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eoieopda · 1 month ago

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triple-dog dare | lsm

“Bambi.”

The sternness of his tone surprised both of you, so much so that when you snapped to look at him, both of you froze. Your moon-sized eyes were further proof that your childhood nickname still rings true to date, although your being the deer made him the oncoming car in this scenario.

He didn’t love that analogy.

Recovering quickly, he pulled the Ace from his sleeve: the surefire way for one of you to get the other onboard:

“I triple-dog dare you to come with me.”

pairing: lee seokmin x reader summary: when you're left off the guest list to seokmin's parent's thirtieth anniversary party, you're content to keep your questions to yourself and stay home. seokmin, on the other hand, is not content. in fact, he pulls the one card he knows will always win. au: childhood best friends to lovers genre: fluff, angst, smut type: one-shot rating: 18+ only. minors do not have my consent to interact. wc: 13k cw: pov switches, complicated sibling dynamics (seokmin’s), there is in fact one (1) bed, halmonis gone wild, stupid childhood nicknames, fingering (v), oral sex (m receiving), multiple orgasms, implied penetrative sex (p in v). reader notes: afab, uses she/her pronouns, wears a dress/heels to the party, is implicitly an only child. the setting is intentionally ambiguous, so she's not implicitly korean and/or asian. there are no descriptions of body shape/size, complexion, etc. a/n: thank you to the incomparable @daechwitatamic for beta-ing this! it's been a long damn time since i've written anything, so this might not have seen the light of day without jo, the hype-man. on that note, i suck at summaries; just read the fic, lmao. svt masterlist. svt permanent taglist. multi permanent taglist.

For being the walking disaster that he is, there have been shockingly few moments in Lee Seokmin’s life where he’s needed to shove his oversized foot into his oversized mouth.

Prior to the incident at your apartment, the last time he’d embarrassed himself like this was when he’d asked his oldest sister, Soyeon, in earnest whether or not she was pregnant, only to learn that she was just bloated; and he’s just an ass.

To your credit, you’re far from cruel when he slips up, but that almost makes it worse. You visibly deflate when he asks his well-intentioned but ill-fated question, rather than letting him have it the way his two siblings would have done.

The day in question went like this:

He asked, “Did you reserve your room yet for the 31st? If not, we can double up. It’ll be a lot cheaper.”

And you blinked, stunned like you’d been slapped. “Have I what?”

It dawned on you both at that moment that, for whatever reason, his parents’ thirtieth anniversary party was in fact news to you. Two things then happened at once: you tried to hide your surprise and the twinge of pain that comes with being excluded; and he racked his stupid brain to find any explanation for why you had to feel either one of those things.

The best option he found was to gently toss his middle sister, Seonmi, under the metaphorical bus.

“Seonmi’s been working on something special for them. You know how she gets,” he waved dismissively. “So obsessed with finding the perfect napkins — ” He wiggled his fingers for emphasis. “— and creating custom cocktails, that she misses the forest for the trees.”

You didn’t look convinced. Likewise, you didn’t look any less uncomfortable.

Fuck.

“I’m sure it was an honest mistake.” To drive his point home, he reached from his spot on your couch to give your knee a reassuring squeeze. “I have a plus-one, so it’s not like it’ll be a logistical problem. You belong there as much as we do.”

And he meant it, wholeheartedly.

All his life, the running joke has been that Soonyi and Minseok Lee have four kids: two biological daughters, a younger son, and his otherwise unrelated twin, who spent more time sleeping on his top bunk than in her own home next door.

The way he saw it — and the way he’s sure his parents would see it — is that no family gathering is complete without you. That’s a hill he’d die on if need be.

You shifted in your seat, which caused his hand to slip off your knee, whether or not you meant for it to happen. Glancing uneasily out your window, you worried your bottom lip between your teeth, mumbling, “I don’t know…”

Seokmin frowned. You didn’t see it, though, and therefore weren’t moved by it. Instead, you cycled through your anxious thoughts at high velocity. If he was still touching you, he’d be worried that your sparking brain might catch him on fire.

“What if it’s not a mistake? I mean, what if it’s a couples thing?”

He couldn’t even classify these questions as rhetorical because he wasn’t meant to hear them in the first place. Though you asked out loud, each one of them was for your ears only. From his half of the couch — miles away — his frown deepened, unbeknownst to you.

“You know, Seonmi follows me on Instagram; she’d know that Kai and I broke up a few months ago. Maybe she doesn’t want me to feel awkward? Even if I went, and I didn’t feel weird about that, her expecting it to be weird might make it weird, right?”

Fuck.

You’d spiral all day if Seokmin didn’t stop you. As much as he loves how thoughtful you are, he knows better than most that you have a tendency to take it too far, inflicting that relentless consideration on yourself until it wounds.

“Bambi.”

He didn’t love that analogy.

Recovering quickly, he pulled the Ace from his sleeve: the surefire way for one of you to get the other onboard:

“I triple-dog dare you to come with me.”

Begrudgingly, you’d conceded, just like Seokmin hoped you would. You sat with him while he figured out travel plans to the mountain resort, helped him visualize what the hell he needed to wear to an event like this. When the time came, you sent him half the cost for the room he booked, even though he repeatedly insisted that you didn’t need to chip in.

Now, that unsolicited sum sits untouched in his Venmo balance. You sit next to him on the night train out of town.

Sit, he thinks, is a bit of an understatement. You’re barely upright, so exhausted from your work day that his shoulder and side are bearing most of your weight. His arm went from tingling to numb an hour ago, but Seokmin doesn’t mind. There isn’t a burden he wouldn’t carry for you, up to and including you yourself.

Besides, he’s not worse off for being left to his own devices. In fact, he keeps himself thoroughly entertained by taking selfies of the pair of you. The aftermath will stay securely in his camera roll — largely because you’d kill him if you saw how squishy your face is, pressed against his coat, or how your little pout trembles slightly, almost as if you’re trying to talk through your sleep — but he still finds it worth the risk. This mochi-cheeked version of you is one of his favorites.

When Seokmin has amassed enough silly photos to comprise a dossier, he tucks his phone back into his pocket with a self-satisfied smile. You’re still out cold, so you don’t stir at his subtle movements or the sound of the concession trolley rattling your way down the aisle.

The girl manning said trolley is significantly outweighed by the thing itself. She hardly looks old enough to have graduated high school, he figures, and he can’t imagine how it is that she’s working at this hour — or how she got stuck doing this job, when it takes all she’s got to maneuver the giant metal contraption through all the train cars.

“Anything, sir?” She asks politely, albeit slightly out-of-breath.

Even though she’s speaking to him, her gaze is directed squarely at his hat, leading him to believe that she may also be too shy for her job. Nonetheless, it’s been two entire hours since his dinner, and he’s on the brink of starving to death, so he coughs up a few bills in exchange for several different snacks.

She could do him the kindness of assuming his massive pile of food is for sharing, but she doesn’t. She gestures to you and whispers, “Anything for your —?”

Seokmin intercepts the question, knowing exactly where it’s headed: in the same direction as the million others like it that he’s heard over the years.

“— parole officer?” He supplies with a smile, “No, this nap is fueled by a lot of crab rangoon. She’ll be out for the duration, I fear.”

Both halves of his response seem to stun her, which means he has to cover his inevitable laugh with a fake cough.

This bit of yours will truly never get old, although the implications that prompt it did a long time ago. It was a stroke of genius on your part, dodging inaccurate references to your relationship status by offering up something too absurd to converse around.

“You two make such a cute couple,” an Uber driver once told you.

“He’s not in a relationship,” you’d politely corrected him. “He’s in witness protection. I’m duty-bound to keep him and his identity safe.”

The silence turns awkward, so Seokmin thanks the girl and gives her a smile he hopes says, “you’re allowed to run away from me now; I won’t take it personally.” She bows her head a little too eagerly, then skitters off with a grimace, like she pulled something in her neck.

Alone again with you, he wiggles gently upright in his seat so that you can rest more comfortably against his pectoral, rather than his shoulder bone. Even though you’re still asleep, Seokmin swears he hears a quiet mmpfh, as if you’re expressing gratitude. He bites his lips to keep from smiling, knowing that smiling in your proximity is one step away from laughter: the only thing you’ve never been able to sleep through.

Instead of giving into the urge, he murmurs, “You should get paid royalties whenever we use that joke. Being as smart as you are should pay off.”

Now, he knows he’s not simply hearing things because you’re just barely loud enough to overcome your own mumbling.

“Agreed,” you sigh on an exhale before slipping to sleep off again.

“Well?”

There are two beats between his first question and his next: the unfilled gap you’ve left in the conversation and the cab’s trunk shutting firmly. “‘s that cool with you?”

Seokmin stares at you, staring at him. His expression is soft, like your lack of responsiveness is something to be fond of, rather than annoyed by. It’s unexpectant, too, leaving the door wide open.

You blink. “Sorry — I — What did you say?”

Hitting him when he least expects it, you shift your suitcase from your dominant hand so you can gesture properly to the bright, poorly crocheted bucket hat flopping over his forehead. “It’s a bit hard to hear you. That hat is so loud.”

His quizzically raised eyebrows drop in an instant. Likewise, that airy smile of his flattens into a straight line.

Bullseye.

“Is it me that you hate?” He asks, tone dead serious as he points his finger towards his own chest. “Or is it the very concept of whimsy?”

You’re too busy biting back a grin to protest when, without being asked, Seokmin reaches out and takes the handle of your suitcase into his own hand, as well as the garment bag you’d draped over your arm. Before turning away to abscond with both sets of luggage in addition to his own, he shoots you an incredulous look. It dissolves entirely before his face even disappears from view.

“This is an objectively delightful hat,” he mutters, nonetheless, in furtherance of the bit.

He spots a member of hotel staff standing on the sidewalk directly outside the hotel’s double doors and pleads his case to them. “She made me this hat, you know,” he announces, gesturing back to you with a nod.

The valet’s uniform hat casts a shadow under the lamplight, but it doesn’t do enough to hide the expression on their face. It is abundantly clear — even in the dark — that they didn’t hear a single word Seokmin said before he offered up that bit of trivia, seemingly apropos of nothing. They muster up a customer-service smile that doesn’t reach their eyes and tell him it’s a wonderful hat. Meanwhile, you roll your eyes from behind because nothing either of them just said is true.

That hat is the byproduct of delusions of grandeur and innumerable skeins of color-conflicting yarn. You made it for yourself, believing that you were the kind of cute and kitschy person who could pull it off; and inconsolable weeping Christ, were you wrong. It was — no, is — your greatest fiber arts failure.

Frankenstein’s floral monster would be in a secondhand shop somewhere if you’d had any say in the matter. It isn’t because you didn’t. Seokmin “rescued” it from the “to donate” pile on your bedroom floor. Since then, he’s worn it at every — public — opportunity, season be damned.

Admittedly, he’s exactly the kind of cute and kitschy person who can pull it off, but you’ve decided out of sheer pettiness to keep that appraisal to yourself.

You take your time catching up to him, both because his long legs make it hard to keep pace; and because the room is reserved under his name. After all, he’s the welcomed guest, not the reluctant party-crasher. The receptionist is already handing him a white keycard when you finally reach the desk. Seokmin holds it up between his index and middle fingers, closed-eye grin sparkling in a matching shade of ivory.

Though the journey up to your shared room is long, the real trip is being confined to an elevator with mirrors for walls.

No matter how hard you try to avert your eyes, you manage to keep finding some new, horrible angle of your stale, post-train state. It’s torture. Three versions of you stare back with deep, dark undereye circles; and all you can think about is how dull your complexion is — especially in comparison to Seokmin, who may as well be bioluminescent with the way he glows from the inside out.

It’s joy, you know, his primary state of being and something he radiates like no other. He’s happy to be here, happy that you’re here, and happy to be happy. Whether or not he means it to be, it’s infectious. Now, you feel yourself starting to smile, too.

Despite your quiet observation, you must have missed him looking at you. Seemingly out of nowhere, he carefully sets down your belongings, raises his now-empty hand, and cups the right side of your jaw. Unaware that you’ve frozen solid, he swipes his thumb carefully over your cheek, tilting his own head to the side and frowning.

“I got you bad, huh?”

You blink.

“The zipper on my coat,” he explains, laughing. “Looks like it took a bite out of you when you used me as a pillow on the train.”

For reasons you can’t possibly explain, the only word to roll off your tongue is a sheepish, “Sorry.”

For a second, Seokmin is just as confused as you are about whether you’re needlessly apologizing to him or his coat. He chuckles quietly at how easily distracted you both are, then he gets back to the point: “Does it hurt?”

“No.”

Your response comes unnaturally quick. Your pulse does, too, when you finally make eye contact with him. After clearing your throat, you give him a half-hearted smile, ignoring whatever medical event you seem to be experiencing. “I didn’t know it was there until now.”

He hums in acknowledgment, then rescinds his hand. You watch in silence while he re-encumbers himself with your luggage and turns back to face the elevator doors, which open almost immediately.

Seokmin steps out easily, like the weight of your respective burdens doesn’t mean a thing. “I’d say this way, please, but I’ve already forgotten the room number,” he admits with a sheepish laugh. “The keycard’s in my pocket.”

You take his cue and reach into the front, right pocket of his coat for the keycard. As soon as you see the room number, you snort.

“You booked room number 218 because that’s your birthday, and then… what? You forgot your own birthday?”

“I’m deeply flawed.” He sighs, put-upon. “Now, let’s go, Bambi. It feels like you packed a week’s worth of bricks.”

There’s no time to point out that you never asked him to carry your suitcase or bag for you in the first place. Likewise, there’s no opportunity to ask exactly how many bricks is a week’s worth. He’s on the move again before you can blink, energy evident in each step regardless of how late it is.

Once again, you follow Seokmin’s lead. Despite the signage, which is clearly visible on the wall, he walks confidently in the wrong direction, prompting you to grab him gently by the elbow and steer him the opposite way. His smile doesn’t falter; he plays it off as if he was just testing how closely you’re paying attention.

It takes several turns down several additional hallways before the pair of you reach your target. When you come to room 218, you tap the keycard against the reader, causing the lock to click open. You turn the handle, push the door open into the room, and step awkwardly out of the way so your personal bellhop can get by.

“This is what I was trying to tell you when you so viciously insulted my favorite accessory.” Seokmin nods his head towards the center of the room. “All of the rooms Seonmi included in the reservation block have a king-sized bed — singular. The rooms outside the block are criminally overpriced for ski season.”

It’s far from the first time you’ve doubled up, so you shrug. “Just like old times, right? Like, when you thought your house was haunted, and you forced your way into the top bunk with me?”

“First of all,” he says as he sets both of your suitcases down and places one hand on his hip, the other pointing at you. “We were six.”

After locking the door behind you, you toe off your shoes, smirking at him from over your shoulder. “What’s your second point?”

“It was haunted —” He insists. Then his stern expression melts into something smug, the way it always does when he’s about to blatantly rewrite history. “— and you asked me to come up there because you were scared.”

A laugh slips out of you automatically, but you selflessly decide to let him have this. Crossing to him, you pat him on the bicep, patronizingly simpering all the while, “You are the brave one.”

Even though you’re both cowards, and he knows it, he pockets this little victory with a pleased hum and a grin.

Turning away from him, you make a beeline for the closet area near the door. There, you shuck off your coat and hang it up, out of the way. While you do, Seokmin passes you both your garment bag and his. From there, the pair of you work in efficient silence: you, pulling your respective formal wear from their bags and smoothing out any wrinkles; him, tucking away your extensive collection of toiletries in the bathroom.

When everything is in its place, you turn back around and notice for the first time how beautiful the room actually is. Though the shades of the floor-to-ceiling windows are almost completely drawn, the snow-covered mountains are at least partially visible through the gap in fabric. If you had the time, you’d spend all day tomorrow sitting on the forest green, velvet chaise directly in front of the window, staring at frosty peaks so massive, they feel close enough to touch.

To your right, an electric fireplace heats the room, while a portrait-framed television hovers on the wall above the mantle, flipping through famous artworks as a screensaver. In between flashes of Van Gogh’s Almond Blossoms and Klimt’s The Kiss, you catch a glimpse of Seokmin’s smile reflecting on the black screen.

Awestruck, you turn to him and sigh, “Don’t let me get used to this.”

He jerks his thumb to his right, gesturing towards the bathroom. “Don’t judge me if I steal one of the bathrobes. They’re probably more expensive than half the shit in my apartment.”

“I won’t, but they’ll bill you for it when they figure it out,” you warn him. “On that note, do you need to shower or anything before I start my skincare side quest?”

Seokmin shakes his head, causing the crocheted abomination to flop. “All yours. My hair’ll get weird if I don’t deal with it tomorrow before we head out.”

And with that mental image of his insurmountable cowlick, you quickly grab your pajamas and shuffle off towards the bathroom.

The first few seconds after you close the door are spent gawking at the insanely intricate, geometric tile pattern in the walk-in shower. Thinking of how much time it must’ve taken to lay each one of them, you set to work on your own tedious task: your ten-step regimen of cleansers, toners, serums, and moisturizers. Seokmin says otherwise, but you don’t think any of them truly make a difference. As stupid as you know it is, the routine itself is therapeutic, even if your skin is no more bouncy and glowy than it was before.

When it’s all said and done, you emerge from the bathroom to find your best friend stretched out on the half of the bed nearest the door with his eyes fixed on his phone screen. It’s the side of the room he always chooses, claiming that it’s to protect you from any intruders, but you know the truth: he’s too much of a freeze baby to sleep near the window, and he knows you like it cold.

“Feeling refreshed?” He mumbles to the best of his ability; his sweatshirt hood is pulled up and drawn so tightly that it squishes his cheeks and chin, restricting his movement.

Chuckling quietly as you go, you pad over to your half of the bed and slip under the comforter. Like a moth to a flame, the other occupant sends his last text, tosses his phone to the side, and scoots closer to you, eager to siphon whatever extra body heat he can. His head winds up on your shoulder, while your cheek rests against the top of his head.

“Before you tell me that I look it, I’d encourage you to stare long into the abyss that is my under-eye circles.”

When he laughs, it’s merely a puff of air from his nose. “You never look as tired as you feel,” he says distractedly, fiddling with the drawstrings of his hoodie. “Pretty miraculous, given how little sleep you get.”

That comment warms you up so thoroughly, you wonder if he can feel it. Then, you wonder if that was the point. You intend to tease him for that, but then it dawns on you how fidgety he’s being. It’s rare for him.

“You okay, Thumper?”

It feels silly, using that nickname after so long. Your clumsiness stuck around for the ride, continuing Bambi into perpetuity; but he grew out of his companion name when he hit puberty, and his giant feet were suddenly proportional to the rest of him.

He’s certainly no bunny, nor is he a child, but the low ebb of anxiety rolling off of him reminds you of the scared little neighbor boy you used to know. It fits, even if it is silly.

At first, Seokmin begins his explanation without peeling his gaze off his restless fingers. “Apparently, Seungcheol and Mingyu are in town.” Then, his eyes slowly lift up to find you peering down at him. “They want to meet up to go snowboarding before we leave.”

Ah.

There it is: the top-secret look in his eye that only you can decipher. The one he’s been practicing for years, at your insistence, for moments like this, when he needs to be talked into something. When he needs to be brave and avoid missing out on something he’d love, solely because it freaks him out.

You respond the same way you always have; the way you once pinky-promised you always would: “I triple-dog dare you.”

He sighs deeply, neither fully resigned nor relieved, but then he nods. His head knocks slightly against your shoulder as he does. “I’ll do it.”

And that’s that; it’s settled.

Or so you think.

A beat passes in silence, until Seokmin suddenly pipes up again, “But you’re going to have to hold my hand on the chair lift, or I’ll pass out and fall to my death.”

“Deal.”

You grab his hand now in consideration of your promise and scratch affectionately at his palm. Surprisingly, his thoughts haven’t made him clammy. His skin is even softer than usual, likely due to the expensive hotel lotion he’s undoubtedly now harboring in his suitcase. Tongue firmly in cheek, you look at him sideways.

“Just — leave the hat in your suitcase, okay? The snow will be blinding enough.”

Seokmin’s been dressed and ready for at least thirty minutes, but you’re still standing exactly where you have been for the last forty-five. Face pinched, you turn this way and that in front of the mirror, smoothing fabric that’s already wrinkle-free, apparently for the hell of it.

“I’m oh-for-three.” Your exasperated sigh is punctuated by your bare, right foot stomping on the carpet. It doesn’t make the impact you likely hope it will, at least sonically. It does, however, speak volumes about how close to the ledge you are.

“All of them looked good,” he says earnestly. “I think this one is my favorite, though, if that means anything.”

Apparently, this is the wrong answer. Your wild-eyed gaze lifts from your own reflection until you’re staring him dead in the eye through the mirror.

“Why did I even pack this?” You ask, “Do you see this?”

Suddenly, you lift a manicured hand to point at your neckline, from which he’d admittedly been averting his eyes. “This is too much cleavage for a family function, isn’t it?”

As quickly as you glanced at him in the first place, you go right back to fussing with your dress, thankfully missing the way he swallows thickly.

Fuck, now he’s staring — but you’re the one that made him look in the first place — and he can feel heat rising to his ears, a dead giveaway. His sudden silence does enough to communicate his struggle. He has no idea how to respond without vaulting over the boundaries of your friendship.

Is it hot in here?

Deciding to rely on his usual tactic, he jokes his way out.

“If you think I’ll ever side against tiddie…” He forces a grimace, shaking his head gravely. “Then you really don’t know me at all.”

You laugh loudly, and whatever one-sided tension filled the room snaps like a twig. Better still, the smile you give him stays on your face while you reassess your dress. Seokmin takes it as a personal victory that you commit to his choice, rather than cycle back through your options for the second time.

While this means that you’ll both be able to hit the open bar sooner rather than later, the biggest upside is that he no longer has to keep excusing himself to the bathroom so you can change again, and again, and again.

You finish up quickly, tossing on jewelry, and then turn to him. His shoulder keeps you steady while you slip into your devilishly high heels. Seokmin pays them little mind now, however; his attention is drawn to the accessories you’ve chosen. Sure, they match perfectly with the rest of your outfit, but that’s not what strikes him. It’s the fact that everything you’ve picked was gifted to you by his parents at one point or another.

Unable to stop himself, he reaches out and gently taps on one of your dangling earrings. “Eighteenth birthday,” he muses to himself.

Then, both his gaze and his hand lower to your necklace. He skims his fingertip along the delicate, gold chain, inadvertently making you freeze up. “Christmas 2019?”

You shake your head slightly, though it barely counts as movement.

“Ah,” Seokmin corrects himself. “2020.”

Sensing that he’s somehow made you uncomfortable, he reels himself back in and clears his throat. “Shall we?” He asks, furnishing you with a bent arm to loop yours through.

You take his cue, link your arm to his, and sigh, “I suppose we shall.”

The walk to the elevator is quiet, in that neither one of you says a thing. Seokmin can hear the gears in your head turning, though, without any conversation to drown them out.

You step inside that glorified, mirrored box; and for a few minutes, he lets you work through the thing he knows ruined your sleep last night. That is, until he hears your breathing come a little quicker than usual.

“Hey.”

It was supposed to be a jumping off point. He was going to go from there and reiterate that you belong here with him. The plan was to reassure you for as long as it takes to get you to believe it, but you look up at him almost helplessly, and his Etch-a-Sketch brain is wiped clean in an instant.

The very best he can do is smile and offer a single word: “Hi.”

“Hi,” you whisper back, eyes twinkling.

Your plagued frown curves slightly back in the right direction. The creeping shroud of doom lightens, if only a little bit.

“That’ll do, pig.” You swat his arm, but he says it again, emphatically, “That’ll do.”

Halfway through you scolding him for quoting Babe at a time like this, the elevator door reopens, ready to regurgitate the pair of you out onto the ballroom level.

Unlike the lobby, which sits only one floor below, this floor looks like it was ripped straight from the pages of a fantasy novel. Everywhere he turns, there’s something new — and vaguely elven — to look at. Fairy lights hang in perfectly spaced arches from the lofted ceiling, delicately illuminating the exposed, wooden beams above. The chandeliers — plural — are crafted out of antlers of some kind, cutting between rugged and highly refined.

As stunning as it all is, Seokmin’s mind snags on a single conclusion. You’re the one who voices it, though, much to his surprise.

“This is the most Seonmi thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” you whisper to him, all without taking your eyes off the extravagance in front of you. “Is this a dress rehearsal for her wedding next year?”

He bites down on his lips hard to keep his laughter to himself. Of course, you’re dead on. Nothing about this space feels like his parents, who are supposed to be the sole focus of this entire event. He already found it odd that they agreed to such a big to-do in the first place — especially when it would require their loved ones to go out of their way, literally and financially — but this is….

“Am I being petty, or is this kind of… selfish?”

Petty, no.

Psychic? Probably.

“You’re right, and you should say it.” Seokmin nods and withdraws his arm from yours so that he can drape it properly around your shoulder. “This way to the beer, please. We’ll need it.”

Merely four steps in the direction to the bar, and a screech rings out from somewhere neither of you can locate. In fact, Seokmin’s head is turned the opposite way when someone launches themself at you, damn near ripping you from his hold.

“Oh, my god! I knew you’d come!”

Soyeon’s relief in seeing you is palpable. Seokmin can practically feel his bones being crushed as she hugs you tight, swaying from side to side. He catches a glimpse of your expression, which barely peeks through the curtain of his oldest sister’s hair; you’re far happier now than you were in the elevator.

His sister kisses the side of your head. “I missed you so fucking much. I love my residency program, but I hate how far away it keeps me.”

A solid minute passes by like this. When it starts to get unbearable, Seokmin clears his throat, hoping to remind his sister that she hasn’t seen him in months, either; and he’s also standing right here.

Instead of greeting him, Soyeon shoots you a wry smile. “Who is he today? A fugitive you’re harboring?”

In tandem, the two of you appraise him with thoughtfully narrowed eyes. See, this he didn’t miss: being both of his sisters’ least favorite younger sibling.

“Oh, no, though I can see why you think that.” You shake your head, then reach out to pat his shoulder patronizingly. “If anyone asks, this is a foreign diplomat, and I’m the interpreter he can’t understand a word without. Best not say hi to him; he won’t know what you’re saying.”

Soyeon nods, though Seokmin wonders if she truly gets what you’re trying to achieve. Not quite, he realizes a moment later. Instead, she covers his chin with her hand so she can squeeze both his cheeks at once.

“He’s adorable,” she coos. “Doesn’t look old enough or mature enough for diplomacy, though.”

Seokmin rolls his eyes. “Well, we can’t all be doctors, can we?”

Again, in tandem, all eyes on him widen with feigned shock. Between overlapping gasps of “he does understand!” and “someone’s been studying!”, he shakes off his sister’s touch and scowls.

“If you’re going to keep bullying me, can you at least do it at the bar? That way, I can numb my suffering with booze.”

At this, Soyeon drops the charade and pulls him into a hug like a vice grip. She holds him so tightly that his vision starts to get spotty. It’s not until he gently pats her back, begging for air, that she lets him go.

“I missed you too, Thumper,” she swears, prompting you to snicker.

Now, he’s annoyed for a completely different reason — one that makes even less sense to him. That nickname hasn’t bothered him in the last decade, so it shouldn’t now. Then again, the only person who’s called him Thumper since middle school is you.

The rules are different for you, if they exist at all.

“And I promise to catch up with you later, but I’ve got five thousand questions for Bambi, and the answers aren’t half as juicy with you around.”

Just like that, his plus-one is subtracted.

As much as you love Soyeon, she’s no Seokmin. With him, talking is easy; he never rushes to fill silences, doesn’t steer the conversation with a white-knuckled grip.

On the contrary, his oldest sister comes forward with a pickaxe, smashing through small talk while she mines for the wild stories she thinks she’s missed out on since moving away.

You don’t blame her, really. If you spent all your hours in a hospital, only sleeping in the lulls between other people’s trauma, you’d probably become just as intense — the human equivalent of a cracked-open fire hydrant — in the search for closeness, too.

In the thirty minutes you sit with her, you brief her on all the cliffhangers you’d left her with the last time you saw her.

Yes, you’re still stuck with your lease in the same apartment; and the old lady next door still regularly sets off the building’s fire alarm by accident.

No, you decided not to stay with Kai and haven’t spoken since the breakup; he needed more of your time and energy than you wanted to sacrifice for him.

No, Seokmin still hasn’t gone out with anyone that you know of in months. In fact, it’s been so long since either of you have touched on this topic, especially compared to how little time he and the last girl were together, that you can’t even remember her name.

Beyond that first, limited fact, you keep your mouth shut about the rest. It’s not your business to share; and it wouldn’t kill her to ask Seokmin about himself for once.

The longer you spend with her, the more frustrated you find yourself getting, although you keep this fact to yourself, too. Soyeon and Seonmi have both spent their lives fussing about Seokmin, talking about him like he’s some helpless baby, without doing much to get to know him.

That’s it.

If you were at all confident that Soyeon would take the initiative, you’d let her find all of this out on her own. She won’t, you know, but maybe it’ll sink in if she hears it from you.

“Seokmin’s doing really well, now that you mention it,” you offer, though she barely mentioned him in the first place. “He got promoted last month; he’s now lead architect on that massive commercial lot downtown. Apparently, it’s still a secret, whatever it is they’re putting there. Must be something special.”

Seokmin is something special, you all but yell inside your head.

Soyeon’s eyes brighten.

Nobody loves secrets quite like she does. You wait for the barrage, anticipating all the questions to which you’ll have to respond with “seriously, I don’t know,” but they don’t come.

Instead, she puts her drink back on its coaster, reaches out, and squeezes your wrist with her slightly chilled hand. “I’m grateful that he’s always had you, Bambi. If he didn’t, I don’t know if he’d lean in to opportunities like that.”

The look on her face tells you she means it. Maybe that’s what makes your stomach sour: that she can sit there, hearing of Seokmin’s accomplishments, and still find a way not to credit him for them.

Anger ignites inside of you. The flames lick up your esophagus, ready to explode, and you suck in a breath with every intention of letting her burn.

But then an arm slinks around your waist. Seokmin’s head bumps slightly against yours until you’re cheek to cheek.

“I hope I’m interrupting something.”

For a second, you think his slight tipsiness caused him to misspeak. Tilting your head to the side the best you can, you look at him out of the corner of your eye and catch his very subtle wink.

Soyeon opens her mouth, but Seokmin makes his wish a reality.

“Sorry, sis,” Seokmin says, entirely unapologetically. “I just found out that the band takes requests; and I’ll be goddamned if Bambi and I don’t show you clowns the meaning of dance.”

It takes no encouragement whatsoever for you to slip off your stool, get to your feet, and inch your way closer to his side. Then, like a starting gun was fired, the two of you bolt clumsily away from the bar, with you shouting “sorry!” over your shoulder as you go.

Your heels skid against the dance floor when you finally reach it, but Seokmin steadies you before you can eat shit in front of god and everyone.

“You’re way too expressive, you know that?” The fact that he’s out-of-breath doesn’t keep him from laughing. “I could’ve seen that grumpy turtle face of yours from space.”

Unintentionally, you prove his point, drawing your eyebrows together and frowning. “I do not —”

“— Also, I lied,” he interrupts yet again.

This, coupled with the everything else going on, leaves you too stunned to speak.

“This band is all trot, all the time. They don’t take requests — trust me, I tried — but if you stay here with me long enough, we can kill two birds with one stone.”

Seokmin doesn’t wait for you to answer because he knows it’s a yes. He doesn’t wait for you to assume your position, either, and instead holds your left hand in his right before placing your right on his left shoulder. This close, you feel the urge to tell him how handsome he looks with his hair parted off his forehead. You don’t, however.

The music swells behind you. Seokmin leads, and you follow, swaying slowly and moving across the floor.

“Two birds?” You remember to ask, one eyebrow arched.

His right arm lifts. “Spin,” he whispers. You step under his arm, then twirl. While you’re facing the opposite direction, he continues, “There. Do you see it?”

“Oh, my god.”

You do.

The bar stool you were just occupying is now filled by Seokmin’s great-uncle, Hajoon, while his new and much younger girlfriend, Yunhee, hovers near his shoulder. Even from this distance, you can see the look of abject distress on Soyeon’s face, totally unhidden by her attempt to seem engaged.

You return to your position in front of Seokmin, your hand accidentally landing on his bicep, rather than his shoulder. Flustered by the deceptive bulk there, you immediately scoot your palm back to where it belongs.

He leans in so that only you can hear him. It doesn’t feel necessary at all, given how loud the band’s horn section is, but you don’t recoil this time.

“They had me trapped over by the appetizers,” he explains, low voice making you shiver involuntarily. “Every time he started a story with when I was your age, I wanted to point out that Yunhee hadn’t been born yet.”

You can’t help the laugh that erupts out of you and therefore can’t pull your head away from Seokmin’s ear in time to save him. Instead of wincing or complaining, he looks at you and breaks into laughter of his own as soon as your eyes meet. The effect doubles, and before you know it, both of you are teary-eyed.

“How the hell did you get away from him?”

It’s a feat you've never once managed. Uncle Hajoon’s inability to read a room is equal parts due to his horrible hearing and his tendency to never stop talking. Even if he did leave space in the conversation for you to excuse yourself, you’d never successfully get the message across.

Seokmin lifts his arm again but not for you. He takes his leave to spin himself, simpering as he goes, “That’s where Yunhee came in handy, actually. I didn’t know she had it in her, but she’s not as much of a dud as we initially thought.”

“Oh?”

“She told him that I should be able to dance with my girlfriend, and he shouldn’t keep me any longer.” He shrugs. “It didn’t seem like the time to correct her.”

All the heat in your body goes straight to your cheeks. Nonetheless, you attribute it to the dancing and choke out, “No royalties for me, then.”

“Not this time.” Seokmin shakes his head. “I said that Soyeon was trying to catch up with everyone and would love to hear his stories.”

You bite back a grin. “You’re a bastard, you know that?”

“Maybe.” He smiles with every single one of his teeth. “But you’re free.”

“Surprisingly so. I haven’t felt the Eye of Sauron on me at all yet.” Just in case your statement serves as a jinx, you glance around the room for Seonmi. The tension you’ve been keeping in each one of your muscles slackens when, once again, your radar is blip-free.

“Dinner was supposed to start ten minutes ago. If I had to guess, she’s either leaving a scathing Yelp review or personally waterboarding the chef as we speak.”

“Both at the same time,” you counter, earning a wry smile. “She inherited your mom’s self-assuredness. If she believes she can, she will.”

After the pair of you dance through two more songs, the band breaks, and the hotel’s battalion of waiters come in, bearing domed, silver trays. Seokmin takes off in a hurry for your assigned table in the far corner of the ballroom, so famished that he barely remembers to tug you along behind him.

Through the meal and all its complimentary wine pairings, you do your best to focus on the conversation. Seokmin introduced you to the few people sitting with you that you haven’t had the occasion to meet yet. While he does what comes naturally to him, charming them with ease, you struggle for the first time to pay attention to him.

A few tables over, Seonmi sits down with her fiancé, joining the company of her parents; Soyeon and her date are there, too, leaving Seokmin out by design. Like an insane person, you can only watch her, rather than Seokmin’s blatant theft of bites from your plate. She laughs at whatever jokes her mother cracks, but you’d recognize that look of veiled angst anywhere. She isn’t happy, you realize. You can’t avoid the feeling that you’re the reason why she isn’t.

Time passes, somehow too quickly and too slowly. The plates are emptied, then cleared away by the wait staff — except for your half-empty glass, which is your third. Much like the other guests at your table, the joyful buzz you’d been feeling so far leaves, too.

All that’s left is you, Seokmin, and that ominous, storm cloud you can’t seem to shake.

“You’ll probably feel better if you talk to her.”

He’s always more observant than you give him credit for. You snap out of your zoned-out stare across the room in order to look at him. You frown. “I doubt it. She already looks pissed. Me parading my presence here despite her isn’t going to help anything.”

“Bambi,” Seokmin sighs, not impatient but gentle. “She’s not exactly warm, but she has always liked you. There’s literally no reason why she wouldn’t be happy to see you —”

You open your mouth to argue.

“— that happened over twenty years ago, and you really need to stop feeling guilty about it —”

You close your mouth, cross your arms self-consciously, and sink in your seat. Despite yourself, you glance over at him and catch the way he’s looking at you. He doesn’t need to say the words out loud for you to hear them.

It’s either the unspoken dare, his reassuring, soft-eyed smile, or all the blasted merlot that does you in. You’re not sure which of the three was the coup de grâce, and as you slink off towards her table, you realize it doesn’t matter. For one reason or another, you’ve decided that fear isn’t going to get the better of you this time.

Seonmi somehow senses you coming. Even without the band underscoring your movement, your timid steps across the mahogany parquet should’ve been impossible for anyone to pick up on.

Must be an older sister thing, you think, being doomed to keep a perpetual eye on others.

She doesn’t say anything when you slip into the chair next to her, which doesn’t bode well but isn’t a deal breaker, in and of itself. The important thing is that she doesn’t get up to leave. You tell yourself that this is a good sign. The knot in your stomach begs to differ, however.

Say something.

Say anything.

“Everything’s… lovely, Seonmi, seriously.” You gesture around you, smiling, but she only gives you a cursory look. “You’ve really outdone yourself with this one.”

Seonmi takes a sip of her cocktail — something bitter, the petty voice in your head assumes — and lets the corner of her mouth rise slightly. If it’s the closest thing you’ll get to a smile, you’ll take it. She hasn’t granted you a proper one in the decades since you got gum in her favorite Barbie’s hair.

“Thanks, kid,” she sighs, setting the drink back down on her personalized, cardboard coaster.

You can’t remember the last time she called you “Bambi”, let alone your real name. Just like Seokmin, you’ve always been a child to her. Apparently, you always will be, no matter what you do.

Her grip around the glass remains rigid, not unlike her overall posture. Condensation weeps under and around her manicured fingers, uninhibited. You watch those droplets soak through the coaster’s design, darkening her parents’ initials and wedding date, while you mull over whose turn it is to talk.

Ultimately, as is usually the case, Seonmi makes this decision for you. Without so much as a glance at you out of the corner of her eye, she muses, “It was a lot of work, getting all the details ironed out.”

You pick up on the subtext immediately. One of those details would’ve been the guest list; another, the invitations. Seokmin assumed it was all an accident and said as much to you no fewer than a hundred times, but this little comment from his sister blows his assurances to smithereens.

Your exclusion wasn’t an accident at all.

Suddenly, somehow, the room is twenty degrees colder. You shoot a panicked glance over to where Seokmin was just sitting, wanting nothing more than to slink back to his warmth with your tail between your legs; but he’s not where you left him. In fact, he’s nowhere to be found.

Fuck.

“Ah,” is the best you can do.

And then the two of you sit awkwardly in silence while the seconds age in dog years.

You should’ve brought a drink over with you so you’d have something to do with your hands. Or your phone — except you left it on its charger, you idiot — or a time machine, so you can revoke your bullshit decision to walk over here in the first —

“He deserves that, don’t you think?”

The combined suddenness of her voice and the switch in topics makes you jolt ever so slightly. You try to pass it off, to pretend that you’re simply adjusting the skirt of your dress, but your efforts go unnoticed. Seonmi is too busy pointing casually ahead, drawing your focus to the center of the dance floor.

Like absolutely no one else is watching, Mr. Lee twirls around his laughing wife, his heart-shaped smile beaming so brightly that it almost hurts your eyes. The love of his life has to hold one of her hands over her mouth to keep her laughter from bursting out; the other hand is raised with the rest of that arm, allowing her husband to spin himself underneath. When he’s halfway through, she surprises him, drops her arm down, and embraces him fully, giggling all the while.

It almost makes you tear up — Mr. Lee’s unabashed, silly love, and how much it reminds you of his spitting-image of a son; the way Seokmin’s mother’s eyes sparkle in the same blissful, radiant way his do. Maybe the same can’t be said for his older sisters, but it’s abundantly clear where Seokmin came from. It’s even clearer where he should end up.

“Yes,” you breathe, and it almost sounds like a laugh because of course, he does. Before you can stop yourself, you ask, “Is that really a question?”

No, you realize too late, it’s bait.

Without batting an eye, she counters, “Is it really so hard for you to let him have that?”

Seonmi turns her head to look you dead in the eye. Confusingly, despite her words, there’s nothing in her tone or gaze that reads like malice. If anything, the slight furrow of her brow shouts concern.

Your mind is spinning too fast to keep up with. Whatever her next move is, you’re too dizzy now to see it coming and too disoriented to follow it. With the knot in your stomach tightening further, you stammer, “Is — what?”

“God,” Seonmi drops her face into her hands. “You don’t get it, do you?”

A fish on dry land, all you seem to know how to do is open and close your mouth. You may not be literally flailing, but with the state your mind is in, you may as well start.

“Seokmin loves love.”

She says each of these words slowly, like she’s trying to hammer each nail through a thick skull.

“It’s the one thing he’s wanted most since he was a kid, yet I can count on one hand the number of short-term relationships he’s been in. He doesn’t ever bring anyone home to meet us; he doesn’t bring anyone to weddings, or parties, or holidays; he just brings you.”

Of course, you’ve been right there through all of his situationships. He’s always scant on details when they end — and you’ve never pressed for any — but you know better than anyone that nothing has stuck long-term.

You’ve never thought about how odd this really is, but with Seonmi spelling it out for you now, you can’t come up with a single, good reason why someone as objectively incredible as Seokmin can’t make these things work — or why, even as you rack your brain, the only constant you can find in his life is you.

She glares now, as if she’s daring you to speak; as if you’ve got anything she’d deem worth adding. The bulldozer revs up again, whether you’re ready or not: “You’ve always been the only person he saves space for, whether or not there’s a place for you, and he has no room left in his life for someone to love him like that —”

Seonmi points again to her parents, who are circling slowly on the dance floor, talking softly to one another.

“So, what is it? Do you truly not see what he’s missing, or are you choosing not to because you like his attention?”

Your eyes burn with tears, but you can’t let them fall, and you can’t wrap your head around why that is.

Who are you hiding them from: Seonmi or yourself?

The longer she stares at you, the muddier it gets. You don’t want her to be right. You don’t want to be the kind of person she’s describing; but there’s something awful whispering in the back of your mind, saying that you might be.

You’ve left every relationship you’ve been in, telling everyone who asks in the aftermath that you like being on your own better. But that’s bullshit. It’s not your own company that you keep when you’re single; it Seokmin’s.

He makes sure that you never spend a day feeling alone, that he’s always available over the phone in the rare times he’s not physically with you. As his best friend, he treats you better than every single one of your exes ever has. Like you’re worth more than anyone else will credit you.

What kind of friend are you if you feel relieved whenever his relationships expire?

Seonmi’s hand drops, landing half-heartedly clenched on the tabletop. Just the same, her voice drops until it’s almost a whisper.

“I am begging you,” she pleads, eyes narrowing desperately as they search yours. “If you don’t want him, someone else will. Please just — get the hell out of their way.”

By the time you reach the elevator, all you’re left with is a blur. You’ve already forgotten how the conversation ended, or which one of you was the first to get up. If she said anything else to you, it was drowned out by your own hammering pulse and a looping chorus of voices validating your biggest fear, stating in no uncertain terms that you don’t belong.

You’re shaking when you reach your floor. Heels clicking under unsteady footsteps, you make for room 218; and as you go, you shove your hand into the well-concealed pocket of your dress for the keycard Seokmin forgot to grab himself on the way out earlier.

He’s certainly not in the room when you finally step inside, although you have no clue where he’s gone. It’s for the best. The door closes behind you, and with no one to see it happen, you burst into tears.

All rational thought flies out the window, shaken off by the tornado of utter confusion tearing through your brain. You grab your suitcase, needing nothing more than to be anywhere else, and begin haphazardly throwing your things back inside of it.

Why did you still come with him, knowing it wouldn’t end well? It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve told him no; he would’ve listened if you truly meant it.

If you didn’t mean it when you initially tried to squirrel your way out of this, why not? Was it just your friend asking sincerely that won you over without a fight; or was it because you knew, deep down, it’d hurt to see him bring someone else?

Why would it hurt?

The answer to that will crack the foundation of everything the two of you have built, but only if you admit it to yourself. It can’t threaten you if you don’t say it out loud, don’t make it real.

So, you won’t.

You’ll bury it deeply enough to forget about, repour the concrete, and tiptoe through the rest of your life with your best friend still at your side.

That is, if your friendship survives the weekend — rather, your sudden departure from it — at all.

“Halmoni, it’s time to go back to your hotel, okay?”

He coos this, as if he’s pleading with a toddler at bedtime, because that’s exactly what it feels like to wrangle the drunk, 80-year-old clinging to his arm.

Physically, she needs to hold onto Seokmin to keep herself steady. Mentally, she’s ready to run and has made several attempts to do just that when she thinks his guard is down. It’s no wonder the hotel staff cornered him and begged him for help; she’s too wily for those who don’t know her.

The manager had at least done him the courtesy of hailing a cab. It sits out front, warm and waiting, while he shepherds his grandmother through the lobby.

“— and another thing!” She slurs.

There is never not another thing. She shouldn’t bother concluding her sentences in the first place; she’s never done talking.

“I told your sister — I said, Sunny —”

Seonmi, he dares to presume, although he doesn’t dare to correct her.

“— you can’t have stuff like this —” She gestures animatedly, albeit vaguely around her. “— in places like this and expect retirees to pay for it! I said — oh, what did I say? — Ah, I said, ��find me the cheapest motel in the area, or I’ll be staying in your room with you’ —”

Her kitten heels hit the brick outside with an angry thwump.

Seokmin can’t help himself. “She didn’t go for that?”

“No!” His grandmother squawks.

The driver sees the ball of a woman wobbling his way and quickly exits the cab, skirts around it, and flings the back door open for her.

“I can’t imagine why, halmoni,” he lies through his teeth, which shine down on her in his best, least sincere smile. “You’re a blast in a glass.”

She roars with laughter, even while two grown adults work together to pour her into the backseat without bumping her head on the doorframe. “Glast in a blass!”

“Exactly. Can you —?”

He gives up before he finishes voicing his request; it’s no use. Instead, he bends down to hug her and finagles the buckle of her seatbelt while she’s too distracted to fight him off. That click is the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard, after the clunk of the door shutting her in.

By the time Seokmin turns to the cab driver, his grandmother is fully slumped in her seat, pilled peacoat rising and falling with every wine-laced breath.

“I am so sorry.” He sighs, which devolves into a sheepish laugh, and fishes all of the cash out of his pocket. No tip could possibly cover the emotional toll of this ordeal, so he does his best and gives the driver everything he has.

The driver’s eyes widen. Seokmin gets the impression that he doesn’t quite understand the task he’s undertaking.

Poor bastard.

Seokmin continues, “My grandfather is at the inn already; he didn’t feel well enough to come here, but he’ll be ready to get her inside once you drop her off.”

“Sounds easy enough.” The driver smiles and holds out his hand to shake.

Seokmin reciprocates, and he declines to explain just how wrong that assessment is. He thanks the man and chirps a quick goodbye to his grandmother before rushing back inside.

Walking into the ballroom, he hopes to find you and Seonmi laughing about whatever misunderstanding had gotten in your way before. At the very least, he expects you to still be sitting next to each other at the same table. That would be good enough, he thinks; he could assist in repairing the situation from there.

The problem, it seems, is beyond his help. Neither one of you occupies the same table. If his quick scan tells him anything, you’re not even in the same room.

No matter which way he turns, he can’t spot you. His sister, on the other hand, is near the far corner, having what looks like a nightmarish conversation with their parents. There are approximately five billion things Seokmin would rather do than get in the middle of that, but you don’t have your phone on you, and he has no other way to find out where you went.

Above the heads of the two women, Seokmin’s father catches sight of his approach. They lock eyes; there’s something insane in his father’s gaze. The older man shakes his head, mouthing “no.”

Seokmin stops short, raises his hands with the palms up to get across his confusion, and mouths back, “Bambi?”

In response, his father extends a single finger and points upwards. He then makes a shooing motion with his hand. His wife and daughter are so engrossed in their argument that neither of them catches the pantomime or Seokmin’s quick exit, back the way he came.

On the elevator ride upstairs, Seokmin worries. The most likely explanation is that you went to find your phone so that you could find him – but you haven’t texted or called him in the time he’s been looking for you, so he supposes it isn’t likely after all.

Maybe, he thinks, the wine caught up to you. You’re not as strong a drinker as you think you are. While he walks down the hallway to room 218, he steels himself. Even though you both hate it, he’s ready to hold your hair if he walks in and finds you with your head in the toilet. That dress looks too good on you not to be expensive; he’d rather talk you out of your embarrassment tomorrow than have you shell out for dry-cleaning.

You didn’t deadbolt the door behind you, which strikes him as odd. In fact, you didn’t even close it properly; it isn’t latched. All he has to do is tap on it for the door to open.

“Bambi?” He calls out before stepping inside entirely, thinking it’s only decent to confirm in advance that he’s not an intruder. “Sorry for disappearing. I had to pour my grandmother into a cab – it was exactly as awful as it sounds.”

The faint rustling sound he hears isn’t coming from the bathroom, which is both dark and unoccupied. Part of him wants to take this as a good sign, but the rest of him wonders if he’s walking in on a burglary. That flicker of fear is followed by a stupid sense of validation:

You always laugh at him when he cites this as his reason for choosing the bed closest to the door; you claim it’s statistically unlikely. Finally being able to say “I told you so” after a robbery wouldn’t make either of your belongings magically reappear, of course. That said, it might make him feel a little better.

But the figure rooting through your suitcase isn’t a bandit at all. It’s you with your coat on.

“Um,” he starts, unintentionally startling you. “What is….”

His question peters out when you look up at him. There are broken mascara tracks down your cheeks, as if you tried to wipe them off without actually looking at them. Above them, your wide eyes are wet, like you’re seconds away from crying all over again. Even worse, you’re trembling.

Seokmin’s only instinct is to reach for you. Before he can wrap his arms around you, you jerk away from him. “Please don’t.”

So, he stops, though he doesn’t understand why. This is quite literally the only time in your life that you’ve pushed him away.

“What’s going on?” Ideally, he’d project calm at a time like this. He just sounds desperate. “What happened with Seonmi?”

“She — um, she didn’t — It wasn’t that bad; I’m just… You know how sensitive I get when I drink wine.”

Like a switch flips, a half-hearted smile takes over the bottom half of your face. It’s not real; if it was, your eyes would light up and crinkle at the corners. Whatever that look is, it’s bullshit.

Seokmin gestures to your suitcase, where everything you brought with you has been unceremoniously shoved. “Sensitive enough to, what, run away? No. I’m not buying it. She said something — or did something — to make you this upset. Bambi, what happened?”

His urgency is selfish, he knows it. Seonmi’s always been way too intuitive for her own good. There’s no way she hasn’t noticed the way he looks at you when you aren’t looking; how god-awful he is at acting platonic.

He tries — has been trying, for a long time now — to shake these feelings off because he knows you’re not emotionally available. Because he knows who he’s supposed to be for you, and how devastating it would be if he threw your friendship away.

That devastation is right in front of him now; and it’ll push you out of his life forever if he doesn’t shut it down. He has to get in front of it.

You strike first, though. “Seokmin, why didn’t you bring anyone else?”

There are two ways for him to interpret that question: with the emphasis on anyone, meaning not you; or as an escape route. For your sake, he chooses the latter.

“She gave me a plus-one, not a plus-two,” he says softly.

Despite his tone, it must hit you like a punch. You nod curtly, once. “Got it. Basic math. Thanks, Seokmin; that was never my strongest subject.”

Foot, meet mouth.

You immediately set back to work, reaching for the lid of your suitcase to close and zip. Before he thinks once, let alone twice, his hand darts out and flattens against the mesh inner pocket on the top, preventing you from doing so.

“No.” He shakes his head firmly. “Not happening.”

You don’t scowl at him the way he expects, nor do you even stop to look at him. It’s far worse than that; your eyes start swimming, focused helplessly on your suitcase.

When you speak, your voice cracks. “I shouldn’t have come in the first place. I knew that this invitation shit wasn’t an accident; I knew I wasn’t welcome to —”

“— You came anyway.” Seokmin doesn’t mean to snap at you, but the point is moot. Softening at the edges, he quickly continues, “And I’m glad that you did because I don’t want to be here with ‘anyone else’.”

It’s not the whole truth, so it may as well be a lie. You know him too well for him to get away with it; it was stupid of him to try. Your head turns, and the slight narrow of your eyes says it all.

I triple-dog dare you to tell me the truth.

This fork in the road has two dead ends. His only options are to do just that or double down and lie straight to your face, while you see straight through him. Either option pulls the pin, he figures, so it’s no longer a question of who gets hurt; it’s who gets hurt worse.

Seokmin jumps on the grenade.

“I don’t want to be with anyone else!”

It comes out too loudly, startling you. In a way, it’s angry, too. He wishes could project that anger onto Seonmi for starting shit, as usual, but the person he’s maddest at is himself for putting you both in this position.

For the first time ever, he can’t decipher the expression on your face. He’d shove his foot into his mouth to try and keep himself quiet, but his adrenaline is firing on all cylinders, and he can’t seem to stop shouting.

“And I’m really fucking sorry to say it because I know you don’t want to hear it, not from me or anyone else. So, you can leave, alright? I’m not going to stop you.”

The force of the surprise almost knocks the air out of him, so quick that Seokmin can’t process what’s happening until his back is flush to the wall behind him — until your hands, flat against his white button-up, curl to grip the fabric, and you kiss him so hard that he sees stars.

You’re surprised too, it seems. When you pull away, chest heaving, you freeze in the same way he does. Eyes searching the other’s, unsure of what to do now that twenty-plus years’ worth of boundaries have been blown to bits.

You whisper, “Are you still sorry?”

Of the five million feelings swelling inside of him — fear, kind of; joy, yes; fucked up by your blown-out pupils, definitely — regret isn’t one of them.

Actually…

He cups your face in his hands like water from a spring, drinks down the sight of you in this new and perfect light. “I’m only sorry that it took me this long to tell you,” he confesses before kissing you back twice as hard.

You’d ask Seokmin to pinch you and prove to you that you’re not dreaming, but the fear you feel at the thought of waking up is too overwhelming.

Even if it wasn’t, he can’t help you, can he?

His hands are far too busy.

Your pretty dress is long gone now, having been shucked off and tossed somewhere out of sight. In its place, it’s Seokmin’s body that now drapes over yours, warm in touch and tone, like molten gold.

His middle and marriage fingers curl inside you, working you up again; and all you can do is cling desperately to his hair, whimper, and wait for the fall.

“I take back what I said earlier,” he murmurs between nips and kisses at your neck.

You can’t ask him to elaborate. You’re too close to careening over the edge for the second time tonight; too busy babbling fucking nonsense.

His simper against your throat reverberates all the way down, lights up your every nerve in tandem like a switchboard. “Only an idiot would tell you to be less expressive.”

The pad of his thumb swirls over your clit; its movement synchronizes with his middle finger inside of you, targeting your weak spot. He presses down on that spongy patch of nerves, and your hips buck involuntarily, a hallmark of your body begging for you while your words fail.

“You were right, though.”

You summon all your concentration. “I’m always right,” you counter. Seokmin pulls his mouth away from the underside of your jaw just to look at you pointedly. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

He picks up the pace of his ministrations, pulling no punches. You’re teetering on the ledge with no real ability to lift your own neck; your head crashes back against the pillow as you wail, clenching and gushing around his fingers.

“I do know how sensitive you get,” he snickers before slipping his fingers from you and sweeping down to kiss you sweetly.

The ringing in your ears has barely subsided, but you’ve decided not to take anymore of his teasing laying down. Slipping your fingers from his hair, you move your hands to his shoulders; and with whatever muscle control you still maintain, you flip him off of you, onto his back.

“How long —”

You climb over his lap and straddle him, placing your palms flat against his chest. It’s as much a show of dominance as it is a carefully disguised trick for balance.

“— have you been waiting to say that?”

Caught red handed, Seokmin shoots you that trademark, heart-shaped smile. His cheeks were already flushed from the effort he just expended on you; that perfect pink only deepens when he blushes and laughs, “What, you think I can’t come up with killer lines in the heat of the moment?”

You scratch your nails gently down the lines of his abdominal muscles. “Nope,” you purr.

Sitting up on his elbows, Seokmin tilts his head to the side and narrows his dark eyes at you. You’re nowhere near used to seeing him look at you like this, like you’re something to be devoured. The feeling of being wanted so badly makes your stomach flip.

“Give me some credit, won’t you?” He asks, voice low. “You’re a knockout; you’re naked in front of me for the first time; and it’s a miracle I can talk at all when I feel this concussed.”

When you lean in, he licks his lips expectantly. You’re close enough to kiss him, of course, but you stop a few millimeters shy of your mark and watch him fight the urge to pout. His eyes search yours, almost pleadingly.

“Is that why you’re still not naked?”

Seokmin’s next move is to reach for the black briefs he’s still got on, but you stop him, encircling each of his wrists with your hands.

“Ah, ah, ah,” you tut with a patronizing shake of your head. “You’re fired. I’m in control now.”

If the little sigh he lets out is any indication, he is very much on board with your self-promotion.

He takes your cue and reels himself in, allowing you to move further down his body, your fingertips hooking under his elastic waistband and tugging as you go. When his length finally springs free, you duck your head to take him into your mouth, beyond eager to feel his weight on your tongue.

“Oh, my god,” he groans, eyelids fluttering, while you swirl your tongue around his head. “Feels s-so —”

The rest of his sentence gets stuck in his throat; you take what you can of him down your own throat, working whatever remains with your hand.

Seokmin wants so badly to watch, you know he does, but he’s sensitive, too. His head tips back, eyes closed and mouth hanging open.

It’s messy, the spit dribbling down your chin and the sound brought forth by the suction of your mouth around him. The obscenity of it all spurs you on. Nothing inspires you quite like Seokmin’s breathy whines and low moans, though. Above all else, it’s his reaction to you that slicks the inside of your thighs.

You’d give him the ending he deserves, right down the back of your throat, but you feel his fingertips graze your shoulder, beckoning you to look up at him.

Voice rough, he pleads, “Come here.”

With his steadying hands on you, you move back into your original position with your bent knees on either side of him. You immediately spot the indent his teeth have left on his lower lip, which is now slightly swollen. Delicately, you brush your thumb over the mark. “Oh, you’re a goner.”

Seokmin looks at you pointedly. Though you tease, you’re even worse off: drunk on the taste of him, as much as the sight of him underneath you, wanting you just as badly.

“Alright, alright,” you concede. “I am, too.”

The hand you use to wave dismissively at him then reaches down between your thighs, fingers wrapping around his cock and lining it up with your entrance.

“But I’m taking you down with me.”

And you do.

So thoroughly that you barely recall him staggering off to the bathroom when all is said and done, the wash cloth he returns with to clean you up, or the way you slump into his waiting arms before promptly falling asleep.

You sleep so soundly, in fact, that you don’t stir when the sun blares through the open curtains. Likewise, when Seokmin carefully maneuvers himself out of the tangle of your limbs and places your head on a real pillow instead, you’re none the wiser.

What finally gets to you is the clatter of the expensive, hotel-issued shampoo clattering against the floor of the shower, echoing off the tile like a sonic boom. You sit bolt upright in bed, staring bleary-eyed in the direction of the bathroom.

As if on cue, Seokmin pokes his head out of the doorway to see if you managed to sleep through the noise. Damp hair splays over his forehead, hanging just as loosely as his lazily-knotted bathrobe. If you weren’t still too sleepy to function, you’d love nothing more than to grab him by that tie and drag him back to bed.

“Shit. I’m sorry, Bambi,” he coos, though his mouth is full of both toothpaste and a toothbrush in a distinctly greener shade of blue than usual.

You merely point at his mouth with a half-powered look of distress, otherwise unable to put your suspicion into words. He doesn’t get it; he glances down at his chest, looking for what he assumes is a stray glob of paste.

When you finally do speak, it’s a prayer: “Please tell me that’s not mine.”

Seokmin blinks at you, then down his nose at the toothbrush he’s using. He cocks his head to the side, opens his mouth to assure you it isn’t, and finally, when the realization makes his eyes widen, he groans.

You wail, “Noooooo!”

Memories of your last trip together clash before your mind — specifically, attempting to navigate a drug store in a foreign language while you shopped for the replacement toothbrush Seokmin is currently holding.

Ears bright red with embarrassment, he ducks back into the bathroom. Immediately, you hear a rush of water from the tap, which nearly drowns out his feeble cry of “I’m sorry!”

“I know it’s an honest mistake, but how do you make it twice?”

You collapse back onto the pillows and bury your face in your palms; and you stay that way, even when you hear him padding softly over to you. The mattress shifts under his weight as he makes his way, one knee at a time, until you feel him looming over you. His hands reach out and gently pull yours from your face.

Before you can get any ideas, Seokmin flattens himself on top of you; a weighted blanket, smelling like vanilla and spearmint. He folds his arms across your chest and props his chin up on the top of his right wrist, bright eyes sparkling as he peers up at you.

Suddenly, you find it very difficult to be annoyed with him. The worst part is that none of this is by design. He always just looks at you this way, not to get out of trouble but because you’re you.

Your hand reaches out of its own accord and brushes the remaining damp strands off his forehead. When your touch lingers, Seokmin leans into it, warming your palm with his cheek.

“Hey,” you say, after failing to come up with anything better.

He beams. “Hi.”

“Why are we awake at this hour?”

That smile of his evaporates slowly, giving way to a grimace you’ve seen before. “Seungcheol and Mingyu want to meet up at the ski lodge before the post-brunch crowd gets there,” he explains. “And I told my parents we’d get breakfast with them first, since yesterday was… well, mostly a disaster.”

“And it will conveniently provide you with time to think of a way out of snowboarding?” You chuckle quietly and pat his cheek.

Seokmin shakes his head firmly, then stretches his neck enough to kiss you.

“No,” he mumbles defiantly against your lips. “I never back down from a triple-dog dare.”

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bunny-jpeg · 2 months ago

Text

(ㅅ´ ˘ `)♡ mad(ly in love) max｡ ⊹˚.⋆

partially inspired by this by @angldelight before it got away from me! <3

max knew you looked better in blue than red. and if you did look good in red, it was the red of the his team rather than the garish red of ferrari. he believed the statement that everyone is a ferrari fan even if they don't know it, because if they saw a photo of you, they'd have brand loyalty to the stallion for the rest of their days.

there was a reason why your face and name were everywhere in your home country. you were a pride and joy to the nation you called home. but, max was more than happy to stake a claim on you.

max liked you because you challenged him. far too many women would bend over backwards for the three time champion, but you simply glared him down with your hands on your hips. you stood toe to toe with him even if there was a height difference. but you kept your gaze steady on him.

"don't fuck me over again." you said, "or you'll regret it."

"i would never do it on purpose, princess. maybe you should watch where you are going from now on." he bite back in response. he noticed a twitch in your hand, like you wanted to grab him by the front of his driver's suit and pull him close. either for a punch or a kiss.

it would eventually lead in kisses. max liked when you were mad because then that meant he could flip the script and get ferrari's little princess on her knees with a mouthful of verstappen cock. it was honestly cute, while he wanted to dive into your sweet cunt and make your insides sticky with his cum. he'd have to make you acquainted with his size.

max verstappen was fuckin' crazy though, being involved with him was like being a deer and getting your leg caught in a trap. the type of obsession that clamped around you, dug its teeth into your fragile skin. you were so cute though, something some delicate and soft. formula one was for the toughest, the mental and physical strain of it all (that could be why he was so... off). and while max believed in you, he worried.

where you were going, who you were with. you hadn't only been in monaco for a few years and while you had the likes of charles to help you around. when he heard about men you had met, max felt something curl inside of him.

it started inauspicious. he slipped an air tag into the back pocket of your jeans while you were in your driver's room getting ready for dinner with some guy that max couldn't even remember the name of. he was all smiles as he wished you a great time.

too bad there was an issue with your car. how could you have a flat tire already, you just got the car? and when you asked your date to come pick you up, he totally ghosted you. little did you know that while you were struggling with you car, max went to meet your date and give him a few firm words. that was when the real mad max came out.

"listen mate. you're never going to give her what she needs. hell, not even what she wants. there are plenty of fish in the sea." he got a little closer to the other man, "but you can't have her."

"why?" your date swallowed.

max nodded and flashed that winning smile, "because she's mine. and i know she may have talked so nice to you. she's like that. charming. but sadly she's taken. so i think it's in everyone's best interest that you delete her number and go back to finding your perfect match." he patted the man on the shoulder like they were buddies.

"and if i don't."

max's smile only grew, "i don't like people fucking what's mine. she's taken, mate. move on." he couldn't verbalize exactly how he'd rough up the other man. he didn't want to make headlines. but there was something in his gaze that made your date high tail it out of there. your number blocked and deleted.

max then used the air tag to find you at a bar close to your flat where you were drinking away your sorrows. but, don't worry about that! max was now here to make sure that you had the best night ever. while that meant ending up drunk and curled up in his bed, but he didn't mind. he was even a gentleman and created a barrier of pillows between the two of you. no funny business. even if he wanted to. when he eventually fucked you, he wanted you conscious.

that air tag would come in handy, turns out that you wore the same pair of black levi's jeans. max was wondering if he had to get more air tags to place along other items. but, he lucked out with that one. you thought it was a strange coincidence that he seemed to be where you were.

and he'd laugh and tell you, "small city, right?"

it took months of hard work but, eventually he got to sink his pretty cock into your prettier hole. the happiest day of his life. he had invited you on his boat for the afternoon, and while he didn't expect much. he wasn't expecting your pretty tits on such display. a pretty red checkered print bikini and sandals as you stayed close to max.

and then alone, out in the waters. you ended up straddling max's waist while he sat on one of the seats up on the deck. it was couch-like and allowed you two some room as you rubbed your sweet pussy up against the front of his shorts. his hands dug into the plushness of your ass as he moved against you. you were painfully pretty, and it drove max insane. you'd try to run him off the track, but he'd always get an apology by having your pretty tits in his face and your pussy around his cock.

"you feel so good." he said, "you're so soft."

you whimpered, "i'm not that soft. you keep feeding me all this good food since i came to visit! my team is going to be pissed." you squirmed a little.

he kissed at your breasts in front of your face and laughed, "well, then. i guess i'll have to keep feeding you better food." his teeth then nipped your left breast and it made you whine. his hands continued to grope you ass and you squirmed a little more.

you didn't realize that you're movements only made him harder and he had to force himself to let go of you to take his cock out of his shorts. this was a dream come true, after months of being your little shadow.

"you know how to do this?" he asked.

you held onto his shoulders and chuckled, "yes, i've had sex before." which made something cold run through max's body, but it was quickly heated up once more when you sank down on him.

other men might had had you, but he was going to make sure you were his forever. no need to get stuffed with another man's cock, when you have max who, as he might add, can get into you quite easily. it was like you were made for him as you started to ride him. he pulled you into a kiss with one hand while he groped your behind with the other. he felt your core shiver around him as you continued to move up and down on his cock.

this only lit his need for you more. if you were so good on top, how good were you on the bottom, or at your side, or stuffed full of fingers and toys as max pulled orgasm after orgasm out of you. he wanted you, he was mad for you. while he'd sometimes pull dirty tricks on the track, he had a whole other set of skills for you. because he could never hurt you on the track, too much of a risk for your safety. but he'd bruise your little pussy and cover your pretty soft breasts in large bites. he'd hope that cameras would get a good look at the pretty marks.

a lot easier to scare off men than to see a woman decorated with hickies. if he had it his way, you'd be wearing a little chain with his initials on it. or better yet, chubby little verstappen baby at your hip. the thought made something hot run through him. oh, that unlocked something in his brain as he was balls deep inside of you. he continued to leave a mess of bites on your chest as you continued to rut against him. your back arched a little when he bit one of your nipples.

"i need you to burn that bikini when we get to shore." he said between heavy pants as he grabbed your ass roughly and pushed himself up as much as he could go. his voice was a little strained from the intensity of it all.

"why?" you asked as you looked down at you.

"because, someone might get the wrong idea. and i don't want you getting hurt." he replied. it showed off far too much, too much of what belonged to him.

he rubbed up against you further. his cock poking some of your deepest parts, he wondered if he was the biggest you ever had. or if there was some other guy in another part of the world who took you apart better than him. unlikely. the way he watched you wiped drool from the corner of your mouth as you rode him made him excited.

during his time racing alongside you, he had seen you at euphoric highs of victory and deep anger when losing. but, this was a whole other look, you were far from focused. only really thinking about the cock, his cock, stuffing you full. guess there was no need to get you into his clothes and keep an air tag in your bad anymore, not when you had such a sweet look across your face.

he ran his blunt nails down the side of your thighs and felt you clench harder around his cock. which made sparks appear in the back of max's mind.

"pretty thing." he said. there was a softness to you that he wanted to sink his teeth into. especially the slight chub at your hips, next time he wanted to bite down on the skin and leave pretty bruises across it. you were just so beautiful. he thought formula one was for ugly men because they wore a helmet all the time, not pretty women who made max go insane.

you whined a little bit and started to feel yourself really get hot all over. his cock fit in you perfectly. while lust clouded your head, you honestly did think about throwing out the bikini you were wearing on board the boat. he kissed at your pulse point and you moaned, your pussy fluttered around him.

"i need that bikini gone before we get back to shore." he said.

"why, what will i wear?" you asked a little shy. you couldn't get back onto land with nothing on!

he grabbed at your ass once more and pushed you down on his cock, then held you for a moment. his lips were squared with yours as he said, "i got some extra clothes in the bedroom below deck." he knew that it was either red bull or verstappen merchandise. something that he had a lot of and could get wet.

while it wouldn't show off your pretty figure. the idea of you getting a bit chilled while heading 'home' and having your nipples poke through a shirt with his logo on it made him hotter. maybe he'll turn the ac up in the car on the drive home.

"i don't want anyone to see the bikini ever again. i'll buy you something nicer." he said as he thrusted up into you, "i don't want hungry eyes on you and neither do you. you're not a piece of meat." even though max wished to devour you, you were not meat. he'd say you were more like fruit. something refreshing and bright. something to crave on a warm day like today.

"i should have something in my bag." you said as you continued to ride him.

he held your soft hips and looked up at you, "no, no." he said then licked his top lip, "wear my clothes, they'll be more comfortable." and it'll hide your figure better.

you were the first to climax, and he managed to get you across the seat of the couch and fuck you from behind doggy style. perfect angle to make sure every last drop. you clawed at the faux leather and arched your back, your sweet noises against the sounds of the sea. your pussy clenched around him as he bullied the tip up against your cervix.

it was important for the two to get acquainted.

he finally finished inside of you and let out a sweet groan. he clenched onto your hips tightly and watched you go fully limp against the couch as you tried to catch your breath. he pulled out and gooey cum dripped out of your poor pussy. ah, it's okay. he simply pushed it all back inside of you.

with the amount he finished inside of you, you were at least 3% dutch now!

when max was finished with you, he knew that he was going to keep the little princess of ferrari. maybe eventually you'll wear the red bull logo across your pretty tits when you entered the paddock. or maybe better yet, the verstappen last name. but for now he'd simply have to stake his claim by shoving all his cum into your sweet cunt. after all it was a safer place to keep it compared to his own fist.

even with the start of the new season. his fixation of your cunt didn't end. so what you're on a different team, that didn't mean he couldn't easily go to the ferrari area and just get you to himself. when you win the first race of the season and sing along to your national anthem, max smiles in second. not because he is happy that you are winning.

but because he knew that his cum was dampening the front of your sweet cotton panties. you may have the trophy over your head, but he knew after this, he'd get another chance to sink another load in you. <3

a/n: is this anything? does anyone want more of this????

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vauer · 3 months ago

Text

𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝟏𝟔𝟏𝟎 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: a couple of days ago, you found a strange blondie in his room. it's time to act decisively.

cᴡ: porn, age up, obscene language, cunnilingus, Internal misogyny, fem!reader

(English isn't my first language, sorry for any mistakes 💌)

───♡─────────────

A couple of paint cans fell to the floor with a thud, drowning out the quiet moans. You insistently pulled Miles closer, wrapping your legs around his hips as his warm hands reverently stroked the curve of your waist.

“Do you like my figure that much?” you giggled as Miles gently squeezed the skin on your side.

"I'm studying the texture for authenticity," his embarrassed murmur touched your lips, parted from lack of air.

You two didn't expect the evening to turn out like this. Actually, Miles did not expect it when he invited you to be a sitter for his graduation work at art school. For you, on the other hand, it was a long-awaited chance. From the first time you met, you knew you had to have him for herself. While their classmates saw him as some silly nerd, there was nothing sexier for you than his craving for quantum physics and drawing.

In fact, you didn't really want to rush things between you, after all, you had only become friends a couple of months ago. But recently you found a girl in Miles's room and decided that it was impossible to delay. You had no idea who that blondie was, but she managed to shake your confidence. You had to hope Miles didn't have a type. You obviously couldn't call herself ugly, on the contrary, your parents' money was doing its job: a couple of years of wearing braces, expensive cosmetologists and hairdressers, and by graduation you could be confused with someone from the Kardashian family. The problem was, you didn't look alike that blondie at all.

You had well-groomed and neatly styled hair when that girl had a hairstyle that was done by either a self-taught punk or an autistic blind man. She dressed in a similar style also. What could Miles possibly see in her?

Anyway, it didn't matter at the moment, because right now his head was between your legs.

The cold and thick paint that you had spilled on the table slowly flowed down your leg. With a quick movement, Miles pulled off your underwear and smeared a purple stain on the back of your thigh. You took a deep breath and gripped the edge of the table. Your whole body was trembling slightly from overexcitation and excess of emotions.

A slight bite on the inside of your thigh sent a shiver down your spine, forcing you to spread your legs wider. You would never have thought that seeing his charming face between your legs could be the most satisfying part of the process.

"You didn't tell me about it."

You arched her back in a sudden burst of pleasure. Trying to calm you accelerated breathing, you swallowed, looking down. With an innocent expression on his face, Miles clamped the curved piercing bar between his teeth. Every little breath he took sent a wave of goosebumps through your body.

"You didn't show much interest in my holes before," you smiled, possessively throwing your legs over his shoulders.

Blushing slightly, Miles looked down again and wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you still. His hot tongue slowly slid along your wet folds, gently pushing them apart and deliberately brushing against the cold metal of the jewelry. You threw your head back, breathing heavily. You could have finish just from the look of his deer eyes innocently looking up at you.

"You're gonna kill me," you muttered, trying to grab onto something to keep from falling off the table under the pressure of the sensations delivered by his soft mouth. In the end, you ran your hand through his soft curls, pulling him as close as you could.

Miles moaned softly, lightly squeezing your butt, his tongue teasingly penetrating inside you as he leaned slightly towards your gentle hand in his hair.

"I think you're trying to strangle me right now," Miles chuckled. His cheeks were slightly squeezed by your thighs, making the whole picture even more adorable.

Feeling the sweet warmth in your lower abdomen, you pulled Miles even closer, moving your hips towards his mouth, rubbing yourself against his face.

Suddenly, he pinned you against the table, holding you by the waist. Unable to move, you threw her head back, feeling even more aroused. Finally, Miles's plump lips found your clit, sucking lightly on it.

He pulled back your piercing with his teeth once again, hard enough to make you gasp in surprise, but not hard enough to cause real pain.

It was too much for you. Just a couple of movements made you shudder and arch back from orgasm, throwing even more things off the table.

With a soft moan, Miles pressed his mouth to your pussy, prolonging your pleasure with a couple of movements of his tongue along your swollen and wet with excitement folds.

You involuntarily pinched his head between your thighs so that he had to forcibly spread your legs apart.

“Have you invited many people to “pose" like that?” you murmured with a note of jealousy and gratitude in voice. Your chest was heaving convulsively from the lack of air in lungs.

“No one,” Miles's cheeks turned an embarrassed blush as he tried to catch his breath, beads of sweat glistened on his forehead. He sat down on the table and looked at your naked body. Awkwardly reaching out, Miles smeared drops of paint on your collarbone, tracing a red line from your chest to hip while admiring your curves.

“Who was that blondie in your room the other day?” you blurted out, not caring how harsh your question sounded, especially after what he had just done to you.

Miles's eyes widened slightly at the unexpected question.

“Do you really want to talk about her at the moment?” He chuckled slightly. “Don't worry, I didn't do those things to her.”

───♡─────────────

hope I won't get cursed or wished to die for this (´꒳`)♡

#miles molares #atsv miles #miles morales x reader #Miles Morales smut #smut #atsv smut #atsv #across the spiderverse #miles morales 1610 #spider man across the spider verse #miles morales x you #Miles Morales 1610 x reader

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clumsybriar · 6 months ago

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Ghost x Wife! Reader — Love at First Sight

Notes: This was written after My Pretty Girl but is a prequel to it almost like how they met! I am working on more with these two so keep an eye out!

Word count: 5,189

Warnings: none just cute

_________________________________________________

(Y/n) looked at the books stacked on a rack still needing to be put back in the location they belonged. She felt like this would take entirely too long to put away, but this was what work was left as she worked the evening shift.

She was the only worker other than one other college student who just checked people out with the books they selected.

It was often quiet with the usuals coming in, but they didn’t have many people in the evening. Everyone was either shopping or going out to eat.

(Y/n)’s stomach growled as she looked up at the tall shelves she would have to use a ladder to reach. She wished right now she could go out and eat at that restaurant down the street that had the best chicken noodle soup that she craved in this fall weather.

She quietly grabbed the ladder pushing it to the far right where she slowly started to climb up with the three books.

She kept herself steady that way she didn’t fall off break a limb or worse.

She slowly put the books away, unaware of the commotion that happened behind her. She was zoned in and had no idea people were being ushered out of the library due to a bomb.

She was just zoned in on her work.

She never heard the loud British voices barking orders to civilians and other soldiers. She never heard the loud boots on the library’s granite flooring. It was as simple as that, she was just zoned in coming back down to grab a few more books.

Her sneakers squeaked on the glossy floors as she turned around grabbing another stack of books. She hummed quietly as she talked her lips trying to remember exactly where the authors she was looking for were located.

“Miss,” a calm British voice pulled her out of her concentration. Her eyes darted to him as she stared at him wide eyed and a bit jumpy since she didn’t expect him to be there at all.

This was a perfect example of a deer in headlights about to get hit. Who was the deer and who was the car was for a later debate.

“Oh my god!” (Y/n) clutched her heart as she looked at the man with a skull mask on his face.

Who was he? Why was he here? Why did he have all this gear and a gun? Was he robbing the library?

All these thoughts just kept going on through her mind as she looked at Simon with a bit of deer and nervousness.

She was just a nervous little thing anyways, with anxiety and the need to hide and paint all day. Seeing a man with a skull balaclava was not in her bingo card for the day.

Seeing her jump, Simon's expression softened even more. A rare flicker of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," he said, his voice smooth and gentle.

He approached her, his footsteps slow and measured, as if trying to not further startle her. He extended a hand to her, an invitation to stay put for a moment. "Are you alright?" he asked, genuine concern in his eyes.

“M’okay,” she nodded as she took a deep breath. “Can I help you?” She remembered her hospitality with guests to the library, especially new ones. “Is there something you’re looking for or am I missing something here.” She squeaked out looking at his uniform and gun.

Simon's lips curled into a small, almost boyish smile at her words. He found her politeness endearing, a stark contrast to the usual gruffness he encountered. "You're the helpful type, aren't you?" he said, his voice still gentle and amused.He took another step closer, his eyes never leaving hers. "I'm here with my team," he explained, gesturing casually behind him. "We've got a bit of a situation we're dealing with."

“Uhhh,” there it was, her brain shut off as she looked around confused. “Situation? Okay…” she trailed off as she thought for a second. She watched as another soldier, a Scottish one came around the corner pulling the man who was talking to her away for a second.

She looked around confused trying to see if anyone was still in the library.

She looked at the checkout area and found her co-worker missing from the area

“Thanks for telling me there were scary soldiers here, Laney!” (Y/n) thought.

As Soap practically dragged Simon away for a quick discussion, his gaze remained fixed on (Y/n), his eyes lingering on her for a few moments before he had no choice but to turn away. Soap started talking, but it took a moment for Simon's mind to process the words.

"What, Johnny?" he snapped back, realizing Soap was speaking to him.

Soap raised an eyebrow, a sly smile playing on his lips. "Mate, you're drooling," he teased, noticing how Simon had been staring at (Y/n). “Does the lassie have you droolin’ like a dog, LT?”

“Im not droolin’,” Simon huffed. “Ya’ find the bomb yet you git?”

“Found it alright LT, like me to disarm it as fast as I can?” Soap smirked as he looked back at (Y/n) giving her a wink.

She flushed red and looked away as Ghost gave Soap a sharp stern glare.

“She's cute.” Soap laughed, as he looked at Simon. “Can’t blame a man.”

“I can and I will, back off.” Simon snapped.

“Oh I see,” Soap hummed. “Backing off, LT.” Soap raised his hands in surrender.

“Disarm it,” Ghost snapped, his gaze stern.

Soap chuckled, understanding he had hit a nerve. "Alright, alright, I'll disarm it," Soap quipped, his tone still light-hearted. The sergeant was out of sight back to the bomb as he went to complete his task.

Simon’s soft gaze was back on you as he reached his hand out to you. “Come now, love, you gotta leave the building.”

(Y/n) blinked in surprise as Simon took her hand, his touch gentle but firm, guiding her. The nickname "love" sent a flutter through her, and she couldn't help but look deep into his brown eyes. "I...I have to stay. I'm on shift," she said quietly, her voice soft and hesitant. It was a weak protest at best as she found herself wanting to stay near him.

On top of that she was cursing herself for even saying that, but she had no idea what was going on. She had no clue or no idea that a bomb was in this building willing to blow at any second.

Simon couldn't help the warmth that spread through him as he heard her protest, the way her voice was so hesitant and soft. He tightened his grip on her hand slightly, his gaze never leaving hers.

"I understand, love," he said, the nickname rolling off his tongue with such natural ease. "But trust me, you don't want to be around when we disarm this thing. It could get a bit messy."

“Disarm?” She sputtered out looking at him confused, “a bomb?” She uttered.

Simon's expression sobered as he realized he hadn't fully explained the situation. He gave a small nod, his eyes locking onto hers in earnest. "Yes, a bomb," he confirmed, his tone a mix of seriousness and reassurance. "That's why we're evacuating the area. But don't worry, we'll take care of it. We're trained for this sort of thing."

“I could imagine.” She looked embarrassed. How come it didn’t click in her head earlier they were soldiers and were here for some threat. “I am so sorry, it’s been a long week.” She uttered. A long week of staying up until 4 am trying to paint her final for her still art project. She was struggling to feel anything for that final. Her confusion clearly came from the lack of sleep though and her problem solving skills were lacking too because of the little to no sleep she had. “I feel a little dumb for not registering the situation as to why you might be here.” She rambled embarrassed. Her hand rubbed her forehead as she smiled embarrassed, her eyes looked around darting at different things in the library.

Simon's tough exterior softened as he watched her ramble on, her embarrassment only adding to her charm. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "No need to apologize," he said gently. "Sometimes the obvious can slip right by us when we're too focused on other things."

There was an unspoken understanding between them, a mutual acknowledgment of the connection they were starting to feel.

“How come he’s soft with her and he’s been barking orders at us all day,” Gaz huffed as he watched Simon slowly guide you to the exit. “I don’t feel the love Captain.”

“Kyle, get to work.” Price laughed as he looked at the sergeant. “He’s in love, leave him be.”

“A big ol lovey-dovey of a teddy bear.” Soap interjected as he looked at the bomb studying it.

“I’m tellin’ him you said that.” Gaz smirked.

“I’ll be dead by sundown.” Soap nodded.

Simon knew one thing, he wanted to marry this woman and as fast as he could.The realization hit him hard, like a freight train crashing into his thoughts. He had always prided himself on being focused, on maintaining a certain level of detachment. But she had managed to break through his defenses, knocking down the barriers he so carefully placed around his heart.

In that moment, as he stood with her, holding her hand in his, Simon's mind was made up. He wanted her, wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything else in his life.

For weeks Simon was distressed when he wasn’t able to find her again. He wished he could have gotten her number or asked her on a date but as soon as the bomb was diffused and everything was under control they were called back out to another mission.

But Simon didn't forget about her. In the quiet moments of the night, when the mission and the chaos of life had momentarily subsided, his thoughts would drift back to her. He could still remember the way she looked at him, the way she felt in his grasp, and the soft sound of her voice as she fumbled her words.

Simon was a patient man, but the wait was getting harder each day. He yearned to see her again, to hold her close, and to tell her how much she had unexpectedly changed his life.

He had fallen so helplessly in love with her as if he was just meant for her.

Luck was on his side though he knew that much. Who knew a month later he would find her attending the same wedding.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“You want me to walk you down the aisle?” (Y/n) looked at her cousin's soon-to-be-wife surprised.

“Yes,” Farah nodded her head with a sweet smile on her face. “Alex and I have talked, my brother and family are all gone, we want you to be the one to walk me down the aisle and be beside me as we get married.” She hummed. “You’ve accepted me like I’m your own sister and I trust you.”

(Y/N) felt a rush of emotion as Farah spoke. She didn't know if she was worthy of such a role, but she couldn't bring herself to reject Farah's heartfelt request.

"Oh, Farah..." (Y/n) began, her voice filled with an emotional waiver. "If you would like me to walk you down the aisle, then I will gladly.” She sniffled.

“You made her cry.” Alex chuckled.

“Shut up Alex!” (Y/n) huffed. “I’ve always been emotional, you know that.”

Alex sat beside her as he hugged her tightly. “I know, that’s what we love the most about you.” Farah didn’t hold off as she jumped into the hug as well.

When it came to walking her down the aisle (Y/n) looked at Farah and smiled. Her Abaya was so beautiful and her make up was natural.

“Oh Farah, you're so beautiful.” (Y/n) exclaimed as she looked at the beautiful bride.

“You think so.” Farah said, showing a bit of nervousness. Who wouldn’t be? This was such an important day.

“I know so.” (Y/n) smiled, reassuring the woman. “Alex will ball his eyes out and then we can call him emotional later.” (Y/n) teased gently.

“That sounds like a perfect plan.” Farah giggled softly. The two straightened up when the music started playing, leading for (y/n) to open the door as she started to walk Farah down the aisle.

Guests were seated all over the place as they stopped and looked at the two women. They were gaping at the beautiful bride as they should be. Farah was gorgeous. But one person couldn’t keep his eyes off of (Y/n). A month of being tormented by her in his dreams Simon was finally able to lay his eyes on her once again.

Simon's heart skipped a beat as his eyes landed on (y/n), walking down the aisle beside Farah. It was a sight to behold. His breath caught in his throat, his mind racing as he tried to process the wave of emotions crashing over him.

He had been waiting so long to see her again, and here she was, looking even more beautiful than he remembered. He couldn't tear his gaze away from her, his heart pounding against his ribcage. It was a whirlwind of emotions and he couldn’t contain himself as his eyes were set straight on (y/n).

He couldn’t believe his luck, from thinking he would never see (Y/n) again to seeing her a month later at Alex and Farah’s wedding.

Simon had barely been able to contain his excitement as he watched (Y/n) walk down the aisle with Farah. It felt like fate had stepped in and given him a second chance. As he sat in the ceremony, the significance of the moment settled in his mind.

He watched (Y/n), his gaze flickering over her again and again, as if trying to make sure it was really (Y/n) and not just a figment of his imagination. Throughout the ceremony, his eyes remained fixed on her, filled with a mixture of disbelief, excitement, and an undeniable connection.

He knew she wouldn’t recognize him as he was adorned in a mask the first time he met her. He wasn’t sure how to make her recognize him, but he knew he had to do something.

As the wedding progressed and the ceremony began Maria stopped Simon as she fixed his suit and tie.

“Now, lad, put yer’self together, she’s a cutie.” Maria gave him a prep talk like the mother she was. “Don’t be like John and put a little effort into it.”

“I put a lot of effort into it.” John corrected as he looked at his wife. He was a tad bit offended it seemed, but still it was very clearly obvious he loved his wife even with the comments she made about his lack of apparent effort.

“Mr. Price,” Maria looked back at him.

“My wife is correct,” John cleared his throat, backing off.

“She’s been painting for a while.” Soap hummed as he looked at (y/n).

“She’s painting a scene from the wedding.” Maria smiled. “I scoped the area for Simon already,” Maria nodded, “gotta see the lad get married and this little lassie is the one.”

Simon snorted as Maria was already exploring the area. Of course she was, she was a bit nosey too like the others, Gaz and Soap had been trying to get a better peek at her.

“Tell her she’s pretty, and ask her if she’ll dance with you.” Maria patted Simon’s chest as she had him all out together.

He glanced over at (y/n) seeing her giggle with Alex and Farah as the two hovered around her watching her paint.

“Alex.” She gasped as she looked at him. “Don’t touch the paint.” She snorted. “It’s oil, it won’t dry for months sometimes,” she shooed him away. Ghost smiled as he watched the woman stand up to the tall American.

Simon glanced at Maria, his expression torn between gratitude and trepidation. He appreciated her support, but the thought of approaching (y/n) was nerve-wracking. He wasn't used to expressing his feelings, especially in such a vulnerable way.

"You make it sound like it's an easy task," Simon retorted, his voice dripping with his usual stoicism, but there was a hint of uncertainty beneath it.

“It is an easy task, dear.” Maria dusted his shoulders off as she smiled at him nodding. “Just approach and ask for a dance.” She brushed off his worries.

Simon took a deep breath, steeling himself with Maria’s words of encouragement. He knew he was overthinking things, but when it came to you, he found himself second-guessing every move he made.

"Alright, alright," he muttered, straightening his suit. "Just ask her for a dance. How hard can it be, right?"

“Right!” Maria gave him a thumbs up. “Look at that John, our oldest is spreading his wings.”

“We adopted them, didn't we?” John looked at his wife deadpanning. He had three kids of his own, he didn’t need three more, grown adult kids.

“We did,” Maria said so proudly.

“Of course we did.” John hummed. “Course we did.”

He found it impeccably hard. He was fearful to approach, afraid he would muck up something. Each step he took towards (y/n) felt laborious, his body tensed with nerves. With every stride, he mentally practiced what to say, how to say it, and how to navigate the situation. He was acutely aware of the fact that he rarely put himself in such vulnerable positions, and it made his blood thrum with a mix of excitement and fear.

As he approached (y/n), he tried to maintain his usual stoic facade, but there was no hiding the way his heart was drumming against his chest.

But then he walked right past her and grabbed a whisky from the bartender as he looked more afraid than anything else. He was sure he was terrifying to look at with his scars from war and his stoic look that adorned his face.

“Oh how smooth,” he uttered as he grabbed the whisky and downed it in one swig.

She was so pretty and he wanted to make sure it was perfect. It had to be! It had to be perfect!

He scolded himself silently for being so afraid. He had faced battles, enemies, and death, yet here he was, intimidated by the chance to talk to a gorgeous woman.

He turned to the bartender and requested another drink, his gaze flickering over to where (y/n) was sitting, painting a beautiful picture. He downed the second drink even faster than the first one, trying to summon the courage he usually had in abundance.

“Having a tough time with something, Lieutenant.” Farah surprised him as she peered up at the tall man.

Simon almost jumped at the unexpected sound of Farah's voice behind him, his already heightened senses amplified by his current state. He quickly turned, his expression schooled into the usual stoicism, but Farah could see the hint of vulnerability beneath it.

"No need to sneak up on me like that," he replied, a bit gruff, but his words lacked their usual edge.

“My bad, my bad,” she smiled softly. “What’s got a lone wolf like you so flustered?” She smirked as she looked around the wedding venue.

Simon let out a frustrated sigh, knowing Farah could see right through him. He fidgeted uncomfortably, his eyes darting around the venue as if hoping for a distraction, but there was none.

"It's nothing," he mumbled, his voice barely above a mutter. But he knew that Farah was persistent and would pry it out of him eventually. He took another sip of his drink, stalling for time.

He had no time when Maria took it into her own hands marching up to (Y/n) with a sweet smile on her face. Simon felt his blood run cold. Farah watched as Alex was pulled from his conversation with his cousin as Maria made her presence known.

“Oh dear god,” Simon groaned. “Put a bullet in my head now Farah.”

Simon's anxiety skyrocketed when he saw Maria approach (y/n), his mind racing with the possible outcomes. He took another swig of his drink, as if it could somehow quell the nerves, but it did little to ease his worries.

"I should never have let her talk me into this," he grumbled, his eyes locked on Maria and the woman as she initiated the conversation. "This is a disaster waiting to happen."

“You have a thing for Alex’s cousin?” Farah hummed. “How do you know her?”

Simon glanced at Farah, his expression betraying a mixture of surprise and resignation. He'd been caught in the act by Farah, and there was no use hiding it now.

"We met before," he muttered, his voice low. "During a situation..." He didn't elaborate, but the memory of that day was still fresh in his mind, the sight of (y/n) etched in his mind like a permanent image.

“Tell me how you met my antisocial cousin-in-law.” Farah giggled. “Alex is always trying to get her away from her college classes and getting her out to meet people.”

Simon chuckled softly at Farah's description of (Y/n) as "antisocial," and it struck a chord in him because he found her shyness endearing. He took a deep breath before recounting the story of meeting her.

"It was during a...bomb threat," he said, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "We were called in to evacuate a library and disarm a bomb. She was there, working her shift, and...well, I couldn't take my eyes off her since then."

The memory of meeting (Y/n) was still fresh in his mind, and it played in his head like a film reel. Every glance, every touch, every word she said remained vivid in his memory. He could recall the way she looked, the way she smiled, the way she fidgeted—everything about (Y/n) that had managed to captivate him.

Then (y/n)’s eyes met his as Maria pointed him out. He couldn’t help but bristle at the fear of her hating the way he looked. As it was the last time she had seen him, he was in his mask and clearly doing work.

His heart hammered in his chest as he tried to maintain his composure. He was only failing as the heat rose to his cheeks and his stoic mask faltered. His eyes met (y/n)’s and the connection felt instant.

When her eyes met his, Simon felt a jolt of electricity run through him. The sound of the guests and the buzz of the venue faded into the background, and all he could focus on was the sight of her. "My pretty girl," he murmured to himself. He couldn’t look away. His eyes were locked into hers and she was locked onto him.

For months she had been plagued by the man who helped her at the library, and this man had the same shape as him. As it was she had recognized the sergeant that had talked to him while she was stuck in her daze of confusion. Johnny, was that his name? That’s what she thought it was. She had recognized his blue eyes and Mohawk, but the man with the skull balaclava had been a mystery to her. She often dreamt of his voice. Hearing it constantly in her dreams.

“Mr. Riley, get your arse over here.” Maria called to him as Farah giggled and pushed Simon forward.

Simon let out a resigned sigh as he heard Maria call out to him, knowing that he couldn’t back out of it now. He steeled himself, taking a deep breath as Farah gave him a small nudge forward.

"You're enjoying this a little too much," he grumbled, shooting Farah a sidelong glance, before making his way over to (y/n) and Maria.

Alex stood to the side smirking knowing exactly what Simon was going through.

“He’s as daft as any man, trust me my dear, but he has had his head in the clouds since you walked Mrs. Keller down the aisle.”

(Y/n) was too distracted as Simon looked away bashfully. She felt her heart beat out of her chest. “Mrs. Keller?” She questioned quietly as Alex chuckled.

“We’ve lost her, give her a second to catch up.” Alex hummed knowing how introverted and anxious she was. Her anxiety zoned her out and made her mind a muddled mess. She was currently just that, a muddled mess. Who could blame her, she had Simon standing before her and he was a very attractive man, and most likely the man who saved her that day. His sweet and kind attitude towards her made her heart swell and she couldn’t take him off her mind.

Simon chuckled softly at Alex's remark, his eyes flickering over to (Y/n), taking in her confusion. It was endearing how she was so lost in her thoughts, and he couldn't help but find it adorable.

He stood there, quietly waiting for her to process the situation, his eyes never leaving hers. The sight of her looking so overwhelmed yet so captivating made his heart skip a beat.

“Farah, Mrs. Keller.” (Y/n) came out of her daze . “What was the question?” She gulped.

“Hasn’t been a question yet.” Alex patted her back, “you're too cute.”

“Here’s a question.” Maria smiled as she tugged Simon forward. “Would you dance with him? He’s sweet, and he’s kind, and he’s handsome.”

Alex and Farah clutched to one and another as they waited for your response.

Simon felt his ears grow warm at Maria’s blunt compliment, his cheeks flushing ever so slightly at her words. He looked at (y/n), his expression a mix of anticipation and hope, waiting for her response.

He couldn’t deny that he desperately wanted to dance with her, to hold her close, and to make sure she knew he had been thinking about her since the library.

“Yes.” It was quick but quiet answer (y/n) gave.

Maria kept rambling on. “He saved you at the library, at least that’s what Little Johnny has been saying.” she hummed slightly. “said he couldn’t take his eyes off of you the entire time, Simon isn’t like that, he strives to be concentrated at work, but you my dear distracted him. I’m afraid so…” she paused as she looked at (y/n). “Wait, yes…yes! oh yes!” Maria was ecstatic.

Simon's heart pounded against his chest as he listened to Maria's words. He could feel himself blushing profusely, a rare moment of vulnerability in front of others. He averted his gaze from (y/n), suddenly bashful.

He had been trying to hide his fascination since the library incident, but it seemed like he hadn't done a great job, as Maria was making it abundantly clear.

“Well then,” (y/n) said softly, almost embarrassed. Simon couldn’t make out if she was embarrassed by his fascination or something she had said or was going to say. Needless to say it was the ladder. “I’m glad I wasn’t the only one with the fascination.”

Simon's head turned back sharply at her words, his heart skipping a beat as he processed what she had just said. The room seemed to fall silent for a moment as he let her words sink in, his eyes locked onto hers.

He felt a mix of relief and surprise that she had confessed to also having a fascination with him. It was a revelation he hadn't been prepared for, but it was one that filled him with a sense of hopeful anticipation.

“Well then, we will leave you two…be,” Maria smiled.

“Oh! A secret piece of information,” Alex leaned forward looking at the two. “Just in the garden, there’s a beautiful place to be.” He winked at the two.

“What does that mean?” Simon asked, looking down at (y/n). His eyes softened at her.

“I don’t know,” (y/n) uttered. “I don’t speak his language sometimes.”

“Get away, get away,” Farah laughed as she pushed him away. “I think he meant there is a good secluded place to dance.” She giggled as she took her now husband away from the two.

“Oh,” Simon and (y/n) said in unison. The two looked at each other surprised and then giggled.

“Shall we go dancing then.” Simon hummed. “My love.”

“Yes,” Simon's heart leapt at her soft agreement. He gently took her hand, his rough palm against her soft skin. He led her towards the garden, the crowd around them fading into the background. The music was just loud enough to hear but not enough to take away from the two of their conversations,

As he wrapped his arm around her waist, drawing her closer, he couldn't help but feel a mixture of excitement and nervousness. He had dreamed of this moment for a month now, and to finally have her in his arms was almost unreal.

The romance between the two was just unreal.

Simon and (y/n) moved together effortlessly, every step and movement in perfect synchronization. The world around them seemed to vanish, leaving only the two of them. He held her close as he led the dance, his grip on her waist firm yet gentle.

As the music played, Simon couldn't take his eyes off her. He marveled at the way her eyes sparkled in the soft light, the way her hair framed her face, and the way she fit so perfectly in his arms. It was as if the universe had aligned to bring the both together like this.

“You're absolutely gorgeous, dead pretty my love.” He cooed softly as he dipped her down.

“You're too sweet.” She smiled as she got all bashful on him. “You're handsome as well, have been handsome since I first laid eyes on you.” She hummed remembering the library, now knowing this was the very man that had been so gentle and kind to her. He was the man who made her ooze for affection in her dreams from him and wake up to the harsh reality some mornings that she may never know him again. But somehow in some way, someone was letting their love story be weaved together intertwining their red strings together. The two knew from the start, this wasn’t just typical love, it felt like they had known each other forever, this was a love that lasts and a love that only grew from here on out.

“Glad it’s the same for you as it for me, my pretty girl.”

_________________________________________________

I hope you enjoy! 💕

Tagged:

@shecamedowninabubble

#cod mw2 #cod x reader #cod x you #cod imagine #cod mw ghost #ghost cod #ghost imagines #ghost x reader #simon ghost fluff #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x you #simon ghost riley imagines #simon ghost riley imagine #simon ghost x reader #simon riley imagine #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you

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radioisntdead · 2 months ago

Text

You, My darling

Alastor x reader

Warnings: SOMEONE GETS CAUGHT UH OH! Also this was written in the dead of night so uh, messy

Song used

You had a fiance once, Alastor, and he absolutely adored you, and you adored him.

You went together perfectly from the way the two of you would dance perfectly with him on the speakeasy dance floors to the adoring words you'd exchange in the moonlight.

The two of you were young and foolish, in your twenties.

Your parents didn't like him all that much, they didn't know why but they just had a gut feeling about him.

But you didn't care, you didn't get the sinking gut feeling they did.

The two of you had snuck out of your homes opting to meet at midnight under a tree like some type of fairy tale.

My divine [Name]... When I look into your adoring eyes, I do not see the boy I am, but the man I must become to possess you. I want to take all of the pain from your soul, and in the passion factory of my heart, transform it into functional joy.

You faintly remember waiting for him under that tree, waiting clutching a well used lantern, pulling your cardigan close to keep you warm, You faintly remember him running up to you like a galloping deer, You remember chatting about who knows what for hours.

I want to take your hand by the bayou and with all of new Orleans as witness, take you as my spouse. And we shall sing and dance and drink... And then I shall whisper in your ear, “Let rivers run wild or let them be damned.” My perfect [Name], I lay my masculinity at the altar of your sainthood

Scandalous behavior from the two of you, what would your family think? What would his dear mother think?

Ahh...Ahh...AHH...

The two of you would scandalously meet up at midnight, at the same tree, holding a dim lantern one of you sitting on the grass waiting for the other to appear.

[NAME]

Sharing tidbits about your day, maybe he'd bring plates of leftover dinner that his mother made for the two of you to munch on, or you'd bring some pastries, more bitter or sour ones for him since he didn't like sweet stuff.

LALALALA LALALALA

Sometimes you'd meet up at the tree before locking arms and heading to a speakeasy or whatever establishment was open at night.

[NAME] LALALALA LALALALA

Dancing the nights away.

[NAME] LALALALA LALALALA

Life was nice, sweet, you wouldn't have complained if it stayed that way your whole life.

[NAME],

MY [NAME] [NAME]

But unfortunately all good things must come to an end.

MY [NAME]

OH MY LOVE

It was like any other night, you were going to see Alastor, you crawled out your bedroom window, you walked down the streets and you waited for him to show.

LA LA LA LA LA LA, LA LA LA LA LA LA

LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA

You waited.

LA LA LA LA LA LA

And you waited.

And you waited some more but as the night grew darker and colder, he never showed.

LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA

You wondered what held him up that night as you drew your coat closer to you.

LA LA LA, LA LA LA LA

LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA

You made your way back home carefully navigating your way.

[NAME]

You were close to home when you decided to make a detour to Alastor's, it wasn't like him to just stand you up like this.

OOH

LA LA, OH MY [NAME]

MY [NAME]

You knocked at the door but he didn't answer the door, so you decided to make your way round to the backyard where he was shoveling something into the hole.

OH MY LOVE

[NAME] [NAME]

[NAME], MY DARLING

"Alastor?" You asked slowly as you moved closer to him, he visibly froze slowly turning to face you, you could just barely make out what or who, he was burying in his mother's garden.

His father.

"Oh Al, what have you done?" You asked rushing over to him, gently placing your hand on his face.

AH....

[NAME]

OH MY LOVE

You helped him finish burying a body that night.

Good evening folks! I do hope you enjoyed this little drabble of mine,

I was writing when Taila came on my playlist and I think I've mentioned it once or twice but I am a MAJOR RIDE THE CYCLONE FAN, I Love that musical so much that it's set as my alarm soundtrack, still surprised that only ONE song made it on the top of my Spotify wrapped, but that's likely because Spotify is killing itself

Anyways I ended up writing this! And I think it's neat, Anywho, thank you for tuning in! I hope you have a wonderful rest of your night!

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x reader #alastor x you

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just-a-sewer-goblin · 10 months ago

Text

This is inspired by this ask! Thank you for letting me use this idea @ceilidho. Also not proofread because it's late and I should really be sleeping

COD Masterlist | Next Part >

Butcher!Simon who can't help but get excited, as excited as he can get, when he sees you walking down the sidewalk towards the shop.

You're such an adorable thing, really. Always nervously wringing your fingers when you leave your dog outside. Always polite and soft spoken. He's never seen anyone as pure as you before (even tho he can't know how pure you are but compared to him you are basically a saint).

Your dog is the opposite of you, big and scary with a mean face but utterly whipped for you. It's obvious that you got it for protection and it's intimidatingly well trained. Simon admires the way you handle the animal. He wouldn't mind letting you handle him the same way.

Him and the dog might not be so different, he thinks. Both hardened old men, used to a harsher lifes, that soften for you and would follow your lead every day. Hell, he'd be as well behaved as your dog too if you put a collar and a leash on him and kissed his head the way you kiss your dogs when you leave him outside.

It's a familiar dance at this point, you tie your dog to the pole outside, look into the shop, notice Simon already looking at you and promtly look away at your dog once more.

You draw a few deep breaths, kiss your dogs head (damnit he never thought he'd be jealous of a dog) and Simon can't help but smile behind his mask, utterly enamored.

If only you weren't so intimidated by him. He really wishes he could have a conversation with you but he never gets more out of you than one word answers and a finger pointing at the meat you want.

And fuck, Simon is no conversationalist but he's really trying for you, but you're so damn timid around him. If he doesn't get to hear your pretty voice more he might just lose his damn mind.

So when you open the door, the chime a soft sound in the backround, entirely unfitting for this type of shop, his gruff voice stops you.

"You can bring him in with ya."

"I'm sorry, what?", you ask, confused.

"The dog.", Simon clarifies and you stand there in the open door looking at him like he just told you that he'll be butchering and selling your dog next.

Did he already fuck this up? You seem even more intimidated than usual. The diversion from your routine making your interaction even more tense. He tries to soften his voice when he goes again.

"You can bring your dog inside with ya, if it makes you more comfortable, sweetheart."

Your eyes are big when you meet his. Whether it's because of what he offered or the petname that slipped out, he isn't sure.

"But the sign says only service dogs?", you question genuinely confused.

Simon nearly snorts at your expression, like a deer caught in the headlights and damn him, if he doesn't wanna catch you.

"It's fine, just don't tell the boss. He won't know that it's no service dog as long as you don't rat me out. The boss can't tell a dog from a cat if I'm bein' honest.", he whispers conspiracionally. And then he swears he nearly has a heart attack.

You giggle. You giggle and blush brightly red at the same time, hiding your mouth with your hand and it takes everything in Simon to stop himself from jumping over the counter and pulling that hand away because the glimpse of your smile?! Yeah, he's fucked.

"Maybe next time I'll bring him in with me.", you finally answer. And Simon could die a happy man, finally having had a conversation with you (maybe just a short one but a conversation nontheless) that involves something other than the meat.

He's utterly fucked when you walk up to the counter, still blushing prettily (he didn't know he could make you do that so easily) and softly say your order.

He's utterly fucked when you pay, look at his name tag and say: "Thank you, Simon."

His name in your voice is a sound he will never forget again. He's sure he sounds like a fool when he says: "Have a nice day."

He's even more fucked when you turn around and he watches your cute ass walk out of the shop, giving your dog a treat for being so well behaved.

He nearly faints when you turn around, before walking away, gift him with a smile and wave goodbye. He returns the gesture mindlessly, glad that his mask is hiding the stupid expression he surely is wearing at that moment.

Oh yeah, he needs to catch you. And for that he'll have to prepare dog treats for next time.

#the sewer writes #butcher!simon x gn!reader #simon x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #just a short thing #and it turned out really crappy although it was nice in my head #sorry about that

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voxslays · 1 month ago

Note

Can I request a little spicy headcannon with the male characters in Hazbin. Would love to see how they would react to the reader doing the walking in naked challenge to them❤️❤️

SUCH A TEASE

Featuring >>> Alastor, Lucifer, Adam, Valentino, Vox, & Husk x Reader (separately)

Warnings: Suggestive, Talks of sex (but no actual smut-)

Alastor

Deer in headlights. Will only snap out of it once he had adjusted to it. (Because apparently deer do that??? Google help me-)

The stag will say things such as; “My dear? What are you wearing?” In a horrified way. (Because of the time period).

Would go get you some clothes, a towel, etc. You will be covered up, don’t worry. You can count on this man to go find you clothes, even though that probably (definitely) wasn’t your intention-

Lucifer

Notices immediately…and is such a dork. Would say things like “Oh golly!” Or just stutter and slur his words to the point you don’t even know what he originally meant to say!

His cheeks become a deep golden as the (golden) blood runs to his face. He is very embarrassed about it—so don’t (do) tease him.

The devil will attempt to flirt, but fail miserably. He keeps stumbling over his words. How could he not when someone as gorgeous or handsome as you is in his line of sight!?

Vox

Not phased whatsoever. Is probably too busy working or stalking Alastor to even notice your sheer lack of clothing. It will take him forever to notice—Valentino will have to literally point it out—and even then, he might not pay that much attention to it.

But when he does? He glitches and the proceeds to blue screen…before all the power in the entire city is cut off. What can he say? You’re just to gorgeous.

Oh…you’re in for a long night. Vox will not be able to keep his hands off you, so I hope you don’t need your legs the next day (or week).

Adam

Is the type to go “What did I do to deserve this?~” in a very flirtatious way. You will never hear the end of it.

Like Valentino…this man will be on you within seconds. You are in for a long night (or longer, depending on your stamina).

Over the next evening—or afternoon if Adam is feeling really impatient and decides to just bend you over the meeting table—you will experience every position under the sun. Have fun.

Husk

Won’t really care 2.0. Sure, he might blush a little and admire you, but husk isn’t really one to act on it I’d imagine.

Now Overlord!Husk? Oh boy…He is just like Adam and Valentino. He will bend you over one of the poker tables in the middle of the casino floor as a punishment for teasing him. He absolutely doesn’t care about the forming crowd watching the overlord fuck you.

Valentino

He may have poor eyesight…but he could never miss your gorgeous body any day. Is immediately humping you like the disgusting freak he is. Please do not feed into his weird fantasies…It will only encourage him…

As the two of you are going at it as you inevitably do—because he’s the overlord of lust and depravity—he will tell you how much he’d love to see your beautiful (or handsome) face in his studio.

Seek professional help.

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pomefioredove · 8 months ago

Note

FLIRTY PROMPTS FLIRTY PROMPTS!!!

May I ask for "I just want you to be happy! And perhaps a little bit naked." with Lilia, pretty please ��

I've been looking forward to this oneeee

summary: "I just want you to be happy! and perhaps a little bit naked" type of post: short fic characters: lilia additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is probably yuu, not proofread, Malleus being Lilia's wingman instead of the other way around for once LOLLL a part of this event

"Come on, just one taste?"

Lilia pouts; he knows the power he wields with his cuteness, and he somehow finds a way to use it in every possible situation.

"I worked so hard!"

Your gaze drifts from the bowl of... something he's holding out to you to Silver and Sebek as they shake their heads behind him, trying to save you from your fate.

"...I just ate," you say. Silver sighs with relief.

Lilia huffs. "Again? What does the cafeteria food have that mine doesn't?" Silver opens his mouth, and Sebek shoots him a glare.

"Oh, well... More for me!"

You watch, shaking your head as the elder fae leaves the lounge, the warm bowl of brown sludge cupped between his hands.

Silver and Sebek follow, the latter grilling the former about respect.

"My... what do we have here?"

Malleus, for as tall and imposing as he is, appears in the lounge without a sound, filling the vacancy that the others had left behind.

"Lilia's cooking," you say. "He's been getting really into it lately."

Malleus blinks. And then he laughs. "Ah... aha. I thought I smelled something burning again. He really is quite smitten with you, isn't he?"

"Smitten?"

Now, that's a new one. You can't help but smile, deflecting the word in a single awkward laugh. "I don't think so,"

Malleus raises his brow, as if surprised by your denial. As if it should be obvious...

What a silly thought.

"Do you doubt my sincerity, child of man? I haven't seen Lilia so taken with anyone in... some time. He's rather adamant on impressing you with such things,"

He gestures to the bitter scent wafting from the kitchen.

You want to say that's not possible; Lilia is flirtatious by nature, but actually being interested in you...? Let alone going out of his way to woo you...?

You turn towards the arched doorway that Lilia had left from earlier. Malleus follows your gaze with a subtle smile.

"Well... I have a club meeting to attend. Good evening, child of man... unless you would like to join?"

"What?" you look back to him like a deer caught in headlights.

"Uh... no, not this time. Thank you, though."

He gives you another knowing smile and takes his leave without another word, departing and deserting you with your thoughts in the lounge.

You're not alone for long.

"Still here?"

A streak of black and pink drops down from the ceiling in front of you, changing the feel of the room to one of mirth and mischief.

Lilia smiles, studying your pensive expression carefully. "Fufufu... have you changed your mind? Want a taste of my soup after all?"

"No," you blurt out. He laughs at your nervousness.

"Oh, my... did I startle you? And here I was, starting to think that you'd grown used to my surprises..."

You roll your eyes at the tease in his voice and take a generous step back. His distaste for personal space is the last thing you need right now...

"That's not it. I was just... talking... to Malleus..."

Lilia narrows his eyes. The crimson is even more striking in the dark of the lounge... "Oh? About?"

"Nothing," you lie. It's pretty obvious. "...You."

"Little old me?" he asks, shuffling a little closer. He says it like a question, though he's not really looking for an answer.

...Almost like he already knows. Why do you suddenly feel so nervous?

"He was just... speculating..." you say. "...About you and I."

Vague... but not vague enough. Lilia seems to understand what you're implying immediately, another impish grin playing at his lips.

"Was he? And what did he say?"

You force a laugh; it's all you have left. "It's... it's funny, he thinks that you've been doing all these nice things to impress me because... because you like me,"

Lilia goes silent for a moment, cradling his chin in his palm as he watches you deflect the undeniable tension with another laugh.

And then, he starts giggling along with you.

"Fufufu... Oh, how innocent... mm, yes. Malleus is a smart boy, but he lacks social awareness. Otherwise, he would know I am not trying to woo you with cooking..."

You force another chuckle, though this one sounds weaker, scratchier. Of course, you should have known.

The chances that Lilia actually likes you... like-likes you... that he even thinks of you as attractive...

"I just want you to be happy..." Lilia goes on, his smile as merry as ever. "And... perhaps a little bit naked."

Pause.

He's always had a terrible enjoyment of pulling the rug out from under you, but this is almost insidious.

Lilia seems to enjoy your speechlessness, his grin only widening.

"Oh, my... you look flustered. I truly hope you didn't take my homemade meals as flirting, otherwise, you're in for quite a surprise.

...because I haven't even started yet,"

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader

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lurochar · 6 months ago

Text

Before It All (Pt. 2)

Warnings: Obsessive Alastor. References to racism, sexism, and racist terms

Part 1 + Part 3

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

Hell.

So it actually did exist.

The pure elation, raw euphoria, and sheer mania completely overwhelmed Alastor when it finally did sink into him that, yes, he was dead – savagely mauled by a pack of hunting dogs and then shot in the head by an utterly incompetent hunter.

Pathetic.

But Hell, it was real, absolutely truly one hundred percent a reality he was now living and he couldn’t be any more ecstatic that was the case.

(He certainly had a first class ticket).

Because if Hell was real, that meant demons were real and if demons were real…

You were real. You existed.

Alastor had never been a religious person before his encounter with you. He hadn’t really changed his mind afterwards either. God had never done anything for him, so why should he ever bother to devote himself to a being who clearly didn’t give a fuck about him or his Mama?

A demon cared more about him, if only briefly, than Heaven ever did in his lifetime.

You probably had no idea what impact you had on him, you may not even think of him, or even remember him, the kid whose soul you had spared on some sort of whim born from pity.

Alastor obsessed over you.

He had felt cold the moment you had pulled away from him and that chill had never left him – only his Mama’s hugs could temporarily relieve him of the complete indifference he possessed for the world around him.

Ah, his dear Mama.

He never understood it, he still didn’t understand now.

That day, that night was a blessing in his eyes. He had met, if only for a few minutes, the only other person(?), being, other than his Mama, that had actually cared, held any concern for his well being. You had even gone against your demonic instincts and let him keep his soul, just so you didn’t condemn him to Hell.

(He condemned himself, but those were his choices alone).

You had killed a human being for him.

His father was a monster – so why did his dear Mama cry and grieve over the man who had abused them both horribly over the years? Why wasn’t she happy that he was finally gone? She no longer had to endure being hit, slapped, or even worse because of that man’s unpredictable mood-swings.

She could never properly explain it and honestly, Alastor didn’t want to understand that mindset of hers.

Because of you, his Mama could be free of the misery his father put her through. Alastor could take care of her on his own, just as you told him to do.

Because of you, he was free from hearing his father’s muttered insults about his skin – how he might've passed as ‘right’ if his skin was a little lighter.

Those cruel remarks grew more and more frequent and so did the homicidal thoughts Alastor harboured for his father.

If not for the book he found containing old magicks, strange symbols and sigils, and a ritual for summoning demons, Alastor was sure he would have snapped sooner rather than later and would have ended up strangling that drunk waste of life in his sleep.

He would have been caught, no doubt, and put to death. Lynched even.

Who would take care of his Mama then?

But because you had killed his wretch of a father for him, he had been free to grow and pursue his passion for radio. Hunting had become something of a secondary hobby, it was the only thing his father had done him good by – even if the man had only taught him how to track and hunt small game, claiming he wasn’t nearly ‘good enough’ for bigger game.

Well, he could always teach himself.

Alastor had never really preferred any particular type of meat before, always happy to eat whatever his Mama put before him, but when he remembered the tingle on his fingertips, the feel of your soft ears…

He remembered he used a deer skull he found in the forest in the ritual he used to summon you.

Deer.

He probably has eaten venison before, but he honestly could not remember what it tasted like since he just didn’t have a preference then.

He wanted, needed, to learn every detail about that animal.

Alastor really did find the taste of venison to be the most satisfying over any other meat he stripped from the game he hunted. Deer quickly became his favoured target.

He never shot at a doe.

His life was looking rather bright – his career in radio was taking off, he had learned to blend in better, socialize by watching people, and he was frighteningly good at it. He was charming, despite the prejudices and racism, his skin tone and creole heritage didn’t seem to matter much anymore with how successful he was, men and women were clamouring for him in different ways.

It was entertaining to watch.

Still, his homicidal thoughts never left his mind.

Abuse of women by men who were just like his father was rampant and it angered Alastor more than he imagined it would. Only this time, there would be no you to correct things, you were just a lucky break for him.

(And only him. He wouldn’t share you even if he could summon you again).

He’s perfected his hunting skills over the years and hunting humans wasn’t much different, it just took a little longer and a little more patience to assure he wouldn’t be caught.

If there is a Hell, Alastor will burn.

But he doesn’t mind so much, not if he can burn alongside you.

~00~

Is it ironic?

That he is a deer demon too?

From what he has gathered, one’s appearance changes depending on what happened in their human lifetime and how they lived it. Some Sinners have very mundane changes due to mundane sins and deaths.

A traumatic death has a large impact on the soul and being mistaken for a deer and shot dead can certainly be counted as traumatic and impactful.

Alastor is just relieved enough he doesn’t spawn as a dog demon.

Would you be happy he’s a deer like you?

Alastor has to wonder if you would even recognize him, his appearance is quite different from his human one and it has been over twenty years since your encounter.

If there was one thing he regretted about summoning you, it was that he never asked for your name. He had been much too blinded by his rage for his father and his fascination for your ears to even think to ask and he always lamented about it.

Nothing would get done regretting the past, however.

He needed to figure out his new body and the structuring of Hell and how it works before he can even begin to think of looking for you.

He needs to amass power.

Hell, with no doubt, is a dangerous place with powerful demons lurking about. Besides the pure thrill of eliminating those very demons by his own hand, Alastor will assure your safety as long as you stay at his side.

He can pay you back for what you did for him, he can be your saviour this time around, whether you needed one or not.

It’s time to get to work.

~00~

“Another one?”

The man before you shivers at the sound of your voice before giving a shaky nod, looking every which way but you, clearly wanting to leave your presence as quickly as possible.

You couldn’t blame him.

He deserved every second of torment upon his miserable soul.

“I would like for you to go and take a look at this demon toppling Overlords like they’re nothing more than a child’s plaything. You can come back when you have an adequate description of this demon.” You flippantly waved him off.

“Are you fucking kiddin’ me, you little bitch?” The man cursed, his previous meek behaviour gone at the thought of having to go and put himself in danger just so he could get a damn glimpse of whoever this new demon was. There was no fucking way he was doing tha–

A collar materialized around the man’s throat and he lost his footing and his face was smashed into the ground when you abruptly tugged on the chain that materialized at the same time the collar did.

“Did you forget something important?” You stared down at the man in disgust. “If so, let me remind you now. I own you. I own your soul. If I want you to do something, you do it without question. Do you understand, Hartfelt?”

The man, Hartfelt, simply could not keep his mouth shut. “You murdered me in cold blood, you fucking slut! And now you think you can order me around like some dog because you have my soul too? Killing me wasn’t good enough for you? Go back to the kitchen where you belong. Goddamn whore.”

“You made a deal with me. It doesn’t matter if you were newly spawned in Hell and didn’t know how it worked – a deal is a deal. I only took your filthy soul for one thing, otherwise I wouldn’t have touched it with a ten foot pole.” You huffed. “And yes, I can order you around like a dog. It fits your appearance, doesn’t it?”

Hartfelt stood up when you allowed him to, growling like the mutt he appeared to be. “What was that one thing?” He asked, cursing in his mind. If not for that ‘one thing’, he wouldn’t have been under this damn deer bitch’s control for the past twenty plus years.

It's laughable that he has to take orders from a woman.

“I gave your son a pass then, but I saw it in his eyes. I hope I’m wrong, but I do believe Alastor will end up in Hell.” You sighed, glancing over to see pure terror flash across Harfelt’s face. “Figured it out now?”

“You kept me on a chain just so you could give me to that shitskinned boy!?” Hartfelt attempted to lunge forward to unleash his fury on you, but you wouldn’t have it.

You speared your claws into his muzzle and he howled in pain. “Say something like that again about Alastor–no, I’m already tired of your voice. You don’t need that foul tongue to see what this new demon looks like, so I’ll be taking it. I’m sure it will grow back soon enough… if I allow it to.”

No one batted an eye when screams of pain were heard from an apartment before they abruptly stopped.

Hartfelt stood on shaky legs, blood dripping everywhere from his mouth and you didn’t even glance at him. “You know what to do.” You said coldly, waving him off once more and he went without complaint this time around.

Not that he could if he wanted to.

~00~

The Radio Demon.

It wasn’t exactly an original name, but it fit him to a tee, whomever he really was. Hartfelt could never get close enough to get a good look at the Radio Demon and could only give a vague description of the male.

Red. Lots of red. Tall ears maybe? Or a part of his hair, Hartfelt couldn’t be sure. Big, creepy smile with yellowed fangs, and he always carried some sort of cane. His voice was filtered like he was talking on air through a radio.

It was expected, Hartfelt did a crappy job.

It would have to suffice for now, you would rather save Hartfelt for Alastor rather than hearing him scream on the Radio Demon’s broadcasts.

In any other circumstance, that would have been preferred.

You just needed to pay careful attention, it's how you survived Hell unscathed as a prey-based demon thus far.

The Radio Demon’s rampage was coming far too close to the district you lived in for your comfort and you have no idea if the Overlord in charge would be able to hold on to his power or not.

You had to be prepared for any scenario.

Beyond his insane broadcasting of the screaming souls of the Overlords he had conquered, the Radio Demon was almost pleasant to listen to. His voice was definitely made for radio and his taste in music was exceptional (well, considering you had been dead for some number of years, you had no idea how music evolved in the human world).

“This next song is dedicated to the one I hold dearest to me. I have yet to locate you, my nameless Doe, but I do hope you are listening to this.”

Your ears twitched and you opened your eyes in surprise. It was a bit of a shock to hear that the Radio Demon, of all demons, had a lost lover out here in Hell. You had thought he was a sadist through and through.

You supposed some sadists could love too.

(You did hear rumours that Overlords Zestial and Carmilla Carmine were… something, so much was possible in Hell).

“It has been twenty-four years since our last encounter, brief as it may have been. You have been on my mind ever since. If you truly are listening, my nameless Doe, then know the Radio Demon is Alastor Hartfelt.”

You fell off your couch.

No.

No way.

The Radio Demon and Alastor Hartfelt were one and the same?!

“H-he died?” You said out loud to yourself and to no one. ‘It's only been twenty-four years. He… he didn't even make it to forty years!’

What happened!?

Your ears flattened against your head, not sure what to think of this situation.

He held you dearest to him?

You've been on his mind ever since?

Your encounter was brief, barely even five minutes long and somehow, Alastor thought the world of you?

That kid twenty some years back definitely had a screw or two loose and you think you just made the problem worse.

You should not have let him touch you.

You should not have hugged him.

He was an adolescent boy probably starving for positive attention and a soft touch outside his mother and you unwittingly fucked up what normal development he should have gone through.

Well, you couldn't undo the past, but you could try to make up for it by giving Alastor complete control over the man who once controlled him.

You supposed it could be a start.

~00~

He hoped.

But he really expected nothing.

Alastor was rapidly gaining territory, toppling numerous Overlords with his newfound powers within just a year.

Along with wailing souls, Alastor always sent that little message out on his broadcasts, hoping you would hear and respond to him by showing up to the radio tower he built.

But the amount of power he had grown into wasn't enough yet, he could only hijack a portion of Hell’s radio waves at a time, not the entirety of it like he needed to.

You may not have even heard his message.

How irksome.

These were the times he actually craved Mimzy’s company and the atmosphere of her speakeasy.

Mimzy would just keep the whisky flowing until he was intoxicated enough to allow a couple select women a few touches here and there, barely even considered lewd by any means.

Getting drunk was the only way he could handle those touches without flinching or feeling a deep need to shatter the other person's hand – an unfortunate side effect of his father's beatings.

Your touch was the only one he longed for.

It only happened a few times, Alastor stopped as soon as Mimzy casually pointed out that he had a clear type, that the few women he chose all had similar traits.

The same hair colour and length, the same eye colour, and the same height.

All features you possessed.

Back then, the last thing Alastor had wanted was to end up drunk in some random woman's bed calling out for you, ‘my Doe’. Rumours of that nature just wouldn’t be good for his image and career.

And really, saying that whilst in bed with another was just plain weird.

Alastor would have to find a decent bar here in Hell, he could use a drink to take the edge off.

A chirp catches his attention.

His shadow, a magick he has just recently begun to delve deep into, chitters at him and Alastor raises a brow and tilts his head, his smile remaining in place despite his bewilderment.

A guest?

A guest at his radio tower?

Could it possibl–?

Hope, but expect disappointment.

~00~

You're nervous.

(Why?)

You just want to turn around and run.

(Why?)

The Radio Demon and Alastor Hartfelt may be one and the same, but the Alastor you met was just barely on the cusp of manhood, someone so trapped by his shitty situation that he was desperate enough to summon a demon of all things to get him out of it.

He was extremely lucky he had gotten you, very few demons, if any, would have let him keep his soul.

You didn't know Alastor anymore. He was the Radio Demon now, a being quickly becoming infamous and feared for his ruthlessness.

If this was a trick to lure you here, you just hope Alastor has it in him to spare you like you did him.

You tense and your ears and tail stand straight up when you can feel and hear static before he speaks.

“How I've missed your wonderful ears, my nameless Doe.”

What a peculiar greeting.

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

Sorry, thought it would be fun to end it here. Part 3 soon.

Tags: @alishii @yourdoorisunlocked @godsent69 @eris-norwega @catticora @tayraedoll @michi-keinz @martinys-world

#alastor x reader #x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel

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worldlxvlys · 9 months ago

Text

running

part seven of the CRUSH series

bsf! matt sturniolo x reader

warnings: angst, cursing, mentions of sex

a/n -> read the previous part for context !!

ever since the day he apologized, matt had been acting weird. there was a very obvious tension between us, but neither of us said anything about it. his brothers on the other hand, were quick to point it out.

“ok, what’s up with you two? did you fuck again, or something?” chris asked, earning a quick hit and an incredulous look from nick. matt just rolled his eyes, answering with a brief “no”, before turning in the direction he came from.

he was distant and quicker to anger than he usually was. it seemed like the smallest things set him off, he was just so mad. his recent attitude has made me quite distant myself because being around him wasn’t very enjoyable.

he had his moments where he seemed like his usual self, but for the most part, he was miserable. of course i was aware that this was partially my fault, as right after our conversation about the night we slept together his entire demeanor changed.

i felt terrible, and i wanted nothing more than to help him feel better. but i tried to figure out what was wrong, and he just pushed me away. i wanted to be there for him, but he was a grown man at the end of the day. if i did or said something to upset him, he needed to communicate what that was.

so for the past week, we didn’t hang out unless it was with his brothers. we barely spoke two words to each other, and he couldn’t even look at me on the rare occasion that we did. i tried not to let it get to me, but he was supposed to be my best friend. now he couldn’t even be around me ?

MATT’S POV

just when i think i can’t possibly make things worse than they already are, i prove myself wrong. i somehow managed to completely drive y/n away, and now i couldn’t even look at her.

every time i saw her, i felt the shame and guilt eat away at me. i’ve treated her terribly for the past week, and now she couldn’t stand being around me.

at first i just wanted a little bit of distance, because i knew that the second i felt her soft fingers on my face or watched her plump lips pull into a smile, i would be gone. she’s constantly running through my thoughts, and i have no way of stopping it.

every day chris made these sly comments about how i should make a move on her before someone else did, and that pissed me off. his words constantly rang through my ears, and it made me paranoid.

every time she smiled at her phone and typed away at her screen, which was happening a lot more often recently, i got more and more annoyed. i did my best to push it down and ignore it, but it always seemed to make things worse.

whether she was talking to someone or not, she was growing more and more distant by the day. i found myself missing her when she was in the same room as me, which made me realize just how bad i let the situation get.

i decided to go over to her house to talk to her, knowing i had to clear the air. and that’s how i ended up here, standing at her doorstep anxiously, trying to gain the confidence to knock.

before i could force myself to do it, her door swung open. i must’ve looked like a deer in headlights, my eyes widened as she caught me off guard. she let out a chuckle at that, “i saw you on the doorbell camera, i thought i’d just make this easier for you”

well that’s embarrassing. “you saw that whole thing?” i asked, hoping it wasn’t true. when she nodded her head in response, i closed my eyes shaking my head slightly as i cursed myself. “it’s ok, matt. it was cute” she spoke, a small smile on her face.

i felt my face heat up while i prayed she didn’t notice the deep shade of red that my face turned at the comment. “come on” she motioned to the inside of her house, choosing not to comment on my flustered state.

READER’S POV

when i moved to the side to let matt in, i caught sight of a small paper bag in his hand while he passed me. he led the way to my room, pushing my door open and making himself comfortable on my bed.

“i was thinking we do a movie night?” he asked hopefully, emptying the bag of its contents; an array of different candies, snacks, and a drink for each of us.

whenever matt and i had a disagreement, our way of calling a truce was to have a movie night. we would take the time to talk it out and end off the night with cuddles and a movie.

“sounds perfect” i told him, grabbing the remote and moving to sit across from him. i passed him the remote when i felt my phone buzzing in my pocket. i pulled it out, opening it to see a text from the guy i’ve been talking to for the past week.

dylan 🤠

hey beautiful ;)

what are you up to ??

y/n ⭐️

abt to watch a movie with matt !!

“what movie should we watch?” matt asked, but i was barely able to register his words as i read the next text.

dylan 🤠

matt is your best friend right ?? i thought he wasn’t talking to you ??

y/n ⭐️

yeah movie nights are kinda like our way of calling a truce yk ??

dylan 🤠

ohhh i get u

y/n ⭐️

wbu ??

dylan 🤠

oh yk just texting this girl rn

a lil nervous tho ngl, she’s drop dead gorgeous

wayyyy out of my league

“hellooo? you gonna sit there and text all night or are we ever gonna talk?” matt’s annoyed voice pulled my attention away from my phone.

“hold on, i’m talking to someone right now. just give me a sec” i spoke, looking back down to my phone.

y/n ⭐️

who could you possibly be talking about 🤨

dylan 🤠

your mom :)

y/n ⭐️

that wasn’t funny

dylan 🤠

i laughed

y/n ⭐️

well that makes one of us

i watched as the three dots moved on the screen, before my phone was roughly pulled out of my hand. “what the fuck, matt ? give it back” i yelled as he moved it out of my reach.

i quickly moved over to him, climbing over his body to reach for the phone. he was quick to throw my phone onto my carpeted floor, grabbing my wrists before i could move to get it.

“who was that?” he asked, looking up at me. “none of your damn business” i answered. “considering you’re too busy looking down at your phone to talk to me, i’d say it is”

i let out a dry chuckle at that, “now you wanna talk ? that’s new. usually you just bottle up your feelings and throw a hissy fit instead of telling me what the issue is” i spoke, glaring down at him. my phone vibrated on its spot in the floor, but i ignored it.

“why are you trying to pick a fight?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed. “i’m not, this is what it looks like when you act like an adult and talk about things. i know that might be a little foreign to you” i jeered, his face dropping at the comment.

when i heard my phone vibrate again, i went to go pick it up, but was stopped as matt’s hands gripped onto my waist firmly, pulling me down onto his lap.

“look, i obviously hurt you and i’m really sorry for that-” he started, stopping as my phone continued to vibrate on the floor. “who the hell is blowing up your phone like that?” he started, starting to become annoyed again.

“it’s no one” i answered.

“who is it?” he posed his words as a question, but it sounded more like an order.

“nobody”

“why are you lying?” he asked, receiving a sigh from me. he just wasn’t gonna let it go.

“it’s just this guy i’m talking to” i answered. before i could even process what was happening, matt had flipped us over so that he was the one one top.

“what’s his name?” matt asked, his hands tightly clenching the sheets on either side of my head. my eyes trailed down to his tatted arm, watching as it flexed when he shifted his weight onto it.

“his name doesn’t matter” i answered, willing myself to look anywhere but at his lips. it was tempting, the short distance between us making it hard to focus on anything else.

“is there anything you can tell me about him?” matt asked.

“yeah. he’s not confused.” i answered without thinking, the words slipping out before i could stop them. “he’s made his feelings for me clear” i finished.

“his feelings? he’s only known you for…what, a week?” he asked, tilting his head at me. “he knows what he wants matt” i shrugged, “do you?” i asked.

the question seemed to catch him off guard, as he didn’t utter a word. instead, his eyes dropped down to my lips for a split second, jumping back to my own eyes quickly.

“don’t do that” i stopped him, “don’t look at me like you want to kiss me. we both know you don’t” i told him, turning my head away from him.

he was quick to place his hand on my cheek, moving my face so i was looking at him while he spoke. “why would you think that?” he asked, his eyes softening.

“why would you keep running away from me if you did?” i asked, trying my best not to show how hurt i actually was. i blinked back the tears i felt beginning to form, taking a deep breath.

matt picked up on my shift in mood, immediately moving to sit next to me. “fuck, i’m sorry. i’m sorry” he whispered repeatedly, pulling me into a hug. “it’s not on purpose, i swear. and it’s definitely not your fault, the last thing i ever wanted was to hurt you” i cried silently in his arms, his hands squeezing my waist tightly.

he pulled away to look at me, wiping away my tears with his thumbs. “is there something wrong with me?” i asked, needing an answer to the question i’d been asking myself constantly throughout the week. why? why was he avoiding me like the plague? what did i do to deserve this?

“of course not. this is my fault, it’s not you. i’m just confused and i have no clue what to do. i don’t know what i want, and i didn’t know how to deal with-” he stopped abruptly, like he was about to slip up and say something he didn’t want me to hear.

“i just didn’t want to hurt you while i was figuring out my shit, so i distanced myself from you. i know it was wrong, but i didn’t know what to do. and then i realized you were talking to someone and it just made me so mad, but i shouldn’t have taken it out on you”

“you’re jealous? matt, it’s not like he’s replacing you. he’s just a new friend” i pointed out. “i’m right here, i’m still your best friend. and you can always talk to me about anything. you know that, right?” i asked.

“yeah, i know. but are you sure you’re just friends? you said he has feelings for you” matt spoke, looking down as he spoke the last sentence. “is he the only one?” i asked bluntly, tired of beating around the bush.

matt’s head snapped up at the call-out, his lips turning upwards into a small smile. “i-” he was cut off by his phone ringing in his pocket. he looked like he wanted to continue, but i stopped him, “just answer it, it’s ok” i nodded to him, watching him pull it out.

“it’s chris” he sighed out, before hitting the answer button. while he spoke to chris, i heard my own phone vibrate on the ground. i glanced over to matt, who was fully engrossed in his conversation, before grabbing it off of the floor.

i opened it to several unopened texts from dylan, but the last one is what stood out to me;

dylan 🤠

hey, you home? i’m at your door ;)

what the fuck? he knew i was home, i told him that matt and i were having a movie night.

i glanced over to matt, as he hung up the phone. “he was just asking if i wanted anything from target” he informed me, putting his phone down.

he noticed my widened eyes, his face filling with concern, “what’s wrong?” he asked, walking towards me and placing a gentle hand on my shoulder.

“um, my….uh-” i was cut off by the sound of the doorbell ringing. “here, i’ll get it for you” he spoke, walking out of the room before i could stop him.

“wait, matt-” i started, a few feet behind him. by the time i caught up to him, the door was already open, matt and dylan were face-to-face with each other.

“hey, i’m dylan. you must be matt” he almost seemed amused at matt’s confused face.

“hey, baby” he spoke to me, earning a cold stare from matt as he realized who the man in front of him was. his jaw was clenched tightly as he turned his gaze to me, his eyebrows raised.

shit.

hehehe

masterlist

tag list: @lustfulslxt @flowerxbunnie @sturnssx @mattslolita @its-jennarose @sophssturn @bernardsleftbootycheek @queen161718 @cupidsword @imwetforyourmom @nickmillersn1gf @mattsneezing @chrisstankyleg @sturniolobltch @bethsturn @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @ssturniolo @blueeyedbesson @mxqdii @sturniolowhore @readerakayourname @defnotayonna @urmom2bitch @rootbeerworshiper @starsturniolo @hearts4chriss @theyluv-meee @carolinalikesthings @itzdarling @chrisstopherfilmed @judespoision @sstvrnioloo @littlebookworm803 @nicksdrpepper @chrisloyalgf @robins-scoop @fandomhopped @chr1sgirl4life @bbglmfao @55sturn @nickgetsmewetter @meg-sturniolo @yamamasjumpercables @vanteguccir @ineedchriscock @junnniiieee07 @breeloveschris @luverboychris

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frillydolle · 10 days ago

Text

isolated doe ୨୧◞ 。

arthur morgan x female reader

after ur horse bucks u off after a fright and ur now left stranded alone in the forest across roanoke valley. unsure of what to do, u settle down for the night before hearing some heavy footsteps... and u froze.

꒰ 𝝑𓏲 ꒱ naive and timid reader , mid to low honour , dated and typical period idealogy.

wc; 1.1k

u weren't sure what to do anymore, completely lost since ur home was in the middle of literally nowhere. u were out on ur horse, hazel going on another simple ride through the beautiful scenery that roanoke ridge had to offer. a pretty view within a prettier country. only for something to scare ur horse, causing u to be bucked off before hazel ran far away and u sighed softly. what can u do now? it's not like u can just walk home as u were maybe a few miles away? just a guess…

u were walking aimlessly in the woods by now, not even sure where u are or what u should do, especially since the sun was beginner to disappear. there were little rips below ur dress due to the branches attaching themselves to the fabric, and ur shirt was following that same fate. the only hope u hoped for is that nature would be kind to u and kept the hungry animals away. soon, u felt ur legs beginning to get tired with each step u took.

u gave up accepting defeat as u settle down in the clearing of a forest, the wooden bricks pressing against ur back uncomfortably but there's nothing u can do now then wait till the morning came and walk some more. luckily, it wasn't too cold like the usual, but u did feel the breeze of the night air. u didn't like how eerily quiet it was either or if u just couldn't hear anything or.. anyone for miles, u were in the middle of nowhere after all.

but then, u heard a twig snap, like it broke under someone's heavy footstep and caused u to be alert. although u couldn't see anything in the darkness, something in ur gut was telling u there was someone here, someone horrible. u didn't move, like a deer in headlights. being struck with fear, ur breathing quicken slightly as ur eyes fell onto a tall figure coming towards u. ur lips quivered with fear as u did ur best to get up on ur feet before tripping over a branch, causing u to go back to where u started, on the ground.

“woah there, i ain't gonna harm ya..”

ur soft but scared gaze remained up at him as u backed up to another tree. u didn't even talk back in case he was one of those bad men u have heard about, the murfree brothers?... or something like that, u weren't too sure. since it was only a glance that u would take to the posters on ur travels through annesburg.. they were some scary men in this world, and he looked like he was one of them. or were u wrong?

to him, it was maybe wrong to think of u like this in this moment since u were absolutely terrified of him, but u were a very pretty girl. ur face remained him of those porcelain dolls he saw by the window of shops in the big city of saint denis, with those big eyes and rosey cheeks. ur hair looked soft as silk, just what he'd do to comb his thick fingers through ur hair once.

“...are ye lost? i could help ya, if ye let me, that is.”

should u talk? or should u get up and run away as fast as u possibly could? despite feeling the tiredness that already runs through ur body. u needed to rest, and u were at least smart enough to know there was no way that u could outrun this man. he looked like he was a traveller of sorts, a hunter, perhaps? either way, u knew he wasn't the type to be easily fooled. he seemed nice enough, but u just weren't too sure about what to make of him.

“... my horse bucked me off, somethin’ scared my girl and she ran off, leavin’ me… could you give me a ride home? please, sir?” u didn't consider urself a religious girl, but u prayed and prayed mentally that he'd help u, although something in ur gut was telling u that u should run—

“‘course. i don't mind, miss. d'ya need help up?” he says, the gruff in his voice showing through before he gives u his hand. he must be a hard-working man, callous and hardness make their appearance on his hands as u look at them.

u hesitantly took a hold and he pulled u up to ur feet, a small sigh left ur lips, glad that he had the kindness in his heart to help a girl like u out, despite how scary the outside was during nightfall.

“do you know where reed cottage is? near the valley?”

“yes i do, miss. ‘nd don't worry, yer okay.” he replied before u felt his hand rest on the small of ur back, guiding u back to the clearing of the main road and u see a beautiful brown horse, big and brooding.

“she's a stern girl but yer alrigh’.” the older man added before he helped u up onto his horse. he hitched up no long after. with a small “hyah” the horse began to trot along the road, and ur arms rested around his torso as u didn't want to fall off, either.

u were quiet, he wasn't much of a talker either and that u didn't mind, just didn't expect to see anyone out at this time of night. although, u couldn't but shake the feeling that u should say something, break the silence between u two, but u were too nervous. u didn't want to anger him, and he tells u to leave him alone. u were just a skittish and shy girl. been on ur own for as long as u can remember. now, ur staring, and u didn't mean to. it was a habit of urs. his hair was long, and he had a big stature to match his broad shoulders, like he was swiftly shielding u away. he was wearing dark gloves that matched his dark hat.

“y'got a name, miss?”

“... [name].”

“a pretty name for a pretty girl, suits ya.” he replies, looking over his shoulder for a moment just so u can hear him better, and u did.

did he… give u a compliment? u weren't even sure how to react before ur rosey cheeks got more of a red hue to them. shaking urself out of ur thoughts, u hesitantly spoke back.

“what's ur name, sir?”

he didn't say anything for a few moments, like he was now the one hesitating. do u know who he is? there's no way that u do since he hasn't done anything illegal here, yet. he should be okay, right? only one way to find out…

“... arthur. arthur morgan.” he replies as he returns his gaze back to the road. and to his fortunate luck, u had no idea who he was, and he was determined to keep it that way. he didn't want u to find out… all that.

“thank you for your help.. um, mr morgan.”

“‘s nothin’. just doin’ what any other man would do.”

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #red dead redemption #rdr #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 fanfiction #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 fandom #rdr fic #rdr fanfic #rdr fandom #dolly writes ꣑ৎ

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itsnevercasual · 11 months ago

Text

Sweet Creature

harry styles masterlist

pairing: kinda dark!harry styles x reader

summary: harry’s mother finds a girl on the side of the street one day while harry’s away. he hears about her for months, until he finally decides to see for himself. expecting her to be an undercover rat, he is surprised to find a girl more similar to a deer in headlights.

warning: kinda dark harry kinda alludes to him doing illegal, mafia type stuff but it isn’t specified. third person writing instead of second, READER DOESN’T USE HER REAL NAME!!! she will eventually just not yet.

—

harry had been hearing about some girl non-stop. by who, you may ask?

his mother.

his sweet, kind mother somehow found a girl who was living on the streets, took her in (gave her his room!), and is obsessed with her.

“oh, harry, she’s just the sweetest! gemma says she’s like a kicked puppy, but she’s just so sweet. this morning, i woke up, and she’d cleaned the whole house! and i asked her why, because i obviously didn’t tell her to, and she said she figured she should. you’d love her. proper sweetheart.”

and honestly, it was sweet. he probably would like her if he wasn’t the way he is. because the way he is, he thinks it’s a trap. he thinks she was never really living on the streets, and it’s a ploy. someone found his family and is trying to ruin it.

but, of course, he’d never let his mother know of the way he actually is and thinks, or what he does for a living.

“she sounds lovely, mum. what did you say her name was?”

“she says it’s belle. she’s always singing some french song. i think she lived in france before she got here.. i’m not sure. she isn’t very talkative.”

“she got an accent?”

“a little bit of everything, hazza. when will you come visit? i think you have to be the one to tell her that your room is hers now. she keeps saying ‘harry’s room’ and ‘your son’s room’. i feel horrible!”

“she’s probably just weary mum. if she was on the streets before, she probably just doesn’t want to jinx it.”

“you’re right.. gosh, she won’t even let gemma and i buy her things. she just borrows gemma’s clothes and apologizes a bunch for it. i’m not sure what to do.”

“i’ll come visit soon.”

—

and he did. a surprise visit in the middle of the night, because he was convinced he’s find this belle girl doing shady things .

except when he snuck in the front door, the house was quiet.

alright, he supposes, she’s stealthy.

so he goes upstairs and quietly opens his bedroom door.

and that’s when it’s a little louder. a girl is twisted and turning and mumbling in her sleep on his bed.

all she is saying, from what he can hear, is no. no, no, no, no, no. please, no.

and he feels a little bad, so he walks over to tap her. when that doesn’t work, he shakes her.

her eyes snap open and she has probably the worst reaction possible in this situation.

she fucking screams. like a goddamn banshee.

and sure, it lasts for maybe five seconds, probably four, but she definitely woke his mother up. and it’s so loud, he backs up to the doorway.

gemma was probably still passed out. she would sleep through the world ending.

“hey! it’s just me, calm down!”

she squinted at him through the darkness before yanking the chain on the lamp, turning it on.

he could hear her practically hyperventilating from the doorway.

she let out a sigh of relief when she recognized him from the photos in the living room.

“you really are jumpy, huh?”

“i woke up to a random man hovering over me,” she deadpans.

he almost laughs.

“it’s my room.”

and it’s like a fucking switch. her breaths are staggered and labored, but she still rushes out a whole ass monologue. kicked puppy, indeed.

“oh, my god. i am so sorry. i forgot. i can— i can take the couch— you probably want to sleep in your bed. i’m sorry, anne didn’t say you were coming by or else i would’ve cleaned up—“

the room is spotless, probably cleaner than when he stays in it, but harry doesn’t say that.

“i’ll just.. grab my blanket and stuff and go to the couch. i’m so sorry, i didn’t know—“

“relax,” he finally says. “i knew you’d be in here. i was just.. grabbing a pillow. didn’t realize mum was serious about you being jumpy.”

“oh.. uh.. are you sure? i can take the couch—“

“belle— belle, right?” she nods. “go back to bed. i have slept on plenty of couches. i will survive.”

“i feel bad.”

“well, don’t.”

he should feel bad. she is very clearly not dangerous unless she is a phenomenal actress.

“you’re not mad, are you? because i can sleep on the couch—“

“jesus, are y’gonna cry?”

“i can’t help it! i’m sorry!—“

“what on earth is going on— harry! what did you do!” anne asked as she rushed through the doorway, moving to sit next to belle.

“i didn’t do anything!” he defends.

“he didn’t do anything, anne,” she repeats. “just.. frightened me, is all.”

anne gives her a look before pulling her into a hug, and she just flips another switch and instead of watering eyes, she sobs.

who the hell is her acting coach? maybe he could take a few lessons.

“h, go get her a cuppa.. and there’s those baby yogurt melts in the cupboard.”

he doesn’t comment on the fact that belle is at the very least 19, and probably shouldn’t be eating baby food.

—

the next morning, belle made her way downstairs quietly. she was surprised to see harry making a cup of tea this early, but she didn’t say anything, not wanting to disturb his peace.

she adjusted her earbuds in her ear (anne offered to buy her better ones, airpods or something, but she was fine with her earbuds, even if the wire was a pain in the ass), so they didn’t fall out as she walked.

once she made it into the kitchen, she walked into the pantry, grabbing some random granola bar.

when she turned, she jumped. harry was right behind her. well, in front of her now.

“sorry,” she mumbled, moving out of his way.

he muttered something she didn’t understand.

“um.. sorry about.. last night. i’m kind of jumpy.”

“i noticed.”

he was very short. he didn’t seem to like her much.

“you can.. uh.. take your.. room back.. if you want.”

“it’s yours. i’m fine.”

“are you—“

“i’m sure.”

rude. why was he so rude? what had she done to him? well, besides scream at him, but in her defense, he was just hovering over her! that’s weird!

—

harry still didn’t trust her after a week of being there. she kept to herself for the most part, although he was pretty sure he heard her and gemma giggling in the middle of the night.

he just couldn’t figure out who sent her. why she was here.

his mother explained her freakout when he showed up eventually.

“you gotta be careful with her, h. she’s like.. a bunny, in a way. if you aren’t careful in how you approach her and speak to her, she bolts. first day she was here, i asked her what happened, because she had this horrible cut on her cheek. locked herself in your room for a week. i think whatever put her on the streets is a sensitive topic, and was difficult for her.”

“i jus’ dunno if i trust her, mum.”

“well, i do. she’s sweet, she just needs to warm up to you. she warmed up to me and gemma after about a week or two.. and she’s been more jumpy when gem brings michael around. so.. she might just need a minute.”

“the whole thing just seems.. shady.”

“she’ll tell us when she’s ready. and until then, you’ll make her feel welcomed. speaking of, i’m gonna go wash her clothes. poor girl won’t let us buy her anything. she just has these same clothes she had and a few things gemma convinced her to use.”

—

a/n: little thing i wrote on a plane, part 2 soon-ish maybe

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles oneshot #harry styles au #harry styles angst #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles one shot #harry imagine #harry oneshot #harry fic #harry #styles #harry and belle #sweet creature series

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heathermason6060 · 6 months ago

Text

Serial Killer!Daryl Dixon x f!Reader Smut: Teeth and Pearl earrings PT.2

Warnings: Serial killer Daryl, Daryl kills two men who tried to hurt you, rough smut, human hunting, hunting reader through woods, Daryl is mean cause killer (but soft after) soft dubcon but NO noncon

Summary: Part two to the killer!Daryl fic. Reader finds out about Daryl's favorite pastime, and he hunts her down after she runs off.

Notes: Sorry this took so long I didn't have my adhd meds and I couldn't focus on it for more than five minutes at a time. Again, I tried to keep him as in character as possible.

Daryl was surprised, and a little annoyed by the fact his obsession with you had only grown after that. He'd hoped that he'd just fuck you and get over it, get back to his usual self and only occasionally need to go out and hunt. But you only made it worse, he found himself needing to go out hunting multiple times a week.

No one was complaining about his frequent outings though, each time he'd always come back with fresh kills and that was more food in their stomachs. Carol did make a comment about the fact she was cooking deer for breakfast, lunch and dinner, but he just retorted with some playful insult, and she'd shoot him one right back.

Your presence had become scarce after that night, and over time Daryl seriously grew worried. Even though you were currently the object of his obsession, he still viewed you as someone important to him, despite the way you made him go insane.

What was once an occasional late-night dick jerking session became an every night type deal, sometimes twice a night. The way you had acted like nothing ever happened between the two of you made it so much worse.

He'd expected you to get attached after that, constantly trying to get him to follow you off into the woods again, but you were just your old self, sweet and friendly but reserved.

Daryl fucking hated that.

His frustration started making him sloppy, and desperate. He picked up his old habit of stalking you, always out of sight but always right behind you. He knew you were unaware, he'd taken every single precaution to avoid giving you even the slightest suspicion you were being watched.

There was one day he had followed you into the small town down the road. He'd stick one street over, behind buildings and in deep alleys, only keeping you in his sight long enough to see which turn you'd make.

It turned out his annoyance at your stupidity was warranted. You'd run into trouble, two men who'd been scavenging an old department store and saw you walking by. They'd followed you, just as he did, bewildered by your obliviousness, just as he was.

He knew they had the worst intentions. Rob you, kidnap, assault, or even all three, but thankfully he never had to find out. Because apparently, you were smarter than you looked, or just very fucking lucky, because you'd lost them between a group of small shops.

He watched as they tried to find you, stumped at you seeming to vanish in thin air, and he began hunting them instead.

They were more aware of their surroundings than you had been with Daryl. They could sense him, even though they hadn't seen or heard him, they knew he was there. They quickly switched from predator to prey as they felt his presence, constantly looking over their shoulders and making attempts at getting away through alleys.

He could practically taste their fear. Their whale eyes flashed around the street, looking at every shop window, every door, every trash can, and in their disoriented fear driven state they ran right into him.

Daryl moved quickly, his hands grabbing a fistful of greasy brown hair and slamming it against the brick wall next to him. As the man fell over the second whirled to face him, ending up falling right onto Daryl's knife, a shout bursting from his horrified mouth.

Drawing the blade from his stomach he drove it into his throat, muting any further screams. He then used his elbow to slide the man off his knife.

He watched as the man fell into shock, his hands grasping his throat in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. Daryl simply watched, his eyes never leaving his face, soaking in the sensation of his hunger being satiated.

Once his legs finally gave out and he fell to his knees, Daryl turned his attention to the first man, who was slowly regaining consciousness.

He bent down into a squat and slapped the flat of his blade against the man's cheek, forcing him back to his senses.

The confusion in his narrowed eyes turned to wide unbridled anger. His lips pulled away from his teeth and he tried to sit upright, only to get a heavy boot to his chest, sending him smacking against the concrete.

He didn't say anything, which was unusual for Daryl. They'd usually start with threats, insults, rage as they denied accepting the weight of their situation. Then they'd start trying to bargain with him, offer him food, guns, weapons, sometimes cars. And when Daryl wouldn't give them any type of response, only unnerving eye contact, they'd start begging.

This man hadn’t said a damn word. He kept trying to get up, he'd scoot back away a few feet before Daryl's boot kicked him in the chest and sent him flailing down on his back again.

“What do you want?” He finally broke the silent struggle, submitting and remaining on the concrete.

Daryl looked down at the man with that same expressionless look on his face. After a few seconds of this he reached for the pack of cigarettes in his front shirt pocket, making the man beneath him dramatically flinch.

As he lit the cigarette the man sputtered, trying to speak but unable to find the words. Daryl shoved the pack back in his pocket and took a deep pull, watching as he gave another attempt at getting away.

This time he got a kick to the face.

The pain from that alone sent the man into fight or flight. After he scrambled to his feet Daryl decided he'd had enough, and after grabbing the back of his shirt he plunged the knife into his back, drew it out, and sunk it back in in a different spot.

Over and over he did this.

He left the man rolling on his back on the ground, his once gray tank top soon turning a dark red.

In the hopes of maybe holding his urges off for longer, Daryl gave a few more stabs to the chest before swiping his knife clean on the dying man's jeans. He slipped it back in his belt and wiped his face with the back of his hand, only making the blood smear worse.

Daryl left the men there and made his way back to Alexandria, taking a deep and satisfying pull from his cigarette before the sight of your red sweater caught his eye.

He stopped in his tracks when his brain processed the image of you, his hand holding his cigarette a few inches from his lips. He felt like someone just pointed a remote at him and pressed pause, the only movement being the smoke curling up and away from his face.

You looked about the same.

You had a look of shock on your face, but not the type you'd expect someone to have after witnessing a murder like that. You'd seen your fair share of people being killed, you'd had to do it yourself a few times before, but that was always a kill or be killed scenario.

Those two men weren't trying to kill Daryl.

You'd caught sight of them in the reflection of a store window and knew they were sneaking up on you, so you'd darted behind an old coffee shop and climbed up the ladder. Once you were sure you'd lost them you climbed down, walked past two shops and around a corner just in time to see Daryl repeatedly kicking the man to the ground, behaving like more of a leopard playing with mice.

You'd watched the entire thing stretch on for what felt like hours, your eyes following every plunge of the knife, stabbing everywhere but the one place that would instantly dispatch that man.

Neither of you moved for a few moments. You only finally reacted when a chunk of ash fell from Daryl's cigarettes, watching it as it floated to the ground, looking back up to his face when it landed with a puff on the sidewalk.

“What was that?”

The innocent tone of your voice felt like he was the one who got stabbed in the chest.

Daryl always had a perfect way of killing. He'd play his role as some dumbass redneck who looked super easy to take advantage of, and they fell for it every time. They'd try to rob him or attack him and only then did he react, grappling them with movements he'd perfected to the point of it being an art. He'd always made sure that if there was the slightest chance of Rick, Carol, or anyone in his group somehow seeing, it could be read as necessary self defense.

But there was no way to explain away what he'd just done right out in the open, in broad daylight. Part of him wished it was Rick who'd seen him, not you,

Rick was no stranger to the deep satisfaction killing bad people brought. But you? He remembered once back at the prison you'd been torn up for days after having to kill someone who'd been attacking you. And that was a quick bullet to the head to a man who wanted you dead.

Finally, he took the cigarette back to his lips and took a pull before speaking. “They were gonna do worse to you.”

You knew he wasn't lying. But by the look on your face you didn't accept that, that wasn't the real reason why.

You inhaled deeply through your nose and looked off into the distance somewhere, Daryl could see the wheels turning behind your furrowed brow. He tried to remember all the excuses he used to think of when he was in the shower, running down every worst case scenario.

“How many times have you done that?” Your unspecified question had him unsure of how to respond. You blinked in frustration before elaborating. “Killed someone you didn't need to like that. All emotionless.”

“Lost count.” The boldness of his answer made you scoff. He stepped forward till he was inches away, maintaining steadily intense eye contact. “You gonna do somethin’ bout it?”

You weren't expecting him to challenge you so blatantly like that. Your jaw dropped as if you were about to speak, go off on him or lose your shit, but suddenly, it just didn't matter anymore. Maybe it was your brain trying to gaslight you into just moving away from the tense situation, but you closed your mouth and nodded once before turning on your heel.

Daryl prepared himself for some speech about morals in the apocalypse but you spoke before he had the chance.

“We should get back, Carol's making soup for dinner.”

That night you had successfully rationalized what you'd seen Daryl doing(gaslit yourself). Those men were evil, if they had the upper hand or maybe more numbers they would've done worse than what Daryl did. Even though it wasn't a quick death, it was nothing compared to what they would've done to you.

In the back of your mind though, you knew that wasn't the main reason for what he did to them. He'd shifted into a completely different being then, it wasn't human, or animal. He had become almost soulless, his actions so mechanical it looked like a set of commands he'd been wired to do. The way every single move was so calculated, the way he knew what they'd do before they did it, down to the way he cleaned the blood from his knife on their clothes.

Your blood ran cold when you remembered that first night in the woods with Abraham and the others. The way you felt his presence behind you even though you never heard or saw him. That must have been what those men felt, the primal instinct that they were being watched.

You felt stupid for thinking he was following you that night because he had a thing for you. You really didn't want to believe he was capable of hurting you, but that was hard when you could vividly remember how tight he squeezed your neck and the way he looked into your eyes when he did it.

If you didn't have a good reason to avoid him before, you sure as hell did now.

But you really didn't want to.

Every night you'd think about it again, the specific details becoming blurry as you imagined him doing it differently. Your heart would speed up when you'd imagine yourself in their place, walking through the woods and becoming aware that you were being watched, your fear only growing worse when you'd look around and wouldn't see anyone, but the feeling of him drawing closer persisting nonetheless-

Your stomach dropped when you realized your body had reacted differently to the idea of that then you had normally. Your heart rate was fast, like usual, but instead of anxiety spreading in your chest you felt a deep flipping sensation in your core.

It had been a few days since you saw him. You knew he was always there, inciting a deep and unsettling paranoia in you.

Rick invited the inner group over for dinner and drinks.

You smiled as he handed you a glass of red wine, that same sly smirk he always had for you on his face. You were standing against the wall of his living room while the later arrivals finished their meal in the dining room.

“You've been quiet.” Rick's voice had once been enough to soothe any anxiety that you might've had. But now it did little, akin to the background humming of indifferent frogs and crickets.

His voice called your name and you forced yourself to look up to his face, nearly crying at the sight. You wished you could tell him everything, weep into his arms and have him shush away your worries, explain it all away and go back to the way things were.

His expression grew serious then. “You okay?”

“Have you ever…” You glanced around to make sure there were no eyes on you. Everyone was minding their own business, chattering happily as they enjoyed Rick's spaghetti and wine.

“Killed someone you didn't have to kill?” Your quiet voice had his posture stiffening. He shifted his feet as he nodded, mulling over your words before he spoke.

“We've all done things we're ashamed of. If it's in the past, let it rot there. Nothin' you can do to change it.”

“Have you?”

It took him a while to answer. He inhaled deeply through his nose before leaning in closer to you, his tone darker. “Why are you asking me?”

“Someone here did that. Two men. They were bad men, but… they were trying to run away.”

“Then they did the right thing. Those men could've easily come back with more people.”

You sighed, shifting closer to him. By now you were only inches away from each other, and you could smell the cologne he'd put on before dinner. “He looked like he liked doing it. It wasn't… quick.”

Rick eyed you for a few silent moments.

“Daryl.” It wasn't a question, he already knew the answer. You looked up to him, your eyes wide and worried now, but he settled you with a firm glare.

“Sometimes a man does things that you don't need to worry about.” He spoke, his voice low and gravelly. “All you need to know is he protects you, and keeps your belly full. Alright?”

You didn't know how to feel about learning that Rick knew. He didn't know the full extent, no one did, no one knew about the trophies and the hunting, or the meticulous planning that went into Daryl's killing.

“Alright.” For some reason, it sets you at ease. If your leader said it was fine, then it had to be fine with you.

Rick's expression softened and he wrapped an arm around your shoulder to give you a comforting squeeze. You melted into his touch and closed your eyes, trying your best to ignore the burning on the side of your face from the hunter in the corner of the room.

The air was unusually cold.

You tried to steady your breathing as you walked through the familiar forest outside Alexandria.

You couldn't feel him yet, but in your bones you could sense it, almost like he had a tracking tag on him that would make your heart race faster and faster as he drew closer.

If you concentrated hard enough you could imagine him in real time, right about now he'd just be getting into the woods, picking up your tail-

The bolt of anxiety that went through your chest at the image had you picking up your pace, walking faster down the familiar path that eventually led to a river.

It wasn't long before you felt it. You looked over your shoulder at the scene behind you. The forest floor, covered in dead leaves, the thin trees with gray bark that were randomly spaced out, and nothing else. Your eyes burned as you tried to see as far off into the distance as possible. Nothing. You couldn't even hear the normal wildlife, no birds, crickets, cicadas.

You turned back around and pulled the sleeves of your black turtleneck down over your cold wrists.

The feeling grew stronger as you walked on. The sun was setting, the normal bright yellow light fading into a gentler orange.

It started with the hairs on the back of your neck prickling up. You'd turn around and see the same nothingness as before, only this time not being able to see as far due to the setting sun.

The overwhelming urge to run overcame you and you looked over your shoulder again, your stomach falling ten stories when you saw nothing. That was worse than seeing him lurking behind. At least if you could see him, you'd know where he was. He could be anywhere. Your breath trembled and you resisted the screaming in your body to run, but the sound of a stick cracking had you breaking into a jog.

He was close now, you could feel it. You didn't turn around anymore, you couldn't, if you once again were met with nothing you'd start losing your sanity.

Soon it would be too dark to see. The idea of trying to hide from him in the pitch black forest had you running, and you didn't stop until it was too dark for you to do so without tripping.

You caught your breath behind a large oak and waited. The silence was starting to get to you. Where the hell were all the birds? The cicadas that are always screaming this time of year?

Where the hell were the walkers?

It was dark now. You looked ahead of you and felt like you'd fallen into a deep freezing cold lake, your vision had dramatically decreased to around five yards in front of you. It was getting dark so fast, the silence only seemed to be growing louder, you began to doubt yourself, you were way in over your head, what were you thinking? You were the only person alive who saw Daryl Dixon stab a man to death, a man that was actively trying to escape, just because of what he might have done, and YOU thought it was a good idea to play hide and seek in the woods with him?

You waited too long. By the time you heard the distinct sound of featherlight footsteps it was too dark, you couldn't see anything. When you looked up you couldn't even see the moon or any stars, were the trees too thick? You didn't see any clouds that day, your head spun and you tripped over your feet the second you tried to step forward.

Adrenaline surged through your body at the animalistic fear of being vulnerable around an unseen danger. You scrambled to your feet and froze, your eyes as wide as they could be in hopes of being able to see better.

To your left you could barely see the backdrop of the dark blue sky behind the trees. You turned in a circle, and tried to look back to the sky, but in your turning you'd completely disoriented yourself. The way you'd come was just as lost as what was once your left.

You felt a coldness run deep in your bones when you realized you had no idea which way Daryl was.

If this was some innocent game of hide and seek you'd complain about the unfair advantage he had over you, most of his life he'd spent out in woods just like these.

In a last ditch effort of self preservation you remained still, kept your eyes open and unblinking, and listened.

Nothing. You couldn't hear a single fucking thing. If not for the sound of your own breathing you'd wonder if you'd gone deaf without even realizing it. You raised your hand in front of your face and blinked hard a few times, trying to will your eyes to become as good as Daryl's.

Time ticked by no matter what you did. Without anything for you to hear or see it became harder to keep your balance, and your arms slowly lifted from your side to steady yourself.

Your fingers brushed up against something warm and soft. You felt a brief tingle of confusion before all at once your heart leapt into your throat and your stomach dropped to your feet when you came to the horrifying realization of what you just touched.

Fingers.

You snatched your hand away like you'd been stung, and with how fast you did it, you spun and fell to your knees. Your body couldn't react quick enough, you could hear leaves from what sounded like every direction, and you froze.

Was that even Daryl?

You hadn't even seen him for sure, you had no proof whatsoever, not even a hint to go by, those could be walkers. For all you knew, Daryl could be back in Alexandria skinning a deer for dinner, clueless to your absence.

You felt a different kind of fear as your mind dug yourself deeper and deeper. All you had on you was a comically small machete and a pathetic little flashlight. You'd imagined this going very differently, which was your own damn fault. You should've learned by now you couldn't predict anything about Daryl. He'd shown you that time and time again.

You were too busy thinking about how stupid you were to notice the silence was back. But once you did, you forced yourself to your feet, and pushed on. Your arms reached out blindly in front of you as you took baby steps, trying not to gasp each time your fingertips grazed a tree.

It took everything in you not to scream when you felt it again. A hand, but instead of reaching out to meet your outstretched hand, it ghosted up the small of your back. You whirled around and reached out, desperately trying to grab a sleeve, a finger, anything to pull yourself to, like the ladder in a swimming pool.

Being met with empty black air almost brought you to tears. You lurched forward, trying to predict his position, but just as silently as he arrived he had sunk out of reach.

You were ready to beg. You were wrong, you didn't want this, you were so fucking scared.

Just as you began to work up the courage to speak, your feet flew out from under you as you were shoved in the chest, hard. A dull pain shot through your ass and you kicked your feet in the dirt in front of you, pushing yourself away from his direction. But he was five steps ahead, his fingers grazing the top of your scalp.

You yelped, spinning around to get up on your knees, not even managing to get one foot on the ground before you were shoved back in the dirt again.

Something about that final push set you into fight or flight, so you got to your feet and ran.

Daryl was right about your ridiculous luck. You made it pretty far before you ran into a tree, smacking into it with the edge of your shoulder so hard it spun you around again. Once again you had no idea which direction he was in so you got up, and tried again.

Apparently he'd grown tired of toying with you. You'd managed to run about twelve feet when your only information of his location was the sound of heavy footsteps running after you.

The realization he was fucking chasing you, full on running, terrified you so badly you found yourself unable to form thoughts anymore, your brain turned off as your body did everything possible to survive.

You managed to surprise him. Instead of continuing straight you veered to the left, which would have been a very impressive feat had you not run into another tree. This one was huge, and thankfully you had slowed down enough that you didn't hurt yourself running into it, but it did scare the fuck out of you.

You used your hands on the trunk to guide you, shimmying around the edge until you were pressed on the other side, your back flush against it. You held your breath and waited, not daring to make a single sound.

That feeling happened again. He was looking at you, but you didn't know where. Your eyes were utterly useless but you still looked frantically in every direction, only being met with utter blackness.

There was nothing you could do. A small part of you felt relieved, at least you didn't have to try so hard anymore. Slowly, you let out your lungful of air, trying to be quiet. But it wasn't getting out fast enough and your lips opened against your will, causing you to shudder out a terrified breath.

He had been two feet in front of you for a while now. His eyes, although not superhuman, had over time adjusted enough to find his way through dark woods like these. He could see the outline of nearby trees, and the figure of your body pressed up against one.

The silence had quickly become something the two of you were extremely used to. So when there was a sudden shift in the air followed by wind shifting the leaves of trees above you, it startled you both.

The sound of leaves moving right in front of you sets you off again. You prepare to make a break to the left, but unbeknownst to you, Daryl could see the way you angled your body, your right leg braced behind you.

He smirked and threw out his foot right as you bolted forward. Your legs flew out from under you and you landed hard on your stomach, the air being knocked from your lungs.

Daryl watched as you tried unsuccessfully to breathe again, your lungs spasming before finally snapping back to normal. You greedily gulped in air and weakly attempted to roll over on your side.

He crouched next to you and reached out, using the back of his knuckle to brush hair from your forehead. You jerked violently, your hands flying up to try and fight him away. That made him chuckle, and you felt a whole new rage of emotions after having his identity confirmed.

It really was Daryl. If that was a good thing or a bad thing you weren't sure of yet, but at least you knew for sure it was him.

“What'd you think was gonna happen, huh?” He muttered, his hand grabbing your wrist and yanking it from your face. “Go off in the woods alone again, start runnin’ in the dark, ain't nobody tell you runnin’ just makes things wanna chase you?”

The more he spoke the more aggressive he became, his other hand latching onto your other wrist to hold you firmly in place. It didn't stop you from struggling, which only made his prey drive even more active.

“What are you gonna do?” Your voice and the way it trembled made his upper lip twitch. He stared down at your face, another sick grin forming when he saw you grow more and more terrified the longer the silence stretched on.

“Daryl, please.”

The grin fell from his face then, something about the way you sounded like you were about to cry setting his teeth on edge. He let go of your wrists and ran the back of his knuckles down the side of your face, his touch tender. He saw you relax a little at that and he leaned down, brushing his lips so lightly against yours you could've mistaken it for the wind.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." You breathed and nodded softly; the fear of dying being replaced by a delicious different kind of terror. This could easily become an addiction.

His gentle actions slowly hardened as his fingertips trailed down from your cheek to your jaw, the pressure increasing until he reached your throat, where his hand slipped into that perfect fit around your neck.

“I think you need a little wakeup call princess, you don't get to tease me like this and change your mind cause you get scared.” He said the last word like an insult, as if it was a ridiculous fuck up on your end.

“Shit don't work like that anymore.” His tone took this edge of meanness, something that made your lower stomach flip.

Your chest fluttered with your shaky breathing, and you nodded, filling him with a deep satisfaction. He squeezed his hand around your neck with no warning, no slow increase in pressure, just an immediate white knuckled squeeze.

Right as you saw little flashes of white at the edges of your vision he relaxed his hand, but he kept it there like some kind of warning.

He released his hand and replaced it with something cold, your mouth dried instantly when you realized it was his knife.

“Get up.”

You slowly stood with him, making sure to let him guide where your head went, not wanting to risk getting nicked.

Then it was like he disappeared.

You waited a few moments, your eyes flickering around the different shades of black.

A bright orange glow had your pupils dilating painfully. After being in pitch black darkness for so long the small flame from his lighter felt like staring into the sun.

He looked terrifying then. His cigarette between his lips and his cheeks dipped in as he pulled in to help the tobacco light. His eyes flicked up to you for less than a second before he snapped the lighter closed and you were left with an orange dot where his face once was.

You stood in the same spot, not daring to breathe, your eyes locked on the orange dot as it moved from his lips to down at his side. You weren't sure what he was expecting of you, so you remained standing as long as he felt like torturing you.

A minute later the orange orb vanished with a hiss as he put it out on his boot. You heard the light tap of it falling in the dirt, where he proceeded to grind it with his shoe. You deeply missed that orange dot, it gave you something to focus on in the black void.

His hands were rough as he grabbed your shoulders and turned you around. You gasped at the sudden roughness, your heart jumping after standing in silent nothingness for so long. The knife was back on your throat, his other hand slipping up under your turtleneck.

“What you saw the other day,” His breath was hot against the shell of your ear as his hand groped and squeezed your sides, growing more firm as he slid it up to your breasts. “Can't have anyone knowin’ ‘bout it.”

Your first instinct was to nod, but the blade against the side of your throat made you think twice. “Mhm. I know.” You hummed out your anxious promise, your hands clinging onto his forearm for dear life.

“I don't think you do.” His voice was calm and steady, the opposite of the angry way he pinched your nipple. Your whine caught in your throat and you clenched your teeth, baring them in a pained grimace, much like a submissive animal.

“You're a stupid bitch,” Those words held so much fiery emotion despite how cool and collected he sounded. You swallowed a whimper as he went on, “but you ain't dumb enough to go and open your mouth.”

He didn't appreciate your lack of response, you'd been frozen from the way his hand had dipped under the waistband of your jeans, fingers barely grazing your panties.

“Makin’ me think I might be wrong.” He growled and pressed the knife firmer against your neck, and you immediately snapped out of it.

“You're not. I won't, I promise.” Your ass moved against the hard dick beneath his jeans, making him hiss out a curse.

In this game the two of you played, he had a level of excitement and vigor that was previously unknown to him. He rested his forehead on the back of your head and inhaled deeply, holding the flowery scent of your shampoo in his lungs like it’d get him high.

He loved the way you played this role so perfectly. Growing up watching slasher movies through puberty wasn't the sole reason for his degeneracy, but it played a large role. Drifting around selling drugs with Merle to unsavory people added to it too.

Daryl finally dipped his fingers under your panties, taking his sweet time rubbing circles in the skin all the way down to your slit. When he felt how wet you were he sucked in a gasp before he could stop himself. You'd been working that up for a while. By the way your panties were soaked, he'd guess you got all worked up the second you slipped out of Alexandria.

Your grip on his forearm tightened as he stroked your clit, swirling his finger around a few times before dipping down through your folds.

Without meaning to you held your breath in anticipation, begging to any higher power to have him go easy on you. You couldn't take another night like before, especially not in the middle of the woods. You strongly believed that when he finished with you and saw the state you were in, he'd just leave you to find your own way back when you stopped being a pathetic mess.

Your prayers were answered and he angled his hand in a way that allowed him to push his middle finger inside you, your walls greedily squeezing around him. Now that you were pretty sure he wouldn't actually kill you, you allowed yourself to enjoy every drop of pleasure he'd give you.

You moaned shamelessly when he shocked you by not just driving it in and out, but he fucking curled his finger.

“You bring any walkers over here and I'll leave your ass in the dark.” His tone held a venomous bite, but you were fairly certain he wouldn't actually do that. You weren't taking any chances though so you pressed your lips tightly together and tried to steady your breathing through your nose.

His head bumped gently against yours as he moved his attention to the top of your ear, his lips warm against the cold skin there. You nearly crumpled in his arms at the feeling, and when his tongue traced the tip of your ear you physically shuddered against his chest. He trailed a few kisses from your ear to the back of your neck, giving into his impulsives and sinking his teeth into the meat of your shoulder.

It took every ounce of concentration to remain quiet. He couldn't tease you like this, do every little trick in the foreplay handbook, and expect you to keep quiet?

His finger curled again the second time, sending a jolt through your core and down your legs. When he felt your nails dig into his forearm he nudged your head again with his, tilting you so he could press his cheek against yours.

If not for his hand down the front of your jeans and the knife he had on your neck, you would've passed for a sappy couple posing for pictures.

Just as you'd relaxed against his chest, your head tilting back to rest against his collarbone, he started curling his finger at a consistent pace. You whined deep in your throat, your eyes squeezing shut against the frustration of pleasure, but not enough.

His hand pulled out from your jeans so suddenly you actually made a genuine whiney noise, already frustrated and impatient. The knife returned to its former deep pressure, immediately setting you straight.

He popped open the buttons on your pants and pulled down one side, bending his knees to pull them down over your ass, making you awkwardly twist and bend with him.

Your body reacted subliminally to the sound of his buckle clinking as he unbuckled his belt, your back arching to press yourself closer against him. His breathing had ever so slightly gotten heavier while he worked to take his dick out, his mouth sending hot puffs of air against your ear. Your pussy throbbed at the feeling, and even more so when you felt his swollen tip bob between your legs after he freed it from his pants.

You were lucky Daryl wasn't in the mood to take longer than necessary to fuck you. It was a bit selfish on his part, he no longer cared about your pleasure, instead choosing to solely make himself cum with your pussy. Made no difference to him if you came or not. The wind carried the faint smell of rain and he could hear the beginning rumble of thunder in the distance.

He spit on his fingertips and slathered it over his tip, tugging on his dick a few times before guiding himself to your hole. Just as greedy as before, he pushed inside you, slapping his hand over your mouth to muffle your whines of discomfort.

Daryl's downstairs department was nothing to make light of, he was blessed with a heavy dick that was the perfect length to fill you completely so not a single millimeter of space was untouched.

But Christ, the girth, he didn't have the type of dick he could just slide in you without giving you a stretch that burned. Unfortunately for you, he didn't really care that much, it went away after a minute and didn't feel like a big deal to him.

You groaned into his palm, your eyes rolling back into your head when he immediately set a rough pace. The angle he fucked you in, standing upright with your ass stuck out for him, it had his tip slamming into that perfect spot every single thrust.

The knife suddenly fell from his fingers, landing on your boot with a thump, but before you could react his hand quickly replaced it. His left arm wrapped around your waist, using it to keep your hips angled in towards him. With his right hand he squeezed your neck, gradually increasing pressure until he felt your hands on his arm start to loosen their grip.

He released the pressure, the oxygen and blood returning to your brain to give you an amazing head rush. He waited until he felt your nails dig back into his skin before squeezing again, repeatedly bringing you to the brink of unconsciousness before letting you come crashing back down to earth.

With the arm he had around your waist he moved his fingers over your lower stomach, feeling around for a moment before pressing the flat of his hand down right where he felt his dick.

You sucked in a sharp gasp at the feeling, wondering where the hell he learned that, you knew he hadn't fucked anyone ever since you'd known him. And with the way he was when you first met him in Atlanta, you seriously doubt he was experienced enough to know how to do something like that.

Daryl was a lot more simple than you were trying to figure out, he just liked the way he could feel his dick moving if he pressed down hard enough and fucked you deep enough. The fact it felt amazing was just a lucky side effect for you.

The next time he started choking you he squeezed a little tighter, the feeling of your throat shifting under his palm had him growling curses into the crook of your neck. Your back arched harder, your body desperate to feel him deeper. Him fucking you fast and hard, coupled with the way his grip on your neck kept cutting off blood to your head, suddenly became way too much and you came around his dick, your walls squeezing and holding onto his length with all its might.

Daryl felt his eyes roll back in his head and his dick twitch at the feeling. “That's it girl.” He muttered out encouragement, knowing he needed you to hold out a few more minutes. If you got all whiney and weak like last time he'd have to stuff his shirt in your mouth. He was already lucky enough that somehow there were no walkers nearby, he couldn't take the chance to try and push his luck.

His encouragement worked, your body melting against him as you soaked in the rare praise.

“Yeah, that's it. Atta girl.” His voice was so low and deep you could feel it vibrate in his chest against the top of your back, sending little sparks of pleasure through your core.

He picked up the pace, his hand falling from your neck to grab both sides of your hips. Carefully, and slowly, he guided you down to your knees, keeping his dick inside you as you both knelt in the dirt. He put his hands on your upper back and pushed, forcing your arms out from under you so the side of your face was on the ground.

The feeling of his large rough hands pushing your back down had your stomach tightening again, and it only got worse when he shifted your ass higher up against his pelvis. He was back to his earlier pace in no time, thrusting hard and fast, one hand still pushing down on your back while the other did the same to the side of your head.

It got harder to keep quiet the longer he went on. When he suddenly grabbed your ass and held it tight against him, forcing his dick in deeper, you came unexpectedly, breathing so hard it sent the dirt next to your face poofing away. You clenched down on him again, your back arching obscenely, and rode the dizzy waves of your orgasm, quickly forcing him to have one of his own.

Daryl spit out a growl and slammed into you a few last times before he came, his grip on your hips keeping you immobile as he emptied himself inside you. Even after you twitched from the last bit of your orgasm and started moving to get up, he grabbed hold of your hair and smashed your head back down. Maybe it was a power move, because he held you down like that for a while, his dick buried so deep inside you his cum wasn't able to trickle out yet.

You waited what felt like five minutes before you spoke up, your voice hoarse from all the heavy mouth breathing. “Daryl?”

He barely let you finish the L in his name before he cut you off. “Shut the hell up.” He muttered, his heavy hand still pressed against your face and the other holding your hips tightly against his.

He would've been content to stay like that for a while, just to torture you some more, maybe keep you there under him until his dick got hard again. But the rumble of thunder was getting closer, and he didn't feel like getting caught out in a storm.

When he finally released his grip on your hair and waist you sighed in relief, lifting your face from the ground to brush the dirt from your cheek. He pulled his softened dick from you and groaned when he felt the cool air on his sensitive skin.

You were dreading getting up and the walk home when you heard the familiar hissing and groaning of a nearby walker. You pulled up your pants as slowly and quietly as humanly possible, your eyes still trying with all their might to see in the dark forest.

Daryl clicked on a flashlight for a split second, just long enough to catch the location of the walker.

In a bright white flash you saw three of them about ten yards out. Your moaning must've attracted them, and your stomach twisted when you remembered Daryl threatening to leave you there if you drew any walkers over.

A large warm hand slipped into yours and he helped you to your feet. It was so kind that you were almost more concerned with the action than the fact you were in pitch black darkness with three walkers heading your way.

He slung his crossbow over from his back and clicked the flashlight on again, only for a split second. They weren't much closer. He took them out, clicked the light again, and saw a handful more far, far back. You could definitely outwalk them. You sighed in relief and wiped the dirt from your palms and face.

“Can you walk?” He whispered as he slung his weapon back over his shoulder, slipping his flashlight in his front jean pocket.

“Yeah, I'm fine.” You whispered in return and took his hand again, trying not to let silly childish emotions start clouding your mind. You weren't some teen girl with her first real boyfriend, you were a woman holding the hand of a cold man who killed for pleasure, a man that just hunted you through the woods like you were some fox or cougar. And he was freakishly good at it.

He led you back to Alexandria in a way that harshly contrasted his normal exterior. His hand was gentle but firm and he didn't rush you, not once. Even when you snuck back through the back wall he stayed with you, albeit letting go of your hand. He took you to your house, made sure you got in safe, and did something at the door that had your heart pounding even more than when he chased you.

Daryl looked at you for a moment, uncertainty clear on his face. You could tell he was thinking of hundreds of different things at once, and it kind of looked like he was nervous.

He leaned in and placed his open hand at the base of your neck. Not squeezing, not grabbing or clenching, he just barely cupped your skin, his thumb tracing against the red and purple marks from his hands and teeth. You'd covered the last ones up with makeup, you could do the same with these.

You opened your mouth to reassure him of this but he leaned in, and kissed your forehead.

Then he pressed his forehead against yours. Your heart was racing painfully at this point. You watched as he looked into your eyes for a second before he closed them. You followed suit and closed your eyes, savoring the intense affection. It was so strange to you. You couldn't remember the last man or woman you'd been like this with. And the fact it was Daryl Dixon pressing his forehead against yours, right in the doorframe of your front door…

You decided then you didn't give a shit what he did for fun. You didn't give a shit if he felt the same way either. Maybe you could delude yourself into thinking that one day. You decided right then you'd walk through hell and back to get just a taste of this feeling again.

The feeling of his hand unfolding yours had you opening your weary eyes. You looked down and blinked, seeing a small white dot in the palm of your hand. He drew away from you then, muttering a quick ‘found this earlier’ before fading down the stairs and up the street to his house.

You rubbed your finger over your pearl earring and smiled.

@ophelialaufey @carlgrimesgfofficial

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