arm, leaning back on the other one to soak in the sun. She exhaled a deep breath, before turning to look at Klaus, who was already smiling at her.

"You've been such a good father, have I told you that?"

He laughed at that, looking down to hide the blush creeping up his neck, and nodding with his eyes still set on the little ducklings printed on the blanket they were sitting on.

"You have," he began softly. "Many times, actually," huffing out a laugh, he looked up again, now catching Hope's big wondrous eyes as well.

"Good."

With a light groan, Klaus moved to lay beside her. "Hope couldn't have a better mum, though."

"Wouldn't want her to have another mum anyways," she laughed, leaning in just a bit to press a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth that was curled in a grin.

And as the beautiful day passed them by, with Hope's full cheeks turned red due to the amount of fun she'd had, and Y/n's heart swollen with all the love she couldn't muster up properly at all, no matter how hard she tried – and Klaus knew that he could give it his all and still be unable to put this keen feeling rushing under his skin upon a canvas.

They'd truly said yes to heaven, when they'd said yes to each other on that one day in particular.

So, once they had shuffled back inside their house due to the chilliness increasing, Klaus made his way straight to the kitchen to heat up the leftovers while Y/n changed Hope’s clothes upstairs, in their bedroom. It didn't take long for the tired little girl to slip into sleep's arms and for her head to lull to the side, while Y/n was rocking her back and forth. So she stacked pillows around Hope’s body and went back down to Klaus, reaching just in time when a there was a knock on the door.

Now, with whatever Y/n had been expecting to come across, Aurora Martel at her door once again, was not it.

As she stood still on her ground, looking into the very woman's eyes who was not even supposed to be here anymore, her eyes began to fade to black only for the golden rim of a Hybrid to come through -- to caution the vampire standing in front of her before she attacked.

Because while Y/n hadn’t mentioned it to Klaus, she had heard her fake little love confession to Klaus yesterday and thought about the multiple ways she could unalive Aurora.

But she decided against putting in such effort and put her body through another wave of pain for the day. She was going to go about his normally, after all, she was the mother of the very man's child that this woman had clearly come after. And his wife, as well.

"Aurora De Martel, the hopeless-romantic human, who only grew more daring once turned into a vampire, at my doorstep all over again," Y/n began, walking to complete a circle around the woman.

"Not an ounce of stupidity was shred in the process-- you know, of your turning; I suppose, since you're clearly still in possession of it," Y/n continued.

Once she was in front of Aurora again, she took a step closer, the gaze of a predator still present in her eyes.

"Cat got your tongue darling?" She spoke, tilting her head to the side. "Where's that feisty little Vampire that I remember, hm?"

"I'm not that person anymore," Aurora began, struggling once Y/n had her in a choke hold again.

"No need to be a stinking liar, Aurora." Y/n gritted, dropping the choking one on the ground. "I can smell your intentions from miles away."

Y/n didn't tend to be such a threatening and volatile person, that was the reason that she'd fit so well with Klaus. And yet, she wasn't quite sure as to why she'd brought up this side of hers. She knew she wasn’t afraid or insecure that Aurora might get to Klaus; not at all.

But what she did know was that Klaus’ lovers popping back up only made her heart thud because of the potential danger they put Hope in.

She scoffed when Aurora scrambled to her feet, hands around her neck as she swallowed thickly.

“How are you, Y/n?” She croaked out, looking ahead of her despite the fact that Y/n was right by her side, now making another round around her.

“Hm, concerned, I’d say,” Y/n hummed. “For you, of course.”

Maybe the pregnancy had changed more about her than she’d originally thought. Or maybe, and hopefully, Y/n thought, it was just the hormones.

“How’s Klaus?” Aurora asked, mustering up the courage to turn and look Y/n in the eyes. “I supposed he’d be here,” she shrugged, "with you." The venom in her voice could be well detected, especially when she mentioned Y/n. And while her guards were high up, prepared for the hybrid to rip her to shreds -- she still held the fake confidence that that won't happen.

“Why don’t you ask him yourself? I’m sure he’d love to have a chat,” Y/n smiled at her before she walked into the house, towards the room she knew Klaus was putting away Hope’s stray toys in – but not before passing Aurora a cautioning glare, warning her against doing something stupid in her absence.

“Klaus?” She asked softly, entering the dark room, her eyes already following his figure as he put away the box of toys.

“We have a guest, I hear?” Klaus asked, walking up to her with a lazy smile. One of his arms snuck around her waist to pull her into him to press a kiss on her mouth.

“No actually – we have a doting lover on our door,” Y/n chuckled. “She’s eager to see you again,” she shrugged, quickly going back to press a kiss on Hope’s forehead before grabbing a very confused Klaus’ hand, leading him outside.

“Aurora,” he realised in annoyance, a deep frown in between his brows as he caught her sight from the top of the stairs. His mind was racing through a million things, the loudest question in there was, what in the hell was she doing here again? Didn't he warn her just yesterday?

“Isn’t it a pleasant surprise?” Y/n smiled brightly, coming to a halt herself. “I’ll leave you two to it,” she said, ignoring Klaus’ pleading look with an inner laugh as she turned away, most likely to arrange the dishes for their awaiting and heated dinner.

"Just make sure she doesn't ever dare to lose her way and end up here, again," she said, looking straight into Aurora's eyes before crossing over to the kitchen.

And from the corner of her eye, she saw Klaus shut the door behind him. So, trusting him against making a mess, she quickly cleaned up the kitchen before she was making her way upstairs to Hope’s room, to now feed her some formula and put her to sleep for the night.

"Are you in there, little wolf?" Y/n spoke from just outside the door, a silly grin on her face as she waited for the same reply she got everyday.

A random babbling noise that showed that Hope was indeed hungry.

Despite Hope's loud squeak and the sounds of her rolling around in her crib, Y/n walked into the room with the same look on her face – the pretended to have caught her daughter, awake, red handed.

"Hope! You don't wake up once I put you to sleep!" She gasped, swallowing a laugh and reaching with one hand to pick up the little girl, bringing her to sit on her lap while she backed to sit on the rocking chair.

With loud giggles, Hope hit her chest a couple times, grinning up at her while drool began pooling on the boundary of her mouth.

"Uh ah!" Y/n laughed, closing the baby's mouth and watching as she squealed again, this time her palm landing flat on Y/n’s cheek.

Risking a mess by placing the small bowl on her thigh, Y/n held Hope up with her back against her chest and lifted a spoonful.

"Yes!" She cheered when Hope took in the bite without closing her mouth halfway and spilling the rest down her chin.

Slowly and steadily, she let the girl swallow her meal before making her burp.

"Did I get you sleepy, little wolf?" Y/n giggled watching Hope's eyes droop.

"You're so sleepy all the time!" She pouted. "Never got the time on your hands to play with your mummy," chuckling and shaking her head, she got off the chair and walked over to the crib placed near Klaus’ side of the bed upon his insistence, putting the already asleep girl inside.

Lowering with her, Y/n pressed a chaste kiss on her full cheeks that now hung low. Silently, she walked over and peeked out of the door to see if the matter down the stairs had been sorted out.

But she didn't catch sight of either Klaus or Aurora. So, with a sharp frown between her brows and an anxious tick among her fingers, she hurried down the stairs -- only to confirm her first realisation, it seemed.

Knowing that Klaus couldn't have been hurt in any way, she headed back into the master bedroom to get herself into a nice bath and take some time off to relax.

She lit the candle that Freya had gifted her some time ago, and stepped into the bathtub full of soap foams. Her head lulled back and her eyes shut off, and she began to think of all the time she had been spending building this new little family recently.

It still felt so surreal, that Hope was finally here. It was all so new and overwhelming, but Y/n knew that neither her nor Klaus would trade this period of their life for anything. It was almost as if everything had fallen into pieces to fit a puzzle the moment they had welcomed their little daughter into this world.

There was no other source of light in the bathroom apart from the flickering candle, Y/n didn't feel like turning on the bright white light. And, as she began to tune into Hope’s breathing, she felt her heart begin to beat in sync with hers. It would’ve only been silence to human ears, but Y/n could hear the little puffs and the little movements of her mouth that she made in her sleep.

She could picture Hope’s head lulled to the side, her mouth slightly ajar and her small frame rising and lowering with each breath that she took. Then, Klaus faded into the photo and she could see Hope’s drool slipping onto his arm and drying up there, because of course Klaus had fallen asleep with her on the rocking chair.

And finally, she entered the picture herself and took the two of them into the master bedroom, laying Hope between the two of them and pressing kisses on both of their foreheads. After turning off the lights, she was looking at the two pieces of her heart sleeping peacefully, because she felt like she couldn’t miss this sight, because she probably won’t feel the time pass before Hope had to be put to sleep in a crib in her own room.

Just the idea of that brought tears to her eyes. Everything made her cry these days, and she does realise that it’s because of the hormones. But she doesn’t know how to explain the exhaustion of it all. The untrue and mean thoughts she got throughout the day, whether it was regarding her body or her new journey of being a mother and feeling scared that she’d go wrong somewhere and be hated by her own family for the rest of her life.

Just the energy it took to shut all those thoughts down and to reassure herself, remind herself of what was true and what wasn’t – took so much out of her that when Klaus held her in his arms at the end of the day, she just wanted to let go and fall into pieces, so that he’d bunch her up and tell her or show her stupid brain that Y/n was indeed right and that the thoughts were just her mind playing games.

Taking in a deep breath, Y/n rose and washed the soap off of her. She could think about this all day and all night, and she could drown in her sorrows for way too long than healthy. But right now, she needed to go and eat dinner if she wanted to sleep on time.

Which reminded her – she hadn’t heard Klaus come home. Had she missed it, or had he genuinely not come home yet? She began to focus on her hearing, and only came across Hope’s breaths, nothing else.

Maybe something had occupied him, she thought, wrapping a towel around her and exiting the bathroom.

—

Klaus was walking in their backyard with Hope in his arms, asleep, as always. He couldn’t balme her though – she was a newborn, after all, and had a lot to register in her brain in the couple hours that she was awake during the day.

She had been a calm baby so far. The midnight tantrums weren’t as frequent as others had warned him and Y/n about, maybe because they had way more stamina than an average human.

Y/n, right when she had woken up, had been dragged out by Rebekah and Freya. Trust me, Y/n, I’ve been through what you’re going through and it’s been two weeks since you’ve left the house with us! He had heard Rebekah say to Y/n in the kitchen, and he had agreed a hundred percent.

They had gone out for brunch, and maybe it was because they had a lot to catch up on, that Y/n hadn’t yet come home and it was nearing lunch time.

And Y/n, as much as she was enjoying her time out in as much sun as New Orleans got on an average, she was dying to go home. She was missing Hope and Klaus and before she could’ve said anything, Rebekah had herself proposed that they should have some dessert already because Klaus and Hope are probably seeing your sight on the doorstep, she’d laughed.

“I think I’m gonna walk home, the weather’s really nice,” Y/n said when Rebekah began to try and convince her for a lift in her car.

“Oh, okay!” Rebekah laughed. “You have come out after a long time, so sure!”

Y/n just passed the woman a narrow-eyed glare as she was hugging Freya.

“Juut text us when you reach home,” Freys said, walking off towards her car.

Y/n nodded, bidding goodbye and watching the two drive off before she dropped her smile and sighed. God, her cheeks hurt from how much she’d been smiling and laughing.

She had only walked a couple paces away from their eating spot when she heard footsteps. It was a busy time, a nice day, so many people were out and about. The city was kind of bustling. But still, Y/n turned to look and immediately, she groaned, coming to a pause.

“Seriously, Aurora?” She almost whined. “You take annoying someone to a whole another scale,” she said with a face that was genuinely twisted into annoyance and irritation.

“C’mon Y/n,” Aurora said with a newfound confidence, drawing Y/n’s attention right away. “Can’t you have a chat with me, too? Just us girls?” She grinned, and then rolled her eyes when she saw that flash of Hybrid golden in Y/n’s eyes.

“I’m not here to fight,” she said. “I’m here to make friends with you,” shrugging, she dared to take a step closer, testing the waters.

“Don’t be so over confident, Aurora,” Y/n gritted, having pinned the woman on a wall. “It almost got you killed, right this moment,” she said, giving her a final flash of her eyes before getting up and walking away. She was not in the mood to kill today, especially not after the amazing brunch she’d had not too long ago.

But of course, Aurora was too dumb to get that, Y/n noted as she heard feet jogging to catch up to her pace.

“Just talk to me this once, and I swear I’ll never show you my face ever again,” Aurora rushed to speak, desperate to get Y/n to stop.

They were still a little far from her home, Y/n realised. She could very conveniently kill her right now, and not get blood anywhere near her family home.

“What?” She asked instead, coming to a stop.

“I get why you married Klaus now,” Aurora spoke, a smile creeping up on her mouth. Y/n didn’t want to admit that there was a blush as well. It was probably sunburn, she told herself.

With a slight roll of her eyes, Y/n forced herself to focus. “What do you mean, Aurora?” She asked her, ready to snap her neck if she tried to beat around the bush once more.

“I mean, you two got together, had a baby so early on in your marriage. I now realise that it’s because he is so good in bed, you had to lock him down somehow, didn’t you?” She laughed, not noticing the gold swarming Y/n’s eyes as she smiled at the ground, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

“I would too. Guess I got a bit late, huh?” She continued with a joke, and then stopped.

Y/n didn’t even talk to her girlfriends like this. How dare this dumb little piece of work, dare to speak of her and Klaus in such a manner? So, she sped through her movements and sunk her fingers in Aurora’s throat, cleansing her insides.

“I rushed. Think I would’ve liked ripping out your dirty fucking tongue instead,” Y/n hissed, her mouth right next to Aurora’s ear and she was so close she could hear the loud thudding of her heart. It made her feel good, and she almost didn’t want to kill her becuase that noise was music to her ears right now.

Aurora couldn’t say anything, the only noise she could muster up was the sound of choking, because she was. And she was pretty sure her blood was rushing to places inside her where it shouldn’t be.

But then, something came over Y/n and she slipped her hand out of Aurora’s throat, leaving it intact as she wiped the blood on the very woman’s clothing. “Sleep good. Maybe some rest will knock some sense into you. After all, all this stalking and annoying someone must be exhausting,” Y/n spoke with an understanding shake in her head.

And then, before Aurora could even realise much, Y/n had her hand placed near her throat and with that, she snapped her neck, quickly rushing to put her back in her house. She wasn’t cruel or angry enough to leave her asleep in the middle of nowhere.

But she was riled up enough that she needed to rush home and ask Klaus some questions before her mind could get the better of her.

She knew that this was the time Hope was usually asleep, and she was praying to the gods above that today wouldn’t be any different. And she opened the door to the house, quickly sensing that Hope was, indeed, asleep but she could hear that Klaus wasn’t.

The shower was running.

Removing her shoes, she walked to the kitchen and washed her hands in the sink. Then, tiredly, walked over and sat on the sofa in the living room, knowing that Hope was in the master bedroom and they couldn’t talk, potentially argue, there.

A lot was taken out of her today, and she needed Klaus to reassure her so that she wouldn’t have a breakdown somewhere in the house because it felt like she was going crazy. She knew that he hadn’t done it, knew that he couldn’t have done it.

But just for the sake of her brain, she needed him to say it. Needed the words to come out of his mouth so that she would know for sure. For she trusted him more than she trusted herself.

Because right now, her brain was telling her that she had heard Aurora’s love confession that day, but she hadn’t heard Klaus’ reply. Or that Klaus mostly shut the door when she left him with Aurora or how that one night he had come home late after she had left the two of them alone for Klaus to sort out the matters, and he’d told her not to worry about it – that it was nothing and he had taken care of it.

She knew that it truly was nothing. But once, just once, she wanted him to tell her that.

Waiting and waiting for the shower to turn off, Y/n slipped into a slumber. So when she felt someone close to her, she caught Kalus leaning in to pick her up, probably to carry her to their bedroom.

“Ah, you’re awake,” he smiled, his gaze so soft and his dimples evident as he instead pressed a kiss to her forehead and stood up straight. “The girls tired you out, hm?” He asked her, raising her head and placing it on his lap once he had sat himself.

Y/n only mumbled something, before turning to hide her face in his hip area. She couldn’t bring herself to talk to him about this when he was caressing her hair so gingerly, but she knew she had to.

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” she said then, looked up at him.

“What is it, love?”

God, this was going to be hard. She sat up and fixed her bed head with her fingers before she looked at him again, this time with a wavering sigh.

“Did you sleep with Aurora?”

Klaus’ eyes hardened then – the exact response Y/n hadn’t been longing to receive.

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revelboo · 4 months ago

Note

Every time I listen to ( puppy love by Paul anka) it reminds me of Waspinator and b-127 they are clingy puppies o⁠(⁠(⁠*⁠^⁠▽⁠^⁠*⁠)⁠)⁠o

Please update if you have free time any of them would be nice I'm checking your page every day 😉✨

Sure!

The Coma Kid Pt 9

B 127 x Reader

• “Are you sleeping?” Not anymore. Squinting as he leans over you, those blue optics are bright and far too close when he stares down at you. He’d been humming to himself, mercifully distracted from smothering you with love and attention. And you were supposed to be planning your escape, not napping, but the lull in the nonstop jabbering had let you relax enough to fall asleep apparently. Groaning, you drape an arm over your eyes and make an even louder noise when he slides his servos under you and picks you up. “Here we go,” he murmurs, lying back on his berth with you cupped against his chassis and then mass shifting so you end up sprawled on top of him, heart racing. Hating when he does that, because it feels like you’re falling. “Nice and warm. Just us.”

• Draping an arm against your back, the servos of his other hand play with your hair. Fascinated with how soft and warm you are. His. Still can’t believe you’re his. That’s he’d found his spark mate. His destined other half. And sure, you’re a bit standoffish. But you’re just shy. You’ll come around. You have to come around. Please come around, because he doesn’t want to be alone anymore. “Can’t breathe,” you hiss at him, squirming and he eases up his grip.

• “Oh, no. No, I’m so sorry. You okay?” He asks. Wheezing when he finally stops trying to crush your ribs, you scowl up at him. “I didn’t mean to,” he says, servos gently brushing your cheek and jaw, tipping your chin up. Worrying over you. “Did I hurt you?” Why does he have to be so sweet and so mind numbingly frustrating at the same time? “I hurt you, didn’t I?” Can giant, alien robots cry, because he looks like he just might.

• “No, you didn’t,” you say, reaching to pat his arm. “Look, we need to talk.” Venting at your tone, he tucks his chin against his chassis, servos sliding down your spine as he watches you. And you’re so unbelievably perfect. Servos brushing your bottom lip, he rumbles at you. Would rather kiss you. Roll you under him and make love all night long. Because he knows that tone. Tired and resigned. Elita uses it with him all the time before telling him to stop annoying her.

• “You know, we should invite Optimus over for a meal,” he says, changing the subject and your eyes narrow. “You’re going to love him. He’s just great.” Yeah, he’s just steamrolling you. Like it’s going to get him out of talking to you. Explaining patiently to him all the reasons this can’t work between you. Why you’re not his soul mate or whatever. Because you need to soften the blow for when you eventually get away. Know it’s stupid to feel guilty about escaping your lovesick kidnapper, but you kind of do. “If it wasn’t for him, I’d still be alone down in sublevel fifty.” Sublevel fifty?

Reminding myself that I can sorta draw

#transformers x reader #b 127 x reader #b 127

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naughtyneganjdm · 4 months ago

Text

Christmas in Jackson - Chapter 9

Summary: After their date, Joel and Y/N talk about their relationship and the possible obstacles that they will have to face together. They finally put a label on things before getting naughty together.

Characters: Joel Miller, the reader (OC), Tommy, etc.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61159651/chapters/161912770

Warnings: 18+, Fluff, Swearing, Smut, Unprotected P in V, Rough Sex, Dominant Joel, Sub Reader, Spanking, Bound Wrists, Daddy Kink, Sir Kink, Overstimulation, Dirty Talking Joel, Romantic Joel, Food Play, etc.

Notes: There is some fluff in this chapter, but this is a very dirty, smutty chapter. I think that should be known. Sorry it has taken a while for me to update this. It's just about me taking time to actually edit what I already have written. I promise to update this as soon as I can. If you'd like to read previous chapters, check them out here.

Life made it hard for Joel to be able to care for others. Caring about someone meant there was a possibility that he could lose that person and that scared the hell out of him. So he learned to be cold. To turn certain feelings and emotions off. And for a while? It worked. The tender caress of another was not something that he thought he yearned for anymore. Now that he had it? He realized how much he had been missing and he couldn’t get enough of it.

Waking up this morning, he was so comfortable that he didn’t want to open his eyes just yet. Last night after they had gone on their date with taking a sleigh ride through town, Joel had brought Y/N back to his home. They were both so tired that they just crawled into his bed where he cuddled up beside her, resting his head on her inner hip. For a while they talked, but it was hard to fight the feeling of wanting to fall asleep with her stroking her fingers affectionately through his hair. What she was capable of doing was relaxing him to a point that he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

When he finally woke up, he felt the same tender caress at the back of his neck. The touch alone lulled him back into cuddling closer to her. By the way she touched him, he knew that she cared for him. And he loved the way it felt to have her fingers caressing at the back of his neck while playing with the small curls of hair that were there. Everything in that moment felt natural. Like they had been doing this for a lifetime. Things came with such an ease that this felt more like a long-term relationship, not something he shared with someone he only just met almost a week ago.

How much he loved this surprised him. The comfort she was able to bring him was something he didn’t know he was capable of. Truthfully? He couldn’t remember feeling this safe and relaxed with anyone in his life. Having her gentle touch? He never wanted it to end.

It wasn’t until he felt extensive movement when he started to stir. Fluttering his dark eyes to a slow open, Joel smirked when he saw that she was taking photos of him on her cell phone. A warmth flooded into his face with him turning his head slightly to bury it in against her lower abdomen.

“I’m sorry, I had to take a photo. You were just too cute laying there,” she snickered, dropping her phone down beside her on the bed. Returning the sweep of her fingers over the side of his face made him exhale loudly. “I apologize.”

“You’re fine,” Joel chuckled, rubbing his cheek in against her palm. Closing his eyes, he actually found himself charmed with the fact that she was so in awe of him. For as long as he could remember, people were pretty nervous about being near him. Then again, he was aware that he didn’t give off the best impression. He wanted people to leave him alone, but there was something about her that enamored him. “I’m not used to people taking photos of me. I mean, I’m used to the occasional forced family photo that Tommy likes to do, but…”

“Well that’s a shame,” she frowned, brushing her fingers through his hair to get it out of his face. “You’re too handsome to keep that face hidden.”

“Oh, I like you,” Joel snickered, reaching for her hand to start peppering kisses at the center of it. When she said certain things, it would have a warmth growing in his chest. A feeling that felt like happiness and it felt nice. “You’re good for my ego.”

“I’m only speaking the truth,” she insisted, her eyelids heavy with affection toward the man that she managed to get incredibly close to over the last couple of days.

“It shouldn’t be you giving me all these compliments, it should be the other way around,” Joel countered, lifting up enough to crawl in over her to cage her beneath him. Lowering down just enough, he teased his lips in over hers and gave her a tiny smile. “You’re the one that is phenomenal. I’ve never met someone like you.”

“Someone crazy and impulsive?” she teased him, her hands palming up over the center of his chest toward his shoulders. Hooking her arms loosely around the back of his neck allowed her to get comfortable beneath him. Giving him a cheesy smile had him rolling his eyes, but he still smirked which told her he found her charming. “I’m a mess. We’ve already both agreed to that.”

“Well your mess is perfection for me,” he hushed her, nuzzling his nose in against hers. Finally giving her a sweet, tender kiss led her to sigh loudly when they separated. “I’m fascinated with you and what you do to me.”

“Oh, I’m fascinated with what I do to you too,” her gazed dropped down between them eliciting a snort from Joel’s throat at her bluntness. “It’s really nice to see that I can get you like that.”

“Nice,” his nose wrinkled when he balanced his weight on his right arm over her and used his left hand to reach out to palm in over the side of her face. Getting her to look at him, he shook his head and couldn’t help taking all of her in. “I really do mean what I say. I’m hooked on you. I don’t wanna be away from you.”

“I feel the same way about you,” she assured him, brushing her fingers through his thick, dark hair once more. Having his brown eyes locked on her like they were took her breath away. “If you would have told me a week ago I would have been feeling this way about someone by now? I wouldn’t have believed you.”

“If you would have told me the first night I met you that we’d be here? I would have called you nuts,” he snickered, lowering in just enough to playfully pepper kisses at the side of her face evoking her to laugh at the way his facial hair scratched at her face. “I spent twenty-four hours with you and I fell fast.”

“Oh, you fell?” she repeated what he said, her throat tensing up at Joel’s confession. Truthfully? She appreciated that he was the one saying these things because she originally felt foolish at the feelings she was experiencing for Joel. They hadn’t even known each other a week yet and she was smitten with him. Everything about him made her happy and she couldn’t explain it. Especially after he had been such an asshole to her that first night. But now? She felt like she had an understanding why Joel was the way that he was.

“I did,” he didn’t seem afraid to admit it with his eyebrows furrowing. “I wouldn’t have done what I did last night for anyone. I’m not what you would call a romantic. In fact, when it has come to emotions, after what happened with my ex-wife and a few things I’ve gone through, I haven’t exactly been the most emotional lover. I’m usually tone deaf when it comes to romance.”

“Oh?” her eyebrow arched, impressed that he was opening up a little bit more with her about his past. Right now she wasn’t going to draw the attention off of him because she liked the idea of getting to learn more about him.

“I’ve had two serious relationships in my life,” Joel informed her, his rough fingertips tracing over her features. Thinking back on things, he didn’t know if it was for the best to be honest with her, but for some reason he felt like he should be. “There was my ex-wife. We got together when we were kids. And then there was…someone in Boston. And because of the way I was, I don’t think I ever truly made her feel loved.”

“How long were you together?” she wondered, sweeping her fingers in over his jawline with him shifting over her. Swallowing down hard, Joel had to look away from her and she shook her head. The last thing she wanted was him shutting down because she was asking him further questions. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

“A long time,” Joel was honest, shaking his head when he gave her an answer. “We got together not long after something really bad happened to me. I just liked having the company. I liked the feeling of not being alone. I just never really allowed myself to open up to anyone. And our relationship was never really good because of that.”

Discomfort flooded his veins because there was a silence that was filling the air. Regret started to flood through him when he could see that she was considering what he had told her, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have told you that.”

“It doesn’t change the way that I feel about you,” she alerted him, surprising him with that response. He was afraid that what he told her about his last relationship would have soured her thoughts of him. “Here’s the thing. We’ve talked about this already. You’ve explained to me that the Joel you were in Texas and Boston is not the one you want me to know you for. I can accept that. You want me to know the Joel you are now. That doesn’t mean I’m not willing to listen to things when you want to open up to me because I would love to listen to you.”

Lifting up just enough, she placed a loving kiss at his lips and it sent chills throughout him with how genuinely understanding she was about his past, “I appreciate that you trusted me this much to be able to tell me what you did. But this doesn’t change how you make me feel.”

“Really?” he confirmed with her, his heart skipping a beat. There was a strong sense of worry that had flooded through him after what he had said, worried that it would push her away. Instead she only seemed to embrace him further.

“Really,” she repeated with a smile, palming in over the side of his neck. “You’ve had two serious relationships in your life. I’ve have my fair share, way more than you have. I would be a fool to let something from your past ruin what we have. I know how I feel about you and nothing that I learn is going to change that.”

“You say that now,” he began, pausing with his brown eyes looking away from her. There seemed to be something he wanted to say, something that he was scared to say, but she didn’t want hm to focus on that. Urging him to look back up at her, she curled her finger in underneath his chin and hushed him. “There are things you might learn about me…”

“And I don’t care,” she interrupted, reaching up to place her fingers in over his lips to keep him quiet. “It’s part of you. It made you who you are now and I like him. No matter how grumpy he can get.”

With a tip of his head, a tiny smirk tugged at his lips and he sighed loudly, “I care about what you’ve gone through. And if that day comes where you want to talk about it, I promise you—nothing will change.”

Hearing a promise like that meant everything to him, but he didn’t know if she could deliver. And yet? He was pulled in by her. Lowering down, he stole a kiss from her lips. Desperation overcame him with the need to kiss her and be near her. By how emotional that kiss was, she could tell that her response touched him. It was important for him to hear that and he taken by her.

“What would you call this?” he whispered, his words vibrating against her lips making her purr.

“Kissing?” she chuckled, pressing another faint kiss at his bottom lip getting him to groan.

“I mean us. What we have going on here,” Joel tipped his head back enough to drag his thumb across her bottom lip causing her to shudder. His eyelids were heavy with want. Just the sight of him like that had chills flooding down her spine.

“I don’t know,” she nibbled at his bottom lip, provoking him to groan out at the sensation. “What would you call this?”

“Would you consider it dating?” he hummed, dragging the tip of his tongue out across the inside of her bottom lip. It had her sucking in a sharp breath of air when he pulled his head back.

“Do you want to consider it dating?” she wasn’t really giving him an answer which had him chuckling out with his eyebrows bouncing up.

“Yes, yes I would,” he stated with a firm nod of his head. Hearing that had her heart skipping a beat and she bit down on her bottom lip. “It makes it official. Let’s me know that you really are mine.”

“Alright then,” she caressed between his shoulders and down over his lower back. “Then we’re dating.”

“And you don’t have a problem with that?” he confirmed wanting to be happy about things, but there was a part of him that was exceedingly nervous that this was too good. “I would understand if you didn’t want to date someone with only being around them for such a short amount of time.”

“Do you want me to take my answer back?” she joked with a small laugh, brushing her fingers through his messy hair.

“No,” Joel shook his head, swallowing down hard and sighing loudly. “I really don’t.”

“Then don’t worry about it,” she hushed him, bringing them together enough to nuzzle her nose in against his. “I wouldn’t have agreed to it if I didn’t want to.”

With a nervous nod of his head, Joel started peppering kisses against her lips expressing to her through the gesture how excited he was to hear that they agreed to this together. Starting to tease kisses against her jawline and toward her neck had her laughing when he was purposely trying to focus on the sensitive areas he had learned.

“I guess we have some things we should talk about,” he acknowledged, swallowing down hard when he got comfortable above her again. His fingers swept over the side of her face with his chocolate brown eyes locking with hers. “What are we going to do about us?”

“What do you mean?” she reached up to place her hand in over his and he smiled at the way her thumb swept over the back of his hand.

“I mean with the fact your permanent residence is in New York City and mine is here,” he thought aloud frowning at the idea of her being so far away. Working with that distance was going to be rough. Especially since he was so addicted to being near her. “You’re horrified of heights and getting you on a plane is probably going to be hard.”

“You’re worth it,” she hushed him, sweeping his hair out of his eyes. Hearing that answer had his lips parting with his breathing growing louder. That took his breath away and caused his heart to skip a beat. “My fear of heights is nothing compared to the way I feel about you.”

“Do you think will stay like this?” he whispered, his eyebrows furrowing when he lowered in to press another tender kiss at her bottom lip. “This is all so perfect. I’m scared that you won’t feel this way after a while. I know I’m hard to care for.”

“And yet I’m still here,” she reminded him, drawing her thumb across his plump bottom lip having him press a kiss at the tip of it. “There were a few times I could have taken off, but I don’t want to. There something about you that draws me to you. And I think you’re worth it.”

“Jesus,” he scoffed, dropping his forehead to press his against hers. The warmth of his breath over her lips caused her to shudder. “You make me want to say things that I don’t say easily. Things I never thought I’d want to say again.”

Without saying it, she understood what he was hinting. It just led to the two of them kissing for a while until he got relaxed in over her and cuddled his head in against the side of her neck.

“So I guess it would be too much for me to hope that you would decide that you hated New York and you wanted to live here instead?” Joel wondered, his words vibrating against her flesh eliciting a tiny smirk to tug at her lips when he tipped his head back to stare down at her. “You have to admit there is a certain charm to Jackson.”

“You’ve never even been to New York City,” she reminded him drawing out a grunt when he wrinkled his nose at the idea of her home. “You should really give it a chance.”

“I know I’m not going to want to live there,” he stated with a huff realizing that their different lifestyles were going to be a big deal for them at some point. “I’m a simple man. I like the simple life. New York is a life that I’m just not made for.”

“Would you be willing to make time for both places?” she offered having him tense up over her, but instead of saying no he tipped his head from side to side. “I’m not saying no to things, but I think…I know it would be hard for me to separate with the brownstone. Especially since that’s the last remaining thing I feel connected to with my parents.”

There were a lot of thoughts Joel had on that, but instead he just nodded his head and lowered his stare from hers. For him, letting go of the things that hurt the most was his way of dealing with things, but he knew they were different in that way.

“I guess we will have to figure all of that out,” Joel commented, finally breaking the silence between them. Pushing up on his hands, he nodded toward the bedroom door and gave a weak smile. “How about we go make something to eat for breakfast? And we can talk about things.”

Giving him a nod told him it was okay to get up from the bed. Holding his hand out to her, Joel smiled when she accepted the gesture and allowed him to pull her up into his arms. With a laugh she fell in against his chest with him nuzzling his nose against the side of her neck. Leaning back enough, he managed to steal another kiss from her lips that had her clinging to him.

“I feel like a teenager again,” he informed her, bringing her hand up to have her place it in over the center of his chest. Placing his hand in over hers, he gave her a weak smile and shook his head. “You brought back a warmth here that I didn’t think was possible. And I can’t wait to tell my brother that we are dating. Mostly because he’s the only person I talk to…”

A deep rumble of a laugh fell from his throat with him lowering his forehead to hers again, “I’m glad you had a stranger pick your flight. And I’m glad you let a stranger pick where you were staying. Because it brought you here…”

“Me too,” she whispered, hooking her fingers with his as he started to lead her downstairs. When they got to the kitchen, Joel immediately went to the coffee machine and it made her smile knowing that he admitted to her how much he loved coffee. “So what were we thinking for breakfast? I know orange juice and pancakes are off the table. How do we feel about French toast?”

“Uh…” Joel motioned her to wait after getting the coffee prepared. Opening the breadbox, he made sure that the bread was still good before giving her a thumbs up. “I can do French toast. I think I have some fresh fruit in there that we can use if you’d like.”

Pointing toward his refrigerator had her turning toward it to open it up to take a look at the things that were inside. Gathering what they would need, she set them out on the counter while Joel gathered the rest of what they would need to cook.

“Let’s do this,” he moved in beside her, tapping his hands on the counter while he gazed over what she had grabbed. Reaching for the can of whipped cream made him smile when he wiggled it about. “You have a sweet tooth, huh?”

“I didn’t know if you were a butter, maple syrup or fruit and whipped cream person,” she alerted him with a smile getting him to chuckle at her confession. “I didn’t want to assume.”

“None of them sound bad,” he answered, popping the lid off of the whipped cream. Tipping his head back, Joel held the can in over his mouth and sprayed some into it. Swallowing it down, he gave her a big cheesy smile and felt that warmth that she had given him spreading throughout his body with her smiling. Motioning her to tip her head back, Joel started squirting some of the sweet treat into her mouth as well. At the last second, he pulled it away covering some of her face with the whipped cream. The offended breath she let out caused him to snort which only had the both of them bursting out in laughter. “Jesus.”

“Was that a snort?” she wiped at her face with the back of her hand noticing the red that flooded into Joel’s face. “I’m dating a little piglet.”

“A very attractive piglet, right?” Joel hooked his arm around her waist, pulling her in closer to him. With an amused sound, she placed her hand in over the center of his chest and nodded her head once.

“Oh, absolutely,” she emphasized her words with him lowering his head to rest it against the center of her chest. His embarrassed laughter was adorable to her with her stroking her fingers at the back of his neck. Setting the bottle of whipped cream on the counter, his hands slid in over her hips where he grasped them tightly.

Hovering his lips over hers, Joel’s eyelids grew heavy with want as he closed the distance between them, “You bring out the best in me.”

“A little bit of the naughty too,” she responded, lazily pulling apart one of the buttons in his shirt making him drop his head down to watch her. One by one she plopped open the buttons having his breathing growing louder. Starting at his lower abdomen, she flattened her palms out against his flesh starting to slide them up unhurriedly over his torso. “You drive me crazy.”

“In the best of ways,” he insisted with a smirk, his long eyelashes fluttering when she managed to push her fingers up over his shoulders under the material of his shirt to work it from his body. Allowing it to drop to the kitchen floor, he hummed out when his mouth covered her shoulder starting to press hot, wet kisses there. She returned the gesture, kissing at his freckle covered skin. Sliding his hands in over her bottom, Joel squeezed at her ass and moaned when she nipped at his flesh. “I can’t keep my hands off of you.”

“In the best of ways,” she repeated what he had said, drawing out an entertained rumble from him. The sensation of his fingers sliding up under the back of her shirt made her smile with his rough fingertips coming in contact with her skin. Nuzzling his nose in against hers, Joel started to ball the material of her shirt up toward the middle of her back. Letting her lean back, he smiled and shook his head when he managed to get her to lift her arms up to help him get her shirt off. “I thought you wanted breakfast.”

“We can make it brunch. I’m hungry for something else,” he growled, hungrily stealing kiss after kiss from her lips after he dropped her shirt down with his. Extending his hand out, he reached for one of the berries that she had pulled out. Licking his lips, he dragged the berry across her bottom lip leaving a wet trail behind when he did it. Dragging his tongue out across her lip caused her to whimper and it sent a chill throughout his body. “It’s sweet, but not as sweet as you.”

“So smooth,” she chuckled, bringing their lips together in another kiss. Taking the berry from his fingers had him sucking in a sharp breath when she dragged it down over the side of his neck toward the center of his chest. Circling it around his nipple made him inhale loudly before she took the berry into her mouth. Starting to leave kisses along the trail she made with the berry had Joel bracing his hands on the counter. When her tongue circled his nipple he let out a moan and soon after she nipped at his flesh. “You know, I wasn’t thinking naughty things about food until you started it.”

“Bullshit, you’re a naughty little thing,” he growled against her lips, leading her over toward the table. Outstretching his fingers, he worked her bra from her body and dropped it down at their feet. Shoving whatever was on top of the table to the ground, he motioned her to lay back against the table helping to make sure that she was safe. Taking a moment to stare down at her stretched out before him had the desire he had for her growing inside of him. Dropping his hands down to his belt, Joel started to work to undo it. Once it was pulled apart, he unhooked it from the loops and leaned over her. Reaching for her wrists, he managed to wrap his belt around her wrists to bound them together. Pushing her hands up over her head had her stretching out her torso. The sight had his heart rate growing faster and he was in awe of this woman. “Be a good girl.”

“Yes sir,” she breathed unevenly, her lips parting when Joel smirked down at her. Grabbing the berries, Joel set them on the table beside her. Reaching for the can of whipped cream, he licked his lips as he gazed upon the lengths of her naked torso. Drawing out the shape of a heart over her abdomen, he set the can down and slowly lowered himself over her. Kissing in over the area below her belly button had her breathing growing louder. Inch by inch his kisses rose until he dragged his tongue out along the shape of the heart licking away the whipped cream from her body. Grabbing one of the berries, his eyes lifted to see that she was trembling beneath him provoking a smirk to tug at his handsome features. Drawing the berry out over her nipple had her back arching up toward him. Humming out, his mouth replaced the berry with the warmth of his tongue circling her nipple. Suckling at the flesh had her cooing out, her heart hammering inside of her chest. “Joel.”

“Good girl,” he praised her, kissing across her chest toward her other breast to pamper her breast with the same movements as he had done the other. Reaching up with his right hand, he palmed at her other breast before pulling away with a wet sound. Taking a berry into his mouth, he considered his next move as he dragged his thumb across her bottom lip. It had her eyes fluttering to a close, the tip of her tongue dragging out against the pad. With a growl, he pulled his hands away and reached to start undoing her pants. Tugging them firmly down her body, he dropped them beside them on the floor. Swiftly moving for her panties, his fingers hooked into the material and he took his time getting those down her body. “You are so gorgeous.”

Hooking his arms under her knees, he pulled her right to the edge of the table and lowered down. Starting to press kisses in at the inside of her knee had her breathing loud enough for him to hear and it made him smile. It had been so long since he shared anything like this with someone, he actually forgot how much he enjoy being able to bring pleasure to someone else.

Every kiss he placed over her thigh had her shaking. Squeezing at her flesh, he dragged a line with his tongue further up over her inner thigh. Tipping his head back, he stared up at her with his dark eyes and licked his lips before leaning in to press a kiss against her core. Unhurriedly, he dragged his tongue out drawing a line with it from her clit down to her entrance and back. Repeating the movement caused her to moan out.

Hearing her panting his name was like a drug to him. Something he grew more addicted to with every caress his tongue made over her body. Slurping faintly at her sensitive folds had her hips rocking up against him and he hummed against her flesh. Pleasuring her had undoubtedly become one of his favorite things. Listening to the sounds she made turned him on more than he could ever imagine. Burying his head further between her thighs, the wet sounds his mouth made over her body grew louder. Dragging the length of his tongue at her sex repeatedly had a fire building up inside of him.

What brought him the most excitement was getting her to come. There was something special about how easily she fell apart because of him. He was addicted to the way she sounded. How she would cry out and the way her body reacted. Gradually, each movement grew stronger with him working with both his mouth and tongue in meticulous movements.

With a slurping sound, he pulled back and away from her body. Licking his wet lips had him groaning out as he reached up with his right hand to circle her sensitive bundle of nerves with his thumb. It had her arching into the movement, her eyelids heavy with want while he spent his time focusing on her. Humming out, he started to trace shapes over the length of her sex before teasing at her entrance. Sinking a finger inside of her had her purring out and he smile when he pressed the second in as well.

Not wanting to rush things, he took his time plunging his thick digits into her warmth. Watching her made this all the better. Her reactions told him he was doing something right and she was in awe of him just as much as he was her.

Leaning back in, his mouth focused on her clit. Lapping at her sensitive body while his fingers worked at her g-spot. Sucking at her flesh occasionally would have her crying out, her body trembling as he continued to suckle at her clit.

“Joel,” she whined with her hips shaking when he quickly worked up a warmth inside of the pit of her belly. A flood rush went right to her head and there was an ache that grew. Resting her head back, she wished that he hadn’t had bound her wrists. More than anything she wanted to sink her fingers into his hair and touch him, but he was having his way with her body and by the sounds he was making, he obviously enjoyed it just as much as she did. Squeezing her eyes shut, she cried out his name with a liquid rush flooding to her core when he brought her to an orgasm. What impressed her was how fast Joel picked up on her body, knowing what to do and when. She prided herself on knowing how to pleasure someone, but Joel matched her just as well. Instead of stopping, Joel just growled and kept up at what he had started. “Fuck…Joel…”

“It’s okay,” he slurred against her flesh, loving the way the tight walls of her pussy felt contracting around his fingers while he continued to rub at just the right areas inside of her. What he was doing had her breathless, her body tremoring toward his mouth and fingers while they overstimulated her in the best of ways. By the sounds she made he knew whether to quicken what he was doing or slow down. He was working to draw things out and it was successful. By the second time he brought her to another orgasm, he let out an arrogant sound showing that he was proud. Getting up carefully from his knees, he pressed his left hand in over the table to brace himself when he leaned over her. Sliding his palm up between her thighs had her cooing out and she was still so sensitive. “Do you like being mine?”

“Yes,” she was quick to answer eliciting an amused sound from him. Dipping down, he teased his lips in over hers. Lifting up from the table she was desperate to have him kiss her, but he taunted her. Just slightly dragging his bottom lip in over hers. Dragging his tongue out across the inside of her bottom lip caused her to moan in a way that sent a fire throughout his body. What followed was her faintly sucking at his tongue. An uncomfortable breath escaped him with the tight denim that clung to his body with him being incredibly hard. It hurt, but he liked focusing on her. Giving her what she wanted, he brought their lips together in a passionate sweep. Each caress grew stronger with his tongue brushing in against hers leaving her with the taste of her still against his tongue. “I want to touch you.”

“Not yet,” he slurred reaching for her wrists that were still bound by his belt that he had wrapped around them. Tugging at them had her gasping out when he urged her up onto her feet. Leading her over to one of the chairs he made sure to carefully get her to lower down onto it. Her legs were still trembling from what he had done to her and when she tipped her head back he could see that her pupils were dilated with a longing for him. Dragging his thumb across her bottom lip collected the wetness that was there and it made him hum. “Now be a good girl and do as I tell you…”

“Yes sir,” she smiled up at him when he started to work open the button in his pants.

Pulling apart his jeans, he was lazy in the way he unzipped them before reaching inside to grab a hold of his erection. With a grunt, he pulled it free from behind the material and saw her eyes fall to it. Curling his fingers firmly around his thick shaft had her wetting her lips. Taking his time, he caressed at his distended flesh enjoying the sight of her yearning for him. Stepping in closer to her had her breathing growing louder. Pressing forward, he brought the swollen tip of his manhood to her wet lips. Looking up at him with big eyes had his heart hammering inside of his chest.

“Open your mouth,” he instructed, leading his cock between her parted lips and into the warmth of her mouth. With a deep rumble of a moan, his head tipped back and the veins at the side of his neck became more prominent. The gentle sweep of her tongue around his cock had his thighs tensing up and he reached to grab a hold of her shoulder to help brace himself. “That’s it.”

Giving her time, he watched her with a longing that had chills running down his spine. She knew what she liked and she was being slow varying between sucking faintly at his cock to sweeping the warmth of her tongue along the length of his girthy shaft. Watching her pleasuring him was something he didn’t want to soon forget. The wet sounds her mouth made over him was driving him crazy.

“If you’re at all uncomfortable, let me know,” he stressed to her, starting to thrust his hips forward and sink his manhood further down her throat. The sound he made was delicious and she moaned against his body getting him to shake before her with it vibrating against his sensitive flesh. Carefully pulling his hips back had the wet sound of his cock leaving her mouth filling the air. Stroking his fingers at the back of her head, Joel kept his other hand firmly wrapped around the base of his thick shaft. Bringing her back to him, he helped the movements her head made over his length. Closing her eyes, she remained focused allowing him to fuck her throat. This was naughty, but she liked it. With every thrust his hips made, she made sure to drag her tongue along the velvety smooth skin with every pull back of his hips. Stepping back when things started to feel just a little too good had a wet popping sound surrounding them. Her lips were wet, her eyes big with her staring up at him. Stroking at his saliva covered length, Joel grabbed a tight hold of her and got her to stand up. Forcing her to bend over the table, he pressed slightly at the back of her neck. The strength had her cheek pressing in against the cool wood. Humming out, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting this. They had sex and they had sex a lot by this point. But for some reason? The idea of this turned him on more than he could ever imagine. “You are so fucking pretty.”

Stepping back, he took a minute to admire her before him. Bound and willing to do whatever he wanted in that moment. Reaching out with his left hand, he squeezed at her full bottom hearing the moan she let out when he did it. His cock twitched with excitement, an ache growing inside of him. Testing the flesh of her ass in his grasp, he smirked when he brought his hand in over her bottom. The sound of the smack surrounded them with her hips bouncing forward toward the table.

“God, you are perfect,” he smacked at her bottom once more. Gasping out, she moaned at the stinging sensation with that one being slightly stronger than the last. “There isn’t one thing about you that I’m not addicted to.”

Bracing himself over her, he allowed the warmth of his body to cover hers. The skin-to-skin contact had her tremoring beneath him. Pressing faint kisses at the back of her neck caused her breathing to become broken. Her hips involuntarily bounced back toward his groin drawing out a loud, raspy groan from deep within his throat. Peppering kisses over her shoulders and then down over her spine had her panting. By the time he reached her lower back, his hands had settled at her hips giving them a firm squeeze.

Standing up, he kept a firm hold of her hip with his left hand and reached between them with his right to lead the swollen tip of his cock to her entrance. It had her hips rocking back, desperate to have him fill her. Smirking, he drew a line down her sex not quite giving her what she wanted yet. By the way she was shaking, he knew that she wanted him and she wanted him bad. Gasps fell from her lips with him tapping his cock against her clit. It had her pressing up onto her toes, her hips bouncing back against him wanting more of that stimulation.

“You have the prettiest little pussy, y’know that?” his southern drawl grew deeper when he allowed just the tip to sink into her. Together they moaned in unison at the feeling. Pulling his hips back had her whining with him still teasing her. Repeatedly he did the same thing having her shaking beneath him by the time he finally sank into her. And he did it slow, enjoying the way her warmth surrounded him and took him in. Watching his cock disappear into her body as he stretched her had him groaning out. “It feels like you were made for me.”

Filling her completely had her pressing up on her toes drawing out just the smallest amount of him from her body, but he led her back toward him. Experiencing the way her body clenched around his cock made him smile and he remained still inside of her knowing that it would leave her with an ache and a yearning, “But now you are mine. Aren’t you?”

“I am,” she whimpered, her head turning to the side with her fingers stretching out wishing that she could touch him, but in that moment she was completely his to do what he wanted. “I’m yours.”

“Yes you are,” he grunted, pulling his hips back only so far before smacking forward again. It had her wincing, but a moan followed when he did it several more times. Sucking in a sharp breath of air, he grabbed a firm hold of her hips and started to lead them back over his length again and again. Loud smacks of their flesh filled the kitchen with him fucking her. This was naughty and not entirely too romantic, but by the sounds she was making, he knew that she loved it. Her body was already sensitive from what he had been doing before and he had grown pretty accustomed to what he could do to have her reacting in the best of ways. “I wish you could see this. I love watching your wet little pussy taking my big cock. Does it feel good?”

“So good,” she replied, looking back over her shoulder feeling his fingers digging further into her hips. Watching him fucking her only drew out the sensations for her. It was a complicated position to be in, but she didn’t hate it. Joel’s jaw flexed, his head tipping back with a muted moan falling from his throat. The deep plunges of his cock inside of her had his testicles smacking up against her clit and it felt amazing. “Please…”

“Are you gonna come for daddy?” he rumbled, moaning out when he watched her squirm beneath him when he started to slow down. Trying to rock back against him had him chuckling before he started thrusting firmly against her from behind. Each movement forward had her bouncing upwards on the table before falling back in against him again. There was a pressure building up inside of her with her fingers squeezing tighter together where they were bound. Soon he was pounding into her leaving her wondering if the table could take what they were doing with the way it was shaking. Crying out, she felt a rush throughout her whole body when Joel groaned out from behind her with his cock pulling out of her. The ache of the empty feeling he left her with was awful, but her body was still reacting to what he had done to her. It felt like she was spinning and she closed her eyes shut tightly. “You are something else.”

Taking his time to move back, Joel was completely enamored with the fact that he could make her squirt. Working to undo his belt from her wrists, he dropped the belt down on the ground and then managed to pick her up in his arms. Carrying her into the living room, he laid her down on the couch and crawled in over her. Her body was spent and he knew that. Still she was breathing loudly, her body weak from the orgasm he brought forth.

“I want you to put me back inside of you,” he ordered, his mouth hovering in over hers when he got himself comfortable between her thighs. Bracing himself on his arms, he waited for her to reach down to grab a hold of his erection leading the tip back to her welcoming entrance. Pushing his hips forward had him sinking into her, his moan vibrating warm against her throat where he started to pamper her flesh with kisses. This time he was unhurriedly rolling his hips against hers. Adjusting his weight, he locked eyes with her and smiled. “I am addicted to you.”

“And I you,” she whispered, her fingertips tracing a line down over his back until she cupped at his bottom giving it a firm squeeze. Feeling the flesh flexing and relaxing beneath her touch with every thrust had her heart pounding harder inside of her chest. Cuddling his head in against hers, Joel moaned out with his lips parting. The full, stretching feeling of him inside of her felt amazing and her body yearned for Joel. More than it had anyone before.

“You’re the best Christmas gift I’ve gotten in a long time,” his movements grew steadier with her other hand sinking into his messy hair. Nuzzling his nose in against hers, he appreciated that his comment made her desperately want to kiss him and he allowed that. Hell, kissing her was one of his favorite things.

Firmly curling his arm around her waist, he pulled up onto his knees with her bracing her weight against the arm of the couch on her palm. Allowing her to roll her hips over his length had him moaning out with his palm caressing up and over her back before down again. Her other hand curled around the back of his neck with their bodies moving together in unison. Over and over again they kissed, not wanting to break from one another with his breathing growing uneven.

Panting, he dropped his head and buried it against the center of her chest. Their movements grew sloppier and more desperate. Taking her breast into his mouth, he suckled at her flesh before tipping his head back with a moan. There was a fire building up inside of him. And she picked up easily on it knowing that he was nearing his release.

“That’s it daddy,” she whispered in his ear causing him to moan louder than either one of them expected. Bouncing his hips up toward hers, his hands were everywhere wanting to touch her and be near her. With the first sign of his release inside of her, she continued to roll her hips harder over him. The throbbing of his cock inside of her felt amazing while he filled her with his release, his hips slowing down to a halt by the time he was panting against the side of her neck. Leaning her back, he kissed at her jawline and bit faintly at her chin. “I’m finding new ways of how good this feels every time we’re together.”

Together, their breathing was labored with them kissing each other as their bodies came down from their high. Joel liked the way she was touching him and it still felt incredible inside of her.

The sound of something knocking over was heard making the both of them tense up. Looking to the side Joel saw Tommy near the entrance of the living room holding a tray of coffees in his hand. His big brown eyes were shocked with Joel cussing out. Reaching for the throw blanket that was over the back of the couch, Joel was quick to cover her before pulling out of her with a groan. Adjusting himself beneath her, he pulled her legs in over his hips as he panted.

“Tommy, what the hell?” Joel snapped at his little brother who remained frozen where he was standing. “What are you doing?”

“I was just coming with coffee and…” Tommy finally realized what was happening and he turned around to face the other way. “I am so sorry. I just…”

“What did you see?” Joel demanded to know hearing the uncomfortable breath from Tommy in return.

“Everything,” she blurt out, covering her face with her hand in embarrassment having Joel’s face flood over with heat from being angry with Tommy.

“Not everything,” Tommy defended himself, still remaining in the living room even though Joel wished he would leave. “Just the end. I froze. I didn’t want to stop you because you were enjoying yourselves, but I reckon at the same time I wanted to die in that very moment too.”

“Tommy!” Joel snarled, slicking his damp hair back hating that his brother kept doing this to him. “We are really gonna need to talk about you knocking. Or ringing the damn bell.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just not used to this,” Tommy announced turning toward them again having her tense up, but Tommy’s free hand was covering his eyes while he stumbled a bit attempting to blindly find his way to the kitchen.

“Tommy, you should be headed out the door, not further into my house,” Joel’s voice raised with him pointing toward the door realizing that Tommy wouldn’t see with him covering his eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Setting the coffee down because I want to talk to you both,” Tommy alerted them from inside of the kitchen. Surprisingly Tommy was in there for a while before they heard him calling out to them. “I was gonna suggest we have breakfast together, but with how this kitchen looks I’m scared to touch anything.”

“Tommy!” Joel yelled out in frustration, not wanting to move because it could reveal their naked bodies if he did. Returning to the entrance of the living room, Tommy looked like a child that was getting in trouble. Joel was red and there was color in Y/N’s face as well when he stared out at them. “I mean, you’re both covered by the blanket at this point so I don’t know why you’re so angry.”

“I could kill you,” Joel warned him with a snarl causing Tommy to throw his hands up in the air. “I’ve never done nothin’ like this to you and Maria. Hell, I wouldn’t want to.”

“You do realize we’re naked under this blanket, right?” she confirmed with Tommy who smirked and let out an uneasy breath.

“Trust me, I saw,” Tommy responded making Joel drop his head back and groan out in frustration. Dragging his hand down in over the front of his face, Joel’s dark eyes glared out at Tommy once his hand dropped down. “I’m just gonna blurt this out so I don’t forget. I’m guessing you’re gonna stay here through Christmas, right?”

“That’s the plan,” she laughed noticing the apologetic look over Joel’s features when she interacted with Tommy.

“Well Maria and I were talkin’,” Tommy announced, stepping further into the living room and it had her clinging to the blanket. This was entirely too awkward to be having this conversation for her since she was still very much naked under the blanket. There was a warmth sliding down her inner thigh and it had her closing her eyes not wanting to focus on it. “We were hoping you would want to spend both Christmas day and the day after with us. Y’see on Christmas Eve, Maria and I have been doing something alone together for a while now. That would leave you time to spend with Joel. Christmas day we usually get together, the three of us and just hang out. Make a nice meal. Well, the four of us now if you join. And the day after we kind of get together with our closest friends along with Maria’s family and celebrate too.”

“If Joel is fine with it, that’s fine with me,” she stressed, her hand reaching out to place in over Joel’s realizing that he was mortified with this whole thing. “Although, I do have to ask, why was this question so important that you had to ask it with us both naked under here?”

“I uh…” Tommy considered her question and let out a tight laugh before throwing his hands up in the air. “I don’t know.”

“You think you can turn around and let me run in there to get my clothes on?” she asked of Tommy who for the first time seemed embarrassed. The color left his face and he nodded, turning on his heel to face the other direction. Uneasily getting up, Joel allowed her to take the blanket with her and he reached for the pillow to pull it in over his lap. Once she was inside of the kitchen, Tommy gazed back at Joel who was still furious.

“Well,” Tommy rocked back and forth on his feet, a nervous smile tugging at his lips. “Congrats on the sex? It looks like you two were really enjoying one another.”

“Sometimes I wonder if mom and dad dropped you on your head when I wasn’t around,” Joel kept his hand firmly in over the pillow, his other hand throwing up in the air since his brother didn’t seem to think when it came to these kind of situations. Instead of being offended, Tommy just laughed. “I mean it Tommy, what are you thinking?”

“I’m just used to walking into your home Joel, I forget she’s here,” Tommy defended himself, his eyes dropping down toward the pillow covering Joel’s lap. “Were the two of you just doing the horizontal tango with no protection? Were you raw dogging it?”

“I’m not even gonna justify you with an answer,” Joel snarled, his eyebrows furrowing as Tommy made a disgusted face.

“I sit on that couch Joel,” Tommy grumbled under his breath, shakily brushing his fingers through his long hair. “Now I’m gonna think about your spunk all over the couch when I go to sit on it.”

With a glare, Joel’s eyes narrowed. His chest was still rising and falling heavily with Tommy throwing his hands up in the air, “You’re on my shit list Tommy. If you weren’t my little brother, I’d knock you on your ass.”

“Thanks, I think?” Tommy snickered under his breath hearing movement in the kitchen and he went to look before Joel snapped his fingers to get Tommy’s attention back on him again. “Y’know, I still expect you to work tonight.”

“Come again?” Joel breathed out, shifting on the couch again wishing that his little brother was some sense of normal.

“Your sex-pocalypse doesn’t change the fact we have no one for the night shift. I won’t be there and Maria won’t be either,” Tommy reminded Joel of how he was supposed to work at the inn tonight. “Sure, we’re covered for every day after for a while, but I need you working registration.”

“Hey,” Y/N entered the room right as Joel was about to rip into his little brother. Heading over toward Joel she held his jeans out for him and his shirt they had managed to get off earlier. Accepting the clothes, Joel started to work the pants up his legs before standing up to pull them up over his hips. Sitting on the edge of the couch, Y/N rubbed her hands in over her thighs and gave her attention to Tommy. “Tommy, I like you. A lot. But as Joel’s girlfriend, there a few things I need to let you know I’m not comfortable with. And what happened today? That’s one of them.”

“Girlfriend?” Tommy looked to Joel to confirm what he just heard. Pulling his shirt in over his arms, Joel adjusted the material before giving Tommy a nod. Hearing that she was now Joel’s girlfriend seemed to excite Tommy more than it did either of them. Which said something. Taking a moment to calm down, Tommy nodded his head once and let out a proud sound. “Dually noted. And I will try to listen to what my brother said and learn to knock. Now that I know that Joel has a woman in his life, I’m gonna have to learn to work on my manners. I promise.”

“I’m also going to need you to keep this between us,” she stressed to Tommy who gave her a slow nod. “I’m serious Tommy, I don’t need Maria and the whole town knowing that you walked in on me and your brother sleeping together. You have the habit of mouth vomiting.”

“And suddenly you are starting to see why he drives me crazy,” Joel lowered down beside her glad that she was taking this so well considering. “There are definitely some rules we’re gonna have to lay down Tommy. And I hope you listen.”

---

Tags: @jdmorganz @carolineesnell @ayumi-wolf @dilfsandmartinis @christinamadsen

@brittmb115 @thegirlwiththemostcake3 @ashleyfilm

#Joel Miller #Joel Miller fanfiction #Joel Miller Smut #Pedro Pascal #The Last of Us #The Last of Us fanfiction #Joel Miller x reader #Joel Miller x you #Joel Miller imagine #tlou fanfiction #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Tommy Miller #Christmas in Jackson

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writerspirit · 2 months ago

Text

Chapter 3

Pairing(s): Melissa Schemmenti x Fem!Reader

Series: Schemmenti Family Agenda

Synopsis: You and Melissa decide to spread the word about starting a family. The only problem: not everyone is enthusiastic about it. Level 1 — your mothers.

Themes/Warnings: 18+, angst, fluff, parents being assholes, smut, daddy!melissa, mommy!reader, switch!melissa, switch!reader, breeding kink, praise kink, slight degradation kink

A/N: Apologies for taking forever to finish this chapter. It’s true what they say: the worst part of writing a story is starting it. Now, I feel like we’re kind of on a roll. Comment if you would like to be added to the taglist for the series. Apologies if I missed you in this taglist. Enjoy Chapter 3! Updates out soon.

Word Count: ~ 4.73k

Parts: Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Taglist: @jeridandridge @schemmentigfs @agathas-doll @bravewithacapitalb @liliastriangle @casualfoxwitch @sebcheb @emeraldoceansstuff @milfslvr @sweetcheeksschemmenti @natasha29romanoff @notmeellaannyy @milfslover2 @dopenightmaretyphoon @womankissersworldfics

— — — —

The warmth of Melissa’s breath on your neck welcomes you into the Friday morning. Her arm lay across your waist, shielding you from the evils sleep may offer.

Your eyes scan the nightstand, reaching for your phone. As if on cue, a notification pops up and reads a message from your mother. You grab for it, unintentionally making Melissa’s arm pull from your body. A low groan lets you know she’s waking up.

“Too early. Go back to sleep.” She wraps her arm back around you, pulling you flush against her. Her breath lingers against your neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“Sorry, baby.”

You put your phone back down and go back to your previous position. Melissa instinctively wraps her arm around you again. This time, her grasp is tighter as she pulls you closer to her. Her breath once again on your neck, lulls you into a soft slumber.

— — — —

The radio blasts your favorites on the way to Abbott Elementary. You’re more than sure that Melissa’s voice will become strained from how loud she’s singing. That doesn’t urge you to quiet her, as her happiness is the most precious experience.

We’re going to have a baby.

The parking lot seems to come in the blink of an eye, as Melissa rushes into her parking spot. “Melissa! Slow down.”

“Sorry, hon. Gotta get inside.” She rushes to turn the car off. Her hands grab everywhere in the car, getting her belongings. “Gotta tell Barb we’re havin’ a baby.”

You chuckle. Melissa’s already out of the car when you go to say something else.

Your door opens. Melissa takes hold of your hand, pulling you out of the car. You almost trip on the way out, but a strong arm wraps around you, stabilizing as Melissa always is for you.

She tries to head off to the door, but you pull her back. “You forgettin’ something?”

“Right,” she says. She places her coffee tumbler on the roof of her car, letting it sit before she grabs you, her grip on your hips tight. The pupils in her eyes grow as her eyes dart to your lips. Her lips gently touch yours before diving in for more contact. “That’s better.”

“Now you can go tell the godmother of our child.”

“Thank you.”

You giggle as Melissa rushes towards the front doors of Abbott. “Y/n! Come on, hurry!”

“Okay, I’m coming! I’m coming!”

You hurry as you run to her, hand already stretched out for you to grab.

“We’re only telling Barb. Got it?” Your brow raises, looking for any clarity from the redhead.

“Yeah, yeah. I know.”

Your fingers intertwine as your feet move in-sync. A few quirked eyebrows are sent your way as the air shifts around you. The usual dullness of the morning now has a warmth to it. One uncommon on an early school day morning.

Jacob rushes over to you both, his smile a big one as he looks you both over. “Well, top of the mornin’ to you both. The Schemmenti’s seem golden this morning.”

“I’d say. You both are glowing,” Barbara adds.

“Y’all look like you were gettin’ it on. Nasty.” Ava looks at you, sending a wink and a sly grin. “Go ahead, girl.”

Everyone sends the camera a look. One only sent when Ava is being Ava.

Your hand loosens from Melissa’s. You go to the sign in sheet that sits on the counter for the staff to sign their days away. The purple pen, which is known as your signature pen color, steadies as your hand moves along the straight line on the paper. Y/n Schemmenti is displayed above where Melissa’s name will appear next, once she signs her name.

Melissa makes her way next to Barbara, who stands with a confident knowing smile. She leans into Melissa’s space. “I’m guessing you spoke to her.”

“We did. We’re trying to have a baby.”

Barbara’s grin grows to a smile. Her heart thumps against her chest as her eyes give away the heartfelt warmth the conversation brings. “That’s wonderful, Melissa. Congratulations.”

“On what?” Janine’s high-pitched voice interrupts their conversation.

“Nothin’, short stop.”

— — — —

Lunch for the teachers rolls around faster than what seems to be normal. Melissa and Barbara sit at their respective spots, chatting about their days and what’s to come.

“A little Schemmenti. God is good.” Barbara clasps her hands together. Her smile brightens as she looks up.

“A little baby. My little baby.” Melissa gets teary-eyed at the thought.

As Melissa was about to add to the conversation, Janine and Jacob walk in, arms linked. “Baby? What baby? Melissa’s having a baby? Oh my god, is Y/n pregnant?”

“Oh my gosh this is so exciting!” Janine squeals, her voice almost doubling in speed as the two jump up.

Ava walks in, confidently as ever with her usual blue coffee mug in hand. “What’s exciting? Someone give Jacob a haircut yet?”

“Melissa’s having a baby!” Janine almost jumps again at the news, but decides not too, as her breath already unsteadies.

“My girl pregnant? No wonder you guys were so happy this morning. Lookin like virgins leavin’ a strip club with that glow.”

“She isn’t pregnant… yet.” Melissa softly sighs as she corrects everyone.

“So y’all are gettin freaky so she does get pregnant? Get you some, girl.”

The sound of laughs and cheers pull you towards the Teacher’s Lounge. Unusual, seeing as how the room is normally much more reserved apart from the daily repartee between the staff. As you walk in, you feel everyone’s eyes on you.

“Uh oh. What did I do now?”

“So, ya’ll gonna have your own Double Schemmenti?” Ava teases.

“Yeah, I guess we are.” Melissa chuckles.

“You told everyone?”

“No. I was talkin’ to Barb and these loud mouths overheard.”

Jacob brings his hand up to his chest, a smile sent towards your wife. “And I am honored to be the first person to hear the good news.”

“Second,” Barbara states absolutely.

“I’d argue third but who am I to say,” Janine adds. “Ooh, when can we expect the new edition at Abbott? And I guess that would mean I’m gonna be their second grade teacher. Are you accepting name ideas? Because I already have a list for my future bundles of joy, but I’m down to give some to y–”

Gregory — who walked into the room right on time to hear Janine’s rambling — places a hand on her shoulder.

“Too far?” Her voice shrinks so only he can hear her.

“Too far.”

“Well, congratulations guys! I know that’s gonna be a happy baby.” She squeals.

Your phone goes off. As you look, you see your mother’s contact displayed on the screen.

“Damn,” you mumble. You raise your phone to your ear.

“Hi,” you start, your voice high with obviously fake amusement.

Your tone catches the redhead’s attention, curious as to who may be on the other end of the call.

“Yeah, Mom… yeah…” you pull the phone away from your ear so you can give Melissa the news. “We forgot about dinner with our mothers,” you mumble enough for her to hear.

“Well that lasted…” She looks at her watch, which lights up with the time. “Four hours.”

You playfully tap her arm, sending her a soft smile too. “Yeah, Mom, we’ll see you later. Okay… bye.”

“Wake up excited to start a family, and the universe slaps you in the face with a dinner with your mother-in-law. Kill me,” she says flatly.

“Come on, it’s just one dinner. And might I add that it was you who agreed to it, so basically, this is all on you.”

“I didn’t think they’d actually pull through on it. I just thought it was a nice comment to throw in the last part of the conversation. Like, ‘this was nice, we should do it again sometime’. Never means we should actually have dinner again sometime.”

“Well now we have to go.”

“At least tell me we’re going to a nice restaurant. I don’t need the night further ruined by a crappy meal.”

“I scheduled a reservation at Ocean Prime.” You place a kiss on her cheek. “Only the best for my wife.”

— — — —

“Y/n, we’re going to be late,” Melissa’s voice booms from the living room. “We don’t need to give your mother another reason to have me on her shit list. She already doesn’t like me.”

“She doesn’t dislike you,” your voice peaks as you lie. You make your way to where Melissa is waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs. Her eyes look into yours, a low tint to them as she shows you she doesn’t buy a word you’ve said. “She just… doesn’t get you. Kinda like you and Ava.”

“No, that’s totally different. I tolerate Ava. Doesn’t mean I agree with her approaches to doing her job, but at least I respect her hustle. Your mother hates me.”

“Just… try to behave yourself. I don’t need anyone to lose an eye tonight. At least your mother will be there too.”

“Yes, because having both of them criticize me over dinner at one of my favorite restaurants is my idea of fun on a Friday evening.”

— — — —

The waiter asks for your orders of drinks. Your mother orders her usual cocktail. Teresa orders a light beer. The waiter looks at Melissa asking if her usual is okay. She looks at you for a moment, to which you nod. She smiles back to him, saying yes to her usual Godfather, along with your usual cocktail.

With a smile and a wave of her hand, Melissa lets the waiter know he is dismissed. The silent tension surrounding the table tugs at you. The hand resting on your arm grounds you with every tormenting second of the night.

Melissa moves close to your ear, “Can I tell them?”

“You’re ready now?”

She nods.

You can’t help but smile at her giddiness. “Go ahead.”

“Ma, Andrea,” Melissa looks at you for a moment, locking your fingers. “We have some news.”

They both stray their focus from their menus, looking at your wife.

“We’re trying for a baby,” Melissa’s words come out in a rush.

Your hand subtly tightens its grip on her, awaiting their reactions.

You hear low snickers from both of your mothers, which pulls both you and Melissa straight into defensive mode.

Teresa is the first of the pair to speak up, eyes never straying from your wife. “A baby? You’ve waited so long, I didn’t think it would ever happen. I actually gave up a long time ago. I figured if you’re the only one of my children to never give me grandchildren, I could live.”

It seems Teresa’s comments opened the floor to your mother’s wrath as well. “Who’ll be the baby’s father?” Your eyes widen at the ignorant comment. “I mean you can’t expect to successfully raise a child without a father.”

“Mother—”

“I think we’re more than adequate to raise a healthy baby together,” Melissa cuts in, her eyes meeting your mother’s with a sharpness only Melissa could deliver.

Teresa sucks her teeth before adding, “Melissa, we’re not trying to be cruel—”

“Oh, then what is this, an open mic night testimonial?”

“We just think that maybe your lives would benefit from not having children of your own,” your mother says coldly.

Your eyes widen at the sting of the comment. “How can you say that?”

“Well, your father and I have talked about it, and—”

“Oh, so you’ve talked to Pop about me and my wife building a family so you can what—give him and yourself another bullshit claim as to why Melissa and I shouldn’t have gotten married in the first place?”

“I just want what’s best for you—”

“No, you want what’s best for yourself, which in your eyes is what you’ve always seen as a fault. Face it Mom, all you’ve ever wanted was for me to come home one day saying this was all a phase and that I need a man to survive.”

“Y/n, you shouldn’t speak to your mother that way,” Teresa adds.

Your now darkened eyes tell Melissa that her mother has added fuel to your already blazened fire. Her hand lands on your back, rubbing small circles across it. “Ma, stop.”

“I’m just saying, Andrea and I were hoping to eventually have this conversation without all of the backtalk. I told you this one was going to be too fiery to handle.”

You snigger at your mother, the image of the two women bad mouthing you and Melissa adding to your disdain. “So you’ve had this conversation with Pop and my mother-in-law?”

Melissa scoffs, throwing her napkin atop her dinner mat as she gets up. “That’s it. Ma, all I’ve ever wanted was a happy, healthy family with the person I love. It didn’t happen with Joe, and all you’ve ever done was ridicule me for it. Well, now Y/n is willing to give me a child and the person I wanted to be the most excited and… proud of me… isn’t even happy with the fact that I’m giving her a grandchild.”

Teresa and Andrea are both shocked, neither of them having the will to add to the conversation. Melissa gently taps your shoulder. “Let’s go, hon.”

You don’t weigh the option of staying, not willing to risk worsening her already distraught demeanor.

Melissa leaves a few bills on the table, paying for the drinks.

You look at your mother, a tear leaves your eye. “Our baby will be loved. I thought that would be the first thing that mattered to you and Pop.”

Melissa’s arm wraps around your waist, walking alongside you as your guardian. Her hand never strays. On the contrary, her grip is firm against you, as if she is holding on by her fingertips. Hastily walking through the front doors of the restaurant, neither of you reciprocate the manager’s farewell to you.

Melissa’s grip slightly weakens against your waist as you both slip into the cool Philidelphia air. Goosebumps rise on your skin, though it isn’t clear whether it’s due to the sudden coolness or the tension between you and your wife’s silent anger.

In the car, Melissa’s hands grip around the steering wheel, her usual light tone losing all color, knuckles white against the material.

“Melissa—”

“Don’t wanna talk about it.”

You lightly nod, turning your attention to the city’s scenery as the car ride takes way. The way home a silent journey, the tension pulling at both of your willingness to keep to yourselves.

Pulling into the driveway, Melissa doesn’t wait for you, unbuckling her seatbelt and getting out of the car. Ever unusual, she doesn’t walk to the passenger side to open the door for you. Instead, she hurries to the front door and walks into the house. You don’t question her and instead just follow suit.

She throws her keys onto the counter, not worrying about where they land. She reaches for the fridge and grabs a beer, opening it with a sigh as though even just holding the can in her hand is enough to relieve some of the stress caused by your mothers. Her body slumps into a chair at the head of the table. The one she normally occupies during family dinners.

“I knew it was stupid to bring it up,” her voice almost a whisper as she speaks. “Should’ve never said nothin’.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re right. About everything…”

“Honey, don’t—”

“When you first brought me home, and your mother wouldn’t even look at me. When my mother wouldn’t hear a word about you. And when they found out I proposed…”

“Wait a minute,” you start. You march over to where she is seated. Your body stops when there isn’t any space to make another step. Your hands meet her cheeks, forcing her to look into your eyes. “I can take them not being supportive of us because all I need is you. But if you’re about to say that marrying me was a mistake, you can forget about anything they say because you have another fight coming.”

“I’m a little older than you.”

“Which we’ve talked about, and I’m okay with. You know that.”

Melissa’s eyes water. “I really thought they were going to be excited. I mean… a baby! They’re supposed to be excited.”

You cradle her head in your hands. “I know. I thought so too.”

You hear a soft sniffle, and your heart breaks even more.

“Why don’t you head upstairs and I’ll fix you a bath? I’ll even add my favorite salts so you’ll be relaxed and ready for bed when you get out.” You force a smile as you see her eyes soften at your words.

She nods, just enough for you to notice.

You kiss her temple. Gently. Enough for her to feel you against her, yet light enough to give her some space. She gets up and makes her way to the bathroom.

— — — —

The morning light shines through the curtains, waking you from a night of tossing and turning. Melissa, not having been able to sleep, is heard from the kitchen. Focused on preparing a breakfast spread you could imagine only gods are fed.

You make your way to her, meeting a kitchen full of dirty pots and pans, the sizzling of the stove, and the familar ding of the oven, which looks to be ready for the pan of muffins your wife has prepared.

“I see sleep hasn’t helped at all,” you mumble to yourself. Only, your voice startles the redhead from her thoughts.

“Morning, Y/n,” she says.

“Okay, today’s gonna be a long one,” you mumble again.

“I made scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, a fruit platter, pancakes, waffles, and chocolate chip muffins should be ready in about a half hour.”

You gulp at the thought of eating all of this food. You make your way towards her, hoping to get a morning kiss, which you’ve received every morning since you’ve lived together.

As your hands feel over her loose-fitted shirt—the one she bought on your first date to a Sixers game—and your arms find themselves pulling her closer, she pushes away from you. She fakes the biggest smile you’ve seen from her since you both said ‘I Do’. “Sit. Breakfast is ready for you.”

You nod. “You made a lot, babe.”

She rushes with three plates filled with food. “Doesn’t my wife deserve a big breakfast?”

“Maybe,” you chuckle. “If we had company over. Like Cirque du Soleil. Mel, baby, this is a lot of food.”

“Yes it is… what, are you saying my food isn’t good?”

“You know I love your food.”

She places a quick kiss on your forehead. “Then eat.”

She goes back to the kitchen, bringing back two more plates filled with more food. You take a quick look back to the three plates and back at her.

“Are these plates all for me?”

“Don’t be silly. They’re for both of us. We’ll share each.”

She sits down, already grabbing spoons and forks of food from each. You recognize the erratic behavior, as she exhibits this kind of behavior when her anxiety eats at her.

You gain the courage to confront her when her faux smile turns her lips to a flat line, her teeth biting the inside skin. Reaching your hand over to grab hold of her wrist, her movement stops. A small gasp leaves her.

“We should talk about it.”

She tries to get up. Anything to avoid the conversation that can either make or break your already possible future.

“It wasn’t okay how they reacted.”

She huffs. “They’re our mothers. What else should we have expected?”

“My apologies for hoping we’d be supported to grow our own little family by the women who’d become our child’s grandmothers.”

“Maybe that was the problem,” she says, her voice steady enough to pack a punch.

“Are you saying it was my fault dinner went horribly?”

“Of course not, I’m just saying that we should’ve known better than to believe that there was a chance they’d be okay with the idea.”

“You’re reconsidering. I can see it in your eyes.”

“Only because… they made some good points, and I don’t know if I could ever put our baby in a situation where I screw up.”

“Melissa,” you go to straddle her lap. Your arms wrap around her neck. “Do you know who we are? We’re going to mess up. A lot.”

She scoffs, but you quickly interrupt her. Your hand goes to her cheek, pulling her eyes to focus on you. “But our baby is going to have the best time! And I don’t know if you know this, but we aren’t perfect people. Far from it. I’d actually be more scared for them if we didn’t screw up every once in a while.”

That earns you a small giggle. There’s a glint in her eyes that hadn’t been there for a while. “There she is.”

“They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

“But–”

“Melissa Schemmenti, we are going to love our baby more than anything in the world. I mean, look at you. You wouldn’t be this upset if you didn’t already love them so much.” You kiss her forehead. “Besides, we both know how much of a daddy you can be for them.” You move to her ear, lips grazing her earlobe before nibbling there, earning a breathy sigh from her. “And for Mommy.”

Her hands squeeze at your sides before dropping to your ass. “Daddy has a nice ring to it.”

Your kisses move to her neck. “It does, doesn’t it?” Your hips subtly rock back and forth.

“Say it again,” she growls out.

You stop your lips, pulling from her neck to look into her greens. Your heart breaks as you notice a tear at the edge of her eye, her eyes glossed over. Your hands cup her face. “You’re gonna be such a good daddy. I love you.”

She growls again. Her arms wrap around you, her hold tight as she gets up from the seat with you in her arms. Her steps to the bedroom aren’t hurried, as she can’t help but take each moment to memory, remembering every kiss; every hitched breath; every whimper.

Your mouth attaches to her neck as your focus is her getting you upstairs to your bed.

“You can put me down.”

“No. Keep going,” she breathes out. “Please.”

Your attack resumes on her neck. Each bite is eased with the flick of your tongue over the bruising skin.

Melissa makes quick and places you on the bed. Your arms — still wrapped around her — pull her down with you. Her arms balance her on either side of your head. Your hands make their way to her neck, pulling her lips to yours. She moans against you. The vibrations of the sound tickle against the soft skin.

A hand finds home in her locks. She slowly pulls away from the kiss, breaths heavy with need for air. “Stay here,” she says. She leaves for the closet, leaving you puzzled.

She soon returns bare, with the exception of an all-too familiar strap on attached to her, the closet light highlighting her frame as she makes her way back to you on the bed. Crawling over you, she towers over your body. She waits a moment, almost like she is waiting for a verbal acceptance.

“Mel, you don’t have to tonight.”

She kisses you. Hungrily. Passionately. “Shut up. Let’s make a baby.”

You can’t help the moan that escapes you. The pure need in her voice sends shutters straight to your core. Your thighs instinctively rub together as memories of previous dominant Melissa rummaging your mind. That is, until her hand reaches for your center, already dripping from her pouncing on you.

“Already so ready for me.” She brings her hand up to her lips, attaching to her fingers. She hums at the taste of you.

Eager as ever, your hand finds the dildo, aligning it with your entrance. You nod to the redhead, making sure that you’re both ready. Her hips roll forward, pushing into you with purpose.

The moan that escapes your lips tells her that the stretch is painful. Her irises widen in slight panic. “No, no, it’s good. Keep going,” you assure her. “Don’t stop.”

So, she doesn’t. Her hips rock into you, plunging in and out of you as she chases both of your highs. “Mommy,” she breathes. “So pretty.”

Words seem like a distant memory as nothing but fog clouds over your mind. The only sensation is Melissa inside of you.

You grab her hips, not leaving a second to waste for you to flip her on her back. You straddle her hips, making a whimper as the strap never left you. Melissa tries to reach for you, but she’s stopped when your hands hold onto her wrists. You bring her hands above her head against the pillows, holding them down.

“So desperate to touch Mommy.” You kiss her lips, a small gesture of mercy until all power takes over you. “You’ll have to earn it. Be a good girl and fill me up. Then you can touch all you want.”

A loud whimper fills the room. Melissa’s voice shakes, “Please. I need to touch you. I need to feel you.”

Your lips lift into a devilish grin. “Poor baby. Begging for me to let you touch.”

Your hips start rocking back and forth against her. Moans fill the room as you both let the pleasure take over you. Your hips match hers as you both get closer and closer to your releases.

“Such a good slut for Mommy. So obedient. Go ahead, baby. Make us parents.”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head. Your handle on her wrists loosen as your dominance weakens. She fills you up so good, it’s too much to charge over her. She makes quick movements and brings her hands to your hips, keeping you steady as she pumps up into you.

“Good baby,” she breathes out. “So good.”

Her pumps become uneven, her hips slamming harshly against your pelvis as her climax is at the edge. “Almost… there… Amore.”

“Let go, baby,” you moan. “Mommy’s cumming too.”

Melissa grunts as she bottoms out, and your body falls against hers. The warmth of her juices coats your insides, mixing with your own as you fall apart.

You kiss her temple. “You did so well. So good for Mommy.”

She slowly pulls out of you, careful as to not overstimulate either of you. The straps of the harness are loud as the sound breaks the room’s stillness.

The only movement from Melissa is her arms wrapping around your body.

“Do you want me to clean you up?”

She groans and shakes her head. “Stay like this.”

“Okay,” you say. Your hand caresses her waist. Her lips press against your hair. “We can stay like this for a few minutes. The food is probably cold already.”

“It can be warmed up.”

The shower is a soothing calm as the water flows down your bodies. Your arms rubbing body wash against Melissa’s skin, and her hands working on yours. Light kisses are pressed to her shoulder blades, earning you quiet whimpers, still sensitive after your activities. She reciprocates with her own possessive kisses along your neckline, while her hands spread the body wash across your body.

Getting ready for the rest of the day is a dream. In bed — as you both agreed to rest for the day — you curl yourself into Melissa’s arms that instantly wrap around you. Your head rests against her chest, her heartbeat thumping under your ear, easing you into quiet sleep.

“Mommy,” Melissa mumbles.

You look up at her.

“Hm,” you hum.

She looks down at you. Green eyes are glazed over with tears. “Gonna be a Mommy.”

Her lips connect with your forehead, lingering for a moment before she detaches. Her arms pull you closer, bodies connecting against each other, as though becoming whole.

“Rest,” you say, a steady demand to your tone. “Try to sleep.”

“Gonna be a Mommy.” Melissa’s words come out a whisper, lingering in the air like a secret falling upon open ears. As sleep overtakes you both, so does the step towards motherhood.

#fanfiction #imagines #fem reader #abbott elementary #lisa ann walter #melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti x reader

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s1m0nth3swag · 7 months ago

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Viktor x gn!reader - fluff | 2.8k Words

reader is academy student

casual friendship to lovers

sweet and sassy vik

set between Acts 1 and 2, season 1

reader crushes on vik and is meant to be an artist

Viktor is working on Blitzcrank bcs that's his son

Please visit my Ko-Fi for personalised stories and updates on my uploads here on Tumblr!

Might make a part 2 of this with jayvik x reader because Jayce is a silly guy and would accidentally walk in on reader and Viktor being lovey dovey and be like "me too pls"

Nothing really kept you from just going to bed. It was late - much later than you were used to staying up, anyway - and you had finished your studying for the day. Usually, you’d put on your fluffy pajamas right about now and pass out in your comfy bed, dreaming of future goals and some stupid things that’d sneak their way into your slumber. However, today was not a usual day, in the sense of you having one last thing to do: annoy Viktor. Well, at least that’s what you would probably end up doing, even though that absolutely was not your goal. You wanted the complete opposite, actually.

You had gotten to know the scientist a few weeks back after both of you had visited a seminar - well, you had been forced by a friend because they hadn’t wanted to go alone, while Viktor had been there on his own accord. It had been a little silly really, you had kept whispering questions to your friend so you could understand whatever the professor was yapping on about and Viktor had gotten visibly annoyed. He had passed you a note after a while, telling you to be quiet or leave. You had wanted to sink into your seat and perish, sending the note back with a long message about how sorry you were. Apparently, that had caught his attention, because he approached you after the seminar, asking about your reason to come if you couldn’t understand the simple basics of it. For a moment you had thought he was making fun of you, but when he asked if you had at least found it interesting, you realised that was just the way he was.

Somehow, a friendship had formed from that small conversation. Funnily enough, you kept running into Viktor in the halls, striking small conversations with him every now and then, before going about your day. You had started wondering about him at some point, always something along the lines of what he actually did at the academy. He certainly didn’t act like any of the other students, and you had never seen him at another seminar since then. The only facts you knew was that his name was Viktor, that he needed a cane and that he could absolutely destroy anyone with words alone - you had noticed when someone made fun of him for talking to you.

It’d be an understatement to say that you simply liked Viktor. He was nice to you, different from the other students, like he was actually being serious and not just putting up an appearance. You quite liked his accent too, it somehow lulled you to be calm whenever he spoke - even when he was a little annoyed at you (which happened surprisingly often nowadays, though you knew it was all good on Viktors part). You couldn’t even get started on his appearance, he just looked too ethereal to even be real.

In short, you were absolutely whipped for Viktor.

Who could really blame you, with all those reasons to love him? And in your defence, Viktor seemed to quite like your company as well. He had invited you to the lab, after all - which is why you were in this situation in the first place. You could’ve denied the offer, but the thought of meeting Viktor in his lab late at night, all alone, made your brain go haywire and your heart immediately said yes without a second thought. In the end though, you stood right here, in front of his lab, too nervous to go in. What if you said something stupid? What if he secretly hated you and only asked you to come because he wanted to ridicule you?

You were definitely lost deep in thought for a while, hand raised to knock at the tall doors to the lab, until someone emerged from them, running right into you. “Oh! I'm so sorry, are you alright?” The man asked after having taken a step back. You had seen him before, in the academy, though the two of you had never spoken to each other. You knew his name from your friend - they apparently had had some classes together a few times. “I'm fine. I should be the one who's sorry..” you chuckled awkwardly as you averted your gaze. “I was in your way, sorry.” You then add, smiling up at the other apologetically. “Oh, don't worry about it. I'm Jayce, Jayce Talis. Don't think I've seen you around before?” He chuckles, extending his hand towards you. You shake it, telling him your name in return. “I've just… Well, Viktor invited me, actually..” You speak, unsure if Viktor wanted to let Jayce know that. Maybe this was supposed to be secret? Maybe he'd be ashamed of meeting with you? You quickly shake the thought from your head as Jayce grins down at you. “Well, I'll leave you two to it, then. Have a Good night!” There's something in his eyes that makes you question if you should actually stay, but he holds the lab door open for you, so you just slip past him quickly.

The inside of the lab was surprisingly dark, only a few lights flickering here and there. One prominent one shone onto Viktor, who was evidently engaged in his work. You stepped over silently, not wanting to disturb him, looking over his shoulder to watch. You understood little of his notes and the small device he was tinkering with, but you liked to see the way his fingers carefully worked, cradling the device with such care that you wished you were in its place instead. “Are you going to say hello or just stand there?” Viktor suddenly hums, and you almost yelp at being caught off guard. “I… I hadn't thought that you noticed me.” You mumble, once again feeling awkward. “I heard your conversation with Jayce.” The other responds, glancing over at you for a moment. “There's chairs over there, if you'd like to sit.” the brown haired then added, quickly pointing towards a small stack of chairs before continuing his work. You trot over there, feeling out of place as you pick one up and carry it beside Viktor. Not too close - as much as you wanted that, you'd probably die of embarrassment. Or worse, Viktor would tell you to back off. You sat down silently, hands in your lap because you didn't know where else to put them. “.. What're you working on?” You question, hoping it wouldn't pull Viktor out of the clear state of focus he was in. “Just some small thing… It'll be part of a bigger project.” He answers. “It's.. a personal project so I don't work on it when Jayce is in the lab.” He adds, looking over at you for a moment.

Your heart jumps a little - he's working on a personal project that he doesn't even show Jayce while you're there. You tell yourself to get your shit together immediately, though. Viktor probably just thinks that you won't snitch on him. “It's actually why I asked you to come here… I'm not good with.. aesthetics, as you'd say, so I was wondering if you could.. make this look more friendly.” He mutters, pushing his notebook towards you. A simple sketch of what seemed to be a robot was lazily thrown onto the page, all kinds of little bits of information written around it. “Blitzcrank..?” You read, looking up at Viktor in question. “The name is uh.. work in progress.” He answers, actually seeming kind of bashful about it. “It's cute. I like it.” You hum, looking closer at the sketch. “Make them look more friendly, huh?” You sigh before looking for a pencil, mumbling a soft thanks when Viktor hands you one. “They're supposed to be for Zaun. Help out and such.” Viktor explains. “I do not want kids to be scared of them.” You find it kind of endearing, really. You’ve known that Viktor is from Zaun himself, it's never made a difference to you, but that he actually wants to help his people in his own way was… cute. “Well, I don't know much about functionality, but going off of your sketch..” you hum, grabbing a piece of blank paper (you prayed that there wasn't any useful stuff on the other side) and made your own little sketch, tweaking Viktors design here and there. “I think this could work. Give them some light colours and they should be fine. Like yellow or something.” You speak, sliding your sketch back over to Viktor alongside his notebook. The other nods, taking a look at your design. “.. yes, this should be fine.” He smiles softly, quickly noting ‘Blitzcrank Design 2’ over your sketch, alongside your name. “You like it?” You ask, feeling a little insecure.

You've never been really proud of any of your work - art has always been more of a silly hobby than something you could be great in.

Viktor hums, nodding slightly as he stashes the paper among the rest of his notes. “I do. Besides, your art is above my potential, I could have never done something like this.” He answers, running a hand through his already messy hair. You get the sudden urge to fix it up, already raising your hand before catching yourself again. You shouldn’t act on a whim with Viktor, he was always so calm and collected, surely he would appreciate it if you were as well. “Is there something on my face?” Viktor sighs, glancing over at you with the softest hint of a grin. “Ah- No. Sorry.” You laugh awkwardly as you quickly rest your hand back in your lap. “I just.. your.. Well, your hair is messy.” You add, pointing at the soft strands - at least you thought they’d be soft, his hair always looked like he took particular care of it. “Fix it up, then. That’s what you wanted, yes?” Viktor chuckles, leaning his head towards you slightly. His words alone make you freeze up, completely caught in shock. It takes you a moment or two before you slowly raise your hand again, carefully carding your fingers through the scientist's hair - it was soft, you noted while fixing up each and every strand. You took your time, wanting to cherish the simple moment while it lasted. God knows Viktor probably would never offer physical closeness like this again. For a while you even considered just not pulling away, especially when Viktor sighed as you softly dragged your fingers over his scalp. Viktor actually leans into your touch, humming softly as you gently massage him, your face flushes at the intimacy of the moment. You have to awkwardly clear your throat so you can get yourself together and pull away, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think that Viktors cheeks had gotten a bit of colour as well. You brush it off, figuring that it was just the lighting.

The rest of the evening goes by easily, a little small talk as you watch Viktor work, plus he tells you more about his ‘Blitzcrank’ project. It’s nice, really, getting to spend time with him so easily. You liked it, the atmosphere of the lab was surprisingly calming, even though small beeps and cracks from other experiments still startled you from time to time. Viktor didn’t seem to notice, too focused on whatever he was doing - honestly, his focused face was kind of cute… You had to keep yourself from staring multiple times, which definitely made you glad that Viktor was in his own little zone.

Still, the night had to come to an end - at least for you. Viktor said he’d stay up a little longer, wishing you a good night as you left the lab, a giddy feeling in your stomach as you did. You hoped Viktor had liked it as much as you did, nothing would make you feel worse than if you had completely annoyed him the whole time.

Luckily, your hopes came real when Viktor asked you to join him in the lab once again a few days later. Jayce would be there, but you seriously didn't care. Nothing mattered when you could spend more of your time with the most interesting person on the planet - you were seriously gone, you actually found yourself daydreaming about Viktor during your classes. It had become awful, you had actually been caught by your Professors multiple times and had been ridiculed for not being mentally present. It was hard to care, though, when the small Viktor in your mind was holding onto your hand and telling you how he'd like to spend the evening with you.

You found yourself making your way to Viktor's lab once more, a little jump in your step as you hum a soft tune. Nothing could stop you from being absolutely delighted at the premise of getting to watch Viktor work once again. His skilled fingers carefully tending to small devices, his eyes completely focused… Oh you absolutely would go to hell for your thoughts. This time, you didn't wait before slowly pushing the door open, though you did stop in your tracks when Jayce, once again, stood directly in front of you. “Ah! There you are. I thought you'd be too scared to get inside again.” The man grins, though the tease is half hearted. You stumble around your words awkwardly for a second, before Viktors huff saves you. “Leave it, Jayce, we both know you're a lost puppy whenever you get to a new place.” Your saviour hums, and you can't help but chuckle slightly, cheeks already the softest hint of red as you ignore Jayce - who actually pouts as you don't answer his next question - and step towards Viktor. “Hi.” You grin, looking down at what the other was scribbling down. “Hello.” Viktor answers, giving you a small smile. You sit down beside him again - surprisingly, your chair from last time is still there. You wonder if it's just by chance or if Viktor actually left it there for you. “Lovebirds.” Jayce chuckles, earning a soft glare from Viktor. For a second it looks like he's also contemplating throwing a pencil after the other, he decides against it, though. “You are just mad that you cannot land a date, Jayce.” He scowls instead, and it genuinely makes your heart burst. Was this a date? Is this what is Viktors definition of a date is? Was the last meeting a date? Your brain rushed with thoughts and feelings at Viktors simple words, and the lab filled with silence. You noticed that none of the sounds you had perceived the first time were there now - those experiments were probably finished. “...you two don't have to keep back for my sake-” Jayce suddenly says, which now actually earns him a lazily thrown pencil. “Jayce, how about you take a little walk?” Viktor grumbles, his accent a little heavier than usually. “You're no fun.” Jayce sighs, but he actually gathers his stuff and leaves the lab. “... is this a date?” You can't help but ask as soon as the door falls closed. Viktor freezes for a moment, setting his work aside to properly look at you. “I… Well… Yes. I figured you knew that?” He admitted, he actually looked bashful about it. “Was that… not clear?” He then asked, running a hand through his hair. “Viktor, you asked me to spend time with you in your lab.” You answered matter of factly. “Yes, I indeed did that.” “Do you not see the issue?” Viktor thinks for a moment at your question. “Should I have asked you to go out with me? I never quite allow anyone in here - well, Jayce has a mind of his own with visitors…” He mutters. You chuckle slightly at the look on his face - for someone so smart he wasn't being much of a genius right now. “Well, anything would've been better if you had wanted to bring across that this was a date.” You sigh, rubbing your temple slightly as your cheeks flush a heavy red. “I mean, I didn't… I didn't know you thought of it this way…” You add, looking up at Viktor nervously. “... I thought you would know. I had been quite open about my interest in you-” He starts, clearing his throat slightly. “... have I not been?” You shake your head softly. “Not open enough that I noticed. But, for the record, I.. really like that this is a date. And I like that the last one was a date.” You admit, sheepishly resting your hand on his. You almost burst into a fit of nervous laughter when he intertwined his fingers with yours. “Then, am I right to assume that you would like to.. spend more time in the lab with me?” He questions, a small smile on his lips as he looks at you. “Gladly.” You respond, smiling back at him happily.

#x reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #arcane #arcane viktor #arcane viktor x reader #arcane viktor x you #viktor fluff #viktor x reader #viktor lol #viktor league of legends #viktor arcane #viktor x gn!reader #viktor x you #season 1 viktor #viktor season 1

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bitterie-sweetie · 1 year ago

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Fake it til you make it

Pairing: Jeonghan x reader Genre: fluff, fake dating WC: 6.5k Warnings: alcohol A/N: yes it's about vday buuut it's actually for @syuperseventeen's bdayyy!!! surprise surprise! happy birthday nat, i hope this year is even better and filled with many things to look forward to <3

Your Valentine’s date with Jeonghan is coming up and yet the only thing on your mind is how to break up with him. Of course breaking up with someone is difficult, but you’d argue that what’s more difficult is breaking up with someone you never even dated.

Jeonghan is a prankster.

Growing up, you’d often be on the receiving end of his pranks at school. Third grade “initiation” had you drenched in water after he told you to pin a cup against the wall with a straw, and in ninth grade you had tears streaming down your face after eating an entire scoop of wasabi—not the matcha ice cream he said it was. Then there was the time he did something to make your first crush hate you, which, in hindsight, was a good thing because the guy turned out to be a total asshole.

It wasn’t Jeonghan’s fault entirely when you were too willing to fall for his pranks because being the target of a prank meant having his attention, and that’s something that you wanted. Jeonghan had a way of making everyone feel special, and his attention was a limelight that you never wanted to step out of.

Honestly, you might’ve kept up with it if he kept going. But then that fateful day came and it was like you were suddenly on his side, working with him instead of being the victim to his antics, and you’d say that that’s what has kept the two of you together after all these years.

Well, at least until now.

“Hey,” you greet in a rush, looking around the table at everyone and seeing that you’re truly the last one to arrive. Usually, you’d give that place to Lee Chan; he’s the most popular of your friend group and almost always has a prior appointment to your meetups. “Sorry I’m late. My train was delayed and—oh, did you already order for me?”

Jeonghan slides a sealed bubble tea across the table and sets it in front of your seat—the one empty chair right beside him, no less. When you glance at him questioningly he shrugs and tilts his head towards the crowd at the front. “The line was too long so I ordered yours with mine. Hope you’re feeling like your usual today.”

Indeed, the sticker on the cup shows that it’s your go-to order. “Aw, that’s so sweet of you. Thanks, babe.”

Today’s meet up with your friend group is the first of the year and it’s also the first time you’re seeing everyone since Chan’s wedding… including Jeonghan. You would’ve spent Christmas and New Year’s with him had he not cancelled on you, and now that bit of distance has manifested into a larger uncertainty for you over the past while. Even now, the ‘babe’ seemed to come out awkwardly, sticking to your throat.

“Wow, you guys are actually disgusting. I hope you know that.” Seungkwan makes a face at you, and beside him, Soonyoung nods a few times in agreement.

You plaster on a smile. “It’s okay to just say you’re jealous.”

The only response you get is an eye-roll from Soonyoung, and then everyone moves on, thankfully. Mingyu asks you what you’ve been up to so you talk about your recent promotion at work and some new habits you’ve started in the new year, and when you sense that the conversation is starting to approach the territory of your future with Jeonghan, you gently steer it towards Chan. After all, he’s the one that got married just a few months ago, and you know he would never miss the chance to talk about his amazing honeymoon and how great this new chapter of his life is going.

There is truly nothing like adult friendships and its quarterly updates.

Once there’s a bit of a lull in the conversation, Jeonghan turns to you. “What are you doing this week?”

“Oh, this week?” Your heart speeds up tenfold at the uncertainty of what might come next. “Hmm well, it’s Valentine’s Day.”

“Yeah, exactly.” He nods and much to your relief, there’s a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. “So I’ll see you for our date then?”

“Of course, babe.”

“Can’t you guys do this somewhere else?” Soonyoung says as he stares daggers in your direction. You totally understand and sympathize with that though; today you’re turning up the sweetness more than usual to compensate for the distance you actually feel, unfortunately at the expense of your friends.

Jeonghan completely ignores Soonyoung’s complaint and doesn’t even look his way. “That’s good,” he says, leaning back in his seat and almost looking relieved at your answer. “I was afraid my darling might not have time for me anymore.”

“What? No way. Did you have anything in mind for our date?”

“Hmm, yes but it’s a surprise. I’ll text you the details later.”

“Well, uh, I have to run,” Chan says, slowly getting up from his seat. The rest of you hardly bat an eye, having gotten too used to his busy schedule. “It was nice seeing everyone. You guys should come over for my housewarming once everything is set up.”

Mingyu stands up too. “Oh, I actually have to go too; got a dinner with Wonwoo later.”

…On second thought, perhaps you overcompensated a bit too much with the cringe. Soonyoung and Seungkwan leave soon after getting a call from their roommate, Seokmin, and then it’s just you and Jeonghan at the table. Still seated side by side, your arm occasionally brushing against his.

“How have you really been?” he asks in a low voice.

“Decent, I guess, despite the winter blues and all. It’s pretty much what I said earlier.” You shrug when he remains silent. “Why do you ask? Do I look depressed or something?”

“No,” he shakes his head with a laugh, “not depressed, exactly, but I wanted to see if you’re as sad as I am about not seeing each other in so long.” Then he leans in a bit closer, as if to whisper a secret. “I missed you, darling.”

It’s times like this when you feel like he’s toeing the line. There’s a small smile lingering on his lips and a softer look in his eyes, not at all like the overdone sweetness to the point of sarcasm from before, but you can never tell if he really means what he says or if this is just part of the act.

Regardless, it makes your face feel hot and it makes you unable to look directly at him.

“Oh… yeah,” you say, trying to make a quick recovery. “It’s too bad we missed out on the holidays but at least we get Valentine’s Day.”

“Yup, that’s exactly why I have something special in mind for that day. I want to make it up to you, darling.”

You give him a smile and then go to take a sip of your drink, and that’s pretty much the end of the conversation. Despite saying he misses you, it’s interesting how he doesn’t explain why he bailed on the holidays in the first place, and you don’t know whether you should ask about it at this point.

Or if you should even be curious about such a thing.

Jeonghan pulls you out of your thoughts with a brush of his hand on yours. “It’s getting dark. Let’s head out?”

You agree and then let him hold your hand, lace his fingers with yours, and then lead you out of the shop. He doesn’t let go until you cross the parking lot and get to his car. It’s strange, you think. You can’t seem to recall the last time the two of you held hands so naturally like this especially when there’s no one else around.

In fact, when the two of you are alone, the sickening sweetness is always toned down but not completely dropped. Now, Jeonghan’s smiles are softer around the edges like they’re less exaggerated, less of a performance, and when he calls you darling, his voice is quieter and isn’t at all coated in the sticky honey you’re used to. When he hugs you goodbye at your door, it’s a loose hug and almost has a degree of uncertainty.

Jeonghan steps back but lingers just for a second. “I’ll see you in a few days for our date, darling.”

“Of course,” you put on a smile, “I can’t wait, babe.”

He waits until you get into your building before giving a little wave and then heading on his way.

After you close the door behind you and collapse onto your bed, you heave a sigh and finally let the smile slip from your lips. So there would be a Valentine’s date this year after all; the anticipation makes your heart speed up the slightest but at the same time makes you all the more anxious. You thought that he really would end things today, and if not, that you should be the one to do so. But seeing him after so long, feeling the way the warmth of his touch lingers on your skin, basking in the brightness of his smiles, you simply couldn’t utter those words.

Perhaps Valentine’s Day wouldn’t be the right time to do it either, or maybe your date won’t end up happening for whatever reason. You know that this is something you have to do, but the question is how exactly would you go about doing it? Because there is one major problem.

You’re not dating Jeonghan at all.

One moment in high school is what started this whole thing.

It was eleventh grade drama class—which Jeonghan thought would be fun to take as an elective—that resulted in the two of you being cast in the school play. Although neither of you landed a role that was remotely close to important, Jeonghan decided to have fun with it and improvise during your one minute of screen time and that somehow turned your insignificant cameos into a beautiful romance that had the audience rooting for you.

And that very moment somehow managed to embed itself so deeply in your relationship with Jeonghan that it became a long running joke to this day.

Today you’re sitting across from Soonyoung and Seungkwan again, with Mingyu beside you this time. Almost an exact replica of last week’s meetup, but Chan already has plans and Jeonghan is very obviously missing—something Soonyoung points out immediately.

“Wow, no Jeonghan today?” he says loudly even before the hostess is out of earshot. The people at the two tables nearby glance in your direction and you start to regret coming here at all. “We really won this one. Y/N, we should do this more often.”

You definitely should not. “Um, yeah. Totally.”

Last week’s meeting with your friends is what gave you the idea to consult with them about your situation. You first suggested the idea to Mingyu, and then used the prospect of free food to get Soonyoung and Seungkwan to come out, and naturally, Chan is busy so it ends up being the four of you at brunch. Which is better on your wallet, you think. You get the feeling that this quarterly meetup can totally happen more often if you were to make this offer every time.

As for what you’re about to ask… well, truthfully, you still don’t know if you should even do it. You’ve gone so many years without saying a word that it’d simply be odd to ask now, plus you would run the risk of making everything weird. But if you don’t do it, you would only end up making it weird anyway because how much longer can you go on pretending?

Besides, it’s not only you and Jeonghan who are prolonging this inside joke for way longer than it should’ve lasted. All of your friends should be in on it if they treat the two of you like a couple too.

The waiter comes by to take your orders, and you try not to wince at the entire list that comes out of Soonyoung and Seungkwan’s mouths. Mingyu gets the least, seemingly knowing that something is up if the worried glances he throws your way is anything to go by.

Once the waiter leaves, that’s when the small talk stops and all eyes turn to you.

“So what did you want to talk about?” Soonyoung asks with a goofy grin. “Since Jeonghan’s not here, does that mean you need help with Valentine’s Day plans or something?”

Beside him, Seungkwan has the complete opposite expression as he eyes you warily between sips of his americano.

You take a huge swig of water like it’s liquid courage, and then go for it. “This is going to sound weird…” you start, trying not to notice the way Seungkwan tenses up as if bracing for your words, “but I wanted to ask you guys what my relationship with Jeonghan is.”

Silence. Complete, dead silence.

Soonyoung freezes like he’s in a photograph while Seungkwan’s hand holding his americano hangs in mid air as a drop of the drink dribbles down the side of his lip.

“Sorry, what?” It’s Soonyoung who recovers first. “I think I heard that wrong.”

You shake your head. “Just tell me.”

“You’re asking us what your relationship with your own boyfriend is?”

“Boyfriend—exactly!” You have to hold back all the thoughts you have on the topic. “Yeah, that’s what I mean. So you think he’s my boyfriend? That we’re dating?”

Soonyoung frowns but it’s Seungkwan who answers, exasperated. “Y/N, what are you trying to say here? Are you trying to say you guys broke up? Or do you think we don’t know you well enough and this is a test? Can you say whatever it is directly—”

“Jeonghan and I aren’t together.”

There, you said it. Your biggest secret is out.

It should make you relieved to finally let out the secret you’ve been harbouring for years or it should at least alleviate some of the weight on your chest, but it doesn’t. The silence in the wake of your confession only closes in on you and makes it all the more suffocating.

“Any—anymore?”

“No. We were never together.”

The bit of silence from earlier repeats itself. Maybe you should become a speaker or presenter with your ability to draw such reactions from a crowd.

Seungkwan noisily sets down his drink and then leans forward with a frown. He’s still in denial, that much is obvious, and he narrows his eyes as he asks, “Is this a joke? A hidden camera? Are you trying to prank us like Jeonghan—”

“No, I’m completely serious. It’s really not what it seems, and this is why I’m asking you guys what you see us as because at this point I don’t even know the answer myself.”

With a deep breath, you tell them the truth about this entire thing.

You tell them about the high school play and your impromptu acting, and how that led for the two of you to become the famous couple at school afterwards. Sure, it might’ve been a good thing because that meant your acting was believable. But to two people who were interested in just about anything except love at that age, it was annoying and gross.

After the show when the shippers wouldn’t stop, the two of you decided to do what you do best—pull a prank. You spent that Valentine’s Day together as a joke and acted extra disgusting to mock couples while making fun of how stupid people were to believe whatever you showed them. In twelfth grade, the two of you did the same for Valentine’s Day and then even went to prom together as a joke.

In recent years, however, the annual joke of a Valentine’s Day date has turned into his Christmas and your Lunar New Year, his cousin’s graduation, your coworker’s housewarming, and Lee Chan’s wedding. It’s made you on a texting basis with his sister and it’s made him familiar with all your favourite food spots and go-to orders. It’s turned him into someone who’s simultaneously as distant as an acquaintance yet closer than a best friend.

And so, here you are, living an entire lie because you and Jeonghan had the whole world fooled.

“That’s insane,” Soonyoung says when you finally finish the story, unable to look your way and instead, stares into his drink with how mind blown he is.

Seungkwan, on the other hand, remains a bit skeptical. “Okay, but then what was with all that PDA?All the kissing? Is this some sort of situationship?”

“Oh, um.” Immediately you can feel your cheeks heating up. You didn’t think this far at all but now it seems like the entire truth will have to come out. “All of it was fake. We’ve… never actually kissed.”

That drama class has taught you more than you needed to know about manipulating angles and the audience’s perception, and Jeonghan is very good at it. Your fake kisses were often just a trick of the angle or occasionally using the thumb trick, and having seen the evidence captured in photos over the years, you know how convincing it can look.

Now, it’s embarrassing to admit for reasons you never would’ve imagined. Admitting to pulling a childish prank like this is one thing, but the realization that you and Jeonghan have faked it for so long without ever once making it real has you feeling almost dejected.

“I always knew Jeonghan was crazy but I didn’t know he’d be *this* crazy.” Soonyoung now has his head in his hands and is staring off into space. “This is the most insane story I’ve ever heard. I’m not sure if I should be happy for you or sad.”

You give a wry smile. “Yeah, well, I get why you would think we were together though. You met us in college and wouldn’t have known about what happened in the past so I guess there would never be a reason to question it.”

Beside you, Mingyu clears his throat and you turn to look at him. He’s been so quiet throughout your story that you were too busy focusing on the reactions of the other two, but looking at him now, his reaction is entirely different. Mingyu isn’t as surprised as he is concerned. “Actually, Y/N, a few years ago…” he says hesitantly, “there was a time when I asked him if you were actually dating.”

“You did? What did he say?”

“He didn’t deny it.”

“Well, we all know how he loves to be ambiguous and leave things a mystery.”

Mingyu shakes his head. “No—see, that’s what I thought too, but it was different that time. At first he didn’t deny it, but when I pushed a bit more, he said that you’re dating. In actual words and with the most serious look I’ve ever seen on his face.”

This is news to you. You always assumed that they were all in on the joke and would’ve never guessed that anyone actually asked Jeonghan, but the fact that he answered that way is all the more baffling.

“I don’t get it. Why would he tell you that?”

“Yeah, so,” Soonyoung says, “from then on we all thought that was fully confirmed, and he never said or implied otherwise.”

“Right…”

Mingyu nudges you gently. “Y/N, are you telling us about this now because you’re planning on stopping the act? Has it been bothering you? Or did something happen?”

“Is that why you wanted to tell us today?” Soonyoung lets out a dramatic gasp and leans all the back in his chair, hands over his mouth. “Don’t tell me—are you going to stop the act because you have a crush on someone?”

“What? No, definitely not. It’s not that, it’s—”

Here’s the next part of your big secret being revealed, something you weren’t entirely ready for but you tell yourself that this needs to happen.

It’s because of your feelings for Jeonghan. Your very real, very genuine feelings that have nothing to do with this prank.

Truthfully, you can’t pinpoint when you started feeling this way, much like you’re not sure how this joke was able to stick around for so long. It could be the most recent development—when your friend tried to convince you to hop on a dating app, all you could think about was how wrong it felt because you already had Jeonghan. Or maybe it was the Valentine’s Day just before college graduation when he leaned in so closely you thought he was going to kiss you, for real this time, and then only realizing much later that you were disappointed that it wasn’t real.

Or perhaps it started way back, to the time he asked you to prom—he said he didn’t have a date only for you to later find out he’d already rejected two promposals from other people. All for your fake relationship, supposedly.

And now, for you, what has started as a harmless prank has turned into something much more than that over the years.

Everyone looks like they're at a loss for words after that part, and even Soonyoung has lost his enthusiasm after hearing it. “Shit, that’s…” he starts. “Okay, yeah, I’m definitely sad for you.”

Seungkwan and Mingyu have similar sentiments but you wave them off, eager to lighten the mood again after such heavy topics. The food on the table has been long finished and you’re beginning to feel like you’re overstaying your welcome when there’s a crowd waiting at the front of the restaurant. “It’s fine, it’s whatever. I just wanted to get this off my chest today so that I can figure things out before I see him in a few days.”

A while later, you finish paying and then all head out together.

The conversation continues to replay itself in your head, and you realize there is one thing you’re curious about. You turn to Mingyu. “By the way—Mingyu, why *did* you ask Jeonghan if we were actually dating?”

Mingyu stops mid-stride and freezes like a deer in headlights, clearly not expecting your question at all. “I—um, I was asking for a friend.”

“A friend?”

“Yeah, Chan.” He nods a few times in a row. “I thought Chan had a crush on you and I was trying to help him out.”

Strange, seeing as you’ve probably interacted with Chan the least among your friend group. He’s simply too booked and busy to hang out with you, and has been all throughout your college years together.

Oh, and he’s married.

“Like, before he met his wife?” you ask.

Soonyoung starts to cough furiously from where he is a few steps ahead while Mingyu’s cheeks redden the slightest bit.

You vaguely remember the first time the two of you did this, and how it wasn’t anything like how it’s going now.

Tonight is the night you’re supposed to go on your date with Jeonghan, and you’ve been buzzing with nerves since the night before. You have no idea what to expect for tonight since all he told you about it was to show up at his apartment, and that in itself was slightly concerning as you’ve never been to his home before nor has he been so secretive about any plans. Usually the two of you would be going to a casual place or would have the schedule shared ahead of time if it was a more formal event that needed preparation.

Jeonghan buzzes you in when you arrive and before you can say you’ll wait for him in the lobby, he tells you to go up to his unit. Again, a bit strange. You do as he asks though, and then even go to knock on the door when there’s no sign of him coming out.

When he opens the door and steps aside, that’s when everything clicks—you’re not here so that he can get his car and take you to your date location. This *is* the date location.

Beyond the doorway, you can see that his apartment is completely decorated. Rose petals line the sides of the hall and lead to the dining table, covered in a deep red tablecloth and perfectly set for your meal. Beside it, a large bouquet of roses rests at the center of the sideboard surrounded by a row of flickering candles which light up the space.

Even without knowing what his home normally looks like, it’s obvious that all this would’ve taken a lot of effort to set up.

“Jeonghan, why did you prepare all this?”

He gives you a dazzling smile. “Because my darling deserves the best, of course. I told you I was going to make it up to you for cancelling Christmas.”

“Babe, that’s too sweet of you. You really didn’t have to.” You try to return his smile but it doesn’t come easy when this whole situation is overwhelming. Then you let him take your coat and then guide you to the dining table where everything is set up.

Only when you’re seated do you realize that his response doesn’t answer your question at all.

The scent of the roses fill the room and looking at them gives you a pang in your heart. This is what the two of you used to make fun of—these big, romantic gestures, and the couples that willingly eat them up. Now it’s as if the tables have turned and you don’t know what to think.

If this were in public, in front of your friends or other people, you would’ve said that it was another funny gesture that Jeonghan put up for the sake of making them cringe. Because the two of you were the perfect joking, prankster couple, right?

Now that it’s just you and him here, it confuses you as to why he’s going to such lengths for a joke when it’s something that no one else would see, when there’s no audience to watch his performance.

You watch as Jeonghan busies himself in the kitchen, serving the food that he’s prepared and pouring the wine into glasses while glancing your way every once in a while. He looks pleased, you note, and he should be if he got his space to look this beautiful. But you can sense that there’s something else too, almost like a nervousness that sits on his shoulder every time he breezes past you and makes eye contact for the briefest second.

After everything is ready, he finally takes a seat across from you and the dinner begins.

Making small talk is easy at first; you comment on your surprise at this type of date, talk about how cold it’s been lately and how it sucks that your company is forcing you to go back into the office. You ask him how his holiday went and how his family has been, and mention how cute his sister’s new puppy is after seeing a post about it on her social media.

You know you’re just delaying the inevitable. Somehow you get the feeling he knows it too, judging by the way his answers are shorter than usual and how your conversation feels so superficial. So this time after there’s a lull in the conversation, you decide to go for it.

"Jeonghan, um…"

"Hmm?" He looks at you and waits for you to continue, but you don't. Or rather, you can't. "Ah, you're going to comment on how good this is, right?" he says instead, as if supplying you with a way out.

You're all too eager to grab onto it. "Wow, you read my mind." An enthusiastic nod, a slight look of surprise. "It's amazing. Did you make all this yourself?"

Jeonghan shakes his head and then follows up with a sheepish smile. "Partly. The rest is store bought."

Another nod, and then it just ends there again. Seated in this spot with the soft lighting of flickering candles cast against the wall and the heat of Jeonghan's gaze on you, the feeling of discomfort only grows. It's hard to remember what the two of you were like before, during the days when everything seemed so silly–when each move was a clearly defined act between two actors and the world was your stage. And most importantly, when each smile he showed you didn't send your stomach into somersaults or your mind into a loop of second guessing.

The air is so heavy and stifling that you grab your glass and down a large gulp of the wine. At least when you're drinking, you wouldn’t have to speak, whether that might be responding to him in a way that gives away all of your thoughts, or completely spilling them out yourself. Maybe the alcohol will also drown out some of your anxieties and–

"Hey, slow down." Jeonghan glances at you with worry. "We have all night."

You set the glass down, albeit a bit reluctantly. "Right, sorry. This wine is just so good."

Yet another lie, but what's one more at this point? The wine is much too sour and leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You would've much preferred a soda or bubble tea, and drinking something fancy like this during such a fancy occasion makes you feel like you're pretending to be someone you're not.

Which is exactly what you're doing, isn't it? You've been living a lie this entire time.

You briefly wonder if Jeonghan feels the same way—the two of you have never properly spent time alone in complete privacy, and to have your first time be in such a formal atmosphere must feel strange. But if he's uncomfortable, he makes no sign of showing it. Or maybe he's always been the better actor of the two of you.

“You know, since you mentioned seasonal depression, I was thinking that for Christmas this year we should go somewhere. Somewhere warm and sunny to get away from the cold.”

“Oh, this year?” you repeat stupidly when you can’t quite believe what you’re hearing. Jeonghan wants to continue this thing? And here you were, thinking that he was about to end it at any moment for the past few months. “Um, yeah. That would be nice.”

“Or it could be a fall trip. Your parents have been wanting to go see the leaves change colour, right?”

There’s no hint of sarcasm on his face and no playful twinkle in his eye, and even though no one can read him very well, you know enough to tell that he’s being serious. You also know that what he’s saying makes no sense at all.

“Right, yeah. They’ve been wanting to do that.”

“Y/N, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you reply automatically, and then reach for another long gulp of your drink. “Yup, all good.”

Jeonghan frowns, a tiny crease appearing between his brows. “Are you sure? If you want to talk about it, I’m here to listen.”

It’s strange, the way he looks at you. Jeonghan, who dances around questions and deflects easily with humour and only shows people what he wants them to see, now has worry filling his eyes as he waits for you to continue. As if he *knows*.

You doubt Soonyoung and Seungkwan would have spilled your secret so easily, but there’s a great possibility that the two of them would be unable to act normal around him after what they learned, and unintentionally hint at the truth. Then there’s the other possibility that Jeonghan knew way before any of this. Because maybe he—

No, you don’t want to think about that.

“It’s just that,” you say, having to force yourself to pause and slow down your thoughts before something terrible comes spewing out. A slow inhale, a shaky exhale. “Why are we here, Jeonghan?”

His frown deepens, but now it’s turned into confusion. “What do you mean?”

“What are we doing? This date has been nice, but I’m just very confused over why you put so much effort into this when there’s no one else around to see it. Weren’t we doing all of this as a joke? As a prank? Pretending to be a couple so that we can fool the world since that’s exactly what they wanted to see, but joke’s on them because we’re not?”

Jeonghan watches you silently with an unreadable look on his face. “Is that how you feel?”

“’Well, yes, because isn’t that the truth? And now, we’ve been doing so much together that it doesn’t feel like a joke anymore. How can it be when your mom is offering to give me homemade side dishes? Or—or when Chan’s wife was there, smiling at us on her wedding day like she wished we’d be just as happy as they are?” You pause to look at him and then proceed to look away. “How long are we going to continue lying to the world? Because I can’t stand the guilt.”

The last part of that may be true, but it’s not the full truth.

“Yeah, you’re right. We don’t have to keep doing this.”

“W—what?” You stare at him, dumbfounded.

Jeonghan sighs deeply and then meets your eyes, but then quickly looks away. “Yeah, we should’ve left this in high school. The joke has kind of gotten old, hasn’t it?”

You have no idea what he means by any of that, but it feels like you’re better off not knowing. The tension in the air is thick, and even when you imagined your fake breakup hundreds of times in your head, this is not something you could have predicted. It’s as you’re on a precipice, and one wrong move will delete all those years, all that time you spent with him.

And the worst part is that you don’t even want to break up.

“Jeonghan, look. I know all of this is supposed to be a joke, but why is it that it feels like you really do care?” One last deep breath before you make the jump. “And why is it that I *want* you to care?”

That has him stunned for a second, so much that the expression is obvious on his face in a way that almost never happens.

“Wait, what? I do care. No, I get that we started all this for fun back then, but that’s not how I feel about it now. Everything we’ve done is real—trust me, I wouldn’t have brought you to my family if that wasn’t the case. And I never thought I was lying to them. It’s exaggerated, yes, and much too dramatic, but I’m not a good enough actor where all that can be based on a complete lie.”

You braced yourself for the final blow, only to be completely confused over his words. “What are you saying?”

“Y/N, it’s always been real to me. All of it.”

“But—but I thought you wanted to stop all this when you cancelled our plans for Christmas. Why did you do that?”

Jeonghan opens his mouth a little but then closes it again. “Do you remember last year at Chan’s wedding when you caught the bouquet?”

You nod but don’t hide your confusion about where this is going.

“After you caught it, everyone was looking at you… and then at me. It was like they all expected us to be next, because well,” he shrugs, “everyone thought we were together. And that’s when I realized that this is more than simply feeling like it’s real. We were turning it into something real.”

“So you called off Christmas because you wanted to stop doing this? Because you hated how it was becoming real?”

“No,” Jeonghan shakes his head. “The opposite. I was afraid of how much I liked that it felt real. That day at the wedding, I—I wanted to kiss you for real, Y/N. Not have to fake it.”

“Oh…”

“If we did meet up for Christmas, I don’t know what might’ve happened. I thought it was safer to stay away for a bit and gather my thoughts.” He hesitates slightly and you can see the pained smile he has on. “But one day into the holidays and I was already regretting my decision.”

You don’t know what to say to that. Your mind is hardly listening anymore when it keeps on repeating Jeonghan’s words like a broken record, screaming to you that it’s real, that all of it is real. That you’re not the only one who’s been feeling this way, and that you won’t need to stage a fake breakup for your fake relationship.

“Are you okay?” he asks, breaking you out of your thoughts.

“I’m just—are you sure all this is real? Jeonghan, are you being serious?”

He breaks into a tender smile. “Don’t you remember? I already answered you back then, Y/N.”

“What do you mean?”

“You asked me if I’d be your darling, even if thousands of miles may separate us, even if—”

“—if the paths we walk may crumble,” you finish off. “Or something like that. I actually have no idea what we said back then.”

Those were the lines in the play that you did back in high school, the very lines that the two of you conjured out of thin air one day and the very moment that started this whole thing.

“Yeah, that,” he says softly.

“Hmm, so, babe,” you put on your usual mockingly sweet tone, repeating the line that you said on stage many years ago, “are you going to kiss me?”

Jeonghan holds back a smile like he can’t contain his happiness, and follows with his line without missing a beat. “If that’s what my darling wants.”

The smile only widens when he gets up from his seat and you go to meet him halfway, and it’s the last thing you see when he leans in closer and closer. Jeonghan gently slides his thumb between his lips and yours as he closes the distance, like how it was done the very first time, but this time you can feel it as he slowly moves it away.

Then you’re kissing him, actually kissing him for real for the first time. His lips are soft and warm, and the bit of hesitance between you seems to completely melt away as you wrap your arms around him and he pulls you closer. You let yourself drown in his scent, the warmth of his touch, and the loud pounding of your heart now that you no longer have to be paying attention to the reactions of the people around you. Nothing else matters anymore, all that matters is what you have now.

You spend the rest of the night catching up, whether that’d be stories over the years of shared memories, or creating new memories to make up for the lost time. He tells you he loves you and that the trip suggestions were very much real, and the two of you laugh over how you’ve become the exact couple you once mocked. It’s easy to understand them now though, you think as Jeonghan gives you a sleepy smile as you’re cuddled up on the couch.

“Oh yeah, I wanted to ask something,” you say, and he looks at you in alarm at your abruptness. “Why did you tell Mingyu that we were together?”

Jeonghan stays silent for a bit, narrowing his eyes as if having difficulty recalling what you’re talking about. Then he finally answers. “Oh that?” He chuckles. “That was because I didn’t want him to think he had a chance with you.”

#jeonghan x reader #jeonghan x you #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fic #jeonghan fic #my fic #if you asked me just last week if i was ever gonna post again #i might've said no HAHAHA #truly this came out of nowhere!! and yes it's so rushed OTL #not a brand new idea tho bc it's smth i've been thinking about over the years #kinda inspired by an iconic tumblr post!!#tbh the first jeonghan fic on this blog was gonna be #his story of the holiday party series (i wrote 6k in dec and gave up)#was gonna scrap it but i reread it this week and it's not bad??#so try again this year ig 🤡

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