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pnutbutter-n-j-elyy · 2 months ago

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Hiii I’ve never really requested before BUT I had a dream and I just needed more !!! so could you do fem idol reader and hyunjin are both Versace biggest ambassadors both of them extremely close with dontella and she and soo many fans calls them both lthe Versace prince and princess so they both announce there relationship at the Versace event and they model together please add or change whatever you want I just needed someone to hear this ❤️❤️❤️

I adore this. So here you go Sunshine I hope you enjoy <3

Hyunjin x Female!Reader

The atmosphere inside the lavish venue felt alive with glittering lights, the hum of excited conversation, and the scent of luxury that permeated the air. Every corner of the ballroom reflected opulence, from the velvet curtains embroidered with gold to the grand chandelier illuminating the faces of the most influential names in fashion. Tonight wasn’t just any fashion event—it was the event. Versace’s exclusive gala.

And it was the night that everything would change.

You stood in front of the full-length mirror in your hotel suite, adjusting the final touches on your gown- a custom-made Versace piece crafted just for you. It was a masterpiece, designed with intricate lacework, sharp tailoring, and accents that hugged your frame like it was painted onto you. The colors shimmered, catching the soft lights in the room, making your skin glow as if the dress itself was made of moonlight. Your reflection smiled back at you. This wasn’t just any gown. It was a statement.

There was a knock on your door, followed by your manager’s voice. "You ready?"

You took one last glance in the mirror, smoothing down your dress. “As I’ll ever be.”

As you stepped out into the hallway, the hum of anticipation vibrated in your chest. This night would be special. Not just because you were about to walk the red carpet for one of the biggest events of the year but because he would be there.

Hwang Hyunjin.

It was impossible to think of Versace without thinking of Hyunjin- just as it was impossible to think of Hyunjin without thinking of you. The two of you were like magnets, drawn together by fate and fashion. From the first time you met during a Versace campaign shoot, your chemistry was undeniable. Donatella Versace herself had coined the term "Versace Prince and Princess" after that fateful shoot, and the media had run with it.

But tonight, you would reveal a truth that had been bubbling beneath the surface for months. The Versace Prince and Princess were now more than just friends, more than just ambassadors of the brand. They were in love.

Donatella had noticed long before you had even figured your feelings out. It was in fact her who had pushed Hyunjin so hard to confess after she forced a slip up from you confirming your feelings about Hyunjin.

Not only was she was a fashion icon, but a matchmaking genius. She had so easily spotted the potential for you and Hyunjin in the fashion world and in the romantic world. And tonight, under the flash of cameras and beneath the eyes of the fashion world, you and Hyunjin would finally the relationship that had come to be.

When you arrived, the red carpet was buzzing with energy. You could hear the camera shutters clicking at a rapid pace as soon as you stepped out of the car, the soft fabric of your gown trailing behind you like waves. The flashes blinded you for a moment, but you’d grown used to it over the years. You posed gracefully, giving the photographers what they came for- sultry looks over your shoulder, that perfectly practiced smile, the occasional wink.

But your eyes were scanning the crowd, searching for him.

And then, you saw him.

Hyunjin was standing at the other end of the carpet, looking as devastatingly handsome as ever in a tailored Versace suit that looked like it had been made with him in mind. His long hair was styled effortlessly, giving him that ethereal yet dangerous look that had the fashion world obsessed. He turned, his eyes catching yours across the carpet, and for a moment, it felt like time had slowed. The world faded away, and it was just the two of you, connected by the same invisible thread that had always drawn you together.

He smiled, that small, knowing smile that made your heart flutter. With that soft look in his eyes that assured you he too wanted to spend the rest of his life together with you.

The two of you had planned this moment for weeks. The way you would walk down the carpet separately, letting the anticipation build, before meeting in the middle in front of the world's cameras. Hyunjin had always been a showman, and tonight, he wanted the world to see just how much he adored you.

As you took a step forward, your heart pounded in your chest. The crowd seemed to hold its breath as you walked towards him, your movements deliberate, graceful. Hyunjin mirrored your actions, his long strides bringing him closer to you.

When you finally met in the middle of the carpet, the world exploded into flashes. You could feel the weight of the crowd's gaze, the media's eyes glued to the two of you, but none of it mattered. Hyunjin was all you could see. He reached for your hand, his fingers gently intertwining with yours, and together.

You expected for him to turn to the cameras, maybe say something. But instead, he leaned in and brushed the most delicate and tender kiss you had ever experienced to your lips.

The reaction was instantaneous. The crowd roared with excitement, the photographers calling out your names, trying to get the perfect shot. You could hear faint whispers- “Are they...?” “Is this real?” -but you and Hyunjin remained calm, your hands clasped tightly together.

Then, Hyunjin turned towards the door, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “Ready?”

You nodded, your heart swelling with excitement.

Hyunjin turned back to the crowd, nodding and giving a slight wave as you two walked into the event.

There was a collective gasp from the audience, and you couldn’t help but smile. The cameras clicked furiously as you stood there, hand in hand with Hyunjin, the Versace Prince and Princess revealing their long-hidden secret.

You squeezed Hyunjin’s hand, glancing up at him, and he smiled down at you, his eyes soft with affection. This was your moment, and nothing could take it away from you.

But the night wasn’t over yet.

Inside the gala, the atmosphere was electric. Fashion icons, celebrities, and designers mingled, sipping champagne and marveling at the opulent displays of Versace’s latest collection. But all eyes were on you and Hyunjin.

Donatella Versace herself had insisted that the two of you model the final looks of the evening. It was a last-minute decision, but one that felt right. After all, you were Versace’s biggest ambassadors, and now, the world knew you were together. What better way to celebrate than by walking the runway together?

Backstage, you could feel the excitement buzzing through the air. Hyunjin stood next to you, his presence grounding you in the midst of the chaos. He was calm, collected, as always, but you could see the glint of excitement in his eyes.

“You ready for this, princess?” he asked, his voice teasing as he tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

You laughed softly, adjusting the gold crown that adorned your head- a perfect accessory for your final look. “I was born ready.”

The music started, a deep, pulsing beat that reverberated through the room. The lights dimmed, casting a golden glow over the runway, and one by one, the models began to walk. You could feel the energy building as the final looks were unveiled, each one more extravagant than the last.

And then it was your turn.

Hyunjin offered you his arm, and together, you stepped onto the runway, the crowd gasping as you appeared. You walked in perfect sync, your heads held high, exuding confidence and power. The cameras flashed, capturing every moment, every step, but all you could think about was Hyunjin next to you.

This was your kingdom. The two of you ruled the fashion world as the Versace Prince and Princess, and tonight, you were untouchable.

As you reached the end of the runway, Hyunjin turned to you, his hand slipping around your waist. He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, "I love you."

You smiled, your heart swelling with emotion.

"I love you." You planted a chaste kiss on his lips.

And as the crowd rose to their feet in applause, you knew that whatever came next, you and Hyunjin would face it together. Although it seemed like you already had the support.

Later that night, as the gala began to wind down and the guests mingled, you and Hyunjin found yourselves tucked away in a quiet corner of the venue, away from the cameras and the noise. The two of you sat side by side, your hands intertwined, enjoying the peace that came with the end of such a monumental evening. With his free hand Hyunjin played with your fingers, the flute of champagne he had long forgotten about as he was more focused on you.

“I still can’t believe we did it,” you murmured, resting your head on Hyunjin’s shoulder. “We really told the whole world.”

Hyunjin chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m glad we did. I was tired of pretending and hiding. Do you know how hard it is not to look at you for long periods of time? You're so pretty and I love you so much that if I looked at you any longer than two seconds the world would have guessed in -3 seconds.”

You smiled, lifting your head to look at him. “Your dramatic Jinnie...”

For a moment, you just stared at each other, the weight of the evening settling around you. There was so much that had changed tonight, but in a way, it felt like nothing had changed at all. You were still you. And Hyunjin was still Hyunjin. The only difference was that now, the world knew what you had known for a long time- that you were meant to be together.

Hyunjin’s hand reached up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. “I love you,” he said again, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, your heart full.

And in that moment, under the soft glow of the lights and the quiet hum of the after-party, you knew that no matter what the future held, you and Hyunjin would face it together.

Your love was more than just a story for the cameras. It was real, it was true, and it was forever.

The Versace Prince and Princess- together, always.

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doumadono · 10 months ago

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Warnings: smut, rough p in v, fingering, some handjob, f!reader, spanking, semi-public sex Synopsis: you and Dabi snag an invite to a party Shigaraki's throwing. Realizing your wardrobe lacks the glam, you strong-arm your boyfriend Dabi into a shopping spree. Despite initial reluctance, he tackles things in his own, cocky style A/N: this little fic was written in honor of the birthday of my incredibly gifted mutual - @dabismoon - I hope you'll enjoy this petite one shot ♥

MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST

The heap of garments had amassed on the bed, growing steadily as you sifted through the wardrobe, discarding outfit after outfit. The frustration bubbled within you, reaching its peak as you bellowed to Dabi in the adjacent room.

"I can't find a single thing to wear for the party tonight!" you exclaimed, your voice carrying the tone of exasperation.

A mumbled response reached your ears, prompting you to traverse the distance and find Dabi, your villainous boyfriend, lounging indifferently with a beer in hand, fixated on the television screen. His nonchalant demeanor was evident as he puffed on a cigarette, seemingly uninterested in your sartorial predicament.

Without much enthusiasm, he nodded in acknowledgment of your complaint, casually remarking that he was sure you could surely find something suitable to adorn yourself for the fucking party Shigaraki had coerced every League member into attending.

Determined, you declared, "Ok. I've decided that you're taking me shopping... no arguments!"

Dabi attempted to dissuade you, gesturing towards the television where news about Endeavor played, as if it held greater significance. "Babe, seriously?"

Disregarding his protests, you seized his lengthy coat, your car keys, and his hand, urging him towards the door despite his low growls, not bothering yourself to turn the TV off.

"Doll, you've got a plethora of clothes, and you still claim to have nothing to choose from? That's utterly ridiculous," Dabi groaned, wresting his hand free, swiftly disposing of his cigarette in a crystal ashtray. With an unhappy grimace etched across his face, he begrudgingly adorned his coat. "I won't be dressing up like a fucking fool just to mingle with those lunatics," he grumbled, his discontent palpable.

After three hours of aimless meandering through a plethora of shops, the details of each one eluding your memory, you stumbled upon a dress that tickled your fancy. Amidst the sea of countless dresses tried on in pursuit of the perfect ensemble, you finally discovered one that resonated with your taste. Eager to see how it would adorn you, you headed for the changing rooms. En route to the fitting room, you deftly accumulated a selection of lingerie as well.

Thoughts of acquiring alluring lingerie danced in your mind, contemplating the ways you could model them for Dabi — whether in person or through the lens - to keep him company during those prolonged missions with the League. A stack of lingerie, featuring neon shades, delicate baby pinks, and enticing black lace, awaited your scrutiny.

As you boldly pulled back the curtain, Dabi made a move to follow you inside. A quick about-face, a dismissive shake of your head, and a pointed indication toward a chair stationed just beyond the dressing area thwarted his entry.

Dabi complained, "So I don't even get the fun bit of watching you change to brighten up this fucking unnecessary trip?"

However, it was futile - you insisted he wait over there. With the realization that he couldn't join in the fashion spectacle, you swiftly snapped pictures of each lingerie piece as you were trying them on. Seeking Dabi's discerning opinion, you bombarded him with inquiries regarding your sartorial choices. After the final snapshot found its way to your boyfriend's inbox, an air of suspense hung in the digital ether. Yet, as the seconds ticked away, there was no immediate response from Dabi, leaving you with a frown crossing your forehead.

As you cautiously peeked outside to ensure he hadn't ventured too far, the thick curtain was unceremoniously thrust aside. And there he stood – Dabi, eyeing you with a hunger akin to a starving predator, meticulously taking in the alluring contours of your body adorned in a provocative lingerie set. The fabric, a blend of black sheer lace with a hint of hot pink trimming, clung enticingly to your form.

The bra, designed with a daring split in the cups, left your nipples exposed, proudly making their presence known in response to the sight before you as they instantly stiffened. An instinctive reaction led you to subtly rub your thighs together, a silent attempt to quell the burgeoning heat within you. Your boyfriend, tall and commanding, exuding an air of nonchalance, leaned casually against the changing room wall, his gaze fixed on you.

Without uttering a single word, Dabi seized the moment, propelling you further into the confines of the changing room. With a deft motion, he drew the curtain close, creating an intimate space.

Dabi deftly took hold of your left nipple, his slender forefinger and thumb teasingly tweaking it.

The heat rapidly ascended along your neck, and your breaths quickened as he leaned in, delivering a fierce kiss and an ardent suck on your pulse point. Lowering his head, his warm mouth enveloped the other nipple with a determination, unleashing a sweet yet sharp sensation at its base. The overwhelming pleasure threatened to elicit sounds of ecstasy, but you fought to maintain composure as delicious waves of sensation cascaded over you. "Handsome," you whispered, barely moving your lips as you slipped one hand into his soft, black hair.

Dabi's free hand, not content with just teasing, boldly tugged aside the lacy panties you had on, inspecting how wet you were getting. His verdict: dripping wet. With a forceful motion, the elastic was yanked down your legs, severing all of his contact from your eager nipples as his attention fell on the panties. In one swift move, they were stripped from your hips and deftly retrieved from the floor.

As though it were the most ordinary sequence of events, Dabi casually unzipped the fly of his black, fitted jeans, revealing a semi-hardened cock. Nonchalantly, he wiped the pre-cum off its reddened tip with the lacy panties, and thrust the fabric into your partially opened mouth. The mingling taste of both yourself and him on the fabric elicited a lascivious moan that escaped your lips.

Dabi's gaze lingered on you for a moment before he smoothly retrieved his own phone, swiftly capturing an image of your aroused state. "Sorry, doll, but you look adorable, all fired up like a cheap whore you secretly are," he remarked, seamlessly sliding his phone back into the rear pocket of his pants. With a sly grin, he pulled the panties out of your mouth, raising them to his nose and inhaling deeply. "Mmmm, absolutely perfect," he growled, stashing the intoxicating garment into the same back pocket. "Guess we're gonna take 'em."

Dabi slipped his hand between your thighs, and you willingly parted them further in anticipation. A dark giggle escaped him at your eagerness. "Look at you, princess, so eager to help me touch that pretty little pussy. What? Is my doll all needy? Moments ago, you didn't want to let me watch you, but look at ya now, eager as never before."

Staring intensely into your captivating eyes, Dabi smoothly slid his long middle finger deep inside your slick pussy, eliciting an immediate moan and causing you to instinctively shut your eyes in response.

"No, no, princess, we ain't gonna play like that. Look at me, I want your eyes on me, now," he commanded, leaning forward to place a tender peck on your forehead.

Complying with his directive, you followed his lead, biting down on your lower lip with enough force to draw a bead of blood after opening your eyes again, looking into his turquoise ones.

For a span of a good minute or two, Dabi expertly fingered you, exploring every millimeter of your pussy until your spongy walls began to clench rhythmically around his finger, a clear indication of your impending climax.

"You ain't gonna get off so easily, doll," he declared, withdrawing his digit and lifting it to your lips. With a deliberate motion, he parted your lips with his thumb, prompting you to accept his finger into your mouth.

You sucked your own juices off his digit, moaning quietly without breaking the eye contact.

Dabi seized a generous handful of your supple ass, drawing you closer to him in a forceful manner, engaging in a passionate make-out session with you, pushing his pierced tongue down your throat.

Unabashedly, you dared to extend your hand, wrapping it around his now fully-erect cock, expertly jerking it while rising onto your tiptoes for a more comfortable angle.

Your actions proved successful as Dabi moaned into your mouth, punctuating the moment with a couple of spanks on your ass before tenderly squeezing the supple flesh, indulging in a thorough massage.

In the next instant, he decisively detached your hand from his throbbing cock and pivoted you around, urging you forward until you were facing a lengthy mirror.

Dabi positioned your hands high on either side of the mirror, granting you a comprehensive view of your entire form and his presence looming behind you in the reflective surface.

In a hushed tone, he murmured, "Now, we don't have much time, baby. You wasted too much time already wandering throughout all those stupid stores and teasing me like a bitch you are. I'm going to fuck you hard and cum deep inside you. Do you understand?"

Meeting his gaze in the mirror's reflection, you nodded in affirmation.

"Good," he declared, punctuating his words with another firm spank on your ass. His hand deftly secured your left cheek, spreading it as he gripped his throbbing member. With the tip of his cock, Dabi traced an enticing path up and down your exposed entrance, your juices already glistening and trickling down your thigh.

Without delay, he forced your cunt open with his rigid shaft, delivering a single, powerful thrust that brought him to the hilt inside you. "Fffuuuuccckkk," Dabi breathed out through gritted teeth.

Any potential scream was mercifully muffled by his hand wrapping around your neck, applying a tight squeeze that momentarily restricted your airflow. "Don't you dare moan like you do back home. Our neighbors are accustomed to your bitchy moans and whines, but here people are not, yeah? And the last thing I need today is getting caught with my dick stuffed in your tight cunt," he warned, nibbling your earlobe.

You were relentlessly slammed into, the force akin to a piston driving into your pussy again and again and again.

Dabi's hands greedily explored your soft flesh - your breasts, hips, belly, occasionally slipping between your thighs to playfully tease your swollen clitoris.

Little moans escaped your lips as you pressed your cheek against the cold glass, the surface already fogging up from the intensity of your heavy breathing.

Dabi, panting with an intensity akin to a dog in heat, delivered hard spanks to your ass and the back of your thighs. "You enjoy it when I take you rough like this, don't ya, doll? Hmm? Oh yeah, ya love it. You're quite the dirty whore," he chuckled into your ear. "Don't worry, daddy will fuck you the way you crave the most, princess."

Dabi intensified his rhythm, a firm grip on your hips as he relentlessly thrust into your slippery cunt.

The only sounds resonating within the confines of the changing room were a harmonious blend of your mixed gasps and moans, accompanied by the resonating slap of flesh against flesh, each time his weighty balls hit the curve of your supple ass.

"Dabi..." you whined, already breathless.

Smack, smack, smack! A sequence of forceful spanks landed on your ass. "Address me properly, princess, or I'll have to think of a punishment, and trust me, you won't want that," Dabi growled, sinking his teeth into the column of your neck.

"Daddy," you whispered, your mouth parched from moans and panting, the act of swallowing causing a sweet ache. "Harder," you pleaded. "Harder."

"Mmmm," Dabi slowed his thrusts, his cock reaching deep within you, the tip delicately grazing your cervix as he came to a complete stop. "I knew you had a wild side, little whore, but now you've surprised me. Daddy's going to fulfill your wish," he declared with a sultry promise.

And thus, it commenced. Without delay, he placed a hand on your head, pressing you more firmly against the mirror. The intensity escalated, his hips snapping with relentless determination.

"Oh my God," you managed to utter as you slid a hand between your legs, tracing delicate circles over your slick-covered folds.

Slap, slap, slap! Each thrust felt harder and deeper than the last. His strong hand seized a handful of your hair, pulling you further onto his pulsating dick as he forewarned, "Princess, I'm gonna cum. Daddy's going to coat your sweet cunt with his seed."

Bracing yourself, you endured a final series of sloppy thrusts as Dabi's grunts reverberated down your ear. Rising on your tiptoes, you attempted to accommodate the force emanating from his groin. "Cumming, cumming, fuck," Dabi aggressively grunted, and came deep inside of you, his warm, thick semen spurting from the slit of his tip, painting your spongy walls until they were all adorned in a coating of white.

After withdrawing, Dabi took a moment to appreciate his job, observing the mix of his cum and your juices as they dribbled from your well-used hole.

Depleted and breathless, you whimpered, "I need to drink something, my mouth's dry, Dabi…"

"I'll get you water," he responded casually, extracting panties from his back pocket to once again clean himself off. "You were such a filthy whore, doll. Just the way I like ya the most," he added, punctuating his words with a playful spank that made you yelp as he seemingly heated up his palm, leaving a vivid red mark on your ass cheek. "Get fucking dressed now, we only have an hour to get back home and get ready for that fucking party."

Dabi gathered a few bras and panties before leaving you in the changing room.

As you slid your knickers back on, you smeared the cream of your mixed fluids between your puffy cunt lips. You bit down on your knuckle to stifle a reaction to coldness brought forth by the slick wetness.

You haven't cum so hard such in a good two days, you thought to yourself.

Once dressed, you exited the fitting room only to spot Dabi at the checkout, purchasing every item you had tried on. A self-satisfied grin played on your lips, met with a nod from him. Ah, you already had a plan in mind for how you'd repay him.

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frenchkisstheabyss · 1 year ago

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✶ Cellophane ✶

✶ Pairing: model!hyunjin x model!chubby!fem!reader, model!minho x model!chubby!fem!reader

✶ Genre: fluff, angst, suggestive

✶ Summary: After discovering that your lover's attending one of the most important events of your career with another woman, a friendly face appears to save the day and steal your heart in the process.

✶ Word Count: 3.1k-ish

✶ Warnings: Discussion of the reader's struggle as a chubby babe in the industry/her everyday life. Sex is referenced but no smut scenes. Drinking, a lil sprinkle of strong language, & I think that's all.

✶ A/N: I started this out with two parts in mind 🖤 part two here 🖤 but now it'll likely end up being three so, like, ya know thanks for coming along for the ride.

This should be one of the happiest days of your life. Only a handful of models your size have ever gotten the chance to walk the red carpet during Paris Fashion Week. It’s not that you haven’t earned it. You've worked your ass off for every contract you signed. Poured blood, sweat, and tears into this even when people said a girl like you could never make it.

Every bit of struggle you've endured has led to this moment. You should be popping bottles and screaming, “Fuck you!” to anyone who doubted you. Instead, you’re sitting in the back of a black SUV in your designer gown choking back tears behind tinted windows.

The lights of a hundred cameras flash. Miniature supernovas bursting against the night sky. A bodyguard exits on the passenger’s side, a muscular man dressed in a nicely tailored black suit, and rounds the car to open your door. With shaky hands and weakened knees you try the breathing exercises your stylist taught you.

Place one hand on your belly. Inhale for 7 seconds. Exhale for 8. But you can’t bring yourself to do it. To let that breath out would be to set free everything you’ve been keeping inside. You can’t do it anymore. It’s too much to pretend that this doesn’t hurt.

Silently cursing Hyujin’s name you exhale for 1…2…3 and you’re right back to the morning when everything fell apart.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you whisper, afraid to wake the sun up any more than it already has. Hyunjin wraps an arm around you, holding you close to him beneath the blankets of a bed he’s made love to you in countless times this weekend. He leans into your neck, committing your scent to memory, his fingers caressing the softness of your love handles. “Like what?”

No one’s ever looked at you the way he does. Hyunjin’s obsessed with your beauty, fascinated by the elegance of your features. He strokes your cheek, his gaze laced with desire, and plants a trail of kisses up your throat. You inhale sharply at the little nibbles he sneaks in between, the air that fills your lungs somehow fresher when he’s around.

His hands trace the rise and fall of your hips, taking sensual handfuls of your plush. Your lips part and his mouth is at yours, sipping your dulcet moans like wine. He shifts his weight, preparing to turn you over when—

Buzz! Buzz! Buzz! Your phone vibrates on the bedside table, sending tremors through the porcelain tea cup beside it.

“Ssh, no. Ignore it,” Hyunjin begs, climbing on top of you. A curtain of dark hair falls around you tickling your cheeks. He’s all you can see. All you can feel. Your phone quiets for a brief moment before it sounds once more, the buzzing seemingly more aggressive this time. “Ugh, what do you want?” you groan, snatching it from the table.

Seeing your manager's name, you click to open the thread of texts and immediately wish that you hadn't. Being with Hyunjin has been like a dream but with every word you read, you're beginning to wake up. You’re being dragged back to the real world kicking and screaming. It can’t be true.

“Hyunjin, who—um,” you say, your voice already trembling, “Who is this?” Handing him your phone, you slip out of bed and throw on your robe. Hyunjin sits up, that ethereal glow draining from his face when he’s confronted by what’s on the screen. An article announcing his date to Paris Fashion Week, a doe-eyed blonde rocking a certified 00 couture dress who most certainly isn’t you.

You wait for him to say something—anything—to stop your heart from breaking. He rakes his fingers through his hair, nervously chewing at the inside of his cheek. “I was going to tell you—” “Oh, you were?” you snap, snatching your phone back, “When? The week of? The night of?” “I was going to tell you once I figured things out! This isn’t as easy as you think it is! My agency, they have this idea of who they want me to be with and—”

He doesn’t need to finish his sentence. You already know what he’s about to say. Some variation of what you’ve heard every day in this industry. “And it’s just not me, right? Good enough to be the fat girl you fuck in secret but god forbid anyone sees you with me.” You laugh to keep from crying but tears rush down your cheeks anyway. Hyunjin jumps to his feet, throwing on a pair of sweatpants and rushing to your side.

Hearing you say those things. Seeing you cry. Knowing it’s because of him. It kills him. “Don’t talk like that. I don’t think that way about you. You know that.” He grabs you by the wrist, attempting to bring you into his arms but you push him away. “Do I?” you ask, storming off to the bathroom uninterested in his answer.

Locking the door behind you, you slump to the floor and cry into your soft cotton sleeves. The dream is over, Hyunjin’s pleas for you to open up drowned out to nothing. You’re fully awake now. And it fucking sucks.

Your mind springs back to the present where the bodyguard patiently holds the car door open for you. Minho reaches over to take your hand, “Are you sure you wanna do this?” He’s been such a sweetheart. Not minding your shyness when he picked you up from your hotel or the silence on the ride here. Having you in his presence does more for him than words ever could.

Long before Hyunjin entered the picture, you and Minho would hang out at the occasional after-party or industry event. You'd even developed a bit of a crush on him that you let go of after convincing yourself it was one-sided. The other models would always fawn over how attractive he was but they were much too scared to approach him. “I heard he’s mean” they’d say but they couldn't have been more wrong about him.

Over time you came to find that Minho was a sweet, charming man who was unhinged in the best way once he had a few drinks in his system. That’s how he asked you to be his date. Sipping one too many cocktails at a party neither of you wanted to be at, he’d mentioned that he didn’t have a date. Maybe since you didn’t either the two of you could go together.

“As friends, of course” he emphasized.

Of course.

Minho gently turns your head to look at him, careful not to ruin your makeup. “We really don’t have to do this. We can go get pizza or something.” “Go get pizza?” you laugh, sniffling a bit, “You wanna skip the most exclusive event of the year to get pizza?” Minho stares blankly at you, not understanding why that’s such a wild idea. “I mean, if it’s with you, why not?”

There’s a fluttering in your chest that you can’t control. The rekindling of something that can’t happen. “Ma’am,” the bodyguard says, gesturing for you to step outside. Minho leans forward shooting him a cutthroat glare that demands a few more seconds with you. “If you get nervous just look at me. I won’t leave your side. I’ve got you” he promises and, without question, you believe him.

You’ve walked a thousand runways in 6 inch heels but those first few steps outside of the car make you feel like a baby deer, your heels teetering between gravel. Minho takes your hand again, keeping you glued to his side as you maneuver through the crowd. The atmosphere is electric. Photographers battle each other for the perfect photo.

A sea of assistants and styling teams buzz around their clients, terrified of losing them in the crowd. In front of you, Minho's manager goes back and forth with yours. A low, passive aggressive exchange that no one else notices besides the two of you.

“I should’ve never let him pick her up. You’re late.”

“We were there on time. She was late coming out. This is on you.”

“On me? Bullshit!”

“I think they’re into each other. What do you think?” Minho whispers into your ear, making you crack your first smile of the night. You place a hand on his forearm, mulling it over. “Enemies to lovers vibes for sure.” A casually dressed woman approaches your managers, rattling information off to them for a second before you’re being herded towards the red carpet.

There’s no time to pace yourself. No time to breathe in for 7 and out for 8. You’re thrown in front of the cameras, effortlessly switching into model mode. You know how to sell a garment, striking poses that prove you were born to rock this dress. Minho’s no slouch, looking absolutely regal. His bone structure, a sight to behold from every angle, is particularly striking from where you stand.

He brings an arm around your waist, resting his hand on your side, “I’m really happy you came.” You feel a slight squeeze at your hip as your eyes meet and that fluttering in your chest sneaks back up on you. “Me too.”

Being invited to Paris Fashion Week is an honor in its own right. But being invited to an afterparty? That’s when you know you’ve made it. You’re in the inner circle now. One of the chosen few. A god in comparison to the mere ants who’ll scurry to worship you at the next event. At least that’s the way everyone acts and Hyunjin finds it nauseating.

He’s not one of them but he has to pretend to be. He has to smile and nod while people drone on about the most shallow, egocentric bullshit he’s ever heard. At least that’s what he usually does. Tonight he doesn’t have the energy to mask his irritation. How can he when you’re cozying up at the bar with Minho like he’s not even here?

Hyunjin’s gone out of his way to get you to see him, desperate for you to notice that he’d come alone, but you've been glued to Minho. You're in your element, radiating light, and it’s not fair that another man gets to bask in it. In you.

Is this why you’ve been ignoring his texts? Why every call has gone straight to voicemail? Blinded by rage, infinite possibilities racing through his mind, he’s charging across the room before he can think better of what he’s about to do. Spotting Hyunjin before he can reach you, Minho sneaks away from the bar to cut him off halfway.

“Hyunjin,” Minho grins, picking an invisible piece of lint from the younger man’s shoulder, “You weren’t about to do something stupid, were you?” Hyunjin slaps his hand away, in no mood for pleasantries. “If by 'stupid' you mean punching you then yes, I was.” Minho closes the distance between them, his face turning cold. “You wanna hit me? Do it.”

Hyunjin’s right hand tightens into a fist, the temptation to crack him in the jaw intensifying. Minho leans in, the tips of their noses nearly brushing. “Do it” he challenges, “Fight for her for once.” A group of designers walk by, one in particular has her eye on Hyunjin. Sensing that he’s being watched, he loosens his fist and takes a step back.

“Yeah,” Minho sighs, “Just like I thought. Your little threat was cute though.”

“Why are you doing this?” Hyunjin asks, packing all of the anguish of a scream into a whisper.

That question is an insult to Minho’s intelligence. As if he doesn’t know what he did. Hyunjin never would’ve known you existed if he hadn’t caught Minho scrolling your Instagram one night. Minho was lovestruck, falling for you more and more with each post he saw. Hyunjin’s hatred for him at this moment is nothing compared to what Minho felt when he found out the two of you were together.

“Why am I doing this?” he snaps, “Because I love her and you…you only love that she loves you.”

“Minho!” you sing, puncturing the steeled tension between them. You’d only turned away for a minute to chat up a friend. He couldn’t have gone too far. You scan the crowd, standing on the tips of your toes to find him. He reappears just as quietly as he vanished, making his way back to you. “Sorry, I had to…talk to someone.” There’s worry painted all over him. It’s in the crinkle of his brow and the clenching of his jaw. Something happened.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” you ask, stroking his jawline with your thumbs. He closes his eyes, your touch soothing enough to make him forget where he is. “It’s nothing. I’m just—you wanna get out of here?” Opening his eyes, he’s met with nothing but pure excitement. “Totally. You owe me pizza anyway!”

“Which one is this again?” you ask, leaning in to get a better look at Minho’s phone. “Doongie,” he answers, swiping to the next picture of an equally adorable cat, “And this is Soonie and Dori.” You take a bite of what might be the best slice of pizza you’ve ever had in your life, your lips forming a pout. “Ugh, they're so cute. I must cuddle them.” “You can if you want to meet them one day. Maybe. I don’t know.” Minho shoves his hands in his pockets, turning his attention to the crescent moon that watches over you, "Moon's pretty, isn't it?"

Seeing through this transparent attempt at avoiding his feelings immediately tunes you into those you’ve tried to suppress since the night he asked you out. This time last week you weren’t even sure you could survive the red carpet, too afraid of seeing Hyunjin to even consider coming. But now, standing here on this bridge in the picturesque Parc Monceau with a man so kind, so considerate, you can’t imagine being anywhere else.

Minho put everything into making sure this night was perfect for you. He stuck by you the entire time like he promised, doing whatever he could to keep you happy. You’ve never felt more special and it’s not because of some exclusive party invite or some absurdly expensive outfit. It’s because of him.

“I’d really like that…to hang out with them. And you.”

“You want to see me again?”

“Duh, of course, I do.”

Minho visibly deflates, bracing himself to be let down, “Just as friends?” You know you shouldn’t say what you’re about to but your heart has beat your brain into submission and there’s nothing you can do about it. “Friendship? Is that all you want from me?” “No, I want…” he pauses to catch his breath, choosing these next few words carefully.

You’re the cutest thing, standing here with your heels in one hand and pizza crust in the other. And you’re the only thing he wants. “Fuck it” he mumbles, kissing you with every drop of passion he’s held back since you met. It’s the type of kiss so steeped in longing that you taste it each time the warmth of his tongue tangles with yours.

He brings his arms around you, locking them in place to keep you close. You drop everything, your body going limp as the kiss deepens. “I want you,” he confesses, “Always wanted you.” That crush you had on him never quite went away. It's been here all along and is back with a vengeance. You can’t lie to yourself. There’s no use pretending. Not with the way he has your body aching for him, every part of you crying out for his attention.

You want him too.

Morning breaks and the birds are already perched at the open window, singing a song that stirs you from your sleep. You sit up in bed, taking in your surroundings. In the rays of dawn, Minho’s hotel room reminds you of something ripped from the pages of a fairytale. Everything has an iridescent sheen to it, almost as if someone’s cast a spell on it. Even Minho, still half asleep beside you, seems to be made of magic.

If you reach out to touch him would he disappear? And with him, everything you shared last night? Minho grabs your arm, drawing you back under the covers. You go without resistance, eager to be held by him. You lay your head on his chest, your fingers drawing figure eights on his skin. Minho presses his lips to your forehead, caressing your arm with the same care he’d so diligently treated the rest of your body to.

Your body is, of course, immaculate. A gift from some goddess he must’ve mistakenly appeased. To have made love to it time and time again, hearing his name spill from your lips in the hush of the night, is to have realized a fantasy he never thought would happen. But it’s this moment—your smile like honey as you poke your head up to glimpse at him—and every moment like it that he’ll hold closest to his heart when you’ve parted ways.

In Minho’s gaze, you find adoration but there’s much more to it than that. There’s infinite acceptance and with it a longing to know you inside and out so that no part of you feels unloved. Minho turns onto his side, easing down in to kiss you when—

Buzz! Buzz! Buzz! Your phone vibrates at the foot of the bed and your stomach sinks.

You swear you can feel your intestines twisting themselves into knots. Not again. “I’ll get it,” Minho insists, reaching up to grab your phone. “Uh…thanks” you stutter, taking it with shaky hands. Clicking the button on the side, you see a string of texts from your manager.

It’s happening again. You’re tempted not to read them. This has only just started. You can’t lose it already. But you have to know. Opening the thread, you’re confronted with your worst fear.

Only, you aren’t…

The texts are business as usual. Flight cancellations, fittings for your next event, complaints about Minho’s “cute but annoying” manager. “Is everything okay?” Minho asks, yawning as he curls up next to you. You toss your phone aside, going back in for a kiss, “The best they’ve ever been.”

#stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #stray kids x female reader #stray kids x chubby reader #lee know x you #lee know x reader #hyunjin x you #hyunjin x reader #lee know angst #lee know fluff #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin angst #chubby reader #plus size reader

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overnowsfcb · 1 year ago

Text

worth it for once; pedri

summary: sometimes the show must not go on. what happens when the curtains fall?

warnings: angst, smut (dom!pedri, pool sex, hickey, blow job (v), masturbation and self-masturbation (p), pet names) mature language, abuse of alcohol, toxic relationship dynamics, emotional distress. if any of these topics makes you uncomfortable, i advise against reading this story.

word count: 5.9k

note: hi! first of all i wanted to thank everyone who interacted with 'halfway out the door', you don't even know how much it means to me that people can read my stories. i knew i said i would do some fluff, but i feel like im not good at it. i cant seem to let the reader be happy can i? (this fic is so long i feel like i got a bit carried away)

p.s.: this is my first time ever writing smut, im sorry if its too bad. also! 'halfway out the door' has ninety percent of possibility to have a second part.

p.s. 2: the party ended an hour ago and he still there. another thing that i wanted to say is that FOR ME 'slut!' is not a love song so that is my reason for this, i take my interpretation of the song and write it down — venus 🫂💐🫧

The sun's rays slipped through the white curtain covering the partially open window, letting in the morning breeze. You nestled in the sheets, still drowsy, but as you did, you snapped wide awake, realizing once again that Pedri wasn't by your side.

You turned over, hoping it was a dream, but the only remnants of him in the room were his lingering scent and memories of the night before, replaying in your mind.

The way he touched you, tracing each of the invisible scars left by your previous lovers who sought only their own pleasure, using you to their liking without paying attention to your desires.

He was different. His kisses felt like a religious experience, filling you with an ever-growing sense of fulfillment. Nothing wrapped around you more securely than the feeling of having him inside of you, merging under the lustful gaze of the moon that welcomed you on a tailor-made altar, adorned with soft sheets and sensations that turned into a celestial orchestra.

And although the next day, perhaps his flaws became evident, your infatuation took you beyond, closing the curtain of the stage within your mind; you didn't have to be displeased or critical when admiring a work of art, right?

When the strength left from the previous night was regained under pressure, and your mind returned to the frosty present, you sat up in bed, feeling your head heavy, needing to blink several times to clear the blurriness that clouded your eyes due to sleep.

Your feet rested on the wooden floor. You didn’t want to face another day with the pain of the mandatory conviction your heart held towards your mind, aiming it with a gun if it tried to move from there.

You sighed with closed eyes and gathered your clothes scattered around the room. When you finished dressing, you approached the window and inhaled a breath of air to refresh your thoughts.

You left your room; the squeak of the door echoed through the house, signaling to Elena that you had already woken up. You couldn't lie; you were afraid to face her.

She, your best friend since you desperately looked for someone to share an apartment with after the owners of your previous apartment unjustly left you out in the cold.

She, who warmly welcomed you full of empathy and commiseration, helped you deal with the storm by receiving you in a studio apartment with an air mattress. She became the person you adored most in the whole world and never lacked frankness in her words.

Both of you moved forward together; now, you succeeded in modeling, and you could search for something much more comfortable living now in a pent-house, but always side by side.

You arrived at the spacious kitchen connected to the dining room and were met with an exquisite aroma, akin to the dishes she professionally prepared. You tied your hair in a ponytail and moved the chair to sit facing the counter.

Crossed fingers and your chin resting on your hands, you noticed she expected your presence when she twisted her torso, leaving a plate with toast and homemade raspberry jam on the marble counter in front of you.

You waited a moment to grab one of the perfectly made toasts and spread the jam in the toast; you felt the tension in the air. You knew of her disapproving stance regarding your situation with Pedri, and you knew she was preparing the usual sermon.

"Want to say something about it?" It was as if she had read your mind; turning her back, you sat up straighter on the stool, your distressed chest making your heart pump more blood than usual.

"No," you replied dryly, as you took a bite of toast.

"Alright, then it'll be up to me." You felt fear travel up your spine to the buzzing in your head and a high-pitched tone ringing in your ears.

You tried to breathe normally, but it was impossible. Her actions guided your eyes; she put the angel food cake in the oven and turned around, sitting on the stool in front of you, looking at you incredulously.

"He left at seven in the morning. When was the last time he stayed the following morning with you? I know you don't want to hear this, and I understand that you're into him. But don't let that blind you from what's really happening here. You're too intelligent for this, too good for someone who treats you like an option." Her words were always harsh, and she never hesitated to tell you the bleak truth without flinching. But it wasn't what you needed now, and her words were insignificant in front of the formidable figure that Pedri occupied in your mind.

There were very few people who dared to challenge your perspective, and Elena was brave enough to do it, even though her attempts always ended in defeats.

And defeats consisted in your denial, where you decided to take off your glasses after seeing what was there. You knew it existed and acknowledged it deep down, but hearing someone throw out statements so lightly without knowing him in the homely intimacy where he could unfold without prejudices, was something only you could discover.

The 'Open Sesame' didn't work with all tones, and not everyone acquired the privilege of opening such a treasure. So, you assumed it was envy.

"Maybe it’s a mess, maybe it’s complicated, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth a damn!" Your voice began to rise in volume the more anger you vented at her, who was innocent of it all. You noticed her furrowed brow, her attempts to help, every time she threw you a lifeline, you chose to ignore it, believing you could swim the remaining yards to shore alone.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, trying to find a balance, but your aggressiveness seemed to have reached its peak.

"I’ll sort it out myself, alright?" You exhaled, continuing your defense. "So just back off, Ele. I’m sick of needing your approval for everything. I’ll make my choices, even if they’re not in your rulebook." You spoke with a passive-aggressive tone. "You think you know him? You have no clue, none whatsoever." You got up from your seat, giving the countertop a light tap, and shook your head indignantly.

"I just want what's best for you, y/n," She whispered, looking you in the eyes with honesty. You headed towards the door disappearing from her sight.

You knew that she wanted to protect you like she did from the very first moment.

Despite being your age, she showed herself to be more mature than you. You were like her baby chick, and she had the instinct to keep you under her wings, but she had to admit that you had to learn defense by yourself.

And sometimes you need to fail to build your path.

There was no better remedy in your routine than drowning yourself in work to stop thinking about all the dilemmas surrounding your life. At least for a few hours.

Growing within the fashion industry was difficult without contacts; if you wanted to achieve something, you had to consider the hurdles you might carry in your backpack. But your resilience and pride prevented anyone else, terrified of having a future of subordination, from winning.

Today's meetings were about agreements for your brand, a dream that grew with you from your mom reading you bedtime stories to the present day.

You had put so much effort and creativity into your project that, regardless of what happened externally, your priority would always be there. No affair or argument could steer you away from that.

All your distractions due to logical thoughts vanished upon arriving at your apartment. You turned on the lights; Elena had left you a message informing you that she would stay at her boyfriend's house for the night.

Your home felt empty without her blasting music through the speakers and constant movements around the house. You cracked your neck, leaving your faux leather coat on the entryway rack. You lazily tossed your bag onto the couch, sitting beside it. You unbuckled your heels, freeing your feet.

A contained sigh escaped your nostrils, easing your chest a bit. You heard thousands of notifications coming from your bag. Worried, you unzipped it and searched for the phone, unsure of what was happening.

You glanced at the news headlines and the numerous social media posts where you were being tagged. You thought you had successfully escaped last time. The carefully revised alibi by both managers to divert media attention from your relationship had been futile.

But it seemed not entirely effective; without any evidence or concrete proof, just a blurry and deficient photo was enough for them to create a compelling scene for the public.

You clicked on a specific article; its name caught your attention, "The New Target of Love: The Boy in Her Chaos - Will He Survive?" You knew it wasn't the smartest decision you could make; the echoes of the voices of the people closest to you resonated in your ears. But you were alone and had nothing better to do at that moment.

The devil on your right shoulder encouraged and forced you to keep reading; with each sentence and word, your tear ducts were ready to expel the salty drops from your eyes.

You couldn't understand why journalists consistently targeted your romantic relationships instead of focusing on your professional endeavors, where you worked, and strived every day to show the world that you were more than just a pretty face. But in a sexist world, you had to accept without a murmur the things they wrote without any pity, driven by money and interactions.

Had you signed up for this life, or was it something gradually inserted into your brain about what it had to be?

You found yourself seated at your computer with a bottle of wine by your side, seemingly engrossed in reading each of the articles criticizing you and perpetuating a negative reputation of yourself.

You had poured a small amount of the burgundy liquid into your glass. Some sort of masochism consumed you, and without noticing, you began to pour more and more wine into the glass, your heart filling with misery, pausing at every clever word that defined your identity on the internet. Because all of the words seemed monotone.

Until the glass was no longer enough to swallow the bitter pill, you stared at the bottle, contemplating your next move. You shrugged and reached for the bottle with difficulty, your vision truly distorted, no longer having a sense of space.

You leaned back in the couch and took a long swig that burned your throat, feeling your heart rate rise.

You decided you had gone too far, abruptly leaving the computer on the table in front of you. When you tried to get up, you fell backward by inertia, unbalanced. That's when you realized you weren't even paying attention to the news but mindlessly scrolling your mouse.

The tears you had been holding back for over an hour and a half streamed down your cheeks immediately. Now, you couldn't turn back and felt trapped within your own uncontrollable body.

Gut-wrenching sobs made your body tremble, and at that moment, all you could think of was his touch, how every time you cried, he carefully wiped your cheeks and assured you that this too shall pass.

With tears and alcohol blurring your vision, it wasn't hard to find his number as you had it pinned in your messaging app. You opened his chat and immediately tapped the call icon.

You placed your phone to your ear, hearing the beeps from the other end, while your body, consumed by sorrow, couldn't help but continue shedding tears.

You perceived a noticeable change from silence to a clear indication that the call had been answered. You tried to stifle your crying by biting your lip, but it seemed this battle wouldn't let you emerge victorious.

"Love, are you crying?" You wanted to respond, but his voice only intensified your desire to cry; you longed to feel his warmth. You still didn't understand why you decided to go this far. "y/n, I'm worried. Did something happen? Did someone hurt you?" You tried to take a deep breath to provide an answer.

You wiped your tears with the back of your hand and then placed it on your chest, trying to assist in the calming process. "It's so exhausting." These were the words that came out of your mouth as you exhaled.

He still didn't understand exactly what you were talking about, but you kept talking. "I think I can't be with you anymore." Your voice came out strained; you truly didn't want to say those words. You clung to the arm of the chair with one hand, squeezing it, waiting to hear the response on the other side.

"What?" He couldn't comprehend how he had woken up at two in the morning, and you were talking about cutting ties. "Love, listen to me. Why don't you go to sleep, and tomorrow, we spend the day at the country house?" On the other end of the line, he easily realized the moment he picked up that you were drunk.

"Okay." You affirmed with a nod, resting your head on the armrest, and lifting your feet to stretch out on the sofa. "I love you a lot." Your face contracted again, a sign that tears would return.

"You too." He replied, and you were the one who ended the call, slightly calmer about the reflections the articles had left and the incoherent thoughts that had arisen from them.

You left the phone by your side and curled up, hugging yourself, seeking warmth without the help of a blanket. You closed your eyes, praying that the world would change radically tomorrow, although you knew it was an unlikely hope. You never wished more than for whoever was in the sky to give you a new chance to love in the right way.

You needed to believe in someone; you needed assistance from the universe to not lose the hope that once brought you immense joy. But perhaps genuine love was like Santa Claus, and sooner or later, it would crumble like any other ingenious belief.

And like a shrewd child who receives his Christmas gifts with the same enthusiasm even after learning the hidden truth, you dipped your feet into the transparent chlorinated water.

He watched each of your movements attentively, leaning on one of the pool edges. You plunged, soaking your entire body, and swam towards his direction, resurfacing enveloped in laughter with him.

He embraced you, sharing some of his warmth to your cold body due to the sudden change in the water, and you placed your hands around his waist, looking up at him from his chest.

"I love you so much." You bit your lip, seeking an outlet for your love. He rested his hands on your cheeks and began planting short kisses that spread across your entire face.

"I love you more." He reciprocated, giving two gentle taps on your legs. You jumped, and he took you into his arms grabbing your ass.

Quickly, he changed his position, leaving your back resting on the cold pool wall. The chills went up through your spinal cord, fusing the temperature of the edge and its expression, which never went out of style to make you think that everything you needed was there, with him.

You ran his sculpted shoulders with your palms open, feeling his muscles and intertwined your fingers behind his neck, brushing his hair.

Your lips brushed, and you could feel the electricity that could arise from a simple and minimal contact.

He brought his face to you, holding you tight against the concrete.

It was undeniable the indissoluble bond tied by the threads that led you each time to the same situation, and the core of your life was nourished by its bond.

As your lips collided with fervor, eager to quell the fervent passion, you pulled him closer with your legs still entwined around his waist. Feeling his hardness against your core ignited arousal as he pressed himself firmly, and both of you gasped in the midst of the kiss at the electrifying contact.

Your lips didn't want to part, too hungry for each other's sweet taste. You caught his lower lip between your teeth, pulling it gently to invite your tongue into his mouth. It had become sloppy as you lightly tugged his hair, eliciting a groan.

His hand stealthily ascended, never parting from your lips, traveling from your ass to the back of your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

His tender lips traced a pattern from your cheeks to your neck. You tilted your head back, offering more of your skin for his exploration.

Expertly, his fingers unraveled the straps of your bikini with a single pull, still nestled in your neck. As the air grazed your tightened nipples, your breath hitched when he took one between his fingers, fidgeting and further intensifying the sensation.

Your sensitive boobs elicited desperate whimpers as he continued grinding against you, creating a symphony of pleasure. The air thickened, and your bodies radiated heat.

His lips passionately suctioned a spot, causing your eyes to roll. You were well aware that he would leave a hickey there.

Moving from your neck, his lips trailed down to your collarbone. Frustration built as he skillfully teased the sides of your breasts, deliberately avoiding the attention where you craved it most.

"Pedri, please..." You gently tugged his strands, prompting him to lift his head. Counterfeit innocence gleamed in his pupils.

"What do you need, amor? Tell me, is there something I can do for you?" His gentle caress graced your cheek, and you melted into his simmering touch.

"Please..." He ceased grinding, his hand swiftly traversing to your neck, as your hand descended, grazing his abs.

"If only you could see this beautiful hickey right now," He whispered, tracing the mark and toying with you, his actions inviting your response as he often did.

It was exasperating; no matter how frequently you found yourself in such moments with him, articulating your desires remained a challenge.

"Just do something," you uttered, a touch of despondency in your voice, pouting with pleading eyes. Yet, he remained resolute.

"I just don't know what you want." He shook his head, gently placing a strand of hair behind your ear, mimicking your pout with a teasing tone.

"Alright... just please, babe, suck my tits," you replied with a hint of frustration. His corners lifted, forming a smile, having successfully achieved his goal.

"There she is, that's my good girl, aren't you?" You couldn't help but nod several times steadfastily, just wanting him to stop playing.

His face vanished from your sight as he covered one of your breasts with his mouth. A loud moan escaped your throat, a sound of satisfaction for him as he moved his tongue, savoring your skin. "Was it that difficult?" He gazed at you once more, and you sighed in irritation, prompting him to raise his eyebrows, questioning your actions.

"No." Your fingers traced his chest as he continued sucking with determination.

Moving lower, you reached the edge of the swim trunks' fabric. However, as you did, he pulled away with a frown. "Who said you could touch?" You mirrored his expression confused.

"Last night, you scared me a lot. Do you think it was funny for me? No, so you can't decide who's having fun, okay?" Your chest felt heavy, yet you found a strange allure in his dominant low voice, even though you wanted to object.

"I thought..." He wrapped his hand around your neck, pulling you back and shutting your mouth with his thumb. He watched as you sucked it, humming and biting his plump lips.

"You didn't think shit. Now, jump." He firmly gripped your hips, lifting you effortlessly to the pool's edge. Seated, you patiently awaited his guidance, uncertainty accelerating your heartbeat.

Intense eye contact heightened the tension. His fingers delicately traced over your thighs, starting from the outer part, then gently grazing your clothed intimacy. He devoured you with his gaze.

"Lean back for me, baby." You did as he pleased leaning in your elbows.

He tapped on your thighs, a signal to lift your hips, and he removed the sole fabric covering your body and throwing it to your side. He took your legs and placing them over his shoulders. Spreading you open. A groan escaped him at the sight, reveling in your arousal.

"So wet, just for me," he murmured, running his fingers through your folds, collecting your juices and parting your lips to spread the liquids.

You pressed closer, yearning for more. "Just for you." Suddenly, a firm spank on your sensitive area made you shudder, and you gasped. "Behave," he commanded, throwing you a dominant look.

Circling your clit, he gradually increased the pace. Tilted back, moans escaped uncontrollably. Another spank followed, and you met his gaze. "Keep your eyes on me, princess. Watch as I pleasure you like no one else could."

His words wielded a powerful influence in every scenario. Returning to your pussy, he made his way to slip two fingers inside you easily as you were soaked by now. The reflex to close your eyes surfaced, but his commanding words echoed in your mind.

He initiated a rhythmic motion, penetrating and withdrawing, targeting your most sensitive depths, obscene wet sounds, thumb still teasing your bud. Overwhelmed by the intensity, you sought stability, bringing your index finger to your mouth, biting down to anchor yourself. "You can grab my hair, baby," he suggested, prompting a satisfying sigh as you obediently followed his directive.

As the synchronization of your movements intensified, he decided to elevate the pleasure further. His mouth joined the sensual dance, lasciviously spitting your core, eliciting a contented hum from you.

As his mouth drew near your clit, enveloping it ably, a scream escaped your lips, worthy of a scene of a pornographic film. His name slipped through your mouth, an inadvertent encouragement that fueled his tenacity to excel, delve deeper, move faster, and render you numb in ecstasy.

In the intimacy, he displayed a reflection of his approach on the field, always seeking ways to enhance and achieve peak performance, a relentless pursuit of reaching his full potential at what he knew he was one of the bests, even when he didn't want to admit it.

There was no sweeter melody than your filthy moans. His crotch throbbed aching, aware that just a few pumps would make him reach his climax. But he needed to focus on you first, even though he rolled his hips against the concrete, trying to calm down his needs.

He groaned, shutting his eyes and digging his tongue into your hole. Your legs entwined around his neck, the tight knot of pleasure building as you moved your hips in tandem with the rhythm of his tongue.

"Pedri, I'm..." You shouted, the words hanging in the air unfinished, as he entered both, fingers with tongue, increasing the pace with each successive motion.

He opened his eyes again, locking onto yours, brimming with passion beneath the sun. His nose brushing against your clit, combined with his bambi-like eyes in contrast to the authority he held over you, escalate the moment as you tightly grasped his hair, evoking the release of your juices.

He couldn't help but stop pressing against the wall and squeeze his shaft inescapably, captivated by the way you adhered to what he said, even if it meant he had to assert control with a firm hand, correcting your inclination to lean back a few times.

He loved how obedient you were and how your body reacted.

Your high-pitched sounds spurred him to slip his hand inside his swim trunks, almost moaning at the sensations created by his own touch and the enticing arch of your back. He found himself immersed in the sweet taste and intoxicating fragrance that surrounded him.

He went up and down with his hand on his dick fervently, trembling in sync with you. "Are you going to come, my love? Do it for me," his deep voice making you feel so close. You played with one of your hardened nipples between your fingers. You affirmed with the other hand on his hair, and he hummed against you in response. "Oh, my god." you mumbled.

His vibrations heightened your euphoria, and the combination of his tongue and fingers left you feeling overstimulated. As you screamed arching your back, you became undone, laying flat, straightening your arms at your side and shuddering as you felt him persisting in his ministrations.

Too blind to reach his own pleasure to think about anything else, he continued pounding his dick, gripping his tip as he parted his lips, releasing ecstatic sounds and feeling the reverberations across his body. Leaning against your abdomen, he sensed his shots filling his shorts as he lowered his pace.

You tenderly ran your fingers through his sweaty hair, both basking in the tranquility of the moment as his chest rose and fell. Minds empty.

"Come here, baby," you whispered. He propelled himself up from the water and leaned flat at your side.

As you lay down on the cold poolside with him, he placed his hand on your waist, burying his head in your neck. He rubbed his nose, sensing how your perfume delicately mixed with expelled pheromones, obtaining a small giggle from you.

You swung your leg over his waist, leaning your chest towards him, and stroked his wet hair.

"Thank you," you smiled with closed eyes, sighing. "It's just what I needed."

"I like hearing that," he said, pulling away from your neck to look into your eyes. You looked like a fallen angel with your smudged mascara, swollen lips, tired eyes, and blush spreading across your cheeks.

His gaze instinctively dropped to your neck, observing the love mark on your skin. Though in his mind, he still questioned if this was truly love.

Without delving too much into his thoughts, he gently pecked your lips.

"Pedri..." you sighed, coming down from the adrenaline rush. Sitting up, you supported yourself with your hands and looked at him, recalling internet articles and Elena's words.

"Already want to talk about that?" he asked, huddled up, absorbing the remaining sunlight.

"I'm going to shower," you said, rising from the ground, creating a space for anticipation, allowing him to process and reflect. You knew the house perfectly, having visited many times with the understanding that no one could see you and spend the entire day together.

But meaningful memories were scarce, and you clung to them, hoping that someday it could be more than the fear of being seen together, unable to go to a restaurant or travel together.

You entered the shower, letting the cold water make you reconsider your beliefs. You trusted that, for the first time, you had found something real, a gentleman who stood out in the world of ordinary men, wanting to keep you safe.

You also trusted that you would walk on nails and endure all the thorns of a rose just to be with him. But genuinely, love should be about facing painful situations to prove love for a person, or love should feel welcoming, a place where you would stay for eternity if it had to be so?

You analyzed it, the rain falling on you as you cleaned your body. You wouldn't stay with Pedri; he never felt like a place where you could unload all your baggage without fear.

After all, coming from past relationships, he was your sanctuary at first, stemming from more deficient and unstable experiences. You couldn't stop the solitary tear that escaped your eye.

Since the night you met, you should have realized that nothing good could come from something that was supposed to be just for a night. But you didn't want to listen.

You left the shower, unable to continue ruminating in your head without fainting in the attempt. The drops that weren't allowed to fall from your tear ducts were released by your hair.

You grabbed your clothes, still absorbed in your thoughts. When you finished dressing, you placed your hand on the doorknob. Behind it lay the definition of the future of this strange relationship, and the confrontation was something that terrified you.

You walked into the living room to find him seated, wrestling with his thoughts, head bowed, facing away. Approaching him, you crossed your arms in front of his neck and hugged him, taking in his freshly scented and the slight dampness of his hair. He looked at you wearily, unsure of what would happen, and you gave him a kiss on the cheek before sitting next to him on the gray sofa.

You took his hand with love; you couldn't deny that, despite everything, he had been the source of most of your joys in the last four months. You took a deep breath before letting it out and started speaking.

"Are you mine?" His hand tensed, and his brow furrowed. He didn't understand where such a sudden question came from.

"What?" He responded confused, almost pulling away from you.

"Are you mine or not?" You still hoped for a more certain answer.

"I don't understand where your question is coming from." His expression showed he had never really thought about something like that. At least, was there some kind of feeling for you in his heart? You wondered which person you had been with all this time.

"Just answer it." You let go of his hand; your voice carried a tone of desperation and anguish. You knew you wouldn't get anywhere, but you still needed to cling to the few hopes that remained.

"I don't understand what you mean by 'yours'; we never talked about..." He tried to make another excuse in front of your eyes. It felt as if he were treating you like a little girl, who would eventually leave the question unanswered once she got tired.

"I need to know where we stand! Do you want to be with me or not?" You no longer knew why you kept trying about something that wouldn't change. You stood up from the sofa, and he avoided looking at you.

"Why do you have to make it so complicated? We're just having fun." He shrugged his shoulders, shaking his head. That response could have been worse than a straightforward no.

"Having fun? Do you think I'm with you to have fun with how the media calls me a slut, Pedro?" You shook your head in disbelief, letting out a bitter, pained laugh. "Four months enduring your ambiguities while defending you in front of my friends, saying you needed time." Your voice faltered, recalling all the arguments you had faced, thinking that at some point, everything would change.

"I didn't think you felt that way." He detached himself from his actions, as if it were so simple. Still avoiding eye contact.

"You said you loved me! Did you ever feel genuine love for me?" Your heart tightened; all this couldn't be a big lie where you were the only one playing a game that was already resolved.

"I don't know." He whispered, unsure of how you would react to such an unsure yet determinant answer. Your eyes blurred with contained tears; you couldn't cry like this in front of him.

"You knew everything you were doing; you knew that I was yours, and you didn't care." You screamed, desperate for him to show some emotion, to show that something of everything you had experienced had a hint of reality.

"It wasn't like that." He replied in the same flat tone, this time looking at you and realizing the tears that were falling, while you were motionless, feeling the room spin around you, and your ears ringing again.

"It was exactly like that." You had been sincere from your first conversation, under that neon light on a private yacht. A party where you didn't want to be, he approached you for that simple reason; you were the only girl who hadn't looked at him.

And you had found someone whom you thought had the will and power to heal all your wounds. But you ended up dancing with shadows in glass, with something ephemeral that you thought could be eternal. While you ended up being one of the many prey in his history.

"I gave you everything, I told you about my past and how I needed someone to trust, and you ended up being like everyone else." You released a silent sob and headed towards the room, where you had left your backpack. You were supposed to spend a weekend together, and now everything was withered. Your feigned acts of believing that magic still existed were in vain.

"Where are you going?" You gasped, bumping into him in the door frame; he placed his hands on your shoulders, concerned.

"I called Elena; she'll come to pick me up." You hadn't even talked to your best friend when you sneaked away with Pedri at noon; she would do everything to stop you from leaving, and you preferred not to tell her. But she, without hesitation, as soon as you asked, was already on her way.

"We can try to fix it." You knew he was only offering the response your ears craved. But you weren't going to fall for his spells. This time, his method of still having your strings to manipulate you like a puppet wouldn't work.

"I won't be with someone who never cared about me." You walked to the door, lowering the latch, and turned around once more; he looked at you from a considerable distance. He wasn't going to try to stop you, and that was what hurt the most. "Good luck, Pedro."

You left the house, and the evening air enveloped you. You walked along the walkway made of rocks, each step feeling heavier than the last. Another relationship failing, another person disappointing and discarding you like a crumpled note, forgotten in the margins of a story that never reached its intended conclusion.

Your tears flowed freely down your cheeks now that you weren't facing him. You stood on the street, waiting for Elena to arrive. She had every right to tell you 'I told you so,' and she would be justified.

You saw her black car approaching from the end of the street, parking right in front of you. You hesitated for a moment to get in, embarrassed to ignore someone who only sought your happiness.

She rolled down the window, and your eyes locked inviting you in. Opening the door, she extended her arms, offering solace. Tears streamed down your face as you looked for refuge on her shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, Ele." You lifted your head, and she gently wiped away your tears. Shaking her head, she dismissed your apologies.

"I'll always be here by your side. You're the one who needs to learn, but I'll never leave you adrift, okay?" You pouted, and your tears continued to flow.

You both settled back into your seats, stealing glances at the house. A part of you lingered there, and a lump formed in your throat. You sensed that distancing yourself was the only thing that could save you from descending into delirium. Now, you must gather the fragments of your heart once more and rebuild it on your own.

Your eyes went directly to the hickey he had left. You wanted to rip that skin off, not wanting to have him in your memories in any way.

Leaning your head against the window, you wondered what could have been if fame hadn't been the haunting specter in your life. You guessed that you will never actually know.

#pedri x reader #pedri angst #pedri smut #pedri x you #pedri x y/n #football x reader #football imagine #football angst #football smut #pedri imagine

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whitedarkmoonflower · 25 days ago

Text

Reunited 3

Part 3

Pairing: modern!Sihtric x reader with a side story of modern!Sigtryggr x reader

Authors note: it's been over a year since I wrote modern!Sihtric so please be gentle with me. I actually never wanted abandon this story, but somehow, I just couldn’t find the motivation to continue. Writing modern!Sihtric isn’t as close to my heart; I always worry that putting him in a new setting might make him lose his true character. But after all the messages and asks about it, I decided it’s time to finish this story. And honestly, I’ve missed them—my reckless photographer Sihtric and the strong yet love-starved designer reader. They deserve their story told to the end. And guess what? This isn’t the end… not just yet.

Warnings: heartbreak, use of alcohol

Summary: It was supposed to be a short two week trip that turned into five long years apart, just because your best friend couldn't keep her mouth shut. Will the reader and Sihtric manage to repair their broken relationship and find their way back to each other?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Word Count: 3,4 K

Sihtric jumped out of bed the moment the first pale morning light slipped through the curtains—not that he’d gotten much sleep anyway. He’d spent most of the night tossing and turning as pieces of your brief exchange from the day before replayed in a relentless loop. Every attempt to find sleep was met with fleeting, fragmented memories—torn images of the time you had shared together flashing behind his closed eyes..

With a tired sigh, he rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle in his bones. He got dressed quickly, pulling on his old jeans and a black shirt, mind already spinning on how to approach you today. What would you even think? Would you let him get a word in, or would you just...shut him out?

He wandered down the hallway and stopped, catching sight of himself in the mirror. Dark circles under his eyes, hair a complete disaster—he looked like he’d just survived a brawl with his own bed. He huffed at his reflection, running a hand through his hair as if that might help.

"What are you even doing, Sihtric?" he muttered under his breath. "Trying to put together a life that looks whole, but you know it's a mess. She just had to show up and—" He stopped himself, eyes narrowing. "Yeah, like that’s her fault."

He took a deep breath, looking himself straight in the eyes. "You’re just running," he admitted softly. "All this time, just running from what’s right in front of you." But seeing you again had shattered his illusion—the little world he’d built up piece by piece to distract himself from the truth. Now, there was no denying it: nothing he’d done, no walls he’d put up, could fill the void you’d left behind.

Grabbing his camera bag, Sihtric slung it over his shoulder and headed out the door. The crisp morning air hit him the second he stepped outside, but it did nothing to cool his mind, still swirling with frustration and a pang of something he didn’t want to name. Longing, maybe.

By the time he got to the set, the usual hustle was already in full swing. Assistants darted around setting up lights, models shuffled in with their stylists, and the low hum of chatter filled the space. Sihtric made his way to his station, eyes scanning the room without even meaning to—searching for you. And when he finally spotted you across the room, his heart stumbled.

You looked so focused, completely locked in, like the rest of the world didn’t even exist. He remembered that look so well—your intensity, your ability to tune out everything and just create. It was one of the things he’d always admired about you, what had pulled him in from the start. But now? Now it just reminded him how far he felt from the person you’d once cared about.

Taking a shaky breath, Sihtric made up his mind to walk over. His heart hammered as he crossed the room, not sure what he’d even say—but knowing he couldn’t just keep quiet.

—---------------------------------

The soft hum of equipment, the chatter of the crew, and the droning voice of the girl responsible for the outfits—the so-called "wardrobe manager" these days—all blended into an indistinct background noise as you tried to focus on the day ahead. Every sound seemed distant, almost muffled, as if you were underwater, your mind too preoccupied with the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

“I would suggest pairing this silk blouse with the high-waisted trousers for the first look,” the wardrobe manager continued, her voice lacking enthusiasm, as if she had said it a hundred times before. “It has a timeless feel. Or we could go for something more daring—maybe this leather jacket and skirt combo for the edgier shots?”

You barely registered her words, absentmindedly flipping through the wardrobe selections as though you were deeply engaged, but in truth, you were just stalling. Anything to keep your hands busy, to avoid the inevitable confrontation that seemed to hang in the air like a storm cloud. You nodded vaguely, hoping your disinterest wasn’t too obvious.

You had barely slept. The events from the day before played in a loop in your mind, each thought swirling with fragments of Sihtric's face, his voice, and the burning resentment you felt towards him. The way he had casually greeted you after all these years, like nothing had happened—like he hadn’t broken you into pieces. It was infuriating.

As you examined a sequined gown, you heard footsteps approaching. There was no need to look up to know who it was. Sihtric's presence had a weight, a pull that you used to find comforting, but now it felt suffocating. Your posture stiffened, and your expression instantly hardened.

“Hey,” Sihtric’s voice was soft, tentative, as though testing the waters. “Can we talk?” he asked quietly, careful not to attract too much attention from the others.

You gave the wardrobe manager a soft, halfhearted smile, hoping she'd catch the hint, but her mind was clearly elsewhere. She was too busy batting her lashes, her gaze locked on Sihtric with flushed cheeks and a little lip-bite, practically radiating a crush.

You couldn’t help the smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth as you watched her, caught in that painfully familiar moment as a humiliating flashback hit you—he’d had the same effect on you the first time you met…and, well, he still did. It was maddening, really. You sighed inwardly, silently cursing yourself for being just as foolish.

Clearing your throat a bit too deliberately, you broke the silence, snapping her back to reality.

The girl’s blush deepened, spreading across her face like wildfire. "Oh, um—sorry," she mumbled, eyes dropping to the floor as she scrambled to grab her things. She gave a quick, flustered nod and practically bolted, nearly tripping over her own feet in her rush to escape.

You didn’t even bother to turn around. “I’m busy,” you said flatly, flipping to the next outfit on the rack.

“I know,” he replied, tension lacing his voice, “but we need to talk. Yesterday—”

“Yesterday was nothing,” you cut him off, finally turning to face him with a cold, distant stare. You saw the hurt flicker across his face. “You don’t get to pretend we’re still friends or that there’s anything left between us.”

Sihtric’s gaze dropped for a second, and he ran a hand through his tousled hair, clearly searching for the right words. “I didn’t expect to see you, okay? I was… surprised.”

You crossed your arms, trying to build a barrier, anything to shield yourself from the vulnerability that crept up when you saw him yesterday. “Surprised? That’s your excuse? After everything you did? You threw me away like I was nothing.”

His head snapped up, a flash of guilt flickering over his face. “I didn’t— It wasn’t like that,” he said quickly, taking a step closer, but you backed away on instinct. “You don’t know the whole story.”

Your laugh was sharp, humorless. “I know enough. I know you moved on. Fast.”

Your gazes finally met, and for a moment, Sihtric caught a glimpse of something in your eyes—pain, anger, maybe even something else—but whatever it was vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I never stopped thinking about you. I just didn’t know how to—”

“Stop.” You held up a hand, cutting him off. “I don’t care what you did or didn’t think about. You made your choice. Believe it or not, I’ve moved on too.”

Sihtric clenched his jaw, feeling the weight of your words like a punch in the chest. The distance between you felt insurmountable, like a chasm that had opened long ago and now couldn’t be bridged.

“I get that you’re angry,” he said quietly, one last attempt to break through the wall you’d put up. “I would be too. But please, I owe you an explanation for why I—”

“Enough!” Your voice came out sharper than you’d intended, drawing a few curious glances from nearby crew members. Taking a deep breath, you tried to pull yourself back to calm.

“Whatever you think you owe me, I don’t want it,” you replied, fighting to keep your tone steady and unaffected. “It’s been five years, Sihtric. There’s nothing left to say.”

Sihtric shifted uncomfortably, like he wanted to protest. His mouth opened, but no words came out. You watched him struggle for some excuse or explanation, but you didn’t care. Not anymore.

"Sihtric," you said, voice cold like a bucket of ice water, “we have work to do. We’re not friends; we’re not anything. So let’s just keep this professional and do what we’re here to do.”

His jaw tightened, frustration and regret clouding his expression. “I didn’t want it to end up like this,” he murmured, almost to himself.

You shook your head, reinforcing the walls around your heart with every second that passed. “It’s too late for that.” Not waiting for his response, you turned back to the wardrobe rack, hands busy sorting through hangers, making it clear the conversation was over.

Sihtric stood there, lingering longer than he probably should have, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other and running a hand through his hair, as if that might somehow bring the right words to mind. He stole one last glance at you, hoping you’d change your mind or give him a sign, any sign, that there was still a chance. But when nothing came, he let out a quiet sigh and started to make his way back to his station.

His steps were slow, reluctant, and every few paces he glanced back, his eyes searching for you among the bustling set. Even as he reached his spot by the cameras, he couldn’t stop himself from casting a look in your direction, hoping for even the smallest hint of softness in your expression. But there was nothing—nada, zip. Just your back, straight and unyielding, radiating a chill that could’ve kept an ice rink frozen solid.

The tension lingered in the air, but you forced yourself to push through it. Work came first, and you weren’t about to let Sihtric’s sudden reappearance unravel everything you’d built in the past five years. You had built a new life—one that didn’t include him. Letting him back in wasn’t an option.

But as you sifted through the outfits, your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

—-----------------------------------

Sihtric sat at the bar, shadows casting across his face in the dim light. It was one of those fancy, expensive places that tried too hard to look casual—exposed brick walls, soft jazz in the background, and bartenders in tailored vests who looked like they’d just stepped out of an old movie.

He was a regular here now, the kind of guest who turned heads the moment he walked in. In the last five years, Sihtric had become something of a celebrity in the fashion world—a photographer whose bold, daring shoots pushed boundaries and set trends.

He stared blankly at his half-empty glass of whiskey, swirling the amber liquid as if it held any answers. This was his routine now—numbing himself in fancy bars that felt as cold and empty as he did inside. The photoshoot earlier had been brutal; each moment you ignored him twisted the knife in his chest a little deeper.

Another drink. Another night.

The bartender shot him a questioning glance, and Sihtric nodded for another round before he even had to ask. As the glass refilled, his thoughts circled back to you—how easily you’d shut him out, the distance in your eyes. His mind fought to make sense of it, but his heart knew the truth. You were done with him. He’d clung to some small hope for a sign, even an argument, anything but the indifference you showed him.

But you didn’t care anymore, and that truth gnawed at him like an open wound.

A hand slid over his shoulder, fingers trailing down his arm. At first, he barely noticed, his attention locked on the empty space where his heart used to be. A woman leaned in, her perfume cutting through the haze, whispering something playful in his ear. He turned to look at her—tall, brunette, model-like features.

Sihtric forced a smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “Buy you a drink?” he asked, his voice rough from the whiskey and everything he was holding back.

She giggled, fingers tracing circles on his arm, but he barely felt it. This was all mechanical now. He knew where this was going—a few more drinks, some empty flirting, a messy, fleeting distraction that would only leave him feeling emptier by morning. The same hollow routine.

A few hours later, they ended up in his apartment, just like he’d predicted. She lay sprawled on his bed, dark hair spilling over the pillows, murmuring soft words he wasn’t really listening to.

He moved against her, but his mind was miles away, lost somewhere far from the woman beneath him. Each motion felt mechanical, his body on autopilot, no real connection—no spark, no passion. Every touch, every thrust felt like an echo of something he used to feel, now reduced to emptiness. Sihtric barely registered the soft sounds she made, her murmurs fading into the background as his thoughts drifted back to you.

Even here you were haunting him like a ghost he couldn’t shake. He tried to push the memories away, but they clung to him—the way you laughed, how your eyes softened when they met his, the way your body felt under his fingers when you were close. None of this was the same. Each fleeting distraction only reminded him of what he’d lost, of what he’d ruined.

As she wrapped her arms around Sihtric’s neck, pulling him closer, he closed his eyes, trying to focus, to lose himself in the moment. But all he saw was you and all he felt was the aching emptiness in his chest.

When it was over, he rolled off her, breathing heavily as he stared up at the ceiling. The silence between them stretched on, pressing down like a weight. She snuggled into his side, her head on his shoulder, but her warmth only made him feel colder inside.

“That was amazing,” she whispered, soft and content.

Sihtric didn’t respond. He couldn’t. The words just wouldn’t come, because nothing about this felt amazing. It felt like another mistake—a mistake he kept making, hoping it would fill the emptiness, even though he knew it never would.

He waited until she drifted off to sleep, her breath slow and even against his chest. Then, carefully, he untangled himself from her, slipping out of bed and pulling on his jeans. The room was dark, save for the sliver of moonlight filtering through the curtains, casting shadows across the floor.

As he stood there, staring down at the woman who had become just another face in a long line of temporary distractions, Sihtric felt a wave of disgust wash over him—not at her, but at himself. This wasn’t who he used to be. This wasn’t the man you had fallen in love with.

—----------------------------------

The art gallery buzzed with excitement as you walked in, Gisela right by your side. You’d been to openings like this before, but tonight felt different—there was an electric vibe in the air, like everyone knew they were about to see something incredible. Gisela had been hyping up this exhibition for weeks, raving about the young, talented painter she’d discovered: Sigtryggr.

“You’re going to love his work,” Gisela said with a grin, leading you through the crowd. “He’s brilliant. And I have a feeling you two will get along. There’s just something about him…” She gave you a teasing look, but you brushed it off, not really sure what she meant.

As you made your way through the gallery, you couldn’t help but get drawn into the paintings. Bold, vibrant strokes blended with softer, more intimate details, each piece telling a story. Sigtryggr’s art was captivating—a perfect mix of emotion and precision that made it hard to look away. There was a rawness in his work that hit close to home, stirring up feelings you hadn’t let yourself feel in a long time.

“Do you like it?” a voice broke through your thoughts.

You turned to find a man standing beside you, his features soft yet undeniably striking. His long, light hair framed his face almost ethereally, and his deep blue eyes held a warmth mixed with intensity. His gentle smile put you instantly at ease.

“Yeah, it’s... breathtaking,” you said, glancing back at the painting. “There’s so much emotion in it. It feels personal.”

Sigtryggr smiled, his eyes softening. “I’m glad you think so. It is personal, in a way. Each piece is a part of me—things I’ve seen, felt, or imagined. Sometimes, painting’s the only way I know to get those feelings out.”

His voice was soft but sincere, and something about him took you by surprise—a calmness and sweetness that felt rare. In the back of your mind, you couldn’t help but feel faint echoes of someone else, someone who had once stirred your heart just as deeply.

The next hour slipped by as you talked with Sigtryggr, his presence unexpectedly comforting. He was charming without being over the top, and his quiet humor reminded you of simpler times. As you shared stories, you found yourself laughing more freely than you had in a long time. His quiet confidence and the way he really listened drew you in.

From across the room, you kept catching Gisela’s amused glances, her knowing smile hard to miss. You knew she’d set this up, but for once, you didn’t mind. As the evening wore on, Sigtryggr’s sweetness and his genuine interest in you started chipping away at the walls you’d built around your heart.

As the crowd began to thin, Sigtryggr turned to you with a soft smile. “I’d love to see you again if you’re interested. Maybe we could grab a coffee, or check out another gallery sometime?”

You hesitated, but the warmth in his eyes and the ease you felt around him made it impossible to refuse. “I’d like that.”

—---------------------------------------

A few weeks later, you found yourself spending more time with Sigtryggr, getting to know him better. Each time you met, you couldn’t help but notice how much he reminded you of Sihtric—the quiet intensity, the focus he poured into his work, the way he always held a little something back. But unlike Sihtric, there was no darkness in his eyes, no heaviness or regret. Sigtryggr was just... calm, confident, kind.

Your dates were simple and easy—strolls through art districts, cozy coffee shop stops, gallery visits, all filled with comfortable conversation. Sigtryggr had this natural way of making you feel at ease, giving you closeness without any pressure. He never pushed, never asked about your past, though you could tell he sensed something was holding you back.

Still, no matter how good things felt, you often caught yourself comparing him to Sihtric. The way Sigtryggr laughed, the thoughtful pauses he took—little things kept bringing Sihtric to mind, as if his shadow lingered over every new connection you tried to build.

One evening, after a particularly sweet date, Sigtryggr walked you home. Standing at your doorstep, you looked at him, emotions swirling. He held your gaze, eyes soft, as if he could see what you were feeling but didn’t need to hear it. Slowly, he reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering gently at your cheek. His gaze dipped to your lips, and he took a careful breath before leaning in.

When he kissed you, it was soft, unhurried, like he wanted to savor every moment. One hand rested at the curve of your jaw, the other slipped to the small of your back, drawing you a bit closer. He tasted faintly of coffee, his touch steady and grounding, and as his thumb brushed gently against your cheek, a warmth spread through you, melting away the lingering shadows of doubt.

The world around you faded as the kiss deepened, his lips exploring yours with a slow, tender intensity that felt both comforting and thrilling. You found yourself relaxing, melting into him, letting go of the weight you’d been carrying. For a moment, all that mattered was him, here, now.

When he finally pulled back, he searched your face with those gentle eyes of his, his thumb still tracing small circles on your cheek. “Are you okay?” he asked softly, his voice low and full of concern.

You took a shaky breath, feeling the old memories tugging at you again. “It’s not you,” you said, unsure how to explain the tangled mess inside you. “It’s… someone from my past.”

Sigtryggr’s expression remained calm, though you caught a flicker of understanding in his eyes. “You don’t have to explain,” he said gently, his voice soothing. “I know it’s hard to move on from someone who meant so much to you.”

You blinked, surprised by his perceptiveness. “How did you…?”

He gave a faint smile, a small shrug. “You wear it on your face sometimes, the way you get that distant look when something reminds you of him. But I’m not here to rush you. I just want to spend time with you, however you need.”

His words touched you deeply, and for the first time in a long time, you felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, it was possible to let go of the past and let someone else in.

As you said goodnight, something inside you shifted. Sigtryggr wasn’t Sihtric—he was his own person, with his own gentle sweetness, one that felt like it could help you heal. And for the first time in years, you allowed yourself to believe in a future worth exploring, not centered on what you’d lost but on what you might still find.

#sihtric #sigtryggr #sihtric x reader #sigtryggr x reader #the last kingdom #the last kingdom fic #sihtric fic #sihtric x you #modern!Sihtric #modern!Sigtryggr

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago

Text

CAKE FOR A DEAD MAN (I)

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

PAIRING: Nikto x F!Reader (Soulmate AU)

WORDCOUNT: 4.6k

WARNINGS: Angst, problems with food & image, mentions of stalking, unwanted gifts, death, violence, gore, blood, etc. (Series 18+)

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

Color, as most would say, is one of the best aspects of sight. It allows such a myriad of emotions to be expressed—even felt. Red reminds us of passion; navy for elegance and a certain mystique. Not only seen but processed on such a deeper level. Refractions of light that explode into the retina, rod and cone cells that send signals to the brain to help detect that phenomenon like a gift of evolution.

But when you can’t see any of that—color—who’s to explain what the red of the roses actually looks like above a deep shade of gray? That navy blue looks even darker, too. Closer to black. Light purple becomes the same hue as the curtains your mother hangs on the windows, but you can’t tell if that’s really purple or not. How can it be anything other than slate? People tell you it is…at least, those who’ve already met their partners. Their soulmates.

But there’s little hope for you on that front, really.

You wave to the photographer, calling out a broken Russian goodbye as he smiles warmly at you, nodding his head in your direction before watching you walk out of the studio room’s doors. A large gaggle of other finely-clad women surrounds you on the way to the changing rooms.

Even with three-and-a-half years of living in this northern country, your mastery of the native language starts and ends with simple pleasantries.

The modeling agency was packed today and you still had so much to do. You stuff down your internal list of scheduled fittings, meetings, and more booked photoshoots that extend into the chilled evening of Yekaterinburg, Russia. There was just so little time.

Gray hallways and white overhead lights meet your eyes between blinks, potted plants boring and drab. If you could see the shades in between the leaves you’d know you would find them beautiful, but like this…well, they’re just sad.

You shake your head and shuffle to the back of the group, throwing tiny smiles to the kind, and stunning, women who you’ve had little real conversation with. One kisses you on the cheek and pats your shoulder, and you laugh brightly before pulling to the rear, face heating.

“The bastard is finally dead!” The familiar voice causes you to freeze with one heeled foot in the air—fingers picking at the strap of your silk dress absentmindedly before it, too, stills. They were always forcing you into silk with feathered accent pieces of intricate detail. Like a bird, or, Seraph, more precisely.

Blinking in surprise, you turn around just in time to lock onto the drained shades that make up Alyona Arkadyevna Solovyova before she grips your shoulders harshly.

Her collarbone-length hair swishes heavily, but it’s not as violent as the smile on her sharp face.

“Finally, little Солнышко! This is perfect news. The bastard is dead!” Alyona’s English is very good, and of course, it would be—when she was younger she dreamed of being an English teacher. That was before she realized she was just about the most attractive woman of her generation. The harsh Russian accent still bleeds through.

You laugh and grip her long, pale, arms; seeing her in a blouse and pencil skirt as you tilt your head, asking, “Christ, Alyona, give me a warning next time. If I rip anything I’m in deep shit.”

“Gah,” Your friend waves a hand and releases you, tiny eyes creasing, “forget about that—did you not hear me the first time? My father, Seraph, listen to me! He is finally dead! It happened just this morning but I only got word ten minutes ago.” She laughs, throwing her hands up, and you hide your amused exasperation, limbs tired but it won’t stop you from appreciating your friend’s enthusiasm. Alyona squeals, “A train hit him!”

You cringe internally, face pulling taunt. “Oh,” your chest sputters as you clear your throat, “that’s, uh, that’s…great?”

“Of course it is!” Hands capture your cheeks, squishing as you worry about the state of your makeup. Alyona speaks brightly, “We need to celebrate, Солнышко. Come.”

Before you can protest she’s dragging you away from the other women and the direction of the changing rooms, all had stopped and were listening intently from behind; nosey. Everyone in the Allurement Modeling Agency building, AMA for short, just had that way about them—your business was their business and vice versa.

And Alyona had no problem airing out her grievances with her estranged father to the choir. She lived for drama.

“Aly,” You huff a soft breath at her and her bobbing hair. She said it was blonde and you had no other option but to believe her. Not yellow-blonde, she had specified. Ice-blonde. “I can’t go out in company property. Plus, I have a photoshoot for Chanel in under an hour. The photographer needs me to be ready.”

But it seems your concerns fall on deaf ears and you can’t help but chuckle and grin at your friend's lack of care about work. She herself was a model, but the entire company halted when she said it should.

You were truly surprised they hadn’t fired her yet.

“And I’m sure Chanel has an absolutely hideous dress for you, my Seraph.” Ashen eyes turn back to stare at you, and once she realizes you wouldn’t fight her, her grip releases. “Some Медовик will do you good before the vultures close in, yes? Let us hope they don’t shackle you to those damning lace lingerie sets over cake.”

Your head tilts with a short sigh, and you walk beside the woman in your clacking heels. The sound of the authentic honey cake seemed to itself to coat your insides with a lust for it—dripping layers of plush gray sponge with pale cream. Your mouth waters.

“I’m only eating half a piece.” You settle slowly, though you hate your own words as your stomach rolls with hunger. Some time outside will do you good, anyway. Perhaps you’ll learn to photosynthesize like a plant. “I still have to be able to fit into those fabric contraptions, you know.”

Alyona squeals and loops her arm in yours easily, bright teeth in a grin like a cat. Ever one to run into objects and lacking a general ability to walk in a straight line, the support from Alyona was much appreciated. Her help with lending an arm went far, especially for you.

Your heart warms with soft care.

“I’ll take it! We can split one.” When you both make it to the front of the building, having grabbed your jackets and purses on the way there, you come to three familiar faces while chatting with Alyona about both of your upcoming bookings.

“I was under the impression you had the day filled,” Petya speaks, heavy accent like stone. The clean-shaven man in his late thirties was built and wearing a dark suit, the tallest out of the other two—Aleksandr and Yefim—who both wear similar outfits. They were resting in the front seating area of AMA as they’d been doing for weeks already, waiting for you to come and go like escorts.

Well, bodyguards, to be more precise. Yours.

You smile politely to them while Yefim sends one back with his boyish charm and dimples. “On break. We’re off to get some Medovik down the street. I can pay for you if you’d want a piece.”

“Of course, the three will have to tag along, hm?” Alyona huffs, staring blandly as you both slow to a stop near the large white entrance, colored as if it was Heaven’s gates. Your friend had said coloring around this building was rare. Whites and grays. Green chairs, apparently. “I’m just ecstatic.”

Petya didn’t like you, and, you assumed, Aleksandr didn’t either. With the ladder, his sharp face was always too blank to tell; body tight and unwelcoming with weasel-like eyes. Petya was simpler, blatantly more outward with his distaste.

“Not a smart idea. This isn’t a game to play, девушка.” Alyona’s face tightens, and you swiftly placate her with a squeeze to her bicep. You level Petya with a tilt of your head and a calm look.

“What harm could a bite to eat do? It won’t cost you your life.” You chuckle smoothly. “Let me get you all something—it’s nearly noon, I’m sure you’re all hungry.”

“I could eat,” Yefim eases in, hands resting in his pockets as he stares at you. His accent was calmer than the others, and his face softer. Out of all of them, you liked him best.

Your eyes rest on Yefim with a thankful expression. He smirks and nods. Aleksandr, as always, says nothing beyond a small scoff and a look around the room with shifting feet.

When the tallest of the group does nothing to push back his sneer and heavy glare, you hum under your breath as you expect the words before they rush from his sharp mouth.

“I will have to speak to your mother about this.” The accent makes him sound so stiff—like a statue. A man built up of gravel and snow; concrete in his veins instead of blood.

“Oh, yes,” Alyona mutters, “the Consul herself.”

Your nose moves in a sigh, but you ease the situation with a simple, “Do whatever you need to, Petya. I know it’s your job and I’m thankful regardless, but we’ll be back in less than an hour. It’s no big deal.” You pause, plastering on an innocent look. “We’re hungry.”

For whatever reason you always envisioned Petya with dark eyes—blacks more deep than the clothes they put Alyona in to off-set your given whites when you two are fitted together. But the man’s eyes were so painfully light it made you not want to stare into them.

Petya grunts and continues to glare, working his jaw. After a moment he lets off a large huff and shakes his head in disapproval.

“Half-an-hour. No more.”

Alyona manhandles you out the door quickly, growling, “I do not know how you can stand this, Seraph. Bullshit, all of it.”

“It’s only until everything goes back to normal,” you reason, hearing three sets of footsteps behind you as the guards follow into the chilled air of Yekaterinburg. There was no reason to take a car, everything was within walking distance of one another in this dense city populated by over one million people. “My mother’s worried is all. I’m not going to make their lives harder while they’re only doing what they’re told to do.”

Light eyes dart to your face, your friend’s hand guiding you along the concrete with a dim concern. “I do not like all of this, Солнышко. It’s been months…Are the gifts still coming?”

Your expression tightens, lips going stiff. Alyona notices and changes the subject for now.

“Ah, but what am I doing—I’m ruining the celebration! Come, come, we will talk about my engagement to Nikifor while we eat.”

Nikifor, her soulmate. The one who brought her color and music with his performance at a nightclub two years ago; the only thing standing in the way of their marriage was Alyona’s strict father. Something about the man wanting someone with higher standing than a musician for his famous daughter.

“How is he?” You ask, blinking away the thought of finally being able to see color for the first time and how that must feel. A piece of you would always be envious of that.

Alyona must have blushed because she always tilts her nose lower when she does. You smile and chuckle under your breath.

“Wonderful,” is all she offers, but the giddy grin on her lips is knowledge enough.

You both make it to the small bakery at the end of the long street, heels clicking and cheeks chilled. People had turned to look at you, gaping at the two models still in their expensive clothes and attempting to take pictures on their phones. All were strong-armed by the three men close behind you who bark things in Russian.

Alyona opens the door of the bakery for you and you accidentally knock your shoulder into the frame, giving a sheepish smile before carefully walking to your regular corner table. Your tall friend goes to order while you take your seat with a sigh, Petya, Aleksandr, and Yefim all shuffling in and sending glances to you; looking over the interior with sharp and calculating eyes.

It’s like they think the sky’s going to fall, you surmise, twitching your lips their way. They’ve been here before with me, do they still not trust it?

Back when things had been less serious they’d allowed you to go where you wished with them—parks, for walks, stores—now it was only work and home. As if you didn’t already feel so trapped.

“You boys can pick what you want,” you call to them softly. “My treat.”

“On the job,” is all Petya grunts before he takes his normal seat at the table closest to the door; everything in his bright sight. Your hand lightly tightens on the table, but you keep your expression placid.

You’d tried to get him to lighten up, Aleksandr too, but the two weren’t as open to you as Yefim. There was a blatant distrust of Westerners here, even if you had given up your citizenship to move where your mother works in the Consulate building of this very city.

While she was still employed by the American government, that didn’t stand in any sense with you. But on top of you being a famous model, your mother was well-known, regardless, and that ultimately fell back on you.

Yefim’s gray eyes flickered to a case of Bird Milk Cake with a hidden longing as he grasped the back of his chair and slid into it—floorboards creaking loudly. You notice and chuckle under your breath, cheeks heating at the sight as the man’s gaze moves to you and blinks in surprise. He quickly averts his gaze and clears his throat, fixing the collar of his dress shirt.

You’d buy him a piece before you left; maybe kiss his cheek just to see him go all blurry-eyed. He certainly was adorable.

“The baker’s boy is staring again,” Alyona’s voice snaps into your head, and you peer at your friend’s face, startled.

“What?” You ask as a plate is set in the middle of the table holding a single piece of Medovik. Your mouth fills with saliva, fingers immediately moving like a starved dog to grab a fork and cut into the layers; you shovel it into your mouth before you hiss to pace yourself.

You chew slowly, swallow, and give Alyona a confused look.

She slides you an unimpressed frown. “The boy. At the front.”

“He’s probably gaping at you,” you take another bite, rubbing at your cheek with your free hand as people walking by the front window peek in with wide eyes; your men glare and move their chairs as the ground squeaks again.

Your friend scoffs and mutters in Russian, shaking her head. Her hand waves quickly, barking, “Look!”

Rolling your eyes with a small smile, you look over and dab your face with a napkin before you get locked into a staring match with the dark eyes of the man up-front.

He wears an apron, head a mess of curls, and his upper arms stained with flour. You blink and pause, wondering if…perhaps…A pause, a sickly hope in your chest…but nothing happens and the contact is broken when he ducks his head before looking at the counter.

Gritting your teeth, you focus back on your cake and shove aside the sinking feeling in your chest.

Idiot, you criticize yourself. Now why would you think that would work?

“Nothing, then?” Alyona clicks her tongue and takes up her own fork. “Do not fret, we will find him eventually, Seraph.”

“It’s not like I would know.” The air goes a temperature warmer—bodies stilling.

While soulmate colorblindness was simply the reality of life, diagnosed colorblindness was still a curse that couldn’t be solved. If you ever saw your soulmate…you wouldn’t even know it.

All because of that stupid accident.

You act unbothered by the shift in the conversation and sigh. “You said you wanted to talk about your engagement,” your words remind the woman and she sets off into a tangent about the dress and the location after a moment of quiet concern. A church, she explained, the big one down the road where they’ll be a few days after the civil ceremony and the outer city venue.

Alyona is only twenty, but you know that it’s incredibly common here to get married this early. Listening, you offer input here and there, but as it always does, the topic falls back to you as you eat the slice of cake dedicated to a dead man.

Your knife-driven problem.

The gifts.

Already, you begin feeling uncomfortable.

“Aly,” you try to grumble, resisting the urge to eat the entire piece of Медовик as you put your utensil down. Your hand jerks over the table and you glare down at it in annoyance, ignoring the tensed nerves. “It’s not important—”

“How many more pieces of jewelry has he sent, hm? Letters?” The woman shivers and rubs at her arms. “It is horrendous behavior. Total fuck-up. And the fact that no one has caught him? Gah!”

Your spine straightens itself, eyes sliding to the people gawking outside the window and seeing the multiple faces, shuffling bodies that pile next to each other like sardines in a can.

“I just don’t want to think about it, okay?” You shake your head, turning away as a pit forms in your gut; realizing the fragility of your psyche when you think about the fact that anyone outside could be the source of your problem. The stalker. “If it’s just the gifts I can deal with them—the letters I never even read. If I ignore it they’ll stop eventually. All of this can be one big bad dream.”

Your hand continues to shake on the table, not exactly in your realm of control just as the inability to walk in a straight line is. It was no wonder why they never let you do runway shows, you think sarcastically. You’d be stuck in a photographer’s room for the rest of your career.

Alyona pushes a strand of her hair out of her face.

“Seraph…you know it does not work like that.” Of course you did, but asking for help was never your strong suit. And your mother had already given you three well-trained bodyguards to escort you to and from work—that was more than enough protection.

When you think of the expensive parcels that had been dropped at AMA’s front desk you had to restrain the honey cake coming back up your gullet. All of them had been expensive; pieces you could afford on a model's pension but still wildly elegant to even touch much less own in multitude. Gold bracelets inlay with black opal and sapphire, necklaces with Tanzanite, and rings of ruby, your mother had told you this when you had brought them to her off of only seeing washed-out tones on your part.

You never showed anyone the letters; they lived in a lockbox under the bed in your apartment. Concerningly, lately the ‘presents’ had been losing the plot. Random bits of glass and shiny items—a slow deterioration but somehow even more scary.

Even the older women at the front desk were softening the usual sneers they wore when you walked in every day, no longer chiding you in Russian they know you can’t understand. The way they seemed pitiful rubbed you the wrong way.

You pull your jacket closer to you and rub a hand slowly along your thigh in a soothing gesture. Aly pulls her brows in.

“I want to help you, little Солнышко, but I don’t think this is something I can fix with my womanly charms.” Your lips release a snort, tiny chuckles hitting the air.

Alyona joins you before silence once again lapses.

“...Do you feel alright?” Your friend asks honestly. Worry was plain on her face.

You smile, but your lungs tighten in your chest while your heart acts like a dancer and lightly skips beats. “By next month,” your hand shakes over your thigh, “all of this will be in the past. No one could keep this up forever. I just have to…wait it out. It’s only the gifts, I can live with that—jewelry isn’t hurting anybody except his wallet.”

The woman narrows her eyes at you and frowns, but it’s not long before she goes back to her half of the Медовик and takes a bite with a moan of enjoyment. You rarely lied, so you supposed she had no trouble believing you.

If only you could fraud yourself like that.

“Quite a wealthy bastard, though, no?” Alyona slyly pokes fun and you blink quickly.

“Aly!”

“I am just saying!”

You press your hand to your lips to hide your loud laugh, Yefim looking over with a certain airiness to his expression before Aleksandr jerks his shoulder to face him back forward. The two glare at each other as Petya stares violently at the front door—daring those outside to try and come in and ask for a picture.

While you hadn’t come back to this bakery in a while, the three men always seemed to pick the exact same table; the one with the perfect view of everything going on near the door. While it was a small distance away, it allowed for quick action in any direction.

You blink away as the wooden boards under the bodyguards’ table creak again, loud enough to cause Alyona to frown in that direction. Petya sends an annoyed look down and scowls.

“How do you know he’s not just stealing them,” you bring back the conversation, smirking. “You know? Maybe he’s a,” your voice lowers an octave in fake secrecy and Aly’s eyes roll, amused, “jewel thief.”

“God above,” the woman huffs. “That would be the twist.”

The both of you joked and picked fun, but that half an hour went past quickly, and soon it was time to get back to the agency so you could change again. The photographer couldn’t take pictures of air and play it off as you with a smile and a nervous stutter.

As you stand you stare long at the cases of baked goods, licking the remnants of cream off your lips

“We can buy another, Seraph,” Aly suggests, fixing her coat. You shake your head immediately.

“No, no, I’ve already had enough sugar. I had two muffins for breakfast. Chocolate.” Your face pulls into a cringe at the words. “Cheat day.”

Alyona’s lips go tighter, but she says nothing as her hair is puffed out of her face. She out of everyone knows how demanding modeling can be—your entire life is dictated by two things: calories, and appointments.

You turn to Yefim with his wavy hair and his soft, dimpled, smile; casual eyes. Not your soulmate, based on his lack of reaction the first time you had met, but in that time you’d grown a tiny crush on the man, admittingly. He was kind and treated you with respect. Capable and reliable—how could you ask for more than that?

“Yefim?” Your voice calls out, a smile on your lips. The man looks over and blinks in surprise. He clears his throat, stuttering as he shifts in his seat. The wood tilts slightly under him and he steadies himself on the edge of the table.

“Да, Ma’am?”

Restraining a giggle, you cock your head as Alyona snorts.

“Do you want a slice of Bird Milk Cake?” Petya slides you a blank look and Aleksandr taps his fingers to the table. You poke fun, “For when you’re on break, of course.”

Yefim’s eyes sparkle in their colorless state, a handsome smile taking his lips back along his face. He makes a move to stand up, floorboards squealing loudly as weight is lessened.

“I would be in your debt—”

The world explodes into a slate-gray blaze of heat and hellfire.

Your body is thrown back before you can even begin to understand that you’re in danger, panic completely bypassed for a total blank sensation of confusion. Spine slapping into the glass of the window, your form is hurled by a vast boom out of the bakery entirely before it slams to the concrete multiple feet away.

You slide, rolling in a mess of limbs and ripped silk. For a good moment, you have no idea what just transpired, confusedly lifting your head from the ground and blinking below you as everything rings. Your hand grips the side of your head, the thick liquid seeping in between your fingers as you peel it back and look with shaky vision.

Blackened blood is coated along your palm, slipping along your wrist as you tilt your hand up in horrified uncertainty.

Everything comes back in a millisecond of screaming and running feet; like a switch being flipped. You snap your head back to what remains of the bakery as blood slides down your temple.

“A-Alyona?!” Heels sliding, you stand but stumble back down just as quickly, hands slapping against the ground as you raggedly cough more, chest burning from the force at which you’d been thrown.

What the hell had just happened? An explosion?

There was little left of the bakery beside the front door, smoke billowing out of the broken windows as gray flames spark with the familiar sound of burning material—a sharp burn is taken into your nostrils.

Dragging an arm forward, you grasp something warm and wet in an attempt to get up again. You look to the side and immediately scream at what you see.

Yefim’s upper body was completely fine besides the burns and the lack of his hair, the peeling flesh…it was the absence of the entire lower body that struck you with waves of horror. You slam a hand to your lips and wail, slipping back on kicking legs as tears well in your tear ducts.

Guts were leaking over the concrete, and the dark, gaping, wound spread a fast puddle out around the sputtering that made his chest look like it was moving. Eyes flutter, lashes flapping quickly.

He looked confused, and that was perhaps the worst part of it.

Yefim died only half a man, his entrails pooling out of his ribcage, only twenty seconds after you’d asked him if he wanted a piece of cake. Your fingers hide the loud sobs as you stare into this blank expression, hand shaking so bad that it hits your nose.

“I…I,” you stutter, shapes and flashes rushing back and forth at the sides of your vision. Pressure holds at your left shoulder.

“Seraph!” The sentence falls off into feminine Russian cursing and screaming, a grip shaking you back and forth, urging you to listen.

There are wails and the roar of cars, but you don’t have to be given a speech to know the truth about the toll as the fire burns hotter and the blood runs faster. Petya, Aleksandr, and Yefim are dead. They had been sitting on top of something that had triggered when Yefim had released weight from it.

The creaky floorboards.

“Seraph!” Alyona tries again, grabbing you under the shoulders and dragging you away from the corpse as bystanders’ phones flash with pictures being taken. There’s just so much screaming. “Seraph, please, we need to move! The fire is spreading!”

They had been sitting right on top of it. But…but they always sat there…they…they were always…

In the corner of your eye, a dark phantom looms across the street as the first sirens of the police cars race down the road; a burning silhouette of black mist and ashen smoke.

As the bakery burns and the corpse of Yefim grows cold, it slips away into the forming crowd.

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#cod nikto #nikto #nikto x reader #mwii nikto #cod #cod x reader #cod x you #cod mw22 #x female reader #call of duty mw2 #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #ravishing allure

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aoioozora · 7 months ago

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Simon.

Part 8

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12

Character: Simon Riley / Ghost Content: Biker! Ghost x Fem! Reader, strangers to lovers, fluff, civilian au

Note: I still can't believe that I've written 8 whole chapters for a oneshot that I never planned on making into a series! But I'm glad it's coming along well and that you're enjoying it :) I hope you enjoy this chapter too.

Tags: @cmbghost @gluttonybiscuits @paintlavillered @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @iimichie

@mxtokko

“Morning, Simon!”

____ and Lindsey arrived at Simon's door at seven in the morning as planned. His crush was the one who excitedly greeted him, while her friend looked disgruntled and ticked at having to be up so early.

“Morning,” he greeted them civilly as his hand instinctively ran through his hair, trying not to appear even the slightest disheveled or flustered at the sight of ____’s smiles, and moved away from the door to let the two in.

“Have a seat. I'll bring you some tea,” he said, promptly moving towards the kitchen.

The ladies, particularly the author, took in the surroundings of his little flat as they entered and sat down. The entire place as a whole was simple. The walls of the living room were empty and unpainted except for a singular, ancient grandfather clock that hung alone near his curtained balcony, filling the quiet room with its rhythmic ticking. She saw that he was concerned more with pragmatics than aesthetics; if it didn't serve a purpose, then it wasn't needed.

She saw that he favored dark colors of blue and black, and neutrals, but found that bright colors were speckled throughout the room in his red floor lamp, the gold painted knobs of his brown television stand, and the red and white chevron patterned cushions on his grey couch. The simple state of his room made her wonder if his bedroom was more personalised.

A hint of green caught her attention and she turned to the balcony. A few potted plants of mint, tomatoes, and coriander, all of which were healthy and green, swayed gently in the morning breeze. She smiled at this. “He’s a gardener,” she thought to herself, not quite expecting it.

The smell of lemon and mint wafted through the air, bringing her thoughts back. Simon brought out a tray of three mismatched teacups and a glass teapot filled with what smelled and looked like lemon tea.

“Have some tea,” he set down the tray on the coffee table and poured out the tea for them.

She, wanting to use Simon as a model for her character, Frederick, watched keenly as he poured with a thoughtful, concentrated look on his face. She wondered why he used a glass teapot over porcelain or any other material, but that was probably not important. However, she was not going to let even the smallest things about him and his choices escape her scrutiny.

“When will Johnny come?” asked Lindsey as soon as she had her sip of tea.

Simon glanced at the grandfather clock. “At six forty-five, he said he'd be here in ten minutes. He's picking up our other friend, Kyle too. Maybe there's some hold-up,” he answered. He felt a little strange; it was his first time properly speaking to Lindsey, and she seemed to look judgingly at him, as if to find a fault.

____ was silent, as she was more concentrated on the taste and temperature of her tea. It was lightly sweetened and refreshing thanks to the lemon and mint. A mental note was already taken that Frederick too would be good at brewing tea.

Simon's ringtone tore the silence and he immediately slid the phone out of his jeans. Thinking it was Johnny, he looked expectantly, but it was his mum. Looking back at the ladies, he excused himself and went out to the balcony to talk.

“What do you think of him?” ____ asked Lindsey, who took slow sips of her tea as the two watched the man pace around the balcony through the partially drawn translucent curtains.

“He makes good tea,” she answered, “I think I'll approve of him a bit.” To Lindsey, a man who could brew a good tea was worth marrying, because, according to her, it meant that he cared about the little things, like making tea taste good. As ____ smiled, she paused for a moment before quipping, “He seems nice so far, but I don't trust him just yet.”

____ shook her head, chuckling. Lindsey was always so skeptical of everyone and everything, both a vice and a virtue.

Simon soon emerged from the balcony into the living room, brows furrowed with concern. He looked straight at ____ and said, “I need to have a word with you, darling,” and then promptly stepped into the kitchen without waiting for an answer, expecting her to follow.

She instantly set down her teacup and followed Simon into the kitchen. “What's the matter?” she asked as soon as she entered, finding him leaning his back on the kitchen counter, arms crossed.

He turned to her, almost opening his mouth to speak but cautiously glanced at the open door; he looked back at her, beckoning her to come closer. When she did, he said, “I don't know how you'll react to this but I need you to hear me out, alright, darling?”

Her curiosity heightened and she nodded.

“Y'see, my mum just called and they're going to have a family reunion soon since my old man's come back home for a holiday from his military service,” he paused, sucking in a sharp breath, unsure about how she would take his next words, but continued anyway, “And my mum asked me if I found a girlfriend yet because she's worried I'm going to die single…” he paused again, “and I may have accidentally told her that you're my girlfriend.”

“You what?” she stared incredulously at Simon, although she wasn't quite opposed to what he did.

“Yeah,” he sighed, shaking his head, embarrassed with himself, “I'm really sorry.”

“Wait, does your mum know about me?”

“Yeah, I told her a few weeks ago that I recently made friends with this lass,” he paused to sigh again, “And when she asked if I finally found a girlfriend, I accidentally said yes, and when she asked if it was you…” he paused again and shrugged.

The lady paused. Now that he said it, it couldn't be helped and she had to play along. Not that it bothered her. She chuckled. “Well, it's alright. You take the trouble of pretending to be my boyfriend, so I guess it wouldn't hurt to pretend to be your girlfriend for a bit.”

Simon looked back at her, visibly relieved.

“Now, what do you need me to do?” she asked.

“That's the hard part. We'll have to make up a story of how we met and how we hit it off. And I'll have to bring you home and introduce you to my family. And not just that, you know who else will be there.” He pursed his lips tight.

She immediately knew. She wiped her clammy hands on her jeans and nodded. “Right, yes.”

He could see the apprehension on her face and in her body as she crossed her arms. Feeling terrible that he dragged her into this, he said, “Darling, you don't have to do this if you don't want to. If going there and meeting him again will make you uncomfortable, then I'm not forcing you to come with me.”

She drew in a shaky breath and pondered for a moment. Simon watched her, gulping harshly.

“No,” she finally said, resolute, “I shouldn't be so scared all the time. If I'm going to be there as your girlfriend, I shouldn't be afraid of some ex of mine.”

Simon blinked in surprise at this response. He appreciated her bravery, and felt his admiration for her increase. However, he didn't show it, and kept his facial expressions neutral with a little smile. “I guess, yeah,” he nodded. He paused for a moment, wanting to say something else, but she beat him to it.

“If anything happens, you’ll stick up for me, won’t you?” she asked smilingly, “Since you’re my “boyfriend”.”

He felt his heart leap. That was the exact thing he wanted to assure her of, and it flattered him greatly to know that they had been thinking of the same thing. Even though he knew this was going to be a pretense, it rubbed his male instincts and ego right to be depended on for protection.

He answered with a wide smile, “Of course, my love.”

“Why d’ye drive a manual?” asked Johnny as soon as he took the shotgun seat, watching ____ take her place in the driver's seat.

“Tut tut,” she shook her head, bringing out a mini sombrero from her pocket which she placed on the gear stick, “It's Emmanuel.”

The three passengers in the back, from left to right– Simon, Lindsey, and Gaz, watched as Johnny burst out laughing, also making ____ laugh as she got the car started.

“Ghosty, she's a woman of culture!” Johnny exclaimed, looking back at his best friend.

Simon made no answer as he was upset that he couldn't sit next to ____. Lindsey felt similarly, but for Johnny. Regardless of that, the drive began with gusto, with Johnny and Gaz filling the time with their singing and jokes, while the other three listened.

____ drove for the first hour, and Johnny took over for the second and the two switched seats, exchanging jokes and quips with ease, making both Simon and Lindsey at the back miserable and jealous. Simon drove for fifteen minutes in the third hour until he nearly hit a tree, but swerved back to the road right on time to avoid damaging both the car and his crush's esteem. Gaz took over for the remaining forty-five minutes, and Simon was banished to the back seat.

Thankfully for him, ____ sat next to him to console him, “Don't worry. After all, you did say that if you tried really hard, you wouldn't hit a tree. You did great for fifteen minutes at least!”

Simon chuckled out of embarrassment. It didn't make him feel any better, but he appreciated her effort.

The camping spot was soon in sight. It was around ten in the morning when Gaz parked the car in the shed of a little cabin. The ladies learnt that the spot belonged to one of Gaz's relatives, who was happy to lend it out to anyone who needed it. And from how the three men scampered around the place relaxedly, it was evident that they were regular visitors.

The fenced piece of land was right next to a little lake which afforded a view of the distant green hills speckled with heathers and daisies. A lonely little dock hung over the surface of the water, which, as Simon informed the ladies, “made a nice fishing spot”.

The group first decided to begin their hike as planned before unloading the car. England's weather was notorious for being fickle and since the skies were currently clear of all rain clouds, the hike was chosen as the first activity.

The trail was an easy one, chosen for the benefit of the ladies who were partially accustomed to walking on rocky, uneven terrain. The end of it promised a little waterfall, which Johnny was excited about showing them, as was evident in his constant singing of sea shanties while they hiked. Gaz happily joined him, while the ladies and Simon chose to be their audience like earlier.

“Johnny sure loves to sing,” observed ____, who trudged between Lindsey and Simon.

“He's a born singer,” replied Simon with a sigh, sounding both proud of and annoyed with his friend, “And he was a theater kid too. Acted in tons of musicals and plays, mostly musicals. Put him together with Gaz and they'll be singing and dancing all day.”

She chuckled. “How long have you guys known each other?”

“Johnny's my childhood friend. We've known each other since we were ten years old. As for Gaz, both of us met him in university and we quickly became friends,” he explained, kicking a rock out of the way.

The two ladies looked at each other. “That's a long time,” remarked Lindsey, “You all must be really close then.”

“Too close,” Simon said dryly, but there was a hint of affection in his voice. He then turned to the ladies to ask, “And what about you two? How long have you been friends?”

“Since high school,” ____ answered, smilingly linking her arm with Lindsey's, “She's basically my sister now.”

Simon smiled. He could tell, for the moment he saw them together, they stuck to each other like glue and didn't leave each other's side for more than a few moments.

Johnny looked back at the calm trio behind him and Gaz. “Jolene!” He called Lindsey by her nickname. When he had her attention, he beckoned her to join him in singing.

“I don't know any of the songs you're singing!” she protested.

“Dinnae ye worry, wee lassie!” he retraced his steps, put an arm around her shoulders, and dragged her ahead with him, making her squeal and stumble. “Gaz and I will teach you!” he promised, and kept his arm around her as they hiked up the hillock.

While the two men busied themselves in teaching Lindsey to sing ‘Bully in the Alley’, ____ and Simon were left to themselves. The lady smiled at Lindsey's attempts to sing, though she was no singer.

“Lindsey hates singing,” she whispered to Simon, “It's crazy how she's doing it for Johnny.” A girlish giggle escaped her lips at the thought of a romance blooming between the two. Her authorly brain couldn't help but conjecture all the sweet moments they would have, worthy of a novel of its own.

“And I'll tell you what, Johnny's never been this fixated on one woman for this long either. He's normally a huge flirt, a ladies’ man, if you will. I'm just as surprised as you are,” answered Simon.

The mention of Johnny being a flirt worried her. She knew Lindsey to almost easily give her affections to anyone who would look her way, starved for love as she was. But she decided to stay out of the way and watch the two for now. If Johnny ever did anything that would hurt Lindsey, she would not hesitate to confront him.

The hike was now proving to get a little tiring, and ____ let out a sigh as she paused to catch her breath and drink some water. Simon stopped too, looking down at her from the slightly steep ascent.

“Are you tired?” he asked.

“A little, yeah.”

He bent his knee and lowered himself slightly, holding out his hand. “Come on,” he encouraged, “Just a little more and we'll be at the waterfall.”

She took his outstretched hand, and no sooner they made contact, a jolt of electricity ran down both their spines. Simon gulped harshly at this reaction, and she felt an additional tingle in her stomach. His larger, more rugged hand held her softer and smaller hand in his, and he pulled her up the ascent with ease. She thanked him as soon as they were next to each other, Simon, eager to be of further assistance, held out his arm to her.

“You can hold my arm if you want to,” he offered, trying to sound as casual as he could, though his thoughts begged her to give him the honour of accepting him.

Her hand practically flew to his arm in an instant, wrapping just below his bicep. Simon never felt more depended upon than now as the two began walking together. And she was completely flattered by his kind offer, trying to suppress her smiles and blushes. The two were, without doubt, over the moon.

The lady was sure to make mental notes about everything Simon did. Frederick would be tall and brooding, but a kind-hearted and observant gentleman with a soft spot for Adelheid.

“This reminds me of the Jane Austen novels where the men would offer their arms to the ladies when they got tired as they walked,” she commented with a bright smile and a certain twinkle in her eye as she moved closer to him, allowing her hand to curl tighter against his arm.

He noted the expression on her face and the movement and instinctively flexed his bicep so that she could feel it. He smiled in response to her comment and said with a chuckle, his cheeks overspread with a light pink, “So it was a custom back then? Interesting.” He hadn't read a lot of Regency era novels to know of past English social customs, but he seemed intrigued by this one aspect that she mentioned. Wanting to know if she really approved of it, asked, “Do you like it?”

She loved it, but for the sake of being mild, said, “I think it's nice, especially now when I don't see men doing this sort of thing.”

“So you like gentlemen then?”

She giggled. “A lot.”

Simon took note of this immediately. If she liked a gentleman, a gentleman he would be. If men of his day didn't do the things he did, like offering their arm, or pulling out the chair for her at a table, he most certainly would do it, for he didn't want to be like other men. He wanted to be special and singled out by her.

They began descending down a slightly slippery, gravelly path that led to the waterfall, and Simon took hold of her upper arm this time as he led her down so that she wouldn’t fall in case she slipped over the loose gravel. He was reminded yet again of how much smaller she was compared to him, and it only heightened his desire to keep her safe.

The gurgle and rush of water from the distant waterfall was soon heard, and a few meters of walking on level ground finally brought them to the waterbody familiar to the men. Johnny cheered like he never saw a waterfall before, loud enough for his voice to echo in the wilderness, and for Lindsey to cover her ears and curse under her breath.

“We're here!”

End of Part 8.

Part 9

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catscidr · 7 months ago

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// aquarium (i want you dead or alive) //

i. note — hihihi enjoy this short thing i did as a warmup to get my brain juices flowing _(:3」∠)_ this was inspired by aquarium from funny boy matt watson (its a good song trust)…..heard the chorus n went "wow this sure does remind me of someone" ii. includes — modern au akademiya (university) student dottore, gn!reader iii. cw — stalking and yandere tendencies, obsession, smoking, blood, homicidal thoughts. no dialogue; just dottore nd his thoughts. also not quite proofread ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ iv. wc — 1k -> now also on ao3 (b˙◁˙ )b

It’s hard to ignore things when your brain is so hellbent on making you notice.

Forcing your eyes to flit over every single inch of a room you walk in, making your legs carry you towards something that, unconsciously, caught your attention because they just happened to remind you of something.

When it’s curiosity driven it isn’t too bad, since the worst that can happen is a slight pang of disappointment when your curiosity isn’t sated from your inquisition.

It’s an entirely different problem when the urge to look for something specific is caused by a deep-rooted obsession with something.

Someone.

And it’s even worse when you see things in places where they simply are not.

Walking out of the Akademiya to seek shelter at the dingy bus stop the city can’t bother fixing, catching a glimpse of the poster on the side of it. A model posing with a bottle of perfume stares back, the advertisement almost mocking him as he stops walking shy of being under the bus stop’s roof.

Its face morphs into one he’s all too familiar with instead of being a stranger’s, and his mouth inhales more air than it needs to.

Stepping into the squalid convenience store near his flat to grab an energy drink and a pack of cigarettes, wordlessly paying for the items until the cashier says ‘have a nice evening’ in a tired, unenthusiastic tone. Hands faltering for a millisecond as he awkwardly grabs what he purchased, immediately taking out and lighting up a dart to exhale the agitation simmering inside his gut.

The pitch of their voice was uncannily close to yours.

Slamming his apartment door shut and kicking his shoes off, dragging himself into his room to make good use of the energy drink he just bought. Opening his laptop only to be met with the sight of sanguine boring into the screen before it dissipates and the screen lights up, displaying his hard work.

Curtains drawn at all hours of the day, his bedroom was no stranger to gloom. Though void of any natural luminescence, multiple copies of your face smile back at him.

He exhales smoke through his nose, tapping the excess ash forming at the tip of his cigarette into a tray and takes a sip of his drink, never blinking.

...

To him, not having any classes together didn’t matter at all. Didn’t even make a single difference.

None.

Because sitting in the same lecture hall as you wouldn’t matter or change a thing, since he would be just as far away in that hypothetical than if he were in a different class.

Which he is.

His grades are high enough that he can afford to ditch his class to loiter in the vicinity of your classroom instead. You don’t speak much, but he doesn’t particularly care since it allows him to listen. To memorize the sound of your chair screeching as quietly as it can behind you, memorize your tendency to be one of the first people to leave the class in order to rush to your next one.

Memorize how you fail to take notice of your surroundings on days like these where you have a class right after the other, as he watches your legs work overtime to carry you to the other side of the building to make it in time.

It lets him think, undisturbed.

...

He never musters up the courage to speak to you. You only spoke because he was careless and accidentally made himself noticeable in the sea of students one too many times, and he apparently looked so out of place that you sparked up a conversation with him despite not being the type to reach out first.

Maybe God was playing with him by making you do something he hadn’t predicted. The conversation itself was brief, but long enough for him to want to talk to you again.

And for you to want to talk to him again, too.

...And talk to you again he does when you spot his minty bedhead in the library and sit across from him, making his poor heart leap out of his chest, bringing one hand down to close his laptop screen a little too harshly. Bile rose in his throat; too engrossed in his research, he hadn’t heard you approach him at all. A fault he’ll have to rectify later.

After you apologize in his stead to the students that gave you both a side-eye for making noise, God how he wants to pluck each and every single one of their eyes out, you take out your own laptop from your bag and open it up to get to work alongside him.

He tries to keep his mind at bay for now, wanting to enjoy his impromptu date with you.

...

Washing blood off his clothes has always been a hassle, especially considering how he had to walk to the laundromat to do so. He somehow always has a stain somewhere on his person, whether it’s from accidentally hurting himself or from his proneness to getting nosebleeds.

Or other reasons.

Standing over the sink, he watches the liquid drip from his nose down to the porcelain basin. Observing the pattern it makes as it slides down the drain, watching the vibrant red turn into slithers of watery vermillion. He clutches the edges of the sink tightly, letting himself fantasize about assaulting the students from a few hours ago. Cleaning their blood off of his shirt, then watching his clothes tumble in the washing machine in the laundromat.

Now that he was alone, he shuts his eyes and sighs. He refused to let himself think anything less than pure thoughts around you lest you somehow gain the ability to read minds and decide to read his, if they could even be called that.

They were more akin to promises than anything else.

Opening his eyes, he’s met with more red than white, his nose’s blood having taken up more surface area than the sink itself. Some had even gotten on his previously pristine collar.

Zandik glances up, staring at his stained button-up in the mirror.

Maybe he wouldn’t wash your blood off of his clothes.

#made him be one of those ppl that get nosebleeds bc i like to think he has a deviated septum #get it #bc he probably broke his nose at least once #patting myself on the back for that one Im So Creative #୧ ‧₊˚cat's work!#genshin x reader #dottore x reader #genshin x you #dottore x you #dottore x gn reader #dottore genshin impact #genshin impact #tw yandere #tw blood #tw stalking #tw violence #tw smoking

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lostbetweenvampiresandmusic · 6 months ago

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Changes Chapter 6

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The full moon shone brightly on the dimly lit road. It was early morning, and most people had ceased their driving for the day - either because they were home or because they found a motel to stop at. There was one car, a rusty coloured model, driving down the road. The windows were open, and if you tried, you could hear the notes of Bach and Brahms flowing through the air.

Normally, Max would have sped up, having used the loneliness the night brought to get to his destination quicker than legally possible. However, the problem was that he didn't quite know where his destination was. After his visit to the Widow, he immediately took his car to go and find Lucien's home. The problem was that Lucien had never told him where he lived, and he just had the description of "an old family crypt" to go on. So here he was, in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night, looking for a crypt that could be god knows where.

With a frustrated sigh, Max turned the music down, stopping on the side of the road. He took a map out o this glove compartment, folding it open and staring at the hundreds of lines depicted on it. He took a pen from his chest pocket, crossing out certain places. Lucien had said it was a two hour drive from his crypt to Santa Carla, so that eliminated a lot of cemeteries already. He sighed, crossing out some more options. Lucien had never shown any interest in cities like Los Angeles, so for him to go south and move closer to there was unlikely. So, for now, anything south of Santa Carla was ruled out. Max was about to fold his map away when his eye fell on a place. Oakley. If he recalled correctly - and he did - Lucien was from Oakley.

A grin appeared on his face as he restarted his car, racing down the roads to the town. It would make the search much easier - tomorrow evening, he'd start. It was already four in the morning, and he'd have to find a place to stay soon. At four thirty, he parked at a motel, quickly getting out and walking towards the home office. No one was there, so he rang the doorbell, hoping for the best. He had some time to spare, luckily.

"You had a long night, didn't you?" A middle-aged woman opened the door for him. She was dressed in a bathrobe and some slippers, curlers in her hair - but besides that, she seemed energised enough as if she'd been awake for onpy a few hours.

"Yeah, you can say that. Do you have a room for tonight?" Max smiled kindly, grabbing his wallet.

"Sure. Any special wishes? We got one with a single bed, double, king-sized-"

"A single is just fine."

Max knew that if the quality of the curtains was bad, he would have no choice but to sleep in the bathroom. Getting the mattress of a single in there was easier than struggling with a mattress the size of a double or bigger.

"Sure thing hon. Just for one night?"

"Yes. If everything goes as planned I'll be going back home tomorrow."

"You here for a job?"

"Something like that."

He paid for his room, taking the key, and quickly moved towards room number 17. With the time he spent inside talking, he was really cutting it close. As he opened the door, he saw what he had suspected. The room was old, and he was certain he'd find mould in the corners of the room. A wooden bed stood in the middle of the room, on top of a faded yellow carpet. Across from the bed was a desk with a chair, and above that, a mirror that could really use some cleaning. Max sighed. He hated motels for this exact reason. But it would do. It would only be for one night. He wanted to find answers, and if this was the cost, he could survive it for one night.

As he got ready for the night, he couldn't help but be amused. As a human, more than a few centuries ago, he had been germaphobic. At least, that's what it would be called nowadays. Back then, it was called weird. You'd think that after so much time, he'd gotten over it, but there were moments where it still bothered him. It had gotten better. Killing didn't bother him, nor did the mess the boys made. But certain areas and spaces made him feel icky. Especially spaces occupied by mainly humans were a problem. He sighed as he looked around, deciding that if he had to sleep somewhere else the next evening, he'd find some high-quality hotel or something. He shoved the desk in front of the door, blocking anyone from entering.

The next evening, he awoke early. He had slept horribly, sitting on the bathroom floor after deciding that the mattress was simply too gross to even consider touching. It basically came down to him hardly having slept, but he decided not to care too much about that. One night of not sleeping wouldn't do anyone much harm. As he packed his bag and put the furniture back in place, he couldn't help but make a mental note that he'd have to invest in a camper or something similar. At least the mess he'd find in there would be his own.

"Good luck with your trip!" The woman from the night before called to him as a goodbye after he left the keys at her desk. He had no intention to stay and talk, knowing that the question 'How did you enjoy your stay' would come up, and his answer wouldn't be satisfactory. In his haste to leave, he didn't notice the woman staring at him and slightly shaking her head.

"What a strange man..."

It was a little after ten when Max found his way to the cemetery. He parked his car outside the gate, turning both the motor and the light off. There were only three crypts in this cemetery, making his search easier than he had anticipated. The first one he came upon, laying in the middle of some rosebushes, was locked. He made his way past the graves, noticing how many stones laid bare before walking up to the second crypt. This one was unlocked. He pushed the stone door open, and was surprised at the sight before him.

Lose papers were spread everywhere around on the floor, a broken chair and desk laid in the corner of the crypt - as if someone had thrown it there. In the middle of the room was Luciens coffin, broken to pieces. Max walked in, looking around. There were scratchmarks on the door, the walls, the wooden remnants of furniture. There had been a fight here. And someone was taken.

Max closed the crypt door, looking at the papers on the floor. He recognised the handwriting as Luciens, making hundreds of notes next to typed documents. He quickly collected them all, scanning them quickly to see if he could find mention of Julie's name.

Test subject 7B has shown no interest in participating in the experiments.

His eyes fell on that line, noticing Luciens handwriting next to it.

Julie???

Another page that had a picture of a large metal pipe forced through a woman's torso. Even on the black and white photograph it looked gruesome.

Subject 7B has yet to complete the change fully. Injuries seem to stop bleeding sooner but take longer to fully heal. Bruises sustained in an earlier fight (date 23/2/1985) seem to only now (05/3/1985) start to heal and lighten in colour. Estimated recovery time for the impalement is three months.

As Max piled together more and more papers, he quickly realised they were a medical file. Pages upon pages describing the horrors done tot he poor girl. As he finally collected the last page, he realised he had about a hundred in his hands. No wonder Julie had nightmares. Just skipping through the pages and seeing what they described was enough to make him physically ill.

Max sighed as he stood up, walking towards the door. Lucien was nowhere to be found - and that too worried him. He wouldn't just leave his place abandoned like this. Max looked around one last time, noticing a scrap of paper laying in the floor under some pieces of wood.

Berkeley University

Max frowned as he looked at the card. Lucien didn't go to university, so why did he have this card? He looked at his watch, noticing it was nearing twelve already, and decided that the crypt would be his spot for the night. Until then, he'd go and investigate the only lead he had. What was Lucien doing at Berkeley University? It was a short drive, taking only twenty minutes, before Max saw the university building arise at the horizon. It seemed to have a botanical garden, with brightly lit glass domes and - as far as Max could see from this distance - loads of exotic flora. The building itself was old, but people were working hard to keep it modern. On the left side of the building was some scaffolding. Max grinned. Of course, he could have made his way in through an open window or door anyway, but this made it much easier.

As he parked the car, he couldn't help but wonder what Lucien had been doing here. The vampire had been known for being lazy, refusing to take any jobs, and claiming that the undead live was one for free time - not for work. So, why would he go to the university? He didn't seem like the type to take up classes or teach for that matter. Max made his way to the side of the building, flying up - not wanting to climb the metal stairs of the scaffolding and risk being found out - and entering through an open window. Once inside, he stopped and looked around. The walls were split in two, the upper half bare, painted a bright white colour. The bottom was lined with faded yellow tiles. The floor was made of granite, and it could definitely use an update. The number of cracks in the floor was, in his opinion, unnecessary.

He walked down the hallway, searching for an office with Luciens name on it. It was his best shot. As he searched both the third and second floor hallways, he realised quickly that it was unlikely he'd find it like this. Maybe Lucien used a different name - something Max realised he should have thought of earlier - and maybe he had a hidden office or had just come here for a meeting with someone. He sighed, walking down the stairs towards the entrance of the building. With any luck, there was a receptionist there - or at least someone from the university - who could tell him if they knew Lucien and his whereabouts.

"Sir? You can't be here." A young man, in his twenties and probably working the nightshift as a side job to finance his studies, looked at Max. Max smiled kindly. The kid would not be a problem. He was scrawny, sounded nervous, and looked as if he had never won a single argument in his life.

"I'm sorry for barging in," Max said, "but I was looking to surprise a friend of mine. He said he worked here. Maybe you know him? Lucien-"

"Yes? Eh - he does work here sometimes, but he never really stays long. I haven't seen him tonight."

"Do you know where his office is?" Max asked, a subtle force in his voice. The boy would not refuse him - and if he did, he could always hypnotise the student. It would be tricky since he hadn't done it in a while, but he was certain he still could.

The student nodded, walking away from Max. He walked down a long hallway, opening a door at the end of it. Behind the door was the entrance to the botanical garden - but also a winding staircase going down. Max quickly dismissed the boy, closing the door behind him. First, he'd take a look at the botanical garden. Within a couple of hours, the sun would rise, and he would have no time then to investigate.

Wild flowers grew everywhere, hiding the pathways around the fountain in the middle of the greenhouse. As he did a quick sweep, he didn't find any sign of Lucien - or anyone else for that matter. What he did find, however, worried him. The plants growing here were medicinal, for the main part. That in and of itself wasn't that weird - but the fact that the majority of these plants were potentially harmful to both humans and vampires? Yes, that worried him.

Next chapter >

#the lost boys #tlb #marko #david #paul #dwayne #the lost boys 1987 #tlb 1987 #the lost boys x reader #changes #max tlb #marko tlb #paul tlb #dwayne tlb #david tlb

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authorhjk1 · 2 years ago

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MODEL

Lee Ahin X Male Reader

Ending the video call on your laptop, you empty the mug of tea which is standing on your dinner table.

Looking out of the huge windows of your house, you see the dark ocean. The clock on your computer tells you, that it's 5:00 am. Rubbing your head, you refill your tea, before walking towards the glass door.

Opening it, you feel the cold air hitting you. As you step outside, you start to wake up completely. You only bought and moved into this house three weeks ago, but it already feels like home.

The yellow sea always lifts your mood, everytime you look out of the window. The huge garden with a pool behind your house is taken care of by a very hardworking gardener and you can smell the flowers.

Looking around, you see her high heels lying only a few meters away from the pool. You don't remember when she took them off, or if she even went for a swim.

Probably not. She didn't have a swimsuit with her. Not that you have seen her before. But she still likes her privacy.

You groan while you lie down on one of the chairs on the wooden floor.

Your self discipline is just pathetic when it comes to her. The way she smiles for the camera. The way her blonde hair moves when she walks. Her long legs, showing of her flawless skin.

You moved to Korea to keep your eyes focused on making money. Not on women. You didn't expect to find someone so beautiful. That she is a model for your company doesn't help either.

When you first visited the photoshoot to see how it was going, she immediately caught your eye. Of course you have been with models before, but she is different. Within the last week, you took her home three times.

Yesterday as well.

Feeling your phone buzz in your pocket, you answer the call.

"Hello?"

While getting up from the chair, you grab her shoes, before walking back inside.

Once the phone call ends, you decide to wake her up. The call was two hours long and you have been up for four hours now and you start to get hungry.

Up until now, you have never had a girlfriend. You were always too busy. Traveling around the world, making money, building your business. It started right after you left college and it hasn't stopped since. Sometimes, you feel lonely and so you don't want to eat breakfast alone today.

After climbing the stairs, you walk down the hallway before turning right at the end. You don't bother to knock. This is your house. She is sleeping in your bedroom. In your bed.

Closing the door behind you, you walk towards the bed. The curtains are still covering the windows, so you draw them aside. The light of the raising sun makes you able to see.

Her pink panties are lying on your nightstand. You remember you put them there, after you took them off the young blonde, who is lying in your bed. Her face partially covered by her hair and her naked body hidden from your view by the white blanket on top of her.

You look down on your body, remembering you wanted to go for a swim this morning, but it was way too cold. Even in your pool. With only your trunks on, you move the blanket to the side, lying down next to the young woman.

Feeling you move, she slowly starts to stir awake. You both lie on your sides, as you hug her from behind. Your hand feeling the smoothness of her skin.

"Hello, handsome."

She still sounds sleepy, so you decide to wake her up completely.

Your hands were folded on her midriff, but one of them is now sneaking towards her core. You can't believe how fast she turns you on. Even when she just woke up.

You hear her sigh, as your hand finally reaches her clit.

Slowly rubbing it, you feel the blonde push her butt slightly in your direction.

"Good morning, young lady."

You hear her chuckle.

"That's not what you called me last night."

You know what you called her, but right now, you are not in the mood for something like this. It's seven in the morning and you have already been working for four hours.

"It's too early for me right now."

Ahin looks over her shoulder at you.

"Maybe I should take care of you now."

Her breath hitches, as your finger finally slips inside of her.

"Do you think you are up for that."

Before she can answer, you make Ahin moan.

"Don't think too highly of yourself."

Another finger joins the first, as you start to finger her slowly.

The young blonde moves under your touch, rubbing her butt against your crotch.

You feel yourself getting hard, as you burry your face in her hair, smelling her scent.

"I love how big you are."

Her voice is dreamy, as you make her moan once more.

You feel her hand on your pants, touching you, before sneaking inside.

While you finger her pussy, Ahin strokes your cock. The two of you stay like this for a while, not wanting to leave this relaxing moment.

But sooner than later, you feel the lust build up in your body. Ahin's cute moans fill your bedroom, as you now start to move your fingers with more purpose.

When she feels herself getting closer, she tries to push your fingers out of her.

"Not like this. I want to cum on your cock."

Ahin is already breathing heavily and you can feel her juices running down your fingers.

Moving a little, you enable the woman next to you to take your cock out of your pants. You let her do it herself, as she slightly parts her legs, before lining up your tip with her entrance.

Holding her chin with your hand, you make her look at you.

The two of you keep eye contact, as you slowly push inside of her.

Trying to silence her moan, Ahin bites her lip. You love watching her, when you enter her. Her face twists in pleasure and her usual composed features turn into needy expressions.

She feels even tighter now than last night. Her legs are closed, making her pussy tighter, as you slowly start to fuck her. Since both of you are still lying on your sides, you can't use so much force.

Lazily, you move in and out of her, listening to her sweet moans turning into lustful groans.

"Yes, boss you are gonna make me cum."

Ahin loves to tease you. And since you are kinda her employer, she loves to call you that. Even when you two meet at work.

"Make me cum on your cock."

Her voice is now a mix of sleep, lust and moans.

You try to fuck her harder, but your position doesn't allow it. Your left hand draws circles around her clit, while her head rests on your right. Your thumb caresses her plump lips, as she moans into your hand.

"I'm almost there, honey."

Her nicknames for you keep changing.

Kissing her neck, you feel her getting tighter around you. The sign of her approaching orgasm.

You bite her ear lightly, before you whisper.

"Cum."

It only takes Ahin a few seconds until she does what she's told.

A small wave of pleasure rushes through her body, making her legs shake a little.

Her orgasm isn't as hard as the ones from last night. But her heavy breathing and her smile show that she enjoyed it just as much.

You stop thrusting into her, enjoying her her tight and wet pussy, which feels like it's made for just you.

Finally getting rid of the blanket on top of you two, you expose Ahin's naked body.

While one of your hands moves to cup one of her breasts, you start to kiss down her back as far as you can go lying like this.

You don't even have to move inside of Ahin. Her wet pussy around you and the feel and sight of her body almost makes you cum.

Earning a disappointed whine from her, you move back a little, leaving her hot cavern.

"You said, you want to take care of me."

Ahin looks over her shoulder, giving you a bright smile.

"Yes, boss."

You lie on your back, as you watch her moving around. There is a reason, why she is a model for your company. Her beautiful legs lead to something you can barely take your eyes off. Her flat midriff shows off a little of her abs, indicating that she is putting a lot of work into her appearance. Ahin's breasts have the perfect size. They are almost more than just a handful and you love feeling them when she rides you. Her face has two sides to it. She looks either fierce and sexy, or cute and innocent. It depends on her mood and her makeup. And this time you look at her innocent version. Which is probably because she just woke up. And because she had to take a shower last night, after you made a mess all over her body.

Ahin's blonde hair makes her look a little like a Barbie, as she settles down between your legs, lying on her stomach. Her cute nose barely touches your shaft, as she looks up at you.

"I want to taste myself on your cock, honey."

You don't say no, how could you?

Ahin moves closer, giving your tip a kiss, before her tongue leaves her mouth.

First, she let's it swirl around your tip for a while, until she moves further down. She licks along the length of your cock, while her hands rest on your thighs.

She looks up at you with that cute face of hers and you still can't wrap your head around the fact that she is still single. That you are able to fuck her. You wonder if she would sleep with you, even if she had a boyfriend. The two of you actually don't do much else than enjoy each other's bodies. You haven't talked much, so you don't know a lot about her.

"Stop it."

She slaps your thigh lightly, pulling you out of a day dream, where Ahin is your girlfriend.

"What?"

You look down on her and see her roll her eyes.

"You just had your work face on."

You raise an eyebrow in question, but now Ahin is focusing her attention on your cock, now that she has yours.

She kisses along your shaft, up and down, until she finally speaks again.

"You look like this, when you think really hard."

She tries to copy you, but you laugh at her expression.

You feel like the atmosphere is somewhat shifting. Just a couple of moments ago, the only reason why Ahin was lying in your bed was because of her body. But now you think you actually care for her personality.

"I don't look like that."

The blonde wraps her lips around your tip, making you sigh, as she sucks you slowly.

When she finally let's go of you, she looks up again.

"Yeah, you do."

She doesn't give you time to respond, as she takes you into her mouth almost fully. You know she can take all, but she just woke up, so you will give her a pass.

While Ahin bobs her head up and down slowly, you reach forward and get her hair out of her face.

Cupping her face with your hands, you watch her giving you head.

You almost love her mouth just as much as her pussy. The way her tongue swirls around your tip, when she only takes the upper part of you in her mouth. The way her tongue slides down the underside of your cock, as she takes you in deeper. The way her lips are sealed tightly around you.

There is probably no better place to be.

As you watch Ahin, your gaze stops on your closet behind her. There is something familiar hanging on the doorknob. Something that doesn't belong there.

"You should stop making a mess at my place when you undress."

Ahin let's your cock fall out of her mouth to look behind her, following your gaze.

Now you regret saying anything.

She eyes her pink lacey bra, before she turns around again.

"I make a mess in your house and you make me a mess."

She shrugs her shoulders.

"I think the deal is fair."

"Do you now?"

You look down on her, as Ahin strokes your cock lazily with her right hand.

"Would you put your stuff in a drawer?"

She rests her head on your right thigh.

"You decide. Either, I put my stuff in a drawer and you cum only inside of me. Or I throw my clothes everywhere and you cum everywhere."

She smiles mockingly at you, as she watches you think.

You can't deny, both options have their advantages. Looking at her like this, you feel something rush through your body. You don't know how to describe it.

How she rests her head on your thigh, smiling up at you. Her blonde hair covering your leg and your sheets. The hand that keeps stroking you slowly.

"What if I were your boyfriend? Would you still be so messy?"

You lock eyes with her and for a moment there is silence in your room.

"I would do anything for my boyfriend, if I had one."

Two birds with one stone. She doesn't have a boyfriend and she would clean up after herself.

You wonder why this is so important to you. You are usually very well organized, since you need to. But you are never bothered that much, when someone else isn't. Why is Ahin different? You try to think, but her hand makes it almost impossible.

"There it is again."

"What?"

"Your work face."

You roll your eyes at her.

"Oh, and just to make this clear,"

Ahin let's her hand stop, while her thumb moves around your tip, adding a new kind of sensation.

"I'm not the one, who is taking off my clothes and throwing them everywhere."

You raise an eyebrow in suspicion.

"Because you didn't give me any time, my bag is probably still in your car."

Now, her hand moves again. A little faster, as if to show that she is angry that you blamed this on her.

"And my dress? The blue one? You took it off when we where at the beach."

Her eyes suddenly widen and her grip on your cock tightens.

"Don't tell me..."

She is about to sit up, but you move your hand quicker. Pushing her back down, you feel her cheek pressed against your thigh.

"Don't worry. Not a lot of people come here."

"But it was raining this morning."

You shake your head.

"You heard me shower."

You feel Ahin relax a little, but she is still glaring at you.

"What if it's gone?"

You shrug your shoulders.

"Then, I will buy you three new ones."

Ahin shows you a devilish smile.

"What?"

"Now I hope it's gone."

You chuckle at her, but you feel that you are actually getting closer to your orgasm. You wonder how she did it. As if she distracted you until you were just about to cum.

You see her smirk, when she feels your cock twitch.

"Looks like I will start my breakfast in bed."

She moves her head, positioning herself over your cock. Giving your tip a kiss, she keeps her mouth open, while she keeps stroking you.

You feel like you are seconds away. The sight of Ahin between your legs, just waiting for your cum, makes you move.

With both hands you reach forward, grabbing her head, before pushing her down.

Ahin's eyes widen in surprise, while her throat squeezes around you on instinct.

Her tightness makes you cum hard, as you shoot your cum down her throat.

Ahin starts to choke and you see some of your cum leaver her nose. Seems like it was too much for her. It flows down, until it reaches her upper lip, while you feel her swallowing the rest.

You don't want to let go of her head, but you do eventually after a couple of moments.

Ahin breaths heavily when she finally gets off your cock. Her head sinks down, her forehead resting on your thigh.

"Don't be such a brat next time."

You tease her, as you watch her lift her head.

As she scoops up the cum on her face with a finger, she glares at you.

"I would be angry, but the taste of your cum makes it worth it."

You flip the pancakes in the pan, while you look at your phone, checking new emails, which you received, while you woke up Ahin. Or not.

"You want me to eat black pancakes?"

Looking up in confusion, you look at the pancake you just ruined.

"Let me. You are working again."

You take two steps back and lean against the counter, as you watch Ahin throw away the black pancake.

"Did you make this."

She points at the bowl with the batter in it.

"No. I had no time yesterday and I remembered you wanted to eat them last time."

You see her smile sheepishly, as she pours some of the batter into the pan.

Checking your emails, you realize you can't focus once again.

Your eyes keep glancing past your screen, as you take in Ahin's body.

Because her dress still may or may not lie in the sand, she threw on one of your shirts after her shower. The light blue one with the vertical white stripes. You don't wear it often, so you are not complaining, especially not at the way she looks in it.

It is way too big for her and she is wearing it almost like a dress. The hem just covers her butt and she had to roll up the sleeves several times.

You wonder if she is wearing anything underneath.

As careful as possible, you lift your foot, until it reaches the hem of your shirt. Slowly lifting it, you can see more and more of her ass. When you catch a glimpse of her labia, Ahin slaps your foot away without looking back.

"Just curious."

You mumble, as you look back at your phone.

"You want to eat breakfast or fuck?"

"Why not both?"

You can't see it, but you could swear she is rolling her eyes.

"Because I'm cooking right now."

"I can do all the work."

You reach forward and play with her still wet hair. It makes the blonde a little darker and it's not as straight as it usually is.

"You think I can still concentrate on cooking, when you fuck me? They are going to get all burned."

In one motion you step right behind her, pressing her against the oven, which is underneath the stove.

"Then keep your focus."

As Ahin puts her pancake onto the ones you haven't burned, you raise the hem of your shirt.

As your left hand opens your pants, your right one reaches around here waist, taking it's place on her clit.

You wait a moment for Ahin, until she starts to pour the batter into the pan again.

Suddenly rubbing her clit, you hear her whimper and she spills a couple of drops.

"Ts,ts, ts."

You scold her.

"Focus."

You look down at her ass. Her plump cheeks pressing against your freed member.

Kissing her neck, you wait for the blonde to put the bowl down.

A moment later you start to penetrate her pussy.

Ahin moans as you enter her. You keep pushing forward, until you bottom her out fully.

"Shit, you're deep."

Her sigh makes you smile.

Because she is way smaller than you, you have to lift her up a little, before she sinks onto your cock. You see her closing her eyes, as she is standing on her toes.

"The pancakes."

You remind her and her eyes shoot open, before she flips the one that was about to burn.

"It would be easier to focus without your cock inside of me."

"But it wouldn't be as much fun, would it?"

As you start to move, Ahin's grip on the spatula tightens, while her free hand holds onto the counter.

"There are only about four pancakes left. Why can't you wait a couple of minutes?"

Her tone betrays her words, as you can hear her lust in it.

"With a body like yours? This is your fault."

You establish a rhythm, as you start to fuck Ahin into the counter. You fuck her slow and hard, relishing the feeling of pinning her against something hard.

Your chin rests on her shoulder, as you pull her back and forth.

When she finishes the pancake and is about to grab the bowl with the batter in it, you slow down a little.

You feel Ahin shiver in anticipation, as she fills the pan.

And then, you thrust into her harder and faster again.

You repeat this several times. After the start of every new pancake, you fuck her a little faster. Ahin is barely able to hold it together, as she flips the last pancake for the last time. The spatula in her hand keeps shaking.

As she takes the last pancake out of the pan, you can't hold yourself back any longer.

You thrust into her as hard as you can. Ahin moans loudly, as the spatula falls out of her hand and the pancake next to the plate.

You don't bother turning off the stove, as you spin the two of you around. Pushing her forward, you make Ahin bend over the counter you were leaning on.

Holding her hips with both hands, you fuck her just as hard as last night. The only difference is that the two of you stood on the other side of the counter.

But Ahin's cheek is pressed against the cold white marble surface again.

Her arms are stretched out, as she tries to hold onto the edges of either side.

Although you like to fuck her rough, you are careful not to push her to the right.

The sink is right next to her and the tap is on the perfect hight to bruise her head. And you don't want your model to have a bruise on her forehead. Your products probably wouldn't sell so good.

Or maybe you should by a drug company? Then it would make a perfect commercial.

You try to let your thoughts wander, not wanting to cum too soon. Ahin's body has this affect on you.

You never last as long as you would like. There is always more that you would like to do to her.

It seems like Ahin has completely forgotten about the pancakes, as she screams into the stone counter. Her legs tremble, as she cums for a fifth time in your kitchen in the last week only.

You try to make it six, as you fuck her through her orgasm, not wanting her to come down from her high.

Her pussy pulsates around you, as you show her a state of pleasure, which pancakes can't match.

You know, you are close yourself, but you try to hold out a little longer.

"Cumming!"

Ahin bangs her fist on the counter, as you make her cum again for a second time within a minute.

This one hits her even harder. Her legs buckle and shake. Her heavy breathing fills the room and her fist keeps banging on the counter weakly.

Ahin needs a good while, until she has come down from her high. Out of breath, she lies on the counter. Her cheek still on the white surface. Her moist hair is now a mess.

The sight of Ahin lying like this, makes you cum, as you slowly move in and out of her.

You are out of breath as well and you don't move, as you paint the wall of her pussy white.

Ahin lets out a weak moan, as you empty inside of her.

"I hope the pancakes didn't get cold."

You tease her, as you slowly pull out of her.

Putting your pants back on, you watch Ahin reaching behind her, scooping up your cum, which is starting to dribble out of her snatch. She licks her fingers, but more is coming out.

"Here."

You take the panties she left here three days ago out of your pocket and help her put them on.

"Why do you have them with you?"

She tries to stand on her own, as you slowly guide her to the table.

"With you just stepping out of the shower, there were only two places I could cum. So I came prepared."

The two of you enjoy each other's company, as you start to dig in. You usually don't eat a lot, because your meals are usually tied to business. But now you can relax a little bit.

Ahin smiles, as she sits right next to you.

"So when are you off today?"

You laugh at her, before taking another bite.

"You still don't have enough?"

She shakes her head.

"I'm afraid I never will."

#kpop girls #kpop gg #kpop smut #kpop #ahin momoland #male reader #fanfic #kpop female idols #kpop fanfic

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casualsnickers · 5 months ago

Text

Month of Emmet Quick Write #12

Prompt #12: Illusion

Emmet is usually one for schedules- especially if it involves self care- but of course, things have changed to better adjust to Ingo getting back into the swing of things. Emmet says he doesn't mind. Maybe a few safety checks got ignored. Maybe his schedules aren't followed too closely anymore. And maybe- just maybe- a bad coping mechanism has formed.

Read the whole thing below the cut.

Crickets chirped. Emmet tinkered within the confines of his garage, his brow heavy with sweat as he carefully tightened a fastening nut to the model train he’d been working on that entire evening ever since he had gotten off of his shift early. He spared a glance toward his Klingklang who had been whirring silently in the corner, having fallen asleep a long time ago waiting for him to finish. One hour had turned into two turned into four and now turned into six. He had been scheduled to direct the passenger lines meaning that Emmet’s day had wrapped up at around four in the afternoon.

Rain fell in silencing curtains, turning the streets outside shiny and the air damp. Thunder rolled overhead, causing the bits and bobbles along the garage walls to shudder. Owning a house in Nimbasa didn’t take them any farther from the noise and the lights and the sounds of the city; rather, it gave Emmet a nice place to hear the city backdrop from, tuning it out as he worked silently- tirelessly- on his pet project.

The garage door quietly groaned on its hinges. Ingo stepped out into the garage, shivering from the sudden change in temperature as he saddled over toward the trash bin, a large bag in his hand. He spared Emmet a curious glance. “It is past midnight, Emmet.”

“I know.” Emmet didn’t look up from his train model, turning it this way and that under the light of the suspended desk lamp to make sure that all of the wheel bolts were tightened as far as they could go. He focused on the feel of the wood grain under his fingers, preferring to feel the material rather than use safety gloves in case of splinters. Not the safest choice.

“You are usually asleep by nine at the latest.” Ingo deposited his trash in the bin before walking over to study the train model. “This is very well crafted! The front facing grills are perfectly symmetrical- oh! And your work with aligning the wheels with the rotary pistons is absolutely remarkable! Bravo!”

Emmet turned away, flustered at the unexpected amount of praise he had suddenly received. He couldn’t say that he felt the same about his handiwork.

Model trains used to be a fun hobby that both Ingo and Emmet had started when they were kids, spurned on by their parents and of course, their uncle, Drayden, who had plenty of money to burn and who loved to spend time with them even when the burly man didn’t outwardly show it. It used to be a well-loved hobby. One where their parents would buy them the cheap wooden ones where the paint would easily chip off and then the two brothers could paint them however they wanted. Those were laid to rest on multiple shelves in the house, looming high up on the walls where they could collect dust in peace.

Then came the complex ones, the ones that Drayden purchased from abroad or bargained for on auctioning sites. The piece-by-piece sets that came pre-decorated with their shiny plastic exteriors and their extensive wiring. The ones that could make noise and cruise along constructed tracks. Emmet remembered spending all of his free time during college working on an extensive whole-room train model set boasting more than a dozen powered model trains. Those engines had also been laid to rest on static tracks just beneath the wooden model trains. Still beloved. Still seen. Rarely heard. Those were what had inspired him to take up engineering- after all, Ingo did all the planning. Emmet did all the construction.

The model Emmet had been working on had been a massive pet project, one that he had been working on ever since Ingo had come back from Hisui. It had been pricey. Very pricey. So much so that it had put a massive dent into his savings account just to buy it, not accounting for the holding case he had also purchased when he inevitably finished the model.

Ingo needed therapy. His time in Hisui had changed him, for better or worse, Emmet couldn’t really say for sure. Ingo was certainly more withdrawn. More prone to outbursts. More prone to having nightmares and waking up yelling. But then, Ingo had also become wiser. He was more careful. More cynical. And despite Ingo having an obvious need to seek therapy for his past experiences, he had often advocated for Emmet to do the same.

Emmet didn’t need therapy- at least, that’s what he told himself. Emmet didn’t have any issues to power through. He didn’t have detachment issues like a lot of news outlets said he did back when the controversy of his brother up and disappearing first made headlines. Sure, Ingo’s absence had been particularly hard on him, but he had found outlets to channel his grief into. Model trains had been traded for research regarding the pokédex. Any day off was spent challenging the Wi-Fi Lines at the station to test potential combinations. Anything to stay on top of his game while ignoring the empty chair in his office and the empty room in his house. The model trains kept collecting dust.

The particularly large Big Boy model Emmet had been working on for months- the one that took up almost his entire workbench- had been a project that Emmet could focus on where he could just work and not really use his brain to think. It was quiet work. Repetitive work. Slow motions, heavy scrutiny, gradual payoff. And he only ever worked on it when Ingo was gone. Usually at work. Sometimes out with colleagues. Sometimes visiting Dawn in Sinnoh. Sometimes being solicited with Elesa. It was therapy for Emmet. A set aside time to focus on himself and relax. No questions. No prying. No ‘are you okay’ or ‘is there something bothering you’. No baited questions. Just silence. An hour or two putting together something that made Emmet happy; no one else.

And so, Emmet tinkered with the model train, involuntarily ignoring the way Ingo’s eyes sparkled when Emmet tested the rotary pistons with a screwdriver. He missed how Ingo had opened one of the miniature cabin doors and had been mesmerized at how meticulous the seating and handholds and lighting had been put into place. Emmet completely missed the way Ingo’s eyes moved over the intricate paint work or how brightly his brother smiled when Emmet took a second to test roll the train down its pre-set tracks.

When Emmet finally did resurface from his brief dissociation, he was surprised to see that Ingo had gone. Instead, a pale Zoroark sat in his place. The pokémon stared directly at him with its golden eyes, obscuring the train with one ghostly-white paw. But then, Emmet had been expecting as much. After all, Ingo ran the late-night passenger trains. He wouldn’t return home for another two or three hours.

“You should go to sleep,” the Zoroark mentally projected, blocking Emmet’s hands with their deep red claws. “You can continue your work tomorrow. Humans need to rest. You’ve been at it for some time now.”

Emmet attempted to work around the pokémon, his eyes narrowing when the Zoroark- Ingo had named him something, what, Emmet couldn’t quite recall- had stood from its chair, positioning its massive body directly in front of him. “I have more work to do. Please do not obstruct the tracks.”

“Sleep now.”

“I am almost finished.”

The Zoroark let out a soft growl and with an exhausted glance, levitating the model train onto a shelf high above where Emmet couldn’t reach. “You can finish tomorrow. Sleep comes first. You are scheduled to work again tomorrow.”

The Zoroark- specifically, a variant Zoroark from Hisui that had somehow migrated to the future with Ingo on accident- rarely ever left the house, tending to be most active during the night. Zoroark never really bothered with Emmet, almost always preferring to sleep in the attic and phase through the walls to scare the both of them during odd hours of the night. Zoroark had one job and one job only: consuming Ingo’s nightmares and stopping his brother’s night terrors in their tracks. Ingo had a lot of nightmares. Zoroark was very good at their job. Both Zoroark and Chandelure tended to get along like a house on fire.

Zoroark was old- older than Drayden. Most definitely older than a hundred years, or so Ingo would have Emmet believe. Emmet hadn’t really been all that receptive when Zoroark had hitched a ride and had made themself quite cozy in the brother’s shared house without permission. He knew that both Ingo and Zoroark had some kind of history, that which hadn’t been shared with Emmet. But then, Ingo rarely spoke about Hisui.

“I am fine,” Emmet reasoned, swiping a few pieces of cut wood into a waste bin on the side of the desk. “You may return back to the attic.”

“I never asked if you were.” Zoroark almost dragged Emmet out of his seat, using their powers to close the garage door. “Come with me.”

Emmet didn’t fight back; he couldn’t. Psychic types and ghost-types had powers that were nigh impossible to resist which allowed Zoroark to easily float Emmet to his bed as though he were a naughty Zorua about to be grounded. Up in his room, Zoroark deposited him onto his bed like a wet bag of flour. And the moment his back hit the soft mattress, all of the stored energy that he’d been running off of for hours depleted in the fraction of a moment, leaving him feeling bone-tired. Zoroark seemed all too pleased with themself. Emmet only laid on the mattress.

He sat there for a while, his hands aching and a cramp threatening to start in his calf. His hunger and thirst had caught up with him and so too did his exhaustion, taking the breath out of him. It had crept up on him like a high speed train. The house was quiet. Too quiet. Too similar to how things used to be.

“Aren’t you going to change?”

“Nah. I’ll leave it… for the morning.”

“You should eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” Emmet lied.

Zoroark hopped onto the bed, settling into a lazy ball just a pace away from Emmet. Zoroark faced him directly, their wispy mane obscuring everything Emmet could see. Zoroark stared down at him. Glowered at him, almost. They then let out a rasping sigh. “You are almost exactly like your kin, did you know that?”

“We are twins.”

“You both have a bad habit of focusing on everything but yourselves.” Zoroark laid its head on its paws, still keeping one lazy eye on Emmet. “Perhaps, I should consume your dreams as well. Your spirit reeks.”

“Reeks of what?” Emmet snarked, bodily turning away from the pokémon.

“Guilt.”

Emmet shut his eyes, ignoring the soft touch of Zoroark’s paw to the side of his face. He had completely ignored his safety checks. Maybe I do need therapy.

#pokemon #pkmn #pokémon #submas #monthofemmet2024 #monthofemmet #subway boss kudari #subway master kudari #subway master emmet #subway boss emmet #hisuian zoroark

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oneknightstand-if · 8 months ago

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@necrolich666 replied to your post “On a completely unrelated note, did you know that...”:

This is obviously just a random funfact and not foreshadowing

What's that I hear? Do a fun fact for the Motorhome next?

Current Job: Transporting crazy Harbingers around the countryside

Favorite Color: Black (Also blood red and ocean blue)

Favorite Drink: Diesel (as all Class C motorhome tend to use)

Number of Skylights: 3 - one in the bathroom, one above the main living area, one in the cabover area

Number of Exits: 4 - the driver's side and passenger side doors in the cockpit, the main entrance to the trailer section, and an emergency exit window in the master bedroom

Bedroom Secrets: The bunk beds are available either plain, with a privacy curtain (obviously the superior option here), or with wooden drawers that make them look like a closet as if you're Harry Potter at the Dursley's!

So About Those Brakes: Only the best air brake system including a primary Service Brake, a secondary Parking Brake which doubles as an Emergency Brake (aka the low-air spring brake that comes on automatically during primary brake malfunctions) as well as an Engine Brake to supplement the primary brake. Brake Brake Brack

Family Life: Abandoned and neglected by his original family (And by that I mean he was one of the last floor models available at the RV dealer where Merlin was shopping)

Favorite Karaoke Song: On the Road Again

Cats or Dogs?: They have never run over a cat or dog or person, what are you insinuating?!

Dirty Secret: It's not recommended that you drink from the Fresh Water tanks, so no sipping from the faucets or toilets

First Love/Crush: Merlin, of course! Just the way that they run their hands over the sensitive parts of the steering wheel 😳

You'd Never Expect....: The secret RO! Be wary, they don't have plot armor in the game, however.

#Okay I'm done now #Too bad this didn't come in before April 1st #oks-replies #interactive fiction #oneknightstand #one knight stand

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manhattanstrawberry · 5 days ago

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𝘽𝙍𝘼𝙕𝙄𝙇𝙄𝘼𝙉 𝙃𝙊𝙇𝙄𝘿𝘼𝙔

Synopsis: You’ve got it cut out for you as Japan’s top model, the constant flights, fittings, photo shoots and shows wear down on you and the world loves you but the love of 8 billion people will never amount to his. After finding yourself in an unfortunate situation in Rio de Janeiro, he sees you again but you’re two different people now, but maybe time is just a catalyst.

Tags: happy ending, friends to lovers, you and shoyo don’t see each other for years, complicated reunion, yearning, mutual pining, you hate him but not really

Warnings: mdni, mild angst, sexual content

Word count: 6.5k

Series mlist

Authors note: yas first chapter. I honestly did have a hard time writing this but I enjoyed every moment. If you are Brazilian and you do speak Brazilian Portuguese please feel free to comment on the translations in this chapter, I did use a translator for it but I don’t think they’re the most trustworthy. When you read this you’ll definitely think that some of the choices made are stupid which is completely fair but this is inspired by ‘Roman Holiday’ and this is what happens in the movie lol. Enjoy!!

next chapter

The fluttering of your eyelids are continuous as the warm rays of sun sneak through the floor length curtains of your bedroom. The floor is covered with dancing lights as a slight wind picks up and greets your windows. You squirm under the thick duvet, chasing the warmth today has given you almost as if it was bidding its last goodbyes. The sounds of the bustling city below are barely heard in your haze. You can feel the joy through your veins, incredibly comfortable and unbothered, as you indulge in your laze. As the world waits for you, you find yourself drifting back to sleep, taking a bit longer to fall asleep due to the excitement you feel for the short seconds you have to yourself.

The luxury of having an hour to oneself is unheard of for you though as the door to your safe haven is slammed open. An unappreciative and annoyed groan leaves you as you cover yourself further with the duvet, hiding yourself from the world, your responsibilities and your assistant.

You, the soft covered lump on the bed slightly shifts before going completely still. You couldn’t possibly think that because you can’t see her she can’t see you. Her presence was loud, hard to ignore but not impossible as you find yourself falling asleep once more.

There’s a tug at your feet, careful not to cause any shock but to try to bring you back to earth. There's a slight movement of your leg running away from the idea of having to be of use very soon. Your feet begin to feel cold before the warm sun casts its hello on your toes. Your eyes flicker under the coverings as you peek above the duvet to find your bedroom dyed with warm tones, you turn and squint at the intrusion of the brightness as well as the figure standing by your windows opening them further allowing the fresh warm air to enter the room.

You feel hot and overwhelmed, as your coverings are pushed on to the carpet from your light kicks, escaping to the hard wooden floors. Turning away from the figure by your windows you feel a breeze wash over you and the morning fatigue entices you once again.

You hear a muffled attempt of your name. You wondered how long you can go without another disturbance, instead a pinch on your ankle has your eyes wide and your name clear in your ears.

“Good morning to you too, you look very comfortable but I'm afraid it’s time to get up.” You hear the clinking of glasses against each other and thuds across different areas of the room. You rolled your eyes and pouted, hiding your face further into the pillow. Gosh couldn’t she be a bit gentle.

Your name left her lips once again with a warning tone behind it before you felt the sting of her fingers once more on your ankle.

“Would you stop that!” A pillow fell to the floor from the impact on her chest. She took a look at your face due to your sitting position now, your legs spread out on the bed as your face began to relax once more.

“I’m sorry.” A tired mummer left your lips, as your head bobbed downward. A soft smile graced her lips, feeling a little sorry for the sudden awakening.

“Your flight is in three hours, don’t you think it's time to prepare to leave.” She picked up the fallen pillow by her side and moved to your left to pick up the sheets and coverings that had fallen to the floor previously, placing them softly beside your leg.

“I brought you something to eat quickly, be ready in the next thirty minutes please,” She paced around the room checking if anything else needed to be packed. “Did you pack enough? I heard you might be there longer than the three days so be prepared.” Her questions continued as you begrudgingly left your bed, groggily walking over to the bathroom door, answering every question with a simple yes or no or short answer. The wooden floors felt cold under the soles of your feet contrasting with the warm air around your shoulders, the chirping of birds seemed to come to an abrupt end. Maybe it was also time for them to start their day.

“Thank you, Yume.” Despite the fatigue painted on your face your smile expressed the abundant gratitude you had for her. You closed the bathroom door and undressed yourself to shower before getting ready for gruelling hours that you were headed for.

Your upper body was kept safe from the late October chill due to the fitted blazer you adorned, unfortunately you couldn’t say the same for your legs as the short fitted skirt paired with smooth stockings did nothing but invite the cold air.

To be a model.

You were immediately enveloped into the air conditioned chill as you entered the company’s building. The cold seemingly got worse the further you went up the building. Having a short meeting before heading to the airport weighed down on you and your actions this morning. You realised that maybe you shouldn't indulge in the warm embrace of the morning and allow yourself to have a moment of peace. You felt a bit unprepared for the trip ahead though everything was perfect and prepared.

The meeting was short, going over only the simple but necessary things you’d need to know and have, to guarantee smooth travelling. You left the building with a handful of sunscreen (“you can’t die early from the sun rays!” A stylist warned you), a guidebook on the city, a portuguese language book and many other miscellaneous items you felt like a spoiled child heavily doted on by their grandparents. Despite the fact that Yume had mentioned a slight overstay this morning you had barely paid attention to her due to your tiredness, and the surprise from the director that you may be staying a bit more than 3 days resided at the front of your head. Another reason to regret your behaviour this morning.

The drive to the airport gave you a semblance of the peaceful morning you had, you indulged in the silence of the ride before you would have to enter the busy airport and later on a city so alive you could feel the tiredness seep in from the future.

Arriving at the airport and boarding the plane was civil enough, your assistant and team bit their tongues for the journey to Rio de Janeiro to refrain from overwhelming you. The busy weeks you had lived before were filled with non-stop travelling, photoshoots and runway shows. It seemed you had been ‘graciously’ given just one day for a break in between your arrival from London and your departure to Brazil.

To be a model, you suppose.

Stepping out from the vehicle, you were presented with the tall building of the Hilton Barra Rio de Janeiro. The warm air of Rio embraced you and you could immediately feel the difference from the cold Tokyo air. Your hotel room was nothing short of luxurious with a beautiful view of the clear waters of Rio. The playful smiles graced the faces you saw down below you on the sand of the beach, you yearned to go down there and enjoy the grains of sand as you wiggle your toes, the fresh scent of salty sea taking over you as you run towards the vast ocean. Your dream was cut short with a sudden intrusion of your room as you turned away from the window to greet whoever just disrupted the heaven in your head.

“I suppose this is just what you do now.” A dramatic sigh fell from you .

“Don’t make fun of me,” Yume huffed. “You’re going to meet the son of the Director’s colleague for dinner tonight, a proper greeting is a must.”

A deep sigh left your lips, after a long flight you believed you were deserving of some well needed rest. Your eyes fell back down to the groups of people splayed out along the beach, lining the shore. It was late, so late.

Do they always get to have fun like that?

The sounds of their laughter could almost be heard in your head through the way their chests heaved up and down from the boisterous laughs that bounced off of each other. As the ball met with their feet you could almost feel the impact and hear the small thud echo, and the clinking of the beer bottles against each other as they cheered. Maybe it was someone's birthday or maybe for them life itself was something to celebrate everyday, particularly on the beach at 9 P.M on a Monday night. The melody of flip flops against the pavement sounded in your head, every sound you imagined from the picture in front of you created an ensemble where you wanted to go down there yourself, perhaps you’d play the triangle. The sound of your name overruled the dreams flooding your imagination. Your eyes moved away from the excitement down below and settled on the sea in front of you, the moon casting a silver lining on the small waves. The silence in the room was deafening, your thoughts coming in right after the other.

It's 9 PM. Don't they know I just came off of a long flight. Why can’t we just have breakfast in the morning?

You wanted to scowl, beg to postpone and offer an opportunity for breakfast in the morning but you only turned to look at Yume with a bright smile as she awaited your response.

“Okay I’ll get ready now. I look forward to it.”

10 P.M and you were nowhere near your bed. The long black dress fitted on your body could almost compete with the heat of the sun on a summers day as you walked through the wide hallway towards the elevator. Your thin heels threatening to give out on you, tapped against the marble floors. You were almost hoping they'd give out so you could fall and be knocked unconscious. Your shoulders felt a bit lighter from the lack of fabric, thankful that a strapless dress had been chosen for tonight, you feared for the heat you might meet later in the night.

Unbelievably tired, you kept your posture straight and a graceful smile adorned your face as you walked towards your table. Seated at the table was the son of your director’s colleague and a few others you assumed were his subordinates.

“Goodnight, It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” He stood up, shaking your hand gently with your name leaving his lips along with his greeting.

“It’s lovely to meet you as well Mr. Iwasaki.” You politely bowed your head, shaking his hand with the same gentleness he presented you with. He pulled your seat and urged you to take a seat. Introductions were tossed around before the table fell into a light conversation, your input heard every now and then.

“You must be wondering what I’m doing here in Brazil.” The man beside you gave you a short chuckle. You smiled softly, placing your glass to the table to nod.

“Do you work under your father’s company as a fashion designer?”

“Oh no, I don't think I had that in me, I’m a photographer for the company. I deal with other administrative things of course, but that’s what I do.” His finger tapped the table in a rhythm. You continued to converse with the man. You found out he would be conducting a few shoots with you throughout your time here in Rio for his fathers line. He found out that you had only arrived a little less than 3 hours ago after asking you how you had liked Rio., which was followed by his frantic apologies.

“It’s okay.” You softly laughed to ease his mind.

As the night carried on the group continued their conversation, sharing the ideas they had for the upcoming photoshoots, they moved on from talking about work to playful topics, informing each other what bars to visit next and activities they should partake in once they've finished their work.

The sway of the palm trees outside caught your eye from the large glass window on your left, kissed by the wind, dancing to the music you're sure was blasting on the beach outside. The conversation around you seemed to go silent as you drowned into your head again, the sound of waves and the feel of the cool salty water against your fingertips invaded your senses.

You wondered what time it was, there wouldn’t be anyone on the beach at this hour you assumed. After this you’d fall into the calm of your surroundings, watch from your window as the shore creeps up closer to the sand taking back its territory from the civilians who made home for a few hours earlier. Everything would be silent—asleep, the weight of the world removed for the few hours you'd be given for rest.

The call of your name brought you back down from your haze, turning to look at Yume who was beginning to stand up from her seat.

“It’s getting late, and we’re all a bit tired. I must say thank you for the warm welcome.” Yume extended her gratitude towards Mr. Iwasaki and his team.

“Oh of course, I’m sure you guys are very tired. Again I apologise for the late meeting after such a tiring day.” Mr. Iwasaki stood up and gently took your hand to help you up. He shook your hand once again. You expressed your gratitude to the man, as well as his team before heading off to your floor with the rest of your team.

“I’m sorry you all had to stay up even later to join me for dinner tonight.” You apologised to your team with a slight bow.

“Stop worrying about us and get some rest.” Tatsuki, one of your stylists reprimanded you. Saying your goodnights you entered your room, even more tired after Yume drilled you with your schedule for tomorrow, the products you should use on your skin tonight and the exact temperature at which your bath should be tonight. You did everything she said before bed, the thought of the beach lingered in your mind but the large duvet and fluffed pillows that decorated the large bed in front of you lured you. The room was chilled and you felt the exhaustion take over your body as you shifted to the side getting comfortable under the sheets. You lay awake for about 5 minutes before getting out of bed and rushing to the window, patience running thin frantically pushing the large curtains aside.

My God, they're still going!

You watched people across the shoreline engage in conversations, footballs flying across the air while others were drinking in groups with beer bottles scattered around their legs. You bit your lip and balled your fist with excitement. You made two choices right then and there you could A) Go back to sleep and get some much needed rest, to then wake up the next day to dive right into work or B) Japan’s top model will sneak out of her hotel room and have some of her own fun in Rio.

You watched as a football was kicked into the ocean, two men racing each other to get it before the other. You laughed under your breath. What were you thinking? Sneaking out of your hotel at 12 AM in the morning in an unfamiliar city. Absolutely out of this world. You looked at your bed for a second and then to the stretched beach down below.

I should fit right in

You walked along the sidewalk, the guidebook in one hand as you steadied your cap with the other. You decided to put on a short denim skirt with a flowy tank stop to calm the heat on your skin. The sound of your flip flops against the pavement increased the giddiness you felt coursing through you. Walking a bit further down the road closer to the beach you found a bar in the buildings lining the street. A large TV was hooked up to the top of its entrance playing a football game, and a few men and women stood outside watching the game. You took a few steps towards the bar leading you inside, taking out the pocket sized portuguese booklet from your backpocket.

“Olá, poderia me dar uma lim- No that 's not right.” You muttered under your breath. Flipping the pages with frantic movements of your fingers, the man at the bar watched you, patiently waiting for you with your broken portuguese. A bit concerned that a random woman wearing sunglasses and a cap was entering his bar this late.

“Olá, poderia tomar uma cerveja, por favor?” You corrected yourself.

[Hello, could I have a beer please?”]

The man nodded his head turning back to get a cold beer from the coolers. You looked around the store, the walls covered in graffiti and Brazilian art. Posters of brazilian athletes as well as artists and other public figures were splayed out across the wall. Some of them peeling off, threatening the floor to be covered with the face of a celebrity. Shelves messily nailed to the walls held old bottles of liquor. It was endearing.

Looking around more, your eyes widened. A photoshoot of yours from around a year ago plastered on the wall, the right corner of it trying to escape from the grasps of the glue. You lower your head a little bit more afraid to be recognized.

“7 reais.” He slammed the bottle on the table. You shuffled through your right pocket taking out the crumpled bills. You straightened them as you counted to then hand him his owed payment.

“Obrigado.” [Thank you] You smiled and turned back to leave the bar to continue your Rio escapades. The burn of the beer felt freeing as you continued to sip from the glass bottle. The slight dehydration from before leaving or possibly getting worse, you weren’t very sure the adrenaline from sneaking out still took over most of your senses. The excitement from the people on the roadside drinking, laughing and dancing to music blasting from a radio seemingly removed the weariness you dealt with earlier and encouraged you to keep going. You continued towards the beach, delightment filling your body watching all the different people engage with each other in many ways. Music filled your ears as you walked slowly along the sand watching some play football, some dancing, some playing a simple game of catch, the beach was alive and you were a part of it.

You secured your cap to ensure it hid enough of your face as you continued along the beach. The grainy though soft sand hugged your toes as you sought out the feeling of the salty waves covering you up to at least your ankles.

“Isso não fará nada com você!” [That won’t do anything to you!]

You turned around to the voice that boomed in your ear. A tanned woman with highlighted curly hair stood smiling at you, her eyes a bit droopy, you assumed whatever was in the cup she held was responsible.

You smiled back at her, nodding a bit. “Eu compro isso no bar perto da praia” [I buy this from the bar near the beach]

You grimaced at your poor attempt of explaining yourself but the woman only smiled further and took your hand pointing to a group of people a few feet away. You followed her only understanding small parts of her sentences as she spoke.

“Tem muitos perto da praia, mas eu sei de qual você está falando, ele vende cerveja falsificada na maior parte do tempo! Você precisa pegar algo do Brasil!” [There are many near the beach but I know which one youre talking about, he sells foreign beer most of the time! You need to get something from Brazil!] Her voice fought the loud music around you both. You nodded at her. She went into a cooler planted in the sand, rustling in it as if it were a treasure chest before taking out a clear bottle containing a transparent liquid with the slightest pink tint. She handed it to you, keeping her sentences a bit shorter as she realised you were not from here. You took a sip of the drink, slightly choking on the harsh feeling against your throat.

“Bom, certo?” [Good, right?] She smiled.

You nodded, your face slightly contorting, trying to get used to the drink. She laughed at the frown on your lips. It really was good, you could almost taste strawberries.

“Forte!” [Strong!] You shouted back at her causing her to burst into a fit of laughter before agreeing with you. After thanking her for the drink you continued to walk along the shore, so many people littered the beach so late, it was incredible. It seemed as if the beach stretched for miles and miles beyond your comprehension.

The effects of the drink were starting to wash over you as you began to stagger for a moment, you giggled under your breath as you seemed to get even more intoxicated. With the last bit of sense in your head you decided that maybe you should finish your drink and head back to the hotel immediately. You chugged the last bit of the drink in the bottle, standing for a few seconds looking around. It couldn’t be that hard to find a garbage bin, no?

You took up the challenge and walked towards an exit from the beach to head back onto the sidewalks. The beautiful sand you imagined wiggling your toes a few hours earlier seemed to be your worst enemy at the moment. Eventually getting to the sidewalk you looked across the street to find a small garbage bin sitting beside a plant belonging to another bar. This one was a bit different, still covered in posters and art with a flat screen hung up on the wall with a football match playing but there was a sitting area where a few tables were occupied with small groups.

You carefully crossed the street although there weren't many cars in motion at the moment, making a beeline to the bin tossing the bottle inside. Pleased with yourself you figured you’d start to head back to the hotel. Moving forward you slightly swayed, holding down your cap a bit to ensure it was secure on your head. No matter how intoxicated you were, you had the smallest bit of sense to keep your identity hidden as you had already seen a closed boutique near the bar with a taunting magazine stand holding magazines with your face plastered all over them.

Your steps were slow and short, your head hung down as you couldn’t bother to keep it upright any longer. You walked for about 4 minutes before raising your head to see if the hotel was anywhere in sight. Looking at the view in front of you, you turned your head to look behind you only to realise you had only walked a short distance away from the bar and only reached the top of the street. A sick feeling creeped up your neck, you had no idea where you were or where your hotel was. You wanted to pinch yourself for walking so far along the wide beach. You couldn’t help it.

You could still hear the laughter and loud talk of those at the bar down the road.

“Você ficou acordado esta noite por um bom motivo!” [You stayed up tonight for a good reason!”] You heard a boisterous laugh from one of the tables at the bar. The loud sound goes straight to your head, a fleeting ache felt at the front.

“Nunca mais farei isso!” [I’m never doing this again!] You heard a voice even louder, laughing to a group of men, as if he was two inches away from you. Great, someone even louder. You groaned at the ongoing sounds from the men at the bar, having no worries in the world at the moment. Deciding that you could either stand out here until you were sober and the sun peaked from the horizon or you could keep trying to find your hotel and hopefully avoid any danger. You walked a few steps more hoping that if you turned the corner your hotel would magically appear.

You looked before you as you turned the corner, your shoulders slumped as the street was lined with more shops that catered to the beach, the surfboards in front of the store beside you taunting you as you’re ready to turn the other way and try again.

Your body turns with barely any balance to support you. You hoped that walking down the road instead wouldn’t lead you to another misfortune but before you can turn the corner again, you feel yourself hit something hard, your body losing balance completely. Barely able to catch yourself in your intoxicated state you mentally prepare yourself to feel the rough concrete underneath you scrape your delicate skin, but it never comes. The warm breeze of the streets of Rio kisses your forehead, as your head falls to the side watching your sunglasses topple into the street.

Something— well someone was holding you up as you failed to hold yourself up.

“Desculpe! Você está bem?” [I’m sorry! Are you okay?”] You heard the stranger's voice, your eyes beginning to widen at the realisation that your sunglasses and your cap were on the ground. Your body felt heavy as the stranger held on to you, your legs almost giving up. You removed your hands that were settled on the strangers arms to bring them to your face, you weren't facing him and the angle at which he looked at you paired with the dark street, you doubt he could recognize you. You kept your hands over your face and straightened yourself to release yourself from the strangers arms.

“Thank you,” You muttered, not caring whether you were speaking Japanese or any other language. The strange froze for a second before watching your body sway as you reached for your cap on the floor, he moved closer to you, a gentle grip on your arm as you looked as if you were about to take a hard fall onto the sidewalk again.

“Are you sure you’re alright? I think we collided a bit too hard.” His eyebrows bent in concern, Japanese falling effortlessly from his lips. His excitement of bumping into someone who spoke the common language was completely overruled by his concern as you straightened your body only to stagger into his arms. Your hands gripped the front of his shirt, the feeling underneath your hands was warm and solid.

You looked at the man; the only reason you were upright at the moment.

“Yes, I’m fine.” You couldn’t see a thing.

His eyes widened before he hid his shock. Your name left his lips in a small whisper. Your body swayed again before he held you a bit tighter to prevent you from falling.

“Are you okay? What are you doing here?” He whispered. There was no one else nearby, even if he had shouted your name, he doubted anyone would hear. A part of him knew the softness of the voice had nothing to do with how many people were around or the lack thereof.

You looked at the man trying your best to focus your eyes, only making out ginger hair muted from the darkness of the street.

“Work.” You whispered back.

He looked at your face, he felt as if his body was shaking with an indescribable emotion. The hairs on his arms stood up as goosebumps formed across his skin. His calloused hands pressed a little further into your skin. A tinge of pink on his ears as he pursed his lips.

He didn’t bother to ask if you drank as he could smell the exact strong liquor Oikawa had told him to stay away from when he lost a match a few months prior. Clearly drunk and unable to really do anything, he needed to take you back to your hotel. Your hands moved from his shirt to hold on to his upper arms, to get some balance in your feet. The solid feeling under your fingers had you staggering as you tried to get a grip on his arms.

Your name left his lips again, it sounded nice, familiar.

“Where are you staying?”

You held onto his arms your grip tightening as you tried to recollect any memory of where you were a few hours before your adventure.

“Hotel.” He softly grinned at your vague answer.

“Do you know which one?” You looked at him in silence for 7 seconds straight before shaking your head.

“Do you have your phone?”

Another shake of the head.

“I think—I think I know the number.” You murmured quietly.

“Of the hotel?” Hopeful that he can get you back without any problems.

You shook your head once again. “Assistant.”

He reached for his back pocket to take his phone out as you reached in yours, shoving the guide book down on his chest. He grabbed it before it could fall. Still holding on to you with one hand around your shoulders, he held his phone and the guidebook in the other, balancing the two he attempted to open the guidebook before it fell to the floor. As he bent down back for the book, your body leaned to the side, lightly pressing on to him, before he stood once more to secure you.

“Hey, hold on to me tight okay?” He whispered to you once again, taking your arms to wrap them around his neck. Keeping them there you looked around you, your eyes unfocused as you looked at the sea on your right. You really had no idea where you were going. He opened the guidebook flipping to the small map of Rio de Janeiro taking up the first two pages of the book. He hoped he would see a circle or any indication of where you were staying but the map was unmarked. Knowing you it was probably a conscious decision to leave the map without any obstructions.

He put the book away and turned his attention back to you and his phone. Your body was losing energy by the minute, your arms starting to slip off his neck as he tightened his hold on you.

“Come on, let’s sit over there.” He nodded his head at the base of the railing across from you both, separating the beach below from the street you stood on.

“Can you walk?” He didn’t bother to wait for an answer, grabbing your cap from the floor, dusting it off on his shorts and placing it on your head along with your sunglasses.

You heard your name again and looked at his crouching figure in front of you. “Go on my back!”

“No, you're a stranger.” You slurred. You felt the exhaustion from today mix with the alcohol in your system.

Right, you can barely see right now and it's been years. His voice wouldn't suffice. But you’d probably try to run if he did say who he was and he needed to get you somewhere safe to rest.

“You need to sit, I’m sure you’re feeling tired and I need to call your assistant.” He reasoned with you as he stood back up. You took a deep breath and nodded, latching on to his arm instead. You tried your best to stay upright as the two of you crossed the road. He sat you down on to the concrete ledge as you lost balance once again leaning onto the railing behind you. He quickly sat beside you, holding your shoulders once again to keep you upright.

“Do you think you can remember her number?” He asked with uncertainty. You nodded, scraping at something on your skirt. “Um 8098—No,96, 8096xxxx”

He typed the number into his cell, repeating the numbers back to you. “Is that it?”

You nodded. He pressed the call button bringing it up to his ears, hearing the line ring once before you tried to sit yourself upright reaching for his arm. “Wait!” A bit louder than the whispering you were doing before.

“Is it the wrong number?” His eyebrows raised as he quickly hung up the call afraid to disturb the wrong person.

“No, but if she finds out I’ll be in huge trouble.” Your eyes shimmered from the slight glaze of your eyes as you whined at him. “I snuck out.”

He gazed down at your figure slumped against his shoulder, his eyebrows raised in shock at your actions of the night, before his eyebrows furrowed in concern at the realisation you weren’t too familiar with this city. “I wish you would’ve told someone you were going alone so late in the night just in case, it’s not safe to be all alone.”

You drunkenly nodded in agreement. He opened his phone once again and tried to call the number with a voice relaying that the number was out of service in his ear. He huffed a breath of defeat before deciding he needed to get you somewhere safe for the rest of the night.

“Let’s get you somewhere safe for the night, you can’t stay out on the street unless I stay out here with you until the sun is out.” He awaited your response as in your eyes he was a complete stranger at the moment and he was afraid you’d be alarmed.

You nodded once more, and gripped on to his hand as he stood back up. He held on to your hand gently leading you, the alcohol swimming in your mind pushed you to start talking about random things you’ve noticed in the city and your shock at how alive the beach was so late in the night. You heard the stranger laugh in agreement.

So familiar.

You couldn’t tell when the rough concrete texture under your flip flops had changed to smooth flooring but you were now in a small room laying on a twin sized bed. The sheets wrapped around your body loosely as you heard the slight buzz from the fan blowing on you.

Your eyes flickered for a moment to reveal an empty room before your eyes closed once more falling into a deep slumber.

Your eyes flutter as you pull the sheet off to rest on your hips. The air is warm, and a familiar scent invades your nostrils. You open your eyes, before squinting at the brightness of the sun shining in as if there were no walls separating you from outside, turning to the side to be faced with a digital clock.

10:03A.M

You sigh and stretch your legs under the sheets for a bit, you decide that you've got time before your first shoot, turning back to the wall. You open your eyes once again at a faster pace, vision full of a wall before slowly sitting yourself upright.

Both your bed in Japan and in the hotel are in the middle of the room. There is a wall beside you.

You look around, a neat room presents itself under the warm light of the sun. There's a large sliding door right beside you, the culprit. Your eyes start to get used to the brightness, as you keep searching for an idea of where you are. There's a volleyball on the dresser and many language books stacked on the other side. You look to your right to see a clothing rack.

Your heart jumps out of your chest as your eyes fixate on the jacket hanging on the rack. The bold familiar writing has your head pulsing. There's only two people you're aware of who left home to travel all the way to South America, and only one of them had plans for Brazil and of course what sensible reason is there for Oikawa Tooru to own a ‘Karasuno High Volleyball Club’ jacket.

You bolt away from the bed quickly, ready to leave and head back to where you're supposed to be. You try to convince yourself that it could be anyone else as you look for your cap and sunglasses.

Tobio has many fans, you’re sure it's not unheard of for someone to pay homage to their idol by collecting something he would have worn in highschool. You place the cap back on your head reaching for the sunglasses you find on the dresser.

Right there beside your sunglasses sits a nametag.

You place your sunglasses on your face and ignore the sinking feeling that washes over you. You miss the hangover that never came, hoping for something so painful to rid your mind of everything your eyes have subjected you to this morning.

You ignore the name tag, you ignore the jacket and the room and everything. You silently open the door to an empty apartment, the other bedroom you pass is absent from the person who stays there.

With a heavy heart you leave the apartment, you reach for your guidebook in the back of your pocket only to find it empty. You feel for the world to swallow you and keep you in the core of the earth. The stupidity of your choices has you almost laughing, this might be the first time you’ve gone so far out of your way to be reckless. If the book is back where you just came from it can stay there and rot, and you’ll move on and find the hotel yourself.

The sun beats down on your skin, sweat drips from the nape of your neck as you fan yourself with your hand. The rugged pavement is striking under your flip flops which you feel the stickiness of a drink that must've spilled on to your toes last night down at the beach.

You walk far enough to spot the bar you discarded your bottle at last night and you feel hopeful again. You continue to walk along the sidewalk, peering down at the beach. Once again graced by the presence of people mingling and playing football.

The top of the hotel creeps over some of the buildings, you hurriedly make your way to the road which leads you closer, ignoring the stands of enticing fruit that you pass.

You can feel your heart writhing inside of your chest as you continue along your journey, you’re nervous to head back not sure if your team is aware of your escapades last night.

But you pray and beg the universe that the jacket will be the last you see of him during your time here.

Next chapter

Divider creds: @anitalenia @strangergraphics

#hinata x reader #haikyu x reader #haikyu time skip #hq timeskip #hq x reader #shoyo x reader #hinata shoyo x reader #kageyama x reader #kageyama tobio

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whatsnewalycat · 2 years ago

Text

wake & bake

pairing: dieter bravo x ofc louella

Summary: You have a virtual smoke session with your new friend and secret crush, Dieter Bravo.

Rating: Mature (see warnings)

Content Tags/Warnings: video chat, smoking weed & getting high, swearing, fluff, flirting, pet names, attempts at jokes, primal scream, crush

Word Count: 2.1k+

Notes: Hi there! This takes place in the Psychomanteum storyline between chapters 2 & 3. I think it can be read as a one shot with the context that’s given but idk. You do need to know is that Louella/Lua, our OFC and second person POV, bakes and sells edibles, bc I don’t think that’s super clear in the text. Ok thanks have a great day 🖤✨

You settle into the middle of your bed, crossing your legs as you glance around and take inventory.

Lighter. Joint. Ashtray. Water bottle. Laptop.

Your emerald green curtains billow and rustle when a crisp spring breeze rolls through the bedroom. The air carries the latent, earthy scent of decay and new growth from the park across the street. A shiver weaves its way up your back, so you pull the throw blanket draped around your waist up onto your shoulders like a cape.

Despite the chill, your hands are hot pads. You press one palm to your cheek and grimace at how fast it heats you. It’s stupid to be so nervous about this. He’s just a person.

Just a really amusing, really sweet, stupidly handsome person.

That also happens to be famous. Which is a fact you can’t dwell on for too long before it starts to make you queasy. So, for the purposes of this conversation, you decide to omit it from your brain.

Just a guy.

You take a deep breath and wipe your sweaty palms on your pants, then click Join Meeting.

A few moments go by before Dieter’s face pops up on the screen. He looks like he just crawled out of bed. His face is all puffy from sleep and his chestnut curls are sticking up every which way.

Upon seeing him, your heart starts thudding in your throat.

He mumbles some kind of greeting while rubbing one eye and yawning, then pulls the camera back to wave at you, revealing that he’s shirtless. The video blurs and shifts like he’s en route, and you see bits and pieces of what you assume is his house in the background.

“Good morning, sunshine!” you call, waving to the camera, probably a little too enthusiastic.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he croaks out, voice all groggy, “Sorry, just woke up, give me a sec.”

He sets the phone down on a flat surface, giving you a view of his ceiling as he pours a cup of coffee.

“I’ll give you all the secs you need,” you tease, and immediately cringe at yourself. But you hear a robust laugh echo through, what you assume is, his kitchen. A proud smile stretches across your face.

“That was good,” he grins as he picks the phone up and tucks a joint behind his ear, then grabs a steaming coffee cup. The background starts moving again as he walks through the house, “How’re you doing today, doll?”

“Busy,” you fiddle with the joint, twirling its paper tip to a point, “I’ve been up since like 3:00.”

“Pretty sure that’s when I went to sleep,” he tells you with a little chuckle, “S’pose it’s like… stoner Christmas, huh? Big day in the biz.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty nuts,” you laugh, then shrug, “Keeps the lights on, though, so I’m not complaining. Parker is gonna come over in a bit and help me with the orders going out this afternoon.”

“Oh, Parker, what a guy,” Dieter smiles, opening a sliding glass door that drenches him in sunlight.

“He’s the best,” you smirk, then look up at the laptop screen and sigh, “What’re your plans for today?”

“Eh,” he shrugs, then groans as he sits down in a white patio couch, “Little of this, little of that. Gonna meet up with some people later and go to a party.”

“Fun,” you say, trying to picture the kind of LA parties he frequents. Your imagination makes them out to be glamorous and wild. Expensive champagne, models, celebrities, drugs galore. After looking around your small bedroom, you blow a raspberry, then ask, “Well, shall we?”

Dieter hums and plucks the joint out from behind his ear. He closes his lips around the cardboard tip, talking around it, “We shall.”

You follow his lead, holding your joint between your lips, then raise a lighter to the business end, pulling a few quick puffs before you toss the lighter aside. Thick, skunky smoke expands your lungs. You exhale towards the window and cough a little as THC dissipates through your body, making you feel light and buoyant.

“What’re the parties like out there?” you ask, taking another long drag. The pot starts to smooth your nervous edges and mellow you out.

He grunts and pulls a pair of sunglasses over his eyes, then shrugs, “Bullshit. Buncha phonies trying to one up each other.”

“Ok, Holden Caulfield,” you snort, and it earns a howl of laughter from him that makes you smile.

“No, but really,” he takes a drag off his joint and holds the smoke captive as he tells you, “I don’t find people like you and Parker out here,” he exhales fully, coughing a little, “Or anywhere, really. That party was the most fun I’ve had in years.”

“Bullshit,” you laugh.

“Seriously!” He grins and clambers up in his seat, leaning forward, “I’ve done acid so many goddamn times at so many parties. And it’s always a big group of people talking over each other, trying so hard to be profound, or have a fuckin’, uhhh, spiritual experience or whatever,” he waves his hands about as he talks, pausing to take a hit. Smoke muffles his voice when he tells you, “But they’re all so fucking soulless and shallow, I can’t stand it. I usually either end up leaving to trip alone or take other shit to make it more tolerable.”

You giggle nervously, “That sounds… I dunno, like a bad fucking time, man.”

He chuckles, then murmurs, “Anyway,” sitting back in his seat, “What’s, uhhh… what’s your scene, what kind of parties do you usually go to?”

“Uhhhhh,” you croak as you think about this, then frown at the ceiling as you take a hit off your joint and exhale, “I guess I really don’t? I go to bars more than parties, I guess, but I usually just go there to get laid.”

He smiles wide and brings a palm to his chest, “A girl after my own heart.”

You giggle as heat creeps through your body, up your neck, “I mean, I can drink and smoke at home. But dick? I have to outsource dick—”

Dieter’s laughter is all you can hear. He leans forward and pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head.

“Pussy, too, but dick is much easier to find,” you tell him in a joking way, even though it’s not a joke, “It’s just not the same alone, you know?

“That’s absolutely true,” he chuckles, wiping his eyes as his laughter dies down, “I like you, you’re funny.”

“Hey, I like you too,” you beam, tilting your head to the side. It’s quiet for a moment as you study each other’s face through the screen conduit. You take another drag off your joint, averting your gaze to the window, then blow a thick plume of smoke towards it.

“I have a question,” you tell him, flicking your eyes back to the screen.

“What?” he tucks a hand under his head and lays out on his outdoor couch.

“Do you ever have these urges to do something crazy? And, like, wonder how people around you would react?”

“Like what?”

“Like,” you toss your head back and forth, “Like what would you do if I just took my clothes off right now, or—“

“I would die of joy, can we try that one?” he grins.

“No,” you snort, then cover your face as it starts to heat, “It was just an example!”

“Uh huh. You came up with it really fast,” he observes, then takes a drag from his joint.

“And you responded to it really fast,” you counter, raising an eyebrow, crushing the orange cherry of your joint into the ashtray on your knee.

“Obviously,” Dieter scoffs and shrugs, “I would love to see you naked.”

Your whole head is a heat lamp and your face hurts from smiling. You lick your lips and smirk, “I am very flattered. But, hear me out—”

“We both take our clothes off,” he suggests, his shoulders shaking with stifled laughter, “That’s such a good idea!”

“I am going to murder you, Dee,” you laugh, covering your face.

“Ok, no seriously, go ahead,” he snickers, glancing over to extinguish his spent joint in an off-screen ashtray.

You sigh and pause for a beat before confessing, “I wanna scream. Like, as loud as I can.”

He smirks and opens his mouth, tilting his head to the side.

Before he can quip a sexual innuendo and fluster you further, you explain, “I’ve felt it in my chest for so long. The scream, I mean. Like it’s just sitting in there begging to be let out. Do you know what I’m talking about? Do you ever feel like that?”

The devilish smirk on his lips falters. He nods, “Yeah, I have.”

“I want to let it out, but I’m always so scared of what my neighbors will think,” you tell him, searching his face hundreds of miles away, “And sometimes I think, what if I just said fuck it and did it? Just screamed as loud and long as I could? What would happen?”

“Well, fuck it, let’s do it,” he decides, and the camera jostles as he rises to his feet, “Let’s fuckin’ scream our little hearts out, huh? See what happens.”

You smile, “Really?”

“Fuck yeah, come on,” he says, “You gotta stand, though, really let it out.”

“Ok,” you laugh and set your ashtray aside, then roll off your bed, pulling your laptop to the edge so he can see you standing at your window, “Ready?”

“Alright, on three,” he calls, and you wriggle your body around, trying to psych yourself up, shaking your hands out as he counts, “1, 2, 3–“

You inhale until your lungs ache, then let it out.

The red, hot feeling of disquiet that has been restless inside your chest for months scrapes against your vocal chords, burning your throat.

While you’re doing this, you hear Dieter through the laptop speakers, screaming in unison with you, unrestrained, primal.

You bend over to fully expunge this guttural, animalistic noise from your body. You scream until your face is filled with blood and your heartbeat pounds in your ears. Until your throat is throbbing and your voice is hoarse. Until your lungs are empty and nothing else comes out.

Then you turn around to the laptop, searching Dieter’s flushed face. You’re both smiling wide and wild, chests heaving.

“That was fucking awesome,” he tells you, chuckling and shaking his head, “You did great.”

“So did you,” you grin, “Good job screaming.”

A frantic knock sounds on your door.

“Oh shit,” you cover your face and giggle, looking up towards the noise, “Someone’s knocking.”

“Probably making sure you’re alive,” you hear Dieter say as you carry the laptop into the kitchen. You set it on the countertop before opening the door.

“Hi,” you answer breathlessly to the wide eyes of your next door neighbor, “I’m fine.”

“Oh—ok, I was just making sure—”

“Yeah, I just—you know, you ever just feel like screaming?” you try to explain.

She shakes her head and stammers, “Um, no. But—but you’re ok, right?”

“I’m perfect, it felt really good,” you tell her, and you can hear Dieter’s laughter over the laptop, “Thank you for checking on me, though. I appreciate it.”

“Sure,” she nods, then starts to walk away, glancing back over her shoulder as she goes.

You close the door and lock it, then burst out in giggles as you go back to the laptop, seeing Dieter smiling from ear-to-ear.

He tells you, “That was adorable.”

“That was my neighbor thinking I’ve fully fucking lost my mind,” you snort, then glance up at the the clock on your oven, “Fuck, I have to get back to work.”

He gives you a thumbs down and jeers, “Boooooo!”

The thought of him not wanting this call to end yet makes your insides twist. You roll your eyes playfully, “It’s been lovely smoking and screaming with you.”

“Waking and baking with you has been a delight, Lua, we should do it again soon,” he smiles, running a hand through his hair.

“Yeah?” you beam, licking your lips before asking, “Do you mean that?”

“Obviously,” he scoffs, and you’re sort of glad you can’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses when his voice softens and he tells you, “Really, Lua. I’d love to do this again. I’m not just saying that.”

“Ok,” you grin like a fool and nod, “I would love to do this again, too.”

“I’ll let you get to it. Tell Parker I said hi give him a bit ole smooch for me, will ya?”

“I will,” you wave,” Bye, Dee.”

He kisses his hand and presses it to the camera, then says, “Talk to you soon, doll.”

#psychomanteum #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x ofc #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x oc #dieter bravo #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo fluff #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic

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