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plutoswritingplanet · 2 months ago

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In My Back (Remmick x Female! Reader)

a/n: sooo uuuh... basically yeah... never in my life had i been on such a long writer's kick. idk what they put in this irish freak but im eating it up (this is a long one, like 11k words i think). Cross Posted on AO3

Warnings: Canon Violence, Carpet Munching like crazy, P in V, just... Smut y'know, Some Plot, Manipulation, General Vampire Shenanigans

Summary: Three times he comes in the night, with offers a plenty on his fingertips. The third night, he leaves you with a gift. A Devil's kiss and a taste for freedom.

MASTERLIST

"And then, when you least expect it..." your cousin's voice dips down into a menacing tone, that only serves to push a giggle out of your chest "They sink their teeth, and suck the blood straight outta your bones"

She snaps her mouth at you, teeth clinking together, and you push her away, laughing at the story. She laughs as well, dodging skillfully, as you swipe a wet rag at her.

"Stupid" you huff, trying to act exasperated with her antics, and failing miserably, as always. "I told you not to bother me with those silly stories."

She shrugs at that, twirls around the kitchen, like a fine lady in a coarse dress, her bare feet sliding over the linoleum tiles. You watch, as she dances out of the kitchen, grabbing a muffin from the table. You almost scold her, but decide to let it go, as you usually do. It's hard to be mad at her, damn near impossible to be honest. She always had a way of melting coldness around her.

With a small sigh, you go back to cleaning, wiping the counter and the windows, your mind wandering to your cousin's stories. It's always ghosts and goblins with her. Some new, terrifying thing, that would surely snuff sleep off your eyelids, if your feet weren't planted firmly on the ground. That's how it's always been, since the moment you both learned to crawl. She was the flying one, the one with her head in the clouds, too preoccupied with counting the stars to look down.

And you were the complete opposite. Grass at your feet, a clear road ahead of you. No wondering, no straying.

Sometimes you envied her lightness, sometimes you remembered, it was a burden. Especially for a woman on this earth. Despite that, she never lost herself. Despite hardship after hardship, she remained strong in her openness, in her will to think beyond, what the world offered her. How she did that, after living the past she's had, was beyond you.

God must be a cruel, cruel man, you think. For condemning the most unequipped for the biggest disappointments.

Still, you made sure, your cousin would never have to face her life alone. Not while you're still standing, unmoving, like an ancient pine tree. You would always give her shade, always protect her from the rain, pull her down if need be.

The sun starts to set over the horizon, the last rays of light flickering behind the woods. Your house was small, and well hidden, despite its proximity to the town. Your parents knew what they were doing, choosing this place to settle down, and you couldn't be more grateful. Before your cousin begged for shelter, you lived here alone, picking up both your parents' professions. And so, along with baking and feeding the entire area, you also became mean with any car troubles. A woman's and a man's job, both of them dancing under the sweat of your brow.

Your cousin begged you to leave that "dirty work". To focus on opening a legitimate business, a bakery at the marketplace. She cussed, cleaning out grease stains from your skirts, and you didn't have the strength, nor patience to explain to her, how you're only able to afford the soap in her hand, because the "dirty work" payed better, than any baking.

And so, when she stops you at the door, her arms crossed in front of her chest, her nose scrunched. She's looking you over, taking in the rough gloves and the utility belt, contrasting almost comically with the flowy material of your dress.

"Don't start" you point at her with your wrench, and she raises her hands in a mockery of surrender.

Her mouth twists in a way, that betrays her inner thoughts, betrays her need to say more. But, to your general surprise, she swallows, shaking her head. Then, her eyes find yours, and you feel the tangible warmth of comfort, at the slight, teasing pull of her mouth.

"Don't let any monsters in" she chirps behind you, as you open the door, and start walking towards your late Daddy's workshop.

All you can do is laugh. A rough sound, deep and dark like freshly brewed coffee. A mourning dove, and a wise owl, that's what you two were.

Lamps guide your steps through the darkness, as you make your way towards the workshop. It's a spacious raggedy shack, your father built himself, every nook and cranny marked by his strength. You feel as if you're stepping into a church, every time you slide the barn doors open.

It takes you a moment to light the place up, as you skip around a beaten down Buick, your feet padding softly over the recently swiped floors. The silence of the night calms you down, adds a layer of something almost sacred to your work. Night birds call out in the woods, crickets chirp in the grass, and you inhale the crisp air with your whole lungs, until they hurt. Until you feel the wind in the essence of your being. As soon as the workshop is ready, you find the ghost of your father inside every clink of metal, every grease stain.

That's why you do, what you do. That's why you hide the woman in your pocket, tug your skirts up, tie them to your belt, throw your hair out of your face. Your father's hands guide you, years spent looking over his shoulder marr your movements. It's not work anymore. It's a ceremony, a communion.

The Mississippi heat covers you with sweat, salty drops mixing with grease and motor oil, staining your skin. And as you wipe your face with a coarse rag, you entertain the thought, that this, here, is freedom. Your own, personal brand of freedom. Or at least some ghost of it.

That's how he first finds you.

Skin glistening under the warm lights, making you shine in his eyes. Your breasts exposed to a scandalous degree, your skirt hiked up so high, he sees the small stretch lines on your thighs. The sight makes his mouth water, literally. Such a wild thing, the sickly sweet scent of gasoline clinging to you, as you stretch on the little stool. A groan pushes past your lips, and he has to grip the doorway with his claws, to stop himself from pouncing. Even if he can't really do it, while you're in the safety of your workshop, he feels as if he'd be able to tear down any rules of ancient times, just to taste the nectar of your blood.

Then you start humming. Some unknown tune from far away, long ago. Your voice dripping like molasses, filling his ears with something, he was sure damnation took away. You move around the workshop, tidying up after yourself, legs strong like an ancient tree. A tantalizing image of skin, muscle and a jiggly layer of fat, that makes him want to sink his teeth in, over and over again.

Such temptation could not be ignored. Shouldn't be. It begged him to indulge, and who is he to deny the sweet embrace of sin?

"A woman with a wrench is such an uncommon sight these days" he starts, and skillfully dodges the aforementioned wrench, as it flies towards his head. "Now hold on there, darlin'..."

You spin around like a storm cloud, heart jumping into your throat, at the unfamiliar, male voice. He stands in the shadows, just out of reach for the outside lamp, leaning on the workshop's door frame. His face is barely visible, but you notice the paleness of his wrists, peaking at you from his front pockets. A sillhouette of a banjo on his back, tied with a frayed string, that's digging into his chest.

The world becomes quiet around you. Not a night bird, not a cricket. Just you, and him, and the increasingly fast beating of your heart.

"Who are you?" you demand, and the suspicion in your voice lets him know, he'll have to work for it "What are you doing here?"

Raising his hands in a mockery of a friendly gesture, he takes a slow step backwards, offering space. Your shoulders don't relax, hand creeping towards the folds of your skirt, where you hide a kitchen knife. One, you've never had to use, but God help you, you will.

"Apologies, darlin'. I didn't mean to startle you" he says, keeping his tone light, as if he's just an old friend, paying you a visit "I was walkin' down to the town, but I must've lost my way."

"Yeah, you must've." you eye him cautiously, the tartness of your voice making the corners of his mouth curl.

"Best get back on the road then."

He laughs sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck, as he swipes a look around the workplace.

"I saw the lights, figured there might be some good folks up in 'ere" he comes even closer to the door, lingering just outside, his well worn out boots kicking at the pebbles.

He makes a pitiful expression, as he looks up at you through his eyebrows, and for the first time, you can take a good look at his eyes. Blue, you think. But at the same time, strangely dark. It makes your eyebrows furrow, because despite your weariness, you can most certainly say, this stranger is a handsome one. With nicely toned arms, broad shoulders, and features that look warm in their softness, as well as dangerously sharp.

You don't like it. This strange impasse, that's seized your muscles. Like a deer stuck in the crosshair of a predator, it makes your skin crawl, and your insides tighten.

"No good folks here, just me." your voice is like a bell in his ears, slightly out of breath from all the work, and so, so dark.

The stranger laughs, and the sound sends an onslaught of shivers up your spine. Your fingers twitch nervously.

"See now, I find that hard to believe" the lightness in his tone starts to get to you, slithering under your skin like a snake "Surely such a sweet darlin' has some good in 'er"

God dammit, the way his head tilts to the side, as if trying to coax this mystical goodness out of you, chips away at your defenses. Your brain wrestles with your natural, tart disposition, and the facts presented before you. Here he stands, a respectful distance away, his hands in view. You don't see any weapon on him, but you see the sweat clinging to his dark hair. You see the dirt on his clothes, under his fingernails, the labored breathing he tries to conceal. He seems harmless enough, but looks can be decieving, and you'll be damned if a soft smile and a twinkling eye will be your downfall.

"You a travelin' musician or somethin'?"

He laughs, in pure delight. As if the notion is something he'd never consider, but he loves it either way. His laugh makes your cheeks tingle with warmth, and you curse yourself for such a strong reaction.

"Something like that..." he nods, eyes shining with mischief "I follow music 'ere I go."

With a defeated sigh, your shoulders slump, as you throw the dirty rag at the car.

"I'll get you some food and drink" you concede "Then, you can go on your merry way, yeah?"

"Yes Ma'am" he agrees immediately, his eyes following you, as you exit the workshop, sliding the door closed "D'you live here alone, darlin'?"

The question makes you remember the knife in your skirts, but you don't falter in your steps, as you make your way towards the front entrance to your house. It's not wise, running from a predator, if he indeed turns out to be one.

"That's none of your business, is it?"

"Fair enough" he nods, walking behind you, teetering the line of being much too close for comfort "Though it's a curious thing, don't you agree? A woman of your young age, alone in the woods. No ring on your finger either..."

He knows you're not alone. He smelled the other woman, felt the lazy drag of blood through her veins a mile away. But you don't need to know that, nuh huh.

Your right hand tightens into a fist on instinct, at his observation. Skipping the steps to the porch without an answer, you leave the door open for him.

But he doesn't enter, stopping right at the entrance, his shoulder leaning on the painted door frame, mirroring his stance from before. You shoot him a questioning glance over your shoulder, and once again, he scratches the back of his neck with a sigh. Such a boyish, shy gesture. Or a camouflage. You're undecided yet.

"Would be improper, to walk in without an invitation..." he explains, voice quiet, and almost timid.

Something tugs at the back of your mind. The story your cousin told you just hours ago, rings out like a sermon between your ears, and gooseflesh erupts all across your arms. Stupid. Utterly stupid and impossible, and yet... Your shoulders jump up, and down, in a nonchalant shrug, before you disappear into the kitchen. No use pondering over demons. The night is scary enough without them, and strange men can be worse than all the ghouls combined.

As soon, as you're out of sight, Remmick growls under his breath, finger scratching at the peeling paint on the entrance. He can smell you in the house, sweetness and musk, gasoline and cherry pie. Your heartbeat has calmed down significantly, but he knows, the cards he's been dealt are tricky to play. Good thing, he's a skilled gambler, and you've already extended a hand of hospitality. Already let him see a glimmer, of what's hidden under that hard shell. The sweetness of the fruit within, warmth like the sunlight he's been denied for so long. Your blood will be exquisite, he's sure of it. But before that...

There's a thrill like no other, when playing with one's food.

"There you go" you announce, slipping out of the kitchen, your clothes in proper place this time, obscuring the sight of your bare skin from him "Water and food, for your journey"

His eyes trail over your body, before landing on the glass in your hand, along with a package, wrapped in cloth. Another smile graces his features, this time however, he looks less like a shy farm boy, and more like a pleased man. All skin, and bone, and muscle. The transformation is quite jarring, and you have to blink a couple of times, not allowing yourself to be distracted, by the gentle shadows of his eyelashes on his cheeks.

"Thank you, lass" he answers, taking the water first, and downing it all in one go, causing a small laugh to rip through your lips, almost despite yourself.

"Forgive me, seems I'm more parched than I thought" he inclines his head, and you hand him the package.

This time, his fingers run the length of your palm, sweaty and rough, as they retrieve the offering, and your mind goes to some very unsightly places. His eyes trail up slowly to your face, and you swear, you can see his pupils shining, just for a split second.

Danger. The word climbs up your spine, takes root in your mind, as his tongue slips out to wet his chapped lips. Pink, and soft.

Don't let the monsters in, your cousin's voice follows you. But she didn't mention anything about letting the monster stay a while, right at the threshold. She didn't mention the shivers you feel, prickling at your skin under his inquisitive gaze. And she sure as shit didn't mention, how your breathing gets slower, deeper, when you recognize that traitorous need in the depths of his eyes.

It's been a while, since you've had a man, but you still remember, what it looks like, when you're wanted. When there's hunger crackling like fireworks between two people. And the hunger this stranger exudes, is nearly overwhelming, suffocating in the best way possible.

Time to end this, cut the weeds out, before they overpower all rational thought.

"You should get on your way" you say, and shiver at the way his eyes snap to your lips, drinking in their shape as you speak.

"Just one more thing..." he murmurs, low in his throat, so quiet, yet so unbelievably loud in the oppressive silence of the night.

This time you're the one wetting your lips, preparing yourself for something, although you're not sure for what. The air feels sticky, smooth like honey, passing between you and him. An intimate sort of exchange, that slowly, but surely, melts your insides. Makes you feel a bit lighter, as if your cousin's spirit has invaded your usual hardness.

Is this how it feels to be her? And if so, when will the first crash of thunder bring you down? Just like it brought her to the ground, again and again.

The man's eyes move back to yours, capturing your gaze and holding it hostage.

"A cigarette for the road?" his words are a whisper now, and you feel ashamed, at how long it takes you to register his words.

When you finally do, a single arch of your eyebrow makes his lips pull into a lazy smile. One that has no right working on you as much as it does. Alas...

"I saw you smoking in the workshop" he explains.

"...Ah..."

Your hand slips into your skirts, fingers brushing over the knife handle, and you take out a half empty pack. You offer it to him, and he reaches for the cigarette, his fingers sinfully elegant, as he presses it against his mouth, licking lightly at the tobacco. Something tightens low inside you at the movement of his pink tongue.

He's good. You'll give him that.

"I shall be off, then" he takes a slow step backwards, keeping his eyes on you, like he tries to pin you in place. "G'night, darlin'"

As soon as his boots hit the soft ground in front of your porch, your senses come back to you like a flood, as if some ancient spell has been lifted off your shoulders, and you straighten out with a sharp breath.

You don't know what compels you. What wild, unfamiliar force beckons you, but before you can stop yourself, you're calling out to him.

"Stranger!"

He twirls on his heel, like a dancer on a stage.

"What's your name?"

"Remmick" he answers, voice carrying through the night.

Then, he jumps up, dances a little jig that pushes clouds of dust into the air, and you can't help yourself. You laugh. A clear, honest sound, that surprises you in it's lightness.

Remmick bows, turns around, and walks into the shadows of the woods, leaving an indent in the shape of his curved smile in your brain.

"Remmick..." you repeat under your breath, before shaking your head at your own antics, and closing the door of your home.

The moon laughs at you as well, her light slipping into your room through a half open window. It's not a merry laugh however. It's a mournful, hopeless one, to which you are none the wiser, falling into dream-filled sleep. And as soon, as your eyelids close, as soon as your consciousness slips, a shadow rises from the earth, hanging over you like an executor's axe.

***

You awake in the early morning, sweat clinging to your feverish skin, your hand squeezed tightly between your thighs. You don't remember what dream has put you in this state of mess, but your limbs shake as you stand up, your heart beating right out of your chest. It's a little disappointing, really, you think to yourself, as you wash off the slick from your thighs, that you've become reduced to this so easily. Surely not because of last night's visit. You're stronger than this. Stronger than some wanton virgin, who's never felt a man before.

And yet, as you skip into the kitchen, and prepare for the day, you can't seem to shake the image of him from your brain. Like a sickness immune to all ointments, Remmick lingers under your skin, slithering and burning.

Your cousin joins you downstairs some time later, lured out of bed by the smell of freshly baked goods.

"Whooo! Baby!" she sighs, taking in the kitchen, her smile crinkling the corners of her eyes "You gonna sell these?"

The sluggishness with which you turn to her, makes you realize just how distracted you've truly been. Ridiculous. You're being ridiculous, and for what?

"Yeah" you nod, wiping flour off your hands into your apron "Gonna head to town in a bit. Sure you gonna be alright on your own?"

Your cousin rolls her eyes, and steals an apple from the fruit basket.

"I'm not a lil' kid no more" she tells you, like she's reminding you of homework, and it's your turn to roll your eyes at her.

Ain't you?, you wanna say, but you bite your tongue in time. She doesn't deserve your crudeness. So you cross the kitchen and peck her cheek affectionately. As if to make up for the thoughts, that are left unsaid.

"I know, I know. And you know where the shotgun is, in case trouble comes a knockin', yeah?" she nods once, with a resolute expression.

You recognize the irony in your words. Last night you practically invited a strange man into your home, just 'cause he smiled nice. In your stubborn refusal to admit your own transgression, you tell yourself, you'd shoot his ass to high heaven's, if he tried anything. Even if the notion rings hollow in your own brain.

"What's on your mind, cuz?"

Her voice drags you back to reality with harshness, and you take a sharp breath through your teeth. One, she immediately notices, her eyebrows scrunching into a frown.

"Nothin'." a weak lie, a pathetic one, really "Just... Ghost and Goblins"

Concern melts into a teasing smile, as your cousin starts packing up the still steaming bread.

"Ah..." she laughs, bright and airy "Some stranger in the night sunk his teeth into you?"

For a moment you watch her expression carefully, trying to decipher if she knows, if she heard. Even if she sleeps long and hard, like the dead. All you can see on her face, is a smile of someone proud of her stories taking root. Relief and guilt mix in your gut, and you have to look away, before you crack.

It doesn't matter. Nothing happened, and you'll never meet the smiling stranger again, so why do you feel so... What is it exactly that you're feeling? Disappointed? No, disappointment is for people like your cousin. For people who hope, who fly. Then what is it, biting at the back of your spine like a bloodsucking flea?

"I'll be back from town before you know it" your voice is quiet, dismissive, but she doesn't seem to hold it against you.

"Have fun" she calls after you. Then, silently, she adds "God knows you need it."

The road to town goes by smoothly, your truck jumping and bumping over stray stones. The bustle of the market welcomes you like an old friend, and just for a moment, you allow yourself to miss it. The people, filtering through the streets, laughing, talking, keeping friendly despite the underlying tensions in the air.

Your father would take you here often, while he was alive. He'd stand under the very same sign, you're lifting over your truck now, letting people come to him with business. You'd listen, like a diligent little student, soaking in the wisdom of the trade, helping him run books, count the money, catch conversations.

They all knew you here. From the very moment you've been old enough to stand on your own, you were part of something bigger, than just your family. Always your parents daughter, but so much more at the same time. And now... Now you're a ghost of your own choosing. Respected, liked even, but always on the outside, no longer part of something, but a welcomed guest nonetheless.

Bread goes out first, then sweet rolls and pies. You've been slaving away in the kitchen since the break of dawn, but as the sunset comes closer, you'd be damned it it wasn't worth it. Soon enough, your purse is filled, and you're packing your stand back into the truck, arms burning from work.

Wiping the sweat off your face, your neck, you make your way across the street, to the supplies store, where, as soon as the bell above rings, you're greeted by the owner. A woman, who could've been your peer, could've been a friend, if you were someone different. If you were your cousin, or at least, not a ghost.

"Look what the wind blew in." she leans on the counter, hair slipping out from under the scarf on her head "Haven't seen you in a while."

"You know me, always busy..." your eyes already scan the products, landing heavily on the prices.

She doesn't know you, though. You've never given her an opportunity to know you, and perhaps, that's why you always choose this shop. Perhaps, that's the only time you allow yourself to hope. That maybe this time, you'll be different, this time you'll let yourself be open. That's the reason you know, disappointment is for the hopeful.

"You got some flour for me?"

The shopkeeper nods, crosses the floor and jabs her foot into a couple of bags by the window.

"Got some milk too" she says "Hell, even some sugar, if you wanna"

To that you shake your head.

"I've got some sugar left still. And I'll pick up some eggs on the way back, from Ol' Johnson's farm"

A beat of silence.

"Oh? You haven't heard then?"

"Heard what?" you don't sound too interested, already pulling out a bunch of dollars and sliding them on the counter.

The shopkeeper walks over to you slowly, a solemn expression on her face, and that finally gives you a pause. The sun paints the inside of the shop a deep orange color, your neck tingling with heat and sweat, hair sticking to your skin.

"Ol' Johnson's dead. God rest his soul" the shopkeeper says, swiping a sign of the Cross over her heart, and you repeat the action, like it's second nature.

Coldness seeps through you, a strange sort of feeling, like there's something more hidden in the revelation. Some terrible truth just waiting to bury you. You swallow thickly, trying to ground yourself.

"What happened?"

Another moment of tension filled silence passes, as the shopkeeper takes a deep breath, eyes scrunching in sorrow.

"His wife came back from her family down South. People said she found him, dead and burning in the morning sun."

Cold turns to freezing in your bones, brain working overtime under your skull.

"They burned him?" you ask, mindful not to sound too curious, too insensitive.

"Sheriff said they killed him first, mangled the poor man beyond recognition."

"Jesus...." you sigh, trying, and failing to push away an image of the old man's face, scorched and bloody. "What about his widow?"

"She's staying at the Motel until they burry him. I think she'll head back South after, there ain't nothin' keeping her here anymore."

You nod solemnly at her words. A quick thought passes through you, a worry, where you'll get your eggs now. But you scold yourself hard in your mind for such heartlessness. This is not the time, nor the place for wondering about trivial matters. Not when a man's life has been snuffed out, and so brutally at that.

"The funeral's tomorrow, if you care" the shopkeeper's words snap you back from your cold thoughts, and you realize, that yes, you do care "We'll have a small thing for him at the Joint"

"Yeah..." you speak before you have the time to think on it "I'll be there."

She helps you load your groceries into your truck, a comfortable silence settling between the two of you, and once again, you wish things would've been different. Instead, you thank her with a dollar bill, and start the car on the road back to your home, where you're not alone, but solitude still awaits.

By the time you arrive, it's dark outside, the porch light guiding your steps. The house is quiet, your cousin asleep in her room, buried under heavy covers. You linger in her doorway for a moment, mind lost deep in thought, as you watch her peaceful form. Something tugs on your heart. Some undeniable feeling of sorrow, dragging your heart down to the wooden floors.

What you're mourning, you're not sure. But it brings a tear to your eye nonetheless, and your feet carry you outside, into the peaceful darkness, the crisp evening air. There, you can finally breathe, you can let the tears flow easily, without worrying about your sorrow staining the warmth inside.

Hands clutching your head, your shoulders shake in silent sobs, the heaviness, and the cold of today reaping it's spoils on your body. And you stay there, soil soaking up your tears greedily, until the steps of the porch creak loudly, tearing your heart straight from your chest.

You shoot up, turning your whole body so fast, you nearly collide with one of the pillars supporting the roof over the porch. Hand wraps around the handle of the knife, perpetually hidden in your skirts. And then you see him.

"Heaven's you startle easy, darlin'" Remmick raises his hands, giving you a sympathetic smile.

Here he sits, right at the porch step. The man you were sure you'd never see again, same clothes, same twinkle in his eye. He gazes at your tear stained face, with a calmness of someone who's seen more sadness, than you can comprehend.

"The hell you doin' here?" you try to demand, but your voice is still too shaky, and your hand too weak, to hold the knife any longer.

"Heard a bird sing in mourning" he answers, something warm slithering into his voice "Followed it's song all the way here."

You should be better than this. Stronger than this. Hell, you are stronger than this. But there's something so gentle in his presence, so different from the hunger you've felt the first time you've met. And your bones are tired, and your head is pounding, and God...

Slowly, like a wild animal learning to trust, you sit back down on the porch, a safe distance from him. But nothing can shield you from the warmth of his body next to you. From the unexplainable sense of calm, that floods your veins with every breath you take. And the night is so quiet, not a noise around you...

"I could sing you a song" he starts, and you scoff at the notion, a wet, broken sound "Something that would lull your pain to rest..."

"I don't need cheerin' up" you cut him off, and he smiles in a way, that makes you feel exposed like a bleeding wound.

You look down at your hands, woman's hands marred with signs of hard work. No longer soft and gentle, but trembling and covered with callouses. You're proud of them, of every scar and blemish, and you wish they were clean at the same time. You wish they were made for holding silk instead. At least just for tonight, in the dead silence.

"No" he murmurs "No you don't"

His eyes meet yours, when you risk a look in his direction, and what you find, makes your heart feel light as a feather, and heavy as a stone at the same time.

"Cheerin' doesn't bring anythin' for you, does it." he says it like it's a fact, like he knows you from within "You know the value of sufferin'."

God damn him, you think, new tears already stinging your eyes. He leans in, cold breath tickling your cheeks, and to your surprise, you don't run. You don't want to run. Not even a flinch passes you, when his fingers brush the stray hairs out your face, pushing the rest over your shoulder.

A small hiccup rips through your throat, because you never want to be touched. Never, until now, until him. Any other boy from town would already have his neck scuffed, for even daring to get this close. But this stranger, this man, this...

"Remmick..." you whisper, something wet and broken in your tone, something you haven't heard since your mother's funeral.

He hums, deep in his chest, as if he's pleased you remember his name. As if somehow, in this state of brokenness, he's the most proud of you. Your head ducks on instinct, when he moves closer, taking a long whiff of your hair.

"You know" he continues, low and intimate, his lips moving like the wings of a butterfly over your forehead "That tears can be sweeter, than any smile, any laughter.

Fingers pinch your chin, pulling your head up, until your glassy eyes meet his once again. For a moment, he searches your face, gaze drifting over your wet eyelashes, your trembling cheeks, your mouth opening and closing.

"Because tears are honest" he finishes, and a ragged sound of a gasp escapes through your teeth.

Your hand finds purchase on his chest, feeling the rough material of his shirt, the buttons hanging on a couple of flimsy threads. You could mend them for him, you could offer him food, drink, your bed, anything. If he'd only ask.

But he doesn't. Instead, his large hand presses gently over the flushed skin of your cheekbone, thumb running gently under your eye, gathering saltiness as it goes.

"Let me taste it, Sweetness" he whispers, pleading, his face leaning impossibly close "Let me taste your honesty."

His breath mingles with yours, and you can almost taste him on your tongue, so close, yet not close enough. Your fingers tighten on his chest, dragging the fabric beneath your nails, and finally he dips down.

But before you can feel him fully, before he drinks you like communion wine, your cousin's voice rings out throughout the house.

Heart jumping into your throat, you nearly rip yourself away from him, the spell of his honeyed words gone as quick, as it appeared. You stumble back on your feet, flushed and confused, gaping at him like a fish out of water. Something flashes through his expression, quick like a band of wild horses, but you catch it, you always do.

Perhaps, just a trick of the lights, something insignificant and unreal. But just like your cousin's stories, it lingers.

If tears are honest, then what do you call the sudden meanness in his eyes? The ghost of irritated anger, that pulls his mouth down, sets heavily over his brow?

Danger, you brain supplies again, and as your cousin calls out your name again, dread climbs up your back.

He repeats your name, so silent you can barely hear him, but even so, he looks victorious. Defeated, but victorious nonetheless, and your instincts kick in tenfold. The handle of the knife is cold in your grasp, a grounding weight against your hand. He doesn't move, just stares at you, expression of utter calm gracing his confusing features.

Now that's how a proper predator looks like. Half hidden under the shadows, his mouth open and panting, as if tasting the lingering scent of you from air alone. There's no tension in his figure, only steady confidence. He's gotten your name, he's almost gotten your trust, your honesty.

You wish you were stronger. You were taught to be stronger.

The front door creaks open, and you turn to push your cousin back inside, scream at her to stay back, stay where it's warm, and safe. Where the darkness won't catch her.

But just as she steps outside, her thin sleeping gown flowing around her form, your eyes flicker to the porch steps. And he's gone.

Not a trace of the strange man, of Remmick. Only the moon and utter silence.

"You're back" your cousin wraps her arms around your waist, tugging you inside "I fell asleep waitin', I'm sorry"

"No, I..." you try to respond, barely hearing your voice over the thundering sound of your own heart, eyes scanning the tree line, every shadow looking like him.

"You good? You look like you've seen a ghost"

Finally, she drags you over the threshold, closing the doors behind.

"You've been cryin'?"

"No it's just..." you swallow thickly, throat tight "Needed some fresh air, don't you worry your head about me"

Your cousin looks beyond skeptical, a strange reversal of your usual roles, but she doesn't push, God bless her soul. Instead, she kisses your forehead, wiping away the ghost of Remmicks lips, and at last, your shoulders relax.

"You work too hard, y'know" she murmurs, sleep still clinging to her "It's not good for the nerves"

You know exactly what's not good for your nerves, and it sure as shit isn't your work, but you can't say that. You can't reveal the true source of your frazzled state, if only to shield her from all the confusion. All the dread and longing, that's mixing dangerously in your gut. She's been through enough, and suddenly awave of fresh guilt crashes over you.

Carelessness is a sin, you never thought you'd commit. Yet here you are. God forgive you, because you cannot do it yourself.

***

Leaving the window open is your continuous mistake. One, which Remmick uses generously.

His body levitates in the cold air, unmoving like a hanged man's corpse, scraping his nails over the window frame. Stuck in perpetual stillness, the warmth of his breath fogs the glass. Two dots of red cut through the darkness, overpower the moon's cold light behind him. Like a shadow of death to come, his presence looms over your room, over your sleeping form.

You never sleep under covers. He noticed it a while back, when you didn't know him, when he still thought you were just a bag filled with blood. His for the taking, to sate his never ending thirst.

Now, he sees the bag has arms, that curve elegantly over the pillow. He notices the smoothness of skin, the delicate slope of your neck, where your blood sings a hymn just for him. Such a sweet thing, the ripest of fruits, just waiting to be devoured.

Later.

He has to remind himself to be patient, no matter how hard the pull of your saccharine scent calls to him. He needs you pliant, he wants you at your fullest. He wants love dripping from your fingertips like a fountain. Just so he can lap it up like a hungry dog.

For now, he satisfies himself with this image of you, splayed out on the covers. A ghost of a Babylonian queen, come to life in this abandoned neck of the woods.

Remmick takes a deep breath, humming to himself, as your scent fills every pore of his damned body. Dark and heavy, sweet on his tongue. He closes his eyes, nose pressing into the glass, teeth biting into his lower lip. What sweet torture this is. Being so close, yet so far away.

Makes the spoils all the more worth it, in the end.

***

Ol' Johnson was a good man.

He never took more, than he needed. Greeted everyone with a smile and a story, told in a voice roughened by years of smoking cheap tobbaco. He helped you, when you couldn't bring yourself to call on anyone, and kept helping you, until you've learned to accept it.

And now he's dead. And all you have to remember him by, are dwindling memories, and a glass of lukewarm whiskey in your hand.

The funeral service was a miserable affair. His crying widow nearly drowned out the sounds of the sermon with her sobs, and your heart broke for the poor woman, who lost everything in one night. She didn't look at you, when you offered her condolences, and you couldn't blame her. Tear stained eyes stayed fixed firmly on the wooden coffin, as they lowered her husband into the ground. And they didn't move an inch, when ground covered him forever.

She's a good woman too. Kind in a natural way, that seems to spread warmth wherever she goes. Always willing to give more, than what's expected of her. Now, the burden of being warm falls on the shoulders of the town. And they all take the mantle in stride, holding her through her grief, offering her comfort, that can only be found in community.

You don't fit in here anymore. Besides, who would want comfort from a ghost.

So you linger at the back of the Joint, sipping whiskey through your teeth, trying to remind yourself, that solitude is what you chose. You chose safety, you chose your cousin, your family. You can't regret that, you're simply not allowed to.

Soon enough, mourning of death becomes a celebration of life, as musicians take stage, and bodies filter onto the dance floor. Sweaty, greased with alcohol, and yearning for a moment of recklessness, they dance. And with every step, every twirl, every pull of the guitar strings, you feel Ol' Johnson's spirit. You feel every story, every helpful hand, every puff of cigarette smoke.

You can't stay still. Despite your promises, your responsibilities, you can't let his memory fade into a sad song. So you abandon your glass, your lonesome seat at the table, and you join in dance. You dance like you've never danced before, heels stomping on the wooden floor, sweat dripping down your face like tears would've. The music swells, and swells without stopping, and you're not stopping either. Not until your legs are burning, and your breath gets stuck in your throat.

Then, you're stumbling out the Joint, passing by the bouncer into the cold night's air. Where there's stars, and the endlessness of the skies. You want to keep dancing, even if your legs beg you to stop, even when you collide with the cool metal of your truck's door.

This is freedom. This is love. This is the only regret you have.

Digging out the keys from your purse, you eyes catch something in the dark. Two shining points, deep ahead of you. Your blood boils under your skin, a familiar feeling, which you keep forgetting ever day. Because you know this sight, deep within your bones, it settled a long time ago, a memory of something so terrible, your mind had to protect you from it. Had to keep forgetting. It can't protect you now however, and as the familiar spell of curiosity roots you into place, Remmick steps out of the shadows.

Moon paints his skin in glowing paleness, something otherworldly clinging to his every step.

No knife will help you now, you realize, as your back presses further into the cold side of your truck. And no one on the Joint will hear you, should you call for help. That's the price you pay for being a ghost. Music still plays inside, a quick tune that borrows it's rhythm from your feverish heart.

"You followin' me or somethin'?" voice cutting through the night, you feign confidence, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

Such a flimsy shield, one he'd tear without even trying. But he stops, a safe distance from you, his palms raised high in a placating gesture you know too well. There's not a trace of that alarming meanness from the night before, a lazy smile gracing his features instead.

"I told you" he starts, tone light and friendly, like before "I follow music, that's all"

God, you wish you could believe him.

"This here a Juke Joint?" he asks, and once again, suspicion rears it's ugly head in your gut.

"Ain't you a traveling musician? You should know where to play"

He laughs, sheepishly. Although you're more and more convinced, it's a wolf laughing underneath sheep's hide. You can't shake the image of his face, twisted in anger, the two red dots hanging in air, just where his eyes could've been.

"Folks wouldn't let me in" he shrugs, and you notice the considerable lack of the guitar on his back "A private celebration I think."

"A wake." you cut swiftly.

"Ah..."

He doesn't ask who died. You would've found it strange, if you didn't know. You don't want to know, fighting that awful feeling of your guts churning in premonition. But you do, and despite that, you can't run. Still, after all the dots connecting in your mind, you can't run from him, his shining eyes and his curling smile.

Remmick comes closer, measured step after another, as if he's approaching some feral little animal, thrashing in the hunter's binds. Or a killer, that's found an easy victim. Your blood runs cold in your veins, gooseflesh covering your skin. Still, he doesn't snap his jaws, not yet.

"You dance mighty fine, darlin'." the comment doesn't even sound like a flirtation, just a pure, bare bones fact "Saw you through the window, twirlin' and stompin'."

He doesn't wait for your reply, reaching into the pocket of his trousers, and pulling out a cigarette case. You recognize the design despite the darkness, and your throat tightens, until you can't breathe properly. God forgive you, you've almost let a killer into your home. Would've let him into your heart, if he'd ask.

"Where'd you get that?" there's a tremble in your voice, one, that puts an edge to his easygoing smile.

"My Daddy gave it to me, for the long road ahead."

Lies come like second nature to him, leaving his lips dripping with honey. Once again, he licks at the end of the cigarette, eyes flickering up to meet yours.

"My friend had one exactly like that" you note, still trying to cling onto some semblance of hope.

Alas, hope only breeds disappointment, you know that too well.

A slender flame from the lighter flickers in his pupils, as he lights the cigarette, taking a long drag of smoke.

"Maybe we've got the same Daddy" he muses, clouds of white slipping past his teeth.

You'd laugh, if you were light as a feather.

Another drag of the cigarette, and Remmick closes the distance between the two of you, standing foot to foot. Your body fails you, at this crucial moment, because all you can do is watch him, eyes wide, stuck between pleading and anger.

"What are you?" the question leaves you, before you can catch it, and the man before you sighs, shaking his head.

"Told ya'. Travellin' musician"

Your mouth opens, but he's quicker, flicking the cigarette to the side, and grabbing ahold of the back of your neck. You grab at his wrist, but don't go any further. His hold is gentle, despite everything you'd anticipate, and he leans his head towards your ear, like a lover whispering a secret.

"Shhh..." he shushes you quietly, cold breath tickling your feverish skin "I've already decided I'll help you."

Confusion overrides any rational feeling, and your hands slip to the coarse fabric of his well worn shirt. The buttons are still barely hanging, but now you'd rather be caught dead, than mend them. Hell, you probably will be. Something mean and dark rises in your throat, pushing past your teeth with a hiss of a venomous snake.

"I don't need savin- ah!"

A small, surprised moan tears it's way through your throat, as Remmick runs his tongue over the delicate spot behind your ear. His fingers bury themselves into your hair, gently massaging it in a way, that is almost grotesquely delicate. You can feel his mouth, running the length of your jaw, up your cheek, where he presses delicate kisses. The tip of your nose is next, then the softness under your eyes, the wrinkle of conflicting emotions between your eyebrows.

"C'mon darlin'." he whispers into your hairline "Won't you let this sinner in?"

Once again, he doesn't leave time for you to reply, diving down towards your lips, taking them into a slow kiss, that makes your insides flutter. You should hate yourself for the way you're not pushing him away, for the way you chase his mouth with your own, when he pulls back for just a second.

You should hate him for everything, but most importantly for the moan he gives out, when his tongue slips into your mouth. Such a beautiful sound, it shakes every bone in your body, makes your fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt.

He tastes of iron, an unmistakable bloody residue, but it's so sweet on your tongue, you can't seem to care. Like poison attacking your senses, you let yourself be carried away, mind going deliciously blank. His hand still continues to coax you with the gentle movements of his fingers in your hair. While the other takes it's fill of your body, warm palm pressing against your waist, your hip, pushing the silken dress up your thigh.

Then it moves higher, until he's grasping at your heart through the plush flesh of your breast, and this time you're the one moaning. His thumb brushes over your hardening nipple, pulling another sound from you, like he's playing a fiddle.

Heat rises within you like the tide, every touch, every caress building up a storm of want. Soon, it doesn't matter anymore, that he's surely the monster from your cousin's stories, because he kisses like an angel.

His mouth leaves yours, a sticky mess of saliva that should disgust you, but God, you've never tasted anything sweeter. Once more, he attaches himself to your neck, kissing it with fervor, broken sounds escaping him, like a starved dog feasting for the first time in months. His hand palms at your breast one last time, before reaching back, and soon enough you hear the click of your truck's door.

There's no time for questions, for concern. Not when the need runs so deep, and begs to be satiated. He pushes your body inside, splays you out on the back seat, amongst old blankets and empty bags of flour. Your thighs fall apart, to accommodate him, when he climbs over your body, like he can't bear being away from it even for a second.

"The door..." you pant out, against the hunger of his lips.

"No one will see us" he huffs into your shoulder, and the utmost certainty in his voice makes you believe him.

This time it's your hands doing the massaging, as you grip the black strands of his hair, trying to bring him closer. Trying to morph the Devil himself into your body. He hikes your leg up, over his waist in response, and you can feel with damning clarity, his burning hardness pressing against the flimsy cotton of your underwear.

You want him inside so bad, it's nearly breaking you apart.

"Too damned sweet..." he murmurs into the running pulse of your neck, and your entire body freezes, when he teases the place with surprisingly sharp teeth.

"...no..."

It's a quiet, barely audible whisper, but he straightens himself on his arms, hovering above you with a questioning look on his flushed face.

"No biting..." you repeat, louder this time, your heaving chest brushing over his "No pain. I don't wanna hurt tonight."

A blink, a gasp, and Remmick morphs between your very eyes. His expression turns into something so gentle, so caring, you're sure a man like him shouldn't be able to look like that. He takes a deep breath through his mouth, a broken sound emanating from deep within his chest. And then, he kisses you again. Slow, intimate, until your head is spinning.

"The things you do to me, woman" he whispers into your mouth, and starts to crawl lower.

His tongue laps at your collarbone, lips sucking into the skin of your sternum. Your body arches off the seat, as he dips into your cleavage, letting your breasts spill out the top of your dress. He kisses them, like they're more than just a body part. It feels sacred, feels like a prayer in a language you don't fully understand.

Another series of kisses over the fabric covering your stomach, and soon enough, he's making a home for himself between your thighs. Your body starts to shake in anticipation, half lidded eyes following the movements of his dark haired head, as he leaves wet kisses on the inside of your thighs.

"Christ Almighty..." he groans, as his thumb runs over the wet patch steadily forming on your underwear "Like Heaven's Gates opening for me"

Your hips buck in a stuttering motion, as he puts his mouth over the cotton, tongue lapping at the fabric in a promise of things to come.

"Knew you'd be sweet" he comments, voice dipping down so low, you can feel it in your insides.

Then, your legs get thrown over his shoulders, and before you have time to adjust, he pushes your undergarments to the side, and nearly drowns his face in your cunt.

The sound you make is nothing short of scandalous, as he begins to lap at you, greedily soaking in the very essence of your being. His tongue finds your clit faster, than any man before, and as his mouth close over the pulsing bundle of nerves, you throw your head back.

He's good, so good in fact, that your stomach begins to tighten in seconds. Your hands flail at your sides, nails scraping over the backseat, over your dress, his scalp. You don't know what to do with your body, completely surrendering to the ancient magic, he pulls from you with every drag of his tongue.

And God, the sounds he makes. You've never met someone so vocal, so utterly devoted to drinking every last drop you have to offer. Soon enough, your thighs start to shake, the pressure building inside you reaching levels you never thought possible. And he doesn't stop, not even for a moment, licking, sucking, flicking his tongue until your voice becomes hoarse.

"Remmick..." you mewl.

The sound of his name feels right, leaving your lips, feels like truth. Like that mythical honesty, he wanted to taste in your tears.

His grip on your body tightens, and it's as if he's been possessed by some demon of desire. You can feel his face pressing closer, deeper into you, and that's the final straw. Stars erupt in your vision, as you come, hard and fast, earth shattering around you. Body nearly flying off the car seat, your breath gets punched out of your lungs with the force of the most delicious of sensations.

Remmick seems almost reluctant to part with your cunt, licking at the swollen flesh, until your hand slaps him away, too sensitive for any more attention. His face is glistening in the pale moonlight, and his sinful tongue cleans everything with an almost inhuman groan.

"You're heaven, mo ghrà" his voice breaks "You're sunlight incarnate"

There's devotion like nothing you've heard before in his tone, and if you weren't so completely wrecked, you would've blushed. Instead, you reach for him, and he obeys, coming back up, until you can kiss him again.

His arms sneak around your waist, pulling you up into an embrace, and your boneless body let's him do what he likes. Let's him settle you into his lap, legs nestling on both sides of his thighs. Forever greedy, he ruts into your twitching core, and you're cruelly reminded about just how empty you feel.

"You'll never be alone" he whispers, voice muffled by the skin of your chest "You'll never be forsaken, not while I walk this earth."

Something in the way he says that, makes your spine tingle with a dreadful sort of shiver. But there's comfort in his words, enough of it, for you to throw caution to the wind, and reach for the button of his trousers with shaky hands.

You'll worry later. For now, you want him to make you forget what worrying even looks like.

And as if reading your thoughts, he obliges, pushing your hands away, to do the work himself. His trousers fall open, and he frees himself with a choked groan. His cock rests on your lower stomach, hot and ready, smearing drops of precum over your skin. Your muscles tighten in anticipation, hands squeezing his shoulders.

"My girl" he murmurs "My sweet girl, let me in"

All you can do, is nod.

Remmick lifts you up, as if you weight nothing, positioning you just right, before he slowly lowers you onto him. Your combined groans fill the silence of the truck, as you stretch around him. He's gentle, letting you adjust before pushing into you a bit further, until he's buried to the hilt in your heat. His head falls back against the headboard, hands roaming your body. You can see the treacherous light in his eyes, now, finally a tangible truth, rather than a figment of your dreams.

It doesn't scare you though, nothing scares you now. Not when he fills you up so completely, you feel like you belong for the first time in years. This moment of stillness, of silence interrupted only by laboured breathing, doesn't last long.

Nails digging into the bottom of your thighs, he rocks you in a steady, almost languid rhythm. You flutter around him, small gasps of pleasure leaving your lips, and that familiar pressure introduces itself once again. He speeds up, guiding your hips in an up and down motion, that soon makes your teeth clink together.

"That's right... God in Heaven... So warm... Mmmmm..." his voice flows between murmurs, groans and whispers, every word making your insides twitch, making your eyes flutter.

"Take me in... Good... Deeper..."

You can feel him, pressing into your bones, nestling into the deepest parts of your soul, and with every ragged moan he breathes, something close to sweet affection blossoms inside you. Honey and milk, they drip from your fingertips, as you caress his face, contorted in a beautiful image of pleasure. You could love that face. You won't, but Heaven's above, you could.

"Christ" he chokes out, hips bucking off the seat "My sweet girl, mo ghr- ah..."

The sound of his voice alone makes you come again, lighter, but no less pleasurable. And as you tighten around him, a choked sound leaves his throat. His arms encircle you whole, pushing himself so close, he might as well find home in your chest cavity. Soon, his movements stutter, face hidden in your shoulder, breathing in the scent of your hair, and with a last, decisive thrust, he spills himself inside you.

Bodies covered in sweat, you both shake in each other's arms, for a small, blissful moment being completely alone, shielded from the world. Remmick holds you, like you're his only hope, mouthing gently at the skin of your throat, whispering things you barely comprehend. Prayers, that are marked by something ancient, older than the trees and the rivers. Worship, that flows like blood from a wound.

"Thabharfainn fuil mo chroí dui..."

You want to whisper back, but there are no words, that could compare to his. So you do the next best thing, running your fingers through his hair, tracing circles into his back, mapping his features with delicate kisses. He basks in the affection, eyes fluttering closed, a familiar twitch of renewed desire stirring your insides. Your thumb brushes over his bottom lip, still wet with whatever mixture of fluids, and he parts his mouth under your touch.

And that's when it all comes shattering down.

Because hidden beneath the chapped softness, are teeth that don't belong to a human. Sharp, pointed angrily, perfect for tearing at flesh.

Remmick hums in his throat, feeling the way your body seizes with dread, and as his eyes slowly open, you're met with another damning sight.

Those aren't human eyes either. They shine at you, reflecting moonlight in a haze of red that makes your skin crawl.

People who dare to hope, are the one's crushed by disappointment. How dare you forget that?

"It all makes sense now, doesn't it?" he asks in a low voice, all traces of gentleness gone in an instance "The nightly visits, the quiet in the woods..."

His finger traces a line from between your breasts, up to your bobbing throat.

"The pull you feel, even now." a slow roll of his hips makes you choke on air.

Remmick's smile turns cruel. There's no denying, what you're seeing, and it's no longer the man you almost could've loved. It's not a man at all, but a monster your cousin's stories warned you about. Things you believed to be impossible, come to life before your very eyes.

"What are you?" your voice breaks, and he smiles, as if the question has become some sort of a joke shared between the two of you.

"How about I make you a deal?"

You've never noticed, how sharp his nails are, not until they drag back down your throat. Gentle enough not to break skin, but brutal enough to leave imprints in their wake.

"I'll race you back to your house, and if you get there first, I'll leave you two be."

Dread turns your blood into ice, and all you can do, is stare in shock, as Remmick lifts you off his lap. His cock slides out of you languidly, and for the first time, since you've met him, you feel disgust. At him, at yourself, at the whole waking world.

He brushes your sweaty hair out of your forehead, claws dragging over your face as he does so. Then, a quick press of his lips to your temple, and you shiver in your spot.

"Be quick" he instructs in a tone that is entirely too cheerful, before he shoots you a wink, and climbs out of the truck.

Three seconds, that's all you need, before you realize the severity, the absolute hopelessness of your situation. And as you scramble to the passenger side of the truck, thighs sticky with evidence of your misplaced affection, all you can see is your cousin's smiling face.

***

The door to your home slams against the wall, when you stumble inside, feet barely catching up with your panicked movements.

You scream her name through the halls, pathetic and desperate. Silence greets you, not a sound to be heard, and as tears spring from your eyes, you sprint towards the stairs. You climb the steps, hunched over like a wild animal, adrenaline pushing your every movement. And then, with the entirety of your body weight, you slam into the door of your cousin's bedroom.

You can smell the blood, before you see it. A stench so profound, you'll never be able to get rid of it.

And then, a scene so terrifying, so profoundly heartbreaking unfolds before your very eyes.

Remmick stands in the middle of the room, hands folded casually behind him. His jaw clenched tightly over your cousin's throat, her lifeless body half hanging from the bed. There's blood on the floor, on the walls, on the sheer dress she wore to bed. And then, red eyes find you.

Your cousin's form falls onto the floor with a sickening, wet sound, as Remmick let's her go, licking her blood from his gums, his chin.

"Now I understand..." he claps his hands lightly, and once again, you can't move, frozen to your spot, eyes glued to the heap of fabric and flesh, that was once your family "Why you've kept her hidden, like a princess locked in a tower."

His boots leave bloody prints on the wooden floor, as he steps closer to you, crossing the bedroom in long strides.

"There's no worse thing, than a cruel man. Not for a woman like her."

You can't look away from her. Not even, when Remmick's hand covers the side of your face, his thumb brushing the underside of your jaw in a gentle caress.

"I can see it all now, y'know" he murmurs "All her memories are mine. I know what a bastard her husband was. It's no wonder she ran away."

Another step closer, and his other hand finds the softness of your stomach, sharp nails scratching gently over the delicate fabric of your rumpled dress. You can still feel him, a dull ache between your legs, a stickiness of your bodies joined together.

What a damned fool you are.

"And you took care of her so loyally" he continues, a hint of admiration entering his words "Sacrificed so much... But not anymore."

Finally, you dare to look up, and he sighs in delight, as tears fall on your cheeks.

"I promised you" a whisper, a cold breath against your skin "No more alone, no more forsaken"

His lips kiss away the saltiness, with gentleness so unbefitting his monstrous nature, it makes your breath lock itself in the column of your throat.

"There's only love in your future, mo ghrà. Only love."

The bundle of fabric moves. A jerky sort of motion, and your eyes snap behind his back, as your cousin's hand jumps against the bloodied floorboards. Remmick let's you go without a fight, and you stumble on your feet, falling to your knees, next to the slowly awakening corpse of your cousin.

Her name is a prayer on your lips. You're begging for the impossible, you're aware of that, but she moves nonetheless, lifting her face.

"Hey cuz." she croaks, the wound in her throat moving as she speaks "It's all gonna be alright now."

It's a fate worse than death, seeing the unnatural, golden shine in her eyes. The monstrous, sharpened teeth peaking from behind her smiling lips. You reel back from her, vision blurry from all the tears. She follows you, on her fours, as if she's forgotten what it means to walk.

"I know it's scary" she stands up, blood dripping from her dress, her mangled body "I was scared too. But now... Now it's all bliss. It's all love."

Your heart breaks into a million scattered pieces, dread and pain nearly knocking you off your feet. But you keep backing away, until you stop at the very top of the stairs, swaying in your sorrow.

"You did so much for me" you cousin closes the distance, drool slipping out her mouth, mixing with crimson on her chin "Let me repay you, let me give you a better life."

It's only as she reaches for you, fingers digging into your shoulders, teeth bared and ready to bite, do you react. A sharp yell rips through your throat, and you don't think anymore, that primal instinct of survival taking root. The world becomes a mess of limbs and screams, and soon it all spins around you. Wood of the railing breaks under your weight, when your cousin slams you into it, blood of your blood sends you flying. Your fingers grip her nightgown in a death grip however, and the both of you crash to the floor below, with a thunderous crack, that carries through the entire house.

For a moment you can't breathe, your vision going black as night. Then, everything spins, but you don't feel any teeth, any claws. Just waves of pain crashing over your back.

You will never forget the next sound. It will haunt you through your life, turn every dream into a nightmare. The broken, ragged intake of breath on your left.

"Cuz..."

Your head turns, and there she is. The dreamer, the flying dove, her chest split open by a stray piece of wood, blood spilling out her mouth like a fountain.

"...no..."

Despite the blinding pain in your back, you rise to your knees, falling over her, hands trembling and for the first time, you're at a loss. What can one do in this situation? How can you fix this?

"No, no, no, no" your cousin's body twitches, her eyes growing more and more glassy with every ticking second "Please, God... Help..."

But there's no God in this house, not anymore. He's been casted out, with your cousin's last breath, and so, as desperation shakes your being, you call out to the only other option. The only way that's in the cards for you, until you too leave this earth.

"Remmick, help me!" it's hypnotizing in it's irony, you calling out to him, begging him.

He stands behind you, watching your shaking shoulders. Watching those fascinating, calloused fingers rip out hairs from your scalp. He knows, somewhere deep inside his rotten, ancient heart, that he would help you. He'd come acrawling for just one word.

He also knows, you've been crying over a corpse, as soon as wood pierced your cousin's heart.

And so, he lingers, a silent statue in a house, that was once a home. Like a pillar of marble, devoid of guilt, of heartbreak, stirred to life only by the misplaced fondness for a woman, who dared to hope in his presence.

Time ticks by, your sobs turning into heaving breaths, which soon fade, leaving silence in their wake. That's when he finally makes a move, bloodied soles of his boots dragging closer, until your abused back leans against his side. It's a small touch, but for him, it means more, than any before.

There's no more strength in you, no more fight. Like a block of clay, begging to be shaped into a masterpiece, you surrender.

And it's all he's ever wanted. So then why...?

"Leave this place" his voice sounds foreign, even to his own ears "Go far, far away. And live."

You don't even lift your head, don't look at him, but he knows you listen, he knows you understand. A brush of cold lips against the gentle curvature at the back of your neck. There's no shivers, but your heart stutters, that's all he needs.

"A gift for you, mo cuishle"

***

A month later you're standing on the platform, nails drumming anxiously on the leather surface of your baggage.

You're going far away, like he's told you, leaving behind the town, Ol' Johnsons abandoned home, the shopkeeper's smile, and the ghosts haunting the small house in the middle of the woods.

And life goes on. You find your place in a shop of your own, in the middle of a town, that's buzzing with life. You put your talents to good use, and soon, people remember your name. They wave at you as you pass, they visit your shop, and talk to you, as if you've lived here from childhood.

You make friends, good ones, that last through thick and thin. And despite waking up every night, covered in sweat, with the haunting images of that fateful midnight flashing behind your eyes, you're happy. You find lightness in your step, in your mind. You cradle the community within your calloused palms, and let them cradle you in turn.

So, when the new Juke Joint opens, you don't think twice, about letting your dearest friend, Pearline, drag you with her. For a night full of drinkin', dancin', and cheerin'.

#my writing #remmick #remmick x reader #sinners movie #remmick x you #sinners 2025 #remmick fanfic #it's not often someone makes a perfect movie but let me tell yall this is it #our man of the hour is almost pathetically tender in this one but we're still talking about a horror movie so yknow

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dorkszn · 11 months ago

Text

COME AND GET THAT + logan howlett

SYNP — being home for the summer from school isn’t so bad. it isn’t so bad until your motorcycle stops working. and your dad tells you to call over the man that inspired you to get the bike in the first place and the closest one who could fix it, his best friend and your longtime crush, logan.

WARNINGS — masc reader, age gap ( no duh ), reader’s dad is kinda a dick, subbot reader, oral, petnames, logan’s a little mean, slight degradation, kitchen sex, hair pulling, eventual smut, porn with plot | 3.4K ( im sorry 😭 )

PART TWO ( coming soon )

Summertime. It’s such a wonderful time. You get out of school and can drive back to your hometown. You see your parents and siblings and get to flop onto the mattress of your old childhood bedroom.

But your favorite part? Getting to see your dad’s best friend, Logan. Who seems only to be getting hotter and hotter with each passing year. Only maybe you’re just getting more worked up and shy with every year that passes because each summer you can barely stand to look him in the eye or be alone in a room with him.

You’ve been home for about a week or two by this point, getting back into the comfort and schedule of your hometown life. Luckily but also somehow unfortunately, you have yet to see Logan since you returned. Hell, he probably doesn’t even know you’re home.

So imagine your surprise when you’re standing outside of your parent’s house with your dad, examining your sleek motorcycle that just wouldn’t start. You know how to do basic motorcycle care that of course, Logan taught you. He was the one who inspired and motivated you to get the damn bike anyways. So why were you surprised when your dad suggested calling him?

“Guess I’ll give Logan a call and see if he’s busy. He should know how to fix it,” your father says in a small sigh as he stands up straight.

“Wait, call Logan?” You repeat even though you know it’s dumb question and that you were just nervous to see him again since winter break.

“Yeah, Logan, you got a problem with that or something, squirt?” Your father responds slightly mockingly as he repeats your obviously odd question. You just grumble slightly under your breath.

“No, dad, just… go ahead and call em’,” you say in a sigh as the two of you stalk back towards the house. After that, it only takes half an hour before the inevitable and you see that familiar pickup pull into your driveway.

You reluctantly trail behind your dad like a clingy pup instead of a grown man to go greet Logan. You don’t miss the way he smirks with his signature cigar between his lips as he very slowly drags his eyes on your body.

“And when was I gonna find out my favorite college kid was home?” Logan asks gruffly, plucking the cigar from his lips with an outlet of smoke. His voice damn near sends shivers down your spine everytime you hear it.

You just opt for shrugging and giving him a casual smile. “Find out when you find out, I guess,” you say and of course, he lets out that little chuckle and snort that you love so much.

Logan puts his calloused, large hand out for you to greet him correctly only for him to grab your hand and pull you into him. You can’t help the small, very unmanly yelp that leaves you when he grabs you so suddenly. The smell of him hitting you so quick it damn near makes your mind spin. Cigars and ash and wood and leather and just him. Gosh, it almost drives you so crazy you barely notice the light headlock he put you in.

When you do finally notice, it definitely does not help the flare of heat in the pit of your stomach. You try to brush it off, tugging at his incredibly strong and veiny biceps with a small grin to pry him off of you. Finally, he releases you and you can’t help but take in a relieved breath.

“Still as much of a little shit as ever, kid,” Logan taunts, placing his cigar back between his lips. Lips that you wanted to feel on yours so bad. “You sure you ain’t getting smaller with each year?”

You roll your eyes for the second time that night. He knew you weren’t getting smaller. It just seemed like he was getting bigger even at his grown age. And damn, is he big. 6 feet 2 inches and 205 pounds of pure muscle. “Yeah, I’m sure, Logan,” you end up mumbling in response as you stuff your hands in your pockets.

Logan just chuckles again. “Yeah, okay,” he responds sarcastically. With another puff of smoke, he looks to your father then your bike. “So, what’s the problem, Bub?” He inquires.

You trail your father as he walks Logan over to your motorcycle. The same model he recommended years ago. You barely listen as your father explains the situation to his best friend, your eyes stuck to the man in the red flannel.

“Looks like you just need an oil change, kid. And your fuel filters clogged,” Logan says in a small grunt as he stands from his kneeling position next to your bike.

“Damn, squirt, you can’t tell when you need an oil change?” Your dad questions, pinching the bridge of his nose. You frown slightly and your brows furrow.

“I just didn’t notice, okay?” You grumble in reply.

Your father sighs before looking back at Logan. “Could ya fix it, Howlett?” Your father questions, folding his arms over his chest.

“Oh yeah, could change the oil if the kid wants. The fuel filter, on the other hand, you’re gonna have to replace the part. I’m assuming you don’t just got one layin’ around here,” Logan explains and he dusts his palms off.

“Perfect. Time for the kid to learn to do something for himself,” your father says with a grin of mock-approval. Oh, how you wish your mother was here instead. Logan just lets out a small chuckle that seems just a little bit forced. “Well, I gotta head off to work. Help Logan out, will ya? Get him whatever he needs or asks for.” Your father sighs to you.

He’s going to leave? The two of you? Alone? Does he actually want you to pass away? “Yeah, dad, I got it,” you say to cover up the way your heart almost immediately started racing. Then it was only minutes later before you were watching your father pull out of your driveway and zip down the street, leaving just you and Logan.

Logan turns to you and damn you could almost feel the way he looked at you. You nervously pull your eyes away from the street and to Logan who offers you his usual smirk when you look at him. “Get me your old man’s box, will ya?” He requests.

“Yeah, sure,” you murmur before turning and walking back towards the house to get your dad’s toolbox. And are you being paranoid or is he definitely watching you walk away?

You eventually come back with your dad’s toolbox in hand. Logan turns to you when he hears your footsteps despite them being damn near silent. He’s always so astute and aware. It scares you and somehow turns you on at the same time.

“Atta boy,” Logan says as he takes the box from you and holds it like it weighs nothing more than a bottle of water. “Thanks, kid.”

Atta boy. Gosh, what would you give to hear him say that again. “Yeah, no problem,” you respond. You can’t help but watch him for a few minutes before turning and walking back towards the house. Your father would definitely force you to stay and watch Logan so you could “actually do something right.” But thankfully and also unfortunately, he isn’t there and Logan could care less.

And for the next 45 minutes, you spend your time inside trying to distract yourself from the man outside. The man you were home alone with. You leave the door ajar just in case he needs anything which of course he doesn’t. He’s just that good, right?

You lean against your kitchen counter, feeding your cat, James, a blonde cat who is somehow more accident prone than you are, blueberries. Your mind is practically running on autopilot out of boredom. But you’re acutely aware of the sound of the front door opening and shutting. As well as the heavy footsteps coming towards the kitchen.

Logan turns the corner, his flannel gone, leaving him in just a tanktop and jeans. A tanktop that practically put all of him on display. The muscles and veins in his arms, the firmness of his chest. Specifically that vein on his right biceps that runs all the way down to his forearm.

There’s a few oil marks staining his skin, on his neck and arms and chest. A little on his cheek. How the hell did he get that dirty? Hell, not like you’d know. You hardly touch the inside of that motorcycle, willingly.

His dog tags hanging perfectly in between his pecs. How you would love to trade places with those things right now. “S’all done, Bub,” Logan tells you as he steps further into the kitchen.

“Right, yeah, thanks,” you say, reluctantly stopping your ogling to grab him a water from the fridge. Logan flicks his hands as he finishes washing them and takes the water from you. He leans against the counter across from you.

“How’s college treatin’ ya?” He inquires, watching as you feed James another piece of fruit.

“It’s okay, nothing special. I mean don’t get me wrong, it’s a nice school but it’s not like it’s Ivy League or anything,” you answer in a small shrug as you pop a blueberry into your own mouth. Logan can’t help but watch your lips and throat as you do so. His eyes shamelessly trained on you.

“Well atleast you got somethin’ going for ya,” Logan murmurs, finally looking away as he folds his arms over his chest. “Got a boyfriend waiting there too?” He asks. You give him a look. He chuckles. “Or a girlfriend.” Logan adds.

You just roll your eyes which contrasts the smile on your face. “Answers no to both,” you answer, watching James pluck the blueberry from your fingers. And Logan feels a little too happy to see that little smile on your face again.

“Really?” Logan replies, raising a brow in response. “Those little college kids to stupid to see what’s in front of em’ or something?”

You look over to him and see his little eyebrow raise, a quiet snort leaving you. “I don’t know. I just don’t talk to people like that. Hard to be seen when you’re acting invisible, y’know?” You say nonchalantly.

“Gotta put yourself out there one day, Bub,” Logan sighs. “Can’t keep comin’ back to this place and just hoping for it.” You watch him as he speaks and you can’t help the way your eyes repeatedly drop down to the soot on his muscles. You gotta get those stains off before you go nuts.

“It’s more of a choice than anything,” you tell him as you turn and grab a clean rag from one of the lower cabinets. Logan’s sharp eyes follow you as you move around the kitchen. “People there just don’t really “impress” me.” You add as you wet the rag with warm water.

“Oh, boys there ain’t good enough for you, huh?” Logan questions teasingly, that grin returning to his face. You step in front of him and hold out the damp rag to him. Logan silently gestures to his skin in response.

You swallow and suddenly, your heart is beating a million beats a minute. Your eyes fall from his to his chest and neck as you slowly reach the rag to his skin. “Nah,” you finally answer lowly as you begin to gently scrub at his skin. “All the way in university and still ain’t mature enough.” You mutter, watching the oil stains fade away under the rag.

Logan’s eyes are low as he looks down at you, his eyes trained on your face and lips as you speak and wipe him down. “Oh right, not mature enough f’ya,” Logan murmurs. “Need an older guy to take care of you… don’t ya?”

Your hand pauses on his chest and your eyes move back up to his. A swirl of desire and need mixing in his dark eyes. His gaze alone almost makes you shutter. “Yeah… think I do,” I say in a slightly hoarse whisper.

Not knowing what else to do, you let out a barely there breath and raise the rag, going to swipe at some of the stains on his cheeks. Your heart almost stops in your chest when he grabs your wrist instead. His other hand comes up to grab your jaw, forcing you to keep your eyes on him.

“And what would your old man think about that, huh?” Logan questions lowly, his breath fanning your lips. You part your lips to answer but your words get caught in Logan’s rough lips. Your whole body tenses up for a moment before immediately melting into him.

You let him hold you, you let him push you back into the other counter behind you. You let him slip his tongue into your mouth, the taste of his earlier cigar still lingering. But it only serves to make you weaker. You groan into his mouth as his large hand suddenly slips from your wrist to your crotch, squeezing you through your sweatpants.

“School got you all pent up, yeah?” Logan asks in a huff of a breath as he just barely pulls away from your lips. Once again, he steals your lips before you can answer. Palming you through your sweatpants while his tongue explores every inch of your mouth.

He’s not wrong. It’s been just you and your hand for months now. And somehow Logan just barely touching you through your sweats is better than any night of you fucking your fist.

You can’t help but whine into his mouth when he pulls away, his hand running over your hips and waist instead. But the feeling of him pressing himself against you in his jeans quickly silences your whines. His half-erect cock grinding against your as he rolls his hips. Logan pulls back in a low groan, a thin shiny string of saliva connecting your kiss-swollen lips.

“Been thinking ‘bout you since winter, Bub. Y’know that? Pretty ass been on my mind for fucking months,” Logan says to you in a heavy breath as he swipes his thumb over your bottom lip. You just look up at him, still in slight shock at it all but your mind falling prey to the pleasure and want.

“What? You wanna do something about that?” You question quietly, your voice not matching your smug and suggestive words.

Logan smirks down at you a bit. “Damn right,” he answers, his hand on your chin shifting to your hair as he grabs a fistful of it and tilts your head to the side. His hips rolling against your again as he sinks his teeth into neck. His name falling from your lips in a whimper.

Your hand subconsciously falls to his belt, weakly trying to still his hips against yours which of course doesn’t work. Logan pulls his teeth from your neck while simultaneously guiding your hand down from his belt to the growing bulge in his jeans.

“Feel that, pretty boy? Feel what you’re doing t’me?” Logan mutters against your bruising skin. And you do feel him. A lot of him. It made you lose your breath further while shooting sparks of further arousal to your gut. “Wanna help me out, Bub? Little favor for changin’ your oil?” He requests as he sucks at your flesh, hungrily and greedily.

You move almost immediately to your knees. Breath shaking as he backs up just a bit to look down at you. A devilish grin covering his face. “Well, aren’t you just an obedient little thing,” he comments as one of his hands finds his belt, the other still in your hair.

Your heart pounding in your ears as you watch his belt unbuckle, as he unbuttons his jeans and zips them down. Your mouth damn-near watering as he tugs down his pants and boxers just enough for his dick to spring free. And oh, your jaw is going to be aching for hours.

“Look at you, all cock-thirsty. Nobody been givin’ you any attention, huh?” Logan says as he pumps himself a few times, gently guiding your head to his already leaking tip. He doesn’t have to ask before you part your lips. Maybe it was a little pathetic how quickly you dropped for him. But you couldn’t care less at the moment.

You let him sit himself on your tongue and he just basks in the view. A bit of his pre dripping onto the pink muscle. That sight alone pushed him further, pushing his hips forward until he was almost buried in your throat to the hilt. “Damn, pretty boy, you done this before or something?” Logan groans before he’s moving.

His hand in your hair keeping your head still as he begins fucking your throat. You try to keep the tears from glossing up in your eyes as he hits the back of your throat but you can’t. He doesn’t mind.

“Fuck, how has nobody claimed this perfect throat yet? Taking me so fucking well,” Logan grunts, staring right down into your glossy eyes. You let out a choked whimper around him in reply, the vibrations of the sound going straight to Logan’s cock, making his eyes fall shut as he sucks in a sharp breath. “Right, can’t answer with your mouth full of dick, can you?”

Another muffled whimper which results in him tugging on your hair. “Guess your old man was wrong, huh?” Logan pants over the sound of his balls lewdly hitting your chin, a mix of his pre and your own drool slicking the skin. “You did learn to do somethin’ useful. Damn good cock-sucker.”

Your hands hold onto his thighs as he repeatedly stuffs your face to the hilt, his fat tip kissing the back of your throat. Your nails dig into his skin through his jeans only for his eyes to roll in response. A hoarse and gruff “oh fuck” slipping through his teeth. “Been doing this for those college boys? That how you brought your little grade back up?” Logan questions roughly as he looks down to you.

Such a pretty sight you are. Eyes watering, lashes glistening, mouth full, and your lips a wet mess of your fluids.

“Mmm,” your denial doesn’t leave as words, just muffled choked sounds. A small smirk grows on Logan’s face.

“No? Ain’t that a shocker. You’d— shit— you’d make some good fucking money. Sucking cock for cash, clearly doesn't take much to get you to anyways,” Logan says, almost taunting you with his words. Taunting how fast you got on your knees for him.

You can only respond by pressing your tongue flaccid against his cock, feeling his veins pulse over the muscle. Only for him to tug on your hair when you swirl your tongue over his tip. “Fine by me,” Logan says, his voice breaking into a breathy moan. “Pretty little throat is all mine.”

You feel your own hard-on twitch in your pants at that. The idea of being all his. Even if it’s just for the summers and winters. Logan doesn’t miss the way you take him in more greedily, the way you keep letting him glide across your tongue, the way your breathing just barely steadies when you finally find a rhythm.

“Yeah? You like that idea, Bub? Being all mine?” Logan says strained, the snap of his hips growing sloppy and stuttering. All you can do is let out a muffled groan around him, staring up at him with your big eyes as the tears finally slip over. They only worsen their streams as Logan pushes your head down, giving you hardly any room to breathe as his cock twitches and he cums down your throat.

He doesn’t let you go until you’re digging your nails into his thighs again and he finally lets go of your hair. You pull away and practically gasp for the breath you lost. Coughing and heaving and sniffling as dribbles of his release rolling down your chin, followed by your tears.

“You okay down there, Bub? Too much?” Logan asks as he chases his own breath.

“No, no, i—i'm okay,” you manage to get out as you wipe at the tears and your slick chin. Logan’s low eyes drop to the tent in your sweatpants between your legs. His eyes then pull back up to yours.

“What time does your old man get off?”

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goldenstring6123 · 11 months ago

Note

HIIIYAAAYAYA I LOVE YOUR WRITING SO MUCH AND I LOOK FORWARD TO EVERY SINGLE PIECE YOU RELEASE!!! YOU HAVE ME CHECKING YOUR PAGE 24/7 IM OBSESSEDDD 🫦🫦 ANYWHO ignore my fawning but how do you think the lads boys would react to a suuuuper clingy gf??? idk but if i were mc i would NOT be leaving their side and would literally be glued onto their body like mc is a strong soldier for resisting (especially rafayel my HUSBAND 😩) literally wanna just curl up in their lap and carve myself into their ribcage so they can never escape from me tehe. ALSOOO U DON’T GOTTA RESPOND IF UR BUSY OR UNCOMFY!!!! JUST KNOW I LOVE YOU AND YOUR DELICIOUS WRITING 🫶🫶

Lnds: Sticky little lover

Warning: vaguely suggestive, mentions of hickeys, fem!reader, clingy!reader, reader may or may not be the mc, there might be spelling mistakes, I haven't proofread yet.

Author's note: Awieee thank u sm pookie! I understand the feeling of wanting to latch onto the LIs~

Zayne:

Zayne wakes up with you on his chest, your leg over his crotch, and your arm across his stomach. To him, you were like a weighted stuffed toy and a weighted blanket, all at the same time. He wasn't complaining; maybe it was an excuse to stay in bed for another half an hour.

The bathroom is big enough for the two of you, with two wash basins, a separate shower, and a bathtub. There are three bathrooms in the house, but you always choose the one he uses. He's complained once, but you said you didn't like the interior design of the others. Side by side, you brush your teeth and comb your hair while he shaves and flosses. If you wake up earlier than usual, maybe he'll let you moisturize and exfoliate his face. It's no surprise Zayne leaves the bathroom door open for you. It's just normal for both of you to cross paths in the large bathroom.

When he leaves for work, you never miss a day to kiss his nose and give him a quick peck. You embrace him with two arms, but he hugs you back with one, the other hand holding his bag. You don't mind.

Your message gallery is filled with pictures of your mundane life: a snapshot of a book you're reading, the new coffee you tried, the little teacup Maltese that reminded you of him. Even though he's busy, he always finds time to react, and if he doesn't, he brings up the picture when you pick him up at the end of the day. He never forgets.

Calm days are spent in each other's presence. You always cling to him in one way or another. While he's reading a book, your feet are on his lap, and his fingers unknowingly knead your ankles. While watching a movie, your shoulders touch, and your hands are intertwined. When you react to the film, his hand, still holding yours, follows your movements.

Dates are always fun. It doesn't matter where you go or what you do as long as Zayne's in your company. Cafe dates are cute, but Zayne always calls you out for staring at him with a weird look in your eyes—you were admiring him. Whenever you walk, you cling to him, wrapping yourself around his forearm while playfully weighing him down. He stumbles for a second but smiles.

You love leaving hickeys on him, even bite marks if he allows, but the rule is never above the collar of his shirt. You oblige 97% of the time. The other 3%, you sneak in a light hickey that passes off as a mosquito bite, just peeking through the collar of his dress shirt. Sometimes, there's one behind his ear, barely visible. He never knows, but the doctors and patients at the hospital do.

When you're apart, you always call him and go about your day. At night, you video call and try to stay awake, only to snooze off. Zayne chuckles at your attempts to wash the tiredness away, but sometimes, he falls asleep with you. In the morning, both of your phones end up overheating and out of battery.

Zayne loves your company, to others it may seem trouble some but with you, it was adorable. It's through your clingyness that he experiences feelings he never once did before, and those little things always brighten his day. You actions with him makes him feel more loved and he knows he has a hard time expressing them but with you around, it had become more and more easier.

Rafayel:

They say opposites attract, but you and Rafayel are the universal exception.

Rafayel doesn't like it when you're late. Even for a home-date, he fusses about being left alone too long and feeling abandoned. You laugh at his whining over text and enter his door. When he sees you, he jumps off the couch and pouts, "Finally, it took you long enough."

You're like magnets to each other. Wherever one goes, the other follows. If you're cooking ramen in the kitchen, Rafayel sneaks behind you, hugging your back and sniffing your hair. If he's watering flowers in the greenhouse, you sit nearby and watch a ladybug on a leaf. If he's painting, you're reading on a nearby couch. Rafayel's residence is too big for one person but just enough for two.

Rafayel whines when you do something without him, especially if it's something he wants to do. You once took a flower arrangement class without him, and he sulked, "Wow, you didn't even think to tell me? I wanted to do that with you." Even watching movies is hard because you need to pause and wait for him whenever he leaves the room. One time, you finished a mystery series without him, and he ate the tiramisu you were saving for dessert in revenge.

Matching clothes is a thing. He avoids tacky prints but opts for complementary outfits. Because of this, Rafayel buys clothes with you in mind, often choosing items with a feminine counterpart. His shoe closet and yours are practically the same, and you don't complain because Rafayel has good fashion taste.

You love cute matching items. You once bought a two-piece mug set with a heart design, and he took the other one without you knowing. He also took a keychain from your collection, matching the one you have in your wallet.

"Are you tired of me now?" he asks when you keep your distance, avoiding a hug. It's the middle of summer, and the AC is broken. You reek of sweat, and the last thing you want is to be touched. You sigh and pat his back, "After I take a bath, I'll give you all the hugs you want."

He asks about your plans every morning, almost as a ritual. You've gotten used to replying while getting ready. If both schedules permit, he joins you for grocery runs, laundry, or whatever mundane tasks you have. You make good use of him, letting him carry the bags even if you could do it yourself.

When Rafayel is at an exhibit, you bombard him with texts: jokes, articles, or random thoughts. He replies quickly, hiding from the audience, bored out of his mind. In return, he sends you pictures of his artwork, which you threaten to sell online as digital files. He blocks you for a good five minutes.

You're each other's wallpaper. Surprisingly, Rafayel asked to do it. You spent hours finding the perfect pose and recreating trending ones. Rafayel insisted on multiple retakes.

You were rafayel's missing piece. To him, you were the only thing that he has ever wanted in his life. He loved you dearly and a part of him was terrified that you don't reciprocate the same level of love as he does to you; but lo and behold, fate has given him a blessing after all those years of loneliness. His heart swoons at the very sight of your actions. You were clingy, that was factually true but the same goes for him. Nothing makes him more fulfilled than seeing you both think and love in the same wavelength.

Sylus:

His base has become your home. On days off, you often find yourself in one of three rooms: his bedroom, where you lie on his bed, tapping away on your phone or laptop; his kitchen, where the chef cooks whatever you want in exchange for listening to his stories from his little village; or the lobby, where Luke and Kieran update you on the most boring things in the building. Sylus doesn't mind at all; it's less work for Mephisto, and he can keep an eye on you.

Sylus's sleep schedule is the same as that of those in Linkon City. His days begin in the evenings, often leaving you lying in the big bed alone. Sylus is nearby or at his desk if he's not out on the streets. You like hugging his pillow because it smells like his 3-in-1 shampoo. If he's out on late-night trips, you selfishly steal his shirt from the closet, wear it on the pillow, and hug that to sleep, forcing yourself to be satisfied with what you got.

His lap is your chair. It doesn't matter where he's sitting; you always find yourself on him. Sylus sometimes complains about his thighs going numb, but when you leave, he yanks you back, positioning you between his legs, with your butt on the chair instead of his thigh. He goes back to his work as if nothing happened, occasionally sparing you a kiss on the forehead or rubbing his face against yours. If not, you shower his chest and neck with light pecks before snuggling into the crook of his neck.

His biceps are nice to the touch. On dates to the city, while waiting in line, you squeeze his muscles for entertainment, even through his thick leather jacket. He flexes for a minute before relaxing, amused at how easily you entertain yourself.

The boyfriend shirt phenomenon is common. You don't leave the base wearing his clothes, but you certainly walk around the area in them. Whether a turtleneck, a black blouse, or just a plain shirt, you're always wearing his clothes, even in his company.

You're an eccentric one, thats for sure. Sylus never truly got ahold of how you managed to change from being so distant to practically being glued to him. It was like he partnered up with a whole new different person. He wasn't complaining at all if anything, he found it admirable and a part of him was quietly relieved that time did all the adjusting between you and him. Despite being a bit too fussy at times, he'd be more than willing to compromise if that's what makes you happy.

Xavier:

You always steal his hoodies. They're big, soft, and smell like him, so you have two or three at home. Xavier scratches his head when he notices bare hangers in his closet. When you visit, he finally sees what's missing. No matter how many hoodies and jackets he buys for you, you always get your hands on his, almost becoming a problem. Now, he rotates his jackets, giving them to you on schedule.

Xavier's hair is too soft to be human. When he's on your lap, you massage his scalp and fidget with the ends of his silver hair. If you have hair elastics and a cute clip nearby, he ends up with his hair tied up or braided. He needs your help to take it off because it's too painful for him to do alone. Oops?

You prefer sitting beside him rather than across from him at a table. He didn't understand at first because he wanted to face you when eating. But when he's beside you, he slowly gets it. You like touching him one way or another. You enjoy your elbows touching or your thighs grazing each other. It's also convenient to lean slightly and rest your head on his shoulder.

Xavier loves bathing with you. The bathtub in his apartment is big enough for both. He likes the smell of your bath bombs and is sometimes fascinated by the toys or mini jewelry inside. Your back always presses against him, and he willingly holds you. On more stressful days, you light candles and open some cheap wine to enjoy in rose-covered water.

He's riddled with bite marks, even when not having sex. He's dozing off when you suddenly find his arm or leg appetizing. He jolts awake and tries to shake your grip, but it's too tight. When you've had enough, he stares at your work of art and wipes his saliva-coated limb. You grin, watching him wipe your fluids. Because of the frequency, he rarely lets his consciousness drift away when his bare arms and legs are around you.

When bathing alone, you use his shampoo instead of yours. It's surprising he doesn't use all-in-one shampoo and body wash; he uses baby shampoo. When confronted, he shrugs, saying it does the job, and recalls you like playing with his hair. His perfume and powder are also for babies.

In the eyes of Xavier, you were adorable even if your actions were questionable. You were cute, and he never once thought that your actions were a burden or suffocating. The things you do, the way you speak they were all precious in his eyes and Xavier understands that this was you way of showing your love for him. Because of that, he tolerates you every time you bite him.

Your gallery is full of his pictures. Candid photos you secretly take daily. Your favorite is when his cheeks are full of food, resembling a hamster. You take pictures when he's asleep, using you as a pillow. Sometimes, you're both looking at the camera, making random faces.

Author footnotes: I'm sorry if these were pretty general. I'm not the clingy type so I don't know how these type of people act but I wrote it with the things I observed from films and tiktok lol

Layout by me, using Canva premium | Do not repost |

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tpwk-formula1 · 6 months ago

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Hi! I love the pizzeria so much <333 I was wondering if I could get a thin crust pizza (sainz!reader) with red sauce, shallots, gorgonzola, egg, and ricotta. For a drink i’d like diet pepsi and redbull. I would like dessert & to be served by Lando <3 thank you!!!

Lee-Lee's Pizzeria Menu

Lando x Sainz!reader

AN: IM BACKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!! Get ready bitches! Better buckle up and get ready to join the new and improved Whore house! While I cannot promise a 100% perfect schedule I do intend to do my best to follow the schedule! I hope everyone had an amazing holiday season and is finally able to relax a bit!

TW: unprotected sex, PinV, oral (f receiving), quickie, multiple orgasms, overstimulation

WC: 1.6K

thin crust brothers best friend red sauce rough sex shallots "I love marking you up. Let everyone know I own you" gorgonzola "Are you always this fucking loud?" egg "Why so needy?" ricotta "I love your voice but it's always my favorite when you're moaning my name" diet pepsi biting red bull hickeys dessert yes served by Lando Norris

Y/N POV

"Lando come on," I whisper while pulling his arm towards the back of the vacation home we would be staying in for the New Years.

This year my entire family has decided to join Lando and I's friends on our annual trip to Dubai for New Years and they have successfully managed to give Lando and I absolutely no alone time.

It's New Years Eve early in the morning and I woke up to find out my family has decided to go play a round of gold while the girls went to the shops.

"Why so needy?" Lando asks with a small smirk making me whine and continue pulling him towards our room.

"Lando I haven't gotten you alone other than to sleep since we got here and before that we were in England with your family, I need you!" I say while pulling him into our room and pushing him onto the bed.

"Please baby," I whine climbing into his lap and pulling his mouth to mine. When I feel Lando's arms wrap around my waist and rest his hands on my hips giving me a rough squeeze I start grinding down into Lando's crotch making both of us gasp and moan out from the stimulation neither of us had gotten in far too long.

"Fuck," Lando groans out when I start trailing my kisses from his mouth down to his neck where I allow my teeth to sink into the side of his neck making him roll his eyes back from the pleasure.

I leave a small hickey behind before I sit back up slightly and pull Lando's shirt off of his body.

"Fuck, you're so hot," I groan when I finally see the tanned chest I've been missing.

"We gotta be quick," Lando groans pulling me back in for a kiss while he makes quick work of taking off my shirt which is actually just one of Lando's Quadrant hoodies.

Once my bare chest is revealed to Lando he quickly attaches his mouth to one of my stiffened nipples giving it a little suck before sinking his teeth down making me throw my head back with a moan.

"Oh fuck," I moan when I feel Lando soothing out the slight sting by running his tongue along the freshly bitten skin.

While Lando is using his mouth to tease my nipples I reach my hands between our bodies and work to unbutton the buttons of his jeans and unzipping them just enough to sneak my hand inside and pull out his already throbbing member.

"Fuck baby," Lando gasps pulling his mouth away from my tits only to to go and burry his face into my neck finding my sweet spot with no problems before bitting down and leaving his teeth marks behind.

"Lando!" I chastize even though I had just done the same to him.

"What can I say, I love marking you up. Let everyone know I own you." Lando says with a smirk making me jokingly roll my eyes before pulling him by the neck back in for another kiss.

Lando softly pushes me off his lap and tells me to finish getting undressed making me rush to finish pulling off my sweats and soaked through thong while Lando did the same with his jeans and boxers.

Once Lando and I were naked he pulls me into him by my hips before planting his mouth back onto mine. I moan softly into the kiss while Lando lifts me into his arms letting me wrap my legs aground his waist where he walks up back to the bed and ,says me down, Once my back softly hits the mattress Lando brings his mouth back down to mine where he starts trailing kisses from my mouth down to my neck where I can feel him leaving a few light hickeys behind before he finally brings his mouth close to where I've been waiting all week to feel him.

"Please Lan. I need you so bad," I whine out making Lando smirk softly at my begging.

"Quite the desperate little thing aren't ya," Lando says with a smirk only making a small while in protests and trying to pull him closer by the grip I have on his curls but to no aveil I have to wait until Lando brings his mouth to where I need him and when he finally licks a long soft strip from my dripping hole to my throbbing clit the sound I let out can only be explained as animalistic.

"Yes," I cry out when I feel Lando start lapping at my clit with more intent.

"Fuck, you taste so good," Lando groans into my clit making me moan loudly at the new vibrations being sent straight to my clit.

"Lando, I'm gonna cum," I cry out when I feel him plunge two thick fingers deep into my pussy.

"Go on, cum for me pretty girl," Lando says fucking his fingers into me harder while stille using his tongue to tease my clit.

I can't help the loud moan that leaves my mouth when I start to cum all over Lando's fingers and mouth.

"Oh fuck, fuck Lan, so good," I breath while squirming my hips away from his relentless mouth, feeling the overstimulation start to take over just a bit.

"Lan, too much," I cry out trying to push his away softly but it only makes Lando chuckle a little before holding my hips down harder allowing himself to continue to feast on my pussy without fear of me being able to squirm away.

When Lando has finally got his fix he slowly pulls away from my overly sensitive pussy before bringing his slick covered mouth to mine and planting a wet kiss.

I let out a softly moan when I taste myself on Lando's lips which only makes him giggle softly.

"I thought you said we have to be quick," I tease even though I was not complaining in any capacity,

"I couldn't help it. I haven't gotten a waste is a week," Lando whispers whichs make me smirk softly.

"Why so needy," I teasingly mock the words Lando used on my earlier. Lando just cocks and eyebrow before pinching my hip as a teasing warning.

Lando grabs his hard cock in his hand and runs it through my folds before pushing deep into my pussy making me cry out at the feeling of being filled up.

"Oh fuck Lando," I cry out when I feel Lando start rocking his hips into mine bringing in just enough stimulation for me to feel him filling me up but not enough to bring me close to an orgasm.

"I love your voice but it's always my favorite when you're moaning my name," Lando mumbles against my lips before he starts thrusting his hips in and out of my pussy making me cry out even louder at the stimulation.

Once Lando can tell my pussy has adjusted to his size he starts thrusting his hips harder and faster making me scream out.

"Fuck, so fucking tight," Lando grunts keeping the same rough pace.

"Fuck," I cry out when I can feel another orgasm starting to build deep within my stomach.

"Are you always this fucking loud?" Lando teases only fucking into me harder knowing how close I am to falling over the edge.

"Lando!" I moan out loudly only making Lando smirk given me proving him right.

"I'm gonna cum," I cry out making Lando snake a hand between our bodies and start playing with my clit throwing me over the edge with a cry.

"Fuck, feels so good," Lando grunts letting his hips shutter a bit before burying deep and filling my cunt with his cum.

"Fuck," Lando groans while riding his own pleasure out before slowly slipping out of my pussy and climbing out of bed after placing a quick kiss on my cheek.

When Lando returns only a minute later he now has a pair of clean boxers on and a warm rag he starts softly wiping me down before discarding it somewhere on the other side of the room. He quickly picks me up and brings me into the bathroom before sitting me on the toilet and letting me do my business while he left me alone.

When he returned I was standing in front of the mirror naked brushing my teeth and finally allowing myself to get ready for the rest of the day.

"I love your family, but fucking hell, that was far too long," Lando says while wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling my back into his chest.

"I agree," I say with a soft smile while I watched Lando through the mirror unwrap his arms and grab the clothes he had grabbed while he left me do my business.

Lando helps me dress in the outfit he picked out which consisted of a pair of HIS favorite jeans on me and a simple cropped baby tee.

We both notice the matching marks on both of our necks but neither of us choose to do something to cover them knowing sooner or later someone was bound to see them, might as well speed it up.

We barely make it into the hallway when my brother rounds the corner.

"Ew... and cover that before papa sees that and kills the boy," Carlos said while shaking his head but still placing a soft kiss on the top of my head. Something he's done since I was born.

"Love you too, loser." I laugh while shaking my head and walking into the common area where I find my mom chastising my dad for not wearing sunscreen.

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homemadesterekpie · 8 months ago

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im forever obsessed with the idea of Stiles and Derek being together in secret. not because they’re actively hiding it but more because their respective lives can’t seem to merge together.

Stiles is still in school trying to keep his grades up and keep up appearances of the imperfect/perfect son with his dad while Derek is living in the burnt out shell of his childhood home like some kind of depressing episode of bushcraft camping.

they’re both damaged and somehow they’re the only ones who can see that about eachother.

they save eachother’s lives one too many times and it ends up with Stiles giving Derek his virginity and his entire heart in the process while Derek’s entire fucking soul howls for Stiles. he wants to mark him and to claim him and to keep and hide him forever so they’ll both be safe.

but Stiles only stays the night in Derek’s burnt out den when his dad works the graveyard shift and reluctantly leaves in the early hours of the morning to go home to get ready for school.

it gets harder and harder for Stiles to leave every time he spends time with Derek. he’s not sure what it means about him that he’d rather stay with Derek in this broken haunted place.

he just knows that at least here he feels alive and he doesn’t have to pretend, he can just be who he is or at least who he’s become. this needy wanton thing that seem to never be satisfied with what Derek is willing to give him. Derek gives him an inch and Stiles wants a mile but somehow Derek indulges him every single time. and when they’re both close so close they both whisper promises to eachother they aren’t even sure they’ll be able to keep but it doesn’t matter. what matters is that after when Derek’s head is pillowed on Stiles’ chest, the both of them breathing hard with Stiles’ fingers playing with Derek’s dark hair, they both know the truth.

they’ll never be able to stop whatever this is.

Stiles can’t sleep alone anymore, his own bed feeling foreign. he can barely keep up with conversations that aren’t Derek’s words, his mind always drifting to the wolf and wondering where he is, what he’s doing, should he go see him on his lunch break?

Derek roams the woods at all hours whenever Stiles isn’t with him. he starts following him to school, to his house, to the god damn grocery store just to watch him.

somehow no one truly notices how reclusive they both become until it’s too late. they’re in way too deep and there’s no going back.

when people finally realize/find out about them they’re too codependent and entwined with eachother to even care about the reactions.

Stiles’ dad kind of blows a gasket because how the fuck did he not see it? does he even know his son at all? meanwhile, Scott has a one sided screaming match while Stiles looks at nothing.

the sheriff visits Derek at the shell of his home and confronts him. Derek’s face is hard and closed off the entire time but he acknowledges that him and Stiles have something. but he also knows how hollow Stiles truly feels from the neglect the sheriff imposed upon Stiles when his mom died and that’s not something Derek is inclined to forgive and he also knows this isn’t his place to tell. Stiles will tell his father what and when he wants to share. so he tells the sheriff to go talk to his son.

the sheriff looks absolutely distraught at that because he realizes he doesn’t even know how. Stiles have slipped through his fingers and become this unreachable being. he isn’t the person Stiles trusts anymore. the strange man living in the woods standing in front of him has more claim to his son than his own father does at this point.

a few hours later, Stiles drives up the long dirt path to Derek but this time he has a packed duffel bag with him and his eyes are red and puffy. Derek just takes the bag from him and takes his hand and pulls him to the mattress they use as a bed. they lie down and Derek holds him as he cries.

he’s not going back home. he doesn’t want to go back home anymore. he’s graduating in a couple weeks he doesn’t have to go home. can he stay here? please Derek can i stay here with you please please? Derek just kisses him softly in response because even if he wanted to he could never say no to Stiles, not when he’s like this, so fragile and on the verge of breaking completely.

Stiles sleeps better that night than he has in months. he graduates. he doesn’t apply to college but he’ll think about it next year. for now, him and Derek are busy building themselves a cabin with a huge garden. they work during the day at their own pace and at night they make love.

all in all it’s good, it’s peaceful and it’s more than enough.

#so i have no idea how this came to be #tongue by miss anhedonia (aka ethel cain) was on repeat and this happened #sterek #eternalsterek #my writing #personal

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masochistkatsuki · 7 months ago

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Team Player - Sticky Situation

Pt 2 ← Pt 3 → Masterlist

Without a doubt, Sero was your second best friend. It used to be Katsuki, but after a stunt surrounding him in your second year, you ironically ended up becoming closer to Hanta instead.

This also happened to be the first night you and Sero started your ongoing 'game.' Sero wasn't going to be an issue in this challenge, the tension has been waiting to be released anyway.

Throughout the night, you heard a lot of, in the lightest way possible, obscene noises. In the morning, no one but you, Mina, and Kirishima knew what they were, or that theyd even happened. It turns out, when you're crazy fucking drunk, you usually end up passing out as soon as you reach a mattress.

While everyone was asleep, Eijirou learnt hands on how to fuck, then immediately went on to deploy those skills. He really didn't waste time. But to be fair, that is what you were betting on.

Jirou and Katsuki had morning shifts, and were thankfully stable enough to leave the house after some care from you. Youd originally brought all the pain meds for yourself, but of course you'll help friends in need no matter what.

Katsuki had a scraped knuckle, when he got up to leave, he was hoping you wouldn't notice. Of course, unfortunately for him, it was the first thing you noticed and quickly stopped him. "Hey !! Thats totally going to get infected if it's not taken care of, are you crazy ?"

He stopped and scowled. Even if you weren't as close in your first year and part of the second, you two were still very perceptive and understanding of what the other had going on. "Piss off, I'm going back to my place and I'll figure it out." He went to leave, but -

"Oh no you don't, Katsuki." You knew hed just shower, pick any extra skin or scabs off, then go to work. "Shower here real quick, then im going to fix that for you." He groaned. You acted like such a mom sometimes.

After a bunch of bickering, light punches and explosions to each other, Katsuki left just 20 minutes before Kirishima and Mina left on their own. What they were probably off and doing doesn't really need to be fully described.. You can definitely guess. As for Kaminari, he was trying to crash and play xbox on Sero's couch, but he ended up getting kicked out immediately.

By 8 am, everyone was out of the house but you and Sero. "Oh um.." You awkwardly looked around. "Should I go too ?" Maybe you shouldve reconsidered how easy Sero would be, this was way more nerve wracking than you'd thought.

Was it ? Or we're you just preparing for the inevitable interrogation.. one youve been slacking off on, you still knew barely nothing about your .. more difficult friends.

"So.. Wanna explain what you and Mina are doing this time ?" He grinned down at you, head resting on his palm. He sat at the kitchen table, clearly intending for you to sit down.

You looked around, as if checking no one was there even though everyone had definitely left. A sigh escaped your lips, and you eventually sat down. Hopefully Mina would understand, but there was just no keeping anything from Sero.

You two had been some of the closest friends since October of your second year. Since the Bakusquad threw that Halloween get-together with them and a few select other friends. From then on out, if you weren't with Mina, you were with Sero.

It started when, stupidly, enough, you fell for Katsuki. It was pitiful, really. You only told Sero, not even Mina. Truthfully, you'd liked him since your first year. Kirishima was hot, but really just a coverup so you wouldn't have to be embarrassed about liking someone who obviously didn't like you. Mina had a special place in your heart, but she had a habit of playing cupid when not needed. You knew the only way she wouldn't intervene was if you mentioned someone she secretly liked.

But, as we all know, Bakugou wasn't easy to like. It was a difficult task feeling so strongly about him in private. Throughout your whole first year, he was snappy and rude, often trying to turn your positivity into pessimism. Though he grew a lot, and protected you many times, and helped you train and gave you honest points and dare you say compliments ? You knew he cared, he just didn't show it that well at first. But any deeper emotional stuff just wasn't an option, and you understood that.

In your second year, he was much softer around the edges. He was still the same smart ass, and egotistical explosive teen, but there was a sense of self awareness and restraint to it. He started learning how to dial it back when possible, but his temper remained when pushed or with people he didnt know. Even so, you continued to admire his effort.

And still, your feelings so stupidly remained. Even when he pushed you away, or acted like he didn't know you, you just couldn't dial it back. So, in a cliche highschool move, you plotted to make him jealous.

In hindsight, its just a funny story to laugh about with Sero, an inside joke if anything. But in the moment, it felt like a whole secret operation. As if this was what all your training was meant for !

At the get together, you wore the cutest but most tempting, tight black dress. It hugged you perfectly, and was accompanied by soft squeezing thigh highs, striped orange and black, like a classic witch. Anyone with eyes was looking at you atleast twice.

You and Sero agreed to hang out the night, and after a few drinks, when you were sure Katsuki was looking, get up all close and flirty. It seemed simple enough, up until then, you hadn't felt that much attraction to him. You only had to fake it for a few hours.

But in a twisted turn of luck, the very same night you specifically were meant to feign attraction, you suddenly, and genuinely felt it. Who knew Sero Hanta could look this fucking good ? Obviously he was hot, lanky, muscular, a damn future Pro ! But youd always just seen him as your fortnite duo or the guy who always arrived everywhere in baggy t-shirts and basketball shorts.

So why the fuck was he suddenly showing off now ? His hair was pulled up into a loose ponytail, spare strands framing his face angelically. He had a black compression shirt on, purposely displaying how hard his chest and abs were. To top it off, he had the iconic grey sweats, hanging off his hips slightly, showing off his v line and happy trail. Holy shit. Hanta Sero is so fucking hot.

Maybe it was apart of the plan, maybe it wasnt, but you and Sero stayed together the whole night. According to Mina, you looked 'real good together'. Coincidentally, you two happened to be getting real close and flirty anyway.

It started with you feeding each other shots. It was easier for Sero, as he was a good amount taller than you. His hands, bigger and stronger, though it made sense with his quirk, traced over your jaw, before he tilted your chin up and poured a shot of vodka down your throat. Fuck, this was way more intimate than you expected it to be. The burn in your inner thighs only felt lighter when you drank down the hard liquid.

Mistakenly, you thought that it couldn't get more sensual than that, right ? Of course, you were wrong. In the process of figuring out how you'd get your shot down Sero's mouth, he got onto his knees in front of you. Holy fuck.

Your hand subconsciously held his cheek, holding his face up to yours. His head was resting against your midriff, while his arms wrapped around your waist. He looked way too pathetic like this for his own good. "I have a better idea, Hanta." Little did you know, Katsuki did notice the encounter, and you leaving with Sero right after. His knuckle was white with his grip against the telltale red solo cup, but no one seemed to notice as he said nothing.

In your dorm, meticulously decorated to your interests and hobbies, you laid yourself down on your bed. Hanta stood above you, arm covering his mouth as a blush crept through. Whatever you had in mind, it was instantly going to his lower regions, the outline of his dick heavy in his sweats. "Im on board."

You laughed, taking in how usually calm and cool Sero was frantically looking around in intervals after staring at your laid out body. "I havent even told you what I was thinki-"

He rested his head against your stomach again, hands comfortably grabbing at your thighs and hips. "I want to do it." He hummed against your tummy, slightly blowing into it, forcing a laugh out of you. Well, it wasnt like you didnt want to do it, for fucks sake, it was your idea. You figured, Katsuki was never looking at you anyway, you might as well have fun with someone who did.

That's how you ended up letting Sero strip your tiny black dress off you, leaving yourself exposed on your bed, dressed only in a matching black lingerie set, (a cute outfit always needs cuter underwear !) and your Halloween thigh highs. Hanta couldnt have looked happier.

You took out your handle of Vodka, and poured a stripe down from in-between your boobs, to your pantyline. You looked up at Sero, who was watching from above, his palm flat against his bulge. "Heres your shot, Hanta."

So yea, you were supposed to make Katsuki jealous, but the way Sero slid his tongue underneath your panties slightly before going back up, dragging it slowly across your abdomen, tracing the muscle against your underboob, before finishing the shot at your sternum, sucking right as he released his mouth from your body felt like too much. But it was apart the plan ! For the greater purpose ! .. Huh, where have I heard that before ?

So, how, were you supposed to not tell Sero the truth ? The tension never ended between you two, and he was looking at you like he was about to eat you whole. You finally had a reason to fuck Sero without seeming weak for dick. It was time to use it.

After explaining the whole situation to Sero, he just seemed to smirk wider. "Well that explains a lot. Like all the heinous sounds. You guys always forget how thin my walls are."

You choked on the off brand fruity pebbles he served you a moment ago-- he heard ?! "Excuse you ?" You looked at him suspiciously. He should've been passed out.

"Im a heavy weight but a light sleeper. Besides, I stayed somewhat sober because I was trying to figure out why Bakugou and Kirishima were Fighting" He crossed his arms, bulky elbows shamelessly knocking against the table.

"Okay, okay. I got it- Hold on, Fighting ?" You looked at him confused. When the fuck did Kirishima and Bakugou get into a fight ? While you were genuinely concerned, he just laughed.

"Sorry, I mean I know now they weren't, but cmon, last night everyone thought they were fighting with each other." His eyes closed cheekily while his grin remained.

You just picked your jaw back off the floor and kept searching for answers. "What ?? Why ??" You were wracking your brain for everything Katsuki did this week, and if hed mentioned anything about Ei. Nothing.

"Well, for starters, Kirishima's girl was hanging out with Katsuki the whole time. But for the first time ever, you and Bakubro weren't hip to hip. Hes always seeking you out, especially when hes drunk. The fact he was with someone else and letting Kirishima be all buddy with you was definitely something." He continued to mindlessly eat his cereal like he just said nothing.

You looked around awkwardly, choosing to freak out over that later. As much as you wanted to gush and talk about Katsuki, it wasn't really easy to just talk about other guys after telling one you essentially needed to have sex with him. Fuck. You two were clearly both thinking the same thing, but who was going to break first ? Just as you began to mentally complain about his stubbornness..

"Hey, so.." He began mimicking you, eyes looking at your spoon, the ceiling, out the window, but never at you.. "I um..." The tips of his ears began fading into a strawberry red. It was really odd to see him so nervous.

"What is it, Hanta ?" You rested a hand on his forearm, hoping to remind him you wouldn't bite. As much as you loved whiney and whimper-y guys, you needed him to communicate.

"I have an idea this time."

So, for the greater good, (of getting Kirishima and Mina to fuck) for everyone's sake, (hold on I thought they just fucked ?) you ended up in nothing but your panties, and taped over Sero's couch. (i dont think this one was necessary ..?) Oh. So that's why he kicked Denki out so quick. "Just how long have you been wanting to do this ?"

He grinned wide, like he'd been asking himself that too. "Since you kicked my ass in the Sports Festival." You audibly gasped. It clicked for you just in that second-, in your first year, you ended up winning by capturing Sero, his legs tight together between your thighs, and one wrist caught in each hand. With the way his arms were still spread out, some of the guys still made fun of him for getting 'crucified."

Your own position, now three years later, was mirroring just that. Your thighs were taped together, and your ankles were adorned with additional tape securing you midair. Your arms were spread out slightly above your head, wrists bound and held up in the air. Underneath your lower back, hips, head, and neck, he provided soft pillows to keep you from hurting. It was surprisingly comfy.

He stood before you, hands on his hips, admiring his work. His eyes carefully scanned over you, and down your body. You noticed he especially was paying attention to the way your thighs squished together due to the bondage. "This looks way better than I could've ever imagined."

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the slight mustache he'd been growing out. "Yea im sure." Your eyes bore into his, trying not to let the real pathetic position you were in get to his ego. "Look, I let you tie me up, so I want a favor."

He smirked at you, and leaned over. His face was close to yours, he smelt like light cologne and sugar. His lips were just a breath away from yours, and as he spoke, "Anything for you." They trembled against you, just barely touching.

You hummed happily, carding your digits through his inky black strands. It was often something he let you do when you were in need of calming down. "So you know the whole operation, but I barely know anything about the last three people." Truly unfair, you needed to make things even and quick.

His eyes trailed to the top right corner of his vision. He thought for a few seconds before his eyes lit up. "I understand now," His eyes looked back into yours before his concentrated face grinned again, "I think I know exactly what you're looking for." Before continuing, he gave you a quick wink.

His hand now gripped your hip, his usual basketball shorts slid down. He rubbed his length through the thin fabric of his boxers with his other hand, growing greatly to its full size. The hand on your hips traveled to your now exposed clit, tracing random letters and shapes against it.

You whined out his name, thighs struggling against the binds, squeezing together in the process. He moved his hands so his middle and ring were fucking lightly into your cunt.

With how close everything was, you felt distinctly how your natural wet excretion covered and slid over your inner thighs. "Perfect.." He breathed, tongue teasing the side of your neck.

He readjusted his hips over yours, and pulled his boxers down before inserting himself between your wet thighs. The tape and his hand held you together, making the perfect slight gap right against your pussy and firm thighs for him.

He began pistoning himself through and out the gap, breath heavy against your chest. He began slow, but it was clear he was trying to hold back.

You smiled softly, wishing you were rubbing your hands up the wide expanse of his back how you would during make out sessions. "You wanna go faster, Sero?" He sighed, slowing his shaky pace again from where it began to gradually speed up unconsciously. He totally forgot to ask.

"Yes.. Please." He rubbed a hand up your midriff, relishing in how soft your bare body was. His hand stopped at your breasts before he began his part of the deal. "Jirou likes it when her hair is tugged or messed with. If you.." His pace quickened, letting himself enjoy the feeling while helping you, "If you keep making eye contact and playing with her hair, she'll be on you by the end of the night."

You tensed the muscles in your thighs, catching his tip. "And how do you know that, Sero ?" You wanted to touch his hair as he mentioned, but your suspended arms weren't moving anytime soon. Fuck, this was getting annoying.

"Because every time Momo does it." As if reading your mind, the hand just under your boobs palmed at your nipples briefly before resting in your hair, scratching at your scalp, "She runs back to her dorm to touch herself."

You held back a gulp-- How did sero know that ?? The girls group chat was the only place Jirou ever mentioned it, he shouldn't have known. "Oh wow, does she really do that ?" You batted your eyelashes at him, trying to get more information and distract him from the fact you actually already knew that secret. He knew a lot more than youd originally thought.

He smirked, hand going back to pinch at your side boob. Even though his actions seemed steady, his breath was rapid and his hips were starting to shake. "Im.. Im getting close.."

You forced your face to remain soft. In reality, you felt smug and slowly accomplished. Though Sero proved to have his own difficulties, you were getting closer and closer yourself, to the goal. "That's okay, just keep telling me about them. Only two more people left, Hanta."

"Kaminari is.." He tried thinking, but only sighed. "Sorry mentioning him turns me off." You just laughed, and waved your hand as much as you could from its tied place in the air.

"It's him, don't worry, it won't be a challenge.." You looked around quickly. He wasnt softening, but you didnt want the mood to be ruined. At the same time, you desperately needed information on Katsuki. "How about this.."

It took a minute to convince him that undoing the tape around your thighs was a good idea, but as soon as you reminded him that you two would actually end up fucking, he gave in.

He was now caged between your hips and still bound ankles, his tip pressed against your inner lips. "Hanta, do you have a condom ?"

His eyes widened. "Oh ! Yea, I found one in one of my guest rooms. I think Mina was sleeping in there." He winked knowingly. Damn, as thankful as you were, you were a little embarrassed about her premonition and his good observation skills.

"Good.. Then.. Ill let come inside, you just need to fuck me good and tell me how I can do the same to Katsuki." Your eyes locked on his, and you used the freedom now granted with your legs to move your thighs around his waist, lower legs still stuck together in the air.

He groaned, quickly ripping the packaging with his teeth and pulling it on. The entirety of your round wasn't really that long, but the years of teasing had built up so much, just the slightest touches felt like too much to Hanta. "So hes really private.. not even Kaminari knows all that much, but.."

His rubbery tip slipped through your soft entrance, the wetness hed been keeping going only helping you suck his whole size in relatively quick. Not to mention, he was noticeably smaller than Kirishima, making what would usually be a harsh fit much less painful. "Cmon, Sero, you can tell me." You made your voice more sultry, making up for the lack of touch you could provide with your hands.

"We know hes definitely a virgin." You gasped, half from the way his tip got caught on your gspot for a moment before pushing further, half because that made him the last virgin in your friend group.

During your second year, class 2-A and 2-B went through a virginity loss craze, a lot of people doing it with friends just to say they lost it. Most of it was just awkward quick stuff, and it ended up with almost everyone staying inexperienced and shy, like Kirishima. "Really ?" You pushed your hips up into his, trying to keep some composure. It was still interesting Katsuki never did anything, by that point he was an in-school celebrity.

A deeper groan reverberated in his chest, steadily getting a good pace to fuck in and out at. "Hes a lot more sensitive and emotional than people think." He kept gradually getting faster, pressing against your gspot faster and faster every time. "He usually responds with anger as a default feeling, but if he trusts you already and you come onto him strong and clearly enough again and again no matter how much he snaps, you'll have him."

By the time he was done explaining, you were both close and whining into each other's neck. He was practically laying on top of you, his messy black hair covering your vision. He was moaning now, "Can I finally cum, please ? I told you everything I know.." His hands were scratching slightly at your thighs, composure slipping away faster than he could catch it.

You rarely felt this weak, but for some odd reason, you hoped to god for any reason but the fact you finally knew more about Katsuki, and the honestly hot fact he was a Virgin. Before you knew it, you were crying out, "Yes, now, Hanta" while your thighs and walls closed in on him. Your previously sore hips were shaking, getting more action in two days then they had since this school year started.

He bit into your neck, muffling a girlish moan from him as a warm release spilt into his (Minas) condom. His hips kept lightly thrusting before completely stopping. He was still dumbly panting and whining a little, sounds gradually getting quieter as he calmed down.

"That.." He took a deep breath in before it stuttered out. "That was so fucking good." His eyes locked into yours, face still dangerously close. "Remind me to thank Mina later."

a/n : i think this one flowed a lot more naturally than kirishimas, but it took me a bit longer. hope its good !! tried adding more katsuki implications but i didn't want it to escalate too fast yet

taglist : @hyunjinshairband7 @icarusthefoolish @adv3rs1ty @waterfal-ling @hon3y-13mOn05 @sugerglidder @scr4luv @hauntedstudentobservationus @pinkpantheris @yogupink @cupkiki @fwskullz @katsukiswife @flavouredair @wOnd3rxoxo @slytherinpenguin12 (crossed out names are not working !)

#mha x reader #mha smut #sero x reader #sero smut #bakugou smut #bakugou x reader #denki smut #denki x reader #kirishima smut #kirishima x reader #mina smut #mina x reader #smut #Bakusquad #Bakusquad smut #bakusquad x reader

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blog-o-meter · 7 months ago

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Pump It Up - Nicholas Alexander Chavez x fem!reader

summary: Rained in, (Y/N) decides to workout at home while Nicholas reads a script in the kitchen. Halfway through, though, she realizes that he wasn’t really reading anymore.

warnings: 18+, caught masturbating, needy!nicholas, established relationship, dom/sub undertones, voyeurism, exhibitionism, denial

required listening: n/a

word count: 4,123

a/n: here’s a quick little fic <3 im sorry my word counts are so long compared to others’ — my brain literally won’t let me write unless I drag scenes out to make them seem more realistic/plausible in my head, if that makes sense LOL

reblogs, likes, and replies are greatly appreciated and let me know if you’d like to see more!

The rain outside was relentless, its constant drum against the window and the occasional rumble of thunder enough to convince me to not leave the house. I’d driven through too many rain storms in this neighborhood to know that risking getting my car flooded from driving through the backed up water at the end of the road was not worth it. That’s horrible infrastructure for you.

I had plans of hitting the gym, maybe even treating myself to a little smoothie that I had been looking forward to all day. Just thinking about the tartness of a berry smoothie after a grueling workout was enough to make my mouth water, but it looked like the rain wasn’t going to let up. The worst part was I had already gotten dressed, and I had so much pent up energy ready to be exerted.

That’s when I thought — why not just do my workout here? The living room was spacious enough, and as long as I had my music, I think I could manage. Sure, I wouldn’t have access to any of the fancy machinery, but I could still do some sets without anything extra — planks, sit-ups, Russian twists, leg raises, etc.

Determined to use up my energy, I grabbed my phone and earbuds and walked out of the bedroom, making my way over to the open-concept living room to find Nicholas perched on the kitchen counter, his back to me. He had been tirelessly looking over a potential script his agent had given him earlier — writing notes, highlighting pieces of dialogue, the like.

I set down my things on the coffee table before coming up behind him, running my hand up his back and settling it on his shoulder, giving him a little massage as I looked over the booklet open in front of him. He let out a sigh, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me close.

“Nic, is it ok if I work out here?” I asked while I brushed away the single strand of hair flopped over his forehead.

“Yeah, of course,” he nodded his head.

I turned my attention to the script, bending over the counter a bit to reach for it. The half-scribbled nonsense caught my eye. I could barely make out any of the words he had written, but I guess the only person that had to understand it was Nicholas — and the guy knows his shit.

“Are you sure it won’t bother you while you’re looking over your script?” I asked as I flipped through the script casually.

Nicholas chuckled, leaning back slightly on the stool. His arm stayed wrapped around my waist, his thumb brushing idly against my side. “Don’t worry; I’ll tune it out.”

I smiled, thankful for his understanding. I planted a quick kiss on his temple, running my fingers through the back of his hair. “I’ll try to keep it quiet,” I said as I pulled away from his grasp and walked toward the open space between the coffee table and the tv in the living room.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have a yoga mat, so the laminate floor would have to do, whether I liked it or not. Maybe I’d get used to the stiff floor the more my workout progressed, and I would have already done my exercise for the day by then. Note to self: buy a yoga mat.

I grabbed my earbuds, deciding to only put one in just in case Nicholas told me to keep it down, and reached for my phone to press play on my workout playlist, which consisted of EBM and Acid House — no lyrics for maximum concentration. Plus, it helped me keep a steady rhythm.

I began with a series of deep stretches, my arms reaching high above my head before I bent forward, letting my fingertips brush the floor. A quiet groan escaped my lips as I felt the soreness from yesterday’s workout still lingering.

The music pumped softly in one ear, the beat steady and hypnotic as I transitioned through my warm-up. I shifted into a runner’s lunge, my knee grazing the cold laminate as I leaned into the stretch. A soft sigh slipped out, my muscles pulling deliciously.

Rolling up slowly, I shook out my legs and moved into a few standing side bends, my hands clasped over my head. My breathing grew deeper, the ache in my sides fading as I worked through it. A low hum escaped me as I twisted my torso, relishing the sensation of each vertebra popping gently back into alignment.

I stood straight then, shaking my arms as I prepared to start the real workout. “Okay,” I muttered to myself.

I dropped to the floor for my first set of planks, planting my hands firmly and aligning my body. The strain hit almost immediately, my core engaging as I held the position. My breathing grew audible, sharp exhales through pursed lips as I counted the seconds.

“One… two… three…” My voice was quiet but breathy, each number punctuated by a soft grunt.

The timer on my phone ticked down, and when I reached thirty seconds, I pushed myself into a series of shoulder taps. My palm slapped the floor softly with each shift of weight, my breaths turning into little gasps as the effort increased.

“Almost there,” I whispered to myself, my tone more encouraging than determined.

When I finally finished the set, I rolled onto my back, chest heaving and gasping while the music in my ear pulsed. I clocked Nicholas shift in the stool then, but I didn’t think much of it. He had been sitting there a few hours now; his back must’ve been stinging.

Next up were leg raises. Lying flat on my back, I slid my hands beneath my lower back for support and lifted my legs until they were perpendicular to the floor. Lowering them slowly, I felt the familiar burn in my lower abs. Those were killer.

“God,” I groaned softly, squeezing my eyes shut as I held the hover position just above the floor.

My voice came out in broken exhales as I finished the set, letting my legs drop to the floor with a thud. My head tilted back, and I let out an exaggerated sigh, the exertion starting to creep up on me.

After a moment of rest, I rolled back onto my knees and pushed myself into a standing position. I moved into a series of squats, setting my feet shoulder-width apart and sinking low with each rep. The burn in my thighs was immediate, but I leaned into it, pushing deeper with every squat.

“One… two…” My voice grew louder, the numbers mingled with quiet grunts as I tried to keep my form steady.

By the time I reached 20, a soft whimper escaped me. I straightened, pausing to catch my breath before diving into the second set. Midway through, I let out a particularly loud groan, the sound filling the quiet room. I glanced over my shoulder toward the kitchen, half-expecting Nicholas to say something, but he remained silent, his back still turned.

He shifted in the stool again then. I noticed it this time — the way Nicholas’s arm moved. It wasn’t just a casual shift in his posture or an adjustment of his script. His elbow dipped, his shoulder tensed, and there was a sort of rhythm to it.

I thought it weird, but I pushed through the rest of my squats, continuing my quiet counting. But from the corner of my eye I could see him continuing to move his arm ever so slightly, like he didn’t want me to see. And of course, curiosity got the best of me.

When I finished the set, I let out an audible sigh to signal that I had finished my squats. His back was still to me, and I could see past the outline of his other arm on the counter that the script was still open in front of him, but his movements were stiff.

I strolled toward the kitchen under the guise of grabbing something to drink, letting my footsteps fall heavy against the floor to make noise. As I neared, I noticed the faint tremor in his shoulders as he turned the slightest bit away from me as I rounded the counter and made my way toward the fridge, opening the door casually.

I pulled out one of the cold-pressed juices Nicholas liked to keep stocked to indulge in after coming home from the gym and closed the door. I turned around on my heels, glancing over to him. His jaw was clenched, and he didn’t flick his eyes up once to glance up at me. I also noticed his left arm was under the counter while his right arm was propping up his chin, his pointer finger curled against his lips.

“Hey, Nic,” I said, my voice light as I twisted the cap off the juice bottle with a crisp crack. “Is my workout bothering you?”

He stiffened, his body locking up as if I’d just caught him in the middle of something incriminating. “No,” he said quickly, his voice unusually tight. “It’s fine. Keep going.”

I raised an eyebrow, taking a long sip of the juice as I watched him. He still wasn’t looking at me, his focus seemingly glued to the script in front of him, but he didn’t even have a pencil in his hand anymore, the pencil laying flat some inches away as if forgotten.

“Are you sure?” I asked, the tiniest bit amused at his behavior.

“It’s fine,” he replied a little too fast, his voice clipped. He shifted on the stool, his left arm pulling slightly closer to his body.

I lingered for a moment longer, watching the subtle tremor in his shoulders and the way his right hand moved to grip the edge of the counter. It was obvious he didn’t want me to see what he was doing.

“Alright,” I said with a shrug, “Let me know if I’m being too loud.”

I rounded the counter again, noticing from the corner of my eye Nicholas shifting his body away from me another time as I passed by to make my way back to the living room.

I didn’t sit down right away, instead taking my time to stretch dramatically, letting out a long exhale as I reached for my toes, glancing periodically over to Nicholas. Now that he had shifted from his previous position, I could catch his reflection from the framed artwork hung on the wall perpendicular to him, and it gave me a full view of what he was doing.

Nicholas’s left arm was indeed beneath the counter, moving with a slow, deliberate rhythm that told me everything I needed to know.

He was helping himself.

His head was tilted slightly forward as if he were trying to focus on the script, his jaw tight, and his eyes were closed — completely lost in the moment. His right hand gripped the edge of the counter, his knuckles white, as though grounding himself in reality, and he was being very mindful of keeping his noises to himself.

I froze mid-stretch, my fingertips grazing my toes as I processed what I was seeing. Heat rushed to my face and neck, a mix of shock and complete amusement. He had no idea I could see him — no idea that his every movement was perfectly reflected in the glossy surface of the artwork.

The realization sent a jolt of excitement through me. The idea of Nicholas pleasuring himself while listening to me grunt and huff was like a spark to my flame, and I intended to add more fuel.

Straightening from my stretch, I took a moment to steady my breathing and hide the growing smirk tugging at the corners of my mouth. If Nicholas wanted to keep up his little secret act, I’d give him something to really work with.

Dropping back down to the floor, I positioned myself for a new set of planks, but this time, I exaggerated every movement, letting my body shift slowly as I adjusted my form. “Alright,” I muttered, just loud enough to carry over the sound of the rain outside.

As I held the plank, I let out a low groan, my voice breathy and drawn out. “God, that felt so good,” I said, my words broken by strained exhales.

From the corner of my eye, I could see his reflection in the artwork. Nicholas’s hand paused for the briefest moment before resuming its rhythm, a little quicker this time. His shoulders hunched slightly, his body shifting as if he were trying to control himself.

Biting back a grin, I moved into shoulder taps, each motion accompanied by a soft grunt. “One… two… three…” I counted aloud, my voice deliberately low and husky.

Nicholas’s head dipped lower, his jaw clenching tighter as his hand moved beneath the counter.

“Is my counting bothering you, Nic?” I called out between breaths, my tone innocent but teasing as I watched him through the reflection.

His head snapped up, and for a second, I thought he might stop altogether. But he quickly recovered, clearing his throat before replying, “No, I’m fine. Keep going.” His voice was rough, strained, and completely unconvincing.

I tilted my head, feigning innocence. “You sure?”

His jaw tightened, and he dropped his head back down, his eyes fluttering shut as he continued to stroke himself. “I’m sure,” he muttered. “Just… focus on your workout.”

“Ok,” I replied lightly, smiling to myself and dropping my hips to the floor as I transitioned into a set of cobra stretches. My back arched as I pushed up onto my hands, letting out a loud groan as I tilted my head back.

Nicholas’s breathing hitched audibly, and I couldn’t resist glancing at his reflection again. His movements had picked up just the tiniest bit of speed, as if he were afraid going any faster might have me catch on. His other hand, though, gripped the counter so tightly I thought it might leave marks.

Pushing back onto my knees, I transitioned into a child’s pose, my arms reaching out in front of me as I let my hips sink low, making sure I let out a soft moan. I tilted my head just enough to glance at the reflection, catching the way Nicholas’s head dipped even lower, his movements more frantic now.

My lips curled into a smirk as I pulled myself up from the floor and removed my earbud, tossing it onto the couch so it could land without making a sound. Keeping my steps light so as to not warn him, I slowly made my way over to Nicholas, inching my way closer and closer.

When I was close enough to feel the heat radiating from him, I paused, watching as Nicholas continued, completely unaware of my presence. His head was still bowed, his breathing shallow and uneven, his left hand continuing to stroke himself under the counter. I bit my lip, the smirk on my face growing as I leaned forward, positioning myself just behind him.

I stayed there for a moment, hovering, my own breath steady and quiet, while he was too lost in his own world to notice. Then, as quietly as possible, I leaned in until my lips were just inches from his ear, waiting a few beats before letting out a soft moan.

Nicholas froze, his entire body locking up as his hand stopped mid-motion. His head snapped up, his eyes wide with shock, and I could see the flush spreading rapidly up his neck and cheeks. He started to pull his hand away, stammering something incoherent, but I was faster.

I reached down, my hand sliding beneath the counter to replace his. His sharp inhale echoed in the quiet room, and I could feel the tension in his body as I wrapped my fingers around his hard length.

“Don’t stop on my account,” I murmured, my lips brushing against his ear as I began to move my hand in slow, deliberate strokes. With my free hand, I brushed my fingers through Nicholas’s hair, clutching it in a fist and lightly pulling his head back toward me.

Nicholas’s head fell back against my shoulder, letting out a low, guttural sound as his mouth fell open and his chest rose and fell with labored breaths. His hand, now free, gripped the edge of the counter again, his knuckles whitening as he held on for dear life.

“Did the sounds I was making turn you on, huh?” I teased, my voice a soft purr in his ear as my hand continued its slow, torturous rhythm.

Nicholas groaned in response, his voice ragged and desperate. “Mm-hmm,” he muttered, nodding as his breathing grew heavier. His free hand slid up to cover his face, his embarrassment palpable even as his body betrayed his need. But I made sure to pull his hand away, wanting to see his beautiful face.

“Don’t hide from me,” I whispered, tightening my grip on his wrist to keep his hand away from his face. “You wanted me to catch you, didn’t you? Isn’t this what you wanted?” I teased, increasing the pressure of my hand just enough to make him gasp.

Nicholas let out a shaky breath as his body gave into my touch. His chest rose and fell erratically, and he whimpered softly at the teasing in my voice.

“Yes,” he finally admitted, his voice barely a whisper. His hips bucked slightly into my hand, and he let out a needy moan, his restraint crumbling. “Please… don’t stop,” he begged, his voice trembling.

Nicholas’s desperation was intoxicating, and I couldn’t help but savor the way he melted under my touch. His vulnerability was rare, and seeing him this undone because of me was exhilarating. I let out a quiet moan into his ear, mimicking the sounds I was making while working out.

“Such a good boy,” I murmured against his ear, letting my lips brush against the shell of it. My hand continued its slow, steady rhythm, deliberately teasing him. His hips jerked, seeking more friction, but I tightened my grip slightly, controlling the pace.

“Please,” he whispered again, his voice cracking with need. “I need…”

I chuckled softly, my breath warm against his skin. “Need more…?” I asked, my tone dripping with playful cruelty.

Nicholas whimpered, his hand clutching at the counter like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. “More of you,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “Please… I can’t… I need you.”

His admission sent a shiver down my spine. I kissed the sensitive spot just below his ear, drawing a shaky breath from him. “You sound so pretty when you beg,” I whispered, my hand picking up its pace ever so slightly.

His entire body shuddered, and he turned his head to try to capture my lips with his own, but I pulled back just enough to keep him from reaching me. “Uh-uh, you’ve been bad, Nic,” I teased, my voice a low purr.

Nicholas let out a frustrated groan, his head dropping back against my shoulder again. His chest rose and fell with each shallow breath, his desperation spilling over in the way his fingers gripped the counter.

“Please,” he murmured, his voice trembling and raw. “Please, I’ll be good. I just… I need you.”

I smirked, savoring the way he unraveled beneath me. “Oh, I know you’ll be good,” I replied, my voice laced with mock sweetness. My hand slowed its pace just slightly, enough to make him whimper in protest, his hips shifting to chase the friction. “Tell me how much you want it,” I demanded, tightening my grip ever so slightly. “I want to hear it, Nic.”

He let out a shaky breath, his head tilting back to rest on my shoulder as he turned to look at me, his eyes glassy and pleading. “I need you so fucking bad,” he admitted, his voice rough with vulnerability.

His words sent a jolt of satisfaction through me. I leaned down, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Good,” I murmured, pulling back just enough to see the way his lips parted, his eyes closing briefly as if savoring the moment.

“You’re so perfect like this,” I said softly, my free hand sliding up to brush through his hair again, tugging gently at the strands. “So needy. So honest.”

Nicholas let out a low moan, his body trembling under my touch. “I’ll do anything,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Anything you want. Just don’t stop.”

I chuckled, the sound low and teasing as I tilted his head back further, exposing the vulnerable line of his throat. “You’re mine,” I murmured, pressing my lips against his skin, my hand resuming its deliberate pace. “Aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he breathed, his voice cracking under the weight of his need. “All yours.”

Hearing those words fall from his lips made my heart race. I pressed a kiss just below his ear, my teeth grazing the sensitive skin. “Good boy,” I whispered, my tone both soft and commanding.

Nicholas let out a ragged moan, his body arching into the back of the stool as he surrendered completely to me. Every sound, every movement he made was for me, and I relished every second of it.

“I—” His voice cracked, his body trembling as he struggled to form coherent thoughts. “I need… I need to—please, just let me…”

I chuckled softly, tightening my grip for a moment to make him gasp. “You’re going to make a mess, aren’t you?” I teased, brushing my lips against his ear.

Nicholas let out a broken moan, his head falling back against my shoulder. “Yes,” he admitted, his voice trembling with need. “I can’t—please, I can’t hold it…”

I smirked, my hand picking up its pace just enough to push him closer to the edge. “Go ahead,” I whispered, my voice a low purr.

His entire body tensed, his hips jerking against my hand as he let out a strangled moan. His eyes squeezed shut, his breath hitching as he finally gave in. The tension in his body snapped, and a low, guttural sound escaped him as he spilled over, the warm evidence of his release landing on the script spread out on the counter.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the steady rhythm of the rain against the windows and Nicholas’s ragged breathing as he slumped backward, his head resting against my shoulder as his lips parted.

I pressed a gentle kiss to his temple, letting my hand linger on his waist as my other hand reached to brush my fingertip against the white ropes that landed all over the counter. I held his gaze as I brought my fingertip to my lips, letting the taste linger on my tongue. A slow, deliberate smile spread across my face as I tilted my head slightly, savoring both the flavor and the effect it had on Nicholas.

Quickly brushing my fingers through his hair, I softly asked, “How about you clean up your mess while I finish my workout, hmm?”

Nicholas let out a weak laugh, his cheeks still flushed as he tilted his head to look at me. “You really know how to humble a man,” he murmured, his voice hoarse but laced with affection.

I leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, tasting the lingering warmth of his breath. “And you really know how to make a workout interesting,” I teased, pulling back.

Nicholas groaned softly, running a hand through his tousled hair as he sat up straighter on the stool. “I’ll clean it up,” he muttered, reaching for a nearby paper towel with a sheepish grin.

Nicholas moved with a quiet efficiency, his usual confidence tinged with an endearing embarrassment. As I settled back into my workout, I couldn’t help but steal glances at him from the corner of my eye. His shoulders were still a little tense, his cheeks still faintly pink as he wiped the counter clean with meticulous care. He avoided looking at me directly, though I could see the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

When he finally finished cleaning up, Nicholas tossed the used paper towel into the trash with a dramatic sigh of relief. Turning to lean against the counter, he folded his arms over his chest, his eyes locking onto me with a playful intensity. “You know I’m going to get you back for this, right?”

As I settled into my next stretch, I smirked up at him, “I hope you do.”

#nicholas alexander chavez #nicholas alexander chavez x reader #nicholas chavez #nicholas chavez x fem!reader #father charlie mayhew #nicholas alexander chavez rpf #nicholas alexander chavez imagine #nicholas alexander chavez fanfic #nicholas alexander chavez fic #nicholas chavez smut #nicholas chavez x reader #fic-o-meter

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phantasm-ae · 2 months ago

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omg anon im so gladd uu like it RAAHHHHH 😩😩😩--

-- but likee in terms of first meet.... hmmm.... i was thinking likee it probably went smth like this --

cw: just fluff, afab reader x soap

HEADCANON: How did Johnny and milkmaid reader meet? We have Mama MacTavish to thank for that

PAIRING: John Soap MacTavish x reader

Our reader was always close with the MacTavishes. Well, sweet and gentle Mama MacTavish mostly.

The honeyed and mellow lady who saw you move in from day one. Hauling boxes by yourself. Sweaty. Frustrated and swearing. Cursing your moving service driver under your breath as you tried to maneuver your mattress up the front steps like a tragic one-woman circus act.

She had spotted you. Tiny, wry, and reverent little you. Huffing and puffing little hen with the prettiest eyes she's ever seen.

Arms full of box. Hair stuck to your forehead. Shoes kicked off at the bottom step like you’d already given up on dignity that day.

Cursing the heat. Cursing gravity. Cursing the delivery guy who “just forgot the bed frame” with the kind of poetic fury that had her stifling a laugh into her apron.

Peeking out between her laundry line and the rose bushes, a glass of iced tea in one hand and a knowing glint in her eye.

Didn’t say a word at first. Just disappeared from view like a curtain twitching shut.

You’d barely gotten one end of the mattress wedged through the doorframe when she reappeared.

Determined and cheery old lady marching across the lawn in sturdy slippers. Smock still dusted with flour. Tea swapped for a pitcher of lemonade and a plate of something that looked suspiciously like still-warm shortbread.

“Love,” she said, smiling like you were already family, “either let me help or let me feed you. I won’t take no for an answer.”

That was it. That was the beginning.

Before you knew it, she was your go-to for sugar, advice, the juiciest neighborhood gossip, and the occasional “just a wee Sunday dinner” that turned into three courses and a bottle of wine.

She told you all about her garden, her cats, her least favorite neighbors (whispered with scandalous glee), and -- eventually -- her Johnny. Her good kind and gentlemanly son. Her only boy. Her pride.

Always said his name with a soft sort of awe and a sigh. “Not home much. Work keeps him away. But oh, when he is -- you’ll know aye? Big, loud thing, stomps around like he’s still in boots. Heart of gold under all that noise.”

You figured you’d cross that bridge if and when.

But then, she started leaving those subtle hints. And sure, she didn’t see a ring on your finger, and well -- she wasn’t getting any younger too.

"Nice to have a scant of little bairns again you know? Just lovely tae have somethin' to take care of. a bit more noise around the table"

You smirked, playing along, “Oh, sure, I can already picture it -- little feet under the table, crumbs everywhere, and me pretending to know what I’m doing while I trip over the toys.”

Mama MacTavish’s eyes gleamed with a knowing sparkle, her smile widening. At that exact moment, she knew -- you’d be perfect for Johnny. Whether you both knew it or not.

Slowly, she started dropping little cues.

You’d be chatting over a cup of tea, gardening or darning together and she’d slip in a remark or two --

“Oh yer sink’s broken? Johnny’s really good with all that, ye know.”

“Living room’s all barren, hen. Johnny could fix that up -- he’s got a good eye for space.”

“Fridge makin’ that funny noise again? Johnny sorted ours in a flash, bless him.”

“Ye don’t like ladders, do ye? Good thing Johnny’s not scared of heights.”

“That shelf’s still sittin’ on the floor? I’ll send Johnny round with his drill when he gets back”

“Cold this week, aye? Johnny’s great at sealing windows. Kept the whole house toasty last winter.”

“Plant dyin’? Johnny’s got a green thumb too, believe it or not.”

And then, with that same gleam in her eye: “Bit lonely sometimes, love? …Johnny’s got a nice laugh on him.”

You’d chuckle, play along, nodding as if it was all just friendly banter. Letting her have her fun. Feeding into it with a teasing little grin, not realizing she was ever dead serious at that. Just too enchanted by her syrupy stories and sweet affection to see the trap being set.

“Oh, Johnny does love a good Sunday roast,” she’d sigh one day, dreamily. “Still asks for extra gravy like he’s ten years old.”

Then there was the time she murmured -- almost too lightly -- “He’s got such a soft spot for animals, oor Johnny. Always lookin’ efter his mate’s dug. Just a big softie underneath he is"

You humoured her, of course. Nodded, smiled, said things like, “That’s sweet,” and “Sounds like he’s got a good heart.” Didn’t register the shift in tone when she followed it with a quiet:

“Wouldn’t it be nice tae hae someone who’d look efter ye like that, hen?”

You didn’t think much of it then. Shrugged, teased, “I suppose", you started as you gave her your usual warm and homey smile. "Someone to share a Sunday roast with. Maybe a dog. And definitely extra gravy.”

She beamed then and there. A knowing grin that you dulled on and overlooked. Lips curling with a playful gleam like you already handed her a grandchild on a platter.

After that though, the comments came paired with a wistful sigh or a long look at your left hand. “Ah, I do hope Johnny finds someone who’ll appreciate aw o’ him… he’s such a catch, ken?”

And when you’d laugh or just smile knowingly, she’d give the tiniest, most satisfied nod. Checking all her lists at this point. That same glint in her eye only growing.

Already picking the dress among her mental catalogues and listing down addresses and numbers to book the chapel.

You never really thought she was fixed and ramrod earnest about it. Always chalking it up to idle talk. Sweet, silly old-lady musings that sounded like daydreams but didn’t mean anything. After all, Johnny MacTavish was more myth than man to you. A photo on the fireplace. A pair of muddy boots by the door. A son who was always “just away for a bit aye?”

You had no idea what to expect when he finally came home though.

All 6'1 and massive hulking muscle. Weighty and tank heavy. Eyes electric blue with a shy and surprised look in his eyes. Standing there like a tall buck caught in headlights. Frozen mid-motion. Elbows-deep into some grimy mess of liquid and woodwork in the backyard. Right where you and Mama MacTavish usually had tea

The crickety old swing? --

-- Apparently fixed now....

A mallet in one hand, a smudge of oil on his neck, looking like he’d just stepped out of a construction site and straight into your heart. He looked at you like you were the last thing he expected to see -- and maybe you were.

You blinked. He blinked.

And then, the world seemed to slow down.

That was until Johnny dropped the mallet right onto his foot and cursed with a dirty word so filthy, Mama MacTavish gasped from the hallway. “Language, John! We have guests!”

You barely kept it together, biting back a stifled laugh. He, on the other hand, was clearly struggling to hold himself together.

“Aye right, uh, sorry ‘boot that,” Johnny mumbled, looking mortified as he tried to shake the pain out of his foot.

You smiled and, for some reason, that simple, awkward moment felt like the universe had pressed play again on something you didn’t even know was meant to happen.

But that’s when it all shifted. Mama MacTavish swooped in, all warmth and triumph, apron fluttering behind her like a battle standard.

“Ah, perfect timing, lass! Ye’ve met ma Johnny, aye?” she chirped, like this entire scene hadn’t unfolded with the cinematic chaos of a rom-com meet-cute gone slightly sideways.

You opened your mouth to answer -- yes? no? not like this? -- but she barreled on, plopping a tray of lemon squares onto the garden table as if she hadn’t just set a trap and sprung it with flawless precision. Leaving no other room for you two to even utter out another word.

“Johnny, lad, why nae show oor bonnie neighbour the shelves ye fixed up in the sunroom, aye? She’s been bletherin’ aboot needin’ some storage.”

“I have?” you asked faintly, already being gently nudged forward by a flour-dusted hand at your back.

“Oh, ye will,” Mama said, grinning like a cat with cream.

And just like that, you were being ushered into a future you two hadn’t exactly planned for --

— one that smelled like sawdust, lemon bars, and cucumber.

Sounded like dusting and worn boots on old wooden and rickety floors.

And looked an awful lot like Johnny MacTavish:

— red-eared. Bashful. Gone for. Keen and enamored at the sight of you.

Still nursing a bruised toe but grinning enthusiastic and dumbstruck when you asked if he really did like that much gravy on a Sunday roast.

masterlist

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mina-org · 3 months ago

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Yandere Johnny was amazing. Please… more… 🫠🫠🫠🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

What happens at the cabin and great job finding such a remote crazy location for them?! Shivers.

Brain rot aside, it was amazing how well you fleshed out Reader! The backstory and motivations make sense.

♥️

I hope you enjoy <3!! ill be real I struggle to write Johnny because of his dialect I guess? but im working on it and im learning Scots (the language) with my niece so hopefully ill get better but if anyone has any tips let me know

part one here

“come on hen, let’s get ya home.” His words are washed away by the salty air, you’re lost to dreams, he can wait for you to see it, its picturesque, waves crashing over rocks, views of the impetuous sea, occasional seal spotting. He’s sure you’ll love it.

His arm hook underneath you as he pulls your unconscious form into his own, cradling you in his arms like he was always supposed to, the way you nestle your face into his chest just solidifies that you’re his. You know it, your body craves him just as he craves you.

Soon enough he passes the threshold and arrives at your new bedroom, it’s bare, the whole house is a little bare but johnny wanted you to feel comfortable too, he wanted it to be the home of dreams but that took time and the two of you so he had to wait until you were here.

He did, thankfully get the plushest duvet and pillows, he breathes a sigh of relief as he watches you burrow into comfort like a like a little rabbit, his eyes stay trained on you and he can’t help that his smirk widens, lingering in the room like a fox waiting to strike.

The sent of burning floods your nose as you wake, the soft putter of rain serves as you hear an agitated huff from the kitchen.

You go to see what is going on, you peek past the door and your greeted by a sight that brings the blood to your cheeks and twirls your insides, gym guy, you’ll have to ask for his name, maybe he already told you it and it slipped your mind, you hope he doesn’t take it wrong, you feel your body cringe as you practice how you’ll ask him.

He stands in a white wife beater which accentuates every muscle on his torso and it’s too small, revealing tantalising valleys to below his sweatpants which leave answers for questions you didn’t know you had, like is he big? and where is it?

You nearly miss the burnt pant he holds, trying to scrap up any remnants of food with a silicone spatula which is just not working out well.

“Sorry hen, nae good in the kitchen but I’m working on it. Cereal alright?”

“Cereals good”

I know I should’ve asked sooner but what’s your name?

He playfully brings his hand up to his chest and clenches down, the fabric gathers, hiking up and revealing more of his abdomen

“Yer mean ya don’t me name? Yer weans are gonna wear it.” He regrets the comment as soon as it leaves his lip, he doesn’t want you to be scared, mentioning you birthing his kids might be a little too soon but if you were gonna freak out it would have been in the car, right? What if you’re just playing a long game? As the thoughts fly through his head he maintains eye contact, never looking away. It’s only when your voice calls out to him he’s able to pull out his own head and realises he might have been a little, tiny bit unsettling.

“I’m sorry, I just, um forgot and I know that’s not nice but it wasn’t on purpose” a voice so soft, so anxious, sometimes johnny just wanted to lean forward and lick you. He was sure you’d taste like strawberry sherbet, he longed for the gentle fizz on his tongue.

Johnny almost wanted to giggle, you were apologising to him? After the whole stalking and kidnap you thing? Well you didn’t know about the stalking thing yet and he wasn’t going to tell you, that’s all water under the bridge.

“It’s johnny, hen, can you say it for me?” Suddenly the predator like grin returns and the teasing drips from his voice.

“Johnny,” you repeat softly, tasting it on your tongue, johnny doesn’t miss how your eyes always find their way back to his biceps.

“What do you like do for work?” You ask quickly, eager to push past the name situation, afraid he’ll .

“Used to be military but a nasty knock tae me head sent me home, but I didnae really have a home to go to i was just with me mates for a bit.” Johnny can’t help the way his face falls, for as long as he can remember he’s been labelled as disrupted and destructive, his parents had never known quite how to handle and ended up treating him like a dog. This theme of being too much followed him into adult hood where he scared away every lassie who gave him a chance and found he had a handful of friends that only interested in good times and lacked a deeper attachment. Every perceived rejection was another stab, and the knife never stopped twisting, just sinking in further and further.

“till I found ya ‘nd told ‘em i was off.” He laughs, “promised to invite ‘em to the wedding but we can elope, I know yer a shy wee bird.”

You tilt your head, looking up at him, trying to stifle a laugh, not wanting to encourage him.

“Do they know that you’re like a kidnapper?” It’s supposed to be playful but johnny misses the tone, he’s your soulmate, not kidnapper. Or that’s how he sees it.

“Done much worse hen,” his voice is different, a subtle warning, that little comment almost felt like you wanted to leave him. Johnny knows what he is, you don’t. “‘nd they know yer safe. No where’s safer than right here.” His hand plants itself on your shoulder, nails begin to bulldozer through tender skin.

“I’m sorry.” It comes out like a mouse’s squeak.

Johnny has to pull himself away.

He knows he’s wrong and even if you were mad you had a right to be, but it stings like and old wounds are ripped open.

“What cereal are yer wantin’?” He asks rummaging through the cupboards and your voice answers him softly, you stare out the window, beginning to question the man before you a little more, maybe you should have jumped ship on the ferry.

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violetlichen · 10 months ago

Text

nobody puts my bald baby in a corner

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen / Named Atreides wife A little nsfw but that's not the point. Domestic family life. They have five kids and Feyd desperately wants another. Wifey won't oblige. Don't pay attention to the other characters and Houses I included, I don't know anything about Dune and I just pulled from the fandom wiki or made them up. Their son is not the Kwisatz Haderach either!

****if you're somebody who works at tumblr hq reading this because i accidentally reported my own fic im really sorry****

It has been five years since Feyd-Rautha last saw his wife swell with his child.

It is entirely by her design, and certainly not for lack of trying. He ravages her senseless almost every night, but after five children, the ever infuriating Diana Atreides refuses to give him another. As a Bene Gesserit, it is within her power to do so; the witches are able to bend their own reproduction to their will, and Feyd-Rautha believes she likes his methods of convincing her too much to give him what he wants.

Tonight, he almost has her hooked. He kisses her knee and up her bare thigh, licking and sucking the plush skin there. She barely acknowledges him and lets him fondle her as he pleases, lost in her own thoughts.

“She’s too old for him. He’s just a boy.”

They are currently hosting several of the Great Houses. Earlier at dinner, he and Diana were approached by the Duke of Ginaz, who suggested they betroth his daughter to their oldest son, Aleksei. Diana had hidden her frown behind her glass of wine, but Feyd-Rautha had seen it and filed it away for later, thanking the Duke for his time.

He hums against her thigh, tongueing over the faint bruise he made. He can use this.

“He will be a man soon,” he reminds her. He pulls her leg over his shoulder as he shifts up the bed, now eye level with her weeping cunt. His mouth waters. “Even if we refuse this proposal, there will be others.”

He knows his wife wants to say more, but the words die in her throat when he shoves his nose against her, inhaling her scent and releasing a shaky breath. He pretends it is for her benefit, but really, this is all for him. With his fingers pulling apart the seam of her, his tongue lolls out, and Feyd-Rautha feasts.

When he has had his fill of her pleasure, he crawls up the length of her body. She pants underneath him, back arching and eyes squeezing shut like a satisfied cat, her neck exposed and vulnerable. He licks off the sweat there.

“It will not stop with Aleksei,” he says, leaning over her.

Diana scowls. She shoves him, but he does not yield. He grasps her hand, pulling it away from his chest and up to his mouth, where he kisses her fingers.

He knows he is being cruel, rubbing salt in her wound. Her children are growing. At twelve years old, Aleksei is admittedly still too young to seriously consider for marriage, but the coming years will go by in a blink. First it will be Aleksei, then Nikita shortly after, and then Maxim – although their youngest and most unstable son will be difficult to pawn off, Feyd-Rautha thinks.

His girls are another story. Sasha and Grisha were both gifted their mother’s beauty, but it is Grisha, their youngest, who takes after Feyd-Rautha the most. She is the only one of his children who did not inherit those dark Atreides curls. She is perfect; wholly Harkonnen, like her father. He knows he will feel how Diana does now when it is time for Grisha to leave his side.

It is why he fucks into his wife now, flexing his hips slowly and purposefully, so she feels every inch of his longing. He staves off the urge to empty himself inside of her prematurely, already aching to see her breasts swollen and leaking.

He stops, trying to catch his breath. He pulls back from Diana to thumb over her pearl, grinding his length into her. “Shall I leave you like this, wife?” he asks her.

“Don’t you dare,” she snaps, her hips chasing his fingers.

“I can give you what you want,” he taunts. “I will pump you full of my children happily. What is one more?”

Diana does not answer, but he sees her breaking, just as he is. He holds her legs open, jutting into the apex of them, growling as he stares her down, willing her to change her mind. She hides her fears behind her pleasure, hides the tear sliding down her cheek by turning her face into the pillow, taking what he gives her.

What is one more child? Certainly not the solution to her problem. It is only a delay of the inevitable, that one day they will all grow up and no longer need her. Feyd-Rautha knows this. But he hopes to delay his wife’s suffering, just as he will delay her gratification if she does not give him what he wants.

When he pumps his load into her, he knows she is not satisfied. He breathes through his own satisfaction, nose flaring like a bull, but she does not complain like he expected her to. She does not roll him over to claim him, or bring her fingers to her cunt to finish what he started, his eyes on her hole, full of his spend.

Instead she buries her face in her hands. Feyd-Rautha leans his weight onto her and pulls her hands away, revealing her face to him. She blinks at him, her lashes wet and clumping together.

He knows what she is feeling. “I feel it, too,” he says. “Let me give you another, my darling.”

Diana nods and looks away, breathing out a held breath. “Alright,” she says. Her eyes soften fondly when they focus on him again. “Alright.”

They lay together for a while, enjoying each other’s company. Feyd-Rautha does not know if tonight will be the night, but he hopes. He hopes she sees it the way he does -- a continuation of their happiness, not the eventual ending of it. He kisses every part of Diana he can reach, and she cuddles into him, their limbs a tangled mess.

A little later into the night, a knock on the door breaks their comfortable silence. Feyd-Rautha grunts, already irritated, and removes himself from her, slipping on a robe and his pants.

When he opens the door, he finds a wide-eyed servant. “It is the children, Baron Harkonnen.”

Feyd-Rautha frowns and widens the door, panic souring him. “Where are they?”

“They are safe, Baron Harkonnen, but there has been a bit of trouble.”

Diana appears behind him, wrapping her robe around her waist. "What sort of trouble?" she asks, brow furrowed.

“It will be best if you follow me to the drawing room within the guest wing, Baroness.”

Diana whips past Feyd-Rautha and the servant, not waiting for either of them to lead her to the guest wing. Feyd-Rautha follows after her, and he knows to expect his boys. It is not the first time he was awoken by something they have done when they should have been sleeping, but it does concern him that they were found in the guest wing.

Although he is the youngest son, Maxim is the instigator of all things. Not as bright as the others, he is aggressive and impulsive, often letting his hands speak for him. He acts before he thinks, and it frustrates Diana greatly. Many nights Feyd-Rautha has been brought before Maxim in the kitchens, where he sticks his grubby hands into pies and picks at berries meant for the morning’s breakfast. The guards know not to let him out of his room at night without their explicit permission.

But as explosive as Maxim is, it is Aleksei who reminds Feyd-Rautha the most of his own brother, Beast Rabban. His oldest son is proud and quick to anger, easily riled by Maxim and his sisters who poke and prod at him in the ways only younger siblings can. Feyd-Rautha does his best to temper Aleksei, to show him the value in patience, in choosing his battles.

Nikita, self-sufficient boy that he is, waits until the battles are over and won to pick at what remains. He watches. Feyd-Rautha suspects Diana favors him over the others, though she will never admit it.

All of them dote on their sisters. Sasha has them carry her around on their backs, even when they are tired and sore and agitated from their training. They still treat Grisha like she is their baby, although she is almost six years old now and loathes the comparison.

Each of them, in their own ways, bring honor to their House. It is not something he had ever imagined for himself when thinking about his future. Feyd-Rautha is proud of his children, and he would not be disinclined to have another.

The chaos they find upon entering the drawing room is enough for him to change his mind.

The lord and lady from Zanbar, whose names Feyd-Rautha has forgotten, fawn over their young daughter, who sits upon an ottoman in front of the fireplace, her face red and streaked with tears. She cries as she pulls at what remains of her blonde hair. It has been crudely chopped off, the ends blunt and jagged like it had been sawed with a knife.

Their boys stand sullenly in front of the governess, disheveled in her bathrobe and still flustered from being awoken in the middle of the night to collect them. Aleksei folds his arms over his chest, his head full of curly dark hair held high. Next to him, Nikita remains calm in the face of their impending scolding. He very likely had done nothing wrong but bear witness to the antics of his rowdy brothers. Meanwhile, Maxim openly glares at the small weeping girl. She deserved what she got, and he is waiting for a reason to give her more to cry over.

“What happened?” Diana asks, dismayed.

“Your sons snuck into my daughter’s bedchamber and cut her hair off while she slept!” the lord’s wife snaps, borderline hysterical. “Where were her guards? How was this allowed to happen?”

She is reaching an unnatural decibel, but withers under the glare Feyd-Rautha shoots her. They were pulled from their bed for this? His darkening expression does not fully quell the lady's anger, and she gawks at her husband, willing him to say something.

"I'm sure there's an explanation," the lord offers unhelpfully, averting his timid gaze.

Diana stills, taking in the sight of the poor girl’s hacked hair. With a deep inhale, she turns to the boys, her hand finding her hip. “Explain yourselves.”

“She was mocking Grisha, mother,” Maxim says, scowling. “We heard her at dinner.”

Aleksei nods, more self-righteous and refined in his anger. “She laughed at Grisha and made her cry because she doesn’t have hair.” He sneers when the lord’s daughter wails a little louder at this, because she, too, does not have hair now. “She called her ugly.”

Diana looks heartbroken over this, but her Bene Gesserit training helps to quickly neutralize her face. She looks to Nikita. “And you? What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I told them not to.”

Feyd-Rautha believes him. Nikita is no less ruthless, but he is also a diplomat by nature, preferring more uninvolved methods of justice or revenge. This boldness is certainly the work of his brothers.

Feyd-Rautha cannot wait to reward them handsomely for it.

Diana believes Nikita as well, for she turns back to the other two. “Apologize to Lady Rosalind.”

“But mother, she–”

“Enough,” Feyd-Rautha rasps, growing tired of the spectacle. “Do as your mother says, so we may all retire to our beds.” He shoots another glare at the lord and lady, who bluster under his attention, too afraid of him to protest again.

Aleksei and Maxim step forward and bow to the young girl. “We’re sorry,” they echo, not meaning it at all.

Knowing that is the best she will get from them, Diana exhales deeply and dismisses them back to their rooms, escorted by their governess to make sure they get there and do not take any more detours. Nikita follows, ever their solemn shadow.

Diana kneels down beside Lady Rosalind. “Don’t fret. Hair grows back,” she soothes. The girl hiccups, and Diana gently brushes the hair out of her eyes before standing up to face her parents again. “I apologize on behalf of my sons. As you can see, they love their sister very much and do not take kindly to those who upset her.”

The lord and lady of Zanbar try to hide their grimaces. They know their indignancy is unfounded now that they know their daughter had started this. “Baroness, I must apologize–” the lord starts.

“That won’t be necessary,” Diana interrupts, putting a graceful hand up to stop him. “Let’s put this unpleasantness behind us. My husband and I will question our guards to understand how this was allowed to happen. Those responsible will be thoroughly punished.” She looks at Feyd-Rautha. “That includes our sons.”

This seems to satisfy the lord and lady enough to gather up their snot nosed daughter and leave, perhaps vowing to never step foot on Giedi Prime again. Feyd-Rautha will not miss them.

He and Diana walk back to their bedchamber in an agitated silence, until she breaks it.

“Still want another?” she asks him, deadpan.

“Not particularly. Would you still like me to thoroughly punish them?”

“Not particularly.”

Feyd-Rautha hums, and he reaches for her hand.

The next morning, Feyd-Rautha walks over to Grisha where she sits on the wide stone fence, her little legs dangling over the side. The boys train in the yard, and she watches with her dolls, acting out the sparring techniques she sees with them. He kisses her head, smooth like his. She ignores him, too caught up in supervising the training of her dolls.

Feyd-Rautha smiles. “Who is winning?” he asks.

One of the dolls headbutts the other. Their yarn-like hair swings around violently. It is hard to tell under the light of the black sun, but he thinks one of them is blonde. That one plops to the ground, landing in the sand.

Grisha raises the hand of the victorious doll the way she sees her father raise his in the arena. “This one,” she tells him.

“Well fought,” Feyd-Rautha says proudly. He bends down to pick up the doll and hands it to her. He watches her run her fingers through the doll’s hair, brushing the sand out of it with great care.

One day, his daughter will train alongside her brothers. She will have no need for hair then. It would just get in her way, and make her easier to grab by her opponents. She will see the use in this, and appreciate what makes her Harkonnen.

For now, Feyd-Rautha cups her head and kisses her again. He calls her his beautiful girl, and returns to the yard, picking up where he and the boys left off.

#feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha x reader #feyd x reader #feyd x you #feyd rautha x oc #dune part 2 #mine #writing

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dark-lord-of-awesomeness · 2 months ago

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im very curious: in a scenario where ford got to vamp trap stan before stan got pulled into the alley, and therefore didnt know right away that stan was a vampire, how would that go? does ford try and convince stan to leave town to protect him from the mysterious beast or does he bring stan back to another safehouse? does ford get suspicious when the beast also moves on/vanishes? safehouse route feels like it could be a shitshow with more people around to see stan getting 'sick' and realising 'wait that guys not human!'

So I read this, thought for a moment, then burst out laughing about how this enhances both the comedy and horror possibilities.

Ford gets down to Stan, they have a Realization of 'oh shit thats my twin brother' the vampire jumps, and Ford kills them without Stan seeing any of their vampiric traits. Ford starts dragging him away, cursing his inability to keep Stan out of his world, but grateful he saved his brother's life. Zero realization about Stan's mangy hood.

So Stan still thinks Ford's a delusional serial killer in a murder cult, but Ford has no idea Stan's dead, as the only reason he knew in the first place was because he saw Stan feed. Stan doesn't get kidnapped, but he's determined to help Ford out of the cult and Ford wants to keep Stan close, because now that Stan's here and almost got jumped Ford realizes he's a weakness, one Ford didn't realize he had and almost lost. He has to keep Stan safe from the horrors of the night, even if it means putting up with Stan telling him and everyone else they're crazy and need to seek help.

Except Stan is still very much a hungry vampire that had his hunt interrupted, and he's not about to let Ford boss him around.

So Stan's sneaking out constantly to bite muggars, while Fords cursing missing The Beast again, and upset Stan keeps putting himself in danger. Keeps running into him out and about, just a few blocks away from drained vampire corpses. Totally oblivious to the danger he could have been in! Stan's annoyed Fords helicoptering, but also happy to be able to talk with him and the fact he's getting free food and housing here.

The comedy of errors keeps happening, with a background horror of 'what is Stan up to in the dead of night?' because obviously he's not a vampire! He's out in the sun! He's eating food! None of the vampire deterrents work against him, so he can't be one!

I imagine it'd last for a few months, until someone finally realized the Beast was following their trail, not the other way around, and Ford puts everyone on lock down. Its hunting them back! They need to prepare for an attack! It could be watching them at any moment.

Except Stan is already there, and he's getting hungrier and hungrier.

Then the horror movie happens. Stan's been hiding in his room, not feeling well and just so, so thirsty and hot. Ford's trying to help him, but he needs to focus on the threat. Someone comes to bring Stan a bowl of soup, then gets jump scared by a starving Venus Vampire Trap, who's not locked up and can therefore hunt as he pleases. Grabs the tiny furnace with the bowl, sniffs at them, then chucks them away. Way too hot, he's looking for something colder. Tears through the base, ignoring all the anti vampire stuff and sniffing at everyone, fangs bared, face full of blue lines, classic vampire blood rage. A very calm, not very bloody one?

Until Stan disappears into the daylight, vanishing before anyone can tackle him and hissing slightly at the sun.

Ford scours the city, horrified about the vampire they'd been harboring. How long? When? What? Why didn't Stan bite anyone, even though he was obviously starving?

Tracks him down in a vampire nest a day later, one thats full of corpses. Stan's been slurping up all the different vamps at his leisure, kinda full but not passing up all the free food. What vampires Stan's left half drained were paralyzed, letting Stan get back to them when he got hungry again. So Ford walks in to his brother in a pile of corpses, teeth in a vampire neck and doing that slow drinking thing you do when you're kinda full but don't want to let your meal go to waste. The vampire in his mouth still very much alive, and Ford is just watching it all happen, very :0 face at all the blood everywhere.

Then Stan sees him and perks up. Lets go of the vamp he was eating and goes 'oh hey bro, whats up' then clamps down again, eyes still gold but the red gone, slurping the vampire in his trash bag pile. Good thing he doesn't care about the environment, he's made a bit of a mess, is so hard in denial he's not even looking at anything but Ford, can't look at it because then he has to Acknowledge that he knows somethings up with him.

He's just sick. He's been sick. Nothing else happened, because it can't have happened.

Vampires aren't real.

Too bad Fords here to pop that bubble and all the corpses are stacked around Stan and hes currently eating a vampire. Cue angsty yelling match as Ford is pointing at all the evidence around him, and how stupid did think Stan think he was? He's clearly a vampire! Has been one the whole time! Was this all some kind of ploy, and if so whats the point!

Is not prepared for Stan's vehement denial and then breakdown about being a vampire. Stan can't be dead! Because if he died then he never made it! He died and is dead and his whole life was one wasted thing after another and he was killed and shoved in a box! He should have died a year ago behind some bar in a no name town in Wyoming! Fuck Wyoming Ford! Things have been trying to eat him! So many things, all the time! He could have snuffed it a thousand times over, and no one would have noticed! He hasn't done anything with his life and now he's not alive because Vampires Are Real and He's a vampire because some creep in a top hat was mad he wasn't his brother! Its always about Ford! Stan couldn't even die for anything he caused!

And Stan is covered in blood the whole time, gripping his current meal like a teddy bear while it snarls in his arms, paralysis the only thing keeping it from going on a rampage. Stan clamps back on, trying to eat his feelings away but with his eyes closed so he can't see what he's doing. Doesn't want to See anything, just eat something yummy and pretend its ice cream.

Then Ford has to climb over the body pile and awkwardly try to hug Stan while also avoiding the other vampire and grimacing at all the cold corpse blood.

Anyway, thats what would have happened :)

#gravity falls #gravity falls au #stan pines #ford pines #vampire stan #vampire hunter ford #venus vampire trap

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kiss-me-muchoo · 3 months ago

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𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 || 𝐇𝐚𝐧 𝐉𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠-𝐖𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary_ Jeong-won decides to marry one last time, he chooses you, turning out to be so different than expected, as you fall in love with him, you start questioning whether to tell him about your feelings or not because Jeong-won seemed like he wasn’t over his ex wife Noh In-ji.

warnings_ age gap (early 20s / late 30s), angst, semi tormented Jeong-won, implied sex, immigration inaccuracies, reader implied to be American, NOT PROOFREAD

notes_ im nervous ab tlou season two and putting aside gong yoo character fics until season 3 of squid game airs or until another gong yoo project is announced

♫ ♪ the worst playlist 4 gong yoo

✰ Index (+ fics here)

୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ

His steps were slow, even lazy. Han Jeong-won walked through modern hallways and went straight to the elevator. As the doors closed, he questioned if he was being careless. If he should leave…

But he didn’t want to return to his new home. Smaller than the mansion of his parents, with no bad memories but… no aura.

It was a house with two bedrooms, a studio, and three bathrooms. The kitchen was big, and the living room had a balcony and a view of the little backyard of the property.

It was his place. But not home.

He then decided he wanted to marry. It didn’t matter who. He just wanted company, a friend even.

The door of the elevator opened.

He walked out and with his hands on his pockets, he made his way to the principal office of the building.

When he turned left, someone bumped into him.

“I’m truly sorry” he heard.

Jeong-won first looked at the green metallic bag on the floor, some books and folders in English.

When he looked up. He saw a young woman: you.

He heard how you kept apologizing over and over until he picked up your stuff and offered a hand with his free arm.

“You’re good” he answered, thinking you had a pretty face and cute outfit. Nothing compared to what most women wear in the city, or the whole nation.

In vibrant colors and with a noticeable tendency to avoid eye contact, Jeong-won found you attractive.

He wondered why you were there, given you looked young.

And before he could ask or make conversation, you apologized one last time before turning and leaving.

“Sorry, have a good day, sir,” you said without even looking at him.

He huffed in disbelief.

What an awkward but adorable woman, Jeong-won thought.

…

“The woman with the exuberant green bag. Is she an option for me?”

“She’s in a younger range than you. Belongs in the 20 to 32 range gap. But if you truly want her to be your wife, I can easily arrange something…”

“Yes. I want her…” he didn’t know why, but he answered without hesitation.

You were a stranger. He barely saw your face and knew nothing about you.

But deep in his wounded heart, he felt like you had something. It was no coincidence that you bumped into him minutes earlier.

“Alright then. We’ll send her the proposal and she’ll have twenty one days to sign it” It was then that Jeong-won realized he was signing for a fake marriage again.

His third one by the way. But in hopes of saying that the third time is the charm.

“We’ll contact you when we have news, Mr. Han” he nodded, briefly glancing at the new woman in charge and nodding before leaving.

As he walked towards his car, he couldn’t help but go back to think about Noh In-ji.

Was he really that bad that she couldn’t stay with him?

Were both heavily wounded by their pasts that simply couldn’t connect?

It was for the best, she said the last time Jeong-won saw her. Which was months after their marriage was over.

He secretly prayed that his upcoming marriage would work. He craved the love of someone. And as pathetic as it sounded, he wanted it quick. He was getting older, almost leaving his late thirties. Life would continue and he’d die without love, just like his late mother.

He refused to give up looking for love. Before In-ji, Jeong-won only had eyes for an unhinged vengeful woman. After In-ji, he realized that none of the women he had given his best years had given him love.

He was awkward about giving and receiving affection. He has severe problems communicating and, even worse to talking about feelings.

But he wasn’t scared of vulnerability. And Jeong-won wished you weren’t either.

…

You had signed the contract. It had been three weeks and Jeong-won knew nothing about you yet. He expected to have you in his house already the following day after giving your signature. But you never appeared, or the following day, or the one after that.

He called the agency to ask what was happening and they only provided him your address.

So there he was Jeon-won himself knocking on the door of a modest but beautiful apartment complex.

The door was painted in baby pink and from the outside, smelled like lemon and garlic.

“Coming!” You said, dropping the marinated chicken breast and taking off your plastic gloves.

Upon opening the door, you encounter a tall man in jeans and a flannel shirt looking at you with curiosity.

“Do you know who I am, right?” he asked looking down at you, making your cheeks slightly warm.

You eye him as well, he’s older. But very handsome. He carried a sad aura around him but seemed nice. But you finally acknowledge who he is.

“Han Jeong-won, correct?” He nods and you step aside. “Want to come in?”

Your place is the opposite of his. You have a lot of stuff, slightly messy but overall compelling enough to make the place feel comfortable and sophisticated.

Jeong-won had to admit you had good taste.

“You signed the contract three weeks ago,” he said, following you to the kitchen, where the smell of lemon and garlic was concentrated

“I did” Your calm voice confused him.

“And why I haven’t heard anything from you?”

“You wanted to see me before we get a date for the wedding?” You asked with surprise, leaving aside your uncooked dinner to turn around and see him.

“Well, yes. I want us to get to know each other” his words definitely took you in a curve.

You smile, sighing. As you move toward your fridge, you pull out a bottle of tamarind Smirnoff and drink straight from the bottle.

“Why are you marrying me, Mr. Han?” the man stared at you with curiosity. Eager to understand who was the woman he wanted to spend his life with.

“I want a partner…” he admitted with slight shame in his eyes.

You smiled, beyond surprised if that was even possible. You poured him a little bit of the alcohol into a glass and passed it to him.

“This is my first marriage” Now you surprised him. “I need my student visa renewed to continue in a master's program and the consulate is not accepting my extension”

He nods, understanding.

“Our marriage license would automatically give you rights to legally stay inside the country” Jeong-won confirmed and you nodded, feeling slightly bad for having not-so-good intentions.

“But… not everything has to be under a contract” his eyes sparkle with hope, even though he doesn’t know why, he just wanted to hear you. “When I saw your picture in your profile at the agency… I thought you were very handsome and nice. I would also like a partner”

He chuckled and you joined him.

“I’m the man you bumped into the other day” you nod while drinking a little more.

“I know,” he notices you get a little serious after that. “Mr Han, Why did you choose me as your wife?”

Jeong-won looks at his hands. Thinking the right words. Even though he wasn’t even sure why he picked you.

“To be honest? I don’t know. I just thought you were nice and pretty. And I wanted to know more about you after our sudden encounter” you nod, smiling briefly.

“Well, here I am” The chicken breasts return to be cooked after you stand up, giving him your back.

“I’m a graduate student trying to get into the educational system and work as a professor. I’m terrible at cooking Korean traditional dishes but I make great food” You paused to chuckle briefly. “I’m terrified of surgeries and whales. People usually don’t approach me, making me pretty much a loner and I can’t live a day without music”

Jeong-won only smiles more at your last sentence. He stands up to walk and stops beside you.

“You can’t live a day without music?” He asks with a cocky smile. Some oil jumps and burns your hand but you calm the man beside you, saying it was okay.

“Yes, Mr. Han. A day without music would be so hard for me”

So far, you’re liking him. Aside from being handsome despite being older, he’s awkwardly cute. You can tell he doesn’t have much social skills. He is quite cold and struggles to enable long conversations.

“Sounds good to me. I’m a music producer” Your eyes sparkle, shining with curiosity.

“Really? So you must have tons of vinyl and CDs, right?” Jeong-won can’t help but chuckle, surprised to find comfort in you so easily.

“I have some of those. But mostly everything is on my computer” You nod, serving him a plate of food, and you realize you never asked him to stay for dinner.

“I didn’t ask and I already served you a plate of food. But… Would you like to stay over, Mr. Han?”

Your smile was adorable and shy but your tone of voice was confident. Resulting in a magnificent enigma for the man in your place.

“Fine but quit calling me Mr. Han, please” he suggests and you nod, agreeing with a smile.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to marry him.

…

The wedding was quick. And very quiet.

But Jeong-won’s smile and his embrace in your hands before signing the contract made you feel safe.

Both of you got to know each other better in the previous weeks. Agreed on keeping your home and going back and forth from his place to your own. He even told you about his unfortunate childhood and you understood why he was the way he was.

Your husband was touch starved. And you promised to cherish him as much as he allowed you.

Just as he promised you to be your friend before your legal husband.

A day after the wedding, you two arrived at Jeju. At a hotel that was like a little Bangkok city. Only allowed 21+ guests, had unlimited cocktails and daily raves. All while remaining elegant and very extravagant.

For a person like Jeong-won, who was quiet, observant, and shy rather than an extrovert, he was limited to look at you dancing on the dance floor of the main bar.

It was very 2000s inspired with green and pink neon lights, lots of tropical plants, and great music.

But your husband was merged in a raspberry cocktail while you were having fun dancing.

He was great. Both of you slowly getting to know each other, surprisingly feeling comfortable.

You eye Jeong-won, noticing he had already been looking at you. You smile at him before walking in his direction.

“Was any of the played songs produced by you?” You ask, panting for air, realizing you are sweating. It was the late spring, almost summer, and the heat was increasing.

Jeong-won chuckles, sipping from his drink.

“A couple of them…” he answers.

He had shown you some of his work, and you loved it. Music is one of the things that connected you two so well.

“Am I being too childish?” You ask with a shy grin.

“For what?”

“For dancing…” your index finger points at his drink, asking for some, and Jeong-won nods, handing you his glass.

“God, no” you hear him say. “In fact, you dance really good”

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment and there’s a flutter in your stomach.

“You think so?” He nods.

Perhaps it was the music, the drinks, the constant but subtle flirting that made both of you bold enough to lean at the same time.

Your lips touch his and both melt in a perfectly drunken kiss. Messy, needy, and hot.

“Wanna do me?” You ask while chuckling, starting to feel tipsy after so many drinks.

He blushes, and his pale cheeks turn bright red. But it’s useless, you can feel him hardening.

“Guess my moves were enough to catch your attention” you whisper in his ear, despite the loud music.

He eyes you briefly before grabbing your hand and hurrying to get you both out of the bar. You chuckle, ignoring the fact that you two were under a contract, that you barely knew him, and that you were already falling in love with him.

…

You hear Jeong-won typing on the couch while you prepare a simple dinner with rice and tofu.

“Done. I think your essay is great, dear” Jeong-won says appearing and kissing your cheek. He had agreed to proofread your final essay for a class.

So quick, not enough time, but already felt fondness.

“Thank you” he didn’t know why, but he was also feeling extremely used to you.

First of all, he promised to be more open towards the woman he married. He was willing to suppress his traumas to heal with said woman. It was easier when he sat and listened to you talk, accepting you were compatible with him despite being so different from him.

He liked seeing your hoodie hung aside from his jacket, your sandal heels resting beside his sneakers, and your perfume with his cologne in his bathroom.

“We’ve run out of napkins. Can you hand me more, please?” You ask without looking at him.

He returns to the reality and nods.

You were staying with him for the weekend and he was happy about it.

Meanwhile, you were happy, playing the domestic but not domestic marriage.

You had been growing the hopes of actually remaining married after the contract expired. You wanted to be sure he could be your confidant, your partner, and your lover.

And so far, Jeong-won was doing his part.

Until the phone rang.

You had your hands covered in sauce to marinate the tofu cubes, so you couldn’t answer.

So you hoped that the person calling was going to leave a mail voice.

“Hey, Jeong-won, it’s In-ji. I know we haven’t talked in some time but I just wanted to congratulate you on your marriage. I truly hope the best for you and the fortunate girl”

You smiled. You didn’t know who the woman was, but she sounded nice.

“Who’s In-ji? She called to congratulate you on our marriage” his smile dissipated and that drew your attention.

“Oh, no one. Just an old friend” It was his tone that put you at ease.

“I have the napkins…” he hands them over and you do your best to ignore the way he reacted to the call.

You shouldn’t be thinking too much about it, but it made you wonder as you served two plates of food.

…

Cabbage, carrots, mushrooms, rice sheets, shredded beef, and fish sauce.

Jeong-won comes behind you and places a can of olives in the shopping cart.

“You don’t like olives,” you say, pointing at the can.

“But I know you do” he answers, making you smile.

Your first grocery shopping together.

“I can do them fried and filled with cheese” your husband pretends to puke before chuckling.

“Asshole…” both of laugh, ignoring some other people looking at you two.

“Jeong-won?”

Both of you turn around to encounter a woman.

“Hi…” he awkwardly says.

You frown as she gets closer.

“This must be your wife…” the woman is pretty, she smiles kindly but eyes you with coldness.

“I’m Noh In-ji” She offers her hand and you pretend to smile with honesty, accepting her gesture.

She’s the woman from the other day.

“Nice to meet you” is all you attempt to say.

“How long have you two been married?” Jeong-won exchanges looks with you.

He’s nervous, you are getting uncomfortable.

“Two months and a half…” he answers.

“That’s nice, I hope you two can extend the contract?” Your frown gets even bigger.

“You know about the contracts?” In-ji chuckles.

“Sure, I know them very well. I married multiple times” she says. “Jeong-won was my last”

“Oh…” is all you say, looking at your husband with rage.

…

His steps hurry to catch up with you. You push the shopping cart until you find Jeong-won’s expensive car.

He doesn’t say anything while both of you fill the backseats with groceries.

Until both of you are inside the car, ready to go home.

“It’s not what you think, y/n”

“You said it was a friend” you boldly answer back, shushing him.

“And she is” You don’t look at him. “She was my wife, I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want you to think she’s still in my life as more than a friend”

“Do you love her?” You ask, terrified to find out the truth.

“…no”

“You hesitated…” you barely say, looking away from him, deciding to not look at him all the way back.

“I swallowed”

“I changed my mind. I’m staying at my place tonight…” he sighs.

The drive back is awkward. A perfect antithesis to the bright and lovely day both of you had.

You don’t care about your pudding, fruit, and food you bought anymore. You open the door as soon as Jeong-won parks across your apartment complex.

“It’s just you and I, y/n,” he says, giving you a disappointed look.

“Goodnight, Jeong-won”

When you met the infamous Noh In-ji at the supermarket. You were not expecting her to blow out the news that she was Jeong-won’s second wife.

You didn’t like the way they smiled at each other and you certainly didn’t like your husband lying to you.

How good the first two months had been.

That night, you accept you love him. You accept you want him to love you back. In your head, it was fair to say you were allowed to fall in love with a person three months after meeting them. Even more when you married him. And that’s why it hurt you so much the way he reacted upon seeing his ex-wife.

…

It’s a week later when Jeong-won has reached a new record of insomnia. He used to be unable to sleep for different reasons before. Since you decided to take some distance from him, every single night all he could think about was you.

He missed you like hell.

And debated whether to call you or not; when he was making breakfast, while working, driving, and before sleeping.

Even in the shower, he would zone out wondering what was right to say to you.

And while he was disassociating in the shower, he heard his phone ringing. His eyes snapped open and ran off to see if it was you. He almost slipped, and all for nothing.

When he reached the phone resting in his bed, the phone stopped ringing.

But there was a male voice left and it was yours. Jeong-won could feel his heart pounding as he pressed the screen to play the recording.

So.. uh- this is so awkward….

I know I’ve evaded you and… that’s not okay, I’m sorry. I usually can tag my feelings so easily but these days I don’t know how I feel. The night we did the groceries, I felt so outcasted. I understand the history you have with her, Jeong-won. I really do.

It’s just that… I realized that I love you. And I don’t know if you feel the same way. But I won’t be pressured to say or do anything. If you want to break things off after our year of marriage concludes, I’ll understand.

I’m going to be staying at my place for a couple of days.

That’s- that’s pretty much it. Take care of yourself, yeah?

Jeong-won replayed it again and again until he accepted you had said you loved him.

He barely dried himself. He got dressed and went straight to grab his car keys.

All so he could get to you.

…

Four knocks and nobody opened the door. Jeong-won decided to use the keys you had given him.

Upon entering, he noticed the lights were off, and everything was quiet.

He grew worried, thinking something had happened to you until he entered your room and found you soundly sleeping.

He smiled, getting inside the bed with you.

You yawned, lazily opening your eyes.

“Jeong-won?” He hugs you, caging your head in his chest.

“I love you too” You hug him harder after hearing him.

“I want to punch you and kiss you so bad, Jeong-won” you mumble.

“Do it then…” your husband answers back chuckling.

“Nah, just kiss me” and he does it.

With so much time ahead, both of you knew that there was still a lot to know about each other. But that was okay. Jeong-won had found what he always wanted; a lover.

Who was eager to love him back. So there you two rested; two lovers in the dark.

#gong yoo x reader #gong yoo #han jeong won x reader #han jeong won #the trunk #the salesman x reader #salesman x reader #recruiter x reader #the recruiter #the salesman

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