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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago

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LITTLE DEATHS (IX)

NAVIGATION || RAVISHING ALLURE MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER X

PAIRING: Nikto x F!Reader (Soulmate AU)

WORDCOUNT: 3.9k

WARNINGS: Angst, stalking behavior, very dark/toxic modeling standards/expectations, body image issues, food issues, scar descriptions, mentions of past intimacy, hurt/comfort, soft!Nikto, etc. (Series 18+)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You wake up the next morning in the silk sheets of your hotel bedroom, in nothing but an oversized shirt and underwear. Your mind is sluggish and, between flashes of electricity up your thighs, the entire night comes back in slow images as you groan into the pillow.

A quick rush of a coat to cover ripped laces, the scream of sirens, Nikto arguing with authorities before you’re both released.

It was a play of luck that you explained away the snapped wrist as a simple instance of Nikto being some white knight—he’d kept you safe, you’d said. The host had been forcing himself on you; it could be seen on the cameras. Paired with his service record and a call from your investigators, they’d let you go without any further trouble.

Today, the small headache from the champagne was only a dull sting in the back of your skull; you hadn’t been drunk—hadn’t gotten to that point, anyway.

Eyes starting at the far wall, a heat builds and builds on your face as the minutes pass.

“Did we really…” you trail off in a whisper, hand coming up to your face as you roll onto your back and stifle a loud sound of exasperation, lips mouthing out, “Fuck.”

Nikto had left you shaking on his fingers in a damn storage room. Twice.

Your lips thin, legs caught in the sheets. You weren’t even awake enough to understand the potential consequences—not only the intimate encounter, but the repercussions of not sleeping with Oriel would be swift and fierce.

Never mind the broken bone.

The sharp knife of that moment is a deadly thing, it digs deep into you until your eyes are watering. That desperation in the storage room—the things you said were true. You’d silenced your phone last night because you knew the reaction would be instant; undeniable. Even now, you shift over and slide your hand over it on the side table, only to pause and take a deep breath before turning it on.

A sudden barrage of missed calls and texts slam into your ears before you slap the device back down and turn it off with fast fingers.

Your eyes close tightly, flopping back down and covering your eyes. It was instinctual the way your heart started running from you—the fear seeping back in.

They’re going to fire me, you think, hands shaking. They’re going to throw me out.

Through the heavy understanding, through the ideas you have to try and salvage this, you pause only when something makes your nose twitch. Hesitating, your hands slip from your face slowly, eyelids peeling back a millimeter at a time. Staring at the gray ceiling, your brows pull back to their normal resting point as your face goes blank.

What is that? Palms going to the mattress, you sit up slowly and sniff. It was dough, maybe? Something sweet and toasted.

Shifting, your feet connect with the cold floor, and you stand with a grunt, a tiny ache in the middle of your abdomen that makes your face heat and your hands rub at the back of your neck. A part of you was nervous more about what was outside of your door than what was in your phone—Nikto.

How would this go? Would he ignore the entire thing? Ignore you?

“He doesn’t run from things,” you mutter aloud, walking and stepping on the torn laces of your dress at the foot of the bed. Your hands grasp one of the bags in your room, not caring to check the rest of the contents before you sift through and drag out a pair of dark sweatpants.

Moving into them, the waistband is large, just as the legs are, but you’re too preoccupied to understand the way you’ve slipped into Nikto’s pants before you’re already at the door. Hands shaking over the handle, your fingers run the smooth metal before you shake your head and huff.

Walking out, the scent of fresh pancakes makes itself known as you blink at the scene in front of you. Trying to understand if you were actually awake, or if this was still some dream in the airyness of your mind. The stuttering of your heart feels real.

Nikto was shirtless.

Shirtless, making breakfast.

Your mouth is somewhat agape as you stare, struck down to a statue in the doorway as your eyelids flutter. Again, that bear tattoo writhes as the expansive muscle moves and twitches with work—Nikto’s front facing the pan that he works a spatula through. All of the ingredients are left on the counter, bought by him or already in the luxurious cabinets for your pleasure, you don’t know; flour, milk, among the others. Jams and honey.

You don’t know how long you stand there, fighting between your desire to run your hands over his bare skin and the respectful sense you know you need to keep. It’s enough time for him to slap one more scoop of dough into the sizzling pan and pass the done pancake to the side where one more rests, steaming.

You hadn’t thought your words meant that much to him.

Clearing your throat in shock, you see him glance over his shoulder swiftly. A bead of silence.

“Come. Eat,” is what he says—no emotion heard in the voice, though you didn’t expect anything less. His pale eyes dart down you, and after a small break in the air, he chuckles. “Thief, yes?”

“What?” Your brows crease. “I didn’t…” You look down and pause. It was fairly obvious that the pants didn’t belong to you. Your lips flattened, and your eyes flinched closed in embarrassment. “I must have gone through the wrong bag.”

Turning back, you hear a call from the Russian before you can disappear like a dog with its tail between its legs.

“I don’t wear them. I do not mind.” There's low electricity in the air. He doesn’t know how to go about this either.

Sighing, you shrug and nod, shifting back so you can walk to the kitchen counter and stuff your hands into your pockets. Leaning your hip to the corner, you fight the clamminess of your hands. The sweatpants pool at your ankles as your mouth opens.

“Pancakes?” You ask lowly, glancing at him.

He’s still in that balaclava, and his cargos are loose around his hips before being stuffed into dark boots that you’d never see him without.

“With jam,” Nikto grunts. “You will like them.”

You push out a tiny laugh. “I’ve had pancakes before, Nikto. I’m pretty sure most people have.”

“How would we know, hm?” Pale eyes narrow on yours, but it isn’t hostile. Nikto grumbles, moving the pan before he motions with a finger. “Those are done.”

You glance over at the pile and sigh, taking the plate with the two already done pancakes on it and padding over to grab the jam. Your eyes move down the label to find out which one it exactly is—gray isn’t exactly a large help—and open the sealed top with a tiny release of pressure.

Getting fat.

You pause, one hand holding the top and the other the glass jar; eyes blank, you stare at the plate with a steadily sinking heart. Clearing your throat, you move a hand and twist the top back on, placing the jam down and shifting to grab a fork instead.

“Do you think that the investigators will call with any updates—”

“Eat,” Nikto interrupts firmly from behind, back to back.

Your face is tight, fingers tapping the counter. There’s a tension of something between you two, but you can’t name it. Not yet. But it’s there, like a blade cutting through a corset, it’s there. It’s what got you out of bed today, it’s what got Nikto to push himself to sleep shirtless for the first time in years. The possibility of…something. Unseen, you nod and take the food—moving away from the kitchen and sitting down on the couch, you carefully dig into breakfast and shift a dry forkful into your mouth.

Eyes closed, your head slightly bows forward as you chew.

It was no secret that you were quiet today, and Nikto didn’t have to be as sharp-eyed as he was to notice. By now you would have teased him about the effort for the food, or even spoken about the mattress you slept on, Nikto had hypothesized. But it was just…silent.

Nothing.

In the kitchen, the Russian’s brows crease, lips pulling. He huffs, rolling his shoulders as his bones crack.

He’d been up last night—for a long while—doing all the things he said he would until he had the clarity to understand hours later, that everything was a million times more complicated now that he knew the truth about this ‘trip’.

And he had to know all of it.

Nikto, truth be told, was a bit quiet himself; more than he usually was. He continued with breakfast in silence, listening to the sound of your fork tapping the plate as his brain fought with itself. The Russian’s mind told him to act like that hadn’t happened between the two of you—it was unprofessional, wrong down to the core. You were his charge, and he hadn’t hesitated for more than a second before he’d ripped open your dress and played with you like you were his own.

Why? Why was he so enamored by you? It didn’t make any sense. No one had ever mattered this much to him—it was absurd.

But whatever dead part of his heart that had come back to beat again said that ignoring this would be cruel to you; if all others in your life were, that was one thing he would not be. At least to you.

Nikto grunts under his breath and grabs his plate, stacked with six pancakes, before turning, grasping the jam with firm fingers, and heaping it on top. Blinking across to you, he pauses at your closed eyes—the dip of your head. Not only was there still food on your plate but it was set down on the coffee table, resting stationary.

You couldn’t possibly be done already.

“Not good?” He asks, voice gruff.

You shake your head. “No, Nikto, they were perfect. I’m just not that hungry this morning.” Pale blue eyes stare, blinking slowly.

He didn’t know what to do.

Looking down at his breakfast, Nikto clenches his jaw. Grasping his plate and his utensil he walks over before he sits beside you, sinking the cushions and shuffling aside the blanket he’d had last night. When you look over at him, confused, he doesn’t utter a word, before his free hand sneaks up and hooks under his balaclava.

It’s a moment, he knows, a moment of hesitation that instinctually tightens his muscles, stopping him with a shake of his fingers. And then, as he usually does, he forces himself through it.

Slipping the fabric up to his nose, you stare openly at the strong jaw that comes to light, as well as the unspoken horror of scars. It isn’t even a minute before the Russian leans back with a grunt, and spreads his feet until his knee knocks yours before he shoves the first of his pancakes into his mouth with muffled chewing.

Eyes darting away, you stare at your own feet tightly.

Silence settles.

“You don’t have to do that,” you whisper.

“Да,” his words are grumbled, even if you can’t see it, his face is beginning to burn. Heavy memories coming back. He won’t stay long like this—he can’t. It hurts. “I do not.”

You sigh, hands moving up to rub along your face, cupping at it until all the whiteness of the hotel is hidden from your gaze. It wasn’t hard to feel him passing glances.

Shaking your head, your hands fall, and you move to mirror his own position—back leaning and legs kicking out, except yours go to rest on the table next to your plate.

“I think a part of me didn’t expect you to actually be here,” you say, not looking at him. “I’m not used to having to deal with…” your lips halt themselves, looking for words. “After.”

No one ever stayed. Not anyone that mattered.

Nikto’s clinking fork pauses, stuttering on its course. He licks his lips, tasting the sweetness of jam. He continues to watch you as you continue on beside him, bare skin brushing—those large biceps caressing yours.

“I don’t want things to be awkward. If you can’t do your job without something feeling off anymore, I would understand if you wanted to leave. I’m sure my mother can get another operator from KorTac to take me on, she already had two from before that might still be available. I know last night was a lot. I don’t want you to feel…pressured, I guess. That was never my intention.”

He lets you finish, sensing you need to get some things off of your chest. When had he become so soft to this? To you? He was losing his backbone here—losing that edge that kept him…him.

Or was that ever him in the first place?

“I will not leave,” Nikto speaks slowly, lips moving every scar that lives there. “We are not ‘feeling off’. No one will look after you like us, and so no one will take our place until this stalker is either taken away or in ground.”

“And the awkward part?” You ask, glancing over, getting caught by long cuts and fissures.

“We will deal,” Nikto’s chest rumbles, and you believe falling asleep to that sound would stop your nightmares altogether. “There are worse things than that, yes?”

You huff a laugh. “I guess.” A second later, you lightly bump your elbow into his side. “You’re better at this kind of stuff than I’d thought you’d be.”

Dark brows furrow.

“I am speaking truth. Nothing more.”

“Mhm,” your lips carefully peel in a tiny smile. “Sure, Big Guy.”

Nikto scoffs, rolling his eyes before he takes down more of his breakfast. He glances over to see you peeking at his old insignia tattoo—the one on his shoulder. It was strange to him, how you took so much more interest in his ink than the scars; he’d been thinking about it last night.

It was against your nature to not ask about them, and yet…you had. No one had ever not asked about the scars. But, hm, Nikto’s eyes shimmer, it only made his chest swell when you chose not to. As if you understood the sanctity of them—the importance.

That was something that he just wasn’t ready to speak about yet.

“You like it?” He speaks.

You blink quickly, looking back up in an instant. There was no use hiding it.

“What is it?” You ask him, glancing back down at the tattoo and tilting your head at it.

The image was of some sort of crest—a two-headed bird wearing crowns; holding items in their claws with a, smaller, image set into the middle. A man on horseback, spearing a dragon.

“FSB crest.” Nikto’s voice goes lower, more under the breath than previously. “Reminder of service.”

“Oh,” you mutter. “What are the colors?”

He hums. “Red, gold. Little silver. Mine is just black ink, though. Did not go back for second session.”

“I’ve thought of getting tattoos before,” you confess, moving out a slow hand to trace the outline in his flesh. You notice him still somewhat at your dragging nails, lips parting softly. “AMA would never go for it, but I’ve still wondered what it would be like.”

Nikto licks his lips, letting you feel him as he side-eyes you. His muscles soften as your heat seeps in, tingling blood under his epidermis.

“What kind?”

“A bird, I suppose,” you hum. “I think they’re lovely.”

Nikto tilts his head, but the questions can no longer sit in the back of his throat. “You continue to be their pawn. Why? I can make no sense of it, Seraph. You speak of yourself as if you are nothing.”

“I might not be anymore after last night,” you whisper, dropping your hand from Nikto’s flesh. Your eyes close; a heavy sigh on your lips. “I know it isn’t healthy, I know that. I know it’s wrong, and vile, and disgusting—but you have to hear me out when I tell you that the only thing I have is my looks—”

“That is a lie.” Nikto snarls, glaring over at your face as his plate hits the table. “Why do you say that? You are smart, Seraph, anyone with sense can see it. You are kind; good.” The Russian curses, repeating. “You are good.”

“AMA needs investments,” your voice is muffled. “I’m not the only one that has to do things like this. I’m not special.”

The man grinds out, “It does not matter if a million go through it—you are here with us. It is our job to keep you safe now. It is special to me.”

“From a stalker,” you argue, body starting to go rigid at the intensity of the conversation. You didn’t like talking about this.

“From any threat,” Nikto barks. Face close to yours and his hard, crooked nose brushing skin. “Is this not a threat to you?”

You stare into his eyes, and it’s an expression he can’t recall you having. It makes him nervous—nervous for you in a way that was similar to when you’d disappeared from his sight. It was dead. Dead how his eyes would get on the bad days—when he couldn’t differentiate between himself and his body; what had really happened and what hadn’t.

You were exhausted, and you didn’t even see it.

“You need sleep,” he drops the hard tone immediately, eyes snapping over your face in fast jerks. “You need rest. Now.”

“I’m not tired.” Pale eyes bore through you, and you relent softly. “...I don’t want any more nightmares.” Your lips open and close. “They scare me because I can’t remember them, but I know something bad happened.”

Fingers come up and brush your cheek, leaving your lips flattening before the tears can make themselves known to him.

There was just so much going on.

The stalker, now AMA and potential repercussions? You thought if you had one thing, you had your job—trials and exploitations all, but you still had that. You still had something. Now you might not even have a home to go back to.

Bare arms shift, looping around you. With a roaming of skin on skin, Nikto bundles you in his arms and lifts, legs taking your weight. He moves you as your head rests burrowed into his neck—forehead to the long cut that loops around the side of his throat to the front. That one really made you shiver; the thought of it—the error he must have felt. Without thinking, you lay a tiny kiss on the skin, and Nikto’s legs only stutter once before he pushes open the bedroom door.

Setting you down on the bed, he mumbles into your scalp before he pulls away, moving his balaclava back down with firm fingers. “What can I do?”

Your body shifts, clothed in borrowed pants and the weight of a million realities. You wished you could see the color of his eyes—those creased things that watch you so closely; the marring of the different shades of his scars.

You wished you could pick up the courage to ask him if you were his soulmate, at the very least. The hunch was dimming, taking a backburner the longer it stayed in your mind. Surely he would say something by now? Right? With how he was, you expected Nikto to be reserved about it, but now…

Now your hope was drowning itself.

You wished you weren’t damaged goods.

“Sit with me?” Your weak voice quivers, but no tears fall.

Nikto stares, head tilting slowly as his now re-hidden face is a mystery. “Да. Yes.” It’s so tiny that the words are almost lost.

So, he shifts into bed after placing his boots neatly near the bedframe, letting you scoot over as he grasps the end of the covers and moves to have his back connected to the headboard. With a large pull, the fabric slides over your body and levels at his abdomen, your head slightly above it, until scarred fingers grasp and push it down a bit.

For a bit, a heavy silence settles between the two of you. You don’t touch, you don’t talk. It’s the sound of beating hearts and rabid minds, thinking over thoughts that only serve to make things worse the longer their dark fingers are around both of your throats.

“Come,” Nikto murmurs.

Your body instantly connects to his, hands grasping into his pants and head nuzzling his thigh. His grip finds your head, running itself over it until it ends at your shoulder and pulls you tighter to him.

“Sleep. No nightmares, hm?” He glances down, trying to push a fractured joke. “We will scare them off.”

Your broken chuckle makes his chest tighten, and pale eyes avoid looking down at you for fear he’ll realize how addictive it is to have your flesh on his—the sensation of touch that was becoming a need. When was the last time he’d been relied on like this? Never, he thinks.

To be protection in the barest sense.

A boy keeping away nightmares for a girl that lays in his lap.

No weapons, no orders. Only hands and sagging bodies, and a care that was infecting him like venom—injected into his bloodstream by white fangs. It leveled out, coating him. He wanted you to be safe, and it wasn’t just because it was his job. It was because he couldn’t imagine seeing you in pain like this—in a slow death of the mind until the body rotted away with it.

It wasn’t right to him, and he couldn’t describe it as anything other than blasphemy. Sacrilege. Nikto didn’t have the words; maybe he never would. All that he knew was that he would kill millions to never see you harmed. He would rot in the deepest part of hell willingly, go through darkness and fire—but none of it could touch you. Not a wisp of flame; not an idea of torture.

You were good.

“Why do you care so much,” you whisper before you fall asleep, curious even as your eyelids are fighting to stay down.

Nikto has not taken his eyes off you. He was always honest, but this truth scares him more than any other. The nagging in the back of his skull.

“I…do not know.”

You were too good for this.

So even when he gets that text message on his phone when you’re fully sleeping, even when he shifts it out of his pocket and sees the unknown number, Nikto is not going to wake you. He’s not going to shake your head as he massages the scar that lives there, his thumb taking in the familiar bumps and dips—the trauma it caused so similar to his own.

Nikto will not tell you of the sinking in his chest.

The guard accepts that little death in his heart when he sees that image of the both of you in the storage room. He accepts the little death when he sees your tightly closed eyes from over his own shoulder, hands digging into his one-size-too-small suit. The obvious actions taking place that are still seared into his mind hours later.

He accepts the little death of the caption, all in Russian but never more vile in his mind.

‘I know what you did.’

And he accepts that this stranger's death will not be so little if he ever gets his hands on him.

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annievrse · 1 year ago

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bewitched

satoru x reader —ᡣ𐭩 blurb summary: gojo has a camera during the holidays

"smile!" satoru yelled, pointing the purple polaroid camera at megumi, nobara, and maki, who sat on the couch. tinsel and holiday decorations were scattered haphazardly around gojo's apartment, colours clashing and—wait, was that a mochi plush with a santa hat?

"rack off," megumi mumbled, bringing his elbow up to cover his profile after the flash half-blinded him, the two girls next to him laughing. he checked his lap to ensure his hot chocolate hadn't spilt from his quick movement and rolled his eyes when there was a small stain.

"you're washing my uniform, gojo," megumi grumbled, furrowing his eyebrows.

but, all satoru did was giggle and watch the photo slowly emerge from the top of the camera. immediately, he began waving the photo erratically, checking every few seconds to see if the photo had developed.

"gojo!" shoko called from next to you, shaking her head while you covered your mouth with your palm at his impatience. "quit shaking it so hard."

"ugh!" he threw his head back and flopped his arms by his sides. "it takes so long!"

but, satoru's eyes found yours, mischief clouding his vision as he stalked towards you, photo and camera still in his hands.

you plucked the square out of his hand when he stopped in front of you, eyes crinkling at the image. maki and nobara had thrown their arms over each other's shoulders to pose, leaving megumi looking directly at the lens, his eyes wide in shock.

"love this photo, megs," you said. "it's going straight on the fridge."

the girls on the couch cheered while megumi sighed and stood, placing his mug on the table. "i'm going to find yuuji and yuuta."

satoru mimicked him, his hands placed on his hips, and glanced at the younger boy leaving the living room and slinking down the hallway.

"alright!" satoru exclaimed, turning back to you and shoko.

"you," he said, pointing his finger at you. "are coming with me—" he pointed to himself "—to the kitchen so you can show me how you make those incredible drinks."

you rolled your eyes playfully and stood from your spot at the dining table. shoko raised too, bringing her shoulder bag to her front to dig around in it, pulling out a box of cigarettes and a lighter.

"i'm going to the balcony." satoru nodded at shoko's statement and grabbed your hand.

music flowed through the apartment but it was muffled when you entered the kitchen, satoru's hand still wrapped tightly around your own.

placing the camera on the counter, satoru glided around the space, plucking mugs from cupboards and gathering chocolate and milk from their respective places.

"that's everything, right?" he asked, turning back to you, who held the camera in your palms.

your eyes were bright as you stepped closer to him, the camera raised before your lover. "i doubt you've taken any photos of yourself tonight."

satoru gave you a dazed smile and shrugged. "i mean, there may be a secret stash..." he winked, causing an involuntary smile to crack your lips apart.

"you're shameless."

"you say that like you don't know," satoru muttered cheekily, his gaze never wavering from your face.

"say cheese," you teased, ignoring the heat overtaking your body and pressing the shutter button. a sharp click and flash was the only sound before satoru snatched the device from your hands. the undeveloped photo of him hung between his fingers as he removed it and nearly threw it on the bench.

"your turn," his cheeks were pink and the corners of his lips were upturned. the glint in his eye was one you'd seen many times before—the sheer adoration and unprecedented lovestruck glimmer that made your chest hurt.

the external sounds of the apartment dimmed—maki, nobara, and now, toge playing mario kart on the nintendo switch; yuuji, megumi, and yuuta playing dj and laughing down the hallway; and nanami and ijichi conversing on the other couch, away from the students.

it was an almost perfect night, grief and longing for what could have been sat like a stone in many of your friend's stomaches, including your own. yet, it was the happiest you'd all been in a while, nobody causing havoc, nobody threatening the lives of your friends—your family.

you realised too late that you'd been staring at satoru while you got lost in your thoughts, the camera in his grip a reminder that he had taken a photo of you.

though, the polaroid photo that sat idly between his fingers had his full, undivided attention.

you covered your face with your hands, suddenly embarrassed. "don't show me. it's terrible isn't it?"

satoru peered at you through his lashes, his eyes glassy. "you're exquisite," he whispered, taking a step toward you.

to try and calm your racing heart and warming cheeks, you turned to your right to slide the photo of him into your palm. and when you turned it over, you were struck with some sort of realisation.

satoru's azure eyes met yours and he smiled softly, knowing what you were registering too.

"at the same time, okay?" he said, his grin growing with each passing second. you nodded, positioning the photo upside down next to the one he held.

"3, 2, 1." and as the photos flipped, you gasped a laugh.

on the two separate polaroids was each of you, vastly different in looks, standing on different sides of the kitchen. the only feature the same was the position of your eyes—neither looking at the lens but instead at each other behind the camera.

"we're cute, aren't we?" satoru laughs, taking the thin cardboard from you and walking to the fridge to place a sparkly pink heart-shaped magnet over the top of his, and an old homemade magnet of one of megumi's demon dogs over yours.

it'd hit you then, what he meant to you, and he could tell—he always could. taking his place back next to you, satoru's fingers tickled your waist.

and in the midst of a holiday party, you and satoru stood in a kitchen. two hearts that had long fused as one, beat as one in a terrifying world where tomorrow wasn't promised.

and despite the heartfelt and realistic moment, you obviously had to break it.

"honestly," you blurted, nudging his shoulder. "i'm cuter."

"no!" satoru turned to you quickly, his eyes wide. "i'm the cutest! you're the gorgeousest!"

your forehead creased at the word as the sliding door of the balcony clicked shut.

"you're as cute as a cow's ass, gojo!"

happy holidays!

#jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #satoru x reader #gojo satoru #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #satoru gojo imagine #gojo satoru x you #jjk imagines #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #— ann writes!

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twilghtkoo · 2 years ago

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hi can i make a req for haechan? like he sees his significant other’s graduation picture, whether accidentally or oc sent/showed it to him is up to you (i took my grad photos last week, this is me asking to satisfy my guilty pleasure) thank you so much 🙏

pairings. haechan x reader

genre. just pure fluff :(

notes. hehehe i love this one sm, thank u for the req anon <3 this is also not proofread i literally wrote this so fast bc i wanted it out asap

you had just received your cap and gown photos from your school, immediately looking through the gallery of the numerous shots you had taken. the photographer really didn't let you see the photos when you were there, but you're grateful you're at least able to pick out your favorite ones for the graduation.

it's a couple more months til you are finally able to close off on your education and spending most nights crying in front of your textbooks and finally start a new chapter with your degree. being internally grateful for haechan, who's been beside you on those tearful nights, becoming some sort of pillar in your life. you are sure if he wasn't with you, you'd be a college drop out.

you were satisfied with a few of them, saving them to your camera roll and sending the selective to your boyfriend.

haechan is with the dreamies, having some schedules overseas. your text being sent to him as he's eating a late dinner in renjun's hotel room. he digs his phone out of his pockets, a muffled scream coming out of his nose, his mouth full with the bite of food he took seconds ago. his legs are bouncing, excitingly as he struggles to unlock his phone.

"what is it?" renjun asks, quirking an eyebrow.

"yn texted me." he nods knowingly, going back to food.

haechan finally manages to open his phone, tapping on your messages.

bubs *4 attachments*

bubs it's almost over T^T

thankfully, haechan swallowed his food because he abruptly stands up from his chair, holding up the phone so close to his face with a sulky face.

"gosh, you scared me. . what?" renjun sighs, holding a hand to his chest as he glares at his friend.

haechan just cooes at his phone with a pained expression, his knees becoming weak at the images displayed on his phone. "my baby, oh, my heart." haechan let his legs give out, dropping to his knees as he holds his phone close to his chest.

renjun just eyes him for a minute before taking the phone from his hand. "what is it?" he questions.

his friend is next to coo, "aww, she looks so cute in her cap and gown." renjun compliments your photos.

"yeah, i knowwww. . ." haechan prolongs, still on the floor, renjun thinks he's crying at this point, able to make out sniffles.

haechan knows the distress and tears that your studies have caused you, he's been there through most of them. the amount of times you've questioned your self-worth and abilities to succeed. yet, he believed in you and pulled you out of those dark, self- deprecating thoughts.

haechan takes his phone back and stares at those photos of you a bit longer, he notices how your smile doesn't reach to your ears, like how he makes you smile. but it's still genuine and holds such an awarding and dazzling look that exceeds accomplishment.

my love im so fucking proud of u baby

my love you look so pretty im literally in tears

my love im framing these

renjun i think u broke haechan bestie

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willalove75 · 1 year ago

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The Estate | Lady Dimitrescu x Fem!oc Chapter 4

Summary: Friday is finally here, concluding your first week of work! You get to know Alcina a little better and meet up with a "friend" after work for some much needed stress relief.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI

Tags: fluff

I'll add more tags as needed!

Notes: Chapter 4! So sorry this is a little late! Hope you all enjoy💕

Gif source

Finally, it was Friday. Even though it's only your third day of work you were definitely looking forward to the weekend. The day seemed to be flying by pretty quickly and you were grateful for that. You had seen Alcina throughout the day, each time she saw you she politely said "hello" and flashed you her gorgeous smile.

After getting your hands on one of the new wines that will be debuting in the summer, you and Bela decided to take some photos of it for social media. Alcina wandered in and stayed for a little bit to watch. When you were done she asked to see some of the pictures and you happily obliged. She stood close to you - maybe a little too close, but her presence was comforting regardless - and looked over your shoulder at your phone. As you inhaled your nose filled with her perfume. It wasn't overly fragrant but still floral. You couldn't pinpoint what the scent was composed of but you thought you smelled a hint of rosewater and a few other notes you couldn't quite put your finger on. Whatever it was, it was heavenly and probably expensive. She grumbled to herself and you looked over to see her shaking her head and pulling her reading glasses down to her nose. Her short hair, that was straightened today and not in its natural curls, cascaded across her face before she tucked a few strands behind her ear with a perfectly manicured finger.

Her blue-grey eyes flicked over and met yours and you swore your heart started hammering in your chest. After exchanging a smile she looked back down at your phone and you showed her the images. Alcina pointed out which ones were her favorites and you made sure to favorite the ones she liked best so you would remember.

As you were scrolling through the images you took you were going backwards through your camera roll. When you came to the first image as you were showing Alcina and Bela, you went back one picture too far to one of you and Emma in your parents living room.

"Oh, too far." You feel your cheeks redden and go to scroll back but you're interrupted by Bela.

"Oh my god who is that?!" Bela asks.

"That's my daughter, Emma." You say proudly.

"Stop she's so cute!"

"Aw, thanks. She's amazing."

"How old is she?"

"She's three and a half."

"Oh what a fun age!" Bela says and you look over at her.

"Bela is going to school for childhood education, she wants to be a preschool teacher." Alcina clarifies.

"Oh! That's great!"

"Is she in preschool?" Bela asks.

"No, not yet. She'll be going in the fall."

"So is she in daycare?"

"She starts Tuesday, she'll be going twice a week. There was a bit of a waitlist so my in laws have been watching her this week. When she's not in daycare she'll rotate between them and my parents."

"I can't believe how green her eyes are and how curly her hair is!" Bela says.

"She looks just like you." Alcina says, looking at the picture. The corners of her lip just barely curling into a smile.

"Seriously! She's like your little twin. Her dad must be either pissed or thrilled she looks so much like you. Is she a daddy's girl or a mommy's girl?"

You know that Bela was just being friendly, but her question stabbed you in the heart. Tears threaten to sting eyes as you try and brush off the feeling of sadness creeping its way into your chest.

"Actually, I'm a single mom." You say, trying your best to not make the situation awkward. "So by default, she's a mommy's girl."

Alcina tries to give Bela a subtle look but you notice it. Bela looks like a deer in headlights before trying to dig herself out.

"Oh, well, mom's a single mom too!" She says with a nervous laugh. "She raised the three of us all by herself for the most part. Even when she technically wasn't a single mom she still kinda was."

Alcina's eyes narrow at her daughter whose pale cheeks begin to turn a bright shade of pink.

"She is beautiful." Alcina says, trying to divert the awkward energy that took over the conversation. "When we have our summer staff barbeque you should bring her. Most of the staff with young children bring them, it's a wonderful family event." She says coolly.

"Yeah, sure. She would love that. She's a little social butterfly."

"Wonderful." Alcina says with a smile before glancing at the watch on her wrist. "I must be off. The pictures are fantastic, great work both of you."

Alcina walks out of the room and Bela starts talking about the barbeque and how there's games, food, and activities for the kids. When the two of you walk into the tasting room you spot Daniela walking in.

"Hi Katie!" She says with a big smile.

"Hi Daniela, how was school?"

"It was so boring and I had a math test. Talk about a shit Friday." She grumbles. "What were you two talking about? I heard something about games."

The three of you begin to head back towards the offices.

"Bela was telling me about the summer barbeque."

"Oh! It's SO much fun! I love that. I think I like that more than the annual holiday party."

"Mom told Katie she should bring her daughter and-"

"You have a daughter?!" Daniela asks.

"I do."

"Do you have pictures?! How old is she?!"

"Yes, I do. And she's three and a half." You say with a chuckle.

Pulling out your phone once more, you show Daniela a few photos of Emma and she squeals in delight.

"SHE'S SO CUTE! Oh my god look at her little squishy face!"

You can't help but laugh at Daniela's excitement. She really is a sweet kid with a ton of energy. It came as a bit of a surprise to learn that Alcina was a single mother as well - especially to three girls. Being a single mom to one kid is hard enough. It amazes you that she was able to raise such good kids - for the most part, the jury is still out on Cassandra if you were being honest - and run a business. The complexity of Alcina Dimitrescu continues to grow and the more it grows, the more she seems to fascinate you.

After you head back into your office you decide to shoot your current friends-with-benefits guy a text.

Will you be around tonight?

Depends, what time?

5:30?

Sure, let me just make sure I have someone to watch my daughter.

You send Michelle a text to see if she can watch Emma a little later tonight, lying and telling her a few friends invited you out for drinks after work. She responds saying it was no problem and says she hopes you have fun.

6 works.

Okay, meet me at my apartment.

See you later.

The end of the day comes quickly and before you know it you're walking into Alcina's office to see if she needs you to do anything before you leave and to say goodbye.

"Ah, Kathleen." She says as she takes her glasses off and places them on her desk, giving you her full attention. "Leaving for the day?"

"Yeah, unless you need me to do something before I go?"

"No, not at all. Although I did want to speak with you, if you have a moment?"

"Oh, yeah, absolutely." You say.

Claiming one of the chairs in front of her desk, you drop your bag to the ground and meet her gaze. Her blue-grey eyes really are stunning, they contrast beautifully with her dark hair and compliment her fair complexion.

"I just wanted to let you know that you've done a wonderful job this week. I am aware that you didn't work a full week but I am still impressed with your work ethic and what you've already brought to the table."

"Oh, thank you so much." You're a little surprised by her compliment but grateful that she can already see how dedicated you are. "I really, really appreciate hearing that."

"Of course. I always do my best to let my staff know when they're excelling. It's always been my business model as a boss to compliment more often than I critique."

The corner of her lip curls into a small smile and she looks away for a moment before looking back at you. As she looks back you notice a change in her demeanor. Something softer, almost more intimate than she was two seconds ago. It makes your head spin at how quickly she's able to shift gears on a dime.

"I also wanted to thank you for being so kind to my daughters, especially towards Daniela. I know she can be a handful but she seems to have taken a liking to you. She can be quite the distraction and there have been a few occasions where other employees have not taken as kindly to her as you have. So as the owner of this establishment, I appreciate your understanding and your professionalism. And as a mother," she says in a softer voice before pursing her lips. "thank you for being so kind to my children. Even Cassandra. Who I am aware has been less than welcoming - we have had multiple conversations regarding it. Please know it has nothing to do with you, she can be quite difficult and doesn't adapt well to change."

She lets out a sigh and for the first time you see a flash of Alcina Dimitrescu, the mother. Not your boss, not the owner and founder of the estate, but you see the single parent who is trying her best to juggle three young girls; one with an attitude problem, one with endless energy and one who's starting to go off on her own; as well as running a business and all of the other things that go along with life.

"Of course." You say with a smile. "They're all really good kids, you did a wonderful job raising them."

By the way her ears perk up at your words you can tell that she isn't told that very often. There's a softness in her eyes you haven't seen before and you can't help but smile in response. For a brief second you feel a charge in the air that almost immediately dissipates.

As quickly as her walls came down, they were back up. She seemed to have caught herself and she adjusts her posture in her chair. Alcina Dimitrescu the boss is back. It's not that Alcina runs her business with fear, but she doesn't keep it a secret that she holds the power. You've only been here three days but it's evident that everyone knows not to cross her or get on her bad side. You wonder if anyone else on her staff - outside of her children - have ever seen that softer side of her you got a glance at.

"Thank you." She says as she clears her throat. "That was all, is there anything you need from me?"

"Uh, nope."

"Well then, have a nice weekend Kathleen."

"You too. See you on Monday."

She gives you a nod as she puts her glasses back on and turns towards her computer screen. Grabbing your bag, you sling it over your shoulder and head towards the tasting room doors.

"Bye Katie!!" You hear Daniela call.

Looking over, you see her standing at a table in the middle of taking the patrons orders.

"Bye Daniela, have a nice weekend!"

She gives you a big wave as the people sitting at the table she's waiting give her a look. You can't help but chuckle to yourself as you make your way to the doors.

"Have a good weekend Cassandra." You say.

She responds with an eyeroll and you walk out of the building unfazed.

Since you weren't meeting up with your friend-with-benefits right away you decided to run home and jump in the shower before heading over to his place.

Pulling into the modest apartment complex you keep your eyes peeled for a spot. Driving through here makes you grateful that you live with Margie. It's not that it's in a bad area or that it's a crappy complex, it's just jam packed with people. You've only ever been here twice before but both times it was a nightmare trying to find a spot. At least at Margie's house you have a driveway you can park in so you don't have to worry about walking across the complex with a toddler - especially when the weather is bad.

Luckily you were able to find a spot close to the apartment.

Walking up the steps, you knock on the door and you hear footsteps on the other side. A few seconds later the door opens, revealing a taller man with sandy colored hair.

"Hey, how are you?" He asks as you walk in.

"I'm good, and you?"

"Not bad."

The man, who you know as Eric, was about 6 feet tall, if you had to guess he was in his late 30s and despite his small apartment, he was well off. The two of you really don't know anything about each other, you met on a website where people are looking for steady hookups, no strings attached, but wanted to keep their lives private. You both decided to even use fake names with each other. The only thing you do know about him is that he was married but him and his wife were currently separated, which is why he lives in this apartment. You also know he has a daughter as well, but she's in high school.

As he leads you into the bedroom you feel your anxiety crawling up higher and higher. You do your best to push it aside and take a deep breath as he closes the door.

The next hour and a half goes by in a blur and by 7:30pm you're heading back to your car to go pick up Emma.

The time you spend with Eric is really nothing but a way to relieve some stress and tension. Truthfully, he's kind of annoys you, but he's not terrible in bed, good enough to relieve any sexual tension you've had pent up at least - and he's using you for the same reasons you're using him so it's a fair trade.

The post-sex shame starts to settle in as you drive and you try to keep yourself from getting too wrapped up in it. There's absolutely nothing wrong with what you're doing - something you have to remind yourself of often. Yet the guilt still eats away at you every time. You pull out the heart shaped necklace from under your shirt and trace the shape with your thumb as you drive, trying to ground yourself.

"It's okay. It's been two years, there's nothing wrong with being with someone else. There's nothing wrong with what you're doing." You reassure yourself as you drive.

Finally arriving at your in-laws house, you walk in just as they're sitting down for dinner.

"Katie! Perfect timing!" Michelle says as she gives you a hug.

"MOMMY!!" Emma yells as she runs into your arms.

"Hi baby!" You say as you lift her and give her a kiss on the cheek.

"Come, sit and eat." Michelle says.

"Oh, thank you! I promise I didn't time this so I'd get a free meal out of you." You say with a laugh.

"Yeah right." Richard says with a wink before he nudges you with his elbow.

"How was your first week of work?"

"It went really well." You say as you put Emma in her booster seat. "I really like it. My boss is great and so far the people are really nice. The CFO seems a little phony, but I really like everyone else."

"That's wonderful!" Michelle says. "Are there other people there your age?"

"Yeah, we had an all-hands meeting yesterday and there definitely seem to be people around my age. Honestly I've spent more time with my boss and her daughters than anyone else."

"Her daughters?"

"Yeah, she has three girls. One is about twenty, the other probably nineteen and the youngest has to be about 16."

"Do they work there?" Richard asks.

"Yeah. The oldest one, Bela, she was the one doing the social media channels before I was there. But she's starting her last year of college in the fall so I'm taking that over from her; she's been showing me what she was doing before I came. The middle one, Cassandra, she works the bar and is by far the least friendly of the three. Then the youngest is Daniela. She's a really sweet kid with a ton of energy. Obviously she's still in high school but she waits tables after school."

"Wow, seems like a real family business."

"Yeah, or just a way for her to be able to wrangle her kids by keeping them there." You say with a laugh.

"What about her husband?" Michelle asks.

"She's not married, I don't know if she ever was honestly. But Bela had told me today that she was a single parent."

"A single parent, to three young girls? And she runs a business?"

"I know, I have no idea how she did it. Raising this one alone is hard enough." You say playfully as you tickle Emma and she squeals with laughter.

"Stop mommy! That tickles!"

By 8pm, Alcina and the girls have finished having dinner together - something she tries to do with them at least once a week. Soon after the dishes are clean and the kitchen is put back together. She settles into her home office and types away on her keyboard, her perfectly manicured nails clacking away on the keys. Grabbing her wine glass, she leans back in her chair and takes a deep sip, trying to unwind from the week while she finishes up some last-minute things.

"Mamă," Daniela says as she walks into Alcina's office.

"Yes, bug?"

"Do you want to watch a movie with us?"

"What movie?"

"If you join us we'll let you pick!"

"As long as it isn't one of those boring black and white movies!" Cassandra yells from down the hall.

Alcina playfully rolls her eyes and looks at her watch.

"Okay, give me fifteen minutes. Let me finish up here and I'll be right down."

"YAY!" Daniela shouts. "I'll get the snacks and popcorn!"

She runs out of the office and Alcina chuckles to herself and dives back into finish up her work.

As promised, fifteen minutes later Alcina makes her way down the stairs. The girls are sitting on the couch, Bela and Daniela on the four-seater, Cassandra on the loveseat to the left. The girls left a spot in the middle of the four-seater for Alcina. She takes her spot between Bela and Daniela, who pulls the blanket across Alcina's lap and cuddles into her. Putting her arm around her youngest, she scrolls through the movie options on the television and clicks on Singing in the Rain.

"Ugh, not a musical!" Cassandra whines.

"You said I could pick whichever movie I wanted - as long as it wasn't one of those terribly boring black and white movies." Alcina responds.

"You could have picked something more modern!"

"Cassandra you loved this movie when you were little." Alcina says.

"Yeah, when I was like seven."

"Cass, shush! Unlike you I actually like and want to watch this movie." Bela says. Cassandra rolls her eyes at her sister.

Bela and Daniela begin singing along to some of the songs while Alcina happily hums alongside them. As the movie continues Bela and Daniela sing louder and Alcina eventually joins in. The song Good Morning starts and the three of them are singing and dancing in their seats. When Gene Kelly, Debbie Reynolds and Donald O'Conner grab the raincoats off of the coatrack in the scene Daniela imitates their dances with the blanket, causing Bela and Alcina to laugh. As the dance number continues Bela and Daniela get up and dance to their own choreography they made up to the song when they were kids.

"Come on Cassie!" Daniela says, grabbing Cassandra's arm. Cassandra pulls back but Daniela's grip is firm. After a moment, Cassandra huffs in defeat and gets up and dances with her sisters. After a minute of acting like she doesn't want to be there, a smile grows on her face and she laughs and dances with Bela and Daniela.

Alcina watches her girls with pride as they dance around the living room. It warms her heart seeing Cassandra, who's usually withdrawn and isolated, dancing and laughing with her sisters. It's not a side that Alcina sees of her middle daughter much anymore, but when she does get to see it, she cherishes the moment.

The number ends and the three girls collapse back into their seats.

"You did wonderful my darlings." Alcina says, kissing Daniela and Bela on the head and blowing a kiss at Cassandra. Daniela lays her head on her mother's lap and Alcina runs her fingers through her daughters strawberry red hair.

When Singing in the Rain comes on, the four women sing along to the song - sans-dance this time. As the movie ends, Daniela is fast asleep in her mother's lap, lightly snoring.

"Daniela, haide dragostea mea, trebuie să te ridici." Alcina says as she strokes her hair. (Daniela, come on my love, you have to get up.)

"Mamă, du-mă în pat." She replies, half asleep. (Mom, carry me to bed.)

"Nu Nu. Ești prea mare pentru asta. Dar te voi pune înăuntru dacă te trezești." (No, no. You're too big for that. But I will tuck you in if you get up.)

Daniela grumbles before lifting herself off of her mother's lap. Alcina wraps her arm around Daniela's shoulder and leads her upstairs into her bedroom.

Daniela crawls into her large four-poster bed. Alcina pulls the covers over her and sits at the edge of the bed, running her fingers through her hair.

"Noapte bună. Vise plăcute." She says, placing a kiss on top of Daniela's head. (Goodnight bug. Sweet dreams.)

"Noapte buna mama. Te iubesc." Daniela mumbles. (Goodnight mom. I love you.)

"Si eu te iubesc draga." (I love you too darling.)

Daniela quickly falls asleep and Alcina continues to run her fingers through her hair and looks down at her sleeping daughter.

"Când naiba ai crescut atât de repede?" She whispers to herself. (When on earth did you grow up so quickly?)

Alcina kisses Daniela's head once more and leaves the bedroom, closing the door behind her. Heading back downstairs, Cassandra and Bela are cleaning up the bowls the snacks were in.

"Thank you for the help, girls." Alcina says.

"Of course mom." Bela says.

"I am going to bed. Don't stay up too late." Alcina says before kissing both girls on the head and making her way back upstairs.

"Goodnight mom!" Bela says.

"Night." Cassandra says.

Alcina lays in bed thinking of her girls. It feels like it was just yesterday they came into her life. It's hard for her to accept that so much time has past. It's hard for her to believe that Daniela, her baby, is going to be sixteen soon. She still remembers holding her in her arms for the very first time. She was so tiny, so small and fragile. Alcina swore to always protect her, to protect all of her girls and she hopes she did a good job of keeping her promise. It's been seventeen years since the girls first came into her life. Alcina reflects on how terrified she was back then, the weight of being responsible for two, soon to be three, young girls weighed heavily on her shoulders and she was barely 30. Of course she made some mistakes, what parent doesn't? But regardless of how the girls came to her, she's grateful to have been able to give them a stable, loving home. For the most part, at least. There were things she'd done in the past that she would change if she could, but overall, she's proud of the women her girls were becoming.

You were awoken by the baby monitor in the middle of the night, Emma was crying. Looking at the clock you saw that it was 2am. You let her cry it out in hopes she would fall back asleep, but when she started calling out for you, you gave up and went into her room.

"Emma, baby, what's the matter?" You said as you came into her room.

"Mommy, I had a nightmare." Emma says through tears.

"Oh sweetie, it's okay. Come here." You sit on the edge of the bed and pull her into your lap and hug her. Running your fingers through her curls, you shush her and rock her until her sobbing slows. "There you go, it's okay. How about we try and go back to sleep?"

You move to lay Emma back down but she clings to you for dear life.

"No mommy, I want you." She says and starts crying again.

"Oh, love. It's okay, it's okay. Do you want to sleep in mommy's bed tonight?"

"Yeah." Emma says

"Okay, come on."

You pick up Emma and bring her into your bedroom. Laying down with her in your arms, you run your fingers through her hair and try to stay awake until she falls asleep. When she doesn't fall asleep, you rub your finger up and down the bridge of her nose, over one of her eyebrows and back, down and up her nose again, and over the other eyebrow. You repeat this pattern for a few minutes as Emma's eyes grow heavier and heavier before she finally gives in to sleep. Even though you know you should be going to sleep, you can't help but stay awake and look at the little girl in your arms. Your whole world. Without realizing it, your eyes start to close and you too drift off back into a deep sleep.

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valscigarette · 2 months ago

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Say That I Tried (Drugstore AU)

Most of Vox’s customers have an exaggerated sense of self-importance, forcing him to toe the line between sycophantic and contemptuous to get through each transaction. He’s used to it by now. Good at it, even, given the way he’s turned the derelict corner market into one of the busiest drug stores in Pentagram City and his boss has gifted him a glossy manager’s name tag despite having no co-workers on site to manage. For once, he seems to be coming up in the world, and greatness is so close he can taste it. It’ll all be worth it in a couple years.

He knows this store inside and out, regulars included. A new customer always catches his eye, especially one as pretty as the doll that waltzes in not twenty minutes after Valentino’s nightly run, who smiles at Vox with straight white teeth over her bulky camera. Vox knows she’s a pap immediately. Enough of them chase after Val for him to know. But paparazzi need drugs too, and they’re usually not bright enough to notice an upcharge, so Vox draws up his most charming smile.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he purrs, leaning onto the counter. “Did the sun rise early, or is it just your smile?”

She rolls her eyes and snorts. “Take it easy, cowboy.”

Okay, flattery isn’t the way to go- Vox can adjust to that, though he wouldn’t mind taking her out or out back if he can win her over. He’s the drug guy and addicts give it up easily to their suppliers. Still smiling, Vox straightens up and fixes the collar of his polo.

“My apologies, darling.” She doesn’t look like she believes him, but he doesn’t need her to in order to make the sale. “What can I get for you today?”

She walks all the way to the counter before she answers, close enough for Vox to count the eyelashes sewn into her smooth plastic face. Oh, she’s beautiful. She’s one of the most stunning sinners Vox has ever laid eyes on. He activates his new VCR–an upgrade he splurged for with his first post-promotion paycheck–to burn her image permanently into his system.

“Do you have a few minutes to chat, actually?” she asks. “I’ve got a business idea I think you’d be interested in.”

Vox raises an eyebrow. If she’s not a customer, then she’s definitely trouble. He should’ve known that; she wouldn’t be sexy if she wasn’t going to fuck him over. “You wanna talk to the owner.”

“No, I wanna talk to you,” she says, her eyes darting down to his nametag, “Vox. Unless you want to manage a drugstore for the rest of eternity, in which case, I’ll be on my way.”

He sighs.

“You have until a paying customer walks in.”

“Great!” she chirps, spinning on her heel to go turn off the neon OPEN sign in the window and ignoring the squeal of Vox’s irritated feedback.

Until now, only Valentino has had the audacity to close the store when he wants undivided attention, and it’s only because this customer is as ridiculously hot as Val that Vox doesn’t launch himself over the counter to throttle her for it.

“About your customers…” she continues, “they include, like, every famous face in the entertainment district, right?”

Vox nods. “We cater to high-end clientele these days.”

It’s mostly dancers. Val has talked all his fellow strippers into buying here, and with the best known whores darkening his doorstep, other sinners creeping toward the limelight have been quick to follow. Sometimes, Vox thinks a little too long about how much he owes his success to Valentino, and winds up jerking his frustrations into the bathtub while staring at magazine spreads of Val in skimpy outfits, until he once more convinces himself he could have done it alone.

“I thought so. I’ve got these pictures, you see,” the customer tells him, dropping her camera to hang from its neck strap as she digs a print from her coat pocket. “There’s this moth demon, Valentino, and you wouldn’t believe how much people will pay for a photo of him beaten bloody.”

She produces a print taken through the shop window, Val perfectly framed between a poster for crystal meth and the windowpane with all the bruises of a rough shift in glorious technicolor. Vox reaches for it without thinking, but she’s faster, whipping it out of reach and smirking triumphantly at his desperation.

“Ah-ah-ah,” she teases. The photo disappears into her pocket once more, and Vox grips the counter so tightly, the linoleum cracks under his hands. “You can have it when you agree to my idea.”

A growling chuckle rumbles through Vox’s speakers but his mouth doesn’t move until he asks, “What’s stopping me from taking it, princess?”

“I won’t give you a cut of the profit,” she answers simply.

With a final glance at the dark sign in the window, Vox gives up and nods for her to come behind the counter. “We’ll talk in the office,” he relents. “What was your name?”

“Velvette.”

She follows him to the cramped room he calls an office, but functionally serves as a broom closet. A few weeks ago, he shoved an end table and two overturned wastebaskets to have somewhere to sit while he tends Val’s worse injuries. It’s not much, but it’s his, and he turns away from Velvette to fix the security camera in the corner while she drinks in the sight.

“This is sad, Vox,” she sniffs.

“I wasn’t expecting company,” he mutters, “You didn’t exactly call ahead.” Once satisfied with the camera, he turns back around to see Velvette leaning against the wall, staring distastefully at the bloodstains and loose screws on the floor. “It’s the only privacy we’re getting at the store other than in the bathroom.”

“Right. Well, I noticed that Valentino comes in here, like, every day.”

Vox nods, unease creeping up his spine despite his confidence he could take Velvette down if necessary. “He’s one of my regulars.”

“And,” she drawls, “he spends at least an hour in your store. Funny enough, you never spend that long at his clubs.”

When she pulls more photos from her coat, Vox grabs her wrist and steals them faster than she can react. He won’t be made a fool of twice. But as he sorts through the prints, he notices the edges of his own body in frame too many times to be pure coincidence. Val has told Vox not to worry, that no one would notice the way their orbits have begun to revolve around one another, but Vox should’ve known better than to trust that idiot.

To his surprise, Velvette doesn’t even try to recapture the prints; she must have backups elsewhere. Instead, she says, “I could make good money off these, but intimate photos would sell better. You wouldn’t even have to be in frame.”

Vox’s fingers tighten around the photos, crumpling them and smearing the ink.

“I…” He glances at Val’s blurry face in one the top image. “I need a couple days to think about it.”

#hazbin hotel #staticdoll #vox hazbin hotel #velvette hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfic #staticdoll fic #usershady #shadydecember #usershadyfic #shadyteacollabs #drugstore!au

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hanasnx · 1 year ago

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Kinktober: House of Amateurs - S1E27

MINORS DNI 18+

SUMMARY: october 27th | behind the scenes | the daring interviewer, zena daren, isn’t afraid to get her hands dirty and advertise krayt house’s first full-length pornographic series. the new frontier of breaking through this industry’s stigma is a challenge she’s up to face. joined by any member of the cast that’ll lend their mouth to the microphone, zena wants to know the answers to questions the people are too afraid to ask. WC: 0.6k | CHARACTERS: anakin skywalker, zena daren (oc) WARNINGS: no reader | adult film au | spoilers: october 22nd | mentioned: sexual content, adult film industry

KRAYT HOUSE M.LIST | NAVI | INBOX | @KRAYTHOUSE

“I’m dying to know,” Zena begins, clutching onto the edge of her clipboard as she engages with her on-screen counter part. Anakin Skywalker regards her with a glance and a nod as he takes a sip of his provided and Krayt House labelled water. “Episode twenty-two, what’s the story there?” In case— for whatever reason— it could be sensitive subject as a condition, Zena lets him fill in the gaps.

“Oh, sexsomnia?” he confirms, rather bored as he places as bottle aside his chair leg. “Don’t believe everything you see, it is a set. No, I wasn’t asleep.”

“But…” she presses, eyeing him through her brows and he concedes.

“I have it.”

“How did you discover something like that?” There’s a genuine interest bubbling within Zena that Anakin tilts his head at. It’s easy to oblige her, he has no reason to hide it.

“When I was, uh,” He gestures vaguely with his hand. “making videos with someone I used to see. You know, home stuff— before I got started in all this. She was letting me crash at her place.” By the sound of his voice, his past isn’t a story he likes to dig up, but for some reason he’s relaying it for Zena, glancing into the camera lens every so often. “I was kinda living out of my car at the time.”

Zena didn’t realize that aspect, a delicate line to her inner brow as he listens intently.

“Anyway, sharing a bed it’s a little hard to hide. Didn’t know I had it. It comes from… stress? I think.” Anakin wipes a hand down his face. “She started making me sleep on the couch.”

It’s time for a subject change. Especially because Zena’s getting too hung up on the girl Anakin used to see. Part of her itched to deep search his history to see if she can uncover any of these old home videos he’s referring to. “Is this our last interview together, Mr. Skywalker?”

He stretches his lips into a thin line, etching dimples as he nods with feigned solemnity. “That it is, Ms. Daren. You gonna miss me?”

“Oh, yes. I always miss my most difficult interviewees. I mean, you just now started opening up to me and it’s time to move on.” Her words are sincere, even if she’s pulling his leg— it’s worth it, because she managed to pull a genuine grin from him. An exceedingly rare, and dazzling image. She’s sure she’ll think about it for months.

“Oh, I am?” he questions in a taunt, raising his brows as a low chuckle escapes him. “Well,” he checks himself, adjusting in his seat as he crosses his arms. “you’ve got my information, you know where to find me if you need anything from me.”

“Exclusivity?” Zena dares for the long-shot, a suggestive and hopeful countenance replacing her features as she side-eyes him. If only she could lock him down as a steady client, she’d have rights not many could get. He’s already a social recluse in this industry, and if he likes her as much as she thinks he does, maybe she’ll get lucky.

He moistens his lips, rolling his tongue between them as he keeps that intense gaze on hers. “I can’t promise that,” he chides playfully, “I have a career, and you,” he points to the camera leisurely, “have an audience.”

“Not like that, Mr. Skywalker. My goodness, you are a flirt.”

“Don’t play that game with me, I know you let me do it because you think it keeps me coming back.”

“Will you?”

He hums inquiringly.

“Keep coming back?”

A pause.

“We’ll see, Zena.”

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lion-buddy · 1 year ago

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show me the fucked up lala plush 🔫🔫🔫🔫

i had to dig through my camera roll to find the one image i took of her but here she is

i found her tucked in the back of a stores storage rack bc i was determined to find one precure item and succeeded surprisingly lol, star twinkle none the less

#honestly she might still be there ill have to check next time #for context theres a japanese mall my friends and i like to go to when i visit them #and i always try my best to find items based on my latest interests hehe #i found lala during the last trip :]#i also managed to find one of the twins art books and some 20th anniversary prints but they were all so expensive </3 #also some of the plastic toys but they were also tucked in the back. i would kill to find yunis pen lol. maybe next time #finding precure mech in america is an ordeal #ask #PC

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mad-c1oud · 10 months ago

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why is your profile picture gordon ? i’ve always wondered lol

was wondering when I’d have to explain myself!!!

tbh, it’s not a crazy fun story: the image i use for ao3 I’ve had saved on my phone for years, so when I started writing, I was digging through my camera roll for something good to change my icon to and it just fit too well

as for my tumblr, there’s a subreddit called r/shittyfoodporn that is my literal favorite thing ever. Like makes me laugh so hard that I get lightheaded. their sub icon is this gordon of disgust so when I made a tumblr, I decided to stick with the theme and used that pic bc I loved it so much

now I am gordon

#I’ve dug my grave it seems #they’re such funny photos I love them #go look at the subreddit and sort by top if you haven’t it’s a riot #thank youuuuuuuuuuu anon #mad box

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strawberrytorte · 4 years ago

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describe yourself only using pictures from your current camera roll/gallery

tagged by @artificialllovers !! 🌸💕

tagging: @birdbride @cqcophobiq @tangys-beachy-pajimmyjams @roxanga @snorkmaidxn ✨💖

#honestly this was so much fun #i really had to dig through my camera roll tho #most of the images on my phone are anime men djshsjh #comphet has me in a chokehold girls 💔

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wildemaven · 2 years ago

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Weekends with Frankie: Flea Market Finds

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Reader

Words: 1,002

Rating: T

Warnings: mentions of food; let me know if I missed anything

A/N: Getting this out later than I wanted to, this sickness hit me hard. This isn’t beta’s and kind of feels like a mess. My brain feels like mush, so I’m not even sure I like the ending, nothing was working as I was writing it— it is what it is now lol.

Weekends with Frankie Masterlist / Masterlist

The paper cup is warm, its contents fueling this chilly morning. You’re tucked into Frankie’s side, your favorite spot to reside on the weekends.

It’s the third Sunday of the month. Which means it’s not your slow serene kind of morning. But sometimes sacrifices equal greater rewards.

The house you share with Frankie is modest but homey.

When you moved in, while spacious, it was lacking a sense of style. No fault to Frankie, the man is simple in his ways and never put much thought into decorating his home.

That was years ago. Since then, with Frankie’s approval, you’d been able to meld both of your aesthetics to design your home— his warm earthy tones and your contemporary mid century modern.

But it was your shared appreciation for all things from decades before that gave character throughout the space. Items laced with history from those who had previously owned them.

Thrift stores and flea markets are where gravitate towards when purchasing things.

That’s where you find yourselves this morning. Bundled in layers, ready to browse through a treasure trove of collectibles and piles of rare nicknacks strewn out for pickers to rummage through.

You didn’t necessarily need any one item in particular. Through thrifting together, you’d both found a love for collecting.

Frankie’s collection of vinyls was impressive. He had a real knack for finding some old gems. His most prized one being Prince’s Purple Rain album. More often than not, it was streaming through your home.

He was diligent in his purchases. Each album had to hold meaning or reference a time in his life.

You found joy in collecting old film cameras. You’d grown up before digital was the norm, and pictures took close to a week before you were able to see them. You love the accessibility of your phone for quick snaps but there’s just something about the click and winding of a vintage camera body.

Frankie appreciated the photos around your home even more so because they were taken by you. Your sweet little Canon AE-1 was always stowed in your bag when leaving the house. It accompanied you on many camping trips to the mountains. It was always with in arms reach during barbecues with the guys— you made each of them photo books through out the years of birthdays, weddings and group vacations.

Today your find yourselves digging through a pile of well worn tshirts, Frankie’s second love. It’s stacks and stacks of band tees, the images so faded they’re just barely visible. They’re aged to perfection, the fabrics so buttery soft from years of wear and tear.

You’d gifted Frankie a vintage Fleetwood Mac shirt when you’d first got together. It had quickly become his favorite. Dark blue, faded in some areas now littered with holes all over it. The offer to replace had been brought up several times, but he refused stating it was just starting to break in and fit right— it makes the man happy.

Sifting through a few piles, he’d found a few winners— new to him Styx and Rolling Stone tees.

Frankie and you have a love affair with books. Your home is filled with them, any and every subject. Early on in dating, Frankie had mentioned his aversion for reading when he joined the army. With all the studying he’d done over the years for flight school, he swore he’d never pick up a book again. But it was on his first deployment, the long days filled with trepidation and uncertainty, where he found books were the one thing that made his down time a little more tolerable. They kept his mind busy getting lost in the pages, the words leaving a lasting impression on him. Books were his escape.

You’d found him a first edition of East of Eden, the book that resolved his love for reading. He’d briefly mentioned it on your second date, a mere fact he’d given that you tucked away for a later time. When he’d unwrapped it 3 years later for Christmas, he was speechless. It was in perfect mint condition, every page crisp and pristine— but also he was so in awe that you’d remembered such a small thing he had mentioned years prior. It sits on his nightstand now, his watch and glasses placed on top neatly every night before climbing into bed, nestling himself against your sleeping frame.

It’s a small stack of books that you’ve both decided were worthy of a new shelf life in your home. Their pages grayed and worn with faintly legible marks littering the page margins, a glimpse into the thoughts of those who’d found wisdom among the lengthy chapters. Both of you looking forward to adding your own remarks in time.

Items tucked away in the trunk safely, as Frankie drives you home. The leather creaks as you shift forward to adjust the vents, the air ambient and warm. You relax back into the seat, sensation slowly coming back to your frozen fingers. Movement from the driver’s seat pulls you from thought. Frankie’s saying something, but the afternoon sun is filtering through the driver side window— you’re taken aback by his backlit presence.

The golden rays peeking through his over grown curls. That breathtaking dimple making an appearance as he reflects on the day, your life’s mission to make him smile just so you can witness it. He’s a force that makes life memorable and authentic.

You both haven’t moved since settling into your be couch when you arrived home, not before trading your warm layers for one of Frankie’s soft tees and leggings. Containers of pasta from your favorite Italian cafe are strewn out on the coffee table— stomachs satiated and nearly bursting. The low hum of the record player fills the room, Purple Rain. Frankie flips through one of the books from today, dog-earing pages as he reads.

The weekend nears its end with work life on the horizon. Your mind is already reeling with what’s in store for next weekend.

#frankie morales #Pedro pascal #triple frontier #wildemaven writes #weekends with frankie

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something-tofightfor · 3 years ago

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Locked Down Part 3: The Cast

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Female Reader

Word Count: 7,514

Rating: M. Language, mentions of COVID, some alcohol references, some sex talk / relationship talk, drug use

Summary: As the start of filming draws closer, you start getting to know more of the crew members - and one of the location scouts offers you an opportunity that you can’t refuse.

When you meet someone important to Dieter, does it make things better ... or worse?

And how will you deal with the fact that the longer you spend in his proximity, the less able to deny your attraction to the man you become?

Author’s note:

You are too kind to me. I’m so happy that you’ve all seemed to like this take on this man so far. With the new blurb we got today from Netflix, I know that I’m a little off with my characterization - but I’m going to keep things going down this path because I’ve already committed. So I guess this is a partial AU now.

Catch up on parts 1 and 2!

The day before the main cast was set to be released from isolation was a busy one for you.

You spent the entire morning silently walking through the already built sets and rooms, documenting their appearance with both video and still images, capturing the calm before the storm.

The green screen stage. The wardrobe rooms. Catering. Makeup and hair. Production.

They were all empty and waiting for the arrival of the actors the following day, everything labeled and fully stocked, missing only the talent. You were thorough - making tons of notes and using your phone to record voice memos for reference, and as you sat at one of the tables in the dining hall eating your lunch, you began to organize things, figuring that it would save you time later.

“Hey.” One of the location scouts called out your name, stopping on the other side of the table. “Guess what.”

“Hmm?” Swallowing the final bite of your sandwich, you eyed him. “I have no -” “We’re getting out of here for a little while.” What? Food forgotten, you pushed to your feet. “They need you to do the same thing at the soundstage, too. That’s an entirely separate crew of people, so you need to take a rapid test before -” You were already looping your camera bag strap over your shoulder, lifting the remains of your lunch off of the table to toss into the trash. “It’s just a van ride into the city.” “I don’t care.” You were elated, the thought of sitting in a vehicle and driving away from the hotel for an hour or two more exciting than anything had been in weeks. “I get to see things. I get to hear new sounds, and -” The man laughed, closing his eyes. “I do need to go back to my room and grab a jacket, if that’s alright. Should probably get a spare battery, too.” Telling you to meet him in the lobby in fifteen minutes, the location scout stepped away from the table and you hurried to the elevator, heart hammering in your chest.

The door to your room slammed behind you and you winced at the sound, letting your bag fall onto the mattress as you began to dig through the closet, searching for the jacket you hadn’t needed in weeks. As you moved, you were caught off guard by a loud knock on the wall - Dieter’s indication that he needed attention of some sort as quickly as possible. You knocked back - twice - and then made your way to the balcony, slipping the coat on as you moved.

“Everything ok? The door slammed.” He looked like he’d just woken up - his hair stood out from his head in a fluffy halo, his cheeks were covered in stubble and his outfit was what you would have called hobo chic; a pair of patterned pants and a threadbare t shirt in a color that straddled the line between purple and pink beneath the same green bathrobe he always wore. This man is worth millions of dollars and has two fucking Critics Choice Awards, a BAFTA and an Oscar, and he looks like he just rolled out of a frat house after a kegger. “Wait, why are you putting a coat on?” Dieter stepped closer, suddenly much more alert. “It’s warm here, and you’re done for the day.” Since when does he know my schedule?

“I…” You tried to keep your expression even, not wanting to rub it in, but you couldn’t, lips spreading into a wide grin. “I get to leave, Dieter. I get to go to the main soundstage today, before any of you get there, because -” “Fucking unfair.” He groaned, smashing the heel of his hand against his face and rubbing his eye. “You gotta bag big enough to sneak me out with you?”

“Maybe. But definitely not one big enough for that ego of yours to go, too.” He snorted at that, raising the middle finger on his free hand in a silent salute. “It’ll probably be really fast. And I have to take another test, plus wear a face shield and mask, so…” You were trying to downplay your excitement, but the truth was that you would have worn a full on Hazmat suit if it meant getting to leave the estate, even for a few minutes. “I’ll send you a picture from the car, if you want. What do you want to see? A bar? Restaurant? The set?

“Surprise me.” He was watching you closely, a hint of a smile in his eyes. “I’m happy for you, though. You’ve been here a fuckton longer than I have, so this has to be big for you.” Assuring him that it was, you took a long breath, eyes flicking to the door. “Go. I’m sure you’re on a schedule. I have to start trying shit on, wardrobe dumped a whole ass crate of clothes on me today, and I need to make sure stuff fits.”

“Gonna change out of that damn bathrobe for once, hmm?” He swore at you, shaking his head as he turned away, but instead of letting him go without saying anything else, you called after him. “Too bad I won’t be around to see it.”

“Have a good time in civilization, asshole,” was all you heard before he pulled the door shut behind him once again, leaving you standing on the balcony with a smile on your face.

It didn’t last long, though, as you realized that your fifteen minutes were close to being up - and it was time to go back to the lobby. And to freedom. Sort of.

—

You wouldn’t ever admit to anyone how close you’d come to crying the minute the hotel disappeared in the rearview mirror, the vehicle you were in turning down the road and toward the city center. The scout was the driver, and you were the only person in the shuttle - impractical, but necessary, according to the regulations.

He didn’t speak much on the drive, instead turning the radio up and leaving you to stare out the window at the passing scenery, vowing to never again take traffic or a lengthy commute for granted.

You’d been right about not needing to spend too much time in the large building, though. There were a few makeup and hair trailers in the parking lot, along with many of the same types of areas that were set up at the hotel. So you made quick work of them, sidestepping the final remaining set decorators and crew that were milling around, everyone in their PPE and focused on what they needed to do.

You were thankful that you’d gotten out of the hotel, but you were also thankful that you’d gotten to know the layout of the soundstage before it was filled with people, because you’d never been on one as large before. It was still going to take some getting used to, but it wouldn’t be a shock the first time you stepped foot onto it during the actual shoot. It’ll help me get my job done.

To your surprise, Dieter had sent over two different pictures while you were working, both of himself - but in different outfits. It’s his character wardrobe, you realized as you double tapped the first image to open it. He was wearing a red, puffy coat and a pair of dark jeans with hiking boots, one hand on his hip and the other holding his phone up. The other one was him in a plaid button up and a pair of khaki pants, the top fitting him well, the material’s pattern bringing out the color in his eyes.

You typed back a reply, pointing out that the jacket was going to be perfect for the winter months, and then snapped a quick picture of the set, telling him that after being in the hotel’s rooms for so long, it felt like an arena.

But neither of those messages were what you really wanted to say - that he looked good in both outfits, that it didn’t matter what he wore because he was always going to look great, that you couldn’t wait to see him in character and acting out the scenes he was assigned - or that it would have been more fun if he’d been there with you, making snide comments about the set decorations or the specific way that everything seemed to be meticulously organized only to go to shit the moment filming started. I’ve only known him for two weeks, and i’m not even sure we’re actually friends so that’s a no go.

He didn’t reply, and so you tucked your phone back into your pocket, looking around for the man you’d driven over with so that you could let him know you were ready to leave. Unfortunately, you saw him through a window, the man deep in conversation in one of the production offices with an older woman. He’s going to be there a while. To pass the time, you wandered outside and into the courtyard, which was one of the approved areas on the map you’d been handed.

What you found there stopped you in your tracks.

You’d grown accustomed to the catering options in the hotel - gourmet style meals and snacks read and waiting at regular meal times, finger foods and buffet items while people were working. But the people here would need something too, and this … this is… Without thinking about it, you pulled your phone back out and started recording, pointing the camera at your face. “I just walked out into the courtyard, and I hit the jackpot.” Tapping on the screen, you flipped the focus around, the two trucks that were parked on the curb coming into view. “A coffee cart and a food truck. This is like I walked straight into the mall.” You flipped the camera again after zooming in on the menus and grinned. “Junk food here I come.”

After hitting send - and making sure that the message went through - you stepped closer to the trucks, eyeing the menus and trying to convince yourself that you didn’t need to order one of everything. But before you could place your order, your phone rang, Dieter’s name on the screen. He’s gotta be so mad. You didn’t even have a chance to greet him properly after answering, and the man was speaking quickly into your ear, a plea in his voice. “I need coffee. Good coffee. And probably one of those crepes, too. And maybe a -”

You’d never heard him sound so excited about anything, and it was all you could do to keep from laughing, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “I’ll take pictures of the menus for you, how about that? And then you can tell me what to order. It’s a little bit of a drive back to the hotel, but -” “I don’t care. Get me an iced coffee then.” Assuring him that you would, you hung up quickly and snapped two pictures, sending them over. As you waited for his response, you inched closer, squinting your eyes as you contemplated your choices.

“Do you take debit cards? I don’t have much cash on me, so -” “Everything’s included.” The girl at the coffee truck shrugged her shoulders, using one hand to adjust her mask. “We’re here for all of the crew, so as long as you’re working on the set - there’s no charge.” Oh, shit.

“You’re going to get very used to seeing me, then.” You laughed again, eyes going back to the menu as your phone vibrated. “And I’m going to have kind of a large order right now, as long as that’s ok, because -” “Whatever you want.” The girl gestured with one hand. “That’s why we’re here.” Opening Dieter’s message, you scanned it and then turned your attention back to the employees, making your decision.

“Ok, so this is going to be to go, and it’s going to be two orders. The first one is …”

—

You knocked on Dieter’s door with the toe of one boot, both of your hands too full to use anything else. It was risky - to tempt the quarantine protocol the night before he was to be released, but you’d had no other option, except setting everything on the balcony wall. But I would have had to put everything down on the floor to unlock my door first, so… The man cracked the door open, peering around the edge of it and when he saw that it was you, he flung it wide open, moving to step into the hall and toward you, both hands outstretched. “No, dont.” Though your voice was muffled by the mask you wore, you spoke clearly. “You’ve got less than 18 hours left, Dieter. Don’t risk it.”

“But you’ve already had it, you can’t -” Stepping backwards again, you shook your head.

“I’m not gonna be the thing that derails this production. Either you stay in that room, or I take all of this somewhere else and -” Dutifully, he took a half step backwards, both hands held out, palms toward you. “The one without the straw is yours.” Holding out the cardboard carrier, you waited until he took it from you, the man’s fingertips just out of reach as he curled them around the cup. “I put the straw into the bag with the crepe. And there’s plastic utensils and napkins in there, too.”

“Is the burger in there? That’s what I can’t wait for, I’ve been thinking about it for the last hour and -” “It hasn’t even been an hour, Bravo. Relax.” The paper crinkled between your fingers as you stretched your arm out toward him again. “But it’s there, yes. Toppings exactly like you asked, fries extra crispy, but I requested that they leave it off the bun so it didn’t get soggy on the drive back, so there’s an extra container.” “That’s smart.” He was eyeing you carefully, surprise written all over his features. “I wouldn’t have thought of that.” “It’s a good thing I did.” Rattling the bag gently, the man blinked and returned his focus to you, taking that from your hands, too. But that time, his hand touched yours, fingers sliding along your knuckles for a brief moment as he grabbed for the bag. That’s not allowed. “Hope you like it. The girl at the coffee place said that they’re gonna be there the whole shoot along with regular catering, so …” “What did you get?” He frowned. “That’s a small bag.”

“It is.” You shrugged. “What’s the point if I can’t taste anything, you know?” His face fell even further, and you quickly continued, holding up your own cup. “I got a smoothie, and I can sort of taste that it’s tart, so that’s a step in the right direction.” “It’s pink. It shouldn’t be tart. I see a strawberry in there.”

“Strawberries are tart sometimes,” you mumbled, but Dieter only rolled his eyes. “And I got a crepe too. Chocolate spread. It’s fine. I can pretend that I can taste it.” Dieter shook his head sadly, and you gestured to the door of your room. “I should go. This still feels risky. I don’t want someone to walk up here and think I’m -”

“Thank you.” He swallowed hard, completely focused on you. “Sometimes you just need grease, you know? Can’t all be lean meat and vegetables.”

“You’re very welcome. But if you don’t fit in your wardrobe, I had nothing to do with it.” He laughed at that, winking at you. “Have a good night, Dieter.” He replied with the same, and with your newly free hand, you unlocked your door, glancing over to see that he was still standing in his, watching you. “What?” He didn’t speak, which gave you a few seconds to look at him - taking in the man’s outfit, which was finally different - a pair of dark pajama pants and a gray t shirt, the thin fabric clinging to him in a way that the worn out one never had. Stop. Stop it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Pushing away from the door frame, he nodded once. “I hope you’re ready for the circus.” You didn’t know how to respond, so you didn’t - stepping into your room once he’d disappeared into his. What does that even mean?

—

You had an earlier than usual call time, but the day was marked to be a short one - you only needed to be there to document part of the cast’s initial meeting, since the rest of their day would be spent getting to know each other, which you didn’t need to be present for. During that time, you’d be attending a class with the rest of the crew while it happened so that all of you could get on the same page when it came to set etiquette and expected COVID compliance protocols.

Actual filming wouldn’t begin for another few days, the remainder of that first week being used for wardrobe fittings, table reads and makeup tests, and you were supposed to flit between trailers and actors while that happened. It almost seemed too easy, but you were hesitant to say it out loud, because you knew that the moment you did, everything would change. Like clockwork. That’s what always happens.

Determined to enjoy the final night before the real work began you flopped onto your stomach on the bed, flipping through channels as you finished your smoothie - and then started on the crepe. Neither were quite tasteless, but the awareness of different flavors dissipated with every bite, and it discouraged you. What if it never comes back? What if I can never taste anything ever again? You thought back to the way that Dieter had given you his robe and told you to inhale only to smell nothing, the way you’d woken up the first morning and been unable to taste your orange juice or smell the grass beneath your balcony. That’d be miserable. I’d be miserable if this was permanent.

Convincing yourself that that wouldn’t be the case, you settled in on a rerun of one of your favorite sitcoms, finally letting your mind wander - and letting the reality of your situation sink in. I’m going to be working on a movie set for the next three months, and that whole time I’m going to share a wall with Dieter Bravo.

You grinned at the thought, reaching over to pick up your phone. In the two weeks he’d been your neighbor, you’d learned a lot about him from the conversations you’d had, but also from looking up interviews and general information. A lot of it was rumors - scandals that had been barely covered up like secret trips to rehab - but there was a lot of truth there, too.

What he did in his spare time was of no concern to you. You knew that his Hollywood lifestyle was likely much different than the one you led, and had no reason to judge him for it or any habits he’d developed throughout the years. But I just wonder what I’m in for when we can all move around this place freely… from him and the others.

As the only non-actor in the wing you were staying in, you figured that you’d hear and see your fair share of things during the shoot, which accounted for the NDAs that you’d had to sign, but that didn’t bother you, either. It’ll be fun. You had no allusions about the casual friendship you’d struck up with Dieter lasting post-isolation period. In fact, you figured that the longer things went on, the less you’d see him off set, despite being right next door. And that’s fine. I don’t expect anything else.

You scrolled through the man’s social media for a few minutes, hitting like on the two newest pictures he’d posted (one a throwback of filming Hunger Strike and the other a shot from his balcony looking out at the grounds of the hotel) and then - out of morbid curiosity - going to his ex Mara’s page. She was dating someone new, it looked like, and she seemed happy, but with only a few minutes of research, you found that her new boyfriend was about to release an album with his band. Figures.

No matter what the truth was - whether or not Dieter was truly egotistical or it was an act, or if the relationship had been casual on both ends or not, the emergence of the text messages on gossip websites out of nowhere had been less than he’d deserved. No one deserves that. You found them again quickly, feeling your anger grow as you read through the woman’s words on the screen.

No. It’s not serious. Only staying with him if he wins this award. Been my plan the whole time, he’s fucking insufferable - and old. Need someone my own age.

You didn’t know how he’d managed it, or if he’d had anything to do with it, but Mara had been dropped from her next movie shortly afterward, and with that, lost out on any chance of working with two major studios for the foreseeable future. No matter what the truth was, Dieter had clout within the industry, and that meant that there were people that were loyal to him and had no reason to promote someone that had been disloyal to him in such a public way. He’s had a long enough career, so it makes sense.

But what didn’t make sense was the man signing on for a role in a franchise like Cliff Beasts when he had no connection to any of the first movies or the other actors. That was something that you wanted to ask him about if you got the chance, and you wondered how candid he’d be with you when - and if - he answered. The TV still droning on in the background, you kept scrolling, getting lost in random websites and linked social media profiles.

When you decided to take a break to stretch your fingers out, you realized that it was after midnight. Oh shit. Groaning and then setting the phone down to sit up on the bed, you raised your arms above your head to stretch your back, too. I need to go to sleep. I have to be up early, and … fuck. “I just spent three hours going down the Dieter Bravo rabbit hole and there’s no fucking reason…” Covering your face with both hands, you steadied yourself with a few deep breaths.

There was a reason, though, even if you weren’t ready to admit it out loud. At that realization you climbed out of the bed and stepped toward the balcony, phone held in your hand. You weren’t expecting Dieter to be outside - instead, you were hoping that he wasn’t, because you were in no mood to talk to him. I let myself get too close, you admitted as you flipped through to your camera, backing up and against the railing so that the illuminated top of the building and some of the moonlit clouds were visible in the frame. Let him charm me, and now look at me … I’m scrolling through his Instagram at midnight like a fucking fangirl.

But it being so late also worked in your favor, and so you pushed your thoughts of Dieter and the way you felt about that situation to the side, instead focusing on what you could see in front of you. It was tradition for you - the night before starting a new job, you always took and posted a picture of your next assignment as a record of the start date. Even though you’d technically already started work, the following day was the first real day of production on Cliff Beasts 6, which meant it was time to take the photo. No reason to break from the norm. As you typed out a caption for the picture, you rolled your neck from side to side, chewing on your lower lip. You couldn’t give anything away, and so you chose something simple; the words ‘day one’ and the video camera emoji - and then posted.

You stood there for a few more minutes, eyes on the sky, and then took another deep breath, imagining the way that the cooling autumn air in the English countryside would smell. It’s just a job, and you’re going to have fun. Nodding to yourself, you headed back inside without looking anywhere but at your room. If you had, you would have seen Dieter standing on his own balcony, watching you with a lopsided smile on his face and both hands stuffed into the pockets of his bathrobe.

—

The next two days were a whirlwind, and you kept busy for far longer than you’d thought you would during each of them. The cast were cordial to you, especially after you were introduced by the production manager to the entire room, instructions given that while you weren’t going to interfere with the shoot, you had access to all of the public areas at all times - so they should get used to seeing you and at the same time, pretend you weren’t there for the most part.

As you made it through the morning, you heard Dieter talking with various people, catching snippets of his conversations while you moved through the room. You weren’t honing in on him, but he was loud, the way he spoke much different than the man you’d talked to for the previous two weeks.

You made it a point to spend a few minutes with each of the main cast on the first day, though. Carol and Krystal were overly cheerful, while Lauren was a little more laid back. Dustin, Howie and Sean were all nice, but you could tell that they were wary of you and what you’d be filming. That’s fine. I’ll make it work.

It was vanity, and you knew it. They all wanted to be sure that when you captured them on camera, you got the best parts of them, but that was fine. They’ll try hard for a couple weeks and then relax. None of them will be able to keep appearances up for an entire shoot.

You saved Dieter for last, not wanting to interrupt him while he talked to his new co-stars, and when it was his turn, the conversation you got shocked you - as did the way it was delivered. “So it’s day one of the pandemic shoot, Mr. Bravo.” He had his arms crossed over his chest, head cocked to one side. “What are you hoping for from this whole experience?”

“I’m hoping that I don’t have to work too hard.” He grinned, pushing the glasses up on his nose. “I’m hoping that I get along with the cast, even though I’ve never worked with any of ‘em before.” He leaned in, raising an eyebrow. “I’m also hoping that I can have some fun while I’m here now that I’m not trapped in my room anymore.” He used one hand to gesture around, lifting his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. “We’ll see. My hopes aren’t that high. But it should be a good time”

You talked for a few more minutes, and you were stunned that Dieter somehow managed to say nothing throughout the whole thing, the man cutting the interview short when Carol and Dustin walked by, the redhead calling out to him while waving him over. Dieter yelled back that he’d be there in a minute, thumbing in your direction as an explanation. Ouch. As you put the camera down, Dieter said your name softly, drawing your attention.

You watched the expression on his face changing, the mask slipping slightly for a few moments, and then he spoke again, the words so quiet that you almost didn’t hear them. “You’re doing great. I’m sorry.” Before you could reply, though, he’d turned away from you, chasing after the other two and immediately launching into conversation with Dustin, his hands gesturing wildly. What the fuck was that about?

You didn’t see him that night, even though you heard him get back to his room at around midnight, his door slamming shut and startling you from the short stack of papers you were leafing through as you typed notes into your computer. If he went outside, he didn’t make any noise, and by the time you were ready to lay down, he had his TV turned up, the sound carrying to your ears both through the wall and the slight opening in your balcony doors.

You ate breakfast in catering the following morning, wanting to be done before most of the cast and crew were in for the day, but just as you were getting up, Krystal walked in, phone in hand. She beelined it to you, a mask hanging over one ear, and even though you scrambled to put yours back on before she was too close, she waved you off. ‘No. We’re all fine. I just wanted to ask you a favor.” A favor? I don’t even know you. But you nodded, waiting to see what she’d ask. “Um, I’m pretty big on Tik Tok, so I’m always trying to find good stuff to film, right?”

“Yeah, that’s what I’ve heard.” She grinned, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Well if you get anything good of me, like when I’m on set or if I’m in the makeup trailer, can you let me know? I’m not really allowed to post much now, but it might be good for later, when we promote. And I thought -”

“I’m not using my phone to record on set.” You gestured to the camera bag that was on the table. “And all of the BTS stuff is supposed to be turned over to the people that will edit it down for the documentary.” She frowned. “But, yes. I watch things at night, just skimming, and if I find anything that I think would work, I can send it over, especially if it’s just a few seconds long.”

“Thank you!” She beamed at you, raising her eyebrows. “You probably think it’s really stupid but without my account I wouldn’t even be here now, and I just … gotta stay on brand, right?” Right. She thanked you again and then turned to walk toward the tables where the food was, typing furiously on her phone again. Speaking of staying on brand…

Dieter was walking into the dining room, a mask covering his mouth and nose as he spoke to a young woman wearing a face shield. You hadn’t ever seen her before, and figured that she was likely the assistant he’d mentioned, the man finally able to talk to her in person after two weeks. His eyes scanned the room and though they landed on you, he made no indication that he’d seen you, instead touching the woman’s arm and pointing at the food before pointing at his watch and then his body.

She gave him a good-natured smile and then the two of them turned away from you and toward the food, loading their plates. Finished with your own meal, you cleaned your place and then headed out of the dining room, trying to decide where the first location was that you’d shoot for the day. The wardrobe rooms were the obvious choice, and so you turned down one hallway, following signs.

It was an interesting process - watching the crew attempt to do their jobs while maintaining distance, and you lost count of the number of times one of the women tried to stick pins between her lips for safekeeping while she hemmed pants for Dustin and the sleeves of a shirt for Lauren.

The same was true in the hair and makeup areas, which were set up in one of the smaller ballrooms, separated with curtains between each station for more privacy and social distancing convenience. Things were less frantic there, even though there were more people - the stylists themselves and assistants, the cast filing in and out as it was their turn, people sticking Polaroid photos into binders and others in the corners of mirror frames for future reference.

You missed Dieter in both locations, deciding to go back onto the actual set and see what was going on there - and that’s where you found him, sitting at a small circular table with the same woman from earlier, his mask pushed down around his chin as he sipped on a cup of coffee. That time, he called your name, waving you over.

Shouldering your camera, you made your way to the table, checking to ensure that your mask was in place. “Hey, Mr -” “Dieter. Come on. You’ve been my next door neighbor for two weeks. We’re on a first name basis.” He raised an eyebrow, taking another sip. “Wanted you to meet my assistant, Jenna. You’re probably going to hear a lot of her coming in and out of my room.” You didn’t know how to take that - and the way he said it didn’t help matters, but you said hello and introduced yourself, the woman giving you a wide smile and raising her hand in a wave.

“It’s not like I’m monitoring your life, Dieter. I don’t keep track of what you’re doing in your room 24/7.” The woman snorted quietly, her eyes back on her phone. “But I’ll keep that in mind.” He opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted as another member of the crew stepped behind you, saying his name.

“One of the hotel employees has a message for you Mr. Bravo. I told her you were busy, but she said it was urgent.” You stepped to the side, Dieter’s attention going from you and to the people behind you - a younger man and the blonde from the front desk. Anika.

“Yeah?” He reached up, thumb and forefinger gripping his earlobe. “It’s fine, I’m just sitting here.” The blonde stepped closer, hands clasped together in front of her body. You watched as he eyed her, waiting.

“There was a delivery for you, Mr. Bravo. The courier that dropped it off said that it was urgent, and that it needed to be taken to your room right away. But you requested that we not clean your room today, and I didn’t know if -” His eyes lit up, the man breaking into a wide grin as he flattened his palms on the table.

“Yeah, definitely. Put it in my room. I’ve been waiting for it. You’re a fuckin’ livesaver, Anika” His eyes flicked over to you and then back to Anika, who was smiling broadly, her cheeks flushed from the slight bit of praise. “I -” “We need to go, Dieter.” His assistant tucked her phone away, giving the man a pointed look. “You’re up in a couple minutes, and we know how slow your ass is when you don’t want to do something.” Stifling a laugh at that by turning it into a cough, you took another step back. Well at least his assistant knows how to handle him well. As they both stood, you noticed a definite change in Dieter’s mood - the man notably happier, thanking the blonde again before heading toward the doorway. “Hey.” Jenna turned to look at you, warmth in her eyes. “Don’t let him fool you. He’s not really -” “Jenna!” Dieter was waiting with one hand on the door handle, his other hand on his hip. “We’ve gotta go!” The woman laughed, rolling her eyes.

“And to think my husband was worried about me taking this job because he thought Dieter was gonna be an asshole… or try to hit on me.” You laughed with her and then watched as the two of them disappeared, leaving you with Anika and the other crew member.

But they didn’t stick around long, and once they were gone, you decided to leave too, after scanning the room for anything that looked like it would make good media. There’s no one in here. Nothing to see.

Your day ended soon after that, and after dropping your stuff off in your room and changing clothes, you decided to take a walk around the grounds to decompress. There were few people around, meaning that everything was quiet, and the end of your walk led you back to the area beneath your balcony, retracing the steps that Colin and the other groundskeepers took. “You look cold.” Eyes moving upward, you saw Dieter leaning against his railing, staring down at you. “Should have worn a better coat.”

“I should have.” You agreed, squinting up at him in the fading light. “You’re dressed up.” It was true - he was in a light colored button down shirt, though the top few were undone, his hair messy bust somehow less messy than usual, and he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

“Cast dinner tonight. The official ice breaker.” He rolled his eyes. “Good excuse to drink some expensive wine and relax.” Ah. That makes sense. “Are you supposed to come and film?”

“I don’t know.” Shrugging up at him you wet your lips. “No one ever -” “You should.” He nodded, checking his watch. “If you come up now you can get your stuff.” “Dieter, I’m not cast. This isn’t -” “You don’t need to stay, but don’t you think that getting all of us in the same room at the same time is necessary?” Yeah, probably, but … “And I’m inviting you.” He was right - it would be good footage, and you could frame it as a comparison between the beginning of the shoot and the end. He’s smart.

“Yeah. Alright. That’s a good idea.” Dieter smiled again, still leaning over to look at you, but he didn’t say anything else. “See you in a few minutes.”

—

A little more than an hour later, you were back in your room, sitting on the edge of your bed with your camera next to you. You’d kept it together during the time you were in the opulent dining room with the cast, but as soon as you’d closed the door to your room behind you, you’d lost it, the tears rolling down your cheeks.

Some of the cast had been happy to have you there from the beginning, but it had taken some convincing from Dieter on the part of the others, the man waving off your presence as a necessary thing - and framing it in a way that made your nose wrinkle in disgust.

“Come on, guys. If she films this, it’s a good way to show the people that watch it that from the beginning we were on board with all of this.” He’d waved his hands around, rolling his eyes. “We’re like one big fuckin’ family already or some shit.” The man paused, lifting a wine glass to hs lips and taking a long drink. “Control the narrative, am I right?”

Lauren was the first to speak, rolling her eyes hard. “Bravo’s got a point. They’ll see what we want them to see. And you know what that is?” Carol leaned back in her chair, propping her head up with one hand.

“Us being fake as fuck?” Everyone laughed at that, but you felt eyes on you, almost like people were waiting to see what you said in reply. “Us pretending like we aren’t already over this? Like this isn’t weird as shit? What if she says something?”

“She signed a couple NDAs, actually.” Dustin drained his wine glass, the man’s eyes boring into you. “So she can’t.”

“Exactly!” Dieter gestured again, nudging you with his elbow. “Just make us look good, make sure everyone fucking loves us and that’s all that matters.”

The rest of the time you’d been in the room with them - only about twenty minutes - had been rough, every single one of them plastering fake smiles on their faces, their words and actions exaggerated as they pretended like they’d known each other for years. As their meal started to arrive, you decided it was time to go, thanking them for letting you spend a couple of minutes with all of them, and then you’d disappeared back into the hallway, hurrying past the two concierge employees at the bar in the back corner of the room and heading straight for your bedroom.

You’d expected it - all of them to be fake to an extent, but you hadn’t known just how much they’d turn it on for the cameras, how easy it would be for them to craft personas for themselves to suit their own needs and egos. Bet it isn’t at all hard for Dieter since he’s been doing this for years. The footage was good - but it wasn’t real, and if it was any indication, you were in for a long few months. Or at least until they decide it’s not important to focus on that type of behavior anymore.

Wiping the tears from your face, you stood up and went into the bathroom, deciding that a long, hot shower was your best option for a distraction.

—

It had helped. You felt much better after exiting the small, steamy room, getting dressed in your pajamas and pulling on a bathrobe of your own - one provided by the hotel. Instead of watching TV, you flipped through the pages of a book, with the breeze from outside blowing in through the open doors. It didn’t take long for you to get lost in the story, eyes scanning the pages as you devoured the content.

A loud, harsh cough startled you some time later, your eyes going to the balcony. What;s going on? When it came again a few moments later you sat up, putting the book down and heading outside. “Dieter? You alright?”

He was sitting in one of the chairs on his side of the wall, but he’d dragged it closer to the railing so that he could lean back, propping his feet up. “I’m fine.” He coughed again, though, turning his head to look at you - and for the first time, you realized that he was holding a joint in one hand, pinched between his fingers. “Figured you’d be out here sooner, this shit smells -” “Still can’t smell, remember?” You tapped your nose before wrinkling it. “And maybe that’s a good thing, because -”

“Well then I’m glad you heard me cough.” He raised it to his lips and inhaled, closing his eyes. “Gettin’ kind of lonely out here.” You had no idea what time it was - or how long he’d been outside, but based on what he was wearing, you didn’t think it had been long. He’d be cold otherwise. The man was still dressed in what he’d had on for dinner, though his feet were bare and there was another button undone, exposing more of his chest. “Been two weeks since I’ve had anything to smoke, and the shit over here doesn’t fuck around.”

“How’d you get that in here?” Pulling the robe tighter over your body, you crossed your arms. “And -” “That delivery from earlier.” He grinned, coughing quietly. “That’s why I got so fuckin’ excited. Sean knows someone here, and he hooked me… well, a lot of us, up with some stuff.” Makes sense. “Been looking forward to it all goddamn day.” He was doing it again - drawing you back in and showing you what you were almost positive was the real Dieter Bravo. But why only behind closed doors? “D’you wanna smoke?” He held the joint out to you and then swore, pulling it back. “No, you can’t. Stupid to ask because we can’t share it, since that’d be like kissing each other and that’s not allowed.” No, it’s not allowed, but I wish it was.

He rolled his eyes as he spoke, taking another short hit and immediately releasing it. Your heart was pounding as you tried to decide whether or not you were going to respond. Do I need to? He already answered the question for himself, so… You didn’t smoke often - but you’d done so in the past, both with friends at home and while on assignment, partaking in the local offerings when the opportunity came up. I don’t know what my lungs would do with it now, especially after being sick. But the fact that he’d even offered spoke volumes to you, because he hadn’t needed to.

“Well?” Dieter wet his lips, eyes on your face. “I can roll you a separate one if you want. Be our little secret.”

“I…” Covering your face with one hand, you thought about it. Fuck it. “Yeah. Why not?” You grinned at him, lowering your hand. “Not everyday that Dieter Bravo asks me to smoke with him, so… sure.” The man was on his feet almost as soon as you replied, carefully putting out his joint on the railing before tucking the remnants behind his ear.

“Give me five minutes.” He winked and then walked away from you, heading back into his room without bothering to close the door behind him. I’m definitely going to see and hear some things during this shoot.

—

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x female reader #pedrostories #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal #the bubble #locked down #dieter bravo masterlist #pedro pascal masterlist

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delicrieux · 4 years ago

Text

—MAKE YOU SAY “OH” EXTRAS: TINDER

extra meaning non-canonical occurrence; can be placed anywhere in the “make you say oh” timeline after couple (cha. 14) and before the final “oh”.

pairing—corpse husband x f!reader warnings—tinder profiles, tw: men, swearing. word count—2.6k. format— written. ─── ❥ req by nonnie: y/n makes a youtube vid/live stream where she's just swiping through her tinder acc and corpse literally blocks her lmao

author’s note—akldsljfs this was such a funny idea i could not not write it lmao

ultimate masterlist. myso masterlist

You have pulled the biggest brain move by setting up both a facecam and a screen recorder on your phone. All is beautifully displayed and visible during the stream. Your fanbase is particularly intrigued on what exactly are you planning on doing today, seeing as your tweet of “strea” had been a bit vague, if not downright ominous. No emojis. No elaboration. You couldn’t even be bothered to finish the word. Truly, a mystery. Everyone tuned in and are currently waiting with bated breath.

A few of your fans must sense upcoming doom because the overall mood in the chat turns from optimistically intrigued to...evil. It’s an entity all on it’s own now, clawing at you through the screen with various renditions of laughter and devil emojis. A few eggplants thrown in there for good measure, accompanied, naturally, by the scandalous water drops. At first the common consensus is that you’re biting the bullet and going through your camera roll on stream. Definitely an idea worth considering, though you frankly don’t know what lies at the start of the 11k photograph journey, and you are afraid to check in public. Could be a harmless meme, could be a salacious pic you had saved of an OF star. It’s really a gamble. Either way, you would definitely get banned. You might still get banned. Why do you insist on doing shit like this?

Because it’s funny. Because you’re kinda stupid. Because it’s just so absolutely laughably easy to do.

A smile quirks your lips, and while it is not explicitly smug, the look in your eyes sure is, “Greetings,” You utter lowly, dimming the lights--the budget for this stream! Ugh, you went all out, “my children.”

mother i crave violence

sensing evil energy rn!!

i do not claim the energy in this video for myself or anyone else watching this 💖💖

^with peace and love shut the fuck up

“I know y’all lowkey hoes-” Upon your words the chat splits into two: one side eagerly agrees (even shares a few OF accounts! How helpful, supporting small businesses!), whilst the other feverishly insists on innocence. You make a face stuck somewhere between offended and bewildered, “Now c'mon now-I know you. I know you all. We’re the same, don’t-what was that?”

You try to scroll back to the comment but it’s loss in the sea of incoming messages, “I swear to God I just saw-”

Corpse_Husband: i love late night streams it’s not like i have anything better to do.

“COOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORPSE!!!!”

rip headphone users

i cant feel my face when im with you by the weeknd but instead of face its my fucking ears

yall think full vol on pc is better?my parents woke up 😭😭😭😭

To think he’s spending his last waking moments for today with watching you (he probably still would have anyway, because you do not posses an ounce of shame or self-control and pester him relentlessly)! It makes your heart sing, and suddenly, a traitorous, fun hating idea barges it’s way through the crowd of incoherent buzzing and states: don’t do this. For some reason it also has the voice of Rae. As if that would work in guilt-tripping you- Rae never succeed, and her fictitious rendition in mind won’t fare much better either.

Still, you thought about it. That must count for something. Corpse will understand, won’t he? Why don’t you want to upset it in the first place? Men look so funny when they lose their shit, like hello, don’t you have anything better to do? But the image of Corpse just sitting there, hurt, distraught, leaving you on seen because he’s in his sad boy hours leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

queen rly went from 🥺😊 to 😕 u ok bbgirl?

Corpse_Husband: no pouts cutie

akjdjoeijdfse cUTIE??? deadass boutta r.i.p.

Well that succeeded in eliminating everything from mind, doubts included. If this was an anime, the scenery would shift into something roseate, with flowers and bubbles and sparkles all around you along with a halo or two. Alas, not an anime, rather reality. The led-lights, however, seemingly possessing a will of their own, slowly turn from deep violet to pink. You smile brightly, like the absolute dumbass you are, and you are met with a ray of heart and blushing emojis. You are just so cute, a real cutie! Still in your disguise adorable state, you swipe your finger on your phone screen, the grin never leaving your lips.

There, among the plethora of apps, nestled sits a red square with a white fire plastered on it. The delicate calligraphy on the bottom reads: TINDER.

The mood changes once again- you’re giving the roaches emotional instability by how quickly everything flips over- and the chat spams eggplants vigorously; some, of course, bravely fight against the thirst.

nooooooo i thought y/n is gonna stream in a god honoring way!!!

^pack it up girl defined

“So, Charlie and I-” You note a few awfully curious comments and squint, “-yes, we talk a lot. Charlie is a really good friend of mine. We’re best friends. Brothers. Sisters. Cousins. The whole fucking family tree-no, that sounds weird. Delete. Anyway, Charlie, being the absolute fucker he is, said, hey, you know what would be funny? And I was like, nooo, what would be funny, Charlie? And he says to me, he says, says, making fun of men on Tinder. And if y’all need any more proof that Charlie and I are platonic soulmates, then dunno, my children, my roaches, I dunno-I dunno what more to give you.”

You can’t be bothered reading the comments, there’s too damn many. You also need to save your reading comprehension for the actual bios. It has a time limit, that darn thing.

“Okay, so I made a profile earlier, but I hadn’t swiped on anyone yet-” Despite the fact, Tinder helpfully informs you that already 99+ people have swiped right on you, “So, this is me,” You show the pictures you have of yourself, and damn, not to be a conceited narcissist, but you look really good. Like if you saw yourself on Tinder, you’d super like instantly. “Uhm, so, my bio-my bio says: let’s sauce in the tub together, ya dig? splishy splashy, giggle giggle.”

i cant believe we are witnessing y/n trying to form a coherent sentence live

shes trying give her time

ya dig??? y not capeesh

what scene from the godfather is this lol?

“My anthem, is,” You laugh, covering your lips with your hand, “Corpsie, this is form you-” Proudly, you show that indeed, Corpse’s E-GIRLS ARE RUINING MY FUCKING LIFE is listed as your anthem on Spotify, “Hehe.” Yes, you say that aloud.

Corpse_Husband: you’re killing me Corpse_Husband: thanks baby Corpse_Husband: now delete tinder ❤︎

You ignore his last quip, deciding it’s finally time to get this show on the road, “Right, let’s do this shit. I’m not actually going to swipe on any guys that look, uh, decent? Yuck, can’t believe I just said that, uhm, because I-because I feel like some actually deserve a chance with someone? I don’t wanna get anyone’s hopes up, as I am currently in a long distance relationship with Chrollo. So I’m just gonna swipe on, like, frat boy assholes. Because I don’t care if I hurt their feelings. Quite frankly I don’t think they possess them in the first place.”

The chat voices their agreements. With the ground rules set, you, giddy, click on the first profile.

Does Tinder know what you’re doing, your plan? The FBI agent watching you through your phone must be working overtime, bless his heart. They must, because the the first guy to meet you is named Jason, and there he is, blond hair and blue eyes, holding up a fish the size of his torso. Marginally adequate in looks, pretty good muscles. A solid 7 bordering on 8. He’s the same age as you, 15 miles away, and he studies at some college you don’t care enough to look up. Bio reads:

I like to drive fast. Fishing is my passion, but if you can’t catch me by the ocean, you’ll catch me catching waves, bro! Love a good gym date. You do squats, and I’ll keep a close eye to make sure you’re doing it correctly ;) You probably saw me at a party. Leader of the The Phi Kappa Psi. I’m a Gemini, if that matters lol.

You, of course, read it aloud, dramatically; provide some constructive criticism-he seems nice, but he’s a Gemini, so naturally, you can’t trust him at all! Also, that gym date session leaves little to be desired. With your rant done, you swipe right, and shocker! (not), it’s an instant match.

“Okie, I still wanna swipe of some profiles, so I’ll see what he’ll text later-” For a second you wonder the legalities of this stream, but you’re having too much fun to think of it further, “guys, I won't get sued, right?”

NOW she considers it

well....

if you do, we’ll kickstart your lawyer dw <3

Onto the next profile. Kevin, 25, is seen fixing his car- or, you assume he’s mid-fixing it, you don’t really know why else he’d hold a wrench and be covered in oil. He’s shirtless, and the caveman part of your brain echoes something closely resembling AWOOOGA!, but...but!...blonde hair, blue eyes. You pout again, “I don’t...I don’t really like blond boys, ya know? With the blue eyes and all, it’s just not my thing, uhm, unless it’s like-like...Armin from Attack on Titan. Else I don’t care.”

Onto the bio:

You have to treat a car like you treat a woman: go on long rides, take the lead, but most importantly, keep her oiled up 😜

“What the fuck did I just read?”

The chat is equally confused. You swipe right anyway- another match. Too easy.

The stream continues without incident for a solid thirty minutes- all of your matches, expect a few that genuinely looked like normal dudes that really couldn’t write a decent bio to save their lives, had been blond hair blue eyed gym rats with ranging forms of misogyny. Some opened with asking for nudes out right, some asked about your day first before asking for nudes. You prefer the former. Straight to the point! You admire the gall.

But then, down the forty-five minute mark a profile popped up that made you still by your phone, your smile dying as your eyes bulged. Dear God. Lord in heaven. Who is this demonspiit lookalike and why is he so fucking hot? The neck tats, the skateboard, the clothes- holy shit, you gotta close your mouth before some drool dribbles out.

No bio, just his name, Tyler, and that he’s 23.

“He boutta be 23 in me.” You mutter, swiping right with lightning speed.

WHAT DID SHE SAYYYYY?????????

tyler is y/ns karma for relentlessly mocking that one guy that had a whole ass list on what his “female” partner should be

^he deserved it and also tyler seems like a typical fuckboi y/n grow a braincell

look at mom 🥺 her eyes are sparkling

It wasn’t a match right away. You somehow expected as much, but it still upset you. Simp behavior, pathetic. The stream continued bravely, and when Tyler messaged you a simple “yo” you totally didn’t sequel. You didn’t manage to text him back on stream: texting all those guys that you didn’t really find all that attractive was easy, but this...You’re a sucker for a man who radiates red flag energy. His whole profile is a red flag. He might just be a red flag himself.

What can you do? Suddenly becoming color blind is not easy. Once the stream ends, you unmatch with everyone expect Tyler. He you chat with for a bit, but a sudden craving for different company makes you abandon him, too. You don’t feel too heartbroken for him- you’re certain there’s already too many girls in his dms. You wish them luck.

Happily, you delete Tinder. You go to Twitter, notice you’re trending again- look at you go! Queen shit- and as you compose a thank you tweet, something strange happens. You go to text Corpse, but when you click on his profile you grow cold.

YOU’RE BLOCKED. You can’t follow or see @/Corpse_Husband ‘s Tweets.

...Pardon? You hop onto Instragram and-also blocked. Seriously? And you thought you’re one petty bitch. Corpse is seriously prissy about everything. Damn, if he didn’t like your stream, he could’ve just said so. Didn’t need to, like, block you from his internet existence. So not cool.

You try texting him but no text go through. Well how will you let him know you deleted Tinder just like he asked? You relieve your frustrations by punching your pillow a few times. Later, you apologize to her, you didn’t mean to hurt her, it’s not her, it’s you. Fuck, 5 minutes of exile and you’re already loosing your mind.

“Raeeeeeeeeeeee!” You whine loudly. It’s roughly 2am now, but you don’t care. You’re too heartbroken to care. There’s a thump from her room, but nothing else, “Raeeeeeeeee!!!” You wail, wallowing in self-pity on your bed. You hear a very loud, very annoyed sigh from her room, followed by angry marching. Your door is abruptly thrown open, and in the dim, colorful light you see her scowl.

“What?” She grits.

“Can you please tell Corpse to unblock me from everything?”

“What did you do now?”

“I made fun of men on Tinder.”

She pauses, “...That doesn’t sound so bad.” She surmises, voice laced with suspicion, “What else?”

“...There was one really hot guy that I kinda sorta talked to after--”

“Y/n.”

“-But I totally deleted Tinder and honestly he was pretty boring, so, like, uhm, please?”

She sighs, the servery of which implies she is holding the weight of the world on her shoulders, and instantly you know that you won. She taps away at her phone, “You owe me one.” She states, and before you can reply, she exits your room and slams the door behind her.

Grinning, you text his phone again. The message goes through, oh gosh, you’re so relieved you feel like crying. This has been, officially, the worst five minutes of your life.

You Y DID U BLOCK ME LOSER!!! MAJOR LOSER ALERT!! I DELETED EVERYTHING IT WAS A JOKE r u still mad at me? y u always mad at me i never do anything:(

my husband You’re my baby, how do you think I’ll react when I see you publicly simping for some asshole on Tinder?

Oh no, he used the words, he delivered the killing blow. You’re finished. Your heart can’t take such a workout.

Not that you would ever admit it to him, though!

You hehe ur jellyyyy u always dis jealous hehe?

my husband Not jealous.

Yeah, you might not be the brightest tool in the shed, but even you know that’s a lie. You send him an array of kissy emojis that he doesn’t have the decency to reply to. Then, completely unprompted and dead serious, you send him a simple voice memo, saying: “You really have nothing to worry about, you know? You’re my favorite, Corpsie.”

He responds via text, reiterating that he’s not fucking jealous and that he just doesn’t like when you show such outward interest in anyone but it’s not like he cares or anything. It’s just really, like, weeeeird to see his baby simping for another man like that totally ruins the whole dynamic!!! It was only natural that he should block you on every social media platform, including his personal number (which, like, was completely necessary! Doesn’t matter that his viewers can’t see it, it’s gotta be super believable!), and inform his followers of that, because it’s all a joke, like, for the dynamic, that Youtube grind, you know? Ya dig? No personal feelings were involved at all. He totally wasn’t upset that you found someone else cute, no way!

my husband I’m not jealous. Lol.

You ik u repeated tht like 50 times u trynna convince me or??? lmao

my husband No comment. ...You don’t actually talk to anyone else like we’re talking, right?

You no one else calls me their baby if thts wat ur wondering at least not to my knowledge lol im all urs

my husband That makes me very happy to hear:)

Yeah, it makes you very happy, too.

hope you liked it!! xx

#corpse husband #corpse husband x reader #corpse #corpse x reader #corpse husband x y/n #corpse x y/n #myso #make you say oh #imagine #imagines

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seungmoroll · 4 years ago

Text

Meeting the Parents | Jackson Wang

Word count: 1.5k

Genre: fluff, foreigner!reader

Requested: yes

A/n: this is long over due, but thank you to the anon who requested this, hope you like it!

“I can sense your anxiousness from here.” You roll your eyes at your boyfriend’s unnecessary comment.

“I can’t help but be anxious Jacks. I’m meeting your parents for the first time to tonight.” Unable to keep still, you twiddle your thumbs in your lap. Removing one of his hands from the steering wheel, Jackson softly takes your hand into his, causing for you to stop your actions. Gently rubbing your hand with his thumb, he says to you, “Love, there’s nothing to be worried about. My parents are lovely people, and you’re an amazing person, so of course they’re going to love you.” Bringing your hand up to his lips, he lays a sweet kiss that relieves you of the tension in your body that you did not realize that was present.

Softly, you ask, “But what if they don’t?”

“Then we’ll just have to make them like you, but Y/n, trust me, okay? I’m pretty sure my mom already loves you from what I’ve told her, and plus my dad does not have a single ounce of hate in his body.” Jackson’s words bring you some sense of relief, however, your worries still lay unsettled in your mind.

When the two of you reach Jackson’s parent’s home, Jackson had led you to the front door. All the nerves that Jackson made go away in the car ride coming back as you see the door begin to open.

“Jackson, my little boy! I’ve missed you!” Pulling Jackson into a hug, his father tightly embraces him. The image warms your heart. Once the two men pull away from each other, Jackson’s father immediately pulls you into a hug, “Y/n! It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

Awkwardly hugging him back, you say, “It’s nice to meet you too, I’ve heard so many things about you from Jackson.”

“Oh, I sure do hope good things. Please come on in. Jackson’s mother is in the kitchen, here let me go get her.”

When he goes to fetch his wife, you take your chance to observe the house, there are plenty of family pictures along the wall, one that stands out to you the most. Walking up to it, you can’t help but laugh. Noticing what you’re laughing at, Jackson goes to defend himself, “Hey, don’t laugh at that picture of me, I was 13 and was in my awkward phase.”

Unable to stop yourself from laughing at the pout on Jackson’s face, you tell him, “It’s cute, you were cute back then.”

Before Jackson could get in another word, his mother comes running towards him and crushes him into a hug and he returns the hug with the same amount of pressure. “Oh, there’s my little boy! It’s been too long.” You find it endearing how no matter how old Jackson is and how big he is, that his parents still call him their little boy. When they pull apart, Jackson motions towards you, “Mom, this is Y/n.”

Quickly, you pull out the bouquet of flowers that you had bought for her, “Hello, I wasn’t sure what to bring, so I brought you these flowers, I hope you like them.” Taking the flowers into her hands she observes them for a second before quickly pulling you into a hug, They’re beautiful, Y/n, just like you. I’ve seen so many pictures of you from what Jackson’s sent me, but the camera does not do you justice.” Your face reddens from her compliment. You now know the reason why Jackson was so kind and friendly, he got it from both of his parents.

“Oh, it’s such good timing, dinner’s almost ready, boys why don’t you help set the table.”

Walking into the kitchen to see if Jackson’s mother needed any help with dinner, you are met with the familiar scent. Approaching the stove, you see that it’s a dish from your home country, specifically you’re favorite one.

As Jackson’s mother begins to plate the food, she says, “I hope that you’re okay with eating this for dinner. Jackson told me that this was your favorite meal that your mother would cook for you, and I just thought it’d be nice to have with you.” You smile at thoughtfulness she had put into making dinner for tonight. Assisting her with the plates, you tell her, “I’m perfectly fine with this. From the smell alone, I know it’s going to taste amazing.”

“That’s very nice for you to say Y/n. I know it won’t be the same as your mother’s, but I do hope it’s good enough.”

Once the two of you finish setting the table, Jackson’s mother calls the two men to quickly come. When he enters the dining room, Jackson gives you a warm smile and goes to pull out your chair for you, the proceeds to do the same for his mom before he settles down in the chair next to you.

“Well, I don’t know about you guys, but I’m starving, let’s dig in.” Jackson’s dad says before he takes a big bite. Taking a bite yourself, your close your eyes and let the taste of it settle in your mouth. It reminds you of the memories of your mother making this dish every time for your birthday ad every time something good happened to you, and it makes you feel at home. When you open your eyes, you realize that Jackson’s mother has been watching your reaction the whole entire time, slightly embarrassed, your face flushes.

“Is it okay, Y/n? I tried to do the best that I could, but I’m sure it tastes different from your mother’s.”

Quickly reassuring her, you say, “No, no, it’s wonderful. It tastes exactly like my mom’s.” A smile quickly breaks through on her face, making your smile even wider. “Oh, that’s wonderful to hear!”

“Wow, Y/n. If this is how all food from your country tastes like, I think I’m going to need to eat more dishes from there.” Jackson’s dad says to you. Putting in his own input, Jackson tells his parents, “Oh, there’s this one dish that Y/n makes for me all the type and it’s the most delicious thing in the world, of course along with your cooking mom.” Hearing Jackson brag about your cooking skills causes for your face to flush.

“Oh, is that so? Maybe next time we come visit you can cook it for us.”

Smiling you say, “I would love to.”

The evening goes on as the four of you casually converse with one another. Jackson’s parents tell you all of his embarrassing moments of when he was growing up, and you basically had to shove fork in his mouth to stop him from whining all the time. You also get to tell them more about yourself and what it’s like back in your country.

After everyone was done with dinner, you had all helped in washing and putting up the dishes, more like you and Jackson’s mother did all the work, while Jackson and his dad messed around in the kitchen; the four of you made your way to the backyard to hang out under the night sky.

Walking up to the speaker that was set up outside, Jackson’s father started playing ‘Stand By Me,’ and held out his hand to his wife. She gladly took it, and they began dancing underneath the stars.

Thinking back on the evening, you could day that you had really enjoyed every moment of it. Jackson’s parents had made you feel welcomed in their house and practically treated you as if you had known each other for a long time. You could with 99% confidence say that they liked you.

“What did I say?” Jackson starts as he playfully bumps into your side interrupting your train of thought, “I told you that there was nothing to be nervous about. They love you.”

Rolling your eyes at his playfulness, you admit to him, “Okay, you were right. I just didn’t realize that all the love that you hold for people is because of your parents, but now I know.”

“Y’know, there was a tiny part of me that was nervous that they weren’t going ot like you.” Jackson’s confession causes for concern to grow within you, but before you could voice it out, he continues, “I was worried that I would have to pick sides, and we all know how much of a mama’s boy that I am, but I don’t think your worth losing Y/n; so, I’m glad that it didn’t come down to that because I’m not so sure that they would’ve been happy with my decision.”

Raising an eyebrow at him, you ask, “Are you saying that you would have picked me over your parents?”

Nodding his head, he says, “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

At times like this, you wonder how you managed to find a man as wonderful as Jackson, “Jacks…You know I love you right?”

Taken back by your question, he dramatically gasps, “Wha- of course I do. Why would you even ask that?”

“I just wanted to remind you that’s all.”

Leaning over, he lays a kiss on your temple then takes a step forward, bringing out a hand towards you, “So then you know I love you too, right?”

Placing your hand on his, and letting him take the lead in the dance, you respond, “Of course I do.”

A/n: first thing I've posted since my unexpected hiatus, I hope everyone enjoyed it! feedback is always welcomed, so don't be afraid to tell me what you thought of this

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momoshin · 4 years ago

Text

wrapped in lace — ryujin

you’d think coming home after long hours of running and making content would knock the two of you right out. but you were hoping it did just the opposite, you made sure the car driving you and the girls gets there first, needing to make sure everything was still in place from how you left it before starting your day (and to be able to change into what you had planned) ryujin gets home with the others as soon as you sit down to take a breath. they all know what you have planned, they’re just here for support before they smoothly make an exit.

“you guys got here fast” ryujin points it out and kisses your lips hello like she hadn’t just done that before going into the separate cars (which she complained about for half an hour). she hands you a smoothie, and you quickly notice she’s the other only member with one in her hands.

“ryujin you literally spent twenty minutes thinking of what smoothie to get your girlfriend” yuna rolls her eyes, making the other four laugh at the birthday girl who slightly blushes and shrugs.

“oooooh” lia cheers, interrupting your girlfriend’s soft, sort of questioning stare at you and causing the two of you to look at her, also catching the other three peeking in the room, yuna trying to squeeze her way in between the unnies. “actually we’re going to go eat, call us if you want anything, have funnn”

and just like that, the door is closed. you can hear their steps and what yuna thought was whispers ‘that’s so romantic!!’ ‘ryujin unnie’s probably going to cry’ ‘when did y/n unnie have the time to do all of that?’ that just caused a smile to break into your lips.

“when did you do all of this?” her jaw is open so wide, she’s going to catch flies soon.

“i can’t tell you my secrets” you scoff, a warm, loving smile on your lips as you approached her and dared to wrap your arms around her waist after taking her cross body and setting it on the floor. “do you like it?”

“i love it” she pecks your lips a couple of times, and through all of them you can easily feel the smile that she displayed because of the surprise “can we open presents now?”

“yes baby” the way her voice sounded like an excited kid on christmas morning, and her eyes were so bright, her smile? it melts your heart and you find yourself feeling more love for her than you thought possible.

it’s all pure from there. her pure gasps and smiles or even giggles every times she opens a present and remembers you asking detailed yet questions vague enough for her to not have a clue of the reason behind it.

“where’s the button?” you’ve found yourselves messing around with the new film camera, your girlfriend too excited to leave it for tomorrow like she would’ve said to hide how much she wanted to play with it.

“it says here-“ you begin to read the manual of instructions, and it only takes you a few seconds in to see the blinding light of the flash. “ryujin!”

“found it” she smiles, the two of you giggling softly in the moment. “im keeping this” she smiles, looking at the developing picture of you in what she thinks is your prettiest version, “thank you baby” it's a little muffled against your lips that she keeps kissing and pecking in hopes it helps her express how grateful she is.

"i have one more gift for you" your words too are muffled against her lips, and as soon as she sits back up you look for the red bow you had placed somewhere around the room and stick it right on the top of your head "ta-da"

"oh?" she smiles, opening her arms for you to walk into. she watches you put up your finger as if telling her to wait for you, and undo the zipper of your jacket, letting her catch the red, delicate lace adorning your body. "oh" she's in utter shock, like she hasn't ever seen you like this even though it's a regular occurrence "c'mere, please"

the bow inevitably falls off your head when she pulls you to her by the waist, running her hands all over your body, drinking you in. "is this new?"

"mhm" your hand wraps around the back of her head, keeping eye contact with her as she presses soft kisses to the skin of your tummy that wasn't covered by the lingerie set "got it just for today"

"well. i love it" she smiles "almost want to fuck you in it"

"who said you'd be doing the fucking?" your hands cup her face and bring it up to look at you, thumbs grazing against her lips, her pretty, pink lips that you loved so much "lay down for me?"

she trusts you enough to just go with it, and you easily move the gifts from the bed to the night stand. so she had more space in the bed and nothing broke. your hands run all over her uncovered torso by her crop top, and soon, you found your hands kneading and squeezing at her tits. hums and whispers coming out of her lips.

your legs move on their own to get you in bed, between her legs so your hands could do their thing and undo her jeans, her chuckle when you peck her stomach just like she did yours a few minutes ago rings in your ears beautifully. reminding you how lucky you are to have her, that she’s yours and you’re hers.

“i love you” you whisper against her lips when you’ve come back up, sitting on her lap with your hands on the end of her shirt to slowly remove it. “like, i’m in love with you ryujin” you stop your kisses to look at her, look for a reaction. she takes time. to control her breathing and process the words that had just come out of your mouth, her eyes are glossy and her hand runs through your hair gently.

“i’m in love with you too” she whispers after what feels like has been forever, but only has been seconds. her voice is so small and broken, she is so in love with you, it hurts her to think about it.. everything about you makes her feel in heaven.

your smile is so big though, you weren’t expecting her to not say it back, but it felt good to actually hear it. her lips find yours now, and the kiss starts so soft, slow, telling each how much you felt for the other, and its like that for some time, tongues dancing and all. but then her hands start going down to your ass, and you don’t have it in you to stay put when she moves your hips for you, her naked thighs rubbing against your clothed core in delicious ways.

“don’t take it off” she whispers as soon as she sees you sit up in her lap, and her fingers soon loop around the flimsy, tiny part covering your crotch. she thinks about putting it to the side and just watching like this, but then again something about using her strength on or for you makes her feel in control, so she does just that. tears it right off of you.

“ryujin?!” you whine. hands on her naked shoulders as you stare at your thong in her fingers.

“don’t make me gag you with it” she spits, and at the sound of her voice so deep; you whimper, specially when she runs her thumb up and down your clit, eliciting a few gasps out of you too. you try to, with all your inner strength, pull away from her hand, but instead position yourself so your legs could cross with hers. your cunts both fitting together like puzzle pieces. “fuck”

she’s been under you many times before. but the sight before you is so different from those times, she’s biting her lip, eyes half closed, her nipples perked up already, hands on your waist to control you moving, she’s groaning and grunting in such sinful ways too, making you wetter than before and easier for the two of you to move.

she’s closed her eyes when you, still riding her, stretch your arm enough to take the new camera in your hands, she doesn’t even open her eyes when you put a hand on her stomach in a more possesive way than anything, she only does so when she hears the click of the camera shooting the sight in front of it: your cunt glued to hers, your hand spread on her toned abdomen as if to tell anyone who saw the lewd image that she was yours.

she bites her lips at her own sight, you on top, the red lace that she’d yet to rip off your body hugging you so beautifully, your hair down your shoulders and back, you waiting for the polaroid to develop with your teeth digging into your bottom lip. but most importantly the sight of your pussy against hers. the noises you two made, how it felt. she feels dizzy already.

“you better not show that to anyone. specially the girls” she warns, her legs opening wider to give you more space for an advantage of getting the perfect angle between the two of you “fffuck, do that again”

“that?” she wonders if this is how you feel when she starts getting cocky. because you certainly are as you roll your hips over and over again like you had for the few last seconds. you don’t stop asking until she groans out a yes, fingers so tight around the skin of your hips that you were worried she was going to bruise you. “and i don’t know. i think jisu unnie might find it hot, don’t you?”

suddenly, you feel her breath so much closer to your lips than you remember her being, your covered nipples against her naked, hard ones, her hand fully tangled in your hair, pulling well enough to make you hiss and whimper into her lips “im not playing with you y/n” she groans “anyone else sees your pussy and it’s over for you”

“what are you gonna do?” you’re teasing her with your smile, and she hates it so much. how can you be so brave when she’s got you so vulnerable right on her cunt??

“you don’t want to find out.” her hand wraps around you to slap your ass so, so hard, you’re worried for her hand. “why are you being such a whore right now, am i not enough for you?” you’re not responding, just looking at her with your brattiest expression and hoping it pisses her off. not enough for this tight pussy?” she draws a gasp from you when she says the words ‘tight pussy’ because at that same time she’s pushed a finger into you from behind

she smiles against your lips when you muffle something against hers, not finding in you to make actual words and sentences.

“what’s that princess? i didn’t quite catch it” she smirks, kissing your lips and nose so soft as if she didn’t have a whole finger inside you at the same time

“im kidding. im sorry. im sorry” your eyes are shut closed, your clit throbbing and so is your head from all the sensations you’re experiencing right now.

“you’re so easy to handle” she chuckles. not meant to be endearing at all but degrading. “make me cum baby, fuck yourself on my fingers and make me cum. can you do that for me?” she pushes two more inside you just in time.

“yes. yes i can. yes.” you moan and shake when trying to lift yourself off her chest, and she takes the opportunity with the hand that wasn’t inside you, to free your tits out of the lace holding them away from her. you maneuver your hips to be able to sit on her fingers fully, all three of them buried to the hilt, but to be able to rub her clit with yours when you thrust back up.

“so good for me baby.” your girlfriend kisses from your jaw, to your neck, to your chest, always leaving bites soft enough to not mark any part of you. she watches you all along, loving the way small gasps, whimpers and moans all escape your lips that couldnt seem to close unlike your eyes. your eyes had been shut tight for a few minutes now, not being able to look anywhere or even at her.

the heat in your stomach starts growing, but you can’t and won’t cum without her. even if it meant holding it for however long you needed to. “are you close daddy?”

“yeah baby, almost there” ryujin kisses your sweaty cheeks and lifts her head up as much as she can to kiss your swollen lips. “you can cum, you have my permission” she brushes your hair out of your face with her free hand, pecking your lips once again as she watches your face contort in pleasure

“i w-wanna wait for y-you” you return her kisses as you can, in your vulnerable state. and she keeps grunting and moaning against your lips and even going so far as to lift her hips against yours because she just wants to see and feel you shaking on top of her so bad. so bad. “please. please.”

“go ahead princess, cum.., ff-fuck-k im c-cumming-h” her eyes roll to the back of her head, your highs are so hard that you can almost hear ringing in your ears. and the few seconds that you have over her as she still handles her orgasm, you use to kiss all over her jaw and cheeks while still rolling your hips against her.

“happy birthday baby” you whisper after a long while of the two of you looking at each other in silence and attempting to regain your breath, it causes her to giggle and cover her face with her hand at the thought of the two of you engaging in such filthy activities a few minutes ago and you being so soft and loving right after

“thank you my love, for everything” one of her hands runs her nails up and down your back as she watches you blush and smile at her. “how much time do we have left?”

“like an hour max” you whisper after looking at the alarm clock on her nightstand. “why”

“there’s one more thing i want to try”

#gif credits; ryudaeng #itzy smut #kpop smut #my stuff #itzy imagine #itzy imagines #ryujin smut #ryujin x reader #happy ryujin day :)

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sambvcks · 4 years ago

Text

crawl home to her, b.b. x reader

chapter one // body’s working on empty

summary: bucky isn’t as receptive to this new life of his as everyone had hoped. he’s cold, sharp-tongued, and closed off. except to the tenant across the hallway from him, who always wears pajamas and bakes a dozen too many of his favorite cookies

warnings: food, nothing too bad this chapter!

word count: 1.5k-ish

author’s note: i thought my marvel phase ended five years ago...here we are again. i haven’t written in awhile so please be kind! title and chapter titles taken from hozier’s ‘work song’.

[ read on ao3 | series masterlist | inbox | join my taglist! ]

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Five minutes into their first session, Bucky decided he was going to make Dr. Raynor’s job as difficult as he possibly could.

It wouldn’t be an impossible task, seeing how this whole ordeal depended on him opening up and talking, two things that he had abandoned decades ago. Her unwavering stare was nothing more than a challenge, these fifty-minute sessions once a week were nothing more than a slight inconvenience to his lackluster day to day routine. He would play along, do whatever exercises she asked, and feign stability until he never had to see her again.

“Since this is our first session together, we’ll take it easy.” She promised with a forced upturn of her lips before whipping out her notebook.

Suddenly, it felt like he was encased in bulletproof glass in Berlin again. He remembered that the last time he had been forced into receiving psychiatric help, it hadn’t exactly gone to plan. His chin fell to his chest, hands wringing together as he thought of any excuse to request a different doctor.

“Let’s begin.”

It was already getting too hot to wear leather gloves and his heavy jacket. New York’s heatwave was supposed to be the highest on record this year and while kids popped open fire hydrants in the street, Bucky would be settled on the hardwood floor in the back corner of his apartment, waiting.

Waiting for what, he wasn’t quite sure.

It was a fairly nice apartment, newly renovated and practically barren. Government issued and funded, of course, and he had spent the first night pulling the furniture from the walls to the center of the room in search of bugs and cameras. He found thirty-four, destroyed them under a rolling pin, and they hadn’t come to replace them. Message received.

The one thing he really liked about the apartment building were his neighbors. The price tag for a one bedroom was substantial to say the least and only older couples could really afford it. No children, no dogs, no outsiders. The only break from his undisturbed routine would be occasionally helping Mrs. Johnson down the hall carry her groceries as she struggled to get the door unlocked with her brittle hands.

They affectionately called him James and the older women were quick to get a hold of his arms, saying things like “They don’t make them like you anymore, James!”. He swallowed the bile prickling at the back of his throat as he nodded, and they moved on to telling him about their single granddaughters.

It was almost nice, his routine. Almost.

Outside of those small encounters, he spent most of his waking hours jogging in the park and cooking the same three meals. He had his appointment every Wednesday with Dr. Raynor, but that was it. He’d take two trains back to his apartment and wouldn’t emerge again until he needed groceries two days later.

It was when he was returning from one of his biweekly grocery trips, a paper bag settled on his hips, that he spotted you outside his door.

He stilled in the hallway, taking a quick step back to peek around the corner without being spotted. His breath stalled, his ears picking up your soft humming and the crinkle of plastic as you set a bundle of cookies at his doorstep, the only one without a mat. His eyes flicked to the other doors, where identical bags of cookies sat propped up, tied with blood red ribbons.

His shoulders relaxed. No threat.

The bottom of his grocery bag suddenly gave way, fruit rolling in every direction. Bucky fell to his knees, glove clad hands snatching up everything he could reach as quickly as he could manage. You were faster, though, and scooped up a plum that had rolled your way, offering it over as he tried to balance the rest of his groceries in his arms.

“Thanks.” He was quick to sweep past you, hand digging in his pockets for his key.

“James, right? Ms. Robinson downstairs is like, in love with you.”

“Yeah, but, uh-“ Dr. Raynor’s instructions from their last session rang in his head, as much as he tried to tune her out: make connections. “You can call me Bucky.” He cleared his throat. “And Mrs. Robinson is far too good for me.”

“Bucky it is then.” You trailed him down the hallway, “Y/N.”

Bucky tried to sneak a glance at you from the corner of his eyes, which was harder to inconspicuously do now that he had gotten a haircut and couldn’t hide his wandering eyes behind long tresses. Young was Bucky’s first thought. much younger than the other renters in the building. Bright was next, followed by much too smiley for a Tuesday morning.

Pretty, he admitted as he turned his back to unlock his door. Maybe in another life he would have lingered in the hall, his so-called effortless charm seeping through as you swooned at the very thought of a date with James Buchanan Barnes. But that life was long gone, and instead he rushed to retreat.

“Oh, don’t forget these.” You swooped down to collect the bundle of cookies you had left at his door, handing them to the hand that wasn’t delicately balancing the pile of groceries he still held against his impossibly broad shoulders. “Oatmeal raisin, super-secret family recipe.”

He was back in the doorway of his ma’s kitchen, watching his little sister balance on a wobbling stool as she struggled to crack and egg with her little fingers. He can so distinctly see the pale green of the cabinets, remember the fight his parents had when she begged for that shade of green while his dad had wanted white. Of course, she won.

“These are your brother’s favorite.” His ma whispered to his sister; her flour covered hands reaching for the age faded index card with their grandmother’s script detailing the ingredients. “Our family’s recipe. One day, you will make these for your children. And your children’s children.”

Rebecca, still so young and with a hatred for smelly boys deep in her bones, giggled at the mere thought as her fingers fished out the bits of eggshell that snuck their way into the bowl. She wiped it away on the spare apron tied twice around her waist, much too big for her.

Bucky would never see her grow into it. He would be drafted only a few months later.

In the meantime, he would bundle half a dozen of them in a tea towel and split them with Steve on the walk to the movie theater. Steve would begrudgingly admit that Buck’s ma made the best cookies, but his made the best brisket. They’d sneak in through the back door and do it all again the next weekend, until they ran out of weekends together.

“Oatmeal raisin are my favorite.” He admitted, accepting your offering like a stray cat does to the first scrap of food from a stranger.

“I think you’re the only person under the age on one hundred to ever say that.” You teased, backing away to the door adjacent to his, “Anyway, don’t tell me things like that. I’m a stress baker and with finals coming up…” You winced at the image of the dozens of batches you would surely be whipping up in the coming weeks.

“Finals?”

“Law school, one semester left.” You fished your own keys from your back pocket. Bucky barely held in the scoff at the shiny Spider-Man keychain that dangled from your fingers. “You?”

“Oh, no. I haven’t been in school in what feels like…a century.”

“Well, I’m all alone here and as much as I would love to, I can’t eat everything that I bake. So, expect a few dozen muffins and cookies every few days.”

“No arguing from me, doll.”

You both lingered in the small hallway, only a few steps apart, each leaning against your respective doors. Keys in each hand, with no intention of using them any time soon.

“Law school, you said? How do you afford a place like this?” Bucky was sure he was the only recently pardoned fugitive under this room.

“Well, this used to be my grandma’s apartment and it was handed down to me in a maybe no so legal way. If the landlord asks, I’m an eighty-year-old woman who doesn’t know how to work her answering machine.”

He huffed a laugh, mostly because that wasn’t particularly far from how he felt with today’s tech. The flip phone that Dr. Raynor had described as archaic sat heavy in his back pocket with only three names programed into his contacts. Don’t get him started on his television.

“Nice to meet you, Bucky.”

With that, you each stepping into your respective apartments. Bucky stalled at his door for a moment, listening as you locked and dead bolted your door behind you. He sighed, dumping his half-ruined groceries on his barren kitchen island.

The next day, he’d have another appointment with Dr. Raynor. This time when he’d say I’m trying, as he did each week, it wouldn’t be a complete lie. His phone buzzed in his back pocket.

2 New Messages

From: Sam

You coming up this weekend?

Don’t ignore me this time. He’s getting worse, Buck.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #marvel imagine #tfatws imagine #crawl home to her #sab writes

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