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neonoddeye · 7 months

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A lesson in physics | College! Gojo Satoru x Reader

In these trying times, I will provide: a college au! I actually wrote this as a birthday present for my best friend, but I wanted to post it here as well. It’s also my first chaptered fic, yay! I hope you enjoy :)

CONTENT INCLUDES: AFAB! Reader, cursing, Gojo and reader are both in college and everything is NORMAL and HAPPY, Gojo is a frat boy, enemies to friends to lovers, will be NSFW in later chapter (MINORS DNI)

Monday, 12:00pm

Working with Satoru Gojo on a class assignment was a horror you only conjured in your nightmares. And as you look at the physics class assignment on your laptop screen, you realize you wouldn’t be waking up from this one any time soon.

“Oh god, him?” Your roommate Shoko joins your gaze of disgust as she glances at your fate. “You’re gonna end up doing the whole thing by yourself!”

“Don’t remind me” you whine, leaning back in your chair and placing a hand on your forehead in dramatic distress. “Can I switch with you?”

“Hell no, I’m securing this A with Nanami” Shoko laughs, patting you on the back as a poor attempt at pity. “But we’ll be praying for you.”

You and Shoko had just left said physics class, the two of you lounging at the library to get a head start on the week’s assignments. You couldn’t help but truly stress over your predicament instead of starting on your homework, however: everyone and their mom knew of Gojo Satoru and his infamous Kappa Alpha frat boy title. Ever since he was on your dorm floor freshman year of college, you’ve harbored a vendetta against him. While you were immune to his mesmerizing blue eyes and undeniable charisma, most of your friends weren’t, and pursued him in droves. With every poor girl’s broken heart that he stomped on, your hatred grew, until you infamously bashed him at his frat’s party that same year. While his reputation was almost impenetrable in the eyes of his male friends, you definitely did a little damage to him from the outside. Two years later, you never thought you’d have to deal with him again- until you both enrolled in the same physics class. Hell, you didn’t even think he had the brain capacity to handle a STEM major. And now, you have to work alongside him; you can’t help but question the universe and wonder what you ever did wrong to deserve this.

“Guess I’ll get his contact info” you sigh, pulling up the list of class emails and scrolling for his name.

“Hey! Y/N, right?” You hear a familiar voice ahead of you. Your lab partner, Gojo Satoru, has already found you in the library. The devil works hard, but Gojo works harder.

“Hey Gojo” you reply monotonously, barely glancing at him over your laptop screen. He’s dressed like a poster frat boy, wearing a dark blue knitted sweater vest over a crisp white button-up paired with slim khakis. His paper white hair is unkempt yet tamed, and his irritating blue eyes sit behind round gold-rimmed glasses. His trademark smirk is replaced by an awkward smile as he approaches you; it’s good to know your blow at his ego was permanent.

“Uh, long time no see” Gojo continues while messing with his disheveled hair, “did you see we’re working on that project together?”

You can’t help but let out a belated sigh. “I sure did. You have any ideas for it yet?“

“Oh nah, I haven’t really looked at the whole thing yet. Do you wanna start it right now? I have time.”

“Oh uh, I have to leave for class in 15 minutes.” In reality, your next class starts in an hour; you just didn’t feel like talking to him right now. Still, you keep up the act by packing your belongings to head out.

“Oh that’s all good. Here,” Gojo hands you his phone, presenting an empty contact card for you to fill out. “Let’s set up a time to work on it later. We have two weeks, but I wanna get it over with”.

“Well, that’s something we agree on” you mutter, filling out your contact info on his cracked iPhone screen. You then hand his phone back to him and rise from your seat. “I’m usually free after 4pm. Just remember to actually text me back, Gojo. I know you’re not very good at that.”

“I will, I will,” he chuckles, holding up his hands in surrender to your threat. “Promise!” he holds up a pinky and winks at you, to which you roll your eyes and head back towards the door. You’re really hoping these next two weeks aren’t as difficult as you think they’ll be.

Thankfully, Gojo actually responded, and the two of you agreed to Tuesday evening at the library. You’re currently waiting for your project partner at a cozy corner desk, taking out your notes and laptop to begin the assignment. It’s 5 minutes past the agreed upon time when Gojo saunters up to you; honestly, you thought he’d show up later or forget entirely, so you’re not upset.

“Sorry, club meeting ran a little later than usual,” he says as he slumps into the couch across from you, his legs dangling over the armrest. “I got you this, too,” he adds, sliding a Red Bull over to you. “I don’t know how long we’re working on this tonight, but I thought I’d get us both one, just in case”.

“Oh, thanks. I got something already, though,” you reply, picking up your thermos of espresso and politely pushing back the offering. “What club are you in?” It seems like you’re both attempting to make amends to make the project a little easier.

“I’m in an astrophysics club. It’s nothing much, tho”, he shrugs. We just talk about nerdy shit and occasionally do projects and stuff.”

“I’m not gonna lie, I didn’t expect that from you”, you lean back in your chair, now slightly interested in the man before you.

“Yeah, I actually do more than just party.” Gojo adds while taking out his own supplies. “Believe it or not, I’m not the same guy I was freshman year”.

“You’re gonna have to prove it to me, I’m afraid”, you retort. If he’s trying to charm you, it won’t work.

Gojo clears his throat. “Anyway, here are some ideas I had for the project”. He slides his notebook closer to you, revealing a page full of bullet points aptly titled “project ideas.” His handwriting is messy, but legible, and as you read his notes you’re reluctantly impressed by his insightfulness and creativity. Gojo reveals that he actually stayed behind at his club to relay his ideas and ask for tips, admitting he was more interested in the material than he thought he’d be. As you lean over the table to point out one particular idea, you catch a hint of cologne from him. You can tell it’s not a cheap scent, with notes of mandarin and cypress above amber and leather. His hair is slightly neater than it was yesterday, and up close you can tell that his skin is flawless. You’re almost annoyed at his effortlessly attractive appearance; no wonder so many people fawn over him.

An hour passes briskly, with the two of you making ample progress with the project. Surprisingly, the two of you work well together, even getting off topic a few times to discuss frivolous subjects. You learned that he likes watching cartoons and reading, and wants to go into research after college. You can’t help but feel a little guilty for holding a grudge over him for so long; it seems like he really has changed.

After 30 more minutes, Gojo stands up to stretch. “Alright, we’re done with the outline”, he yawns, taking a sip of his Red Bull. “I don't wanna keep you too long, how about we call it for the night?”

“Sounds good to me”, you yawn in response, closing your notebook. “It takes me a bit to walk home, anyway”.

“You’re walking home by yourself? At dark?” Gojo questions you with genuine concern in his words. “I can drive you home, if you want”.

“Oh no, I’m fine. I do it all the time”, you shrug.

“It’s no big deal to me”, he flashes a small smile. “I respect having the balls to walk home alone at night, but I’d be a dick to not offer”.

“Sure, why not. I appreciate it”. You smile back, getting up to follow Gojo to his car. As you walk with him to his car, the two of you excitedly discuss a new anime you’ve both been watching. You didn’t take him as the type to be an anime guy either, but he’s surprised you a lot today. When you get to his car, it’s as nice as you expect it to be: a slick silver BMW with a clean interior, accompanied by a new car smell. Of course he has money, too. He’s not a menace to society on the road either, and the low hum of his Spotify playlist accompanies the small talk.

“By the way”, Gojo pipes up after a moment of silence, “I feel like shit for how I acted to your friends freshman year. You were right to call me out like that”.

“I know”, you reply, with a hint of playfulness in your tone. He chuckles in response.

“No offense taken. But really, I hope we can be on good terms now. I had a good time, even if we were working on an assignment.”

“Unfortunately, I think I did too”. He’s pulling up to the entrance of your apartment complex, and parks neatly by the door.

“Next time, how about we work at my place? Only if you want to though, just thought I’d suggest some place quieter”.

“I’m down”, you nod, “I could bring snacks, too”.

“Sounds like a deal. See you on Thursday, Y/N”. He gives you a short wave as you exit his car, and even makes sure to watch you get inside safely. As you walk to your apartment, you battle with your renewed thoughts of the frat boy you once detested. After being alone with him for an extended period of time, you hate to admit that you can see the appeal; he’s handsome, charming, and seems to have mellowed out over the years. But should you really be giving Satoru Gojo a chance?

Fuck it, you might.

(Stay tuned for part 2!)

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #jjk

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hyunjins-orange-slice-too · 6 months

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pairing: dom lee know x f. reader

genre: smut— smut with feelings (me being delulu at the end)

word count: ~2.3k

warnings: established relationship— pet names— bondage— toys— oral (f. and m.receiving)— orgasm denial (kinda)— unprotected sex— cum eating— spanking

an: this is a repost from my recently deceased blog hyunjins-orange-slice. may she rest in peace.

masterlist

He kissed you softly on the lips before returning to his chair. The chair had a high back and was upholstered with black velvet. The material made a shhh noise as his suit pants slid over its surface. He leaned back, a smirk on his face, admiring his work. You were a few feet away, on the bed. You were on all fours, your weight resting on your knees and elbows. You were bound with black shibari rope. You looked up at him through your lashes, he was staring at you like you were something to eat. Like he was going to absolutely wreck you. His eyes fell to your clothing. You were wearing his favorite piece of lingerie. Violet lace, tied together in the middle by a thin silk string. It barely covered your breasts. A matching violet thong did nothing to cover your sex. Especially with you squirming around, unable to keep still, begging him to touch you. His room was dark, lit only by candles. Though there were many, many candles. Their wax having dropped down their holders, over many uses, to pool on the floor. In the flickering light, your eyes met.

"You’re wearing my favorite." He purred.

You nodded, unable to make a noise that wasn’t a whimper. You rocked forward and back on your knees. He flexed his hand that was resting on his thigh. Three of the five fingers on that hand were adorned with silver rings, and a small silver chain dangled from his wrist. Thick veins ran up the back of his hand, up his forearm, and disappeared under his shirt cuff where you couldn’t see them anymore. As if he was itching to swat your backside, he flexed his hand again, before balling it up into a fist. His other hand was busy undoing the top few buttons of his white dress shirt. Through the small gap, you could see the thin silver necklace that matched his bracelet. The long chain lay against his heaving chest, mingling with his limited chest hair, as he took deep breaths. You couldn’t see it, because it was hidden by his shirt, but there is a small charm on the end of that chain. The charm had a simple engraving of your first initial.

He leaned to one side now, the fisted hand relaxing and sliding into his pocket. He pulled out a sleek, black iPhone. Is he going to take your picture? You didn’t care. You trusted him fully, and if he wanted to take a picture to remember this moment, then you wanted him to have it. But instead of raising the phone to point the camera in your direction, he started swiping through apps. He found the one he wanted and opened it. He laid the phone on his thigh and you could see there was nothing on the screen but a graphic of a shiny gold button.

"Do you know what this button does?" He asked.

You shook your head, no.

He leaned forward, presenting the phone to you.

"Would you like to find out?" You looked at him, unsure. He slid the phone onto the bed so it was resting underneath your tied hands, which now hovered over the screen. You looked down at the phone, then back up to him. He ran the tip of his nose up your arm, and kissed your shoulder gently.

"Go on, baby." He whispered in your ear. "Press it."

You brought your hands down, and with all the courage you could muster, pressed the button quickly. You gasped. The small toy he had inserted into you, after tying you up, gave a quick buzz. He chuckled darkly at your reaction. You pressed the button again, longer this time, holding your finger on it. The toy buzzzzzed inside of you, sending shivers through your whole body. You moaned, thoroughly enjoying the sensation. He leaned forward and snatched the phone from your hand.

"Ah ah ah," he scolded. "Let’s not get carried away."

He sat back in his chair, watching you. He pressed the button a few times in quick succession. Your body flinched and shook with the vibrations. You whimpered and looked at him pleadingly. He held his finger on the button for a few short seconds. Your back arched, your eyes screwed shut. You whimpered once more when he removed his finger from the button.

"Poor baby," he teased. "Do you want me to keep pressing the button?" He pressed it once quickly as he said the word ‘button’. You gasped and nodded vigorously. He pressed it again for a few seconds, moans falling from your lips.

"You look so beautiful, kitten. Tied up and moaning for me." His words made you clench around the toy, which buzzed as he held the button. He continued holding it, the longest he had yet. No longer able to stay upright, one of your hips hit the bed. Now facing him, your tiny silk string had come undone, revealing your breasts to him. He released the button. You were breathing heavily. He knelt next to the bed, leaning in to give you a sweet kiss. His soft lips kissed from your mouth, down your neck, until they found your breast. His quick tongue lashed out at your nipple. Your head fell back, eyes closed, in bliss. He sucked your nipple into his mouth and pressed the button. He hummed his approval at the sound of your moans, causing vibrations on your breast that matched the ones at your core. He released the button and you fell back on the mattress.

He stood and you grew cold without him near. He walked to the foot of the bed, and ran his fingers up and down your left calf.

"So beautiful." He whispered to himself. You pulled your knees toward your chest, revealing your sex to him. His pupils dilated. He got on his knees. "I love playing with you, kitten." He said, his warm breath brushing across your clit. You lifted your hips slightly, bringing yourself closer to his mouth. He pulled back.

"Don’t get greedy, baby. You will get what I give you, when I give it to you." He scolded, and then smacked you in your most sensitive area. You yelped.

"These panties look so pretty, shielding your little pussy, but I think it’s time to take them off." He pulled your thong down to your ankles. Now fully exposed to him, he leaned in and licked a stripe from the toy up to the top. The feeling of his tongue on you making you buck your hips again. He gave you another smack on your now naked pussy.

"You taste so good, princess." He moaned. He was slowly loosing his composure. He licked another stripe, then flicked his tongue across your clit, and pressed the button. Your stomach tightened and you nearly screamed. He kept his finger on the button and his tongue kept pace. You could feel your release building inside you. He could hear it in your moans that you were close. He released the button and pulled away. You whined.

"Don’t you whine at me." He warned, standing up. "I’ll let you cum, but I want to see your face when you do."

His thumb found your clit and began to rub circles, while his other thumb pushed the button. You moaned and your back arched, pushing your breasts higher. You could feel it building again.

"Go ahead, baby." He encouraged. "Cum for me."

And you did. Your body trembled with the release of it, your eyes scrunched shut, hands balled up into fists.

"Good girl baby. Your so pretty when you’re cumming." He said, releasing the button. You relaxed on the sheets as you came down from your high. He slowly pulled the toy out and placed it on the bedside table. He walked toward your head.

"When you’re ready, get back on your knees." He commanded. You did as he asked. Now level with your face, he started undoing his belt. You could see the bulge in his pants and your mouth started to water. You love it when he lets you suck him. It’s your favorite way to please him. He pulled his cock out of his pants and started stroking it slowly.

"Open." He commanded, and you did so immediately. Enthusiastically.

"So eager." He teased. "What a good girl." He put his hand on the back of your head and guided his tip into your mouth. You moaned at the familiar taste of him. He slowly pushed his length in to your mouth until his tip touched the back of your throat. You gagged and he pulled out a little. Then he repeated the process. After a few thrusts, he shoved his cock as far in as he could get it. You sputtered around him, spit dripping down onto the sheets. His head fell back. "Fuck." He exhaled. Then he suddenly pulled all the way out, leaving you empty. He knelt down and kissed you deeply.

He then walked around the bed, removing the rest of his clothes, and aligned himself with your entrance. Your heart quickened with the anticipation.

"Are you ready, baby?" He asked, rubbing his tip up and down through your wetness. You nodded. "Tell me." He said.

"Yes please." You said, shyly. "I’m ready. Please." You begged. He grabbed your hips and slowly pushed all the way inside you, until his hips were touching your ass.

"You feel divine, kitten." He moaned. But, he didn’t move. He stayed still for a moment and let you adjust to his size. You kept clenching and unclenching around him.

"Minho.." you moaned, pleading.

"What is it baby?" He answered.

"Please.." was all you could say.

"Okay, honey." He said sweetly, rubbing up and down your back. He grabbed your hips again and started thrusting in and out. His pace was slow and hard. He thrusts were powerful, his fingers digging into your skin, surely to leave a bruise. You didn’t mind. You loved it when he marked you.

"Fuck." He moaned, quickening his pace.

You were a moaning mess beneath him. He leaned down, wrapping his hand around your throat and pulling your head back.

"Does that feel good, baby?" He whispered in your ear.

"Yes!" You moaned.

"Do you like it when I fuck you?" He breathed.

"Yes! Yes!" You answered.

"Yes, what?" He ordered. "Say it, baby. You like it when i fuck your sweet little cunt?"

"Yes, sir!" You moaned. "Feels so good."

"My cock drunk little slut, takes my cock so good." He said, thrusting harder.

He released you with a grunt and you fell forward onto the mattress, he spanked you, hard. "Mmm"he growled., and spanked you again. "I love it when your pretty ass turns red, baby." Spank. "You’re such a good girl letting me use you like this." Spank.

"Oh my god." You moaned.

"That’s it baby." He said, thrusting into you. You could feel your orgasm building.

"Minho.." you whimpered.

"What baby?" He asked, sweetly. "Are you going to cum?"

"Yes please, sir."

His thrusts were getting sloppier, his breathing ragged. He was getting close too. "Go ahead baby. Cum on my cock."

You clenched around him, squeezing so tight. "Fuck!" He yelled.

An intense orgasm hit you then. "Thank you!" You moaned. "Thank you, sir! Thank you. Thank you."

"You’re welcome, sweet girl." He said. "Keep milking my cock. Do you want my cum, baby?" He asked.

Still convulsing, you managed to moan out a "yes, please." And with a growl, he released inside of you. He buried himself as deep as he could and froze, riding out his orgasm and emptying himself into you. He leaned down and kissed your back, then your shoulder.

"Are you okay, baby?" He asked, breathless.

You nodded, unstable to speak. He kissed your back again and then straightened. He slowly pulled out of you, leaving you empty and a wave of sadness came over you. You could feel his cum leaking out of you and onto the bed. He knelt down so his breath was hitting your tired pussy. He used his finger to scoop up his cum and put it back inside you. You moaned into the sheets. He kissed your thighs, kissed the red handprints on your ass, and then licked your clit quickly before sticking his tongue in your dripping hole. He licked your walls and you shivered around him.

He pulled away. "Both of our release taste so good when they’re mixed together." He licked his lips. He untied your ankles and rubbed where the rope had been. He kissed each ankle before crawling on the bed next to you and untying your wrists. He kissed those as well before pulling your limp body close to his chest, squeezing you tight. You kissed his muscled chest.

"I love you." You said, your voice muffled against his skin.

"What baby?" He asked, pulling back and looking down at you softly.

You looked up into his eyes. "I love you." You repeated quietly.

"Oh, baby." He pulled you close again, your face in his chest. His smell in your nostrils, tears leaking from your eyes. You loved this man, so much. It hurt. He kissed your head.

"I love you, kitten." He said into your hair. "My sweet, sweet baby."

You sniffled, still crying slightly. He looked down at you again, using his thumb to wipe your tears.

"Don’t cry, honey. You promise you’re okay? Did I hurt you?" He asked, concern in his voice.

You shook your head no. You willed yourself to stop crying. This was pathetic, crying because you’re so in love. You needed to stop before you chased him away.

He hugged you tight without another word and rubbed your back softly with his fingertips. He kissed your head occasionally, humming a soft song until you fell asleep in his strong arms.

🚨reminder: this blog is 18+ only. i’ve been getting a lot of new followers (which i greatly appreciate) but if there’s no age identifier on your blog, i’m blocking you no questions asked. (for my own sanity and peace of mind.) ik some people don’t actually go to my page to read the warnings, so im going to start attaching a warning at the bottom of all my posts. thanks for understanding. 💕

#stray kids #stray kids smut #stray kids lee know #stray kids lee minho #lee know skz #lee know x reader #lee know x you #lee know x y/n #stray kids x reader #stray kids x female reader #stray kids x you #stray kids x y/n #hyunjins orange slice too

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sunsetkerr · 1 year

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10 THINGS Y/N L/N CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT | s.kerr

summary: british gq releases a video of you and the ten things you can't live without. [1k words]

pairing: singer!reader x sam kerr

notes: another singer!reader!!!!!

[STUDIO; BLUE BACKGROUND, Y/N SITTING AT A WHITE TABLE. TEN ITEMS SAT IN FRONT OF HER]

Y/N L/N: Hi GQ, I'm Y/N L/N and these are ten things that I can't live without.

[SHOTS OF VARIOUS ITEMS FLASH ONTO THE SCREEN; A LIP BALM, A PHONE, A VAN CLEEF CLOVER BRACELET, A VOCAL CORD STEAMER]

[CLIP OF AN IPHONE 13]

'1) PHONE'

Y/N L/N: So this is my phone, I don't go anywhere without it. I figured we could get the boring stuff out of the way first (LAUGHS). I know everyone comes and watches these and watches people pull their phones out and collectively groans. (WHISPERS) I'm sorry.

[Y/N CLICKS ON THE HOME SCREEN. A PICTURE OF SAM ON THE BEACH POPS UP WITH THE TIME OVERLAPPING IT]

Y/N L/N: Nothing special really until you see the home screen. It's a picture of Sam from the very first time we went to Fremantle together to meet her family. I had never been to Fremantle before, so it was very cool and I met all of her family, it was one of my favourite trips we had ever been on together. Very special.

[CLIP OF A MACBOOK AIR, THERE IS A NUMBER 20 STICKER SITTING IN THE BOTTOM CORNER]

'2) LAPTOP'

Y/N L/N: I don't ever go anywhere without my laptop. I like having it on me, I'm not sure why. I don't go on holidays without it, or stay at a friends place without it. I never know when I'll need it. She always comes in handy, and because it's a MacBook I can text and FaceTime on it if my phone dies.

[CLIP OF A VAN CLEEF BRACELET SAT ON Y/N'S WRIST]

'3) BRACELET'

Y/N L/N: Okay, so this bracelet is very special to me. Sam gave it to me on our first anniversary. It's a Van Cleef Alhambra bracelet and we both have one which I think is sweet. So if I'm not with Sam, I like to have it on so I can think of her... (PAUSES) That was a little lame, wasn't it?

[CLIP OF A GOLDEN RING, A CLOVER SHAPE]

'4) RING'

Y/N L/N: I feel like I'm just talking about Sam, and maybe I am, but I don't care. Anyway, this is my ring that Sam also got for me, it's also from Van Cleef.

[CLOSE UP OF THE RING; GOLD DETAILING IN THEN CENTRE OF THE CLOVER]

Y/N L/N: It matches my bracelet which is nice. I try to wear it on every red carpet or event that I go to, because usually I'm wearing clothes and jewellery that don't belong to me, so having this makes me feel like I've got a little piece of me on the night.

[CLIP OF A GREEN VOCAL STEAMER]

'5) STEAM INHALER'

Y/N L/N: Okay, so this is my steamer and I don't ever go anywhere without it if I'm working. This thing keeps me sane and sounding somewhat decent if I'm not feeling well. Lots of my friends in theatre had these growing up and I was always so jealous and wanted one, so I finally bought myself one online and I will never go back. After a show, I will shower and go back to the bus or the hotel and just sit with this for an hour.

[CLIP OF A PINK 'GO-TO' LIP BALM]

'6) LIPS!'

Y/N L/N: Caitlin Foord got me onto this skincare brand back home in Australia called 'go-to' and I am literally never ever going to put anything else on my face ever again.

[Y/N KISSES THE SIDE OF THE LIP BALM]

Y/N L/N: This is their 'lips!' lip balm and I take it everywhere with me. I hate having dry lips, or when I'm trying to sing and they crack at the sides. That *BEEP* kills me. (Y/N GASPS AND LOOKS INTO THE CAMERA WITH WIDE EYES) I am so so sorry.

[CLIP OF A WORN NOTEBOOK WITH SOME STICKERS ON THE FRONT THAT ARE BEGINNING TO CREASE]

'7) NOTEBOOK'

Y/N L/N: If you didn't know, I write songs..

[CAMERA ANGLE CUTS TO B-ROLL CAMERA, Y/N LOOKING DOWN THE LENSE]

Y/N L/N: (WHISPERS) Good ones

[CUTS BACK TO MAIN CAMERA]

Y/N L/N: And this is where I write them if I don't, for some reason, have my laptop with me. I don't love writing them down because I change my lyrics so much over time and I waste so much paper and room writing in an actual book, but I live with it.

[CLIP OF A GREEN AND YELLOW BEADED BRACELET WITH THE WORDS 'KERR 20' THREADED INTO IT]

'8) FRIENDSHIP BRACELET'

Y/N L/N: I go to lots of football games. I try to go to most of Sam's games if I can and I always wear this.

[Y/N TURNS THE BRACELET AROUND TO SHOW THE NAME ON THE BRACELET, THERE IS A SMALL WHITE BEAD WITH A RED HEART IN THE MIDDLE SEPARATING KERR AND 20]

Y/N L/N: Taylor Swift's Eras Tour has started a very big thing for friendship bracelets, which I'm loving. So when Sam was playing in the World Cup, a girl tapped me on the shoulder and gave me this which was really sweet. I didn't have a bracelet to trade with her, but I have made one and I'm taking it with me to the Olympic Qualifiers in October in hopes that I'll see her again and I can give it back to her. So if you see this, I have a bracelet for you!

[CLIP OF A MICROPHONE, A PALE BLUE BODY AND WITH A MATCHING RING AROUND THE TOP]

'9) MICROPHONE'

Y/N L/N: This is my mic, I have played every show for the last three years with this exact mic. I don't like not playing without it now, it's become almost a superstition. (CHUCKLES)

[PICTURE OF Y/N AND TAYLOR SWIFT SINGING TOGETHER ON STAGE POPS UP, Y/N IS USING HER BLUE MICROPHONE]

Y/N L/N: Sam took this picture of me and Taylor during sound check (Y/N HOLDS UP A PRINT OUT OF THE PICTURE). I love this picture a lot, we didn't have any fancy outfits or choreography, it was just us having fun before a show. Very special.

[BACKGROUND MUSIC STOPS; CLIP OF SAM WALKING ONTO SET AND SITTING ON Y/N'S LAP]

'10) GIRLFRIEND'

Y/N L/N: Self-explanatory

SAM KERR: I'm honoured (SAM LOOKS DOWN AT Y/N AND KISSES HER CHEEK A FEW TIMES)

Y/N L/N: (LAUGHS)

[BLACK SCREEN; GQ LOGO]

#one shots . * • .#sam kerr x reader #sam kerr imagine #sam kerr one shot #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso x reader

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f0rlorn · 9 months

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delicate → lamina

lamina!tbosas x reader

notes → in which you get to live a soft, domestic life with lamina. cottagecore lesbians trope and not ashamed. feminine intended reader

warnings → short, but her tag is so bare i needed to do something about it. not edited & uploaded via iphone.

lamina’s thick, red hair combed through your fingers as you parted it into three separate sections, beginning the works of a braid. both of your schedules had finally aligned, allowing you to spend your free time with the girl for the first time in a while. wind blew in from the open window, causing the dainty curtains to flutter, and the cool draft gave you goosebumps. lamina was humming a familiar tune, an old generational lullaby, as your finger got to work, expertly twisting her auburn hair into a simple but classy braid. these days were the ones you cherished the most. serene, intimate, nothing but tranquil as lamina and you simply focused on your eternal love for each other.

the two of you were patiently awaiting the baked goods lamina had made to finish cooking in the oven. it was rare that lamina and you ever got to enjoy sweets, as the ingredients were very hard to come by. knowing how much lamina loved to bake, though, you had saved up to buy everything she would need. lamina must have been keeping track of the time, because as soon as you finished with her hair, she sprung up, walking over to the oven. as she pulled the assortment of sweets out, carefully placing them on the countertop, the aroma filled the room. it was mouthwatering, sickeningly sweet, just like lamina. it wasn’t a bad thing, being overly sweet. if anything, it put you into even more of a sugar craze. you couldn’t get enough of her and her baking.

in total, she had made three short of a dozen shortbread cookies, even though they may have been slightly out of season. you would eat anything she made, though, knowing she did it all with love. while she tended to her sweets, you snuck outside the back door, allowing your bare feet to connect with the grass. there was a patch of daisies out back. small, white flowers that you plucked individually, cradling them in your palm as you slipped back inside. lamina had displayed her cookies on an old, plate of china. the lone dish had been an anniversary gift to her parents. rimmed with gold paint, with small, orange flowers embroidered on it as well. lamina beckoned for you to sit, but you were on a mission, walking up behind her. the girl was confused, but trusted you enough that she wasn’t bothered. you took the daisies, weaving them into her braid as a final touch. you couldn’t help but smile at your handiwork. the white of the flower was a gorgeous juxtaposition against her auburn hair.

“beautiful,” she grinned at your compliment, cupping your face with her hand. grabbing one of the cookies, lamina held it up for you to try. you didn’t hesitate in taking a bite, groaning in delectation as the flavor overwhelmed your senses. lamina never missed when baking. it was her passion, after all. and she was yours.

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #tbosas #thg #thg x reader #tbosas x reader #thg fanfiction #tbosas fanfiction #lamina tbosas #lamina thg #lamina x reader #lamina thg x reader #lamina tbosas x reader #lamina

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romanreignseater · 1 year

Text

Press Play Pt. 1

Roman Reigns x Black Female! OC! (Xena)

Rating: 18+

Warning: Smut, sex tape, leaking of relations, angst, breaking up with Roman, and a cliffhanger 🙂.

“Being the girlfriend to a famous divorced father of 5 wasn’t your plan at 26 years old. You trusted him with your life, so you agreed to film a little something, but now you regret ever meeting him when your whole life is exposed.”

A/N: The first part to my three part series, the next two parts will be out on the next two Sundays!! I’M SO EXCITED, I’m showing substance 😆!!

GIF: @jeysuso

“Turn on the camera baby.”

“Arch your back.” Roman gave a swat to Xena’s ass as she failed to arch her back.

“I can’t, it’s too much…” She begged for him to show mercy, but he still wasn’t satisfied.

As Roman’s iPhone recorded the whole thing.

Wanting to spice up the relationship, Roman asked if it’ll be okay to film some personal tapes. In order to suffice the physical intimacy when they were away from one another.

Little did she know…

“I’m not gonna say it again, arch that FUCKIN BACK NOW!!” Following his orders and wanting to cum again so badly after being denied, Xena let her back arch and stretched her arms forward.

“That’s it baby, now look at the camera while I fuck the shit out of you.” Xena’s eyes glossy as she stared up at the 6.7” screen showcasing the vision of her Samoan beast, body clad in sweat dripping from his head to his toes.

He slowly stretched her cunt out with deep strokes, taking the breath out of her as she looked at his eyes through the screen. Xena fell underneath his spell once again, her eyes rolling to the back of her head, her g-spot being hit instantly.

Once his assistant, now his girlfriend of 3 years. After a messy divorce with his wife, Xena soon came into his life and the rumors began.

“New Assistant?! More Like Old Affair.”

“Young Woman Nabs An Almost 40 Year Old Professional Wrestler, Roman Reigns.”

“Roman Reigns’ New Slut Gold Digging Girlfriend.”

They were harsh, but Xena was tough.

It had been almost 7 years since she watched WWE, and she remembered Roman during his Shield days and the roaring boos of the Big Dog. But, he did a complete 360. Bigger build, bigger personality, and a different outlook of his career in general.

Xena had no intention of even starting a relationship with him, but everything fell into place.

“Right there, please.”

“Please what mama?! Tell the camera what you want.”

“I want your cum to fill me to the brim.”

“Ya wanna have my baby you little slut?!”

“Yes daddy please.”

His pace quicken, his dick gliding in and out of her pussy smoothly. Xena’s ass galloping against his toned thighs. Roman’s thumb lodged into her winking hole, beating her cunt into a pulp. Her head bowed down into the sheets, writhing at the immense pleasure. Soon to be lifted up, staring directly at the camera.

“Take this dick and say ‘I’m a little slut.’ Go ahead. Straight into the camera.” Saliva decorating the entirety of Xena’s chin as she babbled. “What was that baby they can’t hear you?!”

“I’m SUCH A LITTLE SLUT!!”

“Good girl.”

“FUCKKKKK!! I’m gonna cum, keep fucking me please!!”

Roman’s thrusts hit harder and harder and harder, so hard the Xena was almost sent flying into the camera. Her pussy began to convulse as it was obliterated by a giant Samoan cock.

Xena’s arch reversed as she reached her high. “Fuckkkk..” A guttural grunt came from the mouth of the Samoan as he spilled his seed inside of pulsing cunt. He pulled out as Xena laid slump on the bed.

“That’s a wrap folks.” Roman ended the video. Roman’s choice of recording was clips on Instagram. How smart… As he went to turn off his phone and get a rag for Xena, his finger slipped and he pressed “Add to Story.”

He grabbed a rag and cleaned her up. Putting his phone in charge, it was now set to self destruct.

The Next Morning.

Xena woke up to the sound of her buzzing and vibrating phone. She sees 20 missed calls from her best friend. High on alert she called back. “Taylor what happened? Is everything okay?!”

“Your sex tape is ALL OVER THE INTERNET!!”

Chuckling, “What are you talking about Taylor?! Tell me you’re joking…”

“I’m serious and it’s trending number one on Twitter.”

Checking social media, her getting the shit fuck out of her was sprawled number one all over the internet.

All the breath was sucked out of her as she felt the urge to cry, but then a surge of pure anger came over her.

She turned to a peacefully sleeping Roman and repeatedly slapped him across the chest. Jumping up from his sleep, using his arms to bar the attacks. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

“I HATE YOU, WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?!”

“What are you talking about?!”

In a broken voice, “You released our tape last night?!”

“WHAT?!?!”

“IT’S ALL OVER… EVERYWHERE!!”

“I never released our tape.” Checking his phone, Roman realized what happened. He accidentally released their tape on his Instagram story. Even though it was 1 minute, that 1 minute went a long way through the internet.

“Baby it was an accident.”

“I can’t believe you did this to me, after everything the media already says about me?! You’d betray me like this…”

“Baby please my finger accidentally slipped last night when I was closing my phone. I promise on everything, it was a mistake.”

“You’re right. This whole thing was a mistake.”

Grabbing her belongings from the closet, she threw on her crocs and shorts, and stormed downstairs. “Baby stop.” Roman putting on his sweats while running down the stairs.

She placed her items in her car and slammed the door before Roman could reach her. He banged on the window begging for her forgiveness. Rolling down the window slightly, “We’re done.”

And with that she backed out of his driveway, with his mind spinning about when he would see her again.

He collapsed to the ground and cried.

“I’m sorry.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Will Xena hear him out or shut him out completely?! How will this breakup affect Roman’s career?!

Find out next week on “Press Play.” 😜.

THE END!!

That was a little rollercoaster, but I hoped you all enjoyed and I released this way too late, I’m so sorry ☹️.

MY TAG SQUAD: @cyberdejos2 @thesamoanqueen @cococodysleevelesshoodie @nayys-world @mzv11 @babybatlover @vogueyonce @harmshake @harlem11680 @seeingstarks @thewarlordsworld

#roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns smut #roman reigns x oc

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lizzybeth1986 · 5 months

Text

Rose Gold

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Hana Lee x Kiara Theron

Rating: PG

Word Count: 4, 304 words

Content Warning: Mention of Gun Violence, Character Injury.

Summary: Six months after King Liam and Queen Esther's wedding, Hana and Kiara take their next big step as a couple.

A/N: Set in the P&Tverse. Since P&T spans the timelines of Books 2 and 3 (the Engagement Tour and the Unity Tour + Liam & Esther's wedding), most of this fic takes place after the series is meant to end, and there are references to things that happen there that aren't canon.

The first half of the fic, however, takes place just before the group reunites with the MC and Drake at the safe house (TRR3, Ch 1).

I've borrowed a few elements from Hana's own engagement to the MC in the books: the rose gold ring, the coin throwing ritual at the foundation and the proposal at the lake.

Tagging @hanaleeappreciationweek for Day 5: Romance, @choicesficwriterscreations for FoTW and LGBTQ Archive, and @choicesmaychallenge24 for Hera: Marriage

October 14th, 2017. Half past Midnight.

Foolishness. Sheer foolishness.

The voice inwardly chiding her right now sounded suspiciously like her mother; for that reason alone she was desperate to ignore it.

But what else would one call an impulse to jump out of a car that could take her in complete secrecy to the city's best safe house, only to race to Argyros and Sons - Cordonia's premier jewellery store - for a gift she wasn't even sure would be accepted...a promise she wasn't even sure its intended recipient would want?

"Looking for something specific, Your Grace?"

Surprised, Hana looked up from the case displaying an assortment of glittering diamond rings. The eyes that met hers in a speculative survey were ocean-blue, marked by wizened crow's feet. It was at the tip of her tongue to correct him (Lady Hana, sir!) when she spotted the Twitter feed on the iPhone in his hand.

News sure does travel fast around the Capitol!

But no sooner had that thought left her head, than the riptide of memories began to flood her.

The Homecoming Ball. Hors d'oeuvres. Speeches. Fireworks. Announcements. Please welcome Esther DuPont, Duchess of Valtoria, and Hana Lee, Duchess of Krysanthe. Cheers. Expectant Gazes. And then...

Darkness. Gunshots. The acrid taste of fear.

Hana bit back a grimace. How long would memories of tonight haunt her? How long would it be before she heard people address her by her new title, without memories of the violence that followed?

She held her handbag with a sudden death-grip, forcing herself to breathe. To push forth happier, sweeter memories.

Unbidden, comes the one memory that had managed to keep her sane this night.

Her laughter.

Sharp. Raucous. Loud. Jarring against the tinkling sounds of cutlery and glassware, as far away as one could get from the soft, windchime quality of delicate laughter, that every female courtier was taught to emulate.

She thought she'd known love until that moment, fool that she was. Thought that no matter who she dated, no matter how distant she'd be from those memories of the social season - Esther would somehow remain her first and forever love.

Until she had taken that one fateful look at Kiara's wildly joyous face, heard her cackle - the kind one would never normally dare to do at court - and realized with piercing clarity that if she were to compare her feelings for these two women, they would be nowhere close.

Her love for Esther had all the subdued warmth of a crackling bonfire. But these newfound feelings for Kiara?? They made her feel like she was plunging herself headfirst into a raging volcano.

Something within Hana had trembled violently in that moment; some premonition that felt searing in its finality.

Kiara was the one. She was all Hana had ever wanted, without knowing it; all that Hana would ever want, from now till eternity. The one in whose arms she would want to stir awake, every day for the rest of her life.

Kiara Thorne, or no one. Kiara Thorne, or lifelong loneliness.

The phrase rang in her ears like a verdict: final, eternal, unchangeable.

When Hana opened her eyes, she found to her consternation that they were blurry from unshed tears. Quickly blinking them away, she noted dully how different the rings on the display now looked.

Certainly she must have moved to another part of the store without knowing. Where before she'd seen glittering, brilliant, ostentatious diamonds, set in white gold and platinum...now she saw stones nestled in the embrace of a warmer, almost blush-toned metal.

Rose gold.

The metal that was all the rage in her mother's birthplace Bethulia, for its delicate shimmer and soft pink hue. Mama had told her often enough in her childhood that their barony's love for it went far beyond just the colour...that her mother - Hana's Nanimaa - loved it for being such a perfect union of gold, silver and copper...

A whisper of a memory of Nanimaa, the one time she'd ever seen her. At a fountain, glowing from the glimmer of abandoned coins.

It took her less than a minute to find exactly what she didn't know she'd been looking for. Had you asked the jeweller about her, he would have told you that the newly appointed Duchess of Krysanthe had chosen her ring with the greatest confidence. The confidence of a woman who had probably wooed her beloved, confessed her love, basked in the joy of being loved back.

A confidence Hana didn't feel.

When she returned to the limo, she was greeted with the sight of a pensive Liam, rubbing the frown between his brows absently with his fingers. A telltale muscle jumped inside his jaw.

"Any news?" Hana whispered, almost dreading the answer.

"Yes," his voice was grainy from exhaustion and guilt. "Three people injured. Bastien, Esther's press secretary, and...."

"And?" Her voice had gone small and high, that a fearful child's.

"And Lady Kiara. She was..."

Hana blinked once, then blinked again. Liam's mouth was moving, yet no sound seemed to come out. All that she could hear was a low, keening noise, like a muffled siren...or like the moan of a woman in terrible pain.

Kiara. Kiara. Kiara.

May 12th, 2018. Afternoon.

"How far from the palace are you taking us?" Kiara asks, her voice alight with laughter.

"Not even outside its gates," Hana replies, grinning. Kiara looks down at their fingers laced together, palms almost touching.

They've been together for just six months, and still somehow, the lines on Hana's palm feel as familiar to her now as her own. Without even looking she can conjure up the memory of the heartline on Hana's left palm at a moment's notice - long and deep, starting from her index finger, suggesting she would be a wonderful lover with a very fruitful love experience - and her marriage line, stretching from one end of her palm all the way to her ring finger...suggesting friendly in-laws.

(The thought of luring Hana to marry her under the premise of palmistry is sounding more and more tempting by the minute)

Involuntarily - perhaps to stop herself from checking her trouser pockets once again for that tiny box she took from her vault today - Kiara's hand tightens around Hana's.

Can she dare to hope that fortunate beloved could be her?

She steals a glance in Hana's direction, noting with alarm that her fingers are trembling in Kiara's hand.

"We're here," she says, her voice suddenly small and quivering against the gurgle of water in the courtyard fountain. It's been a palace fixture for several decades now - ornate and imposing - a legacy from King Liam's formidable grandmother, the late Queen Mother Cassandra. According to Kiara's father, the woman had married into the family as a young princess from Monterisso, and for her foreignness alone was expected to be crushed by the strictures of the palace and the expectations of her people - yet in a decade's time she had somehow became the most imposing figure there! There was very little in the palace that didn't have her stamp of approval first.

As they come closer, Kiara sees the one thing Queen Mother Cassandra may not have predicted when this fountain was built - the glimmer of coins, all gleaming in the sunlight like they were minted just yesterday.

Her own smile begins to tremble on her lips, even as she notices Hana swallow a telltale nervous lump in her throat. For the first time since they have gotten here, Kiara notices that Hana's other hand is fisted around something. Something that could very likely be the same coins they just saw in the fountain.

She takes that hand gently in hers, knowing now how nervous Hana must feel; knowing that if they complete the ancient lover's ritual that she so hoped to do today, there will be no going back. She uncoils Hana's fisted hand, finger by quivering finger, watching her face as her breathing quickens. She smiles again - a smile more aimed at reassurance than amusement.

"Are we going to do what I think we're going to do today, ma moité?"

For several seconds, Hana doesn't respond. The three coins in her hand (Heavy. Ornate. Engraved with apples. Ancient) are proof enough. The answer, when it finally comes - almost like it is torn out of her throat for fear that Kiara's feelings may not match her own - is barely audible.

"Only if this is what you want too."

Gold. Silver. Copper. Tossed in one after the other in an ancient lover's ritual - one that Kiara knows only because she'd learned about it from her mother, who'd had friends in Bethulia where this ritual was most popular. Maman and Baba themselves had done it on a trip there when she was a teenager, still squirming over her parents' ability to still act like swoony romantics in their (and this would be said well out of their earshot) "fucking forties!".

Wiser now, Kiara feels the same anticipatory tingles that her parents must have felt back then.

This ritual wasn't for the faint of heart in ancient days. You did it only when you were certain. When you looked at your lover and knew that a life without them wasn't a life worth living.

Well, Kiara muses as she watches a hundred emotions flit in a second over Hana's face, I think I've known that long enough. I've known ever since I saw you fight your father in Shanghai, even when you knew it would cost you everything. Since that one moment, I've been yours.

Planting a tender kiss on the corner of Hana's mouth, she takes the coins. "Ready when you are," she whispers softly.

Hana swallows again, her eyes glistening and moist and relieved all at once. In a silk pouch that dangles from her wrist, she fishes for three coins identical to the ones on Kiara's palm. She breathes deep once, twice, three times.

Kiara links their free hands, grips them tight as they turn their backs to the fountain. Hana looks up, a question in her eyes.

"For friendship!" Kiara says, tossing the copper coin into the fountain. Faint memories of something that almost feels like another lifetime glimmer and fade in her memory. Applewood, sipping water, giggling over their favourite fruits and flowers. The Beaumont Bash. Watching from the sidelines as Hana did the verbel equivalent of ripping out Olivia Nevrakis' spine at the Coronation Ball.

Hana takes out the silver coin, and waits for Kiara to holds up hers'. "For love?"

Engagement tour. Fearing Hana would hate her in Fydelia, but never understanding why that should suddenly matter. Standing with her against a bridge in Paris, each mourning their lost loves.

Finally learning what love really was, when she opened her eyes and truly saw Hana for the very first time.

Kiara nods, touching her forehead to Hana's. "Par amour." Their coins splash in unison in the water.

Her girlfriend lets out a watery giggle as she takes out the final coin, glittering and golden on her palm. Her voice breaks a little as she tosses it behind her. "For...bel- belonging".

Kiara's own sigh releases in a shudder as she lets the final pledge sink in.

There were very few places in the world that truly felt like home to Hana. Not the place where she was born, not the barony that could have been her legacy. It took her months to even find comfort or security in her future in Cordonia - much less belonging.

Without a moment's thought, and without releasing the golden coin in her hand, she cups Hana's face and kisses her. Hana shudders and buries her hands in Kiara's hair, her lips trembling against the unspoken promises in her lover's.

"For belonging," Kiara says it like it is a vow. "And I don't care how long it takes - I give my word right now. I'll never let you feel like you have lost your home. Ever." Another kiss - this time on Hana's temple. "I hope you will always find one. In me."

Hana's smile is warm and dreamlike, her eyes closed as if to savour this moment, her fingers playing with Kiara's curls. She barely notices the sound of Kiara's gold coin landing in the fountain. "I love you, Kiki."

Kiara chuckles at her teasing use of the nickname, brushing Hana's nose with her own. "Together forever?"

Their hands, now free, close around each other. "Together forever."

It's quiet now, except for the sound of collard doves, the rustle of leaves and branches in a light breeze, and their breathing. The air smells of wildflowers, citrus and a subtle floral scent that Kiara knows to be the perfume Hana has been using for months. Orange Blossom. She grins as she remembers. It's a scent Hana has often loved to wear, just for her.

Hana's thumb feathers lightly over the ring finger on Kiara's left hand, almost as if to commit the bare space on it to her memory. Kiara doesn't miss that gaze - bright-eyed and soaked in longing - and how it mirrors a need she has felt ever since they landed at the Capitol last week.

Kiara swallows. She had wanted to take things slow, she really did. Woo her, bathe her in every luxury possible, make this trip even more unforgettable than Hana could ever imagine, and then spring this surprise on her - like a kirsch-soaked cherry topping on an already very tempting Black Forest Cake.

But...but that gaze of Hana's has always been Kiara's undoing.

Simply, she says, "come with me."

Puzzled, Hana looks up. "Where?"

"To Lake Sôse," Kiara whispers, wasting not one more moment and grabbing her hand. Hana lets out a nervous, slightly incredulous laugh as she allows herself to be pulled along.

Kiara isn't sure why she's suddenly rushing this. When she thinks of the elaborate plans she'd been constructing all week - chocolate-dipped strawberries and champagne at one of the Capital's premier restaurants, flowers everywhere, a proposal at the hedge maze with a picture together by the swing to commemorate the occasion - she wants to laugh. She isn't even sure why Lake Sôse was the first place she'd thought of just now.

She takes a deep breath, and grounds herself. Uncommonly impulsive though it may be, her decision has been made. There is even a part of her that seems to prefer it to happen this way!Kiara has never been one for last minute changes of plan...but ever since she fell in love with Hana, she's learned to expect - and enjoy - the unexpected.

It's only when she sees the shine in Hana's eyes that she realises why her mind took the turn it did.

Lake Sôse. The one place Hana Lee has always chosen for solace and comfort. The one place in the Capitol where she felt the most at home. It had been here, Hana told Kiara once, that King Liam had told her his plans to appoint her Duchess of Krysanthe. It was here, hours later, that she'd shared that momentous news with her best friend Esther; where Esther - herself aglow with love and a newfound purpose - hugged Hana and told her that the world would now be Hana's oyster.

She'd brought Kiara to this lake for the first time the day after King Liam and Queen Esther's wedding, following a night when the queen herself had been kidnapped, and Hana had joined the king's entourage to rescue her.

A night that Kiara - in constant fear of losing her forever - had recklessly kissed Hana. In public. In front of the entire court. Braving gazes of teasing approval from Kiara's parents, and near-murderous glares from Hana's. The night everyone outside of Hana's friend circle finally realized the two were a couple.

Kiara remembers the day after that like it was yesterday. Something must have changed fundamentally in Hana that night, because the fear seemed to have gone, and with it the compulsive need for hiding and subterfuge and constantly looking over her shoulder. It was as if Hana had faced what she'd thought was the worst thing that could happen to her, and realized she really was strong enough to face that fear.

You're my safe place among people, Hana told her that morning, her fingers lacing through Kiara's. The one I feel most at home with. I want to bring my safe space..to the place in Cordonia I've always felt safest in.

It is afternoon, and the yellow crocuses behind them exude a warm, buttery golden glow in the sunlight. Hana lets out a breathless, incredulous laugh. "You seem like a woman in a very huge rush today, Lady Thorne."

Kiara's own laughter in response is high-pitched and halting. She tries to hide the moistness of her palms as she makes a blind grab for the small velvet box in her purse. "Believe me, this wasn't the way I'd planned this to go at all."

Intrigued, Hana's eyes follow Kiara's hands, and her eyes widen as she recognises the familiar deep blue velvet, the embossed silver lettering on top. Argyros and Sons.

"Is that --"

"Yes," Kiara says, clearing her throat, "I'd been planning this. All week. It was going to be romantic, elaborate, I was going to sweep you off your feet. Just like I'd planned to ask you out seven months ago."

Hana lets out a watery giggle. We all know how that turned out, don't we, qīn'ài de? Kiara can almost hear her saying.

But the humour stops almost immediately when she looks at the box again, and suddenly Hana seems too still, too shocked...too far off from how Kiara hoped she would react.

Kiara lets out a deep breath, then lets the words gush out of her. She's too scared to stop, too terrified to think - the fear that she may be doing too much too soon is so overwhelming that she knows if she stops she won't be able to bring herself to do this for a long, long time to come. The humiliation would be too strong.

"I'm not one for impulse. I never have been. I've never felt comfortable with anything if I didn't have a plan for it first."

Kiara gives herself a moment to half-smile at the irony of it all. Approaching Hana Lee with a smile and a bottle of water, after that first eventful bite of a Cordonian Ruby was definitely an impulse. So were half the things she had done with Hana since. So will many, many, many of the things they may wind up doing together, if (if!) this leap of faith works in her favour.

She looks up at Hana to see if she's laughing at the memory too. She isn't. In fact, Kiara isn't even sure Hana's reacting yet to what she's saying. Perfectly still, her eyes never moving from the box, so wide that they would go bloodshot if they were widened any further. Kiara swallows, and finds that her throat feels suddenly, inexplicably sore.

"I could never tell what it was about you that changed all that. I still don't. All I know is that...around you, Hana, I feel so much more brave. To let go of the need to plan and organize. To not be too afraid of what will follow - whether it goes in my favour or not. I find myself not just willing, but eager, to trust my gut."

Kiara's eyes search every inch of Hana's face as she opens the box, revealing the ring inside. It's a gorgeous piece, all platinum and sparkling diamonds. The smaller stones form a cluster around a massive one, leading the viewer to believe they are seeing a glittering snowflake, fallen fresh from the heavens.

Kiara had known the minute she saw the ring that it was the one. That it would remind them of the first time they confessed their love. Of their very first date, of the first time they shared Hana's cup of homemade hot chocolate. Of why the two of them will always love winters.

Hana's fingers move, trembling, towards her mouth, her face suddenly flushed. She remembers it too.

"Hana Lee," A frisson of fear slithers down Kiara's spine. "Will you marry me?"

When Hana finally opens her mouth, several seconds later, Kiara has to strain to hear her voice.

"I - I -" her eyes dart away from Kiara as if she's just remembered something important - her beautiful bronzed skin suddenly a little drained of colour. The next few words, she says in a "I.... I'll be back. Give me five minutes? I...just remembered something."

She leaves without waiting for an answer.

Kiara sinks into the grass, covering her face in her hands.

What have I just done?

All the way back from her room in the palace to the lake, the pouch hanging from her wrist feeling only a slight bit heavier, Hana cannot stop mentally kicking herself.

"You fool! You imbecile! Bèn dàn!!" Hana curses herself as she speeds up her sprint into a run, "What happened to your tongue? What kind of reaction was that?? What will Kiara think?"

Her mind now sprints miles ahead of her feet, racing in panicked ferocity over the possibilities.

With any luck, Kiara could still be waiting - puzzled and perhaps a little worried. Or she could be actively panicking, the way she does (on very rare occasions) when a plan goes terribly wrong.

Or...or...

Hana holds the silk pouch from her wrist in a deathlike grip as she speeds up towards Lake Sôse. Or.

The thought of that lovely, open space completely devoid of Kiara, of that beguiling combination of rose and jasmine emanating from her favourite Dior J'adore perfume, makes Hana's stomach drop to her feet.

It isn't until she sees that that heartbreakingly familiar figure of Kiara's, hunched over the grass, that Hana allows herself to breathe.

Kiara is there. Shoulders bent, head buried in her hands, almost stumbling as she tries to get up when she sees Hana.

Morose. Defeated. But still there.

Without another thought, Hana rushes into Kiara's arms, almost knocking her off her feet.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Hana whispers against her hair. "I wasn't trying to run away. I really had to get something. For you."

Kiara pulls back to look into her eyes, and when she does Hana's heart twists at the sight of unshed tears. "I thought I'd scared you off."

Hana's own laughter quavers, pitched high in disbelief. "I've just pledged myself to you this afternoon, body and soul, at the palace fountain. This -" she lifts Kiara's left hand to her chest, her thumb caressing the empty space on her beloved's ring finger " - just makes it so much more real."

Kiara's arms wrap around her, pulling Hana flush to her. Hana can feel Kiara shake as she giggles in response. "...you mean to say that I'd have saved myself so much stress if I'd just remembered those coins."

"Yes, qīn'ài de, a thousand times yes." She cups Kiara's face, pressing their foreheads together. "Place that ring where it belongs, Kiki. I can't wait to see it on my finger."

Hana holds her tight until Kiara's breathing becomes slower, calmer. She raises her newly-adorned hand for Kiara to see - marvelling at how the ring really mimics the glow of a snow crystal in the winter sun.

When they part, shyly, reluctantly, Hana begins to fiddle with the silk pouch.

"Here's what I'd gone to bring."

Kiara's eyes brighten at the sight of the box in her hand; a wave of warmth floods through Hana in anticipation of her response. Kiara gasps the minute she opens the box, revealing a delicate, intricately carved rose gold ring, flanked by small diamonds on all four corners, cradling a bigger one at the center.

"Rose gold," Kiara murmurs in wonder.

"Yes," Hana brushes her fingers over Kiara's knuckles. She'd told her once, long ago, how revered that metal was in her home province Bethulia. How Bethulian jewellers and goldsmiths and young women swore by the rosy hue it exuded. How it was a perfect amalgamation of three precious metals - all highly valued in the province. How tied it was to their folktales and bridal rituals.

"Copper..silver...gold." Kiara's tears glitter like diamonds before she lets them fall. "For friendship. For love. For belonging."

Hana smiles, her hand still stroking Kiara's cheek. "You remembered."

Kiara rolls her still-moist eyes, trying hard not to sniff - it would take out all the humour in this situation. "It's hard to forget a ritual we'd performed just ten minutes ago, ma moité."

"I'd planned to give you this ring a week from now," Hana says, shaking her head at her own impulsiveness as the ring she'd chosen on a fanciful whim so long ago, now finds its home. "I've been holding onto it for far too long."

Kiara caresses the stone on her own finger lovingly, admiring the way the rose gold glows on her skin. When she speaks, her voice is breathless in anticipation. "How long?"

For several minutes, Hana's only response is to pull Kiara back in her arms again. Her hand slides slowly, almost with a tinge of regret, down the dip of Kiara's waist on her left side. The wound that had once served as a constant, searing reminder of so much (of her vulnerability, of her inability to run from pain, of what she'd once considered her failures), has healed in more ways than one - only a faded scar that Hana never fails to kiss, now remains.

"For seven months," Hana's voice shakes at the memory, "Since the night after Homecoming Ball."

With a choked sob, Kiara enfolds Hana into her arms, almost as if she'd want to absorb her into every cell of her body. Fervently, reverently, she presses her lips all over Hana's face - her eyelids, her cheeks, the bridge of her nose, all the little-known, barely-noticed parts of her. It takes her a while - perhaps too long, in Hana's opinion - for Kiara's lips to meet hers, but she welcomes the sweet torture of waiting.

"Mon cœur," Kiara says between kisses, "ma raison de vivre."

When they part, the two women keep each other's hands interlinked, one left hand over the other. Neither of them will remember how long they stay at the lake; only that they never want this joy, this warm afterglow of seeing their dreams come true...to end.

The empty spaces on their ring fingers, over which they'd each stolen such secret, hungry glances today, now bear the mark of their lovers. Now bear the most tangible signs of their love, their memories, their promises, their commitment.

Together forever.

Translation:

Ma moité - a romantic endearment in French, meaning "my other half"

Qīn'ài de - Mandarin Chinese for "my dear"/"darling"

Bèn dàn - Mandarin Chinese cuss word that means "stupid egg!"

Mon cœur - French endearment, meaning "my heart"

Ma raison de vivre - French for "my reason to live"

References for Hana and Kiara's engagement rings:

Kiara:

(Source: Maxine Jewellery)

Hana:

(Source: This article on engagement rings, but the actual pic itself came from Blue Rose Photography)

#hana lee #the royal romance #the royal heir #the royal finale #hanaleeappreciationweek #HLAW #HLAW 2024 #HLAW Day 5 #HLAW Day 5: Romance #series: petals and thornes #lizzybeth1986 #content: fanfic

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imaginesandbandfiction · 2 years

Text

Vigilante Shit

An Outer Banks Imagine

Pairing: Topper Thornton x female!reader

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: Very vague mentions of domestic violence that didn't actually happen, having sex for money (slightly dubious consent bc of that at one point)

Summary: You're hired to investigate a rich pretty boy and team up with his wife to nail him for his crimes.

A/N: Enjoy this Taylor Swift-inspired fic, this is what I imagined happening all throughout the song so I wrote about it! Hope you like it!!!

Masterlist

The taxi pulls up in front of a small bungalow and you hand a wad of cash to the driver, thanking him as you get out of the car. You try the front door and it swings open, left unlocked just like the client had said it would be. It’s fully furnished inside, with a simple, neutral color scheme that complements the beach visible out of the windows that line the back of the house. There’s a small, cozy living room off to one side and an eat-in kitchen on the other. Down the hall are two bedrooms and a bathroom. You drop your backpack in the bigger room and then circle back to the kitchen with just your laptop.

There’s an iPhone on the kitchen table, three generations old, next to a charging cord wrapped in a neat circle. You plug it into your laptop and retrieve the iCloud backup you had prepared last week, dragging it over to the ‘New iPhone’ file.

As everything downloads, you run through the mental copy of the file you received last month. It was too dangerous to bring it along with you, so you had committed it to memory and burned the physical copy before you left. Your waitressing job at the Kildare Island Country Club was starting tomorrow, and you were to report there at 2 pm, between the brunch and dinner rushes, for training. The client and her husband had reservations at 7, and she assured you that they would be seated in your section. From there, a few simple steps will position you to carry out the rest of the job, tie any loose ends into a neat bow, and get the hell out. The phone dings when the download is complete, so you add a simple passcode and change the name of the phone to ‘Y/N’s Phone,’ wrapping up the final details before heading to bed.

The next morning, you make a cup of coffee and settle in at the kitchen table to answer some emails from potential future clients before you have to leave for work. In the bedroom you slept in, the closet is fully stocked with a carefully-curated wardrobe. Everything is second-hand and leans towards casual with small details that will elevate the outfits from simple to elegant, like cardigans with pearl buttons and soft, satin camisoles. You put on a short black tennis skirt and a white sleeveless polo cropped just enough to show a small strip of skin and accessorize with a thin gold chain around your neck. It’s enough to spark interest without being over the top, and natural eye makeup paired with a shimmery, peach-colored lip gloss compliments the look perfectly.

At the Country Club, you meet with the Restaurant Manager, Darcy, who gives you a tour around the grounds and then walks you through what a typical shift will look like. You meet the rest of the staff and Darcy leaves you with Karen to train. She’s been waitressing at the club for twenty years and lets you follow her around as the dinner crowd starts to trickle in.

Seven o’clock grows nearer and your nerves melt into confidence. The adrenaline starts to kick in and you get a burst of energy, which Karen takes full advantage of. She has you do most of the work while she supervises, interjecting here and there to answer a question you don’t know the answer to or to give you slight corrections. You’re so caught up in the whirlwind of the dinner rush that you don’t realize the client has arrived until Karen leads you up to a couple in their late 20s, looking glamorous in designer clothes and seated by the windows that overlook the ocean. To be fair, though, you hadn’t even spoken to the client on the phone and didn’t even know her real name, she went by ‘SC’ in her emails. All you had was a general description; strawberry-blonde hair and big brown eyes, and the woman in front of you fit that description perfectly. Her husband also matched his description, with slicked-back blonde hair and dark blue eyes that sparkle with interest as he takes you in.

“Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Thornton,” Karen greets them. “This is Y/N, she’s my trainee.

“So lovely to meet you,” you say, flashing a shy smile at the husband. His gaze drops down your body and then back up to your face, and he smiles back.

“The pleasure is all ours, Y/N,” he says. “I’m sure you’ll take great care of us.”

The woman flips her long, shiny hair over one shoulder and holds a manicured hand out to you, interrupting his husband’s thinly-veiled flirting.

“I’m Sarah,” she drawls, “It’s nice to meet you.” You take her hand and shake it gently. She squeezes your hand three times in quick succession, too light to be noticeable to anyone but you, and relief floods your body at this confirmation. Sarah is SC.

“Are you staying in the old Routledge place?” Mr. Thornton asks.

“How did you know?” You ask in response, furrowing your brows in faux confusion.

“My husband owns most of the rental properties on this island,” Sarah interjects, “so when someone new shows up, it’s not hard to figure out where they’re living.”

“So when you’re ready to move on from that hovel, just let me know and I’ll set you up with something nicer. A girl like you deserves a home as pretty as she is.” Mr. Thornton reaches into his pocket and hands over a business card as he speaks. You tuck it into the side of your bra without a second glance, catching his eye and biting your lip as you feel your cheeks heat up. There’s something dark behind the smirk he gives you; like he’s a predator and you're his prey.

“Thank you,” you respond, infusing your voice with the innocent earnestness that you had perfected over the years. “Right now it’s all I can afford. I had to leave a bit of a shitty situation back home so…” You shrug as you trail off, leaving it up to him to fill in the blanks.

“That’s enough of an introduction,” Karen interrupts, taking a step closer to the table and pulling out her notepad. “Could I get the two of you a bottle of wine to start?” With that, the conversation is derailed but the groundwork has been laid, so you feel good about it.

For the rest of the night, you give their table extra attention. Karen had told you after your initial conversation that they are some of the most important members of the club so she isn’t suspicious, and actually encourages you to flirt with him a little bit. (“He likes to feel important and wanted,” she said. “The wife will pretend to be upset about it, but between you and me, I don’t think there’s much love there.”)

He pays with a credit card and leaves a hefty tip, so when you find an envelope resting on the chair he had been sitting in, you don’t expect it to be filled with hundred-dollar bills. There’s a note scrawled on the inside of the flap: I meant what I said. Call me if you need anything. He wrote a phone number underneath, and you don’t have to check the business card to know that this isn’t a business number. Before anyone has the chance to notice it, you shove it in the waistband of your skirt and adjust your apron so it’s hidden from view, and finish flipping the table. It’s not your first rodeo, so you know that you’ve really sold it, but no other job has gone this well this quickly. Karen’s right, this guy really does crave attention.

The rest of your shift passes in a blur and by the time you make it back to the house, you’re exhausted. You collapse on the bed and pull out the business card. It’s sleek and sexy, with TOPPER THORNTON in all capital letters at the top in a sans-serif, wide-spaced font. Sure enough, the number on the bottom is different from the number on the inside of the envelope, so you toss the card to the side and put the envelope number into your phone. Before you start getting ready for bed, you shoot him a quick text.

Hey, it’s Y/N from the country club. Thanks for your note, I really appreciate it. Guess I’ll have to take you up on your offer to look at some other places ;)

His response is instant.

Don’t thank me yet, we’re only just getting started

You roll your eyes and decide to leave him on read for a few minutes while you take your makeup off and do your skincare routine.

I work tomorrow and Saturday, but Sunday I’m free!

I’ll pick you up at 6

This is clearly a man who has never been told no in his life, but you can work with that. With phase two of your plan already underway, you don’t feel bad about tossing your phone to the side and falling asleep without responding.

Part of you is shocked that he doesn’t show up to the club while you’re working over the next two days, but then again, he’s probably smart enough to know to keep his distance from you in public. People who run successful real estate dynasties usually aren’t stupid no matter how rich they were growing up. He hasn’t texted or called, either. But the asshole is true to his word, and punctual, you’ll give him that, because he pulls up in a dark blue G-Wagen at five fifty-five on the dot. The windows are rolled down and he slides his Ray-Ban aviators down his nose to stare at you as he puts the car in park.

“Ready, sweetheart?” He asks, peering over the tops of his sunglasses. You get up from your spot on the front steps and slide into the passenger seat, adjusting your jean shorts so they don’t ride up. After buckling in, you look up and see that his gaze is stuck on the exposed skin of your thighs.

“So, where are we going?” You ask, getting his attention without calling him out. After all, if this is going to work out, you need him to be distracted.

“I thought I’d show you a place a little further down the beach,” he says, clearing his throat. “It’s still on this side of the island, but it’s closer to the boardwalk and within walking distance of the club,” he answers. You nod and sit quietly for the rest of the short drive, observing him out of the corner of your eye. He drives with one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on the windowsill, tapping along to some invisible rhythm. The slight breeze blows his hair around, and when he pulls up in front of a small but cute beach bungalow with blue siding and white shutters, it’s wild and messy. He runs a hand through the front to tame it as he gets out of the car. You start to open the passenger door but suddenly it swings open and he’s standing there, holding a hand out to help you down.

“Thanks,” you say as you brush past him, keeping his hand in yours for just a few seconds longer than necessary. You turn towards the house and pause in front of it to take it in. “This is really cute!”

“Thought you’d like it,” he says with a smirk. “Now c’mon, you gotta see the inside. The last tenants moved out three months ago so I’ve gotten a few things updated in the meantime - Floors, countertops…” He rattles off a few more things as he leads you inside, unlocking the front door with one of several keys on a keychain he dug out of his pocket. None of them are labeled, but you make a mental note that the one for this house is small and silver with a circular hole through which the chain is looped.

The door swings open and he holds it for you, letting you take in the small entryway.

“The kitchen and living room are just down the hall,” he tells you, pointing to where a short hallway extends from the entrance. “Bedrooms are upstairs, and there’s one bedroom up there, the other is off of the kitchen, next to the garage.” He sneaks around you and grabs your hand to lead you down the hallway. There’s a large, open room with tall windows along the back of the house. The living room has a large gray sectional and two matching armchairs set up around a fireplace, with a large TV mounted above it. On the other side is the kitchen. It’s bigger than the one you have now, all white with marble counters. An island separates the two spaces, with three stools set up on the living room side. Off of the kitchen, there’s a half wall that gives the dining room a little bit of privacy even though it’s still technically part of the larger space.

The dining table is set for two, and there’s a covered pan in the middle. You turn to Topper, eyes filled with questions, and he chuckles as he leads you toward it.

“I thought you’d be hungry, y’know, since I’m stealing you over dinnertime,” his grin is cheeky as he speaks.

“That is so sweet, thank you,” you gush. He pulls your chair out for you and loads up your plate before he sits across from you.

“So, Y/N, tell me about yourself.”

“There’s not much to tell, to be honest.” You shrug as you start eating. He’s quiet as you eat, giving you the space to continue. “I’m from Massachusetts,” lie, “I went to school for history education but ended up dropping out halfway through when I met this older guy,” another lie. “He kind of swept me off my feet so I ran away with him. We were in the city, New York, that is, and things were good.”

“But?”

“But…. he liked things his way, and even though I was fine with playing my part in the beginning, it was hard to keep it up long-term. And he would get angry.” You pause there, letting all of the things you haven’t said wash over him. His face is soft and it’s so uncharacteristic that it looks awkward on him.

“So that’s why you moved to Kildare? To get away?” You bite your lip and nod, lowering your head to look at the table as if you’re ashamed.

“Hey,” his voice is quiet and gentle, and he reaches across the table to tip your chin up so you’re looking at him again. “It’s okay, you don’t have to be embarrassed with me. I’m just glad you were able to get out of there.”

“Thanks.” He pulls his hand away and pushes away from the table, coming around to stand next to you instead. His hands find your chin again, tilting your head up towards him. As he leans down, you let your chin tip back even further, inviting his advance.

“What about your wife?” You whisper, forcing your face into a worried expression. He strokes your cheekbone with his thumb to soothe you.

“She won’t leave me. She likes my money too much.” From his tone, you get that he’s sort of joking, but the sentiment rubs you the wrong way and at that moment, you fully understand why she had come to you. But you keep any trace of dislike from your face as he captures your lips with his. He’s greedy, opening his mouth against yours right away. The angle is a bit odd since he’s towering above you and you have to lean your head really far back in order to make it work, but he uses that to his advantage, leaning some of his weight on you as if to make a point that if he wanted to, he could force you to do anything. You run through a mental list of attractive celebrities to take yourself out of your body as you kiss him back.

When his hand grazes your boob, you pull back and hug your knees to your chest, putting a physical barrier between the two of you, playing up the helpless victim card.

“Sorry,” you breathe, “It’s just, I haven’t… Not since him. Do you mind if we leave it there, just for today? I promise I’ll be more ready next time.”

“Of course,” Topper says, reaching out to smooth a hand down your hair. “I don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with. I’m okay with taking it slow.” You knew he wasn’t, that he was the kind of guy who would take what he thought he deserved, but he was probably turned on by the whole scared and innocent thing. Willing to play the long game and savor dismantling your defenses until you melted for him like butter.

He drops you off with one final kiss, short and searing, and you disappear into the house and immediately draw a hot bath. While you wait for the tub to fill up, you shoot an email to your client, Sarah.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Status Update [ENCRYPTED]

Hey SC,

It feels kinda weird to call you that now that we’ve actually met in person, but I’ll keep it up for privacy’s sake. You were right - he fell right into the ‘broken and innocent’ trap that I laid for him. I plan to give a little more next time and really make him feel like he’s fixing me; the bigger his ego gets, the likelihood of my success skyrockets. Thanks for sending over those additional leads! I’ve been able to make a few possible connections but will hold off on the details until I can gather enough evidence to prove them. Plausible deniability will get you far in life, darling.

Anyways, keep pushing his buttons at home. We want him distracted in as many ways as possible, and if you’re holding him at arms’ length, he’ll be more likely to come running straight to me.

After a long, hot soak, you return to your computer and find a response already waiting in your inbox.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

RE: Status Update [ENCRYPTED]

RS,

It is sort of weird being secret pen pals now that we’ve officially met, but I appreciate your discretion and dedication to the job. I knew it would be easy to get my husband to pursue you, but I didn’t think it would happen this quickly! I shouldn’t be surprised, he’s been cheating on me since high school. I’m sure you probably think I’m an idiot for marrying him, but I was young and I thought (stupidly) that he would mature as he got older. That’s the power of first love, I guess.

Thanks for the update!

You smile to yourself at her response, if you weren’t working for her (and starting a pre-planned affair with her husband), you could see yourself being friends with the woman.

***

After another few days of shifts at the country club and keeping a just-flirty-enough text chain going with Topper, he shows up while you’re working on purpose, for the first time. Sarah’s not with him this time; instead, he’s with a group of similar-looking guys, all wearing khaki shorts and pastel-colored polos. They must have just finished golfing because they take a caddy to the bar with them and buy him a shot before they settle in at a table in your section.

Over the course of your very short tenure as a country club waitress, you’ve learned a lot. Most of it came from Karen, who loved to gossip and seemed to know everything about everyone on the island, but rich people tended to think that the staff wasn’t real people, so they were surprisingly loose-lipped about a lot of things.

You learn that the Routledge house, where you’re staying, belongs to a John B Routledge who has made quite a name for himself as a travel vlogger on YouTube. He rents his childhood home to tourists and people needing somewhere to stay for a few months while he’s out traveling the world. You also learn, courtesy of Karen, that John B is Sarah Thornton’s ex. Apparently, she broke up with Topper and dated John B during a tumultuous and confusing time that you don’t fully understand. There was some drama with her family and she ended up breaking up with him and taking Topper back. This is valuable information that you can use to get Topper even more invested in you. He still has a deep-seated hatred for the man that stole his girlfriend in high school, and you have no doubt that part of your charm, to Topper, is the fact that you’re living in John B’s house.

Before you head over to their table, you duck into the bathroom to reapply your lip gloss and pull your top down a bit, showing an additional inch or so of cleavage. Sure enough, he can’t keep his eyes off of your chest as you make small talk with the rest of the group and take their drink orders. Two of the men, Rafe and Kelce, have been his best friends since childhood. The fourth guy, who introduced himself as PJ, is a mystery, but he fits seamlessly into their boys-club dynamic, flirting with you while simultaneously making fun of the rest of the guys for doing the same thing.

Topper is actually the tamest of the group, probably because he has something to hide, but when you drop off their food, he hits you with a wink and a quiet “thanks, babe.” He pays for the whole group, and you notice a note scribbled on the back of the customer’s copy of the receipt. I’ll pick you up after your shift. You tuck the note into your bra and let him catch you smiling to yourself as you start to clean off the table.

Sure enough, his Mercedes is parked out front when you leave a few hours later. He’s leaning against it, scrolling through his phone, but he stops abruptly when he notices you standing a few feet away from him.

“Good shift?” he asks, raising one eyebrow at you.

“Eh, it was alright,” you joke with a shrug. “Some weirdo left me a note, though.”

“You gotta be careful when talking to strangers, Y/N.” He takes a step forward and grabs your hand, tugging you closer to him. “They might get the wrong idea.” He whispers his second sentence against the corner of your mouth, pressing a hard kiss there to really drive his point home. Within seconds, though, he’s gone. When you turn around, he’s holding the passenger door open for you with a little smirk on his lips.

“C’mon, I’ve got something to show you,” he says. With a shy smile on your face, you climb inside and let him shut the door behind you. He’s quiet during the drive, again, but this time, his free hand is wrapped around your thigh, just below the hem of your skirt. It’s another short drive, and he pulls into a palm-tree-lined driveway. A large, beachfront mansion slowly comes into view as he makes his way down the driveway. He parks right out front, between a large fountain and the stairs up to the front door, and leaves the keys on the seat.

“What do you think?” He asks you as he helps you out of the car with one hand and gestures to the house with the other.

“It’s gorgeous,” you breathe. “Is it one of your rental properties?” You play dumb, like it hadn’t even occurred to you that he’d bring you to his house.

“Nope, this one’s mine. And Sarah’s away for the weekend…” He trails off with a shit-eating grin and holds the door open for you. As he shows you around the first floor, you oooh and ahhh in all the right places, all wide-eyed innocence and fuck me eyes. The tour ends in the kitchen, where he pops a bottle of Dom Perignon and pours you each a glass. You accept it gratefully and take a long sip, letting the cold bubbles dance on your tongue for a moment before you swallow. Both of you lean against the counter as you sip, chatting about some of the small details of the house that he was the proudest of.

The champagne is just a pretense, something to make it seem like you weren’t just here to hook up. But when the glasses are empty, that changes. Topper reaches across your chest to take the empty glass from your hand. Instead of pulling it back towards him, he just leans forward further to set it on the counter on your other side and then side-steps so he’s standing in front of you with his arms caging you between him and the counter.

“This okay?” He mutters as he leans in, stopping just as his lips brush against yours. You nod and look up at him through your eyelashes, lifting your lips in a shy smile. That’s all the permission he needs and his lips are pressed against yours within seconds. His hips press into yours, pushing your back into the edge of the counter, so you wriggle a bit to give him the hint to knock it off. Instead, he hooks his hands under your thighs and lifts you up onto the countertop. This causes your skirt to bunch up a bit and Topper takes advantage of the newly-exposed skin. To his credit, he doesn’t push your limits, seeming content to stick to exposed skin only. But you know he won’t stay patient for long if the hardness against your thigh is any indication.

You hear the tell-tale sign of a lawn mower starting up somewhere outside and freeze, clutching onto Topper’s shoulders as if staying still will somehow make you invisible.

“Can we go somewhere more… private?” You ask, shooting a nervous glance at the large window above the sink to your right.

“Absolutely,” he says, taking a quick nip at your bottom lip. Instead of stepping back to let you off the counter, he just hoists you up into his arms. You cling on for dear life as he takes you up the grand staircase in the entryway. He opens the first door on the left and doesn’t even bother turning the lights on before he sets you down and his lips are on yours again. His back is facing the door and you take advantage of that, pushing forward until he’s pressed flat against it. You swallow his grunt of surprise and then trail your lips down his neck as you drop to your knees in front of him.

***

The next time, you invite Topper to your place and let him return the favor. Then, he takes you to two more of his rental properties where you do everything but penetrative sex before Sarah leaves town and he finally brings you back to his house again.

This time, you let him go all the way. It’s not bad, but it could definitely be better. You keep him occupied for a while, and when he’s facedown on the bed recovering, you offer to go make him a cup of coffee.

“That would be great, thanks babe,” he groans, voice slightly muffled by the pillow underneath him. You throw on his abandoned button-down and pad down the stairs to start the coffee maker. That gives you just a few minutes of unsupervised time in his house, so you sneak down the hall to his study. The door’s unlocked, but when you try the desk drawers, they won’t budge. There are keyholes at the top of each drawer, and from your inspection, it looks like the same key would open them all. His computer’s asleep, and it’s password-protected, which doesn’t surprise you. For good measure, you run your hands alongside the bottom of the wood just in case there’s anything hidden there, but no such luck. The coffee maker beeps and interrupts your search, but you’re content with the intel you’ve gathered. As you pour two mugs of coffee, you start to devise a plan. A quick detour to the bathroom on your way back upstairs proves fruitful, you find a bottle of Trazodone prescribed to Sarah, and crush up three pills, stirring them into Topper’s coffee.

He’s out like a light forty-five minutes later, but you wait another hour just to make sure. Then, you sneak back downstairs with your backpack. A USB drive with password-cracking software downloaded goes straight into the computer, and while the program runs, you manage to pick the locks on three of the five drawers.

Four hours later, you slip back upstairs with two USB drives full of information, and photos of the most incriminating documents saved on your burner phone. Everything is zipped into the hidden pocket inside the lining of your backpack and you curl up next to Topper to sleep as if nothing has happened.

The next morning, you wake up before he does and decide to give him a little wake-up surprise. It serves its purpose and distracts him long enough for you to make your exit, smuggling the evidence out with you, leaving him none the wiser.

You get into work and take a moment to let out the tension you had been holding in all night. Slumping against the wall in the staff break room, you pull out your phone and type out another message to Sarah.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

RE: RE: Status Update [ENCRYPTED]

I GOT IT!!!!!! Evidence is in hand. I know the hearing’s not for another two weeks, so I can hold onto it until then if you want me to. Also, sorry, I stole a few of your Trazodones. Hopefully getting the evidence makes up for that, haha.

By the time your day shift is over, she’s responded, so you take a second to answer her before you head home for the night.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

RE: RE: RE: Status Update [ENCRYPTED]

THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!! I knew you could do it! I’ll stop by in the morning on my way to the courthouse, if that’s okay?

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

RE: RE: Status Update [ENCRYPTED]

Works for me! I’m just glad I was able to get it in time.

The next two weeks pass by in a blur of work and secret meetups with Topper, who suspects absolutely nothing. You’re still his shiny new toy, dressed up like a present for him to unwrap. The only time he mentions the impending divorce hearing is late one night when he shows up at your place unannounced. His kisses taste like whiskey and the smell of cigarette smoke lingers on his jacket. You lead him to the bedroom right away, knowing that he’s looking for a way to get out some of his drunken frustrations, and sure enough, his lips loosen as he’s pounding you into the mattress with one hand pressed against your stomach to hold you in place.

“I can’t fuckin believe she’s taking me to court,” he growls into your neck. “Bitch is trying to take half my shit. Thinks she can get our prenup annulled, ha! My lawyers will fuckin ruin her.”

You coo sweet nothings into his ear and brush his hair back from his forehead, which seems to calm him down a bit. Other than that one night, though, he’s been pretty much silent on the whole situation.

The morning of the hearing is here in no time, and headlights shine through your windows as Sarah pulls into your driveway. She’s behind the wheel of Topper’s Mercedes and her hair is pulled back into a low bun with a black and white silk head scarf wrapped around it. Topper’s signature aviators cover half of her face, and somehow she makes it look elegant. A black kitten heel is the first thing you see as she steps out of the car, followed by a tight-fitting yet modest black dress.

“Hey girl,” she says as she approaches the front door that you’re holding open for her.

“Hi! You look incredible,” you tell her. “Topper’s gonna lose his shit.” She giggles and lets you lead her into the kitchen.

“That’s the plan.” She notices the manila envelope sitting on the kitchen counter and runs her fingers along its edge. “Is this it?”

“Yep, it’s all there.”

“Perfect.” The grin on her face is positively wicked as she picks it up and slides it into her oversized leather bag. “Are you going to the courthouse?”

‘I’m gonna try and sneak into the back row right before it starts. That way, he won’t notice me, at least not until after it’s too late.”

“Well, then I’ll see you there!” Sarah sounds genuinely excited about that prospect, and she reaches out to squeeze your hand. “Seriously, Y/N, thank you. I couldn’t have done this without you.” You squeeze her hand back.

“Feels kind of weird for you to thank me when you literally paid me to sleep with your husband.” You chuckle. “ But you’re welcome. And good luck today!” With one final, soft smile, she’s out the door and on her way.

You change into your own revenge dress; it shows off more skin than Sarah’s, which seems fitting for playing the part of the mistress who betrayed him. Black platform sandals and your own pair of oversized sunglasses complete the look, and you manage to make it into the courtroom just as the judge is swearing everyone in.

The proceedings are tedious at first; it’s mostly just both lawyers establishing the facts of the case, but when Sarah is called up to the stand to make her statement, things take a dramatic turn.

“I’m Sarah Thornton, and I have new evidence to submit,” she says as she reaches into her bag and hands the envelope over to the judge. He flips through the papers quickly, then calls the lawyers back into his chambers to go over this new information.

“What the fuck?” Topper yells, lunging forwards as Sarah passes his seat. His lawyer is fast, though, and holds Topper back, whispering a stern warning. She just flashes a sweet smile and heads back to her seat, sitting with her head held high, a calm statue in the face of his messy outrage.

It’s nearly an hour before the judge and lawyers reemerge and things move quickly after that. The judge nullifies the prenup, stating that Topper violated one of its clauses and therefore it is no longer valid. His face is burning with rage but he bites his tongue because his lawyer’s got a death grip on his arm. Sarah is awarded the house and all material possessions, with Topper retaining only a small fraction of the cash assets they shared as a couple. It doesn’t really matter, though, because then two cops burst through the doors and make a beeline for a seething Topper.

“Topper Thornton, you are under arrest for insider trading and money laundering. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you…” the officer on the right recites as his partner puts Topper in cuffs. The man is wild-eyed, turning his head back and forth between Sarah and his lawyer, trying to put the pieces together.

As the police are leading him out of the courtroom, his eyes lock onto yours and his eyes blaze with fury.

“You fucking bitch!” he spits at you, poison dripping from his lips.

“Bye, Topper,” you say, voice light and airy as you waggle your fingers at him in a little wave. You hear him grunting and struggling to break free, but the cops have a good grip on him so he’s not able to escape. Once he’s been escorted off the premises, the judge smacks his gavel against his podium.

“Case dismissed!” He says, and the hearing is officially over. Sarah rushes over to you, squealing, and loops her arm through yours. The two of you walk down the steps, out of the courthouse, and onto the street, into a better and brighter future.

103 notes · View notes

vampirkit · 8 months

Text

list of my random hcs for kamilah sayeed (x lucy) that no one asked for but here they are bc i need to write them down:

kamilah has read literally EVERYTHING (except for modern fiction bc she says she’s read the same stories a thousand times before); and

lucy lovesss modern sapphic romance fiction + gets super excited about the plot and the characters getting together, so she tells kamilah about it. And kamilah is like, “oh, that’s similar to [insert a NICHE ASS 1500s novella that no one has ever talked about in the last 500 years bc why tf would they]”

kamilah has the nicest (and most effective, bc she’s had 2000+ years to deveop it) skincare routine known to man - even though she doesn’t technically need it. she is an immortal vampire after all; tell kamilah that, though, and she’ll respond: “i have an image to maintain, do i not?”

more under the cut

due to the fact kamilah’s day job requires human employees and council duties require nighttime hours, kamilah rarely ever sleeps. she drowns herself in work (literally constantly) bc it gives her something to do other than mulling over her past. yes, vampires don’t actually need sleep, but everyone does so anyways, bc they have all the time in the world really; there’s no real need to stay up all the time. and

lucy asks kamilah when she’s free (it’s never more than 5 hours at a time), adjusting her schedule accordingly (i’m writing a fic where lucy confronts kamilah on that issue, so prepare for angst)

lucy sends kamilah historically inaccurate memes - on purpose - bc she knows that kamilah will respond with a mini essay explaining how that’s wrong and the true events (it’s the easiest ways to draw stories out of the ancient vampire); kamilah never catches on

kamilah ONLY listens to music on vinyl (i imagine “Turn Me On” by Norah Jones constantly playing in the background of her penthouse); and

lucy sends kamilah spotify links all the time, bc she wants to know what kamilah thinks (of that! specific song!). kamilah promptly orders the album’s vinyl record to give it a listen, and she returns with a simple x/10 rating for the entire album

kamilah loves the lego botanical series. it all started when lucy bought her one, expecting typical unamused kamilah^TM; but she actually really enjoyed it???? (only after lucy convinced her to give it a try) and now it sits on the coffee table next to kamilah’s business magazines and lucy’s pile of current reads

kamilah always upgrades to the newest iphone, yet she uses her phone for less than an hour a day AND all of her devices wallpapers are the boring default ones

mhmm simple gold band thumb thing for kamilah. yes. on her right hand. and occasional rings on her middle + ring fingers on her left hand when she’s feeling extra slutty

#kamilah sayeed #kamilah x lucy #lucy west #kamilah x mc #bloodbound #choices

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svtminji · 1 year

Text

❪ 👜 ❫ WHAT’S IN MY BAG ->

WHAT’S IN MIZUKI’S BAG? | PRADA X VOGUE JAPAN

こんにちは、ヴォーグ！こちらはSEVENTEENのミズキです、そしてこれが私のプラダのバッグの中です。こちらはCELESTE/BLACKカラーのTERRY TOTE BAGです。

[ENG] Hello Vogue! This is Mizuki from SEVENTEEN and this is inside my Prada bag. This is a Terry Tote Bag in the color Celeste/Black.

財布の代わりにこのトートバッグを手に入れたのは、私が自分に必要なものはすべて持ち歩くという信念があるからです。言うまでもなく、私のメンバーは 13 人いますが、その中で私が最も機知に富んだメンバーです。青という色もとても気に入っていて、とても落ち着く色です。

[ENG] I got this tote bag instead of a purse because of my belief that I carry everything I need with me. Needless to say, I have 13 members, but I am the most witty member. I also really like the color blue, it's a very calming color.

iPhone XSから始めるのが良いと思います。それは間違いなく誰にとっても、特に私にとっては毎日の必需品です。人々は私に iPhone を変えるように言いましたが、私はそれが問題だとは思いません。より良い美学。でも、近いうちに携帯電話を変えようと考えています。私の携帯電話が故障したり、メンバーの携帯電話が故障したりした場合に備えて、彼は充電器を 2 つ持ち歩いています。

[ENG] I think I should start with the iPhone XS. It is definitely a daily essential for everyone, especially for me. People have told me to change my iPhone, but I don't see a problem with that. Better aesthetics. But I'm thinking of changing my phone in the near future. I carry two chargers in case my phone breaks down or the member's phone breaks down.

3つ目はヘッドフォンです。多くのメンバーがいるグループに所属するということは、騒々しいグループに所属することも意味します。私は内向的なので、騒がしい環境よりも静かな環境を好みます。

[ENG] The third is headphones. Being in a group with many members also means being in a noisy group. I'm an introvert, so I prefer quiet environments to loud ones.

次は財布です。最近は携帯電話で支払いをしていますが、財布は常に持ち歩いていると便利です。家族、メンバー、そして私自身の写真が何枚かあります。それはPRADA SAFFIANOのピンクのカードホルダーで、私にとってはとてもうまくいきました。

[ENG] Next is the wallet. I pay with my cell phone these days, but it's convenient to always carry my wallet with me. I have some photos of my family, members and myself. It's a Prada Saffiano pink card holder and it worked great for me.

ああ、これはちょっと面白いですね。 1つは使い物にならないので、メガネを3つ持っています。それは私にとって間違いなく最良の買い物ではありませんでしたが、それは多くの点で私の見た目を良くしてくれました。どれが一番いいと思いますか？それは黒ですか、それとも金ですか？黒いものは...大丈夫です。お願いします！何てことだ..

[ENG] Oh this is kind of funny. I have 3 glasses because one is not enough. It's definitely not the best buy for me, but it made me look better in many ways. Which one do you think is the best? Is it the black one or is it the gold one? The black one it is...! Oh my god..

最後はヘアゴムです。残念ながら私は他のメンバーのように髪が短くないので、ヘアゴムを持ち歩かなければなりません。紫色のプラダのヘアゴムで、ご覧のとおり、私のバッグはすべてプラダです。ファンは私をプラダガールと呼んでいますが、私はその名前に恥じないで生きてきました。

[ENG] The last is a hair tie. Unfortunately, my hair isn't as short as the other members, so I have to carry around a hair tie. A purple Prada hair tie and, as you can see, my bag is all Prada. Fans call me a Prada girl, but I've lived up to that name.

そうですね、プラダのバッグをみんなに見てもらうのはとても楽しい時間でした。 SEVENTEENの美月です。以上、『VOGUE JAPAN』のWhat’s In My Bagでした！さよなら!

[ENG] Well, I had a great time showing everyone the Prada bags. This is Mizuki from SEVENTEEN. That's all for What's In My Bag from "VOGUE JAPAN"! Good Bye!

i used google translate for the japanese… i felt like adding the japanese would be a nice touch.. heh 🤓☝️

@svtminji est. 2023

#svtminji #kpop #kpop oc #seventeen 14th member #seventeen oc #seventeen #kpop added member #seventeen added member #seventeen female member #vogue japan #💾 ; minji vogue #seventeen x oc #kpop female addition #kpop female oc #kpopidol #jpop #japan

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whatsnewalycat · 2 years

Text

Psychomanteum / Chapter 5

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Chapter 5: Sex with a Ghost

Chapter Summary: You and Dieter indulge yourselves in more ways than one.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 7.6k+

Content / Warnings: alternating POV, death, cocaine addiction, grief, PTSD, angst, flashbacks, cannabis use, implied poverty, psychic abilities, communication problems, paranoia, dirty talk, oral sex (v receiving), infertility mention, safe sex discussion, but also unprotected PIV sex, fluff, divorce, bathtub

Notes: Chapter title from "Sex with a Ghost" by Teddy Hyde. This chapter is like... a smut sandwich. You'll see.

[ Tag List ] [ AO3 ] [ Spotify Playlist ] [ Series Masterlist ]

You follow Dieter into his hotel room at The Plaza, jaw dropping as the door closes behind you.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you mutter to yourself, reaching out to trail your fingers along the buttery smooth finish of the wainscoting framing off sections of the wall.

Dieter meanders into the living room- the fucking living room inside a fucking hotel room - and plops down on the dusty baby blue velvet sofa (not a couch, a sofa, that’s how expensive it looks) like it’s nothing spectacular. Just some room.

“This is your hotel room? And you’ve been staying at my apartment?”

“Technically it’s a suite, not a room,” he advises, causing you to roll your eyes, and stretches out along the length of the sofa, “I like your apartment. This is so,” he grimaces and gestures around his vicinity, “Uptight.”

“I think fancy-schmancy is the proper term,” you smirk and raise an eyebrow at him, wandering around the circumference of the room, awestruck at the immaculate Edwardian era décor. Gold picture frames. Bright, cream colored walls that stretch tall up to the high ceiling. Spotless reflective surfaces on the tabletops. Plush, delicately colored velvet upholstery lining the chairs and sofa. A fucking crystal chandelier hanging above the center of the room.

Then you’re reminded of his cocaine-fueled tirade, about your apartment and Ethan’s otherworldly occupancy of it, and scoff, “Also, you do not like my apartment. You said it was, and I quote, fucking creepy.”

“It is fucking creepy,” he laughs, a real, deep kind of laugh that stretches his face and wrinkles his eyes. He sinks deeper into the sofa’s embrace, then shrugs, “But I like it.”

Your eyebrows raise and you give him the stank eye, as if to tell him yeah fucking right, but he doesn’t notice. He’s frowning down at his iPhone, tapping the screen.

With Dieter distracted, you return your attention to the room around you. Along the wall behind the dining room table, you find velvet curtains, the same shade as the luxurious sofa. You spread the curtains open wide, letting the sunlight bathe the room. Down below in Central Park, people are no longer people, but tiny ants mulling about the trails, peeking out from underneath the deciduous tree canopy. When you lean closer, forehead pressing against the warm window pane, the streets below come into view. The veins of this city, vehicles of all shapes and sizes, its blood cells, flowing back and forth to drop things off and pick things up. Always moving. Keeping the city alive.

A dizzying rush of vertigo hits you, and you pull away from the window, leaving an oily smudge against the pristine glass. You try in vain to wipe it away with your wrist.

“Besides, this place is way more haunted than your apartment,” he chuckles to himself.

This piques your interest.

You tilt your head towards him and frown, “Oh really?”

He hums in the affirmative, then diverts his gaze from his phone to your eyes and elaborates, “Like this suite? A rich girl died in the bathtub. Took too many benzos and passed out. Drowned accidentally. And um,” he sits up and tosses his phone on the mirror-top coffee table, then points to the window you were just gazing out of, “Some old geezer jumped out that window. Dapper guy. Kind of a jackass.”

You take a big step away from the window and cross your arms in front of your chest, furrowing your brow, “How do you know that?”

“I just kind of,” he screws his face up in contemplation, gesturing to the area around his unkempt chestnut hair, “Know. I guess. Since my overdose. It’s weird.”

You creep closer, keeping your guarded posture in place as you sit down in a goldenrod colored armchair across from him.

“Like at your apartment, I can see him and feel him. It’s…” he scrunches his face up and drops his eyes to the floor, pondering, then looks back up at you, “Like a palpable sadness. Like he’s sorry. It’s really… heavy.”

Dieter doesn’t need to tell you who he is, or what he’s sorry for.

“He’s- he’s sorry? Did he tell you that?” Your voice is quiet and shaky.

“It’s just a feeling,” he shakes his head and frowns, then after a beat, he raises his eyebrows and starts, “He does -”

He cuts himself off. His mouth clamps shut and eyes go wide before he averts his gaze.

“He does what? ” you lean forward and search his face. Watching the way he starts to jitter, fingers thrumming against his thighs. How his leg starts to bounce.

“Nevermind,” he shakes his head, standing up and grabbing his phone from the table, shoving it in his pocket, still averting his eyes, “Don’t listen to me, it’s probably just brain damage or something, anyway.”

“No fucking way, Dieter,” you scoff, rising to your feet, narrowing your eyes at him, “Tell me.”

“Fine ,” he groans and rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands, then runs his fingers through his mane, “He tries to talk to you. But you’re closed off. That’s why he couldn’t come through the psychomanteum.”

Your hair stands on end.

To be totally honest, you thought he was fucking with you by insinuating he has a sixth sense. But this statement makes your stomach twist in a knot.

“How did you know I didn’t contact him?”

You haven’t talked to Dieter about your experience with the psychomanteum yet. There’s no way that he could know you failed to contact Ethan, let alone that you used it at all.

“Like I said, I just know,” he sighs, then paces over to the wet bar (this place has a fucking wet bar, for fuck’s sake) and pours whiskey into two cups as he mutters, “This is why I don’t talk about it. It doesn’t make any fucking sense. I can’t explain it.”

A pang of guilt radiates across your chest, and your shoulders sag, releasing your arms to your sides, “Sorry.”

“Don’t sweat it, doll,” he mumbles, then picks up two crystal low ball glasses and hands one to you. He empties the glass into his mouth and sets it back on the countertop. You do the same. The liquid burns the ridges of your throat as it succumbs to gravity, then its heat settles in your belly.

Both of you lean a hip against the countertop and face each other. There’s only a foot between you. His presence is large, but not in a domineering way. It’s warm and settles all around you, squeezing you tight.

Like a bear hug.

“How do I, um…” you frown at the floor, trying to find the right words, “Open up… to him?”

He raises his eyebrows at you and crosses his arms, “You’re asking me how to open up to your husband?”

Embarrassment heats your cheeks and spreads down your neck. Laughing at the absurdity of it all, you throw your hands up in the air, “Yeah, I guess.”

“I don’t know if you know this or not,” he chuckles, dropping his elbow against the countertop to lean in closer, whispering conspiratorially, “But I am not the best person to get marriage advice from.”

You smirk and roll your eyes at him, then meet his gaze. He searches your face and sees you’re waiting for a better answer.

“I dunno, how did you talk to him about stuff when he was alive?” he shrugs.

After pondering this question for a moment, you answer, “I, um… I guess I don’t know.”

You pause. Sigh. Bite the inside of your cheek along the ridge of scar tissue you’ve gnawed into your smooth flesh over time.

Dieter hums and pours more whiskey into the glasses, then nudges one towards you.

“Bad influence,” you tease, making him grin, then pick it up and take a big swallow. He sips and watches you expectantly. Your heart starts to thud in your chest as you open your mouth. But you don’t know how to say the words at the tip of your tongue.

You don’t know how to admit that you used to be so fucking good at opening up to Ethan.

Even after a lifetime of communicating in 3D chest with your mother. After betrayal you felt when your father, your best friend and confidant, left you alone with her. You boarded yourself off to other people, thinking that if they can’t get close, they can’t hurt you.

Then you met Ethan.

At the beginning, when you felt angry, frustrated, or hurt, you’d default to passive aggressiveness. Slam doors. Give him the cold shoulder. Keep it inside. Always burying the feelings you thought would burden him. Because that’s what feelings were: a burden to others and to yourself.

He used to cup your cheeks and stare into your eyes, gaze piercing and determined. Tell you that he wasn’t going to leave you alone until you told him exactly what the fuck was wrong. That he’s not a goddamn mind reader. That there’s nothing you could possibly tell him that would make him run away.

“Hit me with the truth, baby,” he used to tell you, “I can take it.”

Direct and honest communication. Nail by nail, the two of you worked tirelessly to pry those shutters open and let the light in. And you did. It was one of the reasons the two of you worked so well together.

You don’t know how to tell Dieter that, when Ethan relapsed, it changed completely.

He became a person you didn’t trust. Frequently, Ethan would stumble in at 7am, talking a million miles a minute, a sharp sniff interrupting his monologue every 10 seconds, hands trembling like your grandma’s when she started showing symptoms of Parkinson’s disease. When you told him you were concerned, that it was becoming a problem, he claimed that his drug use was under control. And you trusted his word as truth, because it had been just that for the whole 5 years you were together up to that point.

But he started to lie about where he was, who he was with, what they were doing. Your confrontation was no longer met with direct and honest communication.

Instead, it was met with denial.

He couldn’t take the truth anymore, because the truth was that, despite several lengthy inpatient rehab stays in his twenties and early thirties, despite the control he was able to exert over his urges for years, he was still an addict.

Eventually, cocaine poisoned his brain with paranoia. You started to lose business because he wouldn’t take on new clients out of fear that they were undercover cops, and the existing clients grew wary of your coked-out husband interrogating them. His list of friends dwindled. The ones that stuck around would come over to your apartment and they’d lock themselves in that fucking room for hours.

You hated when this happened, because every goddamn time, accusations would start flying and a fight would break out. Then you had to mediate an argument between a bunch of cokeheads or try to get in the middle of a fist fight. It wore you down.

But it wasn’t just other people that Ethan started to lose trust in.

He started asking if you were talking to the cops, or the DEA, or the FBI, or the fucking illuminati. You didn’t have to ask to know that he thought you were an informant. Each interaction with him felt like a puzzle. If you said the wrong thing, or laughed at the wrong thing, or didn’t laugh at the right thing, or asked a certain question, it would set him off. He was impossible to predict.

You no longer felt safe to open up to him, so you boarded yourself back up. Conversations with your husband were a means to an end. Whatever you could do or say to get his attention off of you. He refused to go to treatment. His parents refused to see that he was out of control. His ex-wife had seen this all before and the only advice she could give you was get out.

You didn’t listen to her advice. You thought that if you just loved him hard enough, stayed with him and worked through this, he would come back. But he never did.

All of these things you consider telling Dieter. But if you tell him, he’ll know how miserably you failed Ethan. He’ll know that what happened was your fault. He’ll see you for what you really are: a coward.

Instead, you meet Dieter’s warm brown eyes and shrug, “I’ll figure it out.”

He raises one eyebrow and his lip curls as he sighs. Disappointment is written all over his face. You open your mouth again, trying once more to explain.

“I’m… I- I- I used to be able to open up to him. But he was… sick,” you stammer out.

It’s now that you realize you’ve never said the words out loud: He was an addict.

You realize that you, too, were scared to admit the truth about Ethan. Tears start to burn behind your eyes. You clamp your mouth shut as they start to slide down your cheeks.

“Sick?” Dieter inquires.

You nod, then turn away and start walking around the room again, trying to hide this embarrassing display of emotions.

He follows you.

“Lua,” he starts, grabbing your hand. You lace your fingers with his, but don’t turn around. Just stare at the door and will yourself to stop crying stop crying stop fucking crying .

“Hey, come on,” he tugs at your hand, but you’re frozen in panic. Your mind is filled with a blinding, debilitating terror.

Dieter walks around your statuesque body when you don’t respond, bringing his eyes level to your far away stare, cupping your face with his hands. His thumbs wipe away the tears like windshield wipers against your flushed cheeks.

“Look at me,” he rumbles. You blink and bring him into focus, meeting his gaze. His features fold into concern, “You ok?”

Without warning, his question squeezes your heart like a sponge, expelling the sorrow you’ve been absorbing for over a year. Even before the accident. The grief that started to accumulate over those long, lonely nights when you wondered where your husband was. If he was safe. If he’d ever come home again.

If he’d ever come home again. He never really did, did he?

Your face crumples and you shake your head back and forth, and sob, “No- no, I’m not fucking ok.”

He deflates, then stands up straight and pulls you into a tight embrace. You wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his dirty tank top, chest heaving as you cry against him. His lips press against your hair and he starts to gently rock you.

“I’m sorry, fuck, I’m sorry for crying,” you sniffle between sobs, “I didn’t mean to-“

“Louella,” he cuts you off, mumbling against your scalp, “Don’t apologize for crying. I’m here for you, ok?”

You nod in response, chest heaving as another wave of tears starts to hit you.

He continues.

“I know how you feel. You’re not alone, ok? You- you’re safe. With me. I don’t want you to hold back, ok?” he takes you by the shoulders now and pulls back to meet your gaze, holding you steady. His eyes are bloodshot and watery, but hold a deadly seriousness, “Do you understand?”

You sniffle and nod, wiping tears away with the back of your hand.

Dieter searches your eyes and grinds out, “Don’t you dare fucking hold back.”

His intensity rings like a bell, resonating down your center. A shiver ripples goosebumps across your flesh. You nod again, then sniffle and choke out, “Ok.”

He holds your gaze for a beat longer, then pulls you back into a hug, nose buried in your hair. His body heat wraps around you and squeezes you tight. As you take a deep inhale, you smell the sharp musk of his sweaty tank top, but find it enticing. Your grip tightens, fingertips pressing into his back. He softens at the touch, humming in approval, then mumbles, “You wanna see the rest of the suite?”

“Are you trying to suggest something?” you chuckle, raising an eyebrow even though he can’t see it.

“Actually, I wasn’t, but I like the way you think,” he says, and you can feel his cheeks ball up in a grin against you, “I need to take a shower. Change clothes. Make a few phone calls. After that, though,” he pulls back and gives you a smirk, then quirks an eyebrow, “I’ll fuck you in a really fancy-schmancy bed.”

Your cunt clenches with excitement. You flash him a sheepish grin, “Oh yeah?”

His tongue rolls across his bottom lip. Your eyes follow the movement. It doesn’t go unnoticed. Fingers dig into your sides and he leans forward, soft patches of his beard rubbing against your cheek as he rumbles, “Is that what you want, sweetheart?”

Your heart starts to thud heavy in your chest. Head feels light. Joints start to gelatinize.

“You want me to fuck you?” his breath is hot against your ear.

You nod and swallow hard.

“Say it, Lua.”

“I want you to fuck me,” you whisper back.

His throat vibrates with something akin to a growl. You slide your hands up to the nape of his neck, into his hair. Savor his soft curls between your fingers. Your foreheads meet. He cups your cheek with his palm. Thumb grazes your lips. A delightful shiver drips down the middle of you.

Your eyes flutter closed and you pull him closer, tasting the heat of his ragged breath, drinking in the delicious anticipation of his mouth hovering there, waiting for your signal before he acts.

“Can I kiss you?” he breathes, trailing both hands behind your head until he’s cradling your skull in his strong hands.

“Please.”

He pulls your lips against his, hard and wanting. You stumble backwards a step from the impact, but recover your footing and return the kiss with equal force. His lips part with a moan. You take up this newly available space, sliding your tongue against his, committing the taste of his saliva to memory. He drops his hands to your hips and thrusts against you, grinding his hardened cock between your bodies.

“Are you- gonna- be able to- wait that long?” you ask between frantic kisses, tightening your grip on his hair.

“Don’t think so, doll,” he mutters and presses hard against your sex, pulling a gasp from your chest as the friction pools hot in your center.

The two of you don’t part lips as you stumble blindly backwards until you’re backed up against the sofa. He nudges your head to the side with the bridge of his nose and rumbles, “Think I’m gonna have to bend you over this couch-“ he grabs the sofa and presses his hips against yours, “and fuck you right here.”

You whimper and tug at his waistband. Capture his lips in yours. He groans into the kiss and slides his hands under the hem of your dress, then turns you around and yanks your underwear down to your ankles.

“Wanna fuckin’ taste you first,” he mumbles, dropping to his knees, hiking your dress up to your waist, “Take this off, love.”

You pull it off over your head and toss it aside. His hands are soft but strong on the backs of your thighs, sliding up the sweat-laced skin, knees nudging your stance wider.

“That’s it, baby,” he coos, spreading the tender flesh between your legs, “Wanna see that pretty pussy. Fuck yes-”

His tongue parts your lips and drags electric along the middle of you.

“Oh my fucking god, yes,” you gasp and arch into the delicious sensation. A sharp sting ripples across your ass when he slaps it, and you growl through gritted teeth, “Fuck yes.”

He starts to roll his tongue over your clit, slow and steady, pleasure growing thick and luscious at your core. Vibrations echo through you as he moans against your cunt. Fingertips dig into the swell of your ass cheeks.

You whimper and close your eyes, savoring the deep, throbbing pain each digit derives. Relishing the delightful spring of ecstasy his tongue found. Listening to the bass of your heart pounding frantically in your chest.

His moans grow louder as you bend over and start to writhe against his face. He stills and flattens his tongue, letting you take what you need, grip on your ass loosening so he can feel the heat of your movements against his palms.

“Do you like that, baby?” you pant, “Like when I ride your fucking face?”

The thrill of these words leaving your mouth trickles down your spine, collecting molten at your center. You chase this blissful warmth, picking up speed.

He groans and slaps your bouncing ass in response, prodding you onward.

“How does that pussy taste, baby, hmm? Like how fucking wet I get for you?” you ask him in a throaty whisper, drunk on power, aching with lust.

Dieter seamlessly replaces his mouth with his hand, unable to resist the urge to respond, “Tastes so fucking good, sweetheart-”

You reach back and pull his face back between your legs, growling, “Don’t you fucking stop, Dieter-”

He moans and dutifully resumes his position, letting you rub yourself off on his flattened tongue. The muscle feels fucking divine. Slick but firm. Anchored in place exactly where you need him.

“That’s perfect,” you groan, then swallow hard as static starts to tingle at your core.

You pick up speed, chasing the sensation, whimpering, “That’s it, baby, just let me fuck that handsome face.“

He moans so loud, the vibration shoots through you and makes you gasp with glee, “Fuck yes,” eyes fluttering shut as you concentrate on the pleasure growing wide inside you, hips jerking frantically now, “Wanna hear how much you like it, baby, let me hear-“

The sound waves echo deep into your body when he complies. And that feeling, that hot, delicious fucking feeling keeps building inside you.

“So fucking good, such a good boy,” you croak out, then gasp as the twisting, aching pleasure starts to swell, “I’m gonna cum, baby, just like that, yes- yesyesyes-”

You come apart in layers, splitting into tiny microscopic pieces before dissolving on his tongue. As you gasp and convulse, lost in your orgasm, he laps away at your cunt frantically, coaxing the sticky, sweet arousal into his mouth.

“Oh fuck,” you moan, instinctively pulling away from the overwhelming stimulation. His hands hold your hips in place, reeling you back in. He closes his lips around your swollen clit, sucking it mercilessly as your whole body starts to tremble and you let out a choked sob.

For a moment, all you can hear is your own thudding heartbeat, the deafening pleasure swallowing you whole.

He moans against you again, tongue breaching your entrance and writhing around. It only makes you want more. You think of his hardened cock against your earlier. How fucking big he was. Desire burns hot at your center.

“Fuck me, Dee, please-” you whine.

He starts to fuck you with his tongue and, even though it feels fucking amazing , it’s not what you need. You turn around and look down at him.

He’s truly a sight to behold.

On his knees before you, chest heaving, eyes wild and black, face glistening with your cum. He pouts up at you- fucking pouts , this man- and ghosts his hands along your hips, drifting towards your pussy like it has him hypnotized. His cock is tented inside his shorts. A wet spot has darkened a section of fabric to a deep forest green.

“Fuck, you’re so sexy,” you purr, bringing your thumb to run along his bottom lip.

“Says you,” he chuckles, then grabs your hand in his, pressing his lips to your wrist, holding them there in reverie. A whine emits from your throat at the contact. His eyes follow yours as you lower yourself to the floor, pushing him back gently until he’s seated and you can climb into his lap.

You tug at the hem of his tank top, pulling it off over his head, then press your palms against his bare chest. His hands slip around your waist. Eyelids flutter shut. Head rolls back. Recognizing his hunger, you hook your hands at the back of his neck and bring yourself closer, until the heat of his skin is flush against yours.

Your hips roll against the stiff length of him, making him shudder.

“Fuck , Lua,” he breathes, hot gaze meeting yours, fingers digging into your flesh, pressing a kiss into your jawline before whispering, “Wanna feel that sweet little pussy wrapped around me.”

“Then take your goddamn pants off already,” you mumble and run your fingers through his hair.

“Yes ma’am,” he grins, then grants your request, pulling his shorts and boxers down as he tells you, “You can boss me around any time, doll. I’ll do fucking anything for you, I swear to god, anything you want.”

His cock escapes its confides with a light smack against your thigh. You look down to see it and your eyes widen, then you grin at him, “I fucking knew it.”

“What?” he laughs at your pleased expression. His hips thrust against yours ever-so-slightly, just a little, just enough to catch some friction on your skin.

“I knew you had a big dick,” you giggle, covering your face as it starts to flush with embarrassment.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t notice, sweetheart,” he rumbles. His lips graze your cheek, breath hot against your skin, “You think that tight little cunt will be able to take it?”

You hum and roll your hips forward, pinning his cock between your bodies, then look between it and his eyes, “Only one way to find out.”

“Should I get a condom?” he asks, searching your face.

You ponder this for a moment, then return his question with a question, “Are you clean?”

He nods, “You?”

“Yeah,” you nod, then start to blush as you say, “I got tested last week. Plus, I haven’t had unprotected sex since, you know…”

My husband died.

He hums in acknowledgment, thankfully not making you say it out loud, “I can get one, no problem-”

“No, no, it’s actually- I’d um, I’d like to… not… if that’s ok,” your whole face is flushed now as you stammer, “I, like, know you, so I feel like it’s… different. I don’t know.”

Your stomach flutters at the admission.

He grins wide. His hands settle on your waist and his thumbs smooth circles against your skin as he rumbles, “Are you on birth control?”

You laugh out loud. He furrows his brow and frowns in question. You shake your head, “Sorry, it’s- it’s not funny, I’m just, um, barren. So, no, I’m not on birth control. But nothing grows inside this hostile environment anyways, so…”

“Hostile environment? ” he throws his head back in laughter at the phrase, then returns to your grinning face with an amused smile and shrugs, “Ok, no condom then.”

So the two of you guide yourselves into a ready position, the head of him nudging up against your entrance, dipping into the hot, gooey pool of arousal still dripping from your pussy. Slowly, you lower yourself down, mouth falling open with a gasp as your walls stretch wide to accommodate his girth.

You press your forehead against his and whimper, “Jesus fucking Christ, Dee.” Your fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck and you pull him into a kiss. As you huff and whine against his mouth, he works you open inch by inch.

When you don’t think you can take any more, you start to roll your hips slowly. Ecstasy ripples through your body in waves. He lets out soft little moans, grip on your waist tightening, and gasps, “Oh my god , baby- fuck, pussy so fucking good.”

“Mmm so good -” you slur in agreement, capturing his lips in yours, melting against him. You drip down the length of him, pooling onto the floor pristine floor of this fucking suite whose nightly rate is probably one month’s rent for you.

You’re now abstract. A concept. A ghost, really. Only existing as your five senses. Dieter is consuming all of them.

The salty bite of his sweat on your tongue. The throbbing ache of pleasure as he splits you open over and over again. The musky, warm scent of his skin filling your lungs. The breathy curses and praises that fall from his lips. Those lust-blown eyes, dark with passion as they bore into yours.

“You’re taking me so fucking good, baby, holy fucking shit,” he pants against your mouth, “Sweet little pussy getting filled just how you like it?”

“Just how I like it, baby, yes yes yes,” you whimper, pushing against his thrusts.

His fingers dig into your sides and he snaps his hips up, growling, “That’s it, sweetheart, fuck yes-”

You release a choked sob as he reaches the end of you. Stars invade your field of vision. He grits his teeth and grunts in time with his thrusts, bruising grip holding your lower half in place. Burying your face against his neck, you wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, legs around his waist, and hold on for dear life as he fucks up into you mercilessly.

Then you’re both reduced to your most basic animalistic instincts. Moaning. Grunting. Writhing frantically in a heavy cloud of lust that clings to your skin. Sweat pools between your bodies in the places they meet.

Pleasure wraps its tendrils around your entire being and burrows inside you. Every single cell in your body is saturated with it, overflowing with it. It pools at your center, churning hot and thick like magma, setting your insides on fire.

You bite into his shoulder, sinking your teeth into his skin, muffling your wrecked sobs. He moans wantonly. His hands slide up your back. Fingers twist into your hair and tug.

“Yes yes yes,” you whine, letting your head roll back into his grasp, exposing the column of your neck. He licks up your throat and then lays down a smattering of wet kisses. Your moans project to the ceiling, sound waves echoing through the crystal chandelier, “Fuck me so good, Dee, fucking perfect.”

Dieter’s pace grows more erratic. His grunts fade to sharp little moans and he pants, “I’m so fucking close, baby.“

“Cum inside me, Dee,” you whimper, “Wanna feel you cum inside my pussy-”

He groans, then pulls your lips to his. The kiss is sloppy, just like the rhythm of your hips grinding against his, just like the cadence of his moans melding with yours.

Gravity slips away as you start to ascend, following the feeling of ecstasy up, up, up, heart pounding, ears ringing from the elevation, body tingling from head to toe. Your stomach flips and you cry out as your orgasm drops you in a freefall. Dieter gasps and groans, hips stuttering as you quiver and clench around him.

“I’m- I’m-“ his mouth falls open and he shudders beneath you as he cums, fucking his load up into your cunt one, two, three times.

The fluid motions of your bodies together slow to stop except for your chests as they rise and fall. Even then, the breaths become more shallow, less desperate for oxygen as the exertion fades into normalcy. But the two of you are propped up against each other, tangled in a loose knot, eyes closed, minds numb, muscles still trembling.

“I can’t feel my legs,” he confesses, mumbling into your neck, “But I don’t wanna move.”

“I don’t… I don’t think I even can move. We’re stuck here, sorry,” you respond with a content sigh.

Neither of you protest for another minute or two, until you try to swallow and find your mouth and throat are fucking arid . You cough a little and whine, “Need water. So dry.”

He groans and squeezes you tighter in protest, then sighs, “Ok. We can do this.”

You don’t go to move.

“You gotta go first, though, doll,” he chuckles.

“Are you sure?” you mumble.

“Mmm yeah, I’m sure,” he hums, then shifts underneath you, coaxing you into motion. Reluctantly, you sit up and look down at him, meeting his warm gaze. He sits up and presses a kiss against your lips. Soft and sweet. It flutters inside your chest.

You run your fingers through his hair and deepen the kiss, sinking back down against him.

A quiet groan rumbles in his throat. His soft cock twitches inside you. Your tongue slides against his, slowly, intimately. An insatiable thirst for him starts to overtake you, but then he breaks the kiss and mutters, “We gotta get off this floor, baby.”

“Fine,” you groan with exaggeration, then untangle yourself from him and get to your feet. Your body is still trembling and shiny with sweat. The combination of his cum and yours feels slick between your legs as you make your way over to the sink and fill up a glass of water, chug it, fill it up again, and turn around.

Dieter is sprawled out, spread eagle on the floor, tipping his chin to the ceiling so he can see you.

“Need help up, old man?” you laugh, tilting your head at him.

He scoffs, but doesn’t say no, so you set the glass down and walk over his feet, then grab his hands and help him stand upright.

The two of you drink roughly five million gallons of water, taking turns filling the expensive crystal tumbler with tap water, then guzzling it down like you’ve been stranded in the desert for months.

“Where was I?” he clears his throat and narrows his eyes around the living room, then a lightbulb goes on over his head and he settles his gaze on you, “Oh yeah, um, do you wanna see the rest of this place?”

Dieter shows you the two bedrooms and bathrooms of his suite, more tickled by your exasperation at the luxury of it all than the amenities themselves.

“Look at this fucking bathtub, Dee, oh my god,” you gasp, running a finger along the lip of the white ceramic of the deep soaking tub, eyeing the gilded fixtures, “Can… can I take a bath in it or is that weird?”

You look up at him, face stretched out in what he thinks is a wince. He frowns, “You can do whatever the fuck you want here, doll.”

“Sorry, I know you wanted to just be in and out, but this is literally the nicest place I’ve ever been in,” you chuckle and turn away, unsuccessfully trying to hide the way your cheeks deepen a shade.

Dieter reaches out, capturing your hand in his. You spin towards him and search his face as your fingers intertwine. He asks, “Do you wanna stay in the fancy-schmancy hotel tonight?”

You bite the inside of your cheek and glance around the immaculate bathroom, “I don’t know. I have to get some orders out tomorrow morning.”

“We can take a bath and rent movies. Order room service. This place comes with a butler, you know,” he coaxes, reeling you in closer, bringing his hands to your sides, meeting your eyes to show you that he wants you to stay, “I’ll see if he can bring bubbles for the bath.”

Your lips bloom into a big, beautiful smile and you concede, “Ok, ok, if you insist.”

God, it makes his heart ache with adoration. You are fucking breathtaking. He doesn’t give a fuck whether the two of you stay here, or at your place, or on the fucking street. Just as long as he gets to be with you.

Which reminds him.

“I gotta make a few calls quick, do you need anything right now?”

You frown and shake your head, “I’m cool as a cucumber.”

Dieter secludes himself in the smaller of the suite’s two bedrooms. He digs his phone out of his pocket and makes call number one, to his booking agent, Mark.

Mark is a no-nonsense workaholic who does not understand the concept of “leisure” or “vacations” or “I’m going out of town for a few days to visit a friend so don’t expect me to be available to do work.” Which, most of the time, actually meshes well with Dieter’s frivolity. Mark’s micromanagement and hyper vigilance keeps Dieter on task.

But this week, Mark has been hammering out the details of an upcoming movie production, cc’ing him on hundreds of emails back and forth about contracts, accommodations, schedules, blah blah blah. Instead of wasting precious time reading through these email chains, Dieter dials Mark’s number and waits for him to pick up.

“How’s New York?” Mark greets him. There’s no background noise, and Dieter guesses he’s in his office with the door closed.

“Great,” Dieter responds, pacing slowly back and forth at the foot of the bed. He chuckles to himself when he remembers that the last 4 days were definitely not fucking great, but somehow today has completely overshadowed that fact.

“Not getting into trouble, right?”

“Depends on your definition of trouble.”

This is Dieter’s way of answering him without lying and without saying yes. A conversational loophole. Dieter’s publicized drug use and philandering has had a significant impact on his marketability as an actor. Mark has been working tirelessly to keep work coming in, and would probably fly off the handle if Dieter’s most recent coke binge somehow made tabloid headlines.

“Seriously, though, are you staying clean out there?”

So much for the conversational loophole.

“I, uhh-”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Dieter!” Mark’s groan sizzles in the speaker before Dieter can say more. He winces and moves the phone away from his ear.

“Listen, I don’t think anyone knew who I was. Just went to some shitty bar and met some randos. Went back to their place and did some coke. No big deal,” Dieter paces faster now, running his fingers through his hair, “But then I went back to my, um-“

He falters here. The words “my girl” were right on the tip of his tongue before he caught himself. Dieter clears his throat and resumes.

“My friend’s house and slept it off for a few days. That’s it, though, she’s been keeping me outta trouble otherwise.”

“Alright, but I swear to god, if that shit gets out I’m gonna kick your fucking ass, Bravo, you hear me?”

“Yes sir,” Dieter grins, relieved to move on to the next part of the conversation. Moving on from the part where Mark could ask who “she” is. Not that Mark really gives a shit about Dieter’s private life, as long as it doesn’t interfere with his job as an agent. But sometimes guys like Mark come out of left field with sentimentality like that.

And right now Dieter has no fucking clue how he would react if he were pressed on the topic of you.

Gun to his head, if someone asked him “What is Louella to you?” He’d end up fucking dead.

Hell, no gun to his head, if just someone- anyone, really- asked him “What is Louella to you?” There’s a distinct non-zero chance that Dieter would still end up fucking dead somehow. Panicking and jumping out the window seems like a very real possibility in that scenario.

Thankfully, Mark is not the kind of guy who cares about shit like that.

So Dieter happily listens to him blather on about next month’s jam-packed schedule, and auditions, and scripts, and flights, and movie production, and fuck, this is so goddamn boring. There’s no way he’s going to remember any of this anyway. It’s a complete waste of time.

Precious time that he could be spending between your legs, on your lips, even just fucking staring at you. Each minute that drags on makes his skin crawl.

“Does that all sound good to you?”

Dieter stops pacing and squints up at the ceiling, then answers, “Yeah. Wanna just send my schedule stuff to Lincoln so he can update my calendar?”

“Will do.”

The phone call ends and Dieter punches the air in success. One task down.

He taps around on his phone, pulling up an email from his lawyer, Gene. He opens the document and e-signs all the necessary sections, then sends it as an attachment in response. He calls Gene and leaves him a voicemail, notifying him of the email.

Then, finally, phone call number three. The phone line trills a few times. He’s not surprised when her voicemail picks up, and instead of her endearing Bulgarian accent, it’s a generic pre-recorded robot message.

“Please leave a voice message after the beep.”

BEEP

“Hey, Annie, it’s me. Just wanted to let you know I sent the paperwork to Gene so we can, uhh… wrap this thing up. I, um, I also just wanted to tell you that I wish you nothing but the best. I know I wasn’t always the easiest to deal with and um… I don’t know. I appreciate everything you did for me. For us. Thank you for everything. I guess that’s it. Bye.”

“This is… by far… the best fucking idea I’ve ever had in my life,” you declare, carefully passing the joint the short distance to Dieter’s dry hand.

The bath water is hot and saturated with lavender infused epsom salt. Steam curls off the surface between tall stacks of iridescent bubbles.

He plucks it from your fingertips and closes it between his lips. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, settling deeper into the water, deeper into the stoned haze, deeper into Dieter’s soft, naked body.

The vibration from his hum of agreement rumbles against your back.

“I fucking love baths,” you roll your head back, nestling into the crook of his neck. He pokes your belly for attention and you crack an eye open to see the joint held in front of your face. You pinch it from his fingertips and take a hit, exhaling a thick, skunky plume of smoke as you ramble, “There’s that um… Silvia Plath quote from The Bell Jar about baths. Fuck, I wish I could remember it. So good.”

“There must be quite a few things a hot bath won't cure, but I don't know many of them. Whenever I'm sad I'm going to die, or so nervous I can't sleep, or in love with somebody I won't be seeing for a week, I slump down just so far and then I say: I'll go take a hot bath,” Dieter recites, then takes the joint from your grip and takes a hit.

The steaming hot water sloshes as you look up at him, mouth gaping open in disbelief, “You just have that whole quote memorized and on the ready?”

His face lights up in a smile as he laughs, eyes folding into crescents, “That’s half of my job description. Plus, I like that book.”

The bright smile is contagious and it spreads to you, heating your chest even more than the bath water does. You sit up and try to turn around so you can kiss him, but the tenuous underwater gravity situation teams up with your dope-fogged brain and throws you off balance. With a squeal, you tip over into the water and completely submerge yourself.

He starts cackling at you when you resurface, completely soaked and covered in bubbles, and you can’t help but join him in laughter. His wet hand reaches out and you take it, letting him pull you in. Your legs curl around his body, hands meeting at his neck. He holds you there with his wet hand on the small of your back, keeping you from floating away in the deep water of the soaking tub.

When he hands you the joint, you pout, “I don’t have a dry hand for the joint anymore.”

“Mmm, here, lemme try something-” he plugs it between his plush lips and inhales, the joint’s cherry glowing bright. His wet hand comes up to your chin and guides your face closer, until your mouth is open and hovering directly in front of his. As he breathes out, you breathe in, taking in his exhaust.

The THC drags you up higher. The slick heat of his body against you elevates you even higher.

You exhale a cloud and meet his eyes. They’re hot on yours. He glances at the dwindling joint and dips it into the bath water, then tosses it onto the mosaic tile floor.

In all honesty, the ashes creeping along the surface of this otherwise amazing bath, and the soggy roach bleeding out soot onto the tile would normally make you feel uneasy.

But, in all honesty, you find yourself not giving a single fuck about those things.

Instead, you’re focused on him. He pulls you into a kiss that ignites your soul. Both his hands find your waist underwater and settle there.

A feeling surfaces. It’s saturated in melancholy and romance and hesitancy. It tugs at your insides and aches to be known.

“Can I tell you a secret?” you whisper, grinning coyly.

“Give it to me, baby,” he wraps his slippery arms around your back and pulls you closer.

Your body settles against his, laying your head against his shoulder, watching his Adam’s apple bob when you admit, “I’m kind of sad you’re leaving tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah?” he smiles, squeezing you tight, “You gonna miss me, sweet cheeks?”

“Oh my god don’t ever call me that again,” you cackle. Your head jostles around on his shoulder as he laughs, too. Then a silence settles. Your fingers ghost along his chest underwater, and you mutter, “Yeah, I think I’m gonna miss you.”

“I’m gonna miss you, too.”

[ Next Chapter ]

A/N: Out of curiosity, what do you think our lovers would dress up as for Halloween? May or may not be gathering ideas for an upcoming chapter lol.

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