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esccpism · 3 months ago

Text

- let ruin end here [.]

it’s peak hours on the train to grand central. you and sevika share a booth.

cw: younger woman x older woman, strangers to lovers, reader is anywhere from 23+, cunnilingus, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, vaginal fingering, light dom/sub, complicated relationships with parents, reader's mother is passed, reader’s father battles alcoholism, overcoming implied suicidal ideation, undertones of grief

wc: 5.6k

a/n: i think the only thing that feels worse than making bad art is not making art at all. i really want to like this and can't. exposure therapy is posting it anyway! this is loosely edited so i apologize for any errors, and hope you enjoy x

fic inspired by this beautiful artwork by moonie_forever on twitter.

you don’t see her at first.

you’re focused in a frantic sense, eyes raking up and down over heads stuffed in phones or laptops for a leftover space to cram yourself into.

your hunt yields. you snatch the spot immediately, sliding into the last remaining seat in a six-seated booth.

not that you can afford any pickiness, not that you ever can—but it's an aisle seat. it’s maybe the worst for an hour commute. you’re forced to remember this almost instantly, punished by a careless passenger rushing past who pummels your shoulder with their suitcase.

the offense strikes against you like a match and the anger ignites quicker than you can swallow it.

you yelp under your breath, and look up with a painful hiss, ready to send daggers into the back of the offending head and instead your eyes latch onto her.

sitting diagonal from you, her gaze is on you already. there’s nothing in them, nothing you can discern, anyway. her vague curiosity seems to run out as soon as no argument erupts because she settles back into the book cracked open in her hands.

rubbing your shoulder, you try to be quick. strangers have a keen sense of who’s staring.

you don’t want your trip to get any more annoying, but you take a big gulp and sink under: thin rimmed glasses bridge her strong nose, and she’s dressed comfortably, dark hair tucked away behind her, wisps and fly-aways brushing over her eyes. impossibly long legs eagle outwards in the seat, taking up far more space than necessary, and you nearly laugh—the poor old woman next to her is sitting stock upwards, elbows tucked to death—but it fails to be funny for long, seeing how her thighs dwarf the woman entirely and easily.

the rest of her body follows the same pattern. her arms sit broadly. she’s got a pretty shade on her lips, dark as night, and—

you inhale sharply. she’s watching you watch her, again.

her brow lifts.

you fish for the quickest thing you can reach for: smile breezily and nod towards the book in her hands. tell her with a voice that comes out strong and unwavering that you picked it up a few weeks ago, too.

it isn’t a lie. you recognize the title. the sentence, by louise erdrich—it’s sitting on your shelf in your childhood bedroom, and you’d put the book down temporarily as you had done with most things recently in order to keep yourself afloat.

her eyebrow does something new that rustles inside you.

her voice does something worse. it’s low and smooth velvet, and curls around in your stomach when she offers back, “main character’s a bit of an idiot.”

“only at first,” your grin grows, and loses its performance.

“from cocaine transport and body snatching? i would hope so.”

“she was in love,” you shrug, in her defense. “a pretty woman will do that to you.”

her eyes glint, amusement or a ghost of a laugh or something else golden on the horizon, you’re not sure. she asks if you would know. you answer her, oh, yes. intimately.

there's a crease or a dip in the space between you two that fills itself with words, cradles lines like water cupped in the palm of your hands. you spill nothing even in the awkwardness of talking over the shoulders of the passengers beside you, who continue bouncing their feet in irritation. her gaze flickers to them and back to you, mid-breakdown of both of your least favorite writing sins ranked from most hated to satan couldn’t even think of this—something bridging just on amusement pulling at her mouth.

when the man seated in front of her stands to exit at his station you shift over to take his spot.

your knees crowd together and kiss—she asks you if you have enough space to sit comfortably, and you tell her not to move a muscle. her long legs, stretching outwards like a yawn, hold yours inbetween.

₊⊹

you’d gone home that night and, bored, thought of her briefly as the tall buildings flit by. you wonder and then wish you’d asked what she was doing in new york, where the city was taking her, where she was headed.

and then you move on.

wandering is no longer in your best interests. what’s important is what’s right in front of you, and if you let your attention drift for a moment too long it might crawl out from your grip and shatter to the floor.

you fantasize about it, sometimes, in the weak hours of the night. what it might feel like to let it all fall. how your lungs won’t remember what air feels like when it doesn’t burn. what it might mean if you were to stop running.

alcohol hits you first, always. the stench sobers you up.

you lean one hand against the hallway and lift your heel up behind you, slip your flats off and let them clatter to the floor. your dad doesn’t lift his eyes to greet you when you shuffle into the dark.

“hi, daddy,” you murmur, and rest a light hand on his shoulder as you pass.

he starts under your palm, lets his head roll towards you. the T.V. paints his face blue.

“hi, princess,” his voice scratches on the way out. he shifts, and a bottle rolls out of his lap and clatters onto the floor. you sink to pick it up, gathering another three with you. he grunts, rubbing his drooping eyes torturously slow, working the words out of his mouth. “how was your—uh…your internship?”

you let the bottles rest on the counter. there are about a dozen others there too, your eyes coast over them tiredly. tomorrow, you tell yourself. you said so yesterday, too, but you think you mean it this time. you’ll clear them out tomorrow.

you have nothing left, tonight.

you tell him to remember to turn the television off when he’s done, and after a long, dripping silence he makes a vague noise in his throat in response.

the house is dying.

there’s no pretty way around it, no way to clean the sentiment up. the house is dying. and it took your mother first, one quiet night, under the illusive cover of sleep. your father had first begged despairingly for it to give her back and then resolved to go in after her.

the pile of empty bottles on the kitchen table counts down the days. they increase steadily, creating an ominous figure in the dark, and you glance past them everytime you twist your keys through the lock.

the house is dying. your father wants to die with it, and you know greed when you see it—the floorboards shift and groan under your socks, just biding its time to give way and swallow you whole. it will come after him soon. he won’t have to wait long.

yet no matter how far you go, you can’t shake the feeling sinking its nails into you, trailing inside your shadow. the house is dying. you know that once it takes your father you will be next.

it’s what the city does for you. and you've considered moving countless nights, wrapped in your rainbow zebra print blanket, the one your mother gifted you when you were thirteen and the world was so big it burned.

the city cannot love you back, and so you stand to lose nothing from throwing yourself into its aching maw. you stare at the cars beneath you on the commute with a child weeping in the seat beside and a mother tiredly shushing it, and swallow down the bile that bubbles. stalk through grand central with tall boots that mouth at your knees or heels that make just a bit too much noise because you eat moments that make you feel alive, keep yourself full to keep from reaching for emptiness in worse places.

you’ll take the local to soho, man the shop while your boss goes off to do god-knows-what for hours and wander for a few blocks after your shift is up. you’ll head down to greenwich to sit at the park and catch your breath for a moment and leave before you can let empathy crawl between your tired bones and make you too vulnerable. it shows, sometimes, when you care too much. you avert your eyes from a homeless woman on the bench diagonal from you and bury the feeling away.

bum a smoke from a stranger at a bar or book a table at a restaurant for one, it doesn’t matter. come home around midnight and leave again before the sun. if the plan keeps you on your feet then it’s a good one.

but then there was her.

and wandering won’t do you any good—the snag she clipped in your routine was barely a blip and still her smile sears behind your eyelids, burning everytime you squeeze them shut.

she was funnier than you’d expect of her. though she’d seemed at first confused and then entertained by your giggling—her humor was a bit dry, and her face far too expressive for her own good. you’ve never seen eyebrows that moved so much.

you had forgotten what laughter tasted like.

you flip your phone shut, and slide it onto your desk. sink into your comforter. right foot first, then left. sleep seeps into you near instantly and you try not to flinch away, feeling its cold fingers slide down your eyelids. it stills you like death, every night like a ritual.

drowsiness renders you helpless. it helps.

you dream of your mother and her cradling hands—of big things, of running away, of flying.

₊⊹

the eight a.m. peak hours aren't even the worst it gets, and still you only manage to sink into another six seat booth, in the aisle space next to an elderly lady who gives you a weary look before shifting so your legs don’t touch, and returning to her mobile game.

her high score is shit when you steal a peek over, and you immediately feel a bit better.

flipping your bag, brown leather and well-loved, you tuck a hand inside and pull out your phone. eyes flickering across the screen, lifting to check the time—

there she is.

the words leap from you before you can catch them and smooth out the wrinkles,

oh—.

you!

it paints itself like a holy declaration, bright and a bit too loud. your seat mates and those across the aisle, as well as the woman who fills your chest up when her eyes lift over her lens to meet yours, all shift in unison. the world, the blue sky, all rushes out, all crashes back in.

the conductor enters the car with a woosh and clatter behind you, calls out reminding the lot of you to have all tickets ready, and you ignore it. to your every elation she does too.

not quite a smile, but something catches her lip a little, and a huff sounds through her nose.

“hey, you. long time no see.”

₊⊹

her name is sevika, and your schedules align more than is normal.

each time it's the same train car, the fifth one from the back—and if you can’t make it you just jump train cars until you spot her dark, fluffy hair from over the seats. she has the same book cracked open each time you wrestle into the booth.

her greetings tend to not be greetings. she peers at you and receives whatever it is you’ve brought to her to chat about. sometimes it’s more pet peeves, other times it book recommendations, and she begs you to slow down with those, or a video that had made you laugh so hard you spit that she watches blankly and tells you she doesn’t get it. you’d gotten her only once, though, caught her lip flicker, pull to a smirk—your own breath locks and then you pocket it for later. only the political memes make her crack.

her outfits change erratically, too, and you think the first day must have been a fluke. you ask her how she does it so early in the morning, all the belts and straps and buckles, and then kick her when she says with a small grin that she’s got a lot of practice.

she nods in greeting, once, when you come to fit in the spot before her. her legs are always spread out wide and yours tuck together, inbetween.

it’s all you spend the weekends doing, now, gathering what to take with you to monday. you’re forgetting the bottles on the counter. you’re forgetting to tell your father to turn off the T.V.. the world moves in slow motion, everything moves in slow motion. even your dreams sludge through your sleep like a child running through snow.

some horrific mornings every seat in the booth is already taken.

her gunpowder eyes will occasionally flit over to where you sit a row down, mirth brimming inside at your cross expression and your crossed legs. some days you bring two cups of coffee. and she surprises you—she enjoys hers sweet. she takes it bitter the first time, feeling sorry to force you to drink it, and you watch her stain your thermal jug with dark lipstick over the rim of your drink.

you both fall together like rainfall in june. your legs are forgetting what it feels like to be rid of oxygen, to burn and repair in order to burn. your muscles don’t ache when you sit, sevika makes sure. asks if there’s enough room for you. spreads out like open arms.

her progress in the book is slow. and you learn that she’s sort of cute when she gets defensive.

her cheeks puff out and her brow creases and you wish you could tip forward and sink into her and disappear inside it. she tells you she’s really busy, you know, and her time on the commute is really the only time she gets to herself where she isn’t sleeping.

sevika pauses then. looks at you thoughtfully.

“well. not so much anymore,” she says. “i guess now there’s you.”

but the next morning you do see her, she’s a bit further in than she would be at her usual pace—and you scoff, and then laugh, and she leans back and sighs. but watches, softly, as your giggles peel you apart.

₊⊹

for a few days you don’t see her.

you embarrass yourself by walking through every train car, eyes threading over the seat, legs sludging past briefcases and elbows. you know she won’t be in any of them if it isn’t the fifth car and you check anyway. and are proven right.

the remainder of the day is a bit dimmer. you try not to overdo it, you don’t know her, no matter how much you enjoy the chats you share. she doesn’t owe you anything, much less any fore notice of when she might be absent.

she might just be sick or taking a day off. or maybe your eagerness scared her away. or maybe something had happened to her and the universe decided you’d enjoyed enough hope for a lifetime and she was taken from you, too.

your dad doesn’t respond that night, when you greet him—and you nearly crumble right there.

you hold your breath as you shuffle over, your sandals light on the floor boards. coast a hand under his nose, and still the blood pumping in your veins.

his breath whistles against your thumb.

you let your arm fall back down to your thigh. stare fiercely down at him from where he’s curled into himself. smaller than you ever remember.

mother would ask you to save him were she still here, because that’s the kind of person she was. and it wouldn’t be a request, it would be your duty. she’d drape it around you like a badge, let go, and watch the weight of the metal pin you to the earth.

his death means your death. and maybe that shouldn’t be it—maybe you should simply love him, and let that be reason enough.

and your mother, she wouldn’t forgive you for failing. but she would understand.

you draw away. click off the T.V., set down the remote in his palm, and then turn on your heel.

₊⊹

sevika is there the next morning.

this time her eyes catch yours first, already staring before you find her.

you stall momentarily, caught like a deer. the passenger behind you steps on your heel and you both mutter half hearted apologies as you slide towards the booth.

it’s hard and inconvenient to get around the other passengers but you shuffle over them despite their evident discontent. you aren’t paying attention to them. sevika takes your arm and helps you over—her grip warms you from the point of contact, inching outward and webbing down your insides.

her eyes are careful and steady on yours the whole way down, and your bare legs scrape her thigh. she closes them briefly to make space for you.

as you get comfortable—adjust—she lifts the book from her lap.

“i got up to the part where her friend haunts her,” she says in greeting.

“they weren’t friends,” you return. “they were something worse.”

sevika shakes her head—her mouth quirks. “no,” she disagrees. “they were friends. sometimes there’s nothing worse.”

you could think of many worse things, but none of them find you right now. the image of her toothy smile is lodged in your chest like stone, a dull ache. summer glances off her face, when the train emerges from under the tunnel.

she’s all at once and all of a sudden too much. you want to turn and flee in the opposite direction. you want to lower yourself between her jaw and pull her mouth closed around you, let the fangs sink into your skin, like a cheetah licking the meat off a gazelle.

everything falls away. guilt sucks its teeth. you won’t flee, and you know you won’t. no one with this feeling fluttering in their chest and ramming against their ribcage can let death wrap its cold fingers around their arm and remain still.

you know you are forgetting your mother’s face, and your father will wither away and you won’t follow behind him—because you have something else to chase, now, and it’s living and breathing and smiling at you.

truthfully, the thought shudders through you. you’re even losing what her laughter sounded like. her voice when she’d tell you, silly girl. the place you’ll call home is waiting for you to make it. what’s there to fear?

her cradling hands inside your dreams, when she’d grip your wrist and then your face and tell you, the door is always open. go.

sevika is terrible at hiding it, and she tries—but you think she’d missed you too.

she had called the protagonist an idiot but she’s no better, you can see it in the way she stares at you as if to take you inside her mouth. how she tracks your every movement. watches the very saliva slide down your throat.

you think you could make a home out of wherever she’s heading.

you let your legs eagle out. her gaze lingers on the place where your naked knees press into her thighs. your skirt rustles but you don’t mind what she sees. if anything, you welcome her heady gaze, and the hot coals it rakes over your body.

“thought i’d lost our little book club,” you say. it’s so uncasual it trembles in the air between you two.

her dark rimmed glasses slip just a bit down her nose, and she shifts them. keeps her eyes on you.

“is that what this is?”

the question stretches wider than just the book in her lap.

the conductor calls out the transfer at jamaica—you’re meant to stretch out of your seat. sevika watches you cross your legs, watches the new passengers stream in, crowd and fill in the empty space.

a few stragglers jog down the stairs, legs reaching past every other stair. the doors close mercilessly, passing like time. their frustration or disappointment passes across your chest as if it were yours, the familiar, intrusive ache of sympathy. but their story isn’t yours.

sevika closes the book around her fingers.

“i know today’s your day off.”

sevika leans forward, onto her elbow. “and you came to find me anyway?”

“who knew you’d be here? you must really love the morning commute.”

her mouth pulls for a drawn out moment. she tells you she has a second job back on the island, that she would’ve had to commute anyway to come back home—but you interrupt her. because not at this hour.

you know when her second job ends because she told you her schedule back to front when you’d asked about it. offered details about her day-to-to with one pretty smile from you, ran you up and down her routine with her voice calm as the shifting sea. despite accusing you of eventually revealing yourself to be a hitman or something else ridiculous she’d relinquished anyway, admitting well, it’d be a sweet way to die.

you would’ve kissed her then, if you were smart enough.

“you end far too early.” you tell her now. stare, and she stares back. “you should’ve been back hours ago.”

“this is my routine, sweetheart.”

“i’m your routine.” your leg bounces, scrapes and traces hers on its journey. her eyes are damp in the sunlight, kerosene drenched, and they speckle sunspots onto your skin with her intensity.

you wonder if she’ll refuse you.

wonder what you’ll do then, what the train ride back will look like. how you’ll open the text you send your boss. how curt he’ll be with the one he sends back.

but then—inside her incriminating, drawn out silence—you think that maybe she needs direction just as much as you need chaos.

“alright,” she relents. her voice is quiet but her hands aren’t. they flatten along your knee, thumb tracing up and down. fingers nipping just under your skirt, resting there, warming. “but don’t start whining at me when you lose that dream job of yours.”

“i don’t whine.”

sevika retracts and leans back into her seat, as the train rushes forward and thrusts itself into darkness, rumbling underground. the station is four minutes away now, and the conductor’s voice crackles over the speaker.

“we’ll see.”

₊⊹

you’re the compass that points eastward.

sevika stabilizes you with a heavy hand on your waist, but she doesn’t anchor you down to the earth. you float as her heavy boots thud along the cement behind you. moves you out of the way of pedestrians, steps in front when a biker whizzes past.

it’s her apartment you’re both headed to but you’re the one leading.

but her presence weighs, and the velvet of her voice keeps you holding hands with gravity. you tell her your story, and she tells you hers.

she’s a senior consultant, and it’s a demanding job. what she says is that it can be draining. what she means is that she gets paid by big boss men and CEO’s to have someone to blame when things go to shit.

her overnight job is easier on her sore skin. she mans a gas station, and spends the shift exchanging stories with the regulars and insomniacs, and chasing away creeps that come to bother her girls.

got yourself a little community, you say, squeezing her knee, and the comment makes her pause. you watch a few things flit across her face, before she grunts, and settles on one.

…i guess i do.

on the subway her hand rests on your thigh, massaging the flesh near imperceptibly. your legs are crossed and you squeeze after squirming too long—she feels you grinding into the rolling, loose coil of pleasure from the shuddering train and she tuts you under your breath. you nearly lose your common sense, a shaky breath escaping thinly through your nose.

you don’t have to ask why she doesn’t let go of you.

you’ve seen it, anyway—she was always fidgeting, shifting her weight, wrapping fingers around a page, an unlit cigarette, or around your thigh as it bounced anxiously, over and over against her knee.

and in the dark of her apartment in the three hour layover between her different shifts, instead of a book it’s a sparkly rocks glass, or an untouched bottle. the place is neat otherwise, almost clinically clean—empty as if she weren’t it’s habitant. as if no one were.

the drinks, she doesn’t consume them. they sit there, just in case. an assembly that doesn’t speak and company that cannot warm.

you survey it wordlessly and she watches you without offering any explanation or defense.

she takes your silence a way you hadn’t meant it—stoops and begins shuffling things around, but you stop her with a hand on her arm, tugging her back up to her full height.

“there’s time for that,” you say, “later. we have so much time.”

her face flickers—tightens.

there are no tears, no emotional eruption, nothing so melodramatic. but she gathers you into her with the force of an ocean that swallows with a hungry mouth. she tastes how she looks. she moves like something inside is dying, being replaced or beckoned out by something newer, some new life she can only find on your tongue.

you give her everything you’ve got.

it’s not much. you aren’t an answer—you’re empty as a tin can most days. if she minds you can’t tell—she sucks in a breath when you stand naked before her, dripping and squeezing your thighs together.

“come here, sweetheart,” she beckons you closer, patting her thighs.

you’re guided onto her lap by a rough hand, one that squeezes and kneads but doesn’t go searching.

“spread for me.”

you whine lowly. she’s clothed still and her eyes are glued to you and it’s rustling at the sediment in your stomach, the fabric of her pants delicious on your cunt.

she taps your thighs, voice lowering, “spread your legs, baby.”

slowly, you let your knees fall wayside, and the scent of your arousal washes forward immediately. she nudges you backwards, lowering you until your back thumps onto the bed. your hips are peaked in the air towards here, dripping cunt open wide for her to see, and you exhale shakily at the new angle, embarrassment crawling over your skin.

sevika stares, slow and methodical, eyes touching every crease and corner of you as you start squirm under the heat of it, begging her to do something, before your throat caves into itself.

“so restless, baby,” she says, a small smile crawling its way on her face.

you feel like cursing, like clawing at her to move. you don’t realize you’re rolling into nothing until she rests hands on your hips and guides the movement, fingers pressing dents into your skin.

the humiliation couldn't get worse, and your pride withers as you mumble, “are you going to touch me or what?”

“i can’t savor the view?”

“sevika,” you lament, and when she laughs you feel her stomach jump against your thighs. you suck in a breath, wet with want or something bigger, you aren’t sure and won’t reach out for it. it’s enough having her this close. she’s warm every place her skin makes contact with you, the cool surface of her prosthetic fingers rooting you back to earth with every squeeze.

she doesn’t tease for long. her thumbs extends and presses down on you, and all your breath gets trapped in your throat. she rubs your clit softly, tracing little circles, matching the whimpers you make with low hums of her own. you hips lift and roll against her touch, arching off her lap.

“feel good?” she coos. “when i rub your clit like this?”

you try to tell her you need more, but her maddening pace is making your brain muddy and your words slurred and nonsensical. but she’s never needed much from you in order to understand.

sevika’s fingers dips to find where you’re most promising, wet and writhing as she taunts the worst of yourself out of you.

she sinks inside and carves out the cave of your cunt, curling her fingers until your hips arch off her lap. she takes the invitation and readjusts, shifting until she’s supporting your hips in the air, and tucks her face into your thighs. bites and nips and searches the skin, leaves behind proof of herself in little tugs of teeth and wet kisses—and she’ll find nothing inside but your climbing greed, humping her mouth and whining sinfully, begging her to take you for all you’re worth.

she drinks, feverishly. as if your greed were the best thing she’s ever placed on her tongue.

sevika groans inside you, kisses and laps your cunt sweetly. your hand finds her hair, sinking your fingers inside. you tug harshly as her tongue begins to work faster and she makes a low, rough noise in response. her name warbles off your mouth, rolling your hips up off the bed to meet her. her tongue flickers back and forth and up and down, sinking and sucking. your begging begins to sound more like babbling, and her hand comes to rest on your stomach as she drags your body in closer.

you’ve lost comprehension—your mind is hazy and you’re slipping, reaching out for something, just on the horizon.

your thighs clamp around her head when your orgasm whispers against you, swelling tightly—

she murmurs into you, there you go, baby, give it to me, and that completes your search. with her tongue she presses you back into yourself, and you wail outwards as the crash overtakes you, seizes your body and squeezes till you’re shaking and shuddering.

you collapse. your limbs are jelly, twitching at her touch—

and she hasn't pulled away. your body cringes away from her tongue, still gently kissing and rolling your clit.

“sevika, wait,” you pant, as discomfort and pleasure swirl together. “too sensitive.”

“sevika, it’s too…” your head tips back, rolling into her mouth again. she supports your hips with her arms wrapped underneath—rises to peer up at you, the beginnings of a shit-eating grin flitting at the corners of her mouth.

“hmm?” she asks, a question she already has the answer to, as your glistening cunt reaches towards her.

“no, dont—don’t stop.”

“thought it was too sensitive?”

“sev, fuck,” you reach down, leafing fingers through her hair, guiding her back down, “please.”

her lips curl against you—a private smile, just for the two of you, and it guides the pleasure back as she sinks inside.

she takes until you’ve got nothing left to offer. your body is heavy and spent, and when you kiss her and cup her face in your hands she holds your wrist, tender, soothing your back with her thumb.

wrestling her clothes off takes little convincing and a little laughter, and you reach down and let your fingers play at her pants zipper, slip your hand beneath as she watches you, lids low. her brows pull and she intakes a breath when your fingers brush her fuzzy lips, spreading to feel the pool that’s amounted there.

you glide your fingers along her. she just barely ruts forward into your hand, eyes disastrous, grip on your waist tight. “you’re this wet just from getting me off?”

sevika makes a small, breathy noise, and her voice comes out tainted. “what can i say. the sounds you make are something else.”

“‘cause you make me feel good,” you murmur, slipping a finger inside. her eyes flutter shut, lips pressing together, before parting to pant.

“that right?”

“don’t swallow it,” you say, watching her face contort when you pick up your pace, when you slip in another finger. “you sound beautiful. can i hear you, too?”

₊⊹

you pick sevika’s glasses up from her bedside, and push them onto her nose. she asks if you have work tomorrow—promises to walk you there, and you wave her off.

butterscotch invades your senses when you rest your cheek on her chest. it’s all over you, too, she’d scrubbed you down and warned you that you’d smell like it for maybe the next three days. you couldn’t imagine a better predicament if you tried.

“i want to be haunted,” you push the words into the quiet, when her breathing has evened out to a near stalemate. she shifts, the only indication she gives that she’s listening. “i want to tell all the people i’ve ever loved that i hope they haunt me. but i waited too long. they won’t know that i wouldn’t mind.”

“i think they know,” sevika turns her head to peer at you. “you should hear yourself. i think they’re doing a fine job.”

“do you enjoy it? being haunted?”

she’s quiet. her brows lower, she works her mouth.

“sometimes,” she admits, quiet so as to not disturb the unretrievable. “when it gets bad enough it’s like they never left.”

you tip onto your stomach, sprawled across her. reach over and spread her fingers out, slide forward the length of your hand until they seal together. the angle is awkward but the effort is earnest. she’s warm, like a living thing. it’s all that matters.

when her eyes glance upon you, shiny gloss in the dark, you don’t think you’d mind being a compass.

you tug, and point eastward, outside the bedroom. leaving is the first step.

“come.”

the door is always open. go.

“come. let’s go clean up your ghosts.”

you plant your feet on the cold hardwood, right first, shiver against it, resist retreat; and then settle the left. push off the bed, and trust sevika is following behind.

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rockingbytheseaside · 7 months ago

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Hey! Gosh I love your fics, you are so talented! <3 I have a request after your latest fic haha. The sentences 'It's only a matter of time before he accidentally slips and calls you his spouse in front of people.' would be the perfect plot, actually. When and how would the Harbingers calls their s/o 'their wife' in front of others first time? If you don't like it, you don't have to do it! i hope you have an awesome day!

(hehe, yes, accidentally… mmm. Enjoy!)

✦ They accidentally call you their spouse

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Pantalone, Tartaglia

It was a complete and utter accident; just a harmless slip of the tongue. One moment, your beloved was politely introducing you to some of his Fatui subordinates, the other he inadvertently referred to you as “my spouse” in front of others. It would've been a sweet moment of shared laughter, were it not spoken in front of so many people of the Fatui. It’s not like your beloved’s subordinates would start correcting him, he's a Harbinger after all… now how would you navigate this awkward situation?

✧ The ever-cold and calculating Pierro prevents any mistakes from slipping past him. Yet here he is, standing composed next to you as he gently gestures to you and claims:

“From here on out, my spouse shall reside in the Zapolyarny Palace and I expect all obedience to be directed towards them.”

You went silent. The servants went silent. Even he went silent. You carefully murmured to him:

“... Pierro, dear. We are not married.”

Somehow the Jester remained blank, as if the error of his brain eluded him. Or perhaps, he realized it was too late to reprimand his mistake, especially in front of the royal servants of the palace. He simply cleared his throat and nodded woefully: “Indeed, we aren't. My apologies.”

The hushed murmurs of The Director’s “innocent mistake” spread soundlessly like an inside secret within the Palace's walls. It wasn't news that the Jester adored you, but to witness the typically collected Pierro clear his throat bashfully, while you stood there timidly after correcting his mistake was endearing.

These rumors, of course, reached the ears of the 3rd of the Fatui Harbingers’ ears, Columbina. Such tales were her delight, a personal pastime, relishing the timid nature of your private relationship with Pierro. She just had to tease you two by reminding him of the incident. Thus, one day, she approached The Jester in his office on an inconspicuous day and asked:

“Oh, cheer up, Director. It's been months since your last mishap. Surely you wouldn't let your composure shatter in front of the one you call beloved so easily?”

“You are correct,” - Pierro replied to the Dove calmly. “It was a mistake. Hence, I amended it and made sure it's no longer an issue.”

That’s when Columbina’s gaze drifted to his hands, where he was not leisurely adjusting his cuffs but subtly displaying an ornament on his ring finger. His engagement ring. If the 3rd Harbinger could open her enigmatic eyes, she would stare absolutely wide-eyed and dumbfounded through her white ribbons. When the hell did he get engaged-?!

“Pierro, dear,” - you suddenly stepped in, that same embarrassed interjection escaping you “Please stop boasting about our engagement. We haven't made it official yet.”

✧ The poor Fatui soldier under Il Capitano's recruit stood stiffly looking at their Harbinger. Was it dread or the web of discomfort one feels when seeing a couple argue over something entirely beyond their input? Because that's certainly what the current Fatui skirmisher felt when standing between you and Il Capitano.

“I can't allow this, Capitano,” – you huffed, your head shaking in dismay. “You over-dedicate yourself in battles.”

“We went over this, my cherished. I have to, it is my duty as the Captain. Not just for the Fatui’s sake, but for your own safety as well!”

“No, no,” – you clicked your tongue. “Don’t give me that. You know that's not the issue… the issue is that you overwork yourself by beating everyone in a duel and not leaving me anything else to defeat! What am I supposed to do?!”

“But my beloved-!”

That's how your lover's quarrel underwent, and the Fatui Skirmishers that kept blinking in disbelief, stood helpless as the argument ping-ponged between ‘who gets to defeat more enemies on the battlefield’. Finally, your beloved spoke with an irritated huff at your scolding:

“Well, did you perhaps consider that I do not wish for my spouse to overextend themselves and get recklessly injured over some personal records?”

“Oh, so now you-... What did you just call me?”

The sudden realization caused a deafening silence between you and Capitano like a blade poised to strike. His pitch-black visage did not help to decipher whether he was grappling with his mistake or masking his shock. You insisted: “Capitano, what did you just call-”

“I did not say anything.”

“You did, you…Hey-! Don't turn your back on me, come back here!”

Perhaps The 1st of the Fatui Harbingers does not flee from a challenge like a pathetic coward. However, today was a great chance to use a tactful retreat, to put it softly, all in the hopes of escaping your wrath. How else would he explain his mishaps of calling you his ‘spouse’ so casually? If he confessed that he thought “it sounds so befitting for my one and only” he might as well just reveal every tender plan of a quiet life with you. And he can't have you teasing his affection for a domestic life alongside you.

For now, fleeing was a wise and honorable choice, especially when you are ready to duel him any moment now.

✧ It was another one of those days in Il Dottore's lab. His fingers tap the surface of the table, chin resting on his palm, while a pen balanced precariously behind his ear. Delegating his final tasks for today, he supervised some final organizational matters in the lab while addressing some lab assistants with his usual air of nonchalant authority.

“Ensure all the surgical sets are properly sanitized and checked in the ultrasonic cleaner. I expect them neatly arranged by day’s end. My spouse prefers the equipment organized this way.”

One of the lab assistants stopped in their tracks, staring at him.

“And don't inform them how some glassware shattered today. It would be irrelevant for them to worry…”

Mumbling to himself, Dottore only now realized that his lab assistants fell eerily silent, staying motionless as they blinked at him. Humming in confusion, he turned his attention at last, only to realize these unfortunate listeners were not gawing at him, but rather someone behind him.

Lo and behold, you stood there, behind him.

With a hand on your hip, you inquired with deceptive simplicity: “Oh? You have a spouse, dear?”

He pretends he wasn't aware of the conundrum and the absurdity of his slip-up. But even with his eyes covered behind that smooth black mask covering his eyes, you can see the haughty expression on his lips. Thus, he crossed his arms.

“Hm, Perhaps. You could say I do.”

“Then my condolences to your spouse. They must have the patience of a saint.”

The Doctor’s assistant had to repress their little chuckles. The tense atmosphere of the laboratory would always be dismissed with your ease, as you’d knowingly nod to Dottore’s colleagues and allow them to leave you two alone. Not even Dottore’s stern attitude would interfere otherwise, even if he tried to conceal his flustered composure at your mere words: “Well perhaps they are a saint, but also a handful for me to deal with.”

“Well, your hypothetical spouse is telling you it's late already and you should take a break for today.”

Conceding to your playful banter, The harbinger’s shoulders loosened up, a rare smile gracing him as he followed you with a wrapped arm around your shoulder. Your victory is marked by your knowing smile and Dottore would not object or conceal his infatuation by referring to you as his spouse. Even if he denies the marital titles as nothing but superficial formalities, he’d walk with you back to your shared personal quarters mumbling:

“Spouse’s orders it is, then.”

✧ It happened during a busy moment when Pantalone and you were at a tailor shop. After much persuasion that lasted weeks, your beloved succeeded at finally dragging you to a luxurious tailoring workshop, where store attendants welcomed you both and helped take your measurements with utter refinement and class.

You stood still with your arms extended, while the attendants did their swift duty with a measuring tape. In the mirror’s reflection before you, you caught sight of Pantalone standing a few steps away, his hand resting thoughtfully against his chin.

“Perhaps an elegant new blazer, white with golden accents?”

You remained still, looking absent-mindedly at the array of fabrics on display. “Dear, there is no need for every piece of clothing to look like it was made for a soirée. I am perfectly fine with a casual cotton blazer.”

The shop attendant closest to you stepped close with some swatches of fabrics to choose from, offering a polite smile. However, Pantalone had to shake his head and charmingly declare – “Oh, nonsense, my spouse deserves only the highest quality and looks when it comes to tailor-made pieces. Excuse me, may I inspect the catalogs for fabrics?”

With a polite nod, the shop assistant did not question the Harbinger or your baffled expression at the sudden choice of words. She was already moving around: “Most certainly, sir. I am sure you and your partner would love our available options. In fact, we also offer discounts for matching tailored ensembles for betrothed pairs if it's for a wedding or a honeymoon special.”

"Wait, wait… we are not-”

“Ah, wonderful,” Pantalone kept the same polite persona without missing a beat. However, the slight knowing smile did not go unnoticed as he glanced at you. “That will be excellent to keep in mind for the future."

What was promised as a quick visit to the tailor shop turned into Pantalone victoriously dragging you through multiple high-end workshops and analyzing the myriads of ‘honeymoon and wedding’ offers when it came to tailor-made clothes. And you, of course, could only gape at him while he kept that ever-charming grin.

“Pantalone, honey, we are not looking into engagement accessories. We are not married.”

“Oh? We are not?” - He feigned innocence and tilted his head. “Hehe, oops.”

✧ When Tartaglia made his way back with his men to Snezhnaya, the fuzzy white snow provided a stark white contrast to the shedding blood on the ground. Clear ruby red droplets stained the cool white terrain after the Harbinger’s successful expedition.

“Lord Harbinger Tartaglia,” – a Pyro Agent approached, bowing in recognition. “Our reports are in. The site is clear; all abyssal monstrosities have been eliminated.”

Yet Childe was far from tranquil. The rush of battle was still hot in his blood, his hydro dual blades clutched tightly in his hands. Another mission dispelling any filth at the outskirts of Snezhnaya may be mundane for some Fatui skirmishers, yet for a man like Childe, this was his warm-up.

“Ha… not bad. We finished much earlier today. And here I suspected this would take a whole day.”

The Pyro Agent nodded – “Yes, sir, indeed. Judging by estimation, our troop would be back to the city by nightfall.”

“...Hold on, nightfall?”

Suddenly, Tartaglia froze as if a deep culmination dawned on him. The confirmation from his subordinates did not quell his sudden shock. In mere seconds, all his battle rush and thrill of danger vanished before Tartaglia whipped around and exclaimed loudly to his men:

“Teucer’s theater performance at school is today! My spouse is gonna kill me!”

Without further words or thought, the Harbinger literally turned and sprinted as far as the horizon could see, leaving his subordinates baffled. Teucer? Spouse? This young Harbinger was married?

“What… is he on about? I didn't know our lord Harbinger was married,” - the Pyro Agent mumbled, looking into the distance where the figure of a sprinting young man vanished off comically. An Anemoboxer Vanguard stepped nearby, adjusting his gauntlets. “I am pretty sure he isn't. It could be a family member.”

“Then who is the spouse…?”

The Fatui colleagues exchanged shrugs before the other remembered – “Ah, could be his partner. Remember, they sometimes come to visit when he's training?”

“Oh, then definitely them.” – the two men stared off in the direction Tartaglia had gone, the bizarre image of their superior, so consumed by his bloodlust moments ago, suddenly halting everything to rush home for some kid’s theater performance. And accidentally calling his sweetheart his spouse would be hard to forget.

“Wanna bet he won't make it in time and his ‘spouse’ would teach him a lesson?”

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mollygrass · 22 days ago

Text

I’m not supposed to be writing but I just felt like it so here we go.

Preacher girl

Part Two

Remmick x Female reader

Word count: 2k

Summary: After being humiliated by your friends for still being a virgin, the outcast of town who only comes out during night helps you solve your little problem.

Warnings & Tags: religious themes, religious virgin reader in early 20s, loser and awkward Remmick, praise kink, corruption kink, smut

A/n: This has only been proofread once, so sorry for any grammatical errors. Please enjoy :)

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺ ‧⁺ ‧

Everyone in town avoids his house like it’s the bubonic plague. As if crossing paths on its lawn will soil their skin or taint their holiness. Well, everyone except for you.

In all your sweet graceness, you always visit him during the day and night. A freshly baked apple pie or Sunday supper in your hands as a token of your kindness. You always knock at his door here and there. Some days he answers the door, other days the odd man doesn’t. It never matters to you because you have a heart full of gold and love.

The fatherly God says to love all. Even outcasted, weird neighbors down the street who don't dare step foot in Sunday church. You find it unholy of your fellow neighbors who turn their noses up at the poor fella.

Today at the crack of night isn’t like other days when you bring him a gift of kindness and care. This time around your hands are empty and a long frown drags your lips down. You knock at his door, praying to God he opens up. You desperately need someone to chat with about the events from last night.

Still, their words, mean and nasty echo throughout your head. It’s been that way all during the day and you can’t take it anymore.

“Wow, aren’t you a bit too old?”

“Yeah…I mean who even waits till marriage anymore these days?”

“Aww. Guys stop it! Y’all know she can’t help herself. Afterall, she’s, sweet-ole preacher girl.”

Your friends proceeded to laugh in your face at the diner. Their voices so loud the guys sitting steps away heard it all. Each and every little detail of the humiliating discussion. Usually it doesn’t matter who overhears but the guy you’ve been crushing on for years was there at the neighboring booth.

Shaking away the awful memories, your eyes glance up from your dress shoes at the door. It creaks open in a small crack. Through the small opening a pair of eyes meet yours. Moon light dimly reveals his upper features as most of the wooden door hides the rest.

“Yes?” His voice comes quiet and meek from behind the door.

Eyes fluttering, you wipe away tears threatening to fall. “G-Good evening, Remmick. I was wondering if I could come in and chat with you?”

He remains unmoved, still hiding behind the door. There’s a long silent pause. Crickets and nightly creatures hum as you wait for an answer.

But a verbal answer never comes, only the door hinges whining as the door opens wider. Remmick’s upper half blends in with the shadows of his house. Only his wrinkly slacks and dress shoes show in the light pouring in from outside.

“Thank you.”

The door closes with a soft click behind you. You hear his feet creak across the floor before light illuminates everywhere after a swift click.

As usual, Remmick disappears into the kitchen and you trail after him. But this time there’s not a skip in your step. Instead your shoulders slouch as you drag your feet. He doesn’t miss it either because his decaying wooden floors would have been screaming under your happy feet.

“Would you like some ice tea?”

You weakly nod, plopping down in the creaky old chair.

He pours you a nice glass of cool lemonade flavored tea and sits it down in front you. Then opposite to you he joins sitting at the table.

Again, another awkward silence falls between you two. He never is the chatter box, no, that trait belongs to you. Not to mention, Remmick doesn’t know what to say. Normally he doesn’t expect visitors this late at night. Especially from you who rarely visits at night.

He clears his dry throat, hands fidgeting together awkwardly. “So…uh…what was it you wanted to talk about?”

Your eyes never leave the glass of ice tea. Lips cracking open in a quiver. “My friends, they humiliated me, Remmick.” Your voice cracks.

He startles, eyes blinking as concern and confusion knits his brows upward. “How’d they do that?”

Sniffling, wiping tears away, face burning hot; you ready yourself for what comes next.

“I’m untouched…you know…waiting til marriage.”

“Oh.”

Remmick’s eyes flicker around anywhere but on you. Blood rises in his sickly pale cheeks. You can’t tell if he’s judging or uncomfortable with the topic at hand.

“And, a guy I like was nearby and heard. It was so embarrassing, you know?”

His face drains of red and his features become blank. Unreadable. A dark glimmer crosses his eyes for a second. Then it’s gone as he just stares at you.

“Nothing to be ashamed of. Like you said you’re waiting til marriage.”

“Yeah, but I want it to be him and he snickered at me with his friends, Remmick.”

His jaw clenches at his name casually and idly rolling off your tongue.

“Well, I’m sure he’ll understand.”

His voice is firm. No longer soft and delicate. You fail to notice it though.

“But what if he doesn’t? My friends say no one waits that long anymore. They say I’ll never even get married because of it.”

Remmick’s nails tap on the table, his head lazily rests in one hand. His glare burns holes in your skull. The more and more you talk he finds it difficult to calm himself. What you said earlier is making him itch with irritation.

“So, is this what you really came to me to talk about at night? I was sweetly dreaming, you know?”

His words sting hot and cut deep. Finally you gaze up from the untouched sweet tea. Slowly, his words sink into your mind.

You blink. Your lips part, but nothing comes out. Remmick never acts in such a manner towards you. Never. It’s part of the reason you always visit him. He’s a good listening ear and never judges you. Tonight for some odd reason he is.

Why?

“Yes…I mean, I would’ve came in the morning but I couldn’t get it out my mind and—”

“And what am I supposed to do about this problem?” He sharply snaps.

“I-I just wanted to talk. I-I’m s-sorry, Remmick.”

He stands from the chair. His shadow

envelopes you from where you sit.

“Talking ain’t gonna solve that. You’re better off keeping it to yourself.”

The next words that slip out your sweet mouth are all impulsive, no thinking behind them. Purely rooted in adrenaline.

“Then help me! If you’re unholy as the town says, help me fix this problem!”

Remmick just stares at you. He’s stiff, as if trapped in a trance. Lips gaping, eyes wide with shock.

Your face boils hot and tears gather in your eyes. You begin wondering maybe coming to your odd neighbor isn’t the brightest idea. But when his tall stature hovers over you, the idea shatters to fragments of nothingness.

His palm rests on the table, supporting him as he leans in your space.

“You sure that’s what you really want, darlin?” He rasps.

You audibly gulp. Darlin. Remmick never calls you such a name. Let alone invade your personal bubble as he’s doing now.

You hesitantly nod, soaking in the sinful glint in his brown round eyes.

………………

His every touch feels tainting. As if the sin everyone in town says engulfs him is spreading like a plague across wherever Remmick touches.

In a bedroom, you assume he sleeps in, you lay on a bed. The mattress is soft and fluffy against your back. The room smells of an odd scent. One reminiscent of a dry iron stench and old drywall. You ignore it, or better yet you barely notice it. Halfway naked in only panties and a bra is too much of a shameful distraction.

And of course him.

He’s between your open, trembling legs. Just like you his chest is bare with only his underwear on.

Every kiss he litters across your skin blazes in flames and with each one you pray for the lord’s forgiveness.

“Relax,” he breathes. Voice low and hot.

You don’t say anything and try to obey him. Inhale out. Exhale out. You repeat this process like a broken record as his rough calloused hands explores your body.

He enjoys the way your soft skin, pure and unexplored, feels under his touch. Remmick always does wonder what it feels like. Especially when you come over in more exposing clothes. Now he knows.

There’s only one thing bugging him like an irritating itch beneath his skin. How incredibly stiff your limbs become wherever he graces your body.

His smooth movements halt. An intense hunger pools in his eyes as he hovers you. “We can always stop.”

“No, I want to keep going,” you mutter, voice shaking.

“Then promise me you’ll relax.”

You avoid his gaze and nod.

The mattress sinks in at the sides of your head.

“Look at me, now.”

The simple command draws your attention to him. You don’t know why but it just does.

“I want you to say it, okay, darlin?”

Darlin. That word again. It makes your heart drum and butterflies dance in your belly. Worst of all, down below where the lord forbids, an aching heat spreads. A poor sweet thing like you, so holy and innocent, it drives you insane.

“I-I promise.”

He huffs a laugh and a smirk pulls his lips back. “Good girl.”

He leans back down and continues the ungodly acts. Something warm and wet glides across your neck to the tip of your chin. You gasp, unknowingly, eyes sealed closed.

“Maybe if you open your eyes you’ll know what’s coming next.” His breath hits your ear.

Your spine arches, face jolting away from him. “I can’t look. I don’t want to look. I-I just can’t, Remmick,” you stammer.

“Fine, have it your way, darlin.”

He continues lapping his tongue across your skin all over. From your neck, stomach and thighs. It leaves you a trembling hot mess. Confusion and a sinful desire to be further touched by him clouds your mind.

Remmick easily discards your bra and panties somewhere on the floor beside the bed. Your hand covers your throbbing cunt while your other arm hides your breast.

He sighs. You’re unbelievable, truly. He finds it cute but slightly annoying. Your little shy antics only makes his greed to ruin you grow stronger.

“Stop hiding or I’ll tie your wrist to the headboard’s rails.”

“What?” Your eyes shoot wide open. A new fear arising.

“You heard me, now be a good girl and listen.”

Just like that you obey him.

Softly he envelopes one breast in a hand, fingers pinching the hardening bud. His mouth occupies your other breast. The sensation tears a loud moan past your lips as your back arches, puffing your chest outward. His teeth and tongue are mean and cruel, bullying your poor nipple.

Your chest heaves in uneven rhythms. Waves of heat bring a new type of ungodliness between your shaky thighs. Your cunt pulses; wet slick coats all over down there.

“R-Remmick…Remmick.”

“Hmm?” He hums, still toying with your breast.

“I f-feel weird,” you choke out through breathy pants.

Then something happens and as it does your body is a quivering leaf in the wind. A loud whiny moan fills the bedroom as you cum.

He gives your abused nipple one last savoring suck before releasing it with a pop. It glistens, wet and swollen. Saliva pools at his chin on one side as he stares down at you. A crimson glow glints in his half-lidded eyes. Teeth, sharp and long peeks between the cracks of his lips.

“So fucking beautiful,” be breathes before gulping bottled excessive salvia in his mouth. “I always longed for this. I always wondered what would make you cum fast, but I never imagined just your nipples would do the trick.”

A blurry haze fogs your brain and his words don’t register. As you stare back up at him, you notice a difference. Those round, worrying puppy-like eyes are gone. The awkward, quiet, timid neighbor from down the street is no longer there. This man above you isn’t him. It can’t be him because this imposter reeks of what the Bible teaches you to stay away from.

Is this what everyone else in town sees in him when you couldn’t?

You blink once. Remmick’s still there, eyes dark and lustful. You blink twice. He’s gone.

At least that’s what you naively thought until you feel him buried between your thighs. Elbows supporting his weight as his hands firmly hook around your legs. He holds you right where he wants you.

The fog shatters as his mouth latches onto your cunt. Instinctly you try to close your thighs but his iron grip prevents it. So, instead your hands run through his silky short curls. You grab bundles of his curls in your fist, body squirming uncontrollably.

He just hums in delight. Your cunt’s juices are a forbidden honey on his tongue. No matter how much he sucks, digs his tongue deep, he can’t get enough of it.

He slowly draws away, eyes nearly rolling back. “Fuck, I’m gonna lose control. I’m trying not to because if I do I’m afraid I’ll break you, darlin.”

The only response he earns in return from you is a weak mewl.

“Fuck it, you wanted this anyways. You can take it just like the good girl you are.”

He no longer wears underwear. His cock stands proud and hard as he guides it to your throbbing hole. The tip kisses your entrance. Then it pushes in, nowhere deep between your warm walls yet.

Your hands grasp around the mattress as pain screams through your cunt.

“Mmm, Remmick it hurts.”

He leans down, closing the space between you two. One arm rests above your head while the other holds your hips in place. His forehead lightly touches yours. His breaths are uneven, and sloppy.

“Yeah, I know.” He pecks your nose and then kisses your lips. “It’ll only hurt for a bit, darlin. So, please bear with me.”

He kisses you again. This time it’s long and passionate. You kiss him back, lost in the moment forgetting he’s even halfway inside. He gains easy access inside your mouth when he bites your bottom lip. His tongue explores everywhere before battling with your smaller tongue.

He takes advantage of your distraction and thrusts his hips. Your sweet moans muffle, filling his mouth instead. The chains holding Remmick back break loose. Any and all control he holds is gone to the winds. His hips don’t stop, never giving your walls a chance to get used to his size.

His lips pull away from yours and a long thread of saliva connects your them. The rhythm of his thrusts is even and controlled. Your walls squeeze deliciously tight around him. It drives him nearly insane.

Each pump of his cock, pain fades away slowly but surely. Your breaths become messier and heavier. The idea of sin or anything with God serves no justice in your brain. All you can think about is how good Remmick’s cock feels deep inside you.

His groans mix together with your loud whiny moans that evolve more sluttier bouncing off the walls in the bedroom.

“Oh…my…God…so good…Oh, Remmick.” Your words utter out, a tangling mess.

“I know, darlin. I know. It feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Mhm.” You nod, plump lips in pout.

He chuckles as a wicked idea brews in his mind. Remmick leans back and throws your legs over his shoulders.

“I bet this’ll make ya feel extra good.” He licks lips.

His cock digs deeper. It hits a certain sweet spot. Again and again. Pleasure sends shock waves through your entire body. It feels so good you see stars in your hazy vision. He leans in closers and your knees ghost over your breast.

“Look at you,” he says in awe. “So pretty folded underneath me and taking my cock so well. Such a good girl.”

You don’t even respond. You can’t. Not with the way he’s crushing you to a crumbled mess.

A goody two shoes like you never expected your first time to happen this way. In fact even though you shouldn’t have imagined it, you sometimes would. In your innocent little head, you always fantasized it would happen the day of your marriage as a wife. Yet here you are being pounded by the town’s unholy outcast at midnight.

Noises of skin slapping and slick squelching fill the room. His and your skin glistens with salty sweat. Remmick’s thrusts are sloppy, hungry and needy. He chases his orgasm along with you. Under his breath he mumbles lewd sayings as you cry out, nearly close to cumming.

A few more sharp, fast pumps and you two cum together. Your fingers fist the sheets and your back arches. His warm milky seed fills you up as he rides out his orgasm, still bucking his hips. He milks himself dry.

His shaky breath is loud as his shoulders slump. Underneath him, you lay half conscious, half awake. Marks decorate your naked frame from head to toe. He carrasses the marks, savoring the mess he made of you.

Someone as holy and devoted to God as you ruined by someone unusual, wicked and unworthy of the sun’s love. Oh, how pride swells his chest.

“I always wanted to make you mine, but was afraid of tainting your beautiful light. But now I’m even more afraid I can’t let you go after all this, darlin.”

You don’t know, innocently drifting off to sleep, but your freedom is no longer yours. Your lovely, graceful God abandons you now. No one can save you now. Not from the talons of Remmick, a man as ancient as time itself.

If only you knew visiting the man down the street no one talks to wasn’t a good idea.

If only.

Now you will live a life of hellish despair

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺ ‧⁺ ‧

#remmick #remmick x reader #remmick x you #remmick x y/n #remmick x fem!reader #remmick x female reader #remmick smut #sinners smut #sinners fanfiction #remmick fanfic #sinners fandom

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theetherealbloom · 2 months ago

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IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.9

Chapter Nine: The Silver Lining's I'll Be There With You

Summary: You find yourself sharing a hotel suite with Pedro Pascal while working on the set of Fantastic Four: First Steps. Despite your different roles—he’s the star, and you’re behind the scenes. Nothing could ever happen between you two… right?

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Age-Gap Romance (Not Specified), Eventual SMUT, Crush, FLUFF, Slight Angst, Trope(s), Swearing, Anxiety, Lots of Cliches, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Swoonworthy, One-Room Trope, They were roommates, Strangers-to-Lovers, Actors, Hallmark Tropes, the reader can sing and play guitar, the reader is shorter than Pedro, the reader has hair, Alternate Universe, Awkward!Reader, Shy!Reader, Fan Girl!Reader, Cringe, Embarrassment, Starstruck, Heavy Overthinking, Cecilia deserves her own warning lol, Confrontation,

Word Count: 4.7k

A/N: SOOO… lol, this is the longest I’ve gone without writing/posting, I deeply apologise and I’m so sorry T^T I literally had to lock the fuck in with school, each week I had at least two exams/deadlines. I blame our profs for their poor planning lol. Anyways, I have a little bit of a lighter load now since it’s almost finals season… I’ll keep ya’ll posted, and I humbly ask ya’ll to be patient for the next update and oh god, TLOU season 2… Uneven Odds… My backlog is insane right now, oh naur. Pedro babes I love you, but go on vacation boo.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Silver Lining by Laufey

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PINEWOOD STUDIOS, LONDON — MORNING

You were hella nervous. Pedro held your hand the entire car ride to the studio, his thumb softly brushing over your knuckles, grounding you even as your stomach twisted itself into knots.

"You're quiet," he murmured, watching you from the corner of his eye. "You okay, baby?"

You forced a smile. "Yeah. Just… y’know. Nervous."

"About what?"

You shrugged, trying to play it off. "I dunno. Just… going back on set. Seeing everyone. After, y'know…"

The accident.

Pedro squeezed your hand tighter. His jaw clenched, and you could tell — he was still haunted by it too. The way you had thrown yourself in front of him. The way he had watched you collapse under the rig. The way he had screamed for help — like his entire world was falling apart.

"Hey." His voice was soft. "I'm not leaving your side, okay? The second you wanna leave — we leave. I don't care what anyone says."

And you believed him. God, you did. But there was still this gnawing pit in your stomach. Something you couldn't shake.

Because something still didn't make sense.

The rig was never supposed to fall like that.

The air in the studio felt wrong the moment you stepped inside.

Too still. Too watchful.

The crew was polite — too polite — but cagey. Their gazes flitted toward you, then away. Conversations hushed behind clipboards. Even your supervisor couldn’t meet your eyes. Something was off.

And Pedro… he never let go of your hand.

“Hey.” His thumb brushed against your knuckles, voice low. “You okay?”

You weren’t sure. Your stomach coiled, dread sinking deep into your bones. “Yeah. Just—”

“—Glad you could make it,” a voice interrupted.

You both turned.

Rob, the production’s safety manager, stood stiffly at the entrance. His face was a heavy mask of professionalism, but his eyes… there was something hard in them.

“Rob?” Pedro said, stepping forward slightly. “What’s going on?”

Rob’s jaw flexed. “We need to speak with you both. Privately.”

Your stomach flipped. “Both of us?”

A beat of hesitation. “Yes. It’s regarding the rig accident.”

Pedro’s grip on your hand tightened.

The meeting room was small and clinical. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, washing the walls in a cold, sterile glow. A long table stretched across the center, surrounded by a few empty chairs — and at the end of it, a large television screen.

You sat next to Pedro. His knee pressed against yours, grounding you — or maybe grounding himself.

“What’s going on?” you finally managed, trying to sound casual despite the dread in your throat.

Rob didn’t answer immediately. He set his clipboard down and exhaled heavily, gaze flicking between you and Pedro. We reviewed the footage from the accident. We also conducted a full inspection of the rig.”

Your chest tightened. “And?”

Rob hesitated, his throat working. “We found something.”

Silence dropped like a hammer. Your pulse pounded in your ears.

“What did you find?” Pedro’s voice was tight, protective.

Rob didn’t respond. Instead, he grabbed a remote and clicked it. The television flickered to life.

And there it was.

The accident.

Your throat closed.

You watched yourself on the screen — laughing softly as you secured the cast into their harnesses. Pedro stood beside you, his hand resting on your shoulder as he said something that made you smile. The light rig swayed subtly above you, unnoticed.

And then—

It happened.

The exact moment the rig detached.

A sharp, metallic snap. Your body jolted, instinctively pushing Pedro out of the way as the light came crashing down.

Your mouth ran dry. Every muscle in your body seized.

“Wait—pause it,” Pedro rasped, his voice cracking. “Right there.”

Rob froze the footage. Pedro shot to his feet, pointing at the corner of the screen. “Zoom in.”

The image expanded.

And there — in the background — was someone.

Half-hidden behind a metal panel. But unmistakable.

“Cecilia,” you whispered, ice flooding your veins.

Pedro went rigid beside you. “What the fuck—”

She was watching you. Her gaze locked solely on you. And then — her hand moved.

A deliberate pull.

And that’s when the rig snapped.

“No.” Pedro’s voice broke, his entire body jerking back as though burned. “No — she—” His hand raked through his hair. “She did that on fucking purpose.”

You couldn’t breathe. “Why—why would she—”

And then Rob’s voice cut through. Low. Grave.

“…She wasn’t trying to kill Mr. Pascal.”

The room dropped into an unbearable silence.

Your head snapped toward Rob. “…What?”

Rob’s throat worked. “The investigation revealed the rig was deliberately tampered with during your lunch break. Cecilia was on set when no one else was. We believe she… adjusted the release on the rig.”

Your entire body went cold. “But it didn’t fall on me,” you rasped. “It— it almost hit him—”

“Because the timing was off.” Rob’s voice was heavy. “…It was meant to fall when you returned. She was waiting for you to get under it.”

Pedro’s hands were shaking. “You’re saying—”

“She was trying to kill her,” Rob confirmed grimly. “And when it didn’t happen — she didn’t react. She just… watched.”

Your stomach lurched.

Pedro stumbled back a step, his face ashen. “Where the fuck is she?” he demanded, voice raw.

“We have her in a separate room. Security’s questioning her now.”

Rob’s words sat heavy in the air.

The room was suffocating. You could hear the hum of the air conditioner, the faint chatter from outside the closed door, the scratch of Rob’s pen against his clipboard. Everything felt too loud and too quiet at the same time.

You exhaled slowly, trying to ground yourself.

"I know she and I don’t get along…” you started, your voice unsteady. “But this is a lot.”

Pedro’s head snapped toward you. His eyes—wide, dark, still brimming with the horror of what he just saw—searched yours like he couldn’t believe you were saying that.

“A lot?” he repeated, voice tight. “A lot?”

You swallowed.

“Pedro, I��”

“No.” He let out a humorless laugh, running a hand through his curls before gripping the back of his neck, his whole body strung tight with barely restrained fury. “She tried to fucking kill you. And you’re standing here acting like it’s just—what? Office drama?”

Your stomach twisted. “That’s not—”

“No,” he cut you off, stepping closer. “She planned this, waited for the right moment, rigged that thing to fall exactly when you’d be standing there—” He sucked in a shaky breath. “She watched it happen.”

The words made your blood run cold.

Because he was right.

She had watched. You’d seen it in the footage—the way her head barely moved as the rig came loose, how she didn’t even flinch when it nearly crushed Pedro.

If anything… it had almost looked like satisfaction.

A chill ran down your spine.

Pedro saw your expression shift, and his own softened just a fraction. He sighed, running a hand down his face before reaching for you again, his fingers sliding against yours.

“Amor,” he murmured, his voice low and pleading. “You can’t downplay this.”

You hesitated—but you didn’t pull away.

“I just—” you licked your lips, eyes darting toward Rob. “I need to know why.”

“Then let’s find out.” Pedro’s grip tightened. He looked at Rob. “I want to see her.”

Rob hesitated.

"Mr. Pascal, I don't think—"

“We need to see her.”

There was no room for argument.

Rob exhaled sharply, glancing between you both before nodding. "Follow me."

SECURITY ROOM — PINEWOOD STUDIOS

The moment you stepped inside, the air felt wrong.

Cecilia didn’t look up at first. She just sat there, fingers tapping lazily against the metal table, the picture of boredom. But when the door clicked shut behind you, her lips curled into something sharp, something mocking.

“Well, well.” She leaned back, exhaling a slow breath through her nose. “Look who survived.”

Pedro’s hands clenched into fists.

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your pulse pounded in your ears. You had questions—you had so many questions—but standing in front of her, seeing the absolute lack of remorse in her expression, your stomach twisted into knots.

“You were trying to kill me.” It wasn’t even a question.

Cecilia tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with something twisted. “You make it sound so dramatic.”

Pedro lunged.

Security was on him before he could reach her, two guards stepping in to block his path. His breathing was ragged, shoulders heaving, but he didn’t take his eyes off her.

“You tried to fucking kill her!” he spat, voice raw with barely restrained rage.

Cecilia let out a soft, breathy laugh.

And then she looked at you.

The intensity of it made your stomach churn. There was something ugly in her gaze, something simmering beneath the surface.

“Don’t act so shocked,” she mused, her voice sickly sweet. “You had to know I hated you.”

You took a shaky step forward. “Why?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please.”

“Why, Cecilia?”

Her smirk dropped.

And then—

"Because you don’t belong here," she snapped.

The air seemed to still.

Pedro stiffened beside you.

Cecilia leaned forward, her nails scraping against the metal table. "You’re nobody," she sneered. “Some random, awkward little nobody who just lucked her way into all of this.” Her eyes flicked to Pedro with something scathing. “And somehow, you have him wrapped around your pathetic little finger.”

Your breath hitched.

Pedro’s hand found yours, squeezing tight.

She saw it. And laughed.

"Oh, wow," she drawled. “That’s fucking hilarious.”

You opened your mouth, but she cut you off.

"You walk onto this set like you belong here, like you’re one of us—but you’re not." Her voice was venomous now, her eyes wild. “You think people don’t talk about you? You think we don’t see it? The way you cling to him like some shy, pathetic little puppy?”

You flinched.

Pedro stepped in front of you instinctively, his body a shield. “You don’t get to talk to her like that.”

Cecilia rolled her eyes. "Look at you. Protecting her. It’s honestly nauseating."

Pedro’s grip on your hand tightened.

"Here’s what really pisses me off," she continued, voice low and sharp. "I worked my ass off to get where I am. I have connections, I have talent, I belong here. But you—" her lip curled "—some quiet, nothing of a girl, you get handed everything. People like you shouldn’t get to win."

Your throat tightened.

Cecilia sat back, exhaling through her nose. "So yeah," she murmured. "I wanted you gone."

Silence.

And then Pedro moved.

Not toward her—but toward you. His hand came up, cupping the back of your neck, his thumb brushing softly against your jaw. His touch was gentle, but his voice was firm.

“She’s everything you’ll never be,” he said quietly.

Cecilia’s eyes darkened.

Rob, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke. His voice was sharp, cold.

“You’re done.”

Cecilia blinked, her head snapping toward him.

“Legal is handling the rest,” Rob continued. "You’ll be formally charged. The company will pursue legal action for endangering crew and tampering with safety equipment. And as for Mr. Pascal and Miss—”

Pedro cut him off. “We’re filing charges too.”

Your heart skipped.

Cecilia laughed. "We’re?” Her eyes flicked to you. “Oh my god. You’re actually letting him do this for you.”

Pedro didn’t even hesitate. "No," he said. “She’s not letting me do anything. I’m doing this because she deserves better.”

Cecilia scoffed, but it was weaker now.

Security moved in. "Time’s up," one of them muttered, gripping Cecilia’s arm.

She didn’t fight them. Didn’t struggle. But as they led her out, she turned, eyes locking onto yours.

And then she smiled.

A chill ran down your spine.

Pedro felt it. You knew he did—because his hand never left yours.

Rob cleared his throat. "You two need to come with me. Legal will brief you on the next steps."

Pedro nodded, already leading you toward the door.

But your feet felt heavy.

This wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

And somehow… you had a terrible feeling that Cecilia wasn’t done with you yet.

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — LATER THAT DAY

To say the rest of the workday was exhausting was an understatement.

The meeting with legal had been a blur—signing statements, reviewing footage again, going over protocol and next steps. There was so much red tape, so much legal jargon, that it all started to bleed together in your head.

And then there was Cecilia.

She was officially gone. Fired. Out of the studio.

No one was exactly mourning her departure. In fact, you quickly realized that she hadn’t been all that liked to begin with. Crew members exchanged knowing glances, a few even muttering things like, “About damn time.” It was a strange kind of relief, knowing you hadn’t imagined the way she’d treated you—that you hadn’t been overreacting.

Still, you couldn’t shake the sick feeling in your gut.

There was something about the way she had smiled before she left.

Like she knew something you didn’t.

But you pushed it down. You had to. There was still work to be done, cameras to prep, lights to check. The show had to go on, and the last thing you wanted was to make everything about you.

So you pretended.

You focused on your job, gave polite smiles when necessary, forced your hands to steady when they trembled. If anyone noticed how stiff you were, they didn’t say anything. And if Pedro noticed—well.

He was watching you.

Constantly.

Even as he ran through his scenes, even when he was talking to the director, even when he was across the damn set, you could feel it—his eyes lingering, his brow furrowed in quiet concern.

And honestly? It was starting to make you nervous.

So, during a break between shots, when he finally cornered you near the equipment table, you weren’t exactly surprised.

"Are you okay?"

You swallowed, forcing a small smile. "I’m fine."

Pedro raised an eyebrow.

Damn it.

"I’m trying to be fine," you amended, shifting awkwardly under his gaze.

He sighed. "You don’t have to try with me, you know."

Your stomach twisted.

Because that was the thing about Pedro—he was safe. You had known that since the moment you met him. It was in his voice, in the warmth of his touch, in the way he never pushed too hard, never made you feel like you had to be anything other than what you were.

And that—that terrified you more than anything.

Because what if you fell into that safety? What if you leaned too hard? What if you needed him too much?

You bit your lip, glancing down. "I just... I don’t want to make this a big deal."

Pedro was silent for a beat. Then—

"But it is a big deal," he murmured.

Your breath caught.

Pedro reached out, his fingers ghosting over your wrist before he really touched you—slow and gentle, like he was giving you the chance to pull away.

You didn’t.

"Someone tried to hurt you," he continued, voice low, careful. "I need you to understand that I—" He broke off, his jaw clenching like he was trying to rein himself in. "I don’t take that lightly."

You exhaled shakily.

"I know," you whispered.

His fingers tightened around your wrist, warm and steady.

For a second, neither of you moved.

And then—

Someone called Pedro’s name from across the set.

He swore under his breath but didn’t let go right away, his thumb brushing absently against your pulse.

"We’re not done talking about this," he murmured.

And before you could protest, he was gone.

Leaving you standing there, heart racing, hands aching with the ghost of his touch.

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — EARLY EVENING

The day dragged on like a ghost of itself.

After Cecilia was escorted off set and Pedro’s legal team assured you everything would be handled, you forced yourself to keep working. You were quiet. Careful. Mechanical. Going through the motions like a wind-up version of yourself.

People tried to be nice. Someone handed you a protein bar. Someone else asked if you were okay in that awkward, nervous way people do when they don’t know how to talk about something awful.

You smiled. Nodded. Said, “Yeah. I’m okay.”

You weren’t.

By the time the lights dimmed and crew started packing up, the hum of the studio felt deafening. Pedro had been across the lot filming a short pickup scene—he’d looked back at you three times as he walked off, like he didn’t want to leave you alone, but you waved him on with a soft, forced smile. Told him you’d be fine.

You lied.

Because now you found yourself sitting on a lonely bench just outside the studio’s back lot, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself. The sun was low in the sky, casting everything in golden haze, but none of it touched the growing pit in your chest.

Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

You almost died.

He almost died.

You didn’t even remember moving—your body just acted, just lunged toward him before the rig collapsed. You could still feel the heat of it brushing past your back as you shoved him out of the way. The sound of it crashing. Pedro yelling your name. The weight of it all hadn’t sunk in until now.

You sat there, heart pounding, staring at your hands like they belonged to someone else.

Then—Footsteps. Familiar ones. Heavy boots on pavement.

Pedro.

“…There you are,” he said softly.

You looked up too fast, eyes wide. He frowned when he saw your face.

“You said you were going to the parking lot,” he murmured, kneeling down in front of you instead of sitting beside you. “You’ve been out here alone?”

You nodded. Barely. “Yeah. I just… I needed a second.”

His gaze flickered over you, reading all the things you didn’t say.

“You’re not okay.”

You tried to smile again. Failed. “No.”

That one word cracked something open. Your voice wobbled. “I’m really not.”

Pedro didn’t say anything—he just reached for your hands, gently prying them from where they were clutched around your middle. His thumbs brushed your knuckles as he held them, grounding you with his warmth.

“I keep thinking,” you whispered, “If I was just a few steps slower—if I hadn’t looked up, if the timing was different… you could’ve been—”

“Hey.” He reached up, cupping your cheek. His voice was low and firm and steady. “But I wasn’t. You were there. You saved me.”

You blinked hard. Your throat tightened. “But you shouldn’t have been in danger in the first place. None of this should’ve happened. I don’t know how she—how someone I used to know—could hate me that much. It’s like… like I did something wrong just by existing.”

Pedro’s brow furrowed. His thumb brushed gently under your eye where a tear had slipped free. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said. “You’re not the problem, cariño. She is. Whatever’s broken in her, it has nothing to do with you.”

You dropped your gaze. “I’ve always been the weird one. The quiet one. The ‘who even let her in here?’ kind of girl.”

Pedro let out a breath like it hurt to hear you say that. Then he sat beside you, pulling you into his chest without hesitation. You didn’t even think—your body just curled into him like it was home.

“I don’t know who made you feel like that,” he said quietly, “but they were all wrong.”

His arms were wrapped around you tight. Solid. Safe.

“You belong here,” he whispered. “You’re good at your job. You’re kind. And brave. You didn’t even hesitate today. You didn’t think about it, didn’t flinch—you just moved.”

You felt the warmth of his breath against your temple.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared in my life,” he admitted. “Watching that rig come down, seeing you throw yourself toward me—” His voice cracked, just a little. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you got hurt.”

Your heart thudded painfully at that.

You shifted slightly, your face still tucked against his shoulder, your voice small. “But I’m okay.”

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “But that doesn’t mean it’s okay.”

Silence fell for a moment. But it wasn’t heavy this time. It was full of unspoken things. Of feeling.

You pulled back just enough to look at him. He didn’t let go.

“…You really scared me too,” you whispered. “More than I expected. And I—I don’t think it’s just because I like working with you.”

Pedro’s eyes softened.

“You don’t?” he asked gently.

Your cheeks flushed. You glanced down, shy and awkward. “No. I think… I think I like you in the stupid romantic way.”

Pedro didn’t answer at first. Instead, he leaned in—slow, careful, giving you every chance to back away.

You didn’t.

And when he kissed you, it was soft. Warm. Like the sun finally touching your skin after a long, cold day.

He pulled back just enough to whisper, “That’s not stupid.”

You smiled, still tearful, still trembling—but for the first time all day, the weight on your chest felt just a little bit lighter.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EVENING

The car ride back to the hotel was quiet.

Not uncomfortable—just… full. The kind of silence that settles in after your body’s been wrung out by adrenaline and nerves. You stared out the window, your hands fidgeting in your lap. Pedro sat beside you, his fingers gently tracing the curve of your wrist with his thumb, like he needed to keep reminding himself you were still there.

He didn’t ask you anything. Didn’t push. Just stayed close.

By the time the keycard clicked and the hotel door swung open, your shoulders felt like they were being held up by thread.

Pedro locked the door behind you. You stood there for a beat too long, not sure what to do with yourself. Like you were suddenly a guest in your own body.

“Hey,” his voice came from behind, soft. “Why don’t you sit down, okay?”

You nodded, toeing off your shoes and sinking onto the edge of the bed. The moment your weight settled into the mattress, your spine curled forward. You didn’t cry. Didn’t break. Just sat there, small and still, trying to hold it all in.

Pedro crouched in front of you.

You didn’t realize your hands were shaking until he reached for them.

“Can I?” he asked quietly.

You looked up, eyes glassy, and gave the smallest nod.

He took your hands into his, warm and steady, his thumbs brushing slow circles over your knuckles.

“Pedro…”

He hummed, tilting his head slightly, eyes focused entirely on you. “Hm?”

You hesitated. Your heart fluttered in your chest—nervous, raw, still carrying the weight of everything that had happened. But his hands felt like an anchor. His eyes were kind and open and safe.

“Thank you,” you said softly. Barely more than a whisper.

His lips parted—just the smallest bit—and then curved into something achingly tender.

“Anything for you, mi amor,” he murmured.

Your breath caught.

The way he said it—it wasn’t casual. It wasn’t performative. There was no teasing lilt in his voice. It was soft and full of meaning, like every word had been carefully chosen. Like he meant it with his whole chest.

You tried to look away, but he was already watching you with that gaze that always made you feel like the most precious thing in the room.

“I don’t know why you’re being so nice to me,” you said quietly, your voice cracking just a little. “I’ve been weird all day, I barely said anything, and I just—there was this moment where I couldn’t stop shaking. I still feel like I can’t breathe right.”

Pedro didn’t respond right away.

Instead, he brought your hands up and pressed a kiss to your fingers, slow and reverent. Like you were something delicate and sacred.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” he said gently. “I know what today was. I saw what it did to you. And I saw how hard you still tried.”

Your throat felt tight.

“You didn’t shut down,” he continued. “You showed up. You protected me. And then you went right back to work like nothing happened. But sweetheart… that wasn’t nothing. That was a lot.”

Your lips trembled.

He let go of your hands just long enough to cup your face, his thumbs stroking along your cheeks. “You don’t have to be okay right away. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I didn’t think it’d affect me this much,” you whispered. “It’s just… I felt so stupid for freezing up earlier.”

“You weren’t stupid,” he said immediately. “You were brave. You were human.”

You looked down, unsure of what to say to that. You were still getting used to how he talked to you—like you mattered. Like your feelings were real and valid and worth holding space for.

Pedro tipped your chin up with a gentle finger. “Hey.”

Your eyes met his again.

“I mean it,” he said softly. “You don’t owe anyone a perfect reaction. You don’t owe me anything except exactly who you are.”

“I don’t know how to be that around you,” you admitted, cheeks burning. “I still feel like I’m tripping over my own feet when I talk.”

His smile turned playful—just for a second.

“I think it’s cute.”

You groaned, burying your face in his chest. “Don’t say that.”

He laughed softly, arms wrapping around you again.

“I’m serious,” he murmured into your hair. “You’re so hard on yourself, mi amor. But I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.”

Your heart fluttered painfully in your chest. You stayed like that, pressed close against him, letting his warmth sink into your skin like sunlight through linen. Your fingers curled into the hem of his shirt, and he held you like you were something he didn’t want to let go of.

Eventually, you pulled back just enough to meet his eyes again.

“Will you stay?” you asked softly.

Pedro’s expression didn’t even flicker. “Of course.”

“No, I mean…” You hesitated. “All night.”

He reached up, brushing your hair behind your ear. “You want me here?”

You nodded. “I feel safe when you’re here.”

His chest rose with a quiet breath, and then he leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead—slow, lingering, warm.

“Then I’m staying,” he said simply.

And he did.

You both climbed under the covers a few minutes later, your back to his chest, his arms around your waist. He held you gently, like a promise. You were still a little shy, still unsure of how close to be—but when he murmured, “I’ve got you,” into your shoulder, something deep in you finally let go.

You fell asleep wrapped in his warmth, the world softening around you.

End Notes:

I know, it's not a super long chapter update, for that I am so sorry, but I swear the next one will be longer tehe!

Will they catch a break?!?! I dunno. There’s a lot of things that come with dating a celebrity… and soon enough, the public will find out. I’m sure it will be fine! ...Right?

Anyways, I apologize once again for the wait and thank you for your patience! See you soon 🤍

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gotta-winwin · 15 days ago

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typo and error | SHOWBIZ COLLAB

⭐ starring: joshua hong 💌 genre: fluff, angst | wc: 3.7k

💬 preview: Joshua loves his job as social media manager for The Carat Company, except for one thing: the actress he’s in charge of. you hate his guts, and Joshua swears he returns those feelings with vigor, and yet…forced to work in close proximity, Joshua’s forced to reckon with the idea that just maybe, despite all the animosity, he’s still madly in love with you.

cw/tw: social media manager!joshua x actress!reader, mutual pining, oblivious idiots in love, enemies to lovers(?), light swearing, bit of crack, miscommunication trope, only one bed, brainrot hoshi, menace jeonghan

🪽fic rating: pg ☁️ masterlist & a/n: this is in direct correlation with @straylightdream's fic for the same collab! i feel so honoured to be apart of this wonderful community and i cannot believe it is finally time to share with you all this piece of work-- this collab was the beginning of it all for me: a thousand laughs and inside jokes, found family and forever friends. i am beyond grateful to be standing next to these wonderful writers and people. forever grateful to @studioeisa and @diamonddaze01 for being the tumblr parents i never knew i needed <3

now playing: tonight (i wish i was your boy) by the 1975

new actress y/n violet l/n looks absolutely grotesque in new photos from set.

Joshua swears on his life and all things good that he meant to type gorgeous.

He had half the mind to call Apple Services himself and complain about the terrible timing autocorrect had, as he sat in Wonwoo’s office, their company’s stern CEO staring at him from across his meticulously organized desk.

“You’re telling me you managed to sour our new talent’s name in less than an hour of working her socials.”

Joshua lowered his gaze. “Yes.”

Wonwoo pinched the bridge of his nose in a twinge of despair with annoyance swimming on his face. “Joshua, I cannot emphasize this enough. Our partnership with Ms. Y/N Violet needs to work. It has to.”

“And it will.” Joshua nodded vehemently, trying to emphasize his false confidence in the matter. “I’ve got it, boss. Trust me.” Or don’t. Joshua didn’t really know what he was doing.

Wonwoo sends him out with a few words that borderline as a threat. Words that sounded like don’t fuck this up, please and your job is on the line.

Joshua swipes into Twitter and sees the amount of people who had screenshotted his mistake and posted it online.

Poor social media guy, someone wrote. Don’t hate him for his fat thumbs! At least we got a good laugh.

“Fuck me.” Joshua dials Jihoon’s number and prays the man picks up. “Hey, Hoon. I need a favour.”

The actress I work for is going to hate me.

“Hey.”

It’s awkward when Joshua walks into your trailer on set. You’re poised on the makeup chair, your eyes closed as your makeup artist dusted pale pink shadow over your eyelids. You recognize his voice, and your eyebrows pinch.

“Mr. Hong. You’re late.” You supposed it was unprofessional of you to still hold a grudge for Joshua’s social media mistake, but you couldn’t help it.

“There was a hold up at the company.” Joshua tries his best to remain civil. There was just something about your face that infuriated him. It was too…perfect. Too pretty.

He raises his camera and waits for you to pose in the perfected candid pose every actor and actress was taught. To look just the right amount of ‘caught off guard.’ Joshua snaps a few photos before throwing you a thumbs up.

You motion for him to leave. “I need to rehearse my lines. In peace.” You add the last part pointedly, glancing at him through the mirror.

He sits on the couch of your trailer, glasses perched on his nose that he looks at you with. He gives you a curt nod and exits.

Ever the gentleman.

But you knew that it was all a scheme.

y/n violet l/n stuns in new photos captured on set.

Joshua makes sure to double check, triple check, the caption before sending it out this time.

He’s tried so hard to be nothing but perfect in the few months he had been working for you, as if each action could make up for the disaster of an entrance he had given you on their company’s social media page.

Joshua made sure your favourite drinks and snacks were in your trailer before your arrival. He painstakingly edited every minute flaw from your photos. He kept eyeliner, lipgloss and a spare hair tie in his bag. He never complained when you asked him to reshoot a billion more photos.

Yet for some reason, you were unwilling to forget the incident. It was clear to Joshua that you hated him.

“Thanks.” You mutter as he hands you your morning cup of iced tea, stabbing the straw into the cup for you, mixing the ice just right. You pretend not to notice how Joshua has somehow learnt all your habits and preferences to a T within just a few months.

He wordlessly hands you a napkin before you even ask.

“Hey, Vi. You’re on set in 5.” The 1st AD pokes her head in to call you.

“Okay, thanks.”

Joshua takes your cup and napkin flawlessly and helps you down the steps.

You hate how perfect he is.

He hates how he can feel himself caring about this job more than he should.

fans rave over y/n violet’s assistant: internet calls him her prince-in-waiting.

“I feel like you’re being underpaid.” Wonwoo says the next time Joshua finds himself in his office. “I hear from the rest of the staff that you’ve been doing other jobs.”

Joshua doesn’t know what his boss is saying, and it’s evident on his face.

“You’re not just Ms. L/N’s social media manager, you’re also her assistant and bodyguard.” Wonwoo explains, and Joshua realizes he’s got a point.

“Oh.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t come to me for a raise, Josh.” Wonwoo states quite frankly. “You’ve always been very good at advocating for yourself.”

He shrugs. “It doesn’t really feel like a job.”

And the look on Wonwoo’s face tells him he’s said too much.

“Really.” There’s an unmistakable smirk on Wonwoo’s face, the 5 - 9 Wonwoo peeking through the 9 - 5 Wonwoo for just a second. “Taking such good care of her doesn’t feel like a job.”

Joshua’s quick to backtrack. “No, I mean– I like my job.”

“Sure.” It’s obvious he doesn’t believe him.

Fuck me, Joshua thinks silently.

Joshua can feel himself burning holes into the back of Jeonghan’s head as the man resurfaces from kissing you.

“Cut!” He can hear the director yelling for the scene to end in the distance, yet all his senses are trained on you.

How you pressed yourself into Jeonghan’s hold, melted into the kiss, let out the sweetest gasp into his lips. Joshua hated all of it. He hated how it made him feel.

He watches Jeonghan whisper something into your ear, a hand brushing against your hair.

Joshua glanced down only to realize he had been squeezing the paper cup filled with coffee in his hands, the contents slowly overflowing and dripping onto the floor.

He looks back up and catches you looking at him.

“Fuck me.”

You break away from Jeonghan as soon as you hear the cue from the director.

“You alright?” Jeonghan’s quick to check in.

You nod. “You?”

It’s an unspoken thing between the two of you, checking in with your onscreen counterpart in between work days and takes. “I’m good.” Jeonghan glances behind you and bites back a smile. “I’d say your social media guy isn’t though.”

“Mr. Hong?” You flit your eyes over to the man in question. He’s standing near the side, your afternoon coffee in his hands and a scowl on his face. “Yeah, I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”

“He’s in love with you.” Jeonghan says it as plainly as if he had just stated tomorrow’s weather.

You choke on air. “What?”

Jeonghan nears, his breath tickling your ear as he fixes your hair gently. “Look at how he tenses when I near you. How his eyebrows furrow. How he looks like he wants to murder me from across the room.”

You look, and for a second, you see it too.

And then you blink, and it’s gone. “You’re imagining things, Hannie.”

Your social media guy does not love you.

It’s the dead of night when Joshua lugs your suitcase into your hotel room. He sets it down and pats it awkwardly, scanning the room for any visible threats. He’s grown accustomed to his role in your life. He still hates how it makes him feel towards you– the feelings of love that he continues to push down until they disappear– but he’s content with his job. Wonwoo did end up giving him a raise for it.

He was now your social media manager/personal assistant/bodyguard. The paycheck was exponentially high.

“Of course, you forget to book yourself a room.” There’s a light tease in your tone as you stare at the one bed in the giant penthouse suite.

“Sorry.” Is all he has to offer in response. He had forgotten, in the midst of all the press releases he had to manage with the movie trailer coming out, he had only thought of booking you a room and not him. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

You give him a look he can’t decipher. “No.”

Joshua blinks. “Huh?”

“I’m not making you sleep on the floor, Hong. We can both sleep on the bed. Just stick to your side.”

He nods, ignoring the feeling that the two of you had just crossed into some unspeakable, unknown territory.

He doesn’t know it, but you feel it too.

It’s strange to see him out of his usual business attire.

You’re trying not to stare at him from above your computer screen, but you fail, eyeing the casual wear your work counterpart has on. Joshua is concentrating on something on his phone, his lips twitching as his eyes move briskly over its contents.

“Stop staring.”

You flinch when you’re caught. “I wasn’t.”

He laughs, and the sound startles you. “I can feel your beady little eyes on me, missy.” He teases, smiling at your insulted expression.

“Do not insult me like that, Mr. Hong– you work for me, remember?”

“Oh, do I now?”

There’s a moment of silence as the two of you look at one another, sharing a secret smile before both quickly turning away.

He swears at that moment he’s in love with you, and he hates that it’s true.

You swear you hate him under your breath. You hate how you know it’s a lie.

The sun begins to set as Joshua hands you your nightly cup of tea. Made just the way you like it, a dash of sugar and a spoonful of honey.

He sits beside you and turns to look at you with determination on his face. “Can I ask you a question?”

You frown. “Sure?”

The question that comes out of his mouth is unexpected and a nice surprise. “Have you always wanted to be an actress?”

“Yes.” You answer immediately. “Have you always wanted to be a…” You blank at his job title. A personal assistant? A bodyguard? Basically a boyfriend? Instead, you settle with the safest option. “...a social media manager?”

Joshua thinks a beat too long before answering. “I guess.”

“That doesn’t sound all too convincing.”

“I mean– I don’t think anyone grows up wanting to be a social media manager.”

He has a point. “What did you want to be then?”

Joshua thinks for a bit, as if the memory was already long gone and too distant to recover. “Astronaut, or something silly like that.”

“I don’t think that’s silly. I mean–” You backtrack. “Everyone told me being an actress was a silly dream, but I’m here now.”

There’s a sour look on his face. “And I’m your social media manager.”

“Yeah, a fucking good one.”

He visibly brightens. “Really?”

“I mean, you did mess up big time on that one post, but–”

“I am sorry about that.” He grimaces, and you know he really does feel bad.

“You called me grotesque.”

“I typed it wrong and stupid autocorrect–”

You laugh at his indignant expression. “I’m joking, Joshua.”

He joins in, and neither one of you notices how you had just called him by his first name.

You look radiant in the mornings. Joshua swears on all things good and true that you cannot be real, and that you’re most certainly nothing short of an angel.

“Good morning.” His morning voice catches you off guard.

You turn around in bed to face him, momentarily stunned by the limited amount of space between the two of you. His hair is pushed in all directions, his eyes lazy and filled with sleep, yet–

“Fuck me,” you think to yourself. Your social media guy was hot. But that had to just be the morning delirium talking.

“You’re staring again.” He comments, his lips quivering into a tiny smile. “You’ve been doing that a lot.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“No.” You deny it once more. “I am not staring.”

“Sure. Sure.” He reaches a hand over and moves a piece of hair away from your face.

You blink as he moves away. “Shut up.”

The banter comes as easy as hating him once did. And as the two of you watch the sun begin to rise again, you start thinking that maybe loving him can be just as easy too.

y/n violet l/n eats up the red carpet with new look.

You’re dazzling on the red carpet, and Joshua spends most of his time trying to stop his mouth from hanging open.

He raises the camera and waits for you to fix your dress.

“Is this okay?” You look at him, fingers toying with the hem of your skirt, the bodice of your dress cinching your waist uncomfortably. Your movement is limited as you attempt to adjust the fabric of your dress down to cover more of your legs.

Joshua wordlessly steps in to help. He moves the fabric with practiced precision, his fingers brushing against your upper thigh as he steps away again.

“It’s perfect.” He reassures you, raising his camera once more. “C’mon, work the camera, pretty.”

Smiling for pictures comes easy when it’s Joshua behind the camera.

He hums contently as he studies the photos. “Perfect.” Offering you his arm, Joshua escorts you into the venue.

Neither one of you comments on the multiple compliments the two of you received throughout the event. How every single person that walked up to you mentioned how perfect he looked by your side.

The sky is dark and crying by the time you’re ready to leave.

Joshua holds his coat over your head, careful not to disturb the delicate headpiece sitting in your hair. You watch him study the pouring rain, as if calculating the best way to deliver you to the car.

“I’m going to have to carry you.” He ultimately decides.

You gape at the suggestion. “What?”

He shrugs, pointing down at your feet and the diamond encrusted heels adorning them. “Neither one of us can afford your shoes getting soaked in the rain— what are those? A billion dollars as footwear?”

He swings you into his arms effortlessly and begins the trek.

Rain hits his back as he carries you to the car, his hair sticking to his forehead as he blinks rainwater out from his eyes. You can’t help but stare and appreciate the moment for what it is.

“Thank you, Joshua.” You whisper, as he gently sets you into the passenger seat of your van.

He shoots you a bright smile. “Anytime. Fasten your seatbelt, princess.” He slides into the driver’s seat, reaching over to fix the tiara sitting in your hair.

Your stomach flips. Fuckkk.

y/n violet l/n and her prince-in-waiting spotted in a fairytale moment after gala.

The headlines are everywhere in the morning.

“People think we’re together, they’re calling it some fairytale romance come to life.” Your eyes read the comments left by fans faster than your brain can comprehend them. “Are you seeing this?”

You look up to see Joshua staring blankly at his phone.

“Joshua!” You nudge him from his stupor. “The masses think we’re in love. Do something about it!”

He blinks. “Like what?”

“I don’t know? You’re the social media guy, don’t you guys have some kind of handbook for situations like this? Release a statement or something–” You point an accusatory finger his way. “I told you carrying me like that last night was a bad idea.”

There’s a shit eating expression on his face that you urge to smack away. “And what if we don’t?” He tests the waters. Hook, line–

“What?”

“What if we don’t release a statement?”

“People think we’re in love.”

“So? Maybe they're right.”

And…sinker. His heart threatens to jump out of his ass.

No one had more effectively rendered you silent than Joshua had right now. “I- what?”

Joshua stares at you for a count of three. The bravery that had overtaken him a few seconds ago was gone now, and he was trying to muster up the courage to say something– anything.

The first two notes of Bruno Mars’s Just The Way You Are starts playing and Joshua flushes, grabbing his phone to answer the call. “Hello?”

Jihoon’s voice crackles to life. “You know you need to report this type of shit to me, right? Your HR department? Now– I would recommend you to not date the actress you’re working for, but since that’s already been done–”

Joshua cuts him off. “What– no, we’re not dating.” He darts his eyes to look over at you. You’re pointedly avoiding eye contact. “It’s just internet gossip.”

“Right.”

Joshua wonders what kind of things Wonwoo was telling the rest of the department heads if Jihoon also sounded like he didn’t believe him.

“Well, as long as you’re not dating.” Jihoon concludes the call. “Bye.”

Joshua lowers the phone to look at you.

The moment’s over. You both can feel it.

y/n violet, looking ravishing on set, answers questions at Buzzfeed.

You don’t see Joshua for the next two weeks.

He’s still posting snippets from the press tour you and Jeonghan are currently on, busy promoting your new movie, but the man himself has gone radio silent.

You imagine he’s regretting the last night the two of you had spent together.

“So? Maybe they're right.”

You find yourself spinning the conversation over and over in the back of your head, as you rehearse your answers for the next interview. You overanalyze it, again and again, until you can’t tell the difference between what actually happened and what you’ve created in your head.

It’s the way he had so quickly shut down the idea of dating you to Jihoon that stuck with you the most. The tone. The swiftness of his words. The lack of hesitation.

Your temporary assistant hands you your morning coffee, and you take a sip. It’s too strong, too murky, not nearly enough ice.

You find yourself missing Joshua. You recount every little snide comment you had ever made at him and feel that wave of regret, over and over.

But buried deep within that regret is embarrassment, and it reigns far superior. The little voice inside your head whispers seeds into your mind. He probably hates you now. You’ve been nothing but rude, and awful, and dismissive.

Your phone buzzes to life, and you see his name on the caller ID.

You feel like throwing up as you let it ring.

Joshua stares at the video of your latest interview and lets out a heavy sigh.

You’ve been dodging his calls. Joshua hates to say it, but he understands. A big time actress, being caught on social media and accused of dating her glorified butler.

He doesn’t know what possessed him to keep calling you, but he does. Once before clocking in to work. Once clocking out. Once before bed.

Soonyoung tells him it’s pathetic. It probably is.

“You need to let her go, man.” Soonyoung tells him as they leave the office building. “Is she really worth all this groveling?”

“She’s worth everything.” Joshua finds himself admitting.

“Shit, bro.” Their marketing manager fixes him with sympathetic eyes. “You’re so cooked.”

Joshua frowns. “What does that even mean?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Wonwoo made the whole marketing team take this seminar on the new internet codes.” Soonyoung slaps him on the back. “If she’s worth that much to you, then show her.”

“How? She won’t even pick up my calls. And our schedules barely line up anymore.”

Soonyoung dangles his phone between his fingertips. “You’re the social media guy, right?”

There’s a wicked spark behind those eyes. Fuck.

y/n violet’s prince-in-waiting steps into the spotlight: is this love or just workplace loyalty?

You’re somewhere in Singapore getting ready for another interview when Jeonghan breaks into your trailer with a manic smile on his face. “Look at this article that just came out.” He thrusts his phone into your face.

You blink at the headline. “What–”

“Your prince-in-waiting just blew up the whole internet.”

You blitz through the article in record speed, catching snippets and quotes from Joshua.

Working for her was a nightmare. Violet’s spoiled, high-maintenance, an all around princess.

You push his phone away. “I don’t want to read all that.”

Jeonghan groans. “Don’t just glance at it, read it. Like actually.”

Working for her was a nightmare– I was forced to confront the reality that I wasn’t just doing all of it for the paycheck, I was doing it for her.

Violet’s spoiled, high-maintenance, an all around princess– but that was okay. I didn’t mind it. I liked maintaining her.

And finally, the last quote in the article.

“I suppose when you spend that much time staring at one person’s photos… falling a bit in love with them is inevitable.”

You blink. “Ava?”

Your temporary assistant raises her head. “Yes?”

“I need you to get Mr. Hong on the next flight over here.”

y/n violet takes movie premiere by storm– bringing her prince-in-waiting as her plus one.

Despite all that has changed in your relationship with Joshua, these events still remain the same.

He still gets on his knees to take the perfect pictures of you in your dress. He still brings you drinks whenever he notices you’re parched. Still carries your heels for you when your feet start aching on the way home.

Yet some things have changed: like the fact that his hand is now placed possessively on your waist as he navigates the crowd with you next to him.

“I still don’t like that guy.” He mutters into your ear as you both say goodbye to Jeonghan and his date.

You laugh. “He’s just Jeonghan.”

“He’s kissed you.” He hisses, fixing your necklace so it sits perfectly on your collarbone. “And we both know he was cuddling up to you on set just to piss me off.”

“Maybe.” You admit. “But that’s just Jeonghan.”

“Whatever.” Joshua throws one last dirty look at the actor before fixing you with loving eyes. “You’re mine now, anyways. Right?”

You scrunch your nose. “Wouldn’t you like to know, social media boy?”

He pinches your hip in retaliation.

The banter still comes easy. And you’re pleased to find out that loving him comes just as easy too.

#svtshowbiz #seventeen imagines #svt #svt imagines #seventeen #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #svt fluff #seventeen fic #svt fic #joshua x you #svt joshua #joshua x reader #joshua #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x y/n #svt scenarios #seventeen fluff

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creativewritersposts · 1 year ago

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finally kiss me! - Luke Hughes

summary; Luke Hughes x reader

Luke wants to impress you but is too shy to take the next step. He's very anxious to lose you for that.

warning(s); mention of anxiety / insecurity, fluff, maybe grammar errors

author's note; thank you for requesting this!! ✨

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

You always liked confident, good looking men. Who protect you from the bad things. Like a knight with a white horse, horse riding to save you.

"He's very cute to send you this!", replies your best friend, looking down on your phone screen. You showed her Luke's last message.

"Good morning, wanted to make sure if you still want to go on the date with me tonight?" in the early morning.

Luke is not the knight with a white horse, he's very overthinking and insecure with flirting. After two dates you think about picking him up like a princess with your white horse.

But at the same time it's the person you really want to date, he's goofy, he's smart and cares about you.

"Text him back! Poor guy!", she nudges you with her shoulder, "okay okay!", quickly texting back with a yes.

The day run away, now you're standing on your street. Luke invited you for a car cinema night.

Way too fast a car stops next to you, Luke opening the door, "you look really- really good-", blushing with his cap to hide his curls. He looks tired. "Thanks", you thankfully smile, secretly crushing on this handsome man. "Did I say the wrong-", Luke gets in panic mode. "No!",you giggle and sit down in his car.

He's very quiet whilst driving. "How was your day?", you start the conversation, "the coach was in a bad mood today and yours?", looking at you, concentrating on the street. "Mine was good", you smile. "I choosed a classic movie, hope it's okay", he sweats his ass off. He is very bad with girls and he wants to impress you. It's just his brain driving him crazy about so many things -, he could fuck up and you're leaving him. Because he's not that confident like is brother.

"Do you want popcorn?", he parks the car and stops the engine.

"Yeah, what about you?", you ask him back, "yeah I want to kiss you-", focused on the cinema screen and definitely not thinking what he speaks out. "Huh?", you're confused but flattered.

"Oh-oh shit! Sorry language!", he stutters with fire red cheeks.

"Please forget it", is what he says, looking deep in your eyes and gives all his attention back to the screen.

You lean back with popcorn in your lap one hour later, frustrated. You're sitting here for one hour straight and Luke doesn't take any move closer to you.

"Luke?", you ask, "yeah?", a mumble escapes his mouth, full of popcorn. "I really want to kiss you, too". Luke swallows, speechless what to say. You like his awkward personality?

"Oh-ehm-like without tongue or wit-t-", he thinks too much. Again. You had enough, grabbing his shirt closer to you until his lips find yours. Gosh, he's a good kisser and he's sitting here like a frozen fish, no clue what he should do - so he touches your neck. Your lips seperate after seconds- you both hold your breath. This is the best kiss you ever had.

"uhm-is this a sign you like me?", his voice cracks under full of hormones.

"Yeah"

"It was way too early, I'm so sorry it's not gentleman -", he bites on his lip.

"It's our third date, Luke! Finally kiss me again!"

#nhl blurb #nhl hockey #nhl x reader #nhl imagine #luke hughes #luke hughes fluff #luke hughes blurb #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes imagine #lh43

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swivi · 9 months ago

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Be warned. This is my first time writing something like this, so it may contain some errors. I was actually quite stressed while writing this and didn't want to disappoint anyone so..if you have any suggestions. Feel free to send them to me. Just no hate please and thank you..enjoy🩷

The almighty k'uhul Ajaw is tired of you both being oblivious.

It started as a joke, Ajaw would see you both being close and then proceed to mock kinich about how obvious his crush was for you. Now it was just tiring. It was safe to say the Almighty k'uhul Ajaw was at his limits.

First strike

You both had decided to hang out with each other at a new resturant and ajaw had to come along because of this stupid contract with Kinich...Oh the humiliation he thought. Having to watch you both throw "secret" glances at each other was actually driving him insane. "How much longer?" Safe to say Ajaw could not find his appetite that day. It was true torture for the poor pixel dragon lord.

Second strike

You both getting jealous easily. Whether it was from him talking to mualani and {{name}} getting jealous or you talking to the traveler and him getting jealous. It would never end..The almighty k'uhul was actually close to his limit.

It was another day at the Scions of the Canopy and the traveler and paimon had decided to come over for a visit. While on the way, they bumped into both you and Kinich, who both seemed to be happily walking away..well you were doing the talking while he listened.

As the two walked closer, paimon couldn't help but speak. "Hey..doesn't Kinich seem a little more softer when talking to {{name}}? It's actually quite funny..", The traveler nodded along seemingly getting her point. As the two slowly made their way over to the two people talking. Seeing the traveler and paimon, you quickly waved them over with a smile.

Quickly forgetting about what you were walking about as you conversed with the traveler. It was quite obvious that kinich was glaring at the two and paimon couldn't help but sweat nervously floating over to the traveler. "H-hey...Paimon thinks we should go..", Paimon nervously whisperied to the traveler. The traveler seemed confused at first, before finally feeling the glare as they glanced over, some of the passing tribe members also seemed to be quite scared as they throwed nervous glances at something. The Traveler slowly turned around and, there and behold stood Kinich. He seemed rather calm, but something about how he was staring at the two without blinking was actually quite scary. It basically screamed "Leave before I make you."

Safe to say the two quickly made a excuse to quickly go. Leaving a confused {{user}}, a seemingly happy Kinich and a frustrated Ajaw that had to witness the entire thing.

As the traveler and Paimon walked off, Paimon finally broke down. "That was so scary..Paimon thought she was gonna die!". Paimon yelled in slight fear and panic. For the first time, the traveler seemed to agree as they both scurried away for their lives

Third strike(Final strike)

Everyone has their limits..even the small Pixel dragon that claims to be a god.

Kinich had finally decided to ask you out on a date after 7 long months. To which you agreed to, excited yet nervous at the same time. The date was meant to be on a nearby cliff, when the sun was going down and the world fell almost completely silent. And completely silent it was as none of you had gotten the courage to talk to each other, leading the setting to be quite awkward. That's when he finally had enough, even watching a group of ants would be more entertaining than watching two awkward adults.

Ajaw was practically bright red, as he finally went on a rant. "God! Can you both be anymore dense!? Kinich likes you, he thinks about you every night and almost every thing he sees reminds you of him. And you...", Ajaw turned his pixel body to you. "Your both so obvious that even the saurians probably know you like him! The almighty k'uhul Ajaw is tired of this you hear me tired! He deman-" As quickly as he appeared, the pixel dragon was now nowhere to be seen clearly put in time out as a small sigh escapes Kinich's lips.

A tense silence filled the air around you both, with only the occasional sounds of the wind and birds flying off to god knows where. After what felt like forever. Kinich finally broke the silence, clearing his throat with a light blush present on his face. Kinich turned to you, for the first time...he actually looked quite nervous. Which was surprising. He was always to composed and calm time. As kinich turned to meet your eyes, he finally found it in himself to speak.

"I'm sorry about Ajaw..he can be quite annoying at times, although what he said was true..I've been quite tired of hiding my feelings for you and the truth is, I really like you {{name}}. I know I'm not one with words..and I can be quite blunt at times, but what I speak is only the truth. I really liked you..for quite a while now." Kinich spoke, his voice holding a unusually soft tone to it.

A few minutes later had passed, and it was obvious what had taken place as you both we're now sitting closer to each other. His hands holding yours, as you both looked off into the distance. Maybe having ajaw wasn't too bad, for the first time Kinich thought.

In another space

Ajaw was seen practically fuming with anger as he cursed Kinich in the darkness

"Curse you kinich! Just you wait...the almighty k'uhul Ajaw will have his revenge soon!" Ajaw yelled off in the darkness.

To be continued

"Next chapter: Ajaws plans of revenge"

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin x reader #kinich imagines #kinich and ajaw #kinich x reader #kinich #genshin ajaw #k'uhul ajaw #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact x reader

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liveyun · 6 months ago

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die with a smile | jjk

pairing. Jeon jungkook x fem/gn reader

genre. neighbours au, fluff, slice of life, light humor, slow-burn

rating. pg

warnings. late-night karaoke, mild annoyance, OC being conflicted and awkward, unspoken feelings, lots of staring at Jungkook (because who wouldn’t), implied military enlistment, OC lowkey simping (let’s be honest), “english isn’t my first language,” + not proofread, yearning . . .

wc. 1.7k +

🎧 die with a smile | bruno mars and lady gaga

The third night of incessant singing is where you finally draw the line.

You sit at your tiny kitchen table, surrounded by papers, half-drunk cups of tea, and the beginnings of a tension headache.

From the apartment next door, his voice—smooth, clear, and . . . warm — reaches you in a wave of melodies. He’s been singing for nearly two hours now, moving seamlessly from upbeat pop songs to heart-wrenching OSTs — with such ease and precision, you nearly feel both envy and frustration at how good he is and how he’s giving you his free performance at 3 AM.

You would’ve been impressed if you weren’t one sleepless night away from filing a formal complaint.

Your walls are thin. Your apartment is small. Every belt, falsetto, and perfectly sustained note crashes into your eardrums. You’ve stuffed pillows over your ears, slammed doors, and even loudly coughed against your shared wall, hoping he’d get the hint — but the man next door seems tireless . . . like a karaoke marathon champion who’s going to audition for the next survival show over some drinks at a restaurant.

Tonight’s song finishes with a flourish, and you hear a muffled sound of giggles — his own, perhaps — through the walls.

“Unbelievable,” you mutter under your breath, aggressively thumbing through your phone. Your irritation fuels you as you type up a complaint email for the building management, every sentence laced with righteous annoyance. You don’t think you’d care if they have any errors. You pause for a moment, fingers hovering over the send button.

“Maybe it’s just one of those guys. Moved in a month ago, right?” The voice of the kind old lady with her cute cat from the next block pops into your head. Earlier that day in the park, she’d casually informed you that your mysterious, musically obsessed neighbor was on a brief four-day vacation. “Poor boy — been serving his time in the army and just came to rest a little. He sings, you know. A real singer.”

You’d blinked at her words. “Wha. . . singer? Like… famous?”

The lady had shrugged. “Famous or not, his voice is beautiful.”

You remember standing frozen on the sidewalk, feeling guilt bubble in your chest.

That’s why you don’t send the complaint.

The clock reads 3:49 AM when the familiar, too-loud melody begins once again.

This time, you snap.

Throwing on your cardigan, you march to your front door and storm into the dimly lit hallway. Standing outside his apartment, your fist hovers above the door, second-guessing yourself for a beat. But then you hear him laughing — a soft, boyish laugh — and irritation wins out. You knock twice, firm and loud.

The door opens.

You’re unprepared for the man on the other side.

He’s wearing a black beanie, tugged low over his forehead, and an oversized black T-shirt that falls to his elbows. Tattoos trail like brushstrokes down his arm, stark and beautiful against his skin. His large eyes blink at you in surprise, framed by lashes so unfairly long they could sweep the floor. The corners of his lips lift into an easy, almost mischievous smile, deep dimples appearing like magic.

You falter.

This isn’t fair. Someone who sings like that should not also look like this. He looks. . . cute. Boyish. Innocent. But so undeniably attractive that you have to clear your throat because now you’re hyper aware that this man is nearly towering over you.

“Uh…” Your frustration stutters as you search for words. “Hi. I, uh—I live next door. And it’s 4 AM.”

“Yeah?” His voice, now spoken rather than sung, is just as soft and warm as you imagined. He tilts his head, curiosity dancing in his expression, his eyes wide like boba. “Something wrong?”

You blink at him, feeling ridiculous now that you’re standing here. “It’s just…your singing. It’s, um, loud.”

“Oh!” His eyes widen, and he steps back as though caught red-handed. “I didn’t realize. I’m so sorry.”

The immediate sincerity in his voice makes you feel like you’ve kicked a puppy.

“It’s fine,” you add quickly, backpedaling. “It’s just…the walls here are thin, and I’m not. . . uh, I’m not really used to it.”

His smile returns, shy. “I get it. I’ve been singing too much, huh? I just…” He scratches the back of his neck, sheepish now. “I haven’t had time to unwind in a while. Didn’t mean to bother you.”

His honesty throws you off balance. You glance past him into his apartment, catching a glimpse of his karaoke setup—a small mic stand surrounded by crumpled lyric sheets and snack wrappers. And a big. . . calculator. . . .? The space is much bigger than yours but still homely, lit warmly in contrast to the sterile hallway.

“You…you’re really good, though,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

He looks surprised for a moment, before the edges of his smile soften. You don’t even know this guy, but his smile seems genuine. Sincere. “Thanks. . . That means a lot.”

Silence stretches between you. You’re suddenly acutely aware of how he’s gazing at you — like he’s studying you just as much as you’re studying him.

“You know,” he says at last, teasing but gentle, “I could sing quieter if you have any requests.”

You snort involuntarily, the tension breaking. “I think I’d rather you not sing at all.”

He laughs at that—a full, bright laugh that tugs at something in your chest. “Fair enough.”

. . . ♡ 🐰 ♡ . . .

To your surprise, he sticks to his word.

That night, his singing drops to a near whisper. You can still hear it faintly through the walls — although, the song is more of a soft rock, but his voice is soothing. Sweet. Strangely, it doesn’t bother you anymore.

If anything, you find yourself listening a little too intently, sleep now long forgotten as you find yourself smiling so widely that your cheeks hurt.

I, I just woke up from a dream

Where you and I had to say goodbye

And I don't know what it all means

But since I survived, I realized

The next morning, as you head out for coffee, you bump into him again in the hallway.

This time, he’s wearing the same beanie and a plain hoodie, duffle bag slung over his shoulder. He grins when he sees you, lifting a hand in greeting, but his grin doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Oh,” you say, stopping in your tracks. “You’re leaving?”

And there it is—that faint smile, shy yet playful, tugging at the corner of his lips. Except this time, he’s fidgeting with it, thumb grazing the skin as though he’s used to something being there. A piercing, maybe. Did he have one before? You hadn’t asked but for some reason, the gesture makes him look a little younger, a little more uncertain.

“Yeah,” he says softly, adjusting the strap of his bag. “Heading back.”

His voice carries none of the energy that used to spill through the thin walls, none of the stubborn joy that once kept you awake at night.

And somehow, it bothers you more than the loud singing ever did.

You shift awkwardly, trying to think of something to say—anything that doesn’t sound as silly as it feels in your head. “That’s… soon. I mean, it’s only been a few days.”

He chuckles lightly, the sound soft and self-deprecating. “Time flies, huh?” His thumb is at his lip again, a nervous habit that seems almost out of place on someone like him. “Guess I didn’t get to bother you enough before I left.”

“I didn’t hate it,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. Your voice falters, quieter now. “The . . . singing, I mean.”

He looks at you then, really looks at you, his dark eyes catching yours in a way that makes your breath hitch. You try to read them, but you can barely even look at them — thanks to his beanie pulled low.

“Well,” he says after a pause, his voice low and warm, “I’m glad to hear that.”

He nods — and turns slightly, as if to leave, and your chest tightens. You open your mouth — hesitate — and then, before you can think twice, the word slips out.

Wherever you go, that's where I’ll follow

Nobody's promised tomorrow

“Wait.”

He stops immediately, turning back almost instantly with a flicker of hope in his gaze, like he’d been waiting for you to say it. His eyes seem to sparkle, a boyish anticipation lighting his features, and you feel your stomach twist.

Your hands feel clammy as you extend one awkwardly. “Uhh, I— I never introduced myself. I’m ____.”

He stares at your outstretched hand for a moment before breaking into the kind of grin that crinkles the corners of his eyes. The kind of grin that could make you forget the world for a moment.

“Jungkook,” he says simply, taking your hand in his. His grip is warm, firm, and entirely too brief, but it leaves a strange warmth spreading through you. His hands are slightly rough - but they feel pleasant. “Hi again.”

You nod, feeling a little silly but unable to pull your gaze from his. For a second, your chest tightens with an inexplicable urge to step closer, to wrap your arms around him. . .

Wait. Where did that come from?

So I’ma love you every night like it's the last night

Like it's the last night

But before you can really think of what you’re thinking — he lets go of your hand, stepping back with another small smile.

“Well, I should go,” he says, voice soft but final. His grin lingers, playful but tinged with something else, something quieter. “Take care, ____.”

He turns, and then he’s really gone. Leaving you standing in the hallway with your hand still half-raised, the warmth of his touch lingering like a ghost against your skin, the muscle near your left eye twitching and a weird feeling wrapping around your chest.

When you finally retreat to your apartment, the silence feels impossibly loud.

You sink onto your couch, hugging a pillow to your chest, and wonder if his hand had felt as warm as yours had—or if it’s just your imagination playing tricks on you.

If the world was ending, I’d wanna be next to you

If the party was over and our time on Earth was through

I’d wanna hold you just for a while and die with a smile

If the world was ending, I’d wanna be next to you

#jungkook fluff #bts x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #bts fluff #bts fanfic #jungkook romance #bts romance #bts x you #bts au #bts fics #jungkook x you #jungkook imagine #bts imagines #jungkook scenarios #bts #btswritersclub #illuminated ocean.net

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chiasaaa · 5 months ago

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— the night is yours

itoshi sae x f! reader

summary: your niece from belgium visits you in madrid to interview your boyfriend for her academic paper.

warning: english is not my first language. apologies for any grammatical or spelling errors.

— when you told sae to vacate his saturday for you, he expected something planned for both of you is up in play. true enough, there is a plan. it’s just far from what he expected it to be.

he sits on the single recliner in your shared living room, distant eyes staring right through the soul of your poor cowering niece. sae always despised interviews—always viewed it as people trying to dissect the information they want to manipulate for themselves right out of his system. it’s uncanny.

sae already bears with the fame by giving short single responses whenever a match ends and he’s declared the most valuable player of his time (which happens all the time), and he absolutely despises every second of it. it’s every second wasted when he could be celebrating his win with you instead. he had no idea how you managed to convince him to participate in your niece’s little project, yet there he was.

maybe the tea you coaxed him with proved effective, after all. that, and a little something you promised him for when the interview’s finished and you have your home alone for yourselves.

he must love you very much, is what goes on in his mind as he watched your niece scramble through the sheets of paper she had prepared for this day.

“hey,” he called out to her softly, causing her to pause from her anxious squirming. “it’s alright. take your time.”

though it was nothing special, he saw how his assurance helped her relax. she nods by a tad bit, then stacked her papers together neatly. unbeknownst to the two, you’ve been watching through the corner of your eyes as you face them sideways on the counter stool, pretending to work on the designs your team had previously come up with for approval.

your niece isn’t that far from your age, currently 15 years old. a gap of three years has always been quite weird as it stands between ‘we’re old enough to view life differently’ and ‘but we’re young enough to get along well’. for someone like sae, however, it’s a completely different story. he’s like an old man stuck in a young player’s body. people normally find it hard to get along with him. and you know that he gives zero fucks about anyone.

however, one thing you love about him is that he tries. he will always try if it means being closer to your family. quite the awkward fellow he can be, but it becomes a part of his charm at some point. even your father, who had long been against you dating, grew fond of him. now that you see him trying his best to make your niece comfortable with him, you could only quietly fawn over the sight.

he always gives you reasons to fall in love everyday—not like he still has to.

you have already loved him for him.

you have never been so lucky.

“as an athlete, of course it’s important for us to maintain a healthy balanced diet because—“ you snapped out of your own world when sae’s voice penetrated through your ears in a gentle tone. your eyes glided back to his direction, finding him talking through a clipped mic on his shirt. they finally proceeded with the interview proper after fifteen minutes of preparing, and he’s as collected as ever.

though, this is the first time you’ve ever heard him respond to an interview so coherently. as if he made an effort to put his answers together well enough for your niece to extract useful information. and as he was going through with the interview, he caught a glance of you watching.

you smiled, so sweetly and gratefully that it had him pause for a moment as well. sae knew what you were telling him through your honey-dipped eyes. he didn’t need you to tell him, just as much as you didn’t need him to tell you when he sent the faintest smile back.

when the interview was over, you and sae walked your niece out the porch.

“thank you for today, auntie!” she hugged you tight, grateful for making the interview possible in the first place. she was only ever able to pursue the topic she wanted because of you connections, after all.

“no worries, hija. tell your mom to drop you off again same time tomorrow, yeah? sae and i plan to take you around the city before you fly back home.”

“really? thank you!” she then turns to sae. “thank you too, uncle sae! i’ll see you guys tomorrow!”

and so she runs off to the taxi cab where her mother waits, taking them home as soon as she enters. you and sae stay by the porch until they’re out of sight, with sae still stunned that your niece finally called him uncle for the first time in the three years you’ve acquainted them.

“looks like you’re promoted, uncle sae.” you tease, smirking as he closed the door after you entered. “does this call for a congratulations?”

he rolls his eyes. of course, the ever so teasing you will make a big deal out of it. though, he can’t blame you. he has to admit that it had him a little excited to feel part of your family.

“maybe it does,” he comes forward and gently tugged you close by the waist, “don’t act like i forgot about your promise to me, hermosa.”

chuckling, you wrapped your arms loosely around his neck and teased him with a peck on his lips. “oh, i didn’t.” you leaned closer until your lips hovered by his ear. “and you have permission to do what you want with me for the rest of the night, mi guapo.”

that was all he needed to hear, and you’re in for yet another sleepless night filled with blissful memories.

#itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae #x reader #blue lock #bllk fic #suggestive

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xqueen-of-disasterx · 2 years ago

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as sweet as a peach

Paring: Innocent!reader x dads!friend!Nat

Summery: You and the friend of your dad happened to have a pretty close relationship

Warnings: SMUT, clit play, dom!Nat, sub!reader, masturbation, dry humping, oral, praise kink, degradation kink, slut shaming?, pervy!Nat?, Nat fingering a peach, age gap (legal)

Word count: 1.4k

!Disclaimer English is not my first language so please excuse any grammar or spelling errors. This story is completely fictional!

Masterlist

ꕀꕀ ─── ⋆⋅ ✨🌞✨ ⋅⋆─── ꕀꕀ

“Those peaches” She reached out for one of the sweet fruits hanging from the old tree “Can I eat them” she smiled at me, a smile she wore like a mask to hide her true evil intentions. “Uhm… sure go ahead” I still couldn’t look her in the eyes, to big was the fear of what the older women might make me feel in the deepest pits of my stomach “Are you still in school sweetheart?”

“Do you want a bite bunny” She wiped over her mouth with the back of her hand as she reaches the other one out for me to take the peach. The forbidden fruit I shouldn’t dare to try but I was dying to do so. I took a bite, the juice dripping from the conners of my pinkish lips “It’s delicious isn’t it” her voice was softer trying to make me feel safe and secured in her presence. I fell for those feelings. I wanted her to make me feel safe and sound “It’s really sweet” I broke the awkward silence as Natasha got behind me, her veiny hands caressing my hips “You are gonna be a good girl for me right” she breathed against my ear making shivers run down my neck right to my core, making me feel a feeling that I had never experienced before. I hummed in response and I could feel my cheeks heating up. Her hands found their way future down, over my skirt right to the end of the fabric making that weird feeling inside me grow and grow. “I think I gotta go now” my voice came l more shaky then I had intended. Before Natasha could say anything I had already freed myself and ran off feeling as if I would melt if she had her hands on me a minute later. Leaving Natasha standing there utterly confused.

Sweat runs down my forehead as my hips keep rutting against the pillow between my legs like I was a bitch in heat. Soft whines and whimpers falling from my lips as I tried my best to make this feeling stop. Why did she have to make me feel that way? My hips got faster as I grew wetter and wetter and I felt my release coming in sight. I was in a trance only realizing how far gone I was when I moaned her name. I didn’t realize what I had done until I could hear the screeching noise of my door opening. I tried my best to cover my nude form with a blanket but it was to late. Natasha already had that smirk on her lips as she quietly closed the door behind her locking it “I’m so sorry- I- I” I tried to stutter something out “It’s okay bunny, you’re a girl with needs” she approached my bed with slow steps like a predator its prey “I can help you with your little need down there. Just say yes and I will make it all go away”

My eyes were still avoiding her tall form trying to hide my ever growing blush. I wanted her, I really did but could I do this with the friend of my father? “I want your help” my voice was still shaking. Natasha kicked off her leather shoes and crawled over to me taking my chin making me look at her. She kissed me passionately still hovering over my smaller form she pushed her tongue inside my mouth dancing with mine remained her dominance over me. Her wet kisses move down my neck searching for my sweet spot. She proceeded to nibble and softly biting at my skin. She strong hand pushed me back down onto my pastel pink sheets making sure I stay put. She sat up next to me unbuttoning her linen bluse revealing a red lacy bra “What do we have here uh?” She said in a teasing voice as she pulled the blanket from my exposed body her eyes landing on the wet patch on the pillow “You poor girl. All sticky and hot down there and nothing helps let me take care of you bunny” I nodded shamefully making her chuckle.

Her hands slipped over my stomach to my vulvar. Her hand finding its way to my erected clit pocking out of its hood. She began to rub over the slippery bundle of nerves making me yelp. Her fingers being a stark contrast to the rough fabric of my pillow who made my clit so sensitive . I could help but let out whimpers and whines buckling my hips only for them to be pressed down by the older woman “Na Na Na those stay down bunny” she said in a teasing voice. The older women had won all control over me, making me be at her mercy “‘M gonna eat that little pussy of yours. Let’s see if you are as sweet as a peach” she groaned as she got between my legs. She licked a bold strip from the end of my cunt right to my overstimulated clit. Swirling her tongue around it before sucking it. Making me scream. She immediately pulled away pressing her hands over my mouth “Be quiet for me bunny we don’t want your dad to find you here right? Whoring yourself out like the little slut you are” Her words weren’t hurtful, they were arousing me even more. I wanted to be her slut, her whore.

I nodded my eyes screwed shut as she kept licking and sucking at me making me see stars. The coil in my stomach grew and grew. Until Natasha bit down on my clit softly making me squirt all over her neck and chest. She chuckled lightly after helping me through my orgasms “Who would’ve thought my sweet bunny is a squirter” My checks redden and I look at Natasha my arousal still dripping from her chin to her chest “I- I didn’t mean to” She cleaned her mouth with the back of her hand “Oh sweetheart, don’t be sorry that was incredibly hot” she lightly caressed my lower stomach “Now lets get you cleaned up”

#black widow x female reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha x reader #natasha x you #natasha romanoff

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thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 2 years ago

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Writing Advice #?: Don’t write out accents.

The Surface-Level Problem: It’s distracting at best, illegible at worst.

The following passage from Sons and Lovers has never made a whit of sense to me:

“I ham, Walter, my lad,’ ’e says; ‘ta’e which on ’em ter’s a mind.’ An’ so I took one, an’ thanked ’im. I didn’t like ter shake it afore ’is eyes, but ’e says, ‘Tha’d better ma’e sure it’s a good un. An’ so, yer see, I knowed it was.’”

There’s almost certainly a point to that dialogue — plot, character, theme — but I could not figure out what the words were meant to be, and gave up on the book. At a lesser extreme, most of Quincey’s lines from Dracula (“I know I ain’t good enough to regulate the fixin’s of your little shoes”) cause American readers to sputter into laughter, which isn’t ideal for a character who is supposed to be sweet and tragic. Accents-written-out draw attention to mechanical qualities of the text.

Solution #1: Use indicators outside of the quote marks to describe how a character talks. An Atlanta accent can be “drawling” and a London one “clipped”; a Princeton one can sound “stiff” and a Newark one “relaxed.” Do they exaggerate their vowels more (North America) or their consonants more (U.K., north Africa)? Do they sound happy, melodious, frustrated?

The Deeper Problem: It’s ignorant at best, and classist/racist/xenophobic at worst.

You pretty much never see authors writing out their own accents — to the person who has the accent, the words just sound like words. It’s only when the accent is somehow “other” to the author that it gets written out.

And the accents that we consider “other” and “wrong” (even if no one ever uses those words, the decision to deliberately misspell words still conveys it) are pretty much never the ones from wealthy and educated parts of the country. Instead, the accents with misspelled words and awkward inflection are those from other countries, from other social classes, from other ethnicities. If your Maine characters speak normally and your Florida characters have grammatical errors, then you have conveyed what you consider to be correct and normal speech. We know what J.K. Rowling thinks of French-accented English, because it’s dripping off of Fleur Delacour’s every line.

At the bizarre extreme, we see inappropriate application of North U.K. and South U.S.-isms to every uneducated and/or poor character ever to appear in fan fic. When wanting to get across that Steve Rogers is a simple Brooklyn boy, MCU fans have him slip into “mustn’t” and “we is.” When conveying that Robin 2.0 is raised poor in Newark, he uses “ain’t” and “y’all” and “din.” Never mind that Iron Man is from Manhattan, or that Robin 3.0 is raised wealthy in Newark; neither of them ever gets a written-out accent.

Solution #2: A little word choice can go a long way, and a little research can go even further. Listen carefully to the way people talk — on the bus, in a café, on unscripted YouTube — and write down their exact word choice. “We good” literally means the same thing as “no thank you,” but one’s a lot more formal than the other. “Ain’t” is a perfectly good synonym for “am not,” but not everyone will use it.

The Obscure Problem: It’s not even how people talk.

Look at how auto-transcription software messes up speaking styles, and it’s obvious that no one pronounces every spoken sound in every word that comes out of their mouth. Consider how Americans say “you all right?”; 99% of us actually say something like “yait?”, using tone and head tilt to convey meaning. Politicians speak very formally; friends at bars speak very informally.

An example: I’m from Baltimore, Maryland. Unless I’m speaking to an American from Texas, in which case I’m from “Baltmore, Marlind.” Unless I’m speaking to an American from Pennsylvania, in which case I’m from “Balmore, Marlin.” If I’m speaking to a fellow Marylander, I’m of course from “Bamor.” (If I’m speaking to a non-American, I’m of course from “Washington D.C.”) Trying to capture every phoneme of change from moment to moment and setting to setting would be ridiculous; better just to say I inflect more when talking to people from outside my region.

When you write out an accent, you insert yourself, the writer, as an implied listener. You inflict your value judgments and your linguistic ear on the reader, and you take away from the story.

Solution #3: When in doubt, just write the dialogue how you would talk.

#writing #writing advice #accents #fan fiction #classism #language #u.s.-centric af because I've only lived so many places

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jerzwriter · 2 months ago

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Day 16's prompt from @creativepromptsforwriting's 30-Day Writing Challenge is to write about a thank you. I decided to go with Ethan and Kaycee during Open Heart Book 1 - Intern Year, and lean into that never-ending pining. I hope you enjoy it!

Book: Open Heart (Book 1) Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x Kaycee MacClennan (F!MC) Rating: Teen Words: ~1,600 Summary: The normally unflappable Dr. Ramsey stumbles during a presentation, and when Kaycee realizes the issue, she goes in for the save. But will Ethan appreciate her effort, or will she live to regret it?

A/N: Also participating in @choicesmonthlychallenge Pop Prompt Palooza, prompt: "You remembered?"

30-Day Challenge Masterlist | Full Masterlist

The room went quiet. Too quiet. If not for the hum of the projector swirling in the background and interns shifting uncomfortably in their seats, there would have been silence.

A half-finished slide flickered on the wall: liver enzymes, fluid retention, the beginning of a case that should’ve been routine. But Dr. Ethan Ramsey – the unflappable Dr. Ramsey– had turned to stone mid-sentence. It was as if the man had seen Medusa herself, and he showed no signs of recovery.

In the middle of the awkward glances and furtive whispers, Kaycee MacClennan was growing worried. While her peers were curious, even amused, as their sometimes scary attending physician stumbled, she was genuinely concerned. She hadn’t known Ethan for long, but she knew him well enough to see something was amiss: his clenched jaw, the way his arms went rigid at his sides, and his blue eyes glazed over—something wasn’t right.

So she did what she did best – she went into doctor mode - trying to diagnose what had just taken place, and it didn’t take long for her to spot it. The print was tiny, so small, most wouldn’t have noticed it, but to Kaycee and Ethan before her, it may have well been written in bold, crimson letters. Suddenly, it all made sense.

Hudson. Dolores Hudson.

Her heart sank. It had to be a clerical error – but a cruel one, nevertheless. Kaycee could picture it – Ethan instructing his assistant to create a template meant to walk the interns through preeclampsia complications, and damn it if she hadn’t picked Dolores’s file and forgot to remove her name. She knew the poor assistant would have hell to pay for this later, but for now, Ethan was sinking, and she needed to throw him a line.

Seconds passed, and the silence stretched. As the nervous chatter picked up and a hand or two began to raise, Kaycee sprang into action.

“Dr. Ramsey - should we be discussing magnesium sulfate administration?” she asked, her voice so loud, so confident that no one would have guessed the way her stomach was churning. Her intentions were good, but jumping in on Dr. Ramsey’s presentation? It could be professional suicide, and she knew it. Still, she wasn't prepared to let him falter, not like this. “With severe preeclampsia, it’s used for seizure prophylaxis. Am I right?”

That snapped Ethan back into the present, and within seconds, he was the picture of the composed physician they all knew him to be.

“That’s correct, Dr. MacClennan,” he said without missing a beat. “And what would happen next? Dr. Carter – I heard you chatting with your neighbor, so I assume you have suggestions to add?”

And... he was back, and Kaycee had saved him, but he didn’t say another word to her, not during the session, nor when it ended. In fact, he didn’t acknowledge her at all for hours to come, and that made Kaycee sicker by the minute.

She only wanted to help; that’s how her brain – and her heart - were wired. But Ethan, he was a different animal, and his wiring wasn’t easy to untangle. So, the silence stretched, the more she anticipated being called to his office for a lecture about overstepping and why she should begin considering another career.

But it was now well after 8 PM, and the call never came. She was finally heading to her locker after a grueling shift - her stomach growling and her feet aching. Her mind was on two things: her fuzzy pajamas and the leftover spaghetti waiting for her at home, when she heard her name.

“MacClennan!”

It was loud, clear, and distinct, leaving no question of who it was. Kaycee swore her hair stood on end at the sound of it.

She turned to find Ethan standing halfway down the hall. Here it was, she thought, just when she thought she had made it through the day. Dread washed over her, but like a good soldier, she marched his way, prepared to accept whatever he was about to dole out.

He was standing outside his office, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened. He looked exhausted – human, for once. Then she noticed his expression, softer than it usually was. In fact, she had only seen him look like that once before – on the night Dolores died. He didn’t speak right away, and Kaycee waited patiently.

“I picked up the wrong slide,” he said without lead-in. “It was completely my fault. As you know, a patient’s name should never be on a presentation. I should have caught that before presenting.”

Kaycee shrugged, a tired smile on her lips. “You’re human, too, Dr. Ramsey. We all make mistakes.”

He laughed faintly, shaking his head. “That’s not something I like to be reminded of in front of a room full of interns.”

“Of course not,” she smirked. “You need to keep that demi-god thing going. But, don’t worry – you’re still the infallible Dr. Ramsey around here. Everyone's still terrified of you – your reputation is intact.”

He looked at her, his eyes narrowing as he quietly assessed.

“But you’re not,” he observed.

“I’m not what?”

“Terrified of me.”

Kaycee barked out a laugh. “That all depends on what time of day you’re asking. You still hold my career in your hands, Dr. Ramsey. That alone instills fear .”

Ethan didn’t say a word, but she saw a flicker of something foreign spread across his face – something he didn’t show often – something he never showed to an intern. Gratitude.

“Thank you,” he said so softly she was sure she had misheard. “I mean it,” he added. “Thank you for covering me, but also for not making a big deal out of it.”

Kaycee’s heart clenched. For a moment, she was back in the NICU, sitting beside him as they watched over a newborn boy who would never know his mother’s touch. She met a different version of the celebrated physician that night, and no matter how hard he tried to hide that side, she couldn't forget it.

Seeing Ethan's grief over being unable to save his friend, that’s when she first began to understand him. And - maybe – just maybe – it’s when he first started to trust her.

“Anytime,” she nodded, her tone gentle now. “But, if you don’t mind... I’ve been on my feet for over twelve hours, and there is a pair of pajamas and a couch calling my name from home, so...”

“Get going,” he grinned. “You’ve earned it.”

She earned it? From Dr. Ramsey? That was high praise. She decided to walk away while the getting was good, but he snapped his fingers when he remembered something.

“Rookie!” he hollered.

She barely turned before he tossed something her way. Moving fast, her hands caught it in midair.

“Geysers?” She asked, her lips tugged upward despite herself. “You remembered?”

“How could I forget? It’s not often I meet full-fledged adults who enjoy candy and jokes marketed at tweenaged boys.”

“Hey!” she scolded. “Tweenaged girls like Geysers, too!”

“I stand corrected,” he replied, his voice dryer – much more like his usual self. “Regardless, I thought you could use the sugar...or the sophomoric jokes on the wrappers. Hopefully, there’s one in there about a pain-in-the-ass rookie.”

She opened the bag of colorful candy and took out a piece, peeling back the wrapper with a grin. “Nope,” she deadpanned. “But there is one about a cocky attending with a God complex who likes to hide the fact that he has a human heart beating under his perfectly pressed lab coat.”

“Sounds inaccurate,” he muttered. “And now, I’m considering suing the manufacturer for defamation.”

“Pfft,” she smirked. “I may not have attended law school, but I know that case is a loser. Especially after I show up as a witness for the defense. I have no problem outing you in a public court, Dr. Ramsey!”

Ethan opened his mouth to retort but shut it just as fast. One look at her eyes – sparkling with something bright, something he couldn't name, despite her exhaustion – and something inside of him told him to get away - quickly – even though it was the last thing he wanted to do.

“Well, go home to that couch, MacClennan. You need to rest for tomorrow if you’re going to impress me again – otherwise, you may want to keep law school in mind as a backup.”

“You’d miss me,” she said with a smirk, turning on her heel. The elevator dinged at the end of the hallway, but before she stepped in, she turned back.

“Dr. Ramsey?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

She wasn’t sure if it was exhaustion playing tricks on her, but she could’ve sworn there was the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“No,” he replied, his voice low. “Thank you. Now, get the hell out of here before my goodwill melts away.”

Kaycee snapped her heels together and gave a mock salute. “Yes, sir!” she grinned as the elevator door closed between them.

He stood staring at the doors for a moment longer than necessary, his mind drifting to thoughts he wasn’t ready to entertain—thoughts that felt dangerous. That’s when he heard his name.

“Dr. Ramsey! I’m glad I caught you. I was wondering if you could—”

Ethan turned, already steeling himself. “If I could what, Carter? Prevent you from embarrassing yourself at my next seminar?”

“No, I just—”

He sighed and waved Carter forward with a curt nod. “Let’s hear it.”

As the intern launched into a flurry of nervous questions, Ethan let the familiar rhythm of routine settle over him. It was easier this way. Safer. But even as he listened to Carter babble, part of him lingered at the other end of the hall with a rookie who saw more than she was supposed to see – and thanked him anyway.

He’d have to remind himself again tomorrow: Interns were off-limits.

Even the ones who made him feel like maybe - just maybe - he wasn't as untouchable as he pretended to be.

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

#open heart #open heart choices #choices open heart #open heart fanfic #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x kaycee #choices #choices fanfic #playchoices #playchoices fanfic #choices stories you play #writers on tumblr #mutual pining

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letmedixonyou · 6 months ago

Text

bear den

Daryl Dixon x Fem Reader

+18

summary: you and Daryl go on a supply run, run across a herd that is unmanageable for only you two so you hide in an old bear den where things get heated

warnings: swearing, fingering, unprotected sex, choking

A/N: this is my first post ever, so please be mindful of that when commenting. I need some creative outlets and this is what I choose to do - my poor head always full ideas for smutty smuts. English is not my first language so I am sorry in advance for any grammatical errors. Enjoy, you filthy animals 😉

You and Daryl have known each other for a long time. You worked well as a team when it came to supply runs and killing zombies. That's why you always ended up together. Ever since the prison, you and him have grown close and became friends, but you'd be lying to yourself if you said that you didn't like him more than that. You kept it secret from everyone, and somehow no one suspected anything. You took pride in being such a great actress, especially when Daryl was blissfully unaware of every feeling you had for him. He was never good at deciphering emotions.

You weren't able to pinpoint the time when you started feeling more for him. It kind of just happened. You try to justify your feelings by blaming the fact you always kept close to each other, always going on supply runs together, you barely ever spend time with other people. Maybe it was because you both enjoyed a bit of peace and quiet and the silence between you never felt awkward.

Today was no different from any other runs you went on together. Rick has asked you both to get some supplies for Alexandria. You, of course, agreed as you weren't the type to sit around anyway. And neither was Daryl. You kept quiet but you walked close to each other, all senses on alert, scanning the surroundings. Daryl kept his crossbow at the ready at all times and you held your machete out. The only sound around you was your footsteps and occasional walker snarl.

As you proceeded deeper into the woods, the snarling got a lot more audible. The chill went through your body when you realized that you're not dealing with a couple of them. It was most definitely a herd. You look at Daryl. "We're screwed" you say quietly to him. "Maybe not" he murmurs and nods towards a hole in the ground. It seemed to be a bear den.

You nod to him and you quietly move towards the den. He climbs in first and shimmy as far inside as he could and then motions to you. You feel your heart skip a beat when you realise that there's not much space in the den and you most likely will be glued to Daryl for God knows how long. You shake your head to get rid of the thoughts and you climb inside the den, pushing inside until your back touches Daryl's front which was met with a slight grunt. You pull a big tree branch over the opening to cover the entrance and hide both of you better.

The space was indeed really tight. His front was pressed to your back, you could feel the heat emanating from him. He was so close that you could feel his breath on the back of your head. His body was really tense and stiff behind you. You wiggled a little to get a bit more comfortable and it was met with a low voice of his. "Stop moving so fucking much".

"Sorry" you whisper and stiffen up, trying not to move a muscle but the position you were in was almost painful so you moved again, against your instincts. You suddenly feel his hand firmly gripping your waist to keep you in place.

What. The. Fuck.

You breathed out sharply. You could feel your heart thumping in your chest and your cheeks most definitely flushed red. His hand pressed down on your waist. "I told you to stop moving" Daryl says in a low voice, right against your ear. It sends a shiver down your spine and you could've sworn your breathing stopped for a second. "Sorry" you mutter out.

"Don't be sorry, just do what I say" he whispers, his hand never loosening the grip on your waist. You nod gently as you lay there, really close to each other. His fingers dig into your side, and you close your eyes for a second, try to calm down your breathing. As you open them, you try to focus on the walkers passing the den. A few of them dangerously close to the entrance. You close your eyes again and let your body fall backwards a bit, leaning against him more, which was met with a soft grunt, his hand squeezing harder on your waist and he shifts closer to you. Your eyes flew open at the movement as you felt something.

Was he...?

You decide to test that theory and press your ass against his crotch which made him breathe in sharply, his fingers dug into your skin even more, the sensation almost painful. He was enjoying this.

Your cheeks flush red, you were sure that you looked like a tomato by now, but you choose to shift your head to look over your shoulder and at him. Daryl was looking forward, focusing hard on the horde. His hair was hiding part of his face but you could see the slight blush on his cheeks.

"Daryl?" You whispered and waited for what seemed to be an eternity for an answer, which wasn't even an answer, just a barely audible grunt. "Your... You're... The..." You struggled to form a coherent sentence, feeling his cock pressing against you, your pussy clenching around nothing. You shift in your place again, trying to grind a little and you feel his shuddered breath on your ear which made you close your eyes.

"I know" he says quietly, and you swallow hard, trying to keep your sanity in check. You look at him again and this time, he looks right back at you, his eyes scanning your face, your eyes, stopping on your partially opened lips. You wanted to say something, anything, but words got stuck in your throat. You felt him grind his hips twice and a soft moan escaped your lips. You quickly covered your mouth to make sure no other sound escapes. You can see Daryl's lips twitch into a tiny smile. Oh. My. God.

Without thinking, you leaned forward and you pressed a gentle kiss on his lips. It was met with a huff, his hand that was squeezing your waist moved to the side of your neck, holding you in place so he could deepen the kiss. You quickly changed positions, moving so your front was pressed to his front, your hand pulling on his angel wing vest to get him closer. You throw your leg around his hip. He grunted quietly, scooting closer to you until your bodies were pressed firmly together, moulding to each other perfectly.

The kiss got really heated, really quickly. Your hands explored each other until he moved on top of you, pressing his body down to yours. He broke the kiss. "How long?" He whispers, looking at you with his blue eyes. "How long what?"

"How long have you been hiding your feelings for me?". Your eyes widen at his question, your heart skips a beat. "What?" You whisper sharply. How the fuck did he know?!

"Don't you dare play dumb with me right now" he growls lowly, his hot breath hitting your face. He was so close, you could kiss him again, but you knew he wouldn't let you unless you answered his question. "A while" you whisper, looking away. Your ears were burning. You knew the feelings developed throughout the time but you weren't going to ruin the friendship you had with him, just because you were falling for him.

He lowered his head to your ear. "And you didn't tell me why?" He asks, his lips brushing against your earlobe. "I didn't want to destroy our friendship".

"Friends don't kiss" he says in a low voice, lowering his lips to your neck, kissing it gently. "Friends don't get horny at the possibility of fucking their friends. And most certainly, friends don't do this" his hips press to your hips and it almost makes you moan at how hard he was.

"Daryl, I..." You say quietly but he puts his hand on your mouth, preventing you from speaking. "Do you want this?" He whispers. "Shake or nod"

You nod once and gently, looking into his eyes, hoping that it will convey all the emotions you want him to know and you buckle your hips towards him. He almost smiles, his lips forming a tiny smirk. His hands roam all over you body, including your hardened nipples, your stomach, sides and thighs. He wasn't shy about it. It almost felt like he was waiting a long time for this to happen, and now that it is happening, he needs to make sure it's real.

His hands finally find your belt buckle. Pop. He undoes the belt with a swift, silent motion and he works on the button and zipper. It takes no time at all and he slips his hand into your trousers. He finds his way to your clit through your wet panties and he begins to rub it in slow, deliberate circles. The motion makes you moan, but he squeezes the hand on your face more firmly. "You gotta stay quiet" he whispers, looking through the branch to make sure the walkers didn't hear it.

Easier said than done, you thought to yourself but you nodded. He kept the pressure on your clit, rubbing a little harder now. He could see you squirming and your eyes widening, your breath through your nose hitting his fingers that were wrapped around your pretty little mouth. His touch was sending jolts of pleasure throughout your body. You kept pushing yourself more and more against his fingers, wanting more friction. He could tell. His mouth found your neck, leaving sloppy kisses and soft bites, his quickened breath hitting your skin which made you even wetter.

He then pulls your underwear to the side and lets his hand wander down, sticking one of his finger inside of you. All of it combined made your eyes roll back. His hand presses to your mouth harder, making sure you don't make any noise. He slowly pumped his finger in and out, the pace almost excruciating. You could feel your body aching for more, so your hips started to grind against his hand in your panties. You could hear him grunt quietly. He adds another finger inside of you which makes you suck the air in sharply. He pumped them faster now and your body shivered.

You try to mumble his name through his hand and it worked because he looks up from your neck and his eyes lock with yours, his movements inside you stills. He takes his hand off your mouth. "What?" He whispers. "I need you... Please..." You whisper back and he almost groans.

He removes his fingers out of you and pulls your trousers and panties down to your knees. Before you know it, he flips you around so you're on your side again, your back pressed against his chest. You feel him mess around with his belt and zipper. You decide to grind on him a little, making him suck the air in. "Stop that" he growls in a low tone, his hands pulling his trousers and boxers down just enough to let his cock out. You can feel it smacking your ass gently once it bounces out the boxers and it makes your breath shudder.

You arch your back and press your ass to him. He doesn't waste a damn minute. One of his hands creep under you and grab onto your throat, and the other one leads his cock inside of you, dipping into you slowly. "Fuck..." He utters quietly. "You're so fucking tight".

His words almost made you moan again, but his hand claps on your throat a little harder, preventing you from making a noise. "Quiet" he commands quietly. He bottoms out and hips start to move slowly, both you adjust to the feeling. Your eyes close, focusing solely on the feeling of his cock, inside of you.

His mouth finds the back of your neck and leaves a trail of kisses and bites on it. He begins to move faster, finding the rhythm of it. His breath is quick and shuddered, and he sometimes grunts quietly into your ear. "You feel so damn good" he breathes out, his hand finds his way under your top and he squeezes your nipple in between his fingers, which makes you jolt, your hips moving back, making him thrust into you sharply. He growls at the feeling.

"You like that?" He whispers. You nod. He lets go of your throat and pushes your chin towards him and he kisses you, his mouth moving slowly and passionately, a stark contrast to his hips snapping hard and fast, thrusting into you relentlessly now.

You moan almost inaudibly into his mouth which only spurs him even more. His fingers keep playing with your nipples as he pounds into you, leaving you both panting. "Daryl... I'm gonna..." I say softly. "You're gonna what?" He growls into your ear which makes your pussy clench around him. He knew that you're close but he needed you to say it out loud. "I'm gonna... I'm coming..."

You breath out and you grasp his hand that was playing with your nipples, reaching your climax. Your eyes roll back and you bite down on your lip to keep the moans in. Your body shakes against him, while he's chasing his own orgasm, pounding into you. A few moments later he pulls out of you and cums on your ass, the warm liquid spills everywhere. "Shit... Fuck..." He keeps breathing out, before his head lands on your shoulder. Both of you pant, trying to regain composure.

Fucking hell.

"You okay?" he asks quietly, his head never leaving your shoulder. Okay? Okay!? You were more than okay. You just had sex with a man that you secretly yearned for for many months. "Yeah, I'm okay. Are you?" you ask.

"I'm fucking fantastic" he whispers, kissing your shoulder gently, before he puts his head up and looks at you. His features seemed to be a bit more relaxed, almost softer. His blue eyes lock into yours, while he reaches towards your face and brushes his thumb across your cheek. "Good" you say quietly.

You lay there for awhile, trying to calm your breathing, while you watched the horde almost gone. You didn't realise how long you were stuck in this den, but judging by the fact that the big group of walkers have almost passed by, you could tell it was a good chunk of time. "If you weren't hiding your feelings for so long, we could've been having sex every single time we were out on a supply run" he mumbles into your ear which makes your cheeks red and your mind floods with all the places you could've fucked him. You bite your lip and sigh deeply. "I wasn't going to risk our friendship... I didn't even realize that you..." You stop and look at him unsure. "That I liked you too?" He finishes for you and your heart skips a beat. You nod gently. He pulls you closer to him, wrapping his arm around your waist. "You know I'm not good at feelings shit" he mumbles into your neck, kissing it gently. His hot breath makes you shiver.

"I know, but I wouldn't forgive myself if I'd lose you because of my feelings" you say closing your eyes. "I was okay with never telling you and keeping you as a friend rather than telling you and potentially losing you". He gently nodded in understanding.

"You'll never lose me" he says.

He kept on kissing your neck a little bit more urgently now. He grabbed your waist a little harder and pulled you flush against him, you could feel his cock getting hard again and it made you smirk.

"Again?" You ask him quietly, turning to look at him. He looks at you with an almost invisible smile.

"Again" he murmurs and clashes your lips together.

#the walking dead daryl #daryl dixon #daryl x female reader #twd daryl #daryl fanfiction #smut #daryl dixion x reader #twd smut #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon smut #the walking dead daryl dixon #the walking dead #daryl dixon imagine

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