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mountainsandmayhem · 4 days

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BDSMaid - Chapter 1

Masterlist || AO3

Pairing: Millionaire Joel Miller x Female Reader Rating: 18+ Chapter Summary: To save money for law school, you accept a job at Maid Discretely; a high end, anonymous cleaning service. You aren’t supposed to know whose home you’re cleaning, but your curiosity is peaked by your first client, and when the two of you have a shocking and surprising run in, more than just your curiosity peaks. CW: Author chooses not to use warnings in this chapter in order to avoid spoilers. While I never want to trigger anyone, you are solely responsible for the content you consume. AN: Oh boy, here we go! I'm in a straight PANIC getting ready to post this. I hope it meets all your expectations, I was not at all expecting that reaction to the teaser post. Love you all and thank you for all your support. Please share or comment, I have a praise kink LOL. Follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates and turn on notifications for future chapters. Dividers and support banners by @saradika-graphics. Thank you @mermaidgirl30, @littlevenicebitch69, @joelmillerisapunk and @burntheedges for being my little cheerleaders over this, ily!! Chapter Word Count: 4.4k

You stare down at the very intimidating legal document you have clasped in your clammy hands. There are so many big legal sounding words that seem to be mocking you with their importance. Somehow there are clauses that have sub clauses that are then further broken down into sub-subclauses. It feels heavy to be handed this on a Monday morning. Truthfully, this doesn’t seem like something a soon-to-be twenty-one year old woman who literally just graduated college, albeit a semester early, should be allowed to sign without parents and a lawyer present.

This is just supposed to be a simple job working part time as a maid for your best friend's family’s cleaning company. A job where she promised easy money and part time hours that you set for yourself. The perfect opportunity for you to be able to save money AND set aside lots of study time for your upcoming LSAT rewrite. You passed it a few months ago and applied to a bunch of law schools, but you aren’t going to waste these next few months waiting around. You know how competitive law schools can be, so you’re preparing to be better just in case you don’t get in.

Your eyes scan words that your brain can’t seem to comprehend. The internal panic starts to bubble in your chest, someone who has law aspirations should know what these words mean.

This is just supposed to be easy. Cleaning. Vacuuming. Washing floors. Simple things.

But now, as you sit in this shiny, fancy downtown office building looking at your full legal name typed beside a bunch of ‘initial here’ and ‘sign here’ lines on a nondisclosure agreement you’re starting to feel like this is anything but simple.

“Our clientele is VERY exclusive,” your childhood best friend Jamie says. She looks very professional and grown up sitting behind her glass desk. Her long, toned legs are crossed, the slit along the side of her crisp, white pencil skirt showing off her tanned upper thigh. She’s paired her white skirt with a baby pink silky blouse that's perfectly tucked into the high waist of the skirt. Her long, dark silky hair is twisted into a jeweled claw clip. Even though you’re the same age she has an air of sophistication and grace, even with winged eyeliner, a matte pink lip, and a slender rose gold septum ring that sits tight to her little button nose. She almost screams old Hollywood in the middle of Austin, Texas.

She continues, “You won’t know the names of the clients and they will never be home. If they do come home, leave immediately, and try your best not to be seen or heard. Then you can fill out in the company app what you did and didn’t manage to get done.”

You put the paper down on her perfect desk so she can’t see your hands shaking. How can you work at that desk all day and not get a single fingerprint or smudge on it? There’s a very good chance that I am not cut out for this. This is fancy. And expensive. I’m neither of those things.

“What am I gonna be walking in on at these houses, Jamie?” You ask, swallowing the fiberglass that’s suddenly prickling at your throat.

Jamie shakes her head and laughs, saying your name through her melodic giggles. “Most likely nothing. We’ve never had an encounter or run in with a client. They pick times for cleaners to come when they aren’t home.” She leans back in her high backed chair and continues, “But the clients are big deals. Politicians. Judges. Athletes. The odd celebrity. They don’t want anyone in their home that will snoop or snap pictures. Hence the NDA.”

“Well, why didn’t you start with that!” You laugh. “Jesus, I thought I’d be walking into like a virginal sacrifice or some shit!”

“Well, there was that one time…” Your face drops and she immediately starts laughing again. “I’m kidding. Relax. Look, you’ll probably get three homes a week, each house will take six to eight hours. The hourly pay is twenty dollars plus whatever tip they’ll leave you in these black envelopes.”

She puts a perfectly polished finger on a stack of black envelopes with a red ‘Maid Discretely’ logo on it and continues, “In my experience, the tips are around five hundred, completely tax free. This is a good gig! You’ll be in law school becoming smarter than all of us in no time. Fuck, you’ll be writing insane contracts like those before we know it.”

She stands, one hand resting on the desk while the other slides the paper towards you with a closed pen. She drops the writing apparatus on top of it, the metal casing of the pen clanging loudly on her glass desk. You let out an exasperated sigh, dramatically clicking the pen before signing the NDA. Jamie claps her hands excitedly then snatches the contract away before you can rip it up and says, “Let’s get your uniform and supplies!”

She hands you a few fitted white polo style t-shirts, black dress pants, white Keds (that she scolds are for inside the houses only), a caddy full of high end cleaning supplies, a top of the line Dyson vacuum and everything else you’ll need.

She ends your meeting with instructions on how the company's scheduling and tracking app works. "Essentially, you set the days and times you’re available and it will populate for you. You’ll have addresses, dates and times, as well as tasks to be done, all nicely laid out for you. If a client likes you, they can request you for additional shifts, but for continuity purposes you should get the same couple houses that you’ll rotate through throughout the month."

You nod along, mostly surprised to hear the girl who did a keg stand just a few days ago sound so professional, using words like 'continuity purposes'.

The next day you have your first official shift. Tuesday from nine to three and you’re scheduled at a mansion in a neighborhood you’ve never heard of and you most definitely wouldn’t fit in to. Jamie is already waiting there for you when you pull up. She explained yesterday that she’d help you with the first one and then you are on your own after that. Well, not completely alone. Your iPhone is loaded full of smutty audio books, murder podcasts, and law books to listen to as you clean.

Jamie was right, you think to yourself as you scroll to the latest romance novel you’ve downloaded and grab your AirPods, this is a good gig.

The house is absolutely massive, and you highly doubt you’ll be done in six hours. You gather all your stuff and head up to the house. Jamie shows you where the company supplied key box is and how to open it from the app. As you grab the key Jamie excitedly says, “This used to be my client. He always leaves a huge tip!”

You unlock the large front glass door and enter into a white marble foyer. The windows on the first floor are easily ten feet tall and allow in so much natural light. Gold and obsidian swirls in the marble reflect along the walls, dancing in the sunlight. To the left of the front door is a large open kitchen that might be bigger than your entire apartment. The marble of the expansive countertop is the same colour as the foyer. All the cabinetry is matte black with brushed gold handles. The kitchen opens into a lavish living room, a massive fireplace and TV sits on the far back left wall, encompassed by a very cozy looking white sectional.

To the right of the front door, starting furthest away from where you stand in awe, is a door to a huge half bathroom, followed by a long table with a bowl for keys and mail, and then the door that leads to the garage. About fifty feet in front of you is a grand staircase that branches out to the left and right. Beyond the staircase you can see into the backyard. This is by far the nicest house you’ve ever been in.

As both you and Jamie slip into your keds she says, “Upstairs to the left are a few bedrooms and the office. I usually started there and then went to the right side where he has a huge entertainment area. Then I would clean down here since he doesn’t cook very often and it’s usually just a quick wipe down.”

Just as you start to panic over how you’re supposed to remember all this she nudges you and adds, “But that’s all in the app for you, most of the clients are very particular so they’ll lay out exactly what order you should be cleaning in, as well as any other extra things they need done.”

She helps you carry all your stuff upstairs and then watches you work. Sure enough, the app says to start in the office so you do just that. Careful not to disturb the few piles of paperwork you dust the desk and shelves and then wipe down the windows and computer screen. You vacuum the hardwood and plush rug last and after Jamie gives you an approving nod, you move onto the next room.

You continue like that, going from room to room, your friend, and now boss, occasionally giving feedback or leaving to answer a phone call or respond to an email. The job is easy enough; repeating the same steps in each room over and over again. It’s the exact type of work you exceed at. You enjoy having clear sets of instructions and expectations, and a prioritized list where you can start at the top and work down. You’ve always excelled at following meticulous directions in school. Your life maybe not so much. When it comes to dating or your parents you aren’t one to do what you’re told.

When one o’clock rolls around you just have one bathroom upstairs and the already pristine downstairs to tend to, but Jamie coaxes you into taking your break, which is another thing you’re bad at. You were raised not to take breaks, taking a break or doing nothing means you're lazy. You should be working all the time, and pushing yourself to accomplish things. As a child you’d push and push yourself to be the best, honor roll ceremonies were the only time your dad would show up. He’d smile and brag about you to whoever was around.

“It’s important that you take all your supplies to your car with you when you eat your lunch. Never eat in their homes and never park on their driveways.” You nod and hoist all your stuff to the front step. “Make sure you lock up like you’re leaving too.”

“How am I doing so far?” You ask as you lock the door, your stomach growling loudly as if it needs to prove to her how hard you’re working. You hadn’t realized how much of an appetite you’d gain just from cleaning. The few stale crackers and small can of tuna you managed to find in your cupboard this morning doesn’t seem like it’s going to be enough.

“Really well! I actually think I might leave you to finish up. Don’t forget to take whatever he left for you out of the black envelope on the kitchen counter.” She doesn’t look up at you, her fingers tapping out an email on her shiny iphone screen. She doesn’t have her phone in a case and you can only imagine the level of self confidence you have to have to carry around an expensive item unprotected like that.

“Is it weird that there’s no pictures or anything of the family that lives here?” You say curiously as you both walk towards your parked vehicles.

“No,” she says flatly. “I think it’s just one person here and that’s pretty normal for the houses you’ll be cleaning. Lots of them are rarely home or only home to sleep.”

You gawk at the massive house from across the street as you throw all your supplies in the back of your used and rusted SUV. One person lives here. Alone. How is this possible? He’s clearly doing well for himself. Either he’s really lonely or a complete asshole.

After you eat, you head back inside to finish up cleaning. The entire house looks like a show home. Not a single thing out of place. The kitchen seems staged, void of life aside from a tiny droplet of coffee on the countertop beside the Italian coffee maker, and a tiny brown stegosaurus toy that sits on top of it. Two minutes before the end of your shift you do a final sweep to make sure you haven’t left anything behind and then slip open the black envelope. Inside you find seven one hundred dollars and a note that just says ‘TY - JM’.

As you log your day in the company app you can’t believe you just made seven hundred freaking dollars to clean up after a man who makes no messes. You excitedly check your upcoming schedule and it looks like you’ll be back here in two more weeks. You could potentially be getting fourteen hundred dollars a month from this elusive “JM”. A man with no pictures or personal touches in his shiny white, black and gold mansion.

It’s been almost two weeks since your first clean at JM’s house. Your other clients were good tippers, usually between four to five hundred, but you’ve been looking forward to going back. You know you’re not supposed to know who the clients are, but you couldn’t help but google JM to try to figure out who he is and how he has so much money. In hindsight, you guess all your clients have money, but something about him has alerted your curiosity. He seems like smoke, or a ghost, in his own home. Your other clients had some sort of semblance of life in their houses. A dent in the pillow. An open newspaper on the kitchen table. A coffee cup dropped in the sink before they headed off to whatever fancy job they have to afford such a massive house. A toilet seat left up or a smudge of toothpaste on the mirror.

But not JM.

No, the only thing JM left was a tiny droplet of coffee. Coffee that was probably imported straight from Italy. You’re almost ashamed of the amount of times you’ve wondered about that stegosaurus toy. It seems so out of place in his house of clean lines and sterility.

You’re just settling in to enjoy a Sunday night of sushi, rosé and Bridgerton with your roommate when your phone bings, a little red notification bubble popping up on the Maid Discretely app. You have an added shift request for JM tomorrow. Instead of one six hour shift on Tuesday you now have two six hour shifts. You accept the request and scroll through the tasks. He’s requested you to wipe the baseboards and lightswitches on the main floor, a deep scrub of every bathroom, as well as doing the inside of the fridge, stove and microwave. There are also instructions for washing the sheets in the main bedroom, and spraying down the patio furniture around the pool.

Only a millionaire in Texas would ask for his pool furniture to be cleaned in February.

Shortly after you accept the shift you get a text from Jamie:

Saw you accepted the shift. The client asked for the normal clean on the first day, please. Extras the next day. Thanks.

The following morning you head to the large, bright mansion. Parking across the street and hauling all your stuff in. It feels a bit weird to be here on a Monday and you have a feeling you’ll be reminding yourself all day that it is indeed Monday and not Tuesday.

You get all your stuff together, change into your indoor company issued keds and head up the stairs. The pink and orange hues of the sunrise glitters off the white marble tiles, glints of gold and sparkling black reflecting off of it. You take a second to look down from the landing as you pop in your airpods. It really is a beautiful home, and it’s too bad that whoever lives here is either lonely or an asshole, but for a split second you let yourself pretend that you and JM just finished making love and he’s now in the kitchen making you an espresso or a latte with that insanely fancy coffee machine in the kitchen. You shake your head at yourself. You didn’t find anything when googling, which isn’t surprising since two letters aren’t much to go on, but this house seems to draw you in, like it’s calling to you. It’s strange, it’s almost like you have a crush on this house and you couldn’t help but make a whole persona for whoever lives here. Even with its clean lines and lack of life, something about it settles in your gut, it feels like home.

You scroll your podcast app trying to pick what episode you want to listen to and head down the hall, you can’t seem to decide so you pocket your phone without starting anything and reach for the matte black handle of the office door. You’re expecting to see JM’s tidy office with a few stacks of paperwork in one corner, but the sight you find before you has all the blood rush from your head and your stomach dropping right out of your body. Your jaw drops and you freeze in utter shock and fear.

Instead of the usual stacks of paper, there’s an icy blond haired woman tied to the desk. She’s completely naked and on her back with her legs spread wide. Her ankles are tied to the legs of the desk with a scratchy looking rope, her wrists wrapped in matching rope and resting above her head. Her nipples are almost purple underneath the clothespin attached to them. You freeze, just the lewd wet noises of her pussy being worked furiously by the mysterious, fully clothed JM. His deep, commanding, gravel filled voice reverberates through the office. “Little fuckin' slut. Gonna split you in two.”

The woman lets out an unashamed cry of pleasure. Your entire body seems to go numb as your caddy falls from your hand, crashing loudly against the hardwood flooring. His head whips to the side, the icy blonde woman letting out a scream and trying to cover herself up. Your hands cover your mouth and even though you can’t feel your legs you spin and run for the stairs.

“Fuck. Fuck. Wait,” JM calls after you.

One of your AirPods falls from your ear as you run, you’re tempted to stop and grab it but you need to get out of here. Jamie’s voice echoes through your skull, ‘try your hardest not to be seen or heard’.

He catches up to you as you reach the front entryway, his strong hand pushing the door closed. You can feel the heat of his body against your back. You’re shaking - both from being terrified and embarrassed. You have so many thoughts running through your mind. This will get you fired, or worse, you could have just possibly lost the company a client. Fuck. You aren’t supposed to know who lives here and you certainly aren’t supposed to see them doing that.

“Please wait,” he says softly behind you and the heat of his broad body sends a chill down your spine.

The blood is rushing through your ears as your heart pounds in your throat. You don’t like confrontation and even with the softness in his voice, you’re sure he’s about to scream at you. You feel sick, and when you replay the words he said to the woman upstairs, and the sound of her moan that made you drop your caddy you start to feel dizzy and nervous.

Your hand falls from the handle of the front door and the brick wall of a man behind you steps back. You spin slowly to face him but keep your eyes on the floor.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, linking your fingers in front of you and focusing all your attention on the cuticle of your right thumb.

“No, please. This is my fault.” You trail your eyes from the floor to him. He's in perfectly pressed black dress pants paired with a white dress shirt. The sleeves are rolled to his forearms and he’s holding his hands up in front of himself as if to show you he isn’t armed or as a way to say 'you’re safe here'.

You flick your eyes up to his face and he’s looking at you softly, the morning sunrise lighting up his tanned face and salt and pepper hair. JM is probably twice your age, but he is incredibly handsome.

“I am so sorry. I must’a got my days mixed up when I booked you.” He says, a soft southern accent sneaking out.

“I’m going to get fired,” you respond shakily.

“No,” he says stepping forward, you subsequently take a step back, pressing your body against the glass front door. Something about this man makes you nervous, but not in the same way women are trained to be nervous of strange men that are almost twice their size. “No. This is my fault. Please, let me explain. I jus’ gotta - well, can I go deal with…” his head cocks towards the stairs, “And then let me explain. Please?”

You look at him, his handsome face all soft and apologetic. His dark brown and amber eyes dance around your face and without realizing you're even doing it, you nod your head.

“Thank you,” he drops his hands at his side, visibly relaxing at your decision not to run. “Sit at the island for me. I’ll be back.”

He watches you as you pad over to the island. The tall bar chair squeaks on the tile floor as you pull it out. He peels his eyes from you and heads upstairs. When you sit you have to stop from moaning out, the pressure of your body weight there sends a wave of rolling pleasure through you.

What the fuck?

It’s a dull, throbbing ache followed by a small gush of thick wetness. Did you mistake a feeling of arousal for dizziness and nervousness upstairs? Were you turned on by what you just witnessed?

Certainly not. There’s no way! He was, well, he wasn’t being nice to that woman.

Soon you hear footsteps coming down the stairs and towards the foyer, his body blocks her from your view as they talk at the front door. They speak in hushed voices, all you’re able to make out is her saying thank you followed by the sound of a soft kiss and then she’s gone.

She thanked him? It seems like he should be thanking her.

He wanders into the kitchen and your throat goes impossibly dry. As if he can read your every need, he grabs a glass from the cabinet, puts it under the water dispenser on his fridge door and then slides the glass across the large island to you. You have to lift off the chair to reach it, whispering a thank you before taking a sip.

JM leans against the countertop beside the fridge and watches you take a long drink. You put the glass down with a quiet clink and then fold your hands in your lap. His eye contact is intense, not in a creepy way, it’s almost like he’s assessing you. You find it hard to look at him so you avert your gaze to the glass.

He clears his throat gently before he starts. “I jus’ want to say how sorry I am. You didn’t consent to seein’ any of that and I can’t imagine how awful that was for you.” His voice is so calm and soft.

You flick your eyes up to him, “No, this is my fault. I am not suppose-“

JM shakes his head and holds up one hand, signaling you to stop. “No. This was me. I got my days mixed up. Meant to book ya for next week. This ain’t on you. This was my mistake. If it’s ok for me to ask, what’s your name?”

You mumble your name into your glass and down the rest of your water. You figure you’re probably fired either way so who cares if he knows who you are. His face ticks up slightly, almost like he’s proud of you for drinking, and says your name back to you.

“I ain’t gonna say anythin’ to your boss and I understand if you want to leave for the day. I’ll pay ya either way. I also understand if you say somethin’ to them and I can’t be a client anymore. It was unacceptable for me to be doin’ that when you’re supposed to be here. There ain’t any other way to word it. I was inappropriate and wrong.” He steps forward and holds his hand out so you slide the glass across to him.

He refills it and puts it back for you to grab. “No,” you say, your voice cracking. After clearing your throat you continue, “No, I appreciate your apology but I’m not going to say anything.”

He watches you again as you drain the glass, the same look of pride flashes across his eyes, “I’ll - umm - I’ll be in my office. You can uh,” he runs a hand through his scruff, “You just do whatever you need. I’ll stay outta your way.”

He disappears before you can say anything else. You head up the stairs after a few minutes to find your cleaning caddy sitting in the hall with everything placed neatly where it belongs. His office door is closed and you can hear the deep rumble of his voice while he’s on a call. You grab your things, head into the master bedroom and begin cleaning.

A few hours later while you’re sitting in your car eating lunch, the garage door opens and JM goes whipping past you in the sexiest blacked out sports car you’ve ever seen. He doesn’t even look over you as he speeds by. Your heart sinks, it's unexplainable but being in that house with him there, even after what you witnessed, felt more comfortable than being alone. JM must have some sort of magic touch, how you went from nervous and embarrassed to calm and comforted with just the look on his face and few words is beyond you.

After wiping down the kitchen you are all done for the day. You grab the black and red envelope off the kitchen counter and open it, peering in nervously. There’s a piece of matte black paper on top. You slide it out gently, the paper feels expensive between your fingers. As you unfold it you reveal a shiny black JMK logo at the top. In neat gold lettering is his writing.

‘Please know how sorry I am. Your consent is more important than anything. I broke that. Just hope I didn't break your trust. -Joel Miller.’

At the bottom of the envelope are ten crisp one hundred dollar bills.

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redclercs · 1 year

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DELICATE✰ CHARLES LECLERC.

ix. i'm so sick of running as fast as i can

— the one where they painted you out to be bad (so it's okay that you're mad).

warnings: fair warning you're going to be pissed, foul language, this one has more media between text and it's a little long. 2.3k words (+articles and a very long youtube thing!!)

currently playing: it's time to go by taylor swift!

masterlist ✢ next

By Alana Blake

YOU read it here first, friends. #YNCHARLES is still going strong even after the mess y/n found herself in during the Spanish Grand Prix weekend.

Rumor had it that after y/n's declarations where she said 'it was not serious' and 'she was just having fun', the Monegasque heartthrob dumped her immediately. This was fueled by the fact that we didn't see any pictures of them together during such weekend.

But sources have come to the rescue, letting us all know they're not broken up! "They talk every day for hours," our source said, "Both are still trying to keep it fun but more lowkey after everyone found out about the cheating."

RELATED: Victoria Presley's top five beauty hacks.

You would think that after a partner refers to you as a 'toy', dumping them is the best course of action, but apparently that doesn't apply to Mr. Leclerc who has "nothing but good things to say about y/n".

"He's excited to see her in New York before the Canada Grand Prix, they have it all planned out since she has her apartment back." The source added.

One thing is for sure, if we see y/n at the next Grand Prix, that's the big confirmation that they are together, since they blew their Elix cover by forcing them to end the contract.

SEE ALSO:

→ Victoria Presley's inauguration after party at the Grand Havana Room, you just had to be there.

→ Taylor Swift defends y/n y/ln: ''All of you have learned nothing!"

→ Aidan Kim on Charles Leclerc: "Never heard of him until my girlfriend cheated on me"

𝙂𝙊𝙏 𝙎𝙊𝙈𝙀𝙏𝙃𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙏𝙊 𝙎𝘼𝙔? 𝙇𝙀𝘼𝙑𝙀 𝘼 𝘾𝙊𝙈𝙈𝙀𝙉𝙏 𝘽𝙀𝙇𝙊𝙒!

You're seeing the top comments.

Anonymous – 4 hr ago

They're both so shameless! and charles was liking tweets saying they were friends like he could really trick us.

kollhha – 3 hr ago

I hate her, Charles dump her ass for the love of god.

adriennewells – 40 min ago

no but seriously what is it about y/n that has men brainwashed?

Anonymous – 10 min ago

They WOULD be cute together, i don't think they're dating though.

June 10th, Los Angeles, California

You fit your life for the past months into two suitcases, and a carry on. Your room at Vic's house is messy and it feels strangely empty without your discarded shoes and dirty laundry on the floor. But it's time to go, you cannot impose your presence in this enormous house anymore. You have felt like an intruder since you started traveling to Formula 1 and coming back every week like this is your hotel and not your best friend's home.

"Are you really going back to New York?" Vic asks from behind you, voice low with sadness.

"Yes, Vic, I have to." you sigh, turning to meet her. She's dressed up in her fucsia workout gear, holding a light ring in her left hand and her phone in the right. Your flight leaves in the evening and you were hoping to have a meal with Vic before parting to the airport, but it looks like she's all booked.

"No you don't," she argues, entering the room. "Hollywood is here, y/n why do you need to go back to New York? You're an actress!"

You feel like a lot of things, except for an actress right now.

"I don't think Hollywood wants me right now, Vic," you say, going back to the unmade bed to lie down. You asked the cleaning lady if she could leave your room for last so you could finish picking your stuff up, and she agreed gently. "Plus, I really miss New York."

"y/n you haven't even visited my store, you can't go!" Vic's tone changes in octave, and it's not her whiny 'please don't do this' tone you're so used to. "I asked you for ONE favor and you're running to New York and you can't do even just that?"

"Woah, Vic, what the fuck?" you use your elbows as support to lean up and look at her. "Calm down. It's okay." you know her tantrum comes from the fact that she truly believes you could boost her beauty line sales and make her store a 'hot spot'. And it would work, for the wrong reasons. You don't want Vic being dragged down into this mess too. Mati and Charles are enough casualties.

"NO IT'S NOT!" Victoria is full-on yelling now, the light ring has been tossed aside. "I have given everything you've asked from me in the past months since your life started falling apart. I think I deserve something in return."

You ignore the bite of her words. She's angry, which is understandable to some level. She doesn't mean it, right? That she always expected something in return.

"Vic, listen, I know how important your store is to you. But I promise you, you don't want the attention I'm bringing to anyone close to me right now."

"Oh, so you're doing this for my own good now?" she scoffs, ponytail flying in the air as she turns around. "Are you fucking Charles Leclerc for his own good too? Or do men's reputations don't matter?" she spits.

You halt completely, halfway out of the mattress. "What did you say?"

"Oh, please y/n. You really want me to believe you don't want to be seen with me to 'protect me'" she throws the quotations in the air, "And yet you went on your pretty vacation with that bitch Matilde, and you talk to fucking Charles Leclerc every day!"

"Victoria, stop," your brain is a mix of anger, sadness and confusion. You’re having trouble catching up to the where the conversation is going. "That was different, Vic. In case you haven't noticed, things can't stop getting worse. My life is not good right now." You choke on the last words, because it's the first time you say such things out loud. You have never been more miserable.

Victoria scoffs yet again, and it’s a tear in your heart. She's really not backing off. "Of course your life isn't good y/n wah, wah. You have money and beauty and a pilot boyfriend, it sucks so much to be you!"

"Why are you so bothered about it? Why is Charles the main problem here?" you wipe the tears from your cheeks, scratching the skin with one of your rings. "Why the fuck are you acting like this?"

Everything was alright this morning at breakfast, when you reminded her you were leaving and your luggage was almost done. When you thanked her for taking you in and told her you could never really repay her support.

"Because you get everything you want all the time!" Victoria stomps to you, her face inches away when she stops. "You always get what you want no matter what. It didn't even matter that I said you view him as a fucking piece of meat! He still went after you."

The world moves in slow-motion as her words cascade on you. Your lungs close and your throat tightens again, and you want to fight the panic attack because you just know Victoria is not going to help you. How could she? If she's the one who betrayed you.

"How–Why–" you stutter, the hem of your shirt on your fist. You can fight this. "How could you do this to me?"

Victoria finally comes to the realization of what she let out, and covers her mouth. "y/n no– look–"

"Who told you about the ring?" your jaw is locked and you're trying not to lose focus. "How could you tell them about the ring?!"

"How could you not tell ME?! I'm your fucking best friend, you bitch!" she's raising her voice again, her surprise pushed aside because you're still fighting. "I had to find out through Aidan, months later."

The Cannes party. Of course.

You thought about asking her about it. Telling her it hurt you that she hung out so happily with Aidan when he was the reason you arrived at her house one night in February, frightened, sad, and confused. But you didn't because you trusted her. You would have trusted Victoria with your life at some point.

"It really is you, then," tears are streaming down your face again.

You feel stupid because only yesterday, in another rage-scroll through Twitter, you noticed people were already making theories about how it was Victoria who was selling information about you. And you felt so offended, how could they think your best friend would do that to you?

"How could you, Victoria? How could you make all that shit up?"

You talked to Victoria about the articles. You cried and told her you were sorry you didn’t let her in on the failed proposal, it was something you were still processing and couldn’t bring yourself to talk about, still wondering if it had been a mistake every now and then. You told her how sorry you felt to Charles because he just wanted to hang out with you—to be friends with you—and people marked him down as a home wrecker when he had nothing to do with it.

“It was definitely Mia though, wasn’t it?” She said as she rubbed your back and passed the box of tissues to you. “She always hated you, so weird. It was like she loved Aidan in a fucked up way.” Victoria even shuddered exaggeratedly, trying to make you laugh.

“Yeah I’m sure it was Mia, Aidan just won’t admit it.” You let her wipe your tears and smooth your hair down. Nobody could convince you that your ex-sister-in-law didn’t run to People and spewed shit. It was the most logical conclusion that Aidan was protecting his little sister.

This had been three days ago, she lied and made fun of you, to your face.

"So now I'm a liar? You are fucking Charles Leclerc! Or what, you expect me to believe all you do is hold hands and peck each other's cheeks?"

Again with Charles, it infuriates you.

"You told the press I'm a cheater! And I am NOT with Charles, God you're so stupid!"

"How would I know whether it's true or not? You never tell me anything anymore, do you? You don't care about me! I'm your best friend. I deserve to be your priority!"

"You deserve to rot in hell, you lying bitch." you don't even raise your voice anymore, "How could I ever love you?"

Victoria laughs, and your heart finally shatters. "I would do it again, y/n, because it's what you forced me to do."

The apartment is a mess, and you know it's on purpose. Your clothes are everywhere, the dirt from the plants you kept on the balcony is all over the floor, the coffee table is broken and your room looks like a hurricane passed through. Your coffee maker and your Specialty coffee both lie on the floor of the kitchen, and there is a horrible smell coming from the fridge. Aidan hasn't been gone long enough for things to rot to that extent, especially because every appliance is plugged in.

You don't want to look at the rest of the house, or your belongings. All you do is lean down to pick up your Moka pot, and make time to think, but you're unable to stand straight again. It's like the pain is pulling you down. How did your life become this?

A ruined apartment, a rejected engagement and a backstabbing best friend are things that happen in the movies. You would know. This wasn't supposed to happen to you.

Crying in that ruined kitchen, holding a Moka pot like it's your greatest treasure and not some piece of trash that you will never be able to use anymore, you get angry, furious. Because this is not your life and it was never supposed to be. And it's about time you start doing something about it.

You are sick of running. Of having people question you for not 'defending' yourself when you have no reason to be attacked in the first place. Relationships die, and yours had been past its time to be buried. Saying no is not a crime. And it never will be.

Victoria had burned her own thread with you in the worst way possible because you didn't make her the only person in your life. And you had overlooked every time you felt used by her, unloved, and tossed aside. Friends can break your heart too, and Victoria had ripped yours out of your chest.

Nobody has to tell you who you are, because you know. And you are nothing of what you've let tabloids, netizens and reporters say. You cannot keep running and you cannot keep hiding, and though you wish you had understood that earlier. It's never too late to pick yourself up.

Mildred and Walter are going to be pissed, but their advice was that you remained lowkey for however long it took Hollywood to get their next big scandal. Weeks, months, years.

And you're not about to scurry away into darkness like a rat.

FROM “JUST WATCH THIS” POSTED IN Y/N Y/LN'S YOUTUBE CHANNEL POSTED JUNE 12TH

[y/n,minute 01:30]: ❝...So I've finally decided to come here and tell you everything that has been happening for the past months. It's the truth, but whether you believe it is a personal choice.❞

[y/n,minute 05:56]: ❝It was a three-year dead-end relationship. You cannot, and should not, have a future with someone who laughs at your dreams, and tells you how you should behave and how to look to exalt him.❞

[y/n, minute 07:15]: ❝I said no. And I have not regret it for one second. I didn't tell anyone because I respect Aidan, although I don't think that is reciprocal by now.❞

[y/n, minute 10:01]: ❝I never cheated on him, and I know the source of those rumors. It breaks my heart to know that someone I trusted made up stuff about myself, and a part of my life that was so important to me. I am not telling you who it was, however, I will take legal action against them if the defamation continues.❞

[y/n, minute 14:54]: ❝Aidan decided to tell this person about our failed engagement, and I do not know if his intention was that this all became public. But I wish he'd been mature enough to handle it privately, like the adults we both are.❞

[y/n, minute 16:59]: ❝I started attending Formula 1 races because of an Ambassador contract I held with Elix until three days ago, when they decided to rescind it.❞

[y/n, minute 18:07]: ❝That's where I met both Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz, back in April. Since they are the drivers for Ferrari, we spent a lot of time in the same place, which led to us becoming friends.❞

[y/n, minute 19:04]: ❝Charles Leclerc is my friend and we are not romantically involved, I urge you to stop making stuff up about him too. He never messed with my past relationship, we did not know each other.❞

[y/n, minute 21:55]: ❝When all of this started, I believed—naively— that it could just die down on its own. I am an actress. I was not only 'Aidan Kim's girlfiend' and I am not only his ex-girlfriend now. I am y/n y/ln.❞

[y/n, minute 23:31]: ❝I should have spoken sooner. I should have shut everything down the moment I started feel miserable and out of control. But I also know, I was being crucified so badly because I am a woman.❞

[y/n, minute 26:00]: ❝You have made me feel miserable and anxious, I have suffered from panic attacks and sleepless nights. And I'm not saying this to make you all feel bad and regretful, because the one thing you lack the most is empathy.❞

[y/n, minute 28:45]: ❝But I want you all to think that, if it had been the other way around and Aidan hadn't wanted to marry me, you would have said 'he wasn't ready' and you would have let him move on and find "The One" in peace.❞

[y/n, minute 31:35]: ❝If it was Timothee Chalamet—whom I also have a deep appreciation for—doing RomComs and nothing more, you would call it 'his specialty' and never question his talent.❞

[y/n, minute 33:17]: ❝If I was a man, this wouldn't have killed my reputation.❞

[y/n, minute 36:21]: ❝I will not remain quiet anymore while you step on me and diminish my work. I do not owe anything to Aidan Kim except for the drama the past months have brought me.❞

[y/n, minute 38:11]: ❝I'm going to focus on the future. And I am well aware this will be continue to be a topic of conversation, but I am not scared anymore. Because I know who I am and who I can count on.❞

[y/n, minute 40:12]: ❝If it weren't for my fans, who have been fighting my battles so hard, I wouldn't be here either. They're here for me, and I can never repay such pure love.❞

[y/n, minute 42:22]: ❝If you watched up to here, I'm sure you're wondering whether you should believe all of this, and like I said, it's all up to you❞

[y/n, minute 44:50]: ❝I will not be speaking about Aidan Kim again, so I ask you to refrain from asking about him. It's all been said and done, and I'm eager to move on.❞

[END]

You are looking at the all the comments.

aidanbabes WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS BITCH EVEN ON

flowerbedkim Oh so now Aidan forced her to be with him? Bullshit. You are never saving your lying ass y/n, fuck you!!!!!

thatbitch123 You are absolutely right y/n if you were a man this wouldn’t have happened it's so sad

ynbabes2 my queen i waited for you to speak for so long!!! WE HAVE TO MOVE ON FROM THIS

leclercstar you all have made this girl's life absolute hell, i hope you never find peace!! I'm glad she's friends with Charles and Carlos.

presleyvibes wait and you thank people but not Vic who let you stay at her house? you're an ungrateful bitch

albstappen I saw her pic with Lily Muni and I just knew she was one of the good ones

ynmybeloved EVERY TONGUE THAT RISES AGAINST YN SHALL FALL

kim41d4an IT'S YOUR WORD AGAINST AIDAN'S YOU CHEATING WHORE

June 12th, SoHo, New York.

You are trying to clean the mess around you as best you can. And although you could call someone to help you, sweeping and scrubbing keeps you busy and distracted. The first message you received after posting the video was from Mati a 'proud of you xx, tell me all about it later please!' text that made you take your first deep breath of the afternoon. You made an appointment with a doctor first thing in the morning, you want the panic to go away, you need it to.

Thoughts of how they're destroying you again, calling you a liar and a whore, swarm your brain and you try to toss them in the trash along with your ruined Dolce & Gabbana coat, mysteriously cut up with scissors. You told the truth, and not even the whole of it.

The video is being shown everywhere, you're sure you'll see it tomorrow in Good Morning America where they'll dissect every single move you make and every word that comes out of your mouth.

It's almost 9 pm when you finally stop wiping the apartment down, trying to get rid of every sign that Aidan Kim was ever inside it. It's not true that he paid for the apartment, you picked it yourself and made it a home and then he chose to come and live here, paying the rent once every three to five months. This is your home and you are reclaiming it.

Your phone rings and you take another deep breath before picking it up. Mildred and Walter have resorted to communicate with you through email, so you wonder who it is. Victoria called a few times during the weekend, left voicemails and text messages until you blocked her. Each of them with a new excuse and a more creative way to pin all of what she had done, on you.

It's a FaceTime call from Charles.

"Charlie!" you greet with a smile, before the image of him loads completely. "It's 3 am in Monaco, what the hell are you doing awake?"

Charles shrugs and you notice his bare shoulders, he's shirtless. You're suddenly self-conscious about the way you look. With your hair sticking up from the sweat, your greasy face and ragged shirt. It's a silly worry.

"I wanted to talk to you," he says, and you know he's tired. "I saw your video earlier, but I was doing something else."

"Oh, you saw that."

"I'm proud of you y/n, you are brave for speaking your mind like that. I know it must have taken some effort." Charles moves again and you see his chest, he's already in bed.

"Charles, go to sleep, we can talk about this later," you chuckle, heat is rising to your face.

"I wanted to see you y/n, it doesn't matter what time it is. And I really wanted to tell you I'm glad you posted that video."

"Thank you, Charlie. I should have done it sooner."

"The only one who knows what timing is right for you, is yourself."

"Yeah, I guess so." you sigh, you're exhausted too and you blame it more on the rollercoaster of emotions you've been through than deep cleaning your apartment.

"Are you tired?" he asks, suppressing a yawn.

"No more than you," you retort, but can't help yawning as well. It's a scientific fact that yawns are contagious. "Go to sleep, we can talk tomorrow."

You talked yesterday too, and the day before, and you cried so much on the phone again you thought he would eventually hang up until you calmed down. But Charles soothed you through the phone at 1 am Monaco time and told you to let it all out, and listened without interrupting you once how you called Aidan and Victoria every name in the book.

"Fine," Charles says, rubbing his left eye carelessly. "Will you give me a tour of your apartment tomorrow, then?"

"Yes! I finished cleaning it today!"

Charles laughs softly at your excitement. “We’ll talk tomorrow then, just because you need to sleep.”

“Sure I am the sleepy one,” you roll your eyes and Charles smiles, both dimples showing. “Goodnight Charlie, sweet dreams.” The last part you say it in a slightly mocking tone but Charles doesn’t take it as such, smile widening.

“Goodnight soleil,” he says and waits a few seconds for you to react to your newly given nickname before hanging up, anxious but satisfied.

─── team principal radio: ❝thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter and are liking the story so far. We're slowly getting to the y/n redemption. Once again, i really appreciate all of your interactions they mean the world to me. Also check out the series playlist if you haven't♡❞

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souliebird · 3 months

Text

[[addict]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating Explicit

summary: Your life revolves around Matt. His does not revolve around you

Or: depression skews reality

wordcount: 5k

tags: depression, explicit sexual content, blood, angst, p in v sex, oral (male receiving)

---

Monday

You wake up alone.

This is of no surprise to you, and you force yourself out of bed despite your desire to bury yourself into your covers and stay there.

You stumble into the kitchen, feeling bleary and still half-asleep, and start the process of making coffee. You dump still warm grounds into the trash before filling the basket with your preferred blend and starting the little machine. You wash the mug lingering in the sink, then start making your breakfast.

You don't need to think about your routine as you do it - you've done it hundreds and hundreds of times. You just do it.

Coffee. Bagel. Orange.

You watch the morning news highlights, listening but not taking in the various stories that flash on your screen. Fighting in Paris, all sorts of elections, Hollywood, and political scandals - it all washes over you without leaving an impression. None of it matters to you. None of it concerns anything Matt would be involved in.

Once you finish your small meal, you clean it up and switch your laptop over to your work VPN.

It is nothing glorious. You translate legal documents from English into Spanish as a contractor for a handful of firms around the city. Very rarely is it anything of interest - a majority of it is human resources based - but it makes good money, and you don't need to commute. You stay in the apartment most of the day, trying your best to make it into a home.

As you think over word choice, you do chores. Laundry gets hauled down to the basement, the sink and shower get a deep clean to wash away any trace of blood, and you write out a grocery list. You dust and air out the apartment between paragraphs. You don't exchange many emails. You don't get any calls.

The hours pass in silence until your phone alerts you it is a quarter after five. You shut down your VPN and return to the kitchen. Chicken, rice, and vegetables will be tonight's dinner - you know it is a favorite and you've worked out the unspoken schedule to know this is the ideal day to serve it. You work quietly, half focusing on your knife work and half zoning out.

Five minutes to the hour, the door to the apartment opens and Matt is home.

“That smells wonderful, sweetheart,” he says as a greeting, dropping his things off at the front door. You can hear his practical movements as he puts everything in its right spot.

“It should be done in ten minutes,” is your soft reply. That is just enough time for him to get settled in and drink about one third of a beer. It took you a few weeks to get the scheduling down right, but now you have it down to an art for various recipes. “How was your day?”

Without completely breaking attorney-client privilege, he tells you about the ongoings at the office and catches you up on whatever happened with Foggy and Karen over the weekend. As he does, he loosens his tie and takes a seat at the table. You place an ice-cold open bottle in front of him without fanfare, then flit back to the kitchen.

Dinner switches the conversation to Daredevil. Matt tells you his plan for the night and you silently convert his words into future actions for yourself. He's going out with Jessica, which means more surveillance than fighting. You'll need to have ibuprofen ready, as spying tends to stress his senses rather than his body.

You get a kiss before he goes to do his pre-Devil work out and another before he ascends the stairs to go into the night. He tells you not to stay up, but it's part of the script and you both know you'll be waiting for him right where he left you.

Tuesday

“Foggy isn't going to believe me,” Matt grumbles as you gently pat concealer around his eye, covering the blooming bruise.

“It's just absurd enough to be believable.”

“But it's the truth,” he huffs before his lips turn into a pout, “How does it look?”

You step back and examine the man in front of you. He has the start of a massive black eye and you can't help but feel bad for him. For once, this is not a Devil related injury - there was a freak accident with the shower. The water pressure in the building has somehow been cranked to maximum and your poor pipes are not equipped for that - the threads holding them together are barely there. They had no chance against suddenly being slammed into and there was no way Matt could have been prepared for the shower head to shoot off the wall and right into his face.

You frown and your mood must shift because he deflates, “Foggy is not going to believe you.”

You set the makeup you specifically got to cover up his nightly hobby aside and push Matt's coffee towards him. He takes a long sip from it before throwing his head back with a groan.

“I've been doing so well,” he complains. There is some sort of swear jar-esque deal the two of them have going on about Matt's bruises, but you don't know all of the details. You do know Matt's lost a fair bit of money from it, though.

You pat his shoulder sympathetically before getting up and heading towards the kitchen to finish packing up his meals for the day, “This doesn't count.”

“Will you tell that to Foggy?”

“I'll tell that to Foggy,” you promise.

You see him get up in the corner of your eye and disappear back into the bedroom to get dressed for work and you can't help but sigh. You'll give Matt's friends a heads up text so they don't freak out on him. Misunderstandings are bound to happen otherwise and they'll probably all have a laugh about it once the Devil's Pride is soothed.

You finish up packing lunch, a midday snack, and the ingredients for a hearty protein shake. Matt will be going to the gym right after work today, then from there will go out as the Devil. You aren't keen on him carrying his black suit around in his gym bag, but it's not something you're going to argue with him about.

With how busy the office has been lately; he's been a bit scatterbrained about the smaller things.

You've convinced him to at least drop off his bag on the roof as he starts his patrol, so he doesn't leave his day clothes at Fogwell’s overnight. You'll go up and collect them at some point, so they don't end up staying up there and getting forgotten about.

You won't see Matt again until he comes home to sleep.

You hope you'll be able to figure out how to fix the shower by then.

Wednesday

You put away the last of the clean dishes, then turn to face the apartment in front of you.

It's a beautiful day and light is streaming in through the windows, highlighting how stark everything is. Your laptop is waiting for you on the table, along with a mental list of things you need to get done today.

But you don't want to.

You don't want to do any of it. You don't want to do anything. You don't want to think. You don't want to feel.

You just don't want to.

So you wipe your hands on a dish towel, then make a bee line right back to bed and crawl in. You curl on your side, place your phone on Matt's pillow, close your eyes, and just Don't.

You drift in and out until your bladder starts to demand you get up, so you do. You use the restroom then return to bed, checking your messages as you settle back in.

There's one from Matt, asking if you would like Thai for dinner. You have no will to think about what you'd like to eat - honestly you don't want anything - so you tell him that Thai sounds great. You double check your alarm is set, then return to your nothingness.

It's easy to get lost in Blankness. It's nice to not feel anything. The crushing negativity you are so used to is gone and all your disgusting thoughts are silent.

You don't simmer in doubt that every action is wrong.

You don't question why your life revolves around Matt. You don't think about how you would crumble without him or how he'd be fine without you.

You don't consider what love is to him and how deeply rooted it is in just staying. You don't wonder if he just doesn't want to be alone again.

You don't feel completely consumed in your feelings.

You just are.

Sometimes, you wish you could stay like this forever - suspended in emptiness.

But then your alarm goes off and you have to be human again.

You check your messages to make sure you really did get a text about dinner, then finally drag yourself to go shower.

You have to be presentable before Matt returns.

He doesn't comment on your still wet hair or lack of conversation. You eat in mostly silence, occasionally commenting about the food.

Karen calls as you're gathering up leftovers to go into the fridge. Whatever she has to say to Matt has him swearing and going to the wardrobe to start getting his suit out. You don't ask what is wrong, you simply gather up the dress shirt he tosses towards the couch as he begins to change.

He doesn't kiss you as he rushes up the stairs.

He doesn't tell you to not wait up.

The door slams shut as he disappears into his own Darkness, and you sit on the couch to await his return.

There is no silence. The city mocks you with each siren, scream, and honk.

Thursday

You're putting away groceries when your phone alerts you to a text.

It's from Matt and simply states, “I hate baseball bats.”

A small noise of sympathy comes up from your chest. He had gotten a few good whacks with one last night to the point he let you wrap his chest. Luckily, nothing had been broken, but it had not been a pretty sight.

You've already put the ice packs in the freezer for when he gets home. You don't think he'll be going out tonight if he's actually admitting he is in pain.

Maybe you can listen to the next few chapters of the audio book you've started together instead. The thought makes your stomach turn in a nervous hopeful way.

You return his message with an inside joke of sorts, typing out the words, “Baseball bat emoji. Heart break emoji.”

He replies back seconds later with, “Sad face emoji.”

It pulls a little smile to your lips, and you think about Matt dictating the text to his phone for the next hour.

Friday

“You smell so good,” he purrs as he nuzzles against your neck, his scruff scratching you just lightly.

You tilt your head to the side to give him better access and you can practically feel his pleased hum in your chest. His fingers dance at the hem of your shirt, pushing under to barely just feel your skin. He's got you crowded against the front door, so all of him overwhelms you while he teases.

He's been like this all night. As soon as you stepped into Josie's, he had his hands all over you - your thigh, your lower back, wrapping his arms around you from behind. He's only had two beers, but they have loosened up his tense shoulders quite a bit.

You know what he wants and you're more than happy to indulge. You've been craving his touch. His attention.

You don't care if it's a quickie before he leaves you to belong to Hell's Kitchen again, you just need something from him.

Anything.

You dig your nails into the shoulder of his suit jacket and whine out your inner desires, knowing he'll give in when he's like this, “want to get on my knees for you.”

He moans in response, grinding against you to let you know how much he also wants that, and you lower yourself down to be trapped between him and the door. Skilled hands make quick work of his belt, and you don't bother to push his pants and briefs down. You get his half hard cock free of its confines only to swallow it.

Above you, Matt throws his head back his head, gritting out a long low, “Fuck.”

You give him no time to adjust, knowing exactly what he likes in these moments, and begin to work him over. One hand grips his tree trunk of a thigh and the other loosely circles around the base of his cock - the first keeps you steady and the second from him slipping out of you.

You focus on his head, pushing your tongue up as he slides out of the depths of your throat, then swirling it before you begin to suckle. He buries his fingers into your hair, swearing more, as you do so. That only encourages you and you begin to pump him as you work to get him to full hardness.

His musk is dotted with the saltines of precum, and your mouth begins to water. You do nothing to stop the drool gathering in the corners of your mouth and let it spill out as you enjoy yourself.

Self-control is out of the question - the moment Matt’s hips begin to twitch, you encourage it, tugging at his thigh. He doesn't need to be told twice.

You close your eyes and relax your jaw as he starts to fuck your throat.

All of you becomes encompassed in him. He's all you feel, all you smell, all you taste, all you hear.

He grunts and groans as he thrusts in and out of your mouth, holding your head steady so you can't chase him as you want to. You want to be held down; his cock buried deep in your throat until the heaviness of him is imprinted on your tongue. You want him to coat your insides with him, so you never forget his taste.

You want him to use you and that's exactly what he does.

“Fuck, sweetheart, fuck,” he chants, and you don't want him to stop. He's not ruthless, but he isn't kind with it, barely giving you a chance to breathe between each movement, and making your brain start to blink in and out of awareness.

You feel him start to twitch and pulse along your tongue and you whine in distress around him.

You don't want this to end so soon. You need him. You need this.

Before you can process what is happening, Matt is pulling you back up into standing and directly turning you to face the door. Your brain automatically clicks with what he is doing, and you scramble to undo your pants. You barely get them unbuttoned before he is yanking them and your panties down your thighs.

You arch your back with anticipation as he lines himself up. You expect him to tease you, to rub the head of his cock over you to spread around the juices you've soaked your panties with, but he doesn't. He pushes into you in one smooth motion and your eyes roll into the back of your head.

He grabs you by the throat from behind, just under your chin, and turns his hand so he can also stick two of his fingers into your mouth and continue to make you drool. You're practically pinned to the door as he slams into you over and over, hitting that sweet spot each time.

“So fucking wet,” he growls into your ear, squeezing your throat just enough to make your vision go spotty. “About to cum from just sucking on my cock. Don't even need to touch you, do I? You'd be happy being my little cock warmer.”

You would. You yearn for it - sitting under his desk while he works, keeping him happy. You just want to be with him. You need him.

You need him.

He breathes your name, then demands, “Cum on my cock.”

Saturday

Matt has taken the spot at the dining table while you've curled up on the couch. You both have your respective workstations set up and have been buried in reading for hours.

A strange, pleasant calm has washed over you and wrapped you up in a lightness.

These are the days you dream of.

Soft, quiet mornings where you can just be with Matt - there's no distractions or chaos or vigilantism. It is just the two of you, together.

Whenever he has gotten up to get something, on his way back to his seat - he always makes sure to check in on you all and it sends your brain into an absolute tizzy. Acknowledgement from him makes you feel warm in so many ways. You don't think you could ever get enough of the way he says your name when he wants your attention. It's like an angel’s song - or the Devil's.

You know it won't last long - he has a meeting with Foggy after lunch to meet some people who can't meet during the week - so you bask in what you have. You've been stealing glances all morning because you love to watch him work. He gets this little crease between his brow when he's listening to a transcript, and it really is the cutest thing. You just want to go over and kiss it and remind him to relax his forehead.

But you know he's so very busy and you don't want to distract him with something so silly. He barely has enough time in the day as it is, between all the ways he helps the people of Hell's Kitchen, and lately he's just been adding more and more to his plate - more clients, more patrols, more everything except you.

You aren't jealous. You know how needed he is and you are grateful to be in his life at all. You get to be the one to take care of him and be in his bed at the end of the night, even if you spend many of those nights alone.

It just makes moments like these so much sweeter.

So, when he gets up again and heads to the kitchen, you can't help but turn and watch him. He starts another pot of coffee, and your eyes just go heart shaped as you admire how his shoulders move under his shirt.

“Anything interesting?” He asks with a bit of cockiness, and you know he's aware you aren't focused on your work.

You place your chin on the back of the couch and hum, “This company has one of the best sick leave policies I've ever seen. Think I might quit my job and go raise plants in Arizona.”

Matt snorts at your answer and teases, “Do you know anything about raising plants?”

“For three weeks guaranteed paid vacation and two paid sick days a month, I'll learn.”

He turns to face you, tilting his head to one side in disbelief, “Two paid sick days a month? What is the catch?”

You nod, then pretend to huff, “You have to live in the middle of nowhere Arizona.” Matt makes a face of disgust, and you laugh into your hand, a smile blooming across your face, “That's why I'm only considering.”

“I'm glad, I'd prefer it if you stay here. I'd miss you too much if you were in the middle of nowhere Arizona.”

You spend the rest of the day practically glowing over Matt admitting he'd miss you. The words will live in your heart and head forever.

Sunday

You've never been stalked and hunted by a wild animal, but this is what you imagine it would feel like.

The Devil has come home earlier than expected and it looks like he crawled his way out of Hell. He's in his black suit, or what's left of it, and is covered in his own blood. His nose is dripping, probably broken, staining his mouth red. His shirt is barely hanging together and various fresh shallow cuts litter his torso. His Muay Thai ropes are dirty with grime and what you expect to be others’ blood.

He slowly came down the stairs from the roof then began to circle around the couch, each step deliberate and calculating, and he has not let up.

The air in the room is so heavy. You can't breathe because you don't have a protocol for this. You can't tell if he's angry or upset - he hasn't said a word and he's not expressing himself in any way, but Danger is exuding from him.

You sit straight backed on the couch as the Devil continues his path around you, his head tilting in different directions ever so slightly. You don't know if he's tracking something or waiting for some sign. You can't tell when he's like this.

Finally, he stops in the spot halfway between the couch and the bedroom, only partially angled towards you. He begins to undo the ropes stabilizing his wrists, letting them drop to the ground without acknowledgment. You watch them like they are snakes, ready to slither at you with an attack. His gloves quickly join the pile, but then he raises a hand towards you, palm up like he wants you to take it.

He confirms his intentions with a low, “Come here.”

You're worried and confused with how he is behaving, but you don't dare disobey the Devil.

You slip out of your seat and make your way to him in silence, reaching to take his hand when you get close enough. To your surprise, he brings it up to his face and places a light kiss to your wrist, over your pulse point.

“Do you know who I am?” He asks, voice low and laced with an unsaid promise.

A shiver runs up your spine and you manage to answer, breathing out, “Matt Murdock. Daredevil.”

He pulls his lips back into a snarl and you fear you've got the question wrong somehow.

Keeping your hand in his, he steps towards you, one achingly slow step at a time, until you are practically chest to chest. He dips his head and brushes the tip of his nose against your neck. You can hear him inhale.

“I hear their frightened little whispers. I hear what they call me - not just the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. King of Hell - this is my territory and I protect it with a ferocity,” he whispers into your skin. You close your eyes and try to keep your breathing from going shaky.

It is not just fear and confusion coursing through you now. His words, his rasping, is going straight to your cunt. You haven't encountered The Devil in so long you've forgotten what it does to you.

He presses his free hand against your lower back, moving you so you are flush against him. Your hand goes to his chest, just under his shoulder where his shirt is still intact and not sticky with who knows what.

“Do you know what that makes you?” he growls against you and all you can do is shake your head.

You don't interact with many people, and you doubt anyone in Hell's Kitchen is talking about you.

You are of no interest to anyone.

The Devil bumps his nose against your earlobe before giving it a light nibble and telling you, “My Queen of Hell.”

Air catches in your throat and it feels like your entire being short circuits. What does he mean, you're his Queen?

You've never done anything to deserve such a title, but you aren't going to disagree with him. If he wants to call you this, you will relish in it.

As you are still trying to process things, you are suddenly lifted into the air by your thighs, and you have to quickly wrap your legs around the Devil so you don't start flailing. Like you weigh absolutely nothing, you are carried to the bedroom and with care you do not expect, laid out on the bed.

The Devil, mask, boots, batons, and all, crawls over you, going straight for your throat. He starts with his lips but quickly dissolves into dragging his tongue and teeth wherever he can get. It's slow, methodical, like he has a goal with his lavishing.

You don't care about his intention - you are melting into the bed under him, desperate for him to not stop. Whatever he is doing, whatever has got him in this mood, you want more of it.

Hesitantly, fearing you might disrupt the atmosphere, you wrap your arms around the body above you, one hand going to scratch at the back of his neck, trying to silently encourage more attention to your neck. He obliges and teeth scraping against you turns into biting. He wastes no time in leaving his first mark on you, then another, and another.

“You're mine,” he tells you as he starts on the other side of your throat, “Belong to me. You're mine.”

You arch at the words, cunt clenching around nothing. He is correct. You are his - you've belonged to him the moment you met, and you will until the day you die.

He is your everything.

“I'm yours,” you agree, barely above a whisper.

The Devil drags his lips from your neck only to crash them into yours. It's like being pulled under by a wave - a force you can only just accept and go with. He tastes like smoke and copper, but you don't care. You only want more.

You want to be consumed.

And it feels like that is what he does. You kiss until you feel like you can't possibly breathe any longer, then he is pulling away to start moving down your body. He pushes your shirt up to start a trail of kisses and bites towards your stomach.

“My Queen,” he growls, and you can only throw your head back with pleasure at his words, his actions, “My Persephone. Mine. Whatever you want, it's yours. Anything. Give you Fisk's head on a platter. Or do you want his heart? I'll rip out his throat with my teeth for you.”

You want to comment it looks like he already has, with the state he came in in, but all you can manage to say is the truth.

“I just want you.”

Your shirt is pulled off and tossed to the side before he is on you again, biting at your lips as he does what you want. He grinds his cock into you, and you can feel just how hard he is. You tug at the remains of his shirt, and it is also quickly discarded.

You can feel him moving over you, probably trying to get out of the rest of his armor, but you don't pay attention. All your focus is on the way his mouth is moving with yours - dominating and controlling and firm but in no way actually hurting you.

Nothing to ever hurt you.

When he pulls back, he does so enough to sit up.

You whine at the loss of his touch, but it is balanced when he finally removes his mask, and you can see his beautiful face again.

It's a little sick, but you like him like this - bruised and battered and bloody. You like the physical reminders of who he is and what he is capable of.

You reach up to press your hands to the mottled skin around his ribs, still healing from the baseball bat. He hisses at the contact, but his now free cock gives a violent twitch. You know which reaction to trust.

Your sleep shorts and panties are unceremoniously removed, and you and the Devil are left nude. You are hauled up to be on your knees with him and once again you are held against his chest. He cups your jaw with both hands and kisses you firmly.

“Take such good care of me,” he mumbles between nips and bites, “Let me take care of you, my Queen.”

You want that.

You want him to take care of you - to focus on you - to be his everything. You desperately nod against him, shaky whispers of “please” coming from you.

He lays you back down and guides himself into you with far more care than you'd expect in the moment. It's steady until he's fully sheathed in you, then he is over you again, burying his face into your neck.

“Mine.”

“Yours.”

He starts moving then, slow, steady, and deep, like he's trying to savor every roll of his hips.

It's heady and with the way he's back to worshiping your neck, you're quick to sink into a place of pure bliss only he can send you.

He starts to mumble against you as he devours you. You hear catches of your name and ‘my Queen’ and ‘mine’, but you hear something about Sin and love and need. Your brain refuses to link the words together and you don't need it to understand them right now.

You just need Him.

You roll your head to the side so he can dig his teeth into a new spot and through half lidded eyes, you spot the mirror you've added into the room. Using it, you watch the Devil make love to you, his body half shrouded by shadows.

He's so fucking beautiful.

As your thighs begin to tremble and pressure builds up in your core, you notice smears of darkness on your face, your neck, and your arms.

It is the same darkness that the Devil is drenched in.

He's covered you in his blood.

You're coated with him.

Inside and out.

The realization sends you over the edge and you scream his name for all your subjects to hear.

Monday

You wake up alone.

This is of no surprise to you.

a/n:

I see this with multiple interpretations ;)

a/n2: theres not a baseball bat emoji

#soulie writes #fanfiction #daredevil #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #gently places this down

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gvnvks · 2 months

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acts of service they do for you… !

> pairings: non-idol!zb1 x fem!reader

> warnings: not proofread, lowercase intended, pet names

> song recommendation: not another song about love by hollywood ending

> a/n: literally nothing to say … so so so sorry about disappearing for so long 😭 im begging on my knees for any reqs… i literally have 0 ideas

// 김 jiwoong. PUTTING THE DISHES AWAY W/O YOU ASKING

you found yourself standing in front of the sink, staring at a mountain of dishes that seemed to have multiplied overnight. with a sigh, you rolled up your sleeves, resigned to tackle the chore.

just as you were about to plunge your hands into the soapy water, jiwoong entered the kitchen, "hey there, need a hand?" he asked, already reaching for a dish towel.

you couldnt help but smile at his offer. "i was just about to start, but if you're offering…"

"consider it done," your boyfriend replied, flashing you a grin as he began to gather up the dirty dishes. he moved with practiced efficiency, stacking plates and bowls with ease.

"you really didn't have to," you protested, though secretly grateful for his help.

"i know," jiwoong said, shooting you a wink. "but i wanted to. plus, its the least i can do after you cooked dinner last night."

as you worked side by side, scrubbing and rinsing, the conversation flowed effortlessly between you. you talked about everything and nothing at all – from your plans for the weekend to the latest episode of your favorite tv show.

at one point, jiwoong paused to inspect a particularly stubborn stain on a plate. "looks like this one needs some extra attention," he remarked, reaching for a sponge.

you chuckled, shaking your head in amusement. "youre so thorough."

"its all in the details," your boyfriend replied with a shrug, scrubbing away at the offending spot until it disappeared.

before long, the pile of dishes dwindled down to nothing, thanks to jiwoongs efficient work. with a satisfied smile, you leaned back against the counter, admiring the clean kitchen.

"thanks for the help," you said, genuinely grateful for him being so altruistic.

"it was my pleasure," jiwoong replied, drying his hands on the dish towel. "besides, anything to make my favorite person smile."

// 장 hao. GETTING YOU YOUR GUILTY PLEASURE SNACK

you sat at a small table, your fingers tapping rhythmically on the surface as you waited for your boyfriend, to arrive for your date. he was always a little late, but you didnt mind. it gave you time to people-watch and soak in the lively atmosphere around you.

finally, hao appeared, a sheepish grin on his face as he approached your table. "sorry im late. traffic was insane."

you waved off his apology with a smile. "no worries, hao. ive been enjoying the view."

taking his seat across from you, your boyfriend reached into his bag and pulled out a small package, wrapped in colorful paper. "i got you something," he said, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

curious, you eagerly tore into the wrapping to reveal a box of your favorite snack. "oh! how did you know i was craving these?"

he shrugged. "just a lucky guess, i suppose."

you laughed, leaning across the table to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. "youre the best, you know that?"

hao grinned, his cheeks flushing slightly at the praise. "i try."

as you indulged in your snack, the two of you fell into easy conversation, discussing everything from work related to literally anything else, letting the hours fly by.

eventually, the sky darkened and the café began to empty out as patrons headed home for the night. reluctantly, you and hao gathered your things and prepared to leave.

as you walked hand by hand through the bustling streets, the glow of the city lights casting a soft halo around you, you couldnt help but feel grateful for your boyfriend.

"you know," you said, squeezing his hand gently, "i think this might just be the perfect night."

hao smiled down at you, his eyes sparkling with adoration. "with you, every night is perfect."

// 성 hanbin. BUYING YOU GROCERIES

today was the worst day you could imagine. not doing well at job, getting yelled at by your boss, just starting your period… it hit all at once. as you approached your apartment building, you noticed a familiar figure waiting for you at the entrance. it was hanbin, his hands filled with grocery bags. his face lighted up as he saw you.

"hey there," hanbin greets you with a gorgeous grin. "i thought id surprise you with some groceries. i know how busy youve been lately, so i took care of it for you."

you chuckle at his thoughtfulness. "youre too good to me, hanbin. thank you," you say, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

together, you make your way up to your apartment, your boyfriend regaling you with everything and nothing — hes always been a natural storyteller.

once inside, he set the bags down on the kitchen counter, taking stock of the contents. "woah, you really went all out," you remark, impressed by the assortment of fresh produce and pantry staples.

hanbin shrugs modestly. "i just wanted to make sure you have everything you need," he says, flashing you a grin. "plus, i may have or may have not indulged in a few snacks along the way."

you playfully roll your eyes at him before reaching for a bag of apples. "well, i appreciate it. you always know how to take care of me," you say, leaning in to give him a hug. "how much do i owe you?" you ask, looking up at him.

he brushed off your question with a smile, his eyes softening as he gazed at you. "you dont owe me anything, sweetheart. seeing you happy is payment enough for me."

// 석 matthew. SPOTTING YOU AT THE GYM

as you entered the gym, you spotted matthew instantly, his buffed frame standing out amongst the crowd. with a warm smile, he waved you over, his eyes brightening as you approached.

"hi," matthew greeted, his voice carrying a playful tone. "ready to crush those weights?"

you chuckled, feeling a surge of affection for him. "absolutely, especially with you by my side."

you both headed towards the weights section, where your boyfriend always offered his unwavering support. as you began your workout, he stood beside you, offering encouragement and spotting you whenever needed.

"come on, youve got this," matthew cheered as you lifted the barbell, his hands ready to assist if you faltered. "youre stronger than you think."

with each rep, you could feel your muscles burning, but your boyfriends presence gave you the motivation to push through. his words of encouragement were like fuel to your determination, propelling you to new heights.

after a challenging set, you took a moment to catch your breath, leaning against the bench. matthew stood beside you, a proud smile on his face.

"you killed it," he praised, giving you a gentle pat on the back. "im always amazed by your strength."

you smiled, feeling a surge of pride at his words. "thanks, but i couldnt do it without you. your support means everything to me."

as you moved on to the next exercise, the two of you engaged in a light joke war, exchanging lighthearted jests and teasing each other about your progress. with him by your side, the gym felt less like a daunting challenge and more like a fun part of the day.

after a grueling workout, you and matthew retreated to the stretching area, where you relaxed your tired muscles and enjoyed each others company.

"im beat," you admitted, letting out a contented sigh as you stretched out on the mat.

matthew chuckled, sitting beside you. "you did amazing, as always. we earned ourselves a post-workout treat, don't you think?"

you perked up at the suggestion, the thought of indulging in a delicious meal together making your mouth water.

"absolutely," you agreed, shooting him a witty grin. "as long as you promise to spot me while i devour whatever were eating."

your boyfriend laughed, his eyes sparkling with affection. "deal. anything for you."

// 김 taerae. LEARNING HOW TO COOK YOUR FAVORITE RECIPE

as you trudge through the door after a long days work, the aroma of something delicious envelops you, instantly lifting your tired spirits. you kick off your shoes and follow the tantalizing scent to the kitchen, where you find taerae bustling about, apron tied securely around his waist, his sleeves rolled up and a focused expression adorning his features.

"welcome home!" taerae greets you with a warm smile, his hands busy chopping vegetables with practiced precision. "how was your day?"

you sigh contentedly, the stress of the day melting away at the sight of your boyfriends earnest expression. "long, but seeing you here makes it infinitely better. whats all this?" you ask, gesturing to the array of ingredients spread out on the counter.

taerae beams proudly. "i wanted to surprise you with dinner tonight! i know how much you love that one particular recipe of yours, so i thought i'd give it a try."

you feel touched by his gesture. taerae isnt that much of a cook, but the fact that hes gone to such lengths to learn your favorite recipe speaks volumes about his love and dedication.

"thats incredibly sweet of you, taerae," you say, crossing the kitchen to wrap your arms around him. "im sure itll be amazing, no matter what."

he chuckles, returning your embrace with a gentle squeeze. "well, i hope so. i may have had to watch a few youtube tutorials to get the hang of it."

you laugh at his admission, imagining him furiously scribbling notes while trying to keep up with the pace of the video. "im sure you did great. is there anything i can do to help?"

your boyfriend shakes his head, his focus returning to the task at hand. "nah, ive got everything under control. why dont you go relax for a bit? dinner will be ready soon."

reluctantly, you release him from your embrace and make your way to the living room, sinking into the comfortable embrace of the sofa.

time seems to slip away as you lose yourself in a book, the minutes ticking by until taerae finally calls you back to the kitchen. you enter to find the table set with candles flickering softly, casting a warm glow over the room.

your boyfriend stands proudly by the stove, a steaming pot of your favorite dish bubbling away in front of him. he grins as he sees you, gesturing to the chair hes pulled out for you.

"ta-da! dinner is served," he announces, ladling generous portions onto your plate. "i hope its as good as you remember."

you take a bite, savoring the familiar flavors that dance across your tongue. it may not be perfect, but its made with love, and thats all that matters.

"its delicious, taerae," you say, beaming at him across the table. "thank you for putting in the effort to make tonight special."

he beams back at you, his eyes shining with love. "you know id do anything for you, love."

// 리키 ricky. CARRYING HEAVY THINGS FOR YOU

you and ricky were on a mission today - a shopping spree, a day dedicated to finding the perfect pieces to add to your home. you wanted to go alone, but ricky insisted on joining you, his enthusiasm evident as he happily trailed beside you.

as you entered another store, a quaint home decor boutique, your eyes widened with excitement at the array of items displayed. ricky, ever the gentleman, offered to carry the shopping bags. "let me take those, baby," he insisted, reaching for the bags already laden with your purchases.

you chuckled softly, gently pushing his hand away. "no, ricky, ive got it. you dont have to carry everything."

"but i want to," he countered, his eyes dripping with determination.

you couldnt help but smile at his sincerity. "alright, you can carry one bag," you relented, handing him the lightest one.

your boyfriend grinned triumphantly, accepting the bag with a nod of thanks. "deal."

as you moved from aisle to aisle, ricky stayed true to his word, diligently carrying the one bag while you browsed through the shelves, examining each item with care.

after a while, your arms began to ache from holding the heavy bags. "okay, maybe you can take another bag," you conceded, unable to hide the strain in your voice.

his eyes lit up with delight, his lips curled up in a smirk, and he eagerly accepted the additional burden. "told you. wanted to see how long you will last."

as the day progressed, your boyfriend kept bothering you with his tender gestures - whether it was carrying the bags, fetching you a drink, or offering his opinion on decor choices, he was always there. was, and forever will.

// 김 gyuvin. DOING THE CHORES, EVEN IF ITS YOUR TURN

coming back from college, you found yourself standing in the kitchen, staring at the sink full of dishes. it was your turn to do them, but after a long day at school, you were feeling drained and exhausted.

gyuvin, always attuned to your moods, entered the kitchen and immediately noticed the tired slump of your shoulders. "hey," he said with a soft smile, crossing the room to wrap his arms around you from behind. "rough day?"

you leaned into his embrace, grateful for his comforting presence. "yeah, it was pretty hectic," you replied, letting out a tired sigh. "i just... i dont have the energy to tackle these dishes right now."

without missing a beat, your boyfriend pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head. "dont worry about it," he reassured you, his voice warm and soothing. "ill take care of them for you."

you turned to face him, a mixture of surprise and gratitude in your eyes. "but it's my turn," you protested weakly.

he shook his head. "i know, but youve had a long day. let me handle this, okay?"

you smiled softly at his kindness. "okay, thank you," you said softly, reaching up to cup his cheek affectionately.

as gyuvin rolled up his sleeves and got to work on the dishes, you leaned against the counter, watching him with a fond expression. it wasnt just this one kind act that made you fall for him all over again – it was the countless little ways he showed his love and support for you every single day.

after a few minutes of silence, broken only by the sound of running water and clinking dishes, gyuvin glanced over at you with a soft grin. "you know, if you keep staring at me like that, i might start to think you're falling for me all over again," he teased.

you chuckled softly, shaking your head. "as if i could ever stop falling for you," you replied, your voice filled with affection. "youre too sweet, gyuvin."

he paused in his task, setting down a plate to walk over and wrap you in a warm hug. "and youre too amazing to not spoil."

// 박 gunwook. LETTING YOU EAT THE LAST BIT OF A DESSERT (this one is such ass im so sorry)

you and gunwook had made it a tradition to visit this one cute café every saturday evening, savoring the delicious treats and enjoying each others company. tonight was no different, as you both settled into your usual spot by the window, the soft light casting gentle shadows across the table.

"hello, welcome to bean bliss cafe," you heard a waitress, greeting you cheerfully. "what can i get for you today?"

glancing at the menu, you and gunwook quickly decided on sharing a slice of their famous chocolate cake, a decadent treat that you had been craving all week.

minutes later, the waitress returned with a generous slice of chocolate cake, adorned with a scoop of velvety vanilla ice cream. your mouth watered at the sight, and you couldn't wait to dig in.

after a while of eating and sharing stories, you reached for your fork again, wanting to take another bite of the cake. your face fell a little however, as you noticed that theres only a small bit left.

"theres only one a little left," you pointed out, furrowing your brow.

gunwook simply smiled, pushing the plate toward you. "its all yours," he said, his voice soft but determined.

"but what about you? dont you want it?" you protested, feeling a pang of guilt at the thought of eating the last bit of dessert all by yourself.

"dont worry about me," your boyfriend replied, reaching across the table to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "id rather see you enjoy. it will bring me twice as much joy."

// 한 yujin. HELPING YOU WITH SCHOOL ASSIGNMENTS

as you entered the school library, you immediately spotted yujin sitting at a table near the window. his eyes were focused intently on his notebook, lips slightly pursed in concentration. his hair, messy as usual, added to his endearing charm.

"hey, yujin," you greeted, sliding into the seat across from him. "thanks for agreeing to help me with this math stuff. i swear, im hopeless without you."

yujin looked up, a warm smile spreading across his face. "hi, baby. dont worry about it. well do this together, okay? whats giving you trouble?"

you pulled out your textbook and notes, laying them out on the table. "its these calculus problems. i just cant seem to wrap my head around them. like, seriously, why does math have to be so complicated?"

your boyfriend chuckled softly, reaching over to squeeze your hand. "i know it can be frustrating, but trust me, once you get the hang of it, its not so bad. lets start with this one," he said, pointing to a particularly tricky problem. "do you remember the chain rule?"

you nodded, grateful for his patient guidance as he walked you through the steps, breaking down the problem into manageable chunks. his explanations were clear and concise, making even the most complex concepts seem simple.

as you worked through the assignment together, the hours seemed to fly by. occasionally, youd get stuck on a problem, but yujin was always there to offer encouragement and support.

"youre doing great, baby," he said, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your temple. "i know its tough, but i believe in you. if all else fails, we can always grab some ice cream afterwards."

you laughed, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. as the afternoon sun began to dip below the horizon, you finally finished the last problem, feeling a sense of accomplishment wash over you.

"i cant believe we actually did it," you said, grinning up at him. "i seriously couldnt have done it without you."

your boyfriend smiled back, his eyes sparkling with pride, smiling playfully. "thats what boyfriends are for, right? to help their pretty girlfriends through the tough math stuff."

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toomuchracket · 4 months

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promises to keep (flatmate!matty x reader fluff)

matty made a promise to do something for you before you dated, and this is what happens when an opportunity to fulfil it arises once you're together - kinda sorta a sequel to this, but can be read standalone. day 4 of valentine's week. enjoy <3

“matthew? have you got a minute?”

shit. the full name.

gritting his teeth in a grimace, matty puts down his guitar and follows your voice. “coming now, sweetheart.”

“much appreciated,” comes your tetchy reply. matty winces, wracking his brain in an attempt to figure out why you're not best pleased with him right now, but he comes up short.

he gets it as soon as he enters the kitchen, though; the french press in your hand - and the grumpiness on your pretty, sleepy face - reminds him of everything he needs to know. it also almost manages to stop matty from missing the fact you’re wearing his glassjaw hoodie, a pair of fluffy socks, and very little else. almost. “ah, fuck.”

“indeed,” you say, putting the cafetiere on the counter and frowning (quite adorably, to be honest) at your boyfriend. “actually, that was my exact phrasing when i came in here for a coffee, only to find that the grounds from the last cup hadn't been emptied.”

“m'sorry, baby,” matty moves to hug you.

you, however, have other ideas, and put your arm out to keep him back. “nope! no chance! absolutely not! you can't boyfriend your way out of this one, healy, this is a flatmate issue.”

matty sighs, but he can't exactly argue - the rules on emptying the coffee grounds have been finite since you moved in, the only way to ensure two caffeine-dependent people could cohabit in relative peace. “you're right. i really am sorry, darlin - let me clean it out now, and i'll make you a coffee, yeah?”

“thank you,” your face softens, into the cheeky smirk that never fails to make matty's heart feel funny. “would you make me a bit of toast, too, while you're at it?”

“it'll cost you a kiss, that one.”

“s'pose i could fork out for that,” you wrap your arms around matty's neck, hands sliding home into his hair to pull him down for a kiss. he dips you as you make out, like the two of you are lovers in an old hollywood romance film, and you giggle against his lips as he gently pulls you back to stand. “that was fun!”

“i was kinda scared i'd drop you, i won't lie.”

you laugh, ruffling matty's hair before taking a seat at the breakfast bar. “i would've dragged you with me if you had.”

“i'd expect nothing less,” he smiles, rinsing the coffee grounds from the press and holding it up to the light to check its cleanliness, before popping two slices of bread in the toaster. “what d'you want on your toast, by the way, babe?”

“hmm,” you tilt your head. “do we still have nutella?”

matty squints as he wracks his brain, then rummages around in one of the cupboards. “aha!” he emerges triumphant, almost-empty jar in hand. “enough for toast. but i'll need to get more before the weekend.”

“why? you don't even like it that much.”

“well, what else am i going to put on your valentine’s breakfast pancakes?”

you beam. “am i getting breakfast in bed?”

“course you are,” matty runs over to kiss your nose. “you're getting spoiled, sweetheart.”

“so are you. i was gonna keep it a surprise, but…” you pause dramatically. “i bought new lingerie.”

he drops the butter knife in shock. it hits the countertop with a clatter, and his head almost follows suit. “fuck,” he croaks out. “what colour?”

“dark red. your favourite,” you smile. “i look really sexy in it.”

“i bet you do, baby,” matty sighs happily, pouring coffee into your favourite mug. “can't wait to get into that hotel room and take it off you.”

“me either. and thank you for organising all that, my love. m’excited,” you smile, leaning up to kiss matty as he brings your breakfast over. “thank you for this, too. love you.”

“love you,” he kisses you again. “bring it to the living room? wanna cuddle.”

you nod, picking up your mug and plate and following matty through. he settles on the sofa first, arranging the blankets draped over it and taking your plate from you as you snuggle into his arms. with a kiss to your head, he flicks the tv on, and the two of you sit in contented silence for a little while - with the exception of you crunching your toast - watching animal park.

matty nudges you when the camera zooms in on a pair of lions curled up together on a rock. “us.”

“really?” you snort, putting your plate on the coffee table. “you think we're lions?”

“yeah. you're the brains behind everything, and i just chill out and have really cool hair.”

you laugh, bringing his hand to your lips and kissing it. “you're an idiot, healy.”

“but i'm your idiot. and i'm right,” matty looks down at you, grinning. “and you've got a little bit of nutella on your lip. here, let me,” he leans down and kisses it away. “there.”

“thanks, lover,” you stretch, snuggling back into your boyfriend with a sigh. “the lions are boring me a bit now, though. what else is on?”

“hmm, let's see,” matty clicks through channels, watching each for a couple of seconds before continuing to search - only when a familiar shot of a girl curled up in a chair reading the bell jar appears does he stop. “oh! babe, look! 10 things!”

“aww, i love this film,” you curl up even further into him, playing with the neck of his t-shirt. “remember when we watched this together in my room?”

matty's voice is quiet when he answers, but you can hear him smile. “thought about it every day since we did, darlin.”

he grins bashfully when you turn to look at him, open-mouthed. you smile, too, so sweetly that it hurts his heart. “same. it was all i ever wanted, to be so intimate like that with you,” you reach up to stroke his face. “best feeling in the world, knowing i get to do it for real now.”

all matty can do is softly hold your face and kiss you, until he runs out of breath and has to pull away from your chocolate-flavoured lips; even then, though, he keeps his hands on your jaw, and murmurs against your lips. “my dream girl. m'so in love with you.”

“i love you so much,” you whisper. “d'you wanna keep watching this, then?”

“course. rite of passage, innit?” your boyfriend grins, tugging you onto his lap and wrapping his arms around you. you turn to kiss him softly once more, then rest your head against his chest and look at the screen.

the time passes a lot like it did the last time you and matty did this, but instead of mutual pining and an undercurrent of sadness knowing you weren't really together, it's just completely… lovely. you press kisses to each other's heads and hands and lips, and just bask uninterrupted in the love evident between the two of you in the room. aside from the kisses, you don't even move.

that is, until the scene matty knows is your favourite begins. he grins, shifting you slightly further up on his lap so he can look at you properly, and begins to sing into your ear along with heath ledger onscreen. “you're just too good to be true, can't take my eyes off of you…”

your cheeks lift into a smile, and matty can practically feel the heat radiating off them. but still, you keep your eyes on the tv, the only proper acknowledgement of matty's singing being the way you softly squeeze his thigh.

“... you'd be like heaven to touch, i wanna hold you so much,” he continues, resting his head against yours and smiling when you giggle, then taking your hand. “at long last love has arrived, and i thank god i'm alive,” he moves his hand up to gently turn your head, singing the last bit to your adorably flustered smiling face. “you're just too good to be true, can't take my eyes off of you.”

you laugh joyously when he stops singing - the best sound matty thinks he's ever heard - and pull him into a kiss. “you're serenading me?!”

“you asked me to, first time we watched this,” matty smiles warmly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “and i promised you i would.”

“i did?” your brow furrows so cutely. “you did?”

“just as you fell asleep. therefore,” he grins, taking a deep breath before literally belting. “i love you, baby, and if it's quite alright i need you, baby, to warm the lonely nights. i love you, baby - trust in me when i say…”

you beam, wrapping your arms around his neck and swaying as you join in the song. “oh, pretty baby, don’t bring me down, i pray,” the two of you giggle as you sing, and matty's never been so in love in his life. “oh, pretty baby, now that i've found you, stay, and let me love you, baby, let me love you.”

as your voices fade out, matty leans forward and kisses you chastely; he beams and caresses your cheek when he pulls back. “thank you for letting me keep my promise. and for singing with me - that was lovely. should get you on the next album.”

“no, i think i'm content with just singing to you at home,” you smile, playing with the curls at the nape of his neck. “thank you for doing that for me. always found it really romantic, that scene and that song. but you know how i am about pda, so what you just did was really perfect,” you kiss him again. “i honestly can't remember you making that promise, though.”

“i think you had already fallen asleep on me, darlin,” matty giggles. “but i wanted to keep it, anyway. and speaking of promises to keep,” his face goes a bit more serious, but still tender, as he picks up your left hand and kisses your ring finger - your breath catches in your throat, eyes widening and welling up. “gonna marry you someday. i mean it.”

you nod, a teary smile on your beautiful face, and pull him into a hug. “i can't wait.”

#mads muses #mads does writing #flatmate!matty #valentine75 #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fic #matty healy fluff #matty healy x reader #matty x reader

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princess-of-thebes-1995 · 2 months

Text

I had a dream about this guy last night. And I am bored and cannot sleep.

1:19 am.

Prologue. Yandere Patrick Bateman x reader

Patrick Bateman was at a dinner gathering. He gave charity to schools for financial aid and housing for college students.

He then saw you...

He tried to walk up to you but reporters, writers would always try to talk to him.

Annoyed, he smiled politely and showed manners and spoke eloquently as always.

Patrick watched you move around the room talking to some girlfriends and other young men...

He felt a boiling frustration of jealousy in his heart. He felt better knowing you weren't flirting. Just talking normally.

Still. He wants to know your name and get your number

You should know the famous Patrick Bateman.

The millionaire Lawyer of New York.

But then he saw you walk around towards the door!

Crap. You were leaving. Luckily, he saw something. A little kid was playing with his car toys. After finally being away from those pesky paparazzis, Patrick used all his concentration to kick a toy car right under your high heels.

He saw you sadly trip on your face. He wanted you to fall back on your ass instead to avoid the pain.

Patrick felt guilt as you hit your cute perky nose against the floor.

Poor thing.

A crowd of people circled you and Patrick quickly walked up to your form as you clutched your heavily bloody nose.

"Are you alright, my dear?" Patrick took out his silk handkerchief and gently pressed it against your delicate nose.

Before you could answer, this stranger grabbed your upper arm and made you stand.

Patrick looked to see his business partners staring. "I'll send her home after cleaning her."

The pain was hell against your nose. You heard chatter and murmurs as this man led you somewhere. You didn't see his face yet. You saw his muscular back and tuxedo.

His hair was perfectly gelled.

"where we going?" You tried to squirm away from his grip.

"Don't worry. My office is here."

You said nothing and inside you were lead to a luxurious office that had the best vintage and antique furniture.

While there. The man made you sit and gave you painkiller pills. You were uncomfortable being alone with his stranger.

He did some small talk and you warily and out of politeness replied back.

This man obviously was fond of your name. He complimented it. You didn't appreciate it.

Then he confirmed your suspicions after asking your name. He wanted your number.

So that's what this was about.

You refused. He narrowed his eyes.

"I am Patrick Bateman."

"Who?" You titled your head in confusion.

This Patrick blinked and then his face turned red.

"Are you stupid? I am a millionaire Lawyer who funds colleges including the one you go to."

You explained how you moved all the way from California to New York. So, you couldn't have heard of him unless he was a Hollywood celebrity or someone bigger. Not a lawyer.

The Patrick Bateman guy seemed to have liked your answer. He forgave you on the inside for not knowing him. He was offended and embarrassed.

"Now that you know who I am. Give me your number. I want to get to know you."

"I don't." You narrowed your eyes.

He clenched his perfectly shaped jaw. He warned you. He can get you replaced by another student in college.

"I don't care who you are. I don't trust random strangers. You are entitled and arrogant. I hate you already."

Hate? Patrick felt as if you slapped him. He watched you leave.

You hate him already? You just met. And him....

He loved you already.

Stupid bitch.

You'll pay for that.

Patrick looked at the bloodied handkerchief in his hand. He pressed it to his nose. Your blood smelled beautiful. He needs more.

#american psycho #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x reader #yandere patrick bateman x reader #christian bale #christian bale x reader

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mlmxreader · 8 months

Text

Payment | Kenshi Takahashi x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ “Show me your heart” and “You’re sublime, you’re amazing” with Kenshi. ❞

: ̗̀➛ you and Kenshi get to spend a little time together at home.

: ̗̀➛ light innuendo, a little jealousy

•─────────────────★•♛•★────────────────•

Kenshi was sitting on your sofa, listening to some videos on his phone while you sat nearby watching the television; it was nice when there were moments like that.

Just the two of you and no pressure to constantly talk or to spend every waking minute doing something together; it was more than enough to just exist in the same room, to just be in the same room without talking and without actually interacting.

You were both keen on such a thing, and it wasn’t uncommon either; sometimes, Kenshi would be cleaning and sharpening Sento while you were taking a nap and he thought, for the first time in too long, that he was actually content with one thing in life.

When you stretched, the fabric squeaked, and Kenshi turned his head in your general direction as he hummed softly, pausing the video on his phone.

He listened carefully for a moment, but then decided to get up and to head over to you; gently, he laid his head on your thigh and grumbled under his breath as he licked his lips.

With the evening slowly trickling by, it was getting a little colder, and Kenshi could feel the warmth radiating from your stomach and thighs as he hummed and snuggled in a little closer.

“I don’t wanna go to Cage’s party tomorrow,” he admitted softly, his voice just soft enough that it was nearly a whisper. “I really don’t.”

You couldn’t help but to laugh softly as you shook your head. “Now, is that because you’re worried he’ll embarrass you again, or are you worried that he’ll flirt with me again?”

Kenshi sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair as he sighed heavily; he wasn’t keen on admitting it, but it was a little of both.

Sure, he loved Johnny - he was his best friend, after all - but that didn’t mean that he liked it when Johnny paraded him around and proudly announced to everyone that they were best friends.

It especially didn’t mean that he was keen on it when Johnny shamelessly flirted with you, even if he knew full well that it was little more than Johnny being Johnny and meant absolutely nothing.

But he still wasn’t keen.

“Can’t it be both?”

“Trust me,” your hand went to his hair by natural instinct, playing with the freshly washed black strands gently, softly. Each touch feather light. “It’ll be worth going to - you never know, the afterparty might actually be fun.”

“Two hours of Johnny parading me around to his Hollywood friends,” Kenshi huffed. “Sounds great.”

“He’s just proud you’re his friend,” you laughed, the sounds vibrating through him and making him attempt to snuggle into you further. “I mean, I would be, too.”

“Hm?”

“Well, you’re strong,” you started, “handsome, resilient, funny, charming… you’re good with your hands, you’re skilled, determined… who wouldn’t be proud to know you? I mean, Kenshi, c’mon - you’re sublime, you’re amazing.”

Kenshi smiled to himself, biting down on his bottom lip as he did his best not to grin; his face felt hot, he could feel the tips of his ears burning as he shook his head fondly and turned over, his hand wandering up your body but stopping just below your chest.

“Do me a favour?”

“Of course.”

“Show me your heart,” he said quietly, and when you guided his hand to your chest, he could feel it beating.

Soft and gentle. Sturdy and stable. You were telling the truth as far as he could guess, and it only made him smile a little more as he nodded slowly.

“That good enough for you, Takahashi?” You asked softly, holding his hand firmly against your chest.

He hummed. “Thank you.”

“So we’ll go?” You asked, waiting for him to nod before you breathed out a quiet sigh of relief. “It’ll only be for a few hours - plus, you get me all to yourself in a dark, private cinema where no one can see what your hands are doing.”

Now that, Kenshi had to admit, sounded more than promising; he couldn’t deny it, being all alone with you in the back row, the cinema dark but the film nice and loud so could actually hear anything, let alone see where his mouth was.

Oh, it all sounded far too promising.

He supposed he could ask Jax to go along as well to keep Johnny away from you and him for a little while - even if only for the duration of the film. Johnny adored Jax, it would have worked easily.

Grumbling softly, Kenshi pushed himself up, putting his arm around your shoulders as he stretched and sighed. Coming around to the idea of going tomorrow although not too eagerly; he loved Johnny, but Johnny was… well, he was a lot to deal with.

He ran a hand through his hair, and hummed as he dared to learn his head against yours. Taking a moment to listen to your gentle breathing, the soft puffs of air coming through your nose.

He felt his shoulders drop whatever tension they had been holding, and he could feel himself start to drop off slightly.

“You owe me,” he told you quietly, trying to bite back a yawn but only partially succeeding.

You shifted around so that he was on top of you, your hands on his shoulders as you spread your legs to accommodate him between them. “How would you like payment?”

Kenshi smiled, licking his lips as he brought his hand down to your chest, splaying his fingers and listening to your heartbeat. Steady, stable. “One kiss now, one later, and one in the morning.”

You grinned, reaching up and grabbing the back of his neck gently so you could pull him down, your lips almost against his; the feeling of his breath on your face making you laugh softly with how it gently tickled, a warm sensation coursing throughout your body.

“I think I can afford that - would you like one in the evening as well, as interest?”

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inmyglenpowellera · 3 months

Text

Bad Reputation Part 1 | Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Taylor Swift inspired!OC

Request: Requested by @akornsworld

Word Count: 3457 words

Summary: There's that saying for some people, “You can't go home again.” When you grow up and leave, that's it, you don't go back home. Presley Joann Benjamin (stage name Presley Jo) believed that was the case for her. Never did she think she would be right back where she started. But her Aunt insisted it was the best for her. She thought for sure her life and career were over until she meets a certain cocky aviator.

Warnings: Alcohol use, angst if you squint, maybe some cursing, fluff, some depression if you squint

A/N: This will be a multipart imagine. Not sure how many chapters there will be yet.

She made it. She was one of the biggest singer/songwriters this generation has ever known. She was a hit pop sensation. She went on tour, her more recent ones going international. She won many awards: Grammy's, Billboard, MTV Awards, VMA's. She had many other accomplishments she was proud of and didn't think she would even come close to experiencing what she had. Things were going great… until they weren't.

Things started to go downhill, and they went downhill fast. Her reputation was ruined. All because she refused to be used and abused in Hollywood. Everything started to fall apart. The cancel culture started to come for her. She was completely lost on what to do. Which is why she disappeared from the public eye.

She didn't answer her phone for days. Her aunt began to lose her mind and flew from San Diego to New York to see if she was even alive. What she didn't expect was to walk into her niece's loft to find her lying in her bed in the dark. Tissues and multiple bottles of alcohol littering the bed and floor. Her aunt knew then and there she couldn't survive this dark period by herself. She forced her up out of bed, demanded she take a shower, and forced her to pack her bags to come home.

Home, the place she hasn't been in about 10 years. When she was still a bright-eyed 20-year-old dreamer. The place where she got her start while working part-time at her aunt's bar as a server. Where her now ex-asshole manager discovered her. Playing and singing her heart out on that old piano in the middle of the bar, entertaining the aviators currently stationed in the area, who she was sure said they “knew her when” when she finally started becoming known.

She can't stop staring at that old piano through her sunglasses from her bar stool.

“Why don't you go play something? The only person who ever touches it anymore is Bradley,” Penny said to her niece, cleaning out a beer glass before placing it with the others.

“No thank you,” Presley said quietly, adjusting her baseball cap on her head.

“Well, can you at least take the hat and glasses off? And look at me when I'm talking to you,” Penny requested, laying her rag on the counter.

Presley huffed and turned around on her bar stool. “I'll take my glasses off and look at you but I'm keeping the hat on.”

“Presley, nobody is here right now,” Penny argued, gesturing around the empty and currently closed bar.

“Exactly, right now. But you know as well as I do that this place will be packed in less than an hour and I really don’t feel like being mobbed considering the current state of my life,” I argued back with her.

“The current state of your life that you are going to get through and fix. You're a Benjamin, nothing can stop us,” She reassured me.

I sighed in response to her words and attempted to slam my forehead down onto the bartop. However, I let out a groan in pain when I just ended up hitting the bill of my ballcap off of it instead. I heard Penny sigh and heard the telltale sound of her walking around the bar and moving to sit on the barstool next to me. She began to run her hand through the ponytail sticking out of the back of my ballcap before speaking.

“Presley, I know what you are going through right now is hard and you may feel like your life is over. But that is so far from the truth. I brought you back here not just because you needed the support, but because you needed to get back in touch with your roots. You may not believe this, but sometimes going back to where it all started helps to see where it all went wrong,” She whispered to me.

I scoffed in reply and lifted my head up. “I know where it all went wrong.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But until then, I want you to at least try to live your life. Stop focusing on what happened and focus on what could be. Don’t worry about writing your next hit or whether you will be invited to the next award show. Focus on spending time with me and Amelia and being normal.”

I stared at her for a moment before nodding with a sigh. “Alright, fine. Where do you want me to start?”

She nodded at me gratefully before standing from the bar stool. “You can start by helping me open the bar. I know you know how to. Go to the stock room and grab what we need and then help me finish the glasses.”

I groaned in annoyance before standing from my chair and moving to do as she asked.

---------

The moment the first person walked into the bar I rushed to push my sunglasses back on my face and kept my head down and I have continued to do so since the bar opened about 30 minutes ago. The place has had people nonstop coming in and out. Aviators, soldiers, and civilians taking up the space around me. The once-quiet bar was slowly becoming louder as more people filtered in and the evening rush slowly began to take hold.

A glass being placed in front of me caused me to look up briefly at the bartender standing there with a smile.

“Thanks, Jimmy,” I smiled back at him.

“This stays between you and me. Your aunt told me not to serve you but I figured one drink wouldn’t hurt,” Jimmy told me, pointing his finger at me as if he was scolding me.

“Don’t worry. She won’t hear it from me,” I reassured him, reaching forward for the drink in front of me.

Jimmy gave me a thankful nod before moving to serve another person. I sighed and took a sip of my drink when my phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out to see another news article about me. I sighed and clicked on it, frowning at the words glaring back at me.

“Presley Jo: Where is the Princess? Has she run away to hide in her castle?”

“I’m not a princess,” I grumbled to myself, glaring at my phone as someone appeared next to me at the bar.

“Jimmy, I’ll have 6 more, and whatever the “not princess” is having,” a voice with a distinct southern accent spoke up from next to me.

I slightly raised my head and pocketed my phone, looking over at the person standing next to me through my sunglasses before looking over at Jimmy.

“Uh, that won’t be necessary, Jimmy,” I told the old man who nodded at me.

“Aw, c’mon darling. Let a nice man buy a beautiful woman a drink,” He argued with me in his accent, leaning on the bar sideways so he could look at me.

I let out a small giggle and shook my head, looking over at him and looking him over from top to bottom. Sandy blonde hair styled to perfection, bright green eyes shining in the lights of the bar, thin lips pressed into a smirk, and a khaki uniform that causes me to roll my eyes from behind my glasses and look forward. A gorgeous human being ruined by what he does for a living.

“Well howdy, John Wayne. I appreciate the offer but no thank you,” I told him, grabbing the still half-full glass to take a sip.

“John Wayne,” The stranger questioned me in shock, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh, I’m sorry, do you prefer Eastwood,” I retorted, placing my glass back on the bar top.

I heard the aviator let out a noise that was a mixture of a scoff and a chuckle before he spoke up again.

“Well, that just hurts my feelings, sweetheart. It’s not every day I get made fun of for my accent,” He said in amusement.

“Well, I’m glad I could bring some excitement to your day,” I smiled at him sarcastically.

I heard a huff of amusement. “You know what would make it even more exciting.”

“No, but I feel like you’re going to tell me anyways, cowboy,” I said with disinterest.

“Your number.”

I scoffed in disbelief and began shaking my head with a grin. “Trust me, my number is the last thing you want buddy.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that,” He asked me curiously, leaning in closer to me.

“Because my reputation isn’t exactly the best right now… If you knew who I was you wouldn’t want to have anything to do with me, I promise you that. So do yourself a favor and find someone else to court like the small-town country boy you are,” I informed him, pushing my sunglasses farther up my nose.

“Well, maybe you can give me a chance and I can prove you wrong,” He argued with me.

“Doubtful,” I muttered, taking a large gulp of my drink.

“Why don’t we start with a name? If you're so famous like you're making yourself out to be. Then I can tell you if I’ve heard anything and if I believe what I’ve heard,” He offered up.

“I am most definitely not giving you my name,” I denied immediately, shaking my head.

“Well, then how about you take off the sunglasses and the hat Hollywood? Then I can tell you if you look familiar,” He tried again.

“I am not doing that either,” I said with another shake of the head.

“You enjoy playing hard to get don’t you,” He asked me with a smirk.

“It’s not playing hard to get if there’s nothing to win,” I told him.

He stared at me in silence, causing me to look over at him. I could see a few different emotions swirling in his eyes. Admiration, desire, amusement, and what looked like affection.

“I’m Jake,” He said simply.

I stared at him for a second and nodded in response. “Cool.”

This Jake person opened his mouth to speak again before being cut off.

“Is Hangman bothering you, PJ,” Jimmy asked me sweetly, looking between the two of us.

“No, Jimmy. It’s fine,” I reassured the old man.

“Are you sure? Because I have no problem ringing the bell on him,” Jimmy told me, gesturing over his shoulder to my aunt's bell.

“As funny as that would be and as much as I would enjoy that, it’s not necessary,” I reassured him once again, picking my drink up and finishing it off.

Jimmy nodded at me and grabbed my now empty glass before walking away, but not without throwing a warning glare over his shoulder at this so-called “hangman.”

“So, now you know my name and my callsign. Are you still not willing to give yours up miss “PJ,” Jake questioned me.

“No, Hangman, I’m not,” I shrugged at him, beginning to stand from my barstool. “Hey Jimmy, Let Penny know I’m headed home,” I asked the old man, watching him nod at me before going about his work again.

“So you know Penny,” He asked me.

“Wow, nice deduction there Mr. Eastwood. That navy training is really doing you some good,” I said sarcastically, turning to head out the door.

“I’ll get your name eventually,” He called after me.

“Don’t bet on it, Lieutenant.”

---------

I groaned in pain at the sudden weight being thrown on top of me, a bright giggle slipping out of the person’s lips. I wrestled my hands out from underneath them and lifted them to grab the comforter covering my head. I pulled it down to see Amelia lying across me with her dog Theo running into the room and joining us in the bed.

“Amelia, why,” I groaned.

“Because mom told me to wake you up. She needs you to do something for her,” Amelia told me before hopping off the bed to leave the room, Theo following closely behind her.

I groaned tiredly before throwing my blanket off of me. I leaned over the side of the bed and gripped my sleep shorts that I had taken off before bed. I pulled them on before doing my morning routine of brushing my teeth and washing my face. I then ran a brush through my hair and pulled it up into a bun before making my way downstairs. I followed the noises I heard into the kitchen to see Aunt Penny running around trying to make breakfast for Amelia as my little cousin tried to finish up her homework at the last minute. I walked over to Amelia kissed her head and gave Theo a pat on the head, before taking a seat on the other barstool at the island.

“Morning,” I sighed out to Aunt Penny.

“Good morning. I have a few errands I need to do this morning. Is there any chance you can take Amelia to school and then go to the Hard Deck to get some of the opening duties done for me,” Aunt Penny asked me quickly, placing Amelia’s breakfast on top of her homework and causing the young girl to let out a groan of annoyance.

“Yeah, sure,” I nodded at her.

“Thank you. I shouldn’t be long and should be there at around 10. And Amelia knows the drop-off procedures,” She reassured me.

“Penny, it’s fine. I know what to do and I will get Amelia to school on time,” I reassured her.

“Thank you,” she told me once again before gathering her things.

She walked around the island to place a kiss on Amelia’s head and one on my cheek before moving towards the door.

“I love you girls,” She called over her shoulder.

“Love you too,” We both called out to her.

---------

After an anxiety-ridden school drop-off and halfway through getting the bar ready for opening, Penny showed up with a thankful smile.

“Thank you,” She told me, pulling me into a hug.

“You’re welcome. I mopped, did stock, and washed the glasses. They just need to be dried and all of your paperwork needs to be done,” I explained to her, gesturing to all of the glasses sitting in drying racks.

“You are a lifesaver. How was drop off,” She asked me.

“Well, um, I have been through quite a few anxiety-inducing events in my life, but I think drop-off was the worst one to date,” I informed her with a grimace.

Penny winced at my words and nodded in agreement. “It can be bad.”

I nodded at her in agreement before moving to sit on the piano bench, my back facing the instrument to curb the need to play it. Penny looked between me and the instrument before speaking.

“Why don’t you play something while I finish up? I could use the entertainment,” She offered up, grabbing a rag to begin drying the glasses.

“No thank you,” I sighed, running my hands over my thighs to rid them of some of the sweat they built up.

“Presley, you can’t just give up music. I haven’t heard you so much as hum a note since you came home. And you've been here about two weeks now,” Penny scolded, placing her hands on her hips. “I used to have to pry you away from that piano. You couldn't stop writing and playing. You constantly had something new-”

“I’m not giving up music… and did it ever occur to you that maybe I'm just uninspired,” I interrupted her, looking at her sadly.

Penny frowned before placing her rag on the counter and leaning forward. “You're uninspired right now, but not forever. Something will bring your light back, I know it. For right now, how about you play some of your old stuff?”

I stared at her for a moment before sighing and nodding. “Fine. But I'm not singing. I'm just playing the piano.”

“That's fine with me,” She reassured me as I turned around and placed my hands on the black and white keys.

I began playing one of my songs gently and let myself get lost in the music. Meanwhile, Penny continued working behind me to prepare the bar for opening in a couple of hours. My one song turned into two, which turned into three. However, my playing stopped when I heard the front door open. I tensed up in my seat and looked over at Penny out of the corner of my eye. Penny dropped everything she was doing and immediately turned towards the person who entered the bar.

“Hangman, we don’t open for another few hours,” Penny called out to the person who walked further into the bar.

“It’s Friday, Penny. Dogfight football day. Just stopped in to get some beers for everybody before heading down to the beach,” Jake argued with her, walking over to the bar.

I could feel his eyes on me as he conversed with my aunt, causing me to turn my head slightly so he couldn’t see my face.

“Well, why don’t you head outside and I can bring them out to you,” Penny offered up.

“Nah, Pen, it’s fine. I don’t want to take up any more of your time than I need to,” Jake denied her. I listen to Penny let out a sigh before moving around the bar and gathering what he asked for. “I know that song you were playing, darling. I believe it’s called Enchanted by-,” He cut himself off when I finally looked over at him.

“Presley Jo, a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Eastwood,” I stated, holding my hand out to him with a blank expression on my face.

“PJ,” He hummed, gripping my hand in his own with obvious shock on his face.

“Hm, I normally just go by Presley,” I hummed out with a shrug, staring up at him.

“Mhm, Penny my dear, do you understand who is sitting in your bar right now,” Jake said in disbelief.

“Of course I do. I raised her,” Penny shrugged at him simply.

Jake turned around and looked at her in shock. “You raised one of the biggest pop stars on the face of the earth and didn’t tell anyone?”

“It’s not exactly something I go telling everybody, Hangman, no matter how proud I am of my beautiful niece. Besides, Bradshaw and Maverick know.”

“Rooster knows? Maverick I understand, but Rooster,” He asked in disbelief.

“Bradley and I grew up together. Who do you think taught me piano,” I interrupted, drawing his eyes back towards me. Jake continued to stare at me in shock and awe, causing me to slightly squirm under his gaze. “So, you going to go tell everybody I’m here? Sell a story to the media?”

Jake shook his head at me before releasing a scoff. “Why would I do that?”

“Because it’s what everyone else does,” I shrugged, fiddling with the hem of my shirt.

“Well, Darling, I guess I’m not everyone else then,” He shrugged at me.

I looked at him in shock before speaking again. “You still want my number?”

“Hm… that, and I’d still like to buy you that drink,” He shrugged at me.

I looked at him in shock and disbelief before shaking my head at him. “You still want something to do with me after finding out who I am? Even with everything being said about me and me being canceled?”

Jake shrugged at me before stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Not all your fans believe what’s being said about you.”

My gaze softened and I couldn’t stop myself from staring into his bright green eyes. He held my gaze for a few moments before Penny cleared her throat.

“Hangman, your beers,” She said, pushing them all towards the aviator.

He removed his gaze from me to turn towards my aunt and gave her a thankful smile. He told her to keep a tab open before turning back towards me. He gave me a wink before moving towards the back door of the bar to go to the beach. I watched him walk away and out the door before removing my gaze from him and looking back at my aunt. She raised her eyebrows at me in amusement before crossing her arms over her chest.

“You gonna tell me what the hell that was?”

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jensensfanfic · 10 months

Text

KISSING MONTAGE

pairing: imogen heaney x f!reader

requested: @aygfd: hey, I would absolutely love an Imogen one, especially there only being about 3 I’ve seen! I was wondering if maybe you could do an Imogen x f! reader where they pull a nick and Charlie and sneak around school kissing and all lovey dicey at home. If not that’s okay! Thank you :)

word count: 1.1k+

warnings: lots of kisses, sneaking around, reader calls imogen "Im", coming out via a public kiss, kind of set in s1 (bc of nick being single still)

☆part 2☆

—☆—

Imogen bounds towards you the second she sees you arrive at the school gates. She's so excited that she nearly runs into you but stops herself just short so that your shoes are touching.

"Morning," she greets you, sweetly, "Did you sleep okay?"

You briefly flash back to the previous evening you'd shared with Imogen.

You were at her house, hanging out in her room, like you did most nights. It was a normal moment night until Imogen had asked you who you fancied. She said she'd noticed you hanging around with Nick for weeks. Little did she know, you were hanging out with him because he was the only person who knew that you weren't straight. He was the only person you had told, and you had been telling him about your crush on Imogen, while he would try to convince you to let her know, to tell her.

And that is what you had finally done last night.

After she asked you that question, you took a deep breath and then turned around to face your best friend before taking her hand and finally confessing to her that you liked her.

It didn't take long after that for Imogen to lean forward quickly and give you the softest, warmest, most butterflies-in-your-stomach inducing kiss you'd ever experienced.

Now, here you both were, standing outside of the school gates, her eyes darting down to your lips as she also went over the night in her head.

"Not really." You answer, and Imogen looks concerned for all of a few seconds before you add, "I had other things on my mind, you know? Couldn't stop thinking about that–"

She cuts you off by grabbing your hand, surprising you. "Come on!"

She leads you inside, through the corridors, until she finds an open cupboard full of cleaning supplies. She ushers you in and closes the door behind her. "Is this... okay?"

"Uh... yeah!"

She giggles, and then you're kissing again, the hairs on your arms standing instantly as one of your hands finds its way onto the back of her neck.

You break apart a few minutes later when the bell rings. Not wanting to get caught, you both decide to risk getting detention, and you wait for the bell to stop and the corridor to empty before leaving and heading to class with sweet smiles on both of your faces.

—☆—

Over the next few weeks, you and Imogen can't keep your hands to yourselves. Whenever you get a moment alone, your lips are joined, both giddy and excited over this new and glorious feeling.

One evening, while doing homework, Imogen catches you staring at her. You watch her face, noticing the cute way she furrows her brows when she's concentrating. When she calls you out on your staring, you deny it, which results in her tickling you and inevitably leads to her smashing your lips together again.

—☆—

One night, during a sleepover at her house, her mother announces through a yell that she needs to 'pop to the shops to get some milk for breakfast in the morning'. The second the door shuts, Imogen smirks at you, wiggling her brows, "Alone at last! Wanna make out?"

"Uh... duh."

At some point during your little makeout session, you pull back momentarily. Imogen tilts her head slightly in confusion, and you say, quite simply, "You're lips are so soft, Im. Could kiss you forever."

She blushes and then you pull her back to you.

—☆—

Then there's your weekly 'friend date'. This time, you decide to go bowling at Hollywood Bowl. You end up making a bet. If Imogen wins, you'll pay for all the arcade games you play together afterwards, but if you win, she has to give you any and all prizes or tickets that you win in the arcade.

You end up winning, and then Imogen wins a cute Luigi plushy on a crane claw game. When it falls, you reach down to grab it, and she sulks, making a pouty face. You chuckle, "That face... so cute."

"What, this?" She asks, and then pouts again, to which you respond by tipping forward and pressing your lips to hers.

"Crap, sorry! We're like... in public."

"It's okay, there's no one here, silly." She replies, and then snatches Luigi from your hands and runs away with it, making you chase her.

—☆—

It goes on for weeks. You steal kisses at her house, at yours, at the park, in little hidden away corners at the mall, even at school. You both know how risky it is, but you manage to go months without anyone seeing you.

Being best friends, the only kisses you ever manage to get away with in school, are the little cheek pecks. You've always done it every time you greet each other at the school gates or said goodbye after a studying session, sleepover, or before walking home.

And of course you take advantage. Every time you kiss her cheek, or she kisses yours, you linger just slightly longer, or take the opportunity to whisper something cute or romantic in each other's ears.

—☆—

One day at her house on a Saturday afternoon, several months after your crush confession, you break away from her lips, pressing your forehead to hers. "Im?"

"Yeah?"

"I really, really like you."

She pulls away and laughs softly, "I really, really, really like you, too."

"I was wondering... if you want... can we, um... can we start to tell people. I think... I really want to... I'm ready to." You don't look at her as you wait for her answer, not wanting her to see how much you want this, how your eyes are near brimming with tears ready to spill if she says no. "It's okay if you don't want to yet. We haven't even said, you know, if we're..."

"Girlfriends? I think we are." Imogen gently lifts you chin with her thumb. "It's been months, and... well... do you want to be my girlfriend?"

"Absolutely, 100% yes, I do."

"Okay." Imogen pecks your cheek, and then your lips. "Then let's tell people."

—☆—

The next morning, Imogen is at school before you, and the second she spots you walking towards her bench, she bounds happily toward you once again. She kisses your cheek, wrapping her arms around you in a hug. "Just so you know, I want people to know, but I'm just checking... are you sure?"

You smile and nod. "I'm very sure."

"Then come here, girlfriend!" She pulls away, grabs your face, and crushes your lips together, in full view of everyone around you.

This special, life-changing kiss sends tingles throughout your body in a whole new, exciting, and terrifying way, and you can hear the murmurs as Imogen talks into the kiss. "Scared?"

"A little."

"Me too." She pulls away completely then, takes a breath and smiles at you sweetly, then takes your hand. "But I really, really, like you. Come on, let's not be late and get any more detentions."

—☆—

Taglist: @whereimwritingfrom @httphayn @imdoingbetternow (let me know if you want to be tagged in future imogen fics!!)

#my writing #mine #imogen heaney x reader #heartstopper x reader

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wardenparker · 7 months

Text

Red Lipstick

Dieter Bravo x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 8.8k Warnings: Ghost!reader, drug use (cocaine), mentions of murder, mentions of past adultery, dirty talk, hair pulling, oral sex (f and m receiving), fingering, fingernails/scratching, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, sex while high. Summary: When Dieter moves into a new house, the last thing he expected was to end up with a sultry new roommate. Especially one that died almost a hundred years ago. Notes: Blessed Samhain and Happy Halloween everybody! Let's celebrate by having Dieter get both high and nasty.

"I think you're going to be really pleased with how things are set up, Dee." As his personal assistant, Kendra has spent the last month getting her best and only client packed up, moved into his new house, and unpacked again while Dieter Bravo has been overseas filming. He had decided that the mansion he had been living in, in Malibu, just wasn't doing it for him anymore and she had been dispatched to fix the problem.

This art deco colossus in the Hollywood Hills was her answer — supposedly having belonged to some long forgotten starlet back in the silent era. Poor thing was poisoned by her husband's mistress, if the rumors were true. But Dieter didn't need to know that. Instead, Kendra sweeps him inside the door with an encouraging smile on her face and tries to get him to look around. "If you want anything moved around, you just say the word," she promises him.

“It’ll be fine.” For all his bullshit, Dieter isn’t actually as fussy as a lot of people might believe. He just wants a comfortable, vibey place to relax, do drugs and fuck. He looks around and nods, impressed with how quickly they’ve set everything up. “Kinda creepy. I like it.”

"I found some of the original furnishings in the attic and had them cleaned up. Reupholstered as necessary. I thought you'd like them." Extremely pleased with herself, Kendra looks around the large front hall and smiles. "There is food in the fridge with reheat instructions and plenty of things in the pantry if you want to eat without fuss. Your chef will be coming by every other day like usual. Would you like a tour?"

“Sure.” Maybe it’s a little odd that he’s needing a tour for a home he now owns, but he couldn’t be bothered to actually look at the listings that Kendra had sent him. She knew what he liked and what he didn’t, and he had trusted her to pick the best one for him.

The first floor has all the usual rooms, and considering the place was built in 1920 it has some unusual ones, too. A library and a dining room make perfect sense. The sitting room has been transformed into a relatively normal living room. The conservatory with all the plants Kendra could reasonably cram into it has a big table for playing games at and a bunch of places to sit for when he has people over to work but they want something nice to look at. The former ballroom? She left it sparsely decorated so he can decide what he wants to do with it later. Upstairs, the five bedrooms all have walk-in closets and their own bathrooms, and the largest one has been turned into his new bedroom. The giant brass bed in the attic was way nicer than his so she topped it with his mattress and covered the whole thing in his favorite sheets, blankets, and pillows. His other furniture is all set up, and his assistant has set up all the other guest rooms to be ready to go. “What do you think?” Kendra asks, leading him into the room with dark green wallpaper and mahogany wainscoting.

Dieter frowns and tilts his head at the ornate bed. “Did– that’s not my bed, is it?” He asks, pointing at it. “I would remember being tied to it, and I – I’ve not done that yet, I don’t think.”

“I found it in the attic,” Kendra tells him, passing by the comment with just a half-smirk. “I thought you’d like it.”

"It fucking cool." His eyes are positively excited as he rushes towards the bed and caresses the brass scroll work on the bed. "It's mine? It came with the house?" He can't imagine that someone would leave this badass bed, he wouldn't. It's orate and beautiful, drawing him to it in a way he can't describe. Imagining amazing sex in this bed and the flash of a woman. Just a glimpse as his hand wraps around one post.

“It’s yours.” She’s pleased with his reaction and smiles as he inspects the looming piece of furniture. “I know you have a few favorite booty calls in town if you want to try it out tonight.”

He chuckles and almost agrees but he doesn't. Deciding he wants to spend his first night in the house alone. Settle with it and figure out what kind of vibes it's giving him. "Maybe," is all he says.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” She nods when he looks back at her and heads for the stairs, leaving Dieter alone in his new house. He has the keys, he has his bearings, and he has dinner already made. She’ll be back tomorrow to check on him.

"Hello?" He calls out, just for fun even as the door has closed behind his assistant minutes ago. He's a firm believer in spirits, knowing that his aura projects out into the universe. It's why he doesn't like things messing with his brain waves like the bluetooth headphones.

“Hello sweetie.” From the doorway of the bedroom that once was yours, you place your hands on your waist and practically hum at the man standing near your bed. He doesn’t have that slick, smooth, buttoned-up look that men of your era did, but he has an undeniable appeal all his own. Not that he can see you — oh no — but at least you’ll have something nice to look at. The last family to own the house your fortune built was rather…unfortunate looking.

There's something. Dieter's skin tingles and he hums as he looks around the room. Swearing that he had felt something. "I'm– uh, I come in peace." He tells the room.

“Aw, sugar…” Tutting, you saunter into the room and cross your arms over your chest. The dressing robe you’ve worn for the last ninety-five years still gives you the feeling of swishing around as you move even though that’s now impossible. “You can’t see me, handsome. Or hear me. Nobody can.”

"Whoever you are..." Dieter's brows lift and he gives a sympathetic expression. "I feel you. Just know that I'm here to live beside you. And get really high."

“Feel me?” It would be too much to ask for it to be true, and you tilt your head at him curiously. “Sugar, I’d let you feel me in a heartbeat.“

"Can spirits get high?" He asks, mostly to himself and he chuckles. "We can get faded together."

“Guess we’ll have to find out.” You laugh softly to yourself. “Might be fun.”

"I'm hungry." Dieter groans, rubbing his stomach and then scratching it. "Gonna go down to the kitchen and get something to eat." He looks around the room. "Don't like– throw a knife at my head or anything, okay?"

That makes you laugh, a deep sound that is unpretentious and unexpected, and you decide to follow him down to the kitchen. The blandness of the last owners had been absolute, but this one is fun. And at least not a stick in the mud. Maybe his food will be worth smelling as well.

Rambling down the stairs, Dieter starts to hum a little tune. One that he doesn't recognize but he swears it from some old black and white movie.

“Now how do you know that?” The sound of the tune makes you hurry up, floating alongside this new man on feet that no longer touch the ground. You’d know it anywhere. The theme from a movie long gone and long forgotten — but that you’d sung yourself into that big studio microphone to be recorded and played for your first ever ‘talkie’. If only you hadn’t died first, you might’ve made a go of musicals.

"What movie is that from?" Dieter loves to get stoned and watch old movies. Having hundreds of channels that include a lot of classic movies, black and whites and even the great era of silent movies. There was something about that time that just appeals to him, the art of acting without saying a word. It took a lot more skill to portray emotion and your intent when you cannot say anything. "I'll have to look it up."

“Bernice Bobs Her Hair…” The film had been full of dances and a few good songs, all wrapped around that darling story by F. Scott Fitzgerald. It was supposed to be a breakout. Reignite your star. Instead you were dead on premiere night. “It was called Bernice Bobs Her Hair.”

“B something,” Dieter frowns, cocking his head as he reaches for the fridge. “The chick who was in it died the night it came out.” He snaps his fingers and yanks the door open to see what Kendra had left for him, “Ohhhhh Thai!”

"Thank god I looked good, at least." You huff, crossing your arms again as you try to figure out what he's tying as he takes things out of the icebox.

“Peanut sauce, fuck yes!” He could kiss his assistant, knowing he’s been on a Thai kick lately and she has put all his favorites in there. “I can reheat the samosas in the air fryer. That will be good.” He talks to himself. “Pad Thai, that omelet thing I can never say right. Fuckkkkkkk, she got me the green curry. Imma get fucked up and munch.”

He's got a boyish kind of charm to him as he zips around the kitchen, and if you could you would be leaning back against the counter to watch. As it is, the small sound of your laughter and the smile on your face is private, but you find yourself hoping he might continue to speak to himself out loud from time to time. It's nice to be able to pretend that he is actually talking to you.

Dieter straightens up and looks towards the counter near the fridge. “Oh shit. Forgive me. I don’t know how to live with a – a spirit.” He shrugs. “Do you want to join me? Can ghosts eat? Probably not right? Fuck. That would suck. I’m sorry.”

When he looks right at you, you feel your mouth fall open and your eyes double in size. "You— can you— see me?" It's just a coincidence. It has to be. He can't possibly be looking at you, right? Just...in your general direction...

“I swear to fuck you are right there.” He points at you and sighs. “Or you’re so goddamn lonely you’re inventing ghosts to have someone to talk to, Bravo.” He blows out a breath, wondering when he lost his fucking mind.

"I am right here." Moving away from the counter, you get closer to him and closer, wondering how it's possible at all for him to sense you. If he has any idea who you are. "I'm right in front of you..." you murmur, wondering what would happen if you reached out to try to touch him.

“Right.” Dieter drops his head and reaches up to rub his neck. “Time to do some cocaine.” He grunts, sure that he’s answered his own question. “Or maybe that new shit Kevin brought me.” It amused him to no end that his regular supplier’s name was Kevin. He had him in his phone as ‘Home Alone’ for kicks.

"Ooo, cocaine. How darling and nostalgic of you. I miss cocaine." When he walks away you can't help but sigh. Or you would, if you still drew breath. Instead you occupy yourself in the most entertaining way currently at your disposal: following around the living person in your house.

There's a reason Dieter loves to have ornate or even simple flat mirrors around his home. One, it reflects light and brightens any space up. Two, it's great for setting up a line for coke. Making him think of those 80's parties every time he uses his credit card to line one up to snort, he giggles. "Too bad I don't have one of those fancy rings where you open the little compartment to take a bump." He grunts, knowing he would always have that thing loaded.

“Find my jewelry box in the attic and you’ll find a few beauties.” You hum, setting yourself on the nearby chair to lounge. That’s all you can do these days and it’s terribly annoying.

Once the line is as perfect as he wants it, Dieter rolls up a five dollar bill and bends over the mirror. It's quick, the pain of snorting something up his nose long since faded, and he throws his head back at the rush of pure endorphins. Eyes closed as the feeling settles over him like a warm blanket and he groans, dropping his head back down and opening his eyes.

Only to give a yelp when he spots a woman lounging on one of his living room chairs. "What the fuck!"

“You can see me!” This time there is no mistaking it, and you practically bounce and clap your hands with glee. “Sugar, that magical white powder of yours is a little more magical than you think!”

"Who the fuck are you?" Dieter stumbles back and bumps into a table behind him, rocking the lamp but he doesn't pay it any attention. "How the fuck did you get in. I– look, I don't want a crazy fan in my house. I'll call the police!"

“Call the police all you want, handsome. They won’t be able to see what you’re so worried about.“ It had happened with the last owners — when you had gotten fed up with being ignored and invisible and dead you had gone on a good old fashioned haunting spree that resulted in everything from police being called to exorcisms being performed. The family finally moved out in a rush and the house had been empty for almost ten years. “And darlin’?” You drawl, delighted that he can actually hear you. “You’re the one in my house.”

"Your house?" Dieter shakes his head and blinks again. Swearing that he's on a bad trip, but there is a shimmeriness around you and your hair is very styled. Despite the fact that you are wearing a vintage dressing gown, with the feathered sleeves that seemed to be in every old movie from the classics. He frowns, blinking again and then it clicks. "Oh shit. I know who you are."

“Oh, really?” Practically preening at the idea that he might recognize you since he clearly has seen at least one of your films, you instinctively strike a pose in the chair. “Guess I just have one of those unforgettable faces,” you purr.

"You're dead though." He shakes his head again and throws out a lopsided grin. "But you look really good for a dead broad." He says your name and then pauses. "Right?"

“Right as rain.” You chirp happily. It’s been so long since you’ve even been seen that being recognized again seems like a faraway dream. “But who is this handsome fella that’s in my house with my bed in his room?”

It can't be real. It can't be. You died. A fucking long time ago. Dieter hums, realizing he must be in another one of those hallucinations of his. They are getting more and more vivid the longer he uses. Maybe his agent was right and he needed a stint in rehab. For now, he shrugs and introduces himself. "Dieter Bravo. I'm an actor too. Oscar winner." He adds.

“Oscar winner, huh?” The brag isn’t lost on you, and you bat your eyelashes at him in your old accustomed way. “A big shot.”

"Maybe." Despite his air of arrogance that he wears, Dieter is like most actors. Neurotic and craving validation and love. "To some."

“I would’ve had one,” you toss one hand in the air flippantly, delighted that he can actually see you do it. “But they didn’t start those things until after I died.”

“Really?” He hums and tilts his head. “What year?”

“What year did I die, you mean?” A dramatic sigh from you is an effort since you don’t need breath anymore, but it’s so fun to play. “I died October 27, 1928, sugar. Right here in this house.”

“How?” He asks with a frown. “I mean, you look great. You don’t look dead.”

“Well, aren't you sweet?” A girl does like a compliment now and then. Especially when she hasn’t had one in almost a hundred years. “It was poison, sweet thing. Should’ve known better than to let someone else mix my drinks.”

“You were poisoned?” Dieter looks alarmed, too alarmed for a death that happened nearly 100 years ago, but he’s looking around like the murderer would pop out at any moment.

“Tale as old as time, handsome.” You shrug your shoulders, having had plenty of time to process the betrayal. “My best friend was sleeping with my husband and they wanted me out of the way. Don’t know why he didn’t just ask for a divorce…probably so he could keep my money.”

“Fuck.” He shakes his head and sighs. “I’m sorry. Want a drink?” He asks, feeling comfortable enough to offer a ghost a drink. “Oh shit– no, you wouldn’t want me to pour you a drink. I’m an idiot.”

“If I could have a drink, I’d let you pour me one.” He seems sweet. A little lost. Maybe abandoned. But sweet. Like a puppy that needs to be pet more often.

“I can see you.” He reasons. “Maybe you can. After all…” he shrugs. “Ghosts can’t sit and you're lounging on my chair, sprawled theatrically.”

"Oh sugar, I can assure you that ghosts do sit. We do a hell of a lot of it, in fact. Or else we'd do nothing but float around or stand all day, and variety is the spice of...well...death."

“What else can you do?” Dieter latches onto the conversation with an eagerness that surprises him but it’s not everyday he converses with ghosts.

"I can push things over sometimes." You have managed that early on. Scaring the devil out of your husband and his plaything so frequently that they had abandoned the house and sold it as quickly as possible. "Flicker the lights. Cause breezes. You know...ghostly things."

“Hmmmm.” Dieter moves over to the bar and pours a glass of whiskey. “Come see if you can drink.” He urges you.

"I seriously doubt it, darlin', but why not." Shrugging your shoulders, you lift yourself up from the seat you had been lounging in and saunter over to the bar. It's been a hell of a long time before you were able to do anything at all, and this man – Dieter – is the first person who has been able to do as much as sense you in decades. Why not have a little fun? Once you're standing beside him you reach out, waggling your bejeweled fingers a little before attempting to wrap them around the glass. As hard as you can possibly concentrate, your hand slips right through the glass and the liquid inside, coming up empty.

“What if I hold it for you?” The rational part of his brain is screaming that it won’t work, but there’s this voice that keeps telling him to try.

“Why the hell not?” It won’t work, but it seems to amuse him to try, so you sway closer and tilt your head expectantly.

He's nervous, not because he needs to step closer to you, but because – what if this works?. He might be able to do something no one else has been and thats pretty fucking cool.

You really hate to see him get his hopes up, but indulgently tilt your head back for the liquid to – as expected – pass right through you to a puddle on the floor. “It’s alright, sugar,” you croon softly when he looks disappointed, and ingrained instinct makes you reach like you could somehow pat his face even though you’ve just proven the opposite. Imagine both of your surprise, then, when your cold hand neatly cups his burning hot cheek.

"OH SHIT!" Dieter jumps, nearly pulling away from your touch because of the temperature difference, but then he manages to keep contact. "Oh shit, you're– how? I thought you couldn't– what the fuck?"

“I don’t know— I don’t know!” As panicked as he is, you reel back instantly and stare at your hand, cradling it like it might combust. “I don’t know! That’s never happened before!”

"You touched me! Quick, do it again!" This time Dieter is reaching out for you. Seeing if he can touch a ghost and he yelps again when his fingers connect with you.

“How in the world?” It shouldn’t be possible. It doesn’t make sense. And yet— it’s happened.

"Oh god, are you sure you're a ghost?" Dieter frowns, fingers curling around your jaw, making sure it's not one of those celebrity masks things people sometimes wear. That you aren't tricking him even if he had just watched your drink pass through you. "You feel real."

“You’re the first person to have a feel in ninety-five years, darlin’.” And that in and of itself is why you’re sure this is actually happening. You were there — you remember every single one of those ninety-five years’ worth of days.

“Oh fuck, this is, this is so cool!” Dieter groans out with an ecstatic expression on his face.

“This is unbelievable.” Never in your entire afterlife have you ever tried to touch a living being. When Reggie and his trollop were still in the house you had haunted them right out into the street. The second owners could not have been more oblivious to your otherworldly presence if they had been doing it intentionally. The third had simply bored and annoyed you so deeply that you had spooked them just out of sheer habit. You had lost your zest for haunting for a long, long time. But this? This is utterly remarkable.

“This shouldn’t be happening, right?” Dieter asks, as if being a ghost makes you an expert on them. “What’s different? What’s making this happen?”

“Damned if I have any idea, sugar.” It’s almost too exciting to bear, but you test the thing by flexing your fingers against the rasp of stubble on his face. “But it’s never ever happened before.”

"Is it because I'm high?" He wonders. "My mind is just....in tune with the spirit world?"

“Maybe?” It’s impossible to know for sure, but your hands are making his face with enthusiasm because you’re afraid to touch his clothing and lose this magical ability to touch again.

Dieter reaches out and touches you again. "You feel so soft." He hums. "You've got a hell of a skincare routine."

“Being dead seems to have its advantages.” You joke with a wink. “Can’t wrinkle if you can’t age.”

"So you look like you did when you died?" He asks. "You were fucking sexier than the screen made you look."

“Why, Mr. Bravo, you flatter.” Even though your instinct is to close your eyes against the searing heat of him and how solid he feels against you, you’re fully afraid that if you do, he’ll disappear. And true to form, instead of facing fear, you continue to joke. “But really, gray makeup does no one any favors.”

"It had to be like that, right?" He asks curiously. Remembering the history of cinema classes that he had taken in college. "Because it would show up on film better?"

“Just so.” His hand is so broad it feels like it spans one entire half of your face. “But I always preferred red.”

"Red lips are always sexy." He murmurs, licking his own lips and glancing down at your painted red lips.

“Always?” The question hangs — if he’s going far enough out on that limb to actually be considering what he seems to be considering. And if you’re far enough out on that limb with him to go along.

"Always." He agrees, rubbing his thumb along your bottom lip. "Should I– would it be weird if I kissed you?" He asks. "For science?"

“Depends.” If you still had a heartbeat it would be frantic — excitement and nerves crawling up your spine. “Ever thought of kissing a woman born before 1900?”

"Am now." He admits with a self deprecating shrug. "I don't know if it counts, but I had a crush on Greta Garbo when I was a boy."

“Good taste.” You hum, chuckling from somewhere deep in your chest. “She was a hell of a woman.”

"You knew her?" He asks in surprise.

“Knew her?” You demure, all amusement and sly smile. “She was a remarkable kisser.”

"Really?" Dieter's eyes blow wide and he glances down at your lips again. "Are– were you– uh, lovers?"

“One or two parties that got a little out of hand.” A chuckle grows from your chest and you nudge his chin up to close his mouth, delighting in the not so simple act of touching him. “My husband wasn’t the only one dissatisfied with our marriage, I suppose.”

"So you're bi?" It's a fucking interesting development in the conversation and a fascinating one at that. “Uh, bisexual?” He isn’t sure if that phrase was used back then. “You like both sexes?”

“I used to just say ‘adventurous’.” You have heard the term, though. Through the decades you have learned a whole lot about the world.

"Adventurous." He chuckles quietly and smirks. "Then I guess I'm 'adventurous' too." He admits. "But I want to kiss you."

“We can try.” His hands on your skin feel burning when you didn’t think you could ever feel anything again — so wouldn’t it be foolish not to try?

“Let me know if you– uh, feel anything.” He’s honestly not sure if he’s so high he’s imagining things, or this is real, but it feel like the greatest fucking high of his life. Holding onto the silky waist of the dressing gown and leaning in to press his lips to yours ever so gently.

The last fading memory of a kiss that you have is from the night you died, and it is one of the most melancholy things to have past those lips of yours that you can still remember. This, comparatively, is like being set on fire even when it only lasts a second. The sound of a gasp comes from one of you — likely him, all things considered — but you could swear the world has turned on its axis just a touch, in letting the living and the dead collide like this.

Your lips are cold and yet the reason Dieter shivers isn’t because of that. It’s from the tingling, the way that his hair raises on the back of his neck and his cock starts to harden. He’s kissing a ghost and he likes it.

“Impossible…” Yet it’s undeniable. It happened. You both experienced it. A living man and the ghost of a woman long dead, sharing a kiss.

“Again.” Dieter demands, taking a step closer to you and sliding his hand down to your waist. “I want another kiss.”

There shouldn’t be any way in hell this is possible, especially with him now touching your robe instead of your skin, but you can feel him. The breadth of his hand on your back, his chest presses against yours, hot breath fanning over your face and the hardness against your hip. It’s all real. “Happily.” You hear yourself groan out, diving back into another impossible kiss.

This time there is tongue. Making him groan into your spiritual mouth and tighten his hold on you. Unable to believe this is happening and not another hallucination, he pulls back. “Pinch me.” He demands. “Scratch me, something.”

It should surprise no one that the shade of deep red on your lips matches your nails, and even though your eyebrows pinch with the same disbelief and confusion as his, you rake your nails down his forearm and gasp when they leave behind a trail of equally red marks in their wake. “How?” Is all you can ask, knowing that neither of you has an answer.

“I don’t know, but goddamn that felt good.” Dieter moans quietly. He slides his hand up, cupping a breast and pinching your nipple through the silken material of your dressing gown.

The gasp you let out shouldn’t be possible either, but the fact that you seem to be solid under his touch and him solid to yours is exquisite. Coupling that with an arousal like you haven’t felt in almost a century and you’re dragging him back to you by the fabric of his shirt, willing to live in this miracle for as long as it lasts. To feel alive again.

Making out with a ghost isn’t something that he could have imagined when he arrived at his new house, but he’s enjoying it. Backing you up, he presses you to the wall as he continues to kiss you.

It pulls another gasp from you, shocked when you don't instantly evaporate through the wall like normal. Somehow – some way – in touching and being touched by him, you are solid again. You can swear you almost feel your heart beating. Racing out of time as you start to pull at his clothing and he blindly attempts to untie the sash holding your robe in place.

“What the fuck?” Dieter hisses, breaking away from the kiss to look down at the knot on your robe. “Who the fuck tied this?”

"I did." But now, in retrospect, you huff about it along with him. "To discourage my louse of a husband."

“Fuck.” He grunts, shaking his head. “We need– fuck, the bedroom, we need to go to the bedroom.”

"Afraid to let go–" You admit, fingers still tangled in his shirt as you both pant for breath. To pant is such an exquisite sensation that you cannot possibly describe it and you must look positively ecstatic in the moment.

“Then don’t.” Dieter chuckles, deciding that he will be putting the weight training for his last film to good use when he pulls up your dressing gown and grabs your thighs to lift you up. “Fuck, you feel heavy for a ghost.” He grunts as he picks you up.

"Rude." A single swat at his chest is nothing, and you rope your arms around his shoulders to press hot kisses along the column of his neck while he moves down the hall.

Dieter groans, hands cupping your ass he stumbles towards his new bedroom. Trying to remember the way when half the blood meant for his brain is operating his cock. Realizing that you are no longer cold, but almost scorching hot in his arms.

"Your left! Not my left!" You mumble against his skin, giggling and trying to give him directions when you refuse to detach yourself from kissing any part of him that you can manage.

“Fuck. Fucking new/old house.” He grunts. “Fuck, you’re so sexy. You know that? I bet you had all your co-stars wanting to fuck you.”

"A few of them did." His fingers digging into your ass brush perilously close to your pussy and you moan. "But you've fucked some of yours, too, sugar."

“Yes.” He groans, pulling you against his cock. “Fucked them, ate them out, sucked them off. Whatever we felt like doing.”

"Bet you want to add me to that list right about now, don't you, sugar?" The nickname has stuck, and you've decided you like it. Leaning back in his arms and finding both your body and clothing have returned entirely to the corporeal plane, your eyes find his with the same fire he is feeling now. "I can feel how much you want me."

"Fuck, do I want you." He groans, unable to believe that he's ever wanted someone this bad, but how do you explain the attraction to a 100 year-old ghost? "I'm going to strip you down and bury my tongue and cock in your ghostly cunt. See what filling it with my cum looks like." At least here, he's almost certain there's zero chance of catching something or a pregnancy scandal.

As soon as he sets you down on the bed he’s diving into it after you, covering your body with his and drowning in kisses that make your head spin as you tug at the knot you tied in your robe. It is amazing how your skin has warmed up. Gone from being a muted color to technicolor. Like you are being brought to life by his touch. His mouth drags over your shoulder when the silk slips down and he bites. Chuckling in absolute delight when he leaves behind imprints on your skin.

With your head tossed back on the blankets you revel in a moan, looking up at him with eyes that feel hazy but have not seen this clearly in years. “If we only get tonight, let’s make the most of it. Sound good, sugar?”

“Absolutely.” He moans in agreement, ecstatic that you seem to be on the same wavelength as he is. Maybe that’s why this is happening. Your spirit is touching his. “I’ve never eaten haunted pussy before.” He jokes as he kisses down your body and pulls the gown down over one breast to latch onto it.

“Can’t say that again passed tonight.” You chuckle, gasping at the searing heat and eager grasping of his mouth on your flesh. It is electric in a way you have never been able to describe and adds to the incredible miracle that is tonight. “Good thing about being dead is that the pussy stayed shaved.”

“Very good thing.” He mouths from around your breast, hands pulling open the dressing gown when you finally get the sash untied.

The last time you felt a breeze on your skin was so long ago that you moan at it, back arching into him as he exposes your body to the bright electric lights and air from the open window. The fingers of one hand are in his curly hair and your other is pulling at his shirt, wanting him as bare as you are for everything that is to come.

He’s reluctant to let you go, but he has to. Has to hurry to pull his clothes off so he can have the wildest encounter that he could probably never even talk about.

Soft and strong is always how you’ve liked your men, and the corded muscles in his arms and back — when you catch a glimpse — that give way to a soft middle and full cheeks are just your type. When he’s entirely bare and pushing your silk robe away from your body with every ounce of concentration he has, you instinctively spread your legs wide for him to take his place between them.

“Fuck, I’ve never – fuck.” He groans, knowing that you will understand what he’s meaning. It’s not like you’ve done this either from what you’ve told him. Kissing and nipping down your body, it’s interesting to hear you moan at the sensation. “Here goes.” His eyes flick up to your face before he dives into your cunt.

The moan you let out is deep and unbridled, as earnest as you are eager to watch every single moment. You lean up on one elbow to prop yourself up, raking the fingers of your other hand through his hair to get yourself the best view possible. He’s gloriously messy — enthusiasm over technique — and it makes it all the more hedonistic to moan and sigh at the sensations you know are coming from the deepest depths of desire.

You feel real, you taste real. There’s nothing about this that would indicate that there’s nothing beyond a gorgeous, horny woman in his bed and Dieter is here for it. Moaning into your damp folds as he tries to find which flick of his tongue drives you wild.

Everything feels good, and if you weren’t always a ‘the deeper the better’ kind of girl in life, you certainly are in your afterlife. Simultaneously too much and not enough, the not enough side is winning a little more every second. Dieter pushes your thighs wider with his shoulders and shoves a hand up, desperate to feel himself deep inside you, even if it’s just his fingers. Wanting to see how high pitched your breathy moans can get.

"Fuck–fuck–right there, baby. Oh god–" When he finds that perfect place it has your hips rolling and your back arching off the bed, chasing every pump of his fingers and flick of his tongue. The sensations are divine combined with your own hand pinching and pulling your nipples to add another lick of sharp pleasure to the symphony. Even touching yourself feels amazing after so long with nothing at all.

Dieter groans, soaking up the praise, the moans. Doubling down and flicking his tongue even faster as his jaw works open and closed. Despite being dead, your cunt is dripping for him, coating his fingers in slick that makes it easier to push them deeper, curl them up more as he works you open.

Rambling praise takes over, your mind finding a measure of ecstasy in the ability in the simple fact that he can hear you while he is feasting on your pussy and fucking his fingers as deep inside you as they will go. It's only when your scrambled, breathy monologue starts to stutter and break that he knows how close you are – that, and the tight grip you have on his curls as you start to shake beneath him.

Panting, he grinds his hard cock into the mattress. Moaning as you tug on his hair, making his scalp burn and continuing to affirm that this is not a dream. Curling his fingers up one last time and sucking your clit into his mouth as your body bows up underneath his touch. The moment that snaps the thread of tension in your body is when the fingernails of his free hand bite into your thigh at the same point he curls the fingers of his other hand and barely scrapes his teeth along your swollen clit. The force of all three sensations makes your vision go white, and for the first time since all of this began, your eyes fall blissfully shut while your body shakes with the force of your orgasm.

He feels the way your entire body relaxes, slumping down into the bed. Humming to himself as he slowly works you through that blissful high. Keeping his fingers buried inside you as his tongue licks up every drop of your pleasure.

"Hell in a handbasket." Sighing out, you soothe your fingers against his scalp and grin down at him when he licks the last drop of cum from your cunt. "Get up here, sugar. Let me ride you."

“You want to ride?” His head pops up in surprise. He had expected you to want to be treated after so long, but he can’t deny the idea of a ghost riding his cock is appealing.

“Not very fair to make you do all the work, handsome.” Your smile is lopsided instead of pointed now, lazily drawn across your mouth like the human iteration of a contented house cat. “And I wouldn’t want to be rude to my new house guest.”

“Aren’t you technically my guest?” He lets you pull him up and roll him over onto his back. “Since it’s my house now?”

“Semantics.” Once he is on his back, you pin him down with one knee on either side of his thighs and wrap one hand around his cock to pump his length a few times experimentally. The precum beaded at the top is pearlescent and musky, the scent of sex from your own climax filling your nostrils and giving you the thrill of yet another sense coming back to life.

“Oh shit.” He grunts out, twitching in your hand. “I– fucking hell, please, please, put your mouth on me.”

“Ooo, he begs.” It’s a delightful discovery, and you obligingly bend over to kitten lick the tip of his cock just to see how beautifully he’ll groan.

Dieter is a whiny, spoiled little bastard who is given everything he wants because that’s how you treat celebrities, but he will beg. He will beg for anything and everything in bed. Slightly more submissive than most people expect. He moans your name loudly and closes his eyes as his hips rock up.

“Watch, sugar.” Something about it, the magical quality perhaps or what feels like literal magic, makes you want to keep him in this bubble with you. This state of hyper awareness. Your mouth hovers over the tip of his cock and you give it a long kick to get his attention. “You’re gonna watch me just like I watched you.”

Dieter whimpers, opening his eyes obediently. As soon as he sees the length of his cock disappear down your spectorly throat, he moans, twisting his fingers into the sheets under him. “Fuck, fuck, I’m getting my dick sucked by the hottest fucking ghost I’ve ever seen.” The fact that you’re the only ghost he’s seen is a moot point.

You chuckle low, deep in your throat, and it vibrates around his girthy length as you start to bob your head deliberately. Slowly. Wanting to savor every second of this for as long as it lasts. If you didn’t have a mouth full of him you’d be teasing him about the other ghosts he’s seen to compare you to, but you just don’t care. Not right now. Not with him at your mercy.

"Holy shit." He hisses, moaning loudly. "You're so good. Did you just– fuck, spend the last hundred years practicing on a ghost banana?"

It makes you chuckle again, and instead of answering you take him that much deeper. If he thinks you were showing off before? Just wait.

His toes curl, scrunching his feet up as you apparently have every intent of sucking his soul out through his dick. Could he die from a blowjob? It seems possible. “Fuck, baby doll.”

He wanted your mouth so he’s going to get every benefit of your focus right up until he can’t stand it any longer. He throbs against your swirling tongue, twitching in your mouth and against your fingertips where you are stroking the last few inches of his length that don’t easily fit in your mouth — there’s no way you’re ruining your vacation from ghost-hood by accidentally choking on a cock.

"Fuck, do you swallow?" Dieter moans. "You should swallow, I want– oh fuck." You keep sucking, pulling him closer every heartbeat until his vision blacks out, the hoarse cry ripping out of his throat.

Spurt after spurt of hot cum jettisons down your throat as his body bares down on itself, muscles tightening and extremities curling. The man is a geyser and every time he pumps more cum into your willing, waiting mouth you groan loudly and swallow around him. The feeling of being truly alive is not one that you are going to take for granted tonight and he is making it all the more memorable by just giving in to those most basic of human needs. There is nothing sexier than a person who has completely given themself over to the feeling of pleasure, and by the time you lift your head from Dieter’s cock, he has absolutely done that.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!" Dieter yelps the last curse, feeling like you are sucking so hard it's to the point that it hurts, keeping him hard. He must have snorted that batch of coke that he had mixed viagra in, because he normally is a one and done for at least an hour kind of guy.

When he doesn’t soften at all after cumming your throat in cum, you pull off of him with one raised eyebrow and smirk. “You still alive there, sugar? Can’t have both of us dying in this house.”

He pants out a laugh and manages to lift his head to look down at where you are grinning up at him, your hand still wrapped around his hard cock. "Not dead. More alive than I've ever been."

“That makes two of us.” Giving his cock another few strokes, you shift forward and comb your fingers through his sweat-damp curls. “You want more, handsome?”

“Want everything.” He groans quietly. “You want to ride me, or you want me to fuck you?”

“Want everything.” You echo him with a sly grin and shift forward. “I’m gonna ride you to the edge and then you’re going to fuck me as hard as you can. Got it, sugar?”

"Fuck, I didn't know people were so fucking dirty back then." He groans, twitching against his stomach as you drag your wet cunt over him. "I think I would like it back then."

“The Kama Sutra is hundreds of years old,” you remind him with a throaty chuckle. “So is pornography and promiscuity.” Positioning yourself over his cock, you start to sink down slowly and sigh out in absolute bliss. “Humans have always loved to fuck.”

“Ghosts too, apparently.” He moans, grabbing onto your very solid hips as you settle down on his cock. “Fuuuuuuuuuck.”

“Least ghostly I’ve been in ages.” It’s also the first time since death you’ve experienced something as human as being aroused and it’s entirely liberating. “Maybe this thick cock is magic.”

He starts to giggle out of a groan when you clench around him. "Magic stick." He grunts, rocking his hips up. "It attracts allll the ghostly nymphos." He jokes, sliding his hand down to press against your clit.

“They can line — oh, baby — up.” You let your head drop back but your eyes are still open, arms raised up to let your tits bounce as you start to ride him in earnest.

He's never had someone ride him so fucking enthusiastically. It might be because it's the first time you've been able to feel in a hundred years, but he will take what he can get. Unable to fucking believe that this is happening, although the pressure around his dick and the way the bed creaks and groans proves that it's real.

The slight change in the angle of his hips when he plants his feet on the mattress has you crying out again and nearly growling. “That’s it, sugar.” And “Oh Fuck!” And “More, baby.” Echo through the room with the slap of skin on skin. The volume seems to rise along with the pleasure you’re both receiving, so it is nothing short of a beautiful noise the more you ride him.

Breaking in the new bed in his new house is an experience he could never, ever top. His hands slide from your hips up to the headboard and he wraps his fingers around the scrolled metal. Hanging on and using it as leverage to thrust up into you harder.

He propels you forward, losing your balance slightly so that you end up having to brace yourself with both hands on his chest and your tits bouncing in his face, but you really don't think that either of you minds. Instead, your fingertips instinctively dig into his chest, biting half-moon marks into his skin. Leaning forward changes the angle of his thrusts, letting him strike against entirely different places inside you, and you whimper softly without even realizing it when he scrubs against that perfect spot inside you to make you see stars.

“Right there?” His pants, recognizing the glazed look on your face. “Yeah, fuck, that’s the spot.” Despite the drugs that are pumping through his system, or perhaps because of it, he is attuned to the way you react.

"Right there." It has you breathless, how good it feels and how solid and real the feeling is.

"Holy shit." The feeling of you around him has him rolling his eyes back, your cunt even better than your mouth if possible. "Want to see you cum."

It certainly won't take long, not with the way his cock is shredding up inside you, and your previously loud moans are quickly being replaced with high pitched pants the closer you get to your own climax. Having the breath fucked out of you is such a stark difference from the existence you've been leading for the last many decades and it's such a welcome change. It takes barely another minute – maybe two – before you're sobbing out filthy praise and clenching down on his cock to wrench every last drop of pleasure from the moment that you can.

There's nothing sexier than a woman cumming, but you? You take his breath away. Steal it from his very lungs as your lusty sobs reverberates through him. Taking control and rocking up into you, working you through the most intense orgasm of your existence.

“Fuck.” Breathed out shakily as you let yourself fall down to his chest, your fingers comb through his curls and tug on the strands sharply as you’ve found that he likes.

He moans quietly, twitching inside you and humming as he lets go of the bed to wrap his arms around you to roll you under him. Eager to find his own release again and see how it looks dripping out of your cunt.

“That’s it, sugar.” Sprawled out on your back underneath him, you wrap your legs around his waist and tangle your hands in his sheets. “Take what you need.”

Dieter is normally not aggressive but there is something about your tone, your words, that spurs him on. Setting his jaw, Dieter starts to rock into you, keeping his pace harsh. Thrusting deep and moaning when you roll your hips.

Unconsciously mirroring him from just moments ago, you reach above your head and grasp the bars of your headboard. Every time he thrusts into you he shakes the whole frame, bouncing your tits and his curls and everything around you. The bed creaks and threatens to give but you know it won't – this one single piece of furniture is as sturdy as the whole house. It was made for you to fuck in.

"Fuck baby, fuck." Dieter growls, jack hammering his hips as he fills you again and again. Unable to brace his body above yours any more and dropping down to his elbows. He can't believe that he is still going, but he can't stop. He won't stop.

As much he wants to give or take, you are here for every second of it. With his head buried in your neck and the rhythm of his hips starting to stutter, your moan and whimpers are a symphony mixed with his own.

It flashes through his mind that this is some sort of sick hoax, that you are and have always been real, but he can’t worry about that right this second. The second that his mind goes blank to everything but his body’s needs and he thrusts deep, slamming his hips forward and groaning your name as a prayer.

“That’s it, sugar,” you croon again, this time cradling him close as rope after rope of hot cum fills you to the brim.

“Oh God.” Dieter pants, snuggling deeper and not sure if or when you might disappear, so he holds on tight.

“Hardly.” Your typical, throaty giggle rides through your body and you stroke his back gently. “But I’ll take the praise if that’s the mood you’re in.”

“Hmmmm.” He hums and shifts so he is not weighing you down, rolling to his side and bringing you with him. “I’ll give it.” He murmurs, suddenly sleepy after the vigorous sex and starting to come down from his high. “Stay.” He mumbles quietly, rubbing your back this time.

“You’re in my house, remember?” This time your laugh is a little less indulgent, tinged with worry as you wonder how much longer you’ll be able to feel him. Speak to him. Have him see you. “But I’ll try.”

“That’s right.” He smiles, turning his head and pressing his lips to your sweat damp hair. “But this is a spirit friendly bed.”

“I hope so,” you murmur, watching as he snuggles in next to you and lets his eyes drift close with a sigh. “I truly hope so, sugar.”

******

Dieter opens his eyes, slowly peeling them apart and blinking to try to get rid of the gritty feeling. “Baby doll?” His voice is rough with sleep and he had expected you to be weighing him down. “Where are you?” For a moment, for a split second he had thought he dreamed it. His gaze finding its way to the picture on the wall that he hadn’t noticed last night. A portrait of a woman, of you, gorgeously sprawled on a chaise with a sultry smile and ruby red lips.

He is almost convinced that the best night of his life was a figment of his imagination as he moves. Until it catches his eye. Red. More specifically, red lips. The sight of kisses scattered over his body and down under the sheet. Making him lift them to see lipstick wrapped around his cock, hard this morning and it makes him grin.

It hadn’t been a dream.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Dieter Bravo #Dieter Bravo x reader #Dieter Bravo x you #Dieter Bravo x female reader #Dieter Bravo x f!reader #ghost reader #The Bubble #Spooktober #sexy and spooky #haunted sex #drug use

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upholsterycleanings · 8 months

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bradshawsbaby · 2 years

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to the nines

pairing: rhett abbott x childhood friend!reader

author’s note: this was originally supposed to be a drabble, but it got away from me slightly and turned into something a little longer (surprise, surprise).

based on this prompt from @therebeccaw. i also tried to incorporate a request from @mermaidxatxheart about the moment when rhett decided he wanted his relationship with his childhood friend to be more.

special thanks to @luminousnotmatter for being the best outer range viewing buddy™️ (even when i jumped a couple episodes ahead of her 🤭) and @whisperofsong for not being mad at me for falling in love with her man 😉

warnings: some brief language, mentions of alcohol, and fluff sprinkled in for good measure.

You and Rhett were friends.

You always had been friends.

You always would be friends.

Just friends.

“He’s just a friend,” you’d insisted hotly in the seventh grade when some of your classmates had been teasing you about your “big ol’ crush on Rhett Abbott.”

“She’s just a friend,” Rhett told the boys who had been ribbing him and making lewd comments when they found out he was taking you to the junior prom.

“We’re just friends,” you’d chorus together whenever you happened to travel with Rhett to cheer him on at an out-of-town rodeo and elderly women in the crowd commented on what a cute couple the two of you made.

So, like the good friend that he was, Rhett had been gracious enough to agree to attend your former college roommate’s wedding as your plus one. You knew all the other friends and acquaintances who’d be attending would have boyfriends, girlfriends, husbands, and wives on their arms, and the thought of showing up alone had been too wounding to your pride to even contemplate. You and Rhett always had a good time together, and you knew he’d make sure the night was memorable.

What you hadn’t known was that he was going to take your breath away and make it damn near impossible to concentrate on anything beyond the sight of him in that suit.

You’d known Rhett Abbott for almost your entire life, and never had you known him to get as dressed up as he was tonight. The closest he’d ever come was when Cecilia managed to wrangle his butt to church on Sunday and force him into a respectable button down. Hell, even when he’d taken you to the junior prom, the most he’d managed was a “clean pair o’ jeans and my nicest flannel,” as he’d put it.

But tonight.

Tonight, Rhett Abbott looked like one of those Hollywood actors the ladies at the hair salon in town loved to swoon over as they flipped through their magazines while waiting for their dye jobs to set.

Dressed to the nines, he looked like a million bucks and you found yourself unable to tear your eyes away from him.

You’d nearly tripped and fell down the damn stairs when he’d come to your house to pick you up earlier, the sight of him in that crisp black suit and tie, with his hair slicked back and his eyes somehow looking bluer than you’d ever seen them, enough to rob you of all coherent thought.

Rhett had just chuckled in that easygoing way of his. “It’s a monkey suit, I know,” he grimaced, holding out an arm to you as he walked you to where his truck was parked outside your family’s home. “But when you told me the wedding was gonna be in Laramie, I figured a clean pair o’ jeans and my nicest flannel wasn’t going to cut it,” he added with a wink, helping you up into the cab of the truck.

“You clean up real nice, Abbott,” you managed to get out past lips that suddenly felt as dry as sandpaper.

Real nice? He’d never looked better and you’d never wanted him more.

For all that you’d spent years trying to convince everybody—especially yourself—that you and Rhett were just friends, you knew in your heart of hearts that it wasn’t true. You wanted more. You’d always wanted more.

You wanted him to be your real plus one, not just the childhood pal who’d agreed to tag along so you wouldn’t have to go stag.

As silly as you knew it was, you couldn’t help the rush of pride you felt when your former housemates and classmates from your college days rushed to bombard you at the reception with questions about your “sexy date.”

“How long have you two been together?”

“Where did you meet him?”

“Does he have a twin brother?”

“Is he as good in bed as he looks?”

You laughed and shrugged and hoped your embarrassment wasn’t too apparent as you told them, “Oh, no, we’re just friends.”

Lucy, who had been one of your housemates during your junior and senior years, arched a skeptical brow as she sipped on her Dirty Shirley. “Please. You have not been able to stop eye fucking that guy all night. Just friends my ass.”

“Lucy!” you gasped, feeling your cheeks and neck grow warm in mortification. You glanced around sheepishly, praying that Rhett wasn’t within earshot. He’d gone off to the bar to get the two of you a couple of whiskey sours.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Lucy smirked, swirling her straw around in her glass. Then she suddenly leaned in closer. “But don’t be embarrassed, sweet pea,” she whispered conspiratorially. “That boy hasn’t been able to keep those gorgeous baby blues off you either.”

Before you could fully register Lucy’s comment, let alone unpack its meaning, your friend was stepping back and grinning, her gaze landing just beyond your shoulder. “Oh, heya, Rhett.”

Stiffening slightly, you turned and met his blue gaze, warm and steady and quite determinedly fixed on you. You instantly felt your mouth dry up again. Damn this man and that damned suit.

“This little sweet pea and I were just talking ’bout how much we wanna dance,” Lucy went on, slinging an arm around your shoulders and nudging you pointedly. “So I better go find my husband before he finds himself another partner,” she added with the exuberant laugh she had always been known for, flouncing off and leaving you torn between wanting to strangle her and wanting to laugh at her tenacity.

Left alone with Rhett, you looked up to find his gaze still fixed on your face, his lips upturned in a smile that almost looked shy. But when had Rhett Abbott ever been shy around you?

Setting down the whiskey sours he’d obtained, still untouched, on the table, he held out a hand to you. “What do you say then, sweet pea?” he drawled, teasing the nickname Lucy always used for you. “Wanna dance with me?”

Trying to pretend your stomach wasn’t currently doing about fifty consecutive somersaults, you just nodded and slipped your hand into his. It was rough and calloused and absolutely perfect.

Just as Etta James’ At Last started thrumming through the speakers, Rhett pulled you onto the dance floor and tugged you into his arms, one arm wrapping around your waist as he maintained his grip on your hand with the other.

“Just like junior prom,” he grinned, his thumb gently brushing against the back of your hand as you swayed to the music.

Funny, you didn’t remember feeling like every nerve ending in your body was on fire when you were at junior prom.

“Mhm, though I have to say you clean up much nicer tonight,” you laughed, resting your free hand on his shoulder as you gazed up at him.

“I’ll have you know that was the nicest flannel I owned at the time,” Rhett scoffed, feigning hurt.

You just giggled in response, which made Rhett’s facade crack as his face split into an amused grin.

“You looked beautiful that night,” he murmured suddenly, his grip on your waist tightening by a fraction. “But I think you look even more beautiful tonight,” he added, his expression suddenly serious.

It was strange how your mouth managed to feel like the Sahara, while your legs felt like water.

“Thank you, Rhett,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Your brain was so addled that you weren’t even able to come up with a teasing response.

“County fair’s coming up soon,” he said, abruptly changing the subject, though his piercing blue eyes remained trained on your face.

“Mhm,” you mumbled, nodding slowly. “I think my mama’s gonna get a booth.”

“I was thinkin’ you and me could go together,” Rhett said, his voice suddenly sounding even lower and deeper than usual.

“Of course,” you nodded, not phased in the slightest. You and Rhett had been going to county fairs together since you were kids.

What did phase you was the way Rhett leaned in close and brushed a loose lock of hair away from your cheek, his lips skimming your skin as he whispered in your ear, “I don’t want to go as your friend.”

Your breath caught in your throat instantly and you were immediately grateful that he was holding onto you so tightly. “A date, Abbott?” you questioned, peering up at him as your pulse pounded in your veins.

“A date,” Rhett nodded, not a single trace of hesitation or ounce of a waver in his voice.

“You sure?” you asked, a slight tremor in your voice. There would be no going back if you did this.

“Never surer,” Rhett replied, his fingertips gently pressing into the small of your back as he pulled you closer.

“Alright then, Abbott,” you smiled, barely able to contain your excitement. “It’s a date.”

#rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #rhett x reader #x reader #x female reader #outer range #lewis pullman

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cowgurrrl · 1 year

Text

Pine Point

Pairing: rockstar!joel miller x actress!reader

Author’s note: 😮‍💨 (ps fic is named after this song)

Summary: You and Joel deal with the aftermath of your accident [4.7k!!]

Warnings: hospital settings, a very quick mention of a miscarriage not experienced by the reader, questionable Hollywood motives once again, quick mention of Ellie’s foster home situation, kinda angsty actually, arguing (oops), language, not a super cohesive ending

Joel stays with you all night and into the morning. You're not sure if he got any rest while sitting in the uncomfortable chair next to your bed, but you know that he never let go of your hand. Every time you woke up from a bad dream or because a nurse was prodding at you, the callouses on his hands helped remind you that you were safe. He asked questions about your injuries and what recovery would look like for you. He listened, watched, and even recorded the nurse's voice (with her permission, of course) so he could reference it later. You wonder if he did the same thing when Sarah was born. You imagine him, eighteen years younger, furiously scribbling down notes on the best way to swaddle his newborn daughter. The image makes you smile, and when Joel asks what you're smiling about, you shake your head and mumble, "Nothing."

Carolina, being the goddess that she is, stops by your house to get you a clean change of clothes before stopping by her own house for Ryan. Joel helps you change into sweatpants and a flannel button-up from your house. He recognizes it but doesn't say anything or try to take it back; he actually smiles when he pulls it out of the bag. "Looks better on you," he mumbles as he kisses you and tugs the fabric over your shoulders, shaky fingers buttoning the shirt closed for you. The air seems lighter, and the hospital less stuffy in the morning light. Your body is still sore and aching as you sit on the edge of the hospital bed, but you're in better spirits. You're ready to go home and put this all behind you.

"Hey there, stranger," a gravelly voice says, and you turn to see Carolina wheeling Ryan into your room in a wheelchair. Your tear ducts betray your better mood, and you immediately burst into tears at the sight of him. He's bruised and swollen and stitched up, but he's alive. You step off the bed with Joel's help and bend to hug him, sobbing into his shoulder. You think Carolina and Joel exchange hugs and cheek kisses, too, but you can't see through bleary eyes. Ryan reaches up and smooths your hair down like he does and has done every single time he's ever held you while you cried. For some reason, the gesture makes you even more emotional. "I knew I looked bad, but I didn't think it'd be enough to make you cry." He says, and you laugh.

"Shut up," you sniffle as you step back to look at him, carefully wiping tears from your puffy face. Ryan grabs your hand and kisses the top of it. "Besides, I look like shit, too."

"Never." He smiles, and you take a deep breath. You look up at Carolina and swallow thickly. She looks exhausted, her hazel eyes more brown than anything under the hospital lights, and her lips are cracked from pulling at the skin all night. You stare at her, and she stares back, and something unspoken passes between you. Joel keeps you upright, and Ryan holds your hand in his as you hug her as tight as you can and fight more tears. She rubs your back and gently rocks you back and forth like a baby. You've always said Ryan and Carolina were your Mom and Dad friends because they are so parental and nurturing, but it feels especially true now.

"I'm so sorry." Your voice catches in your throat, and you feel her shake her head.

"You have nothing to be sorry for. You're not the one who ran the red light." She says.

"But, I should've been paying attention. I should've seen him coming. I should've,"

"You're both safe. You protected Ryan the best you could and brought him home to me. There is nothing more I could've asked of you, okay? "

"He could've died," you say. Carolina says your name quietly, like she's scolding you, and pulls your face out of her neck, her hands framing your face. Ryan squeezes your hand, and you pinch your thigh with your other hand to stop crying.

"This was an accident. You didn't get in the car thinking someone was gonna hit you, right?" She asks, and you shake your head. "But when you did get hit, the first thing you did was check on him. You did everything possible to make sure he was taken care of because you are a good fucking friend. Maybe one of the best. So, I don't want to hear you apologizing because I should be thanking you." She hugs you again, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make you feel like she's pressing all your broken pieces together again.

You could probably count on one hand the number of times she's hugged you like this. Once when she and Ryan got married, and you managed to keep her divorced parents from fighting the whole night with copious amounts of liquor and strategic pulls to the dance floor. Once when she had a miscarriage about a year before they had Elizabeth, and you flew home early from shooting in Maine to be with them. You weren't supposed to see them for another two months, and she broke down the second you stepped into their bedroom. And once, when your childhood dog died, and you couldn't make it home in time to say goodbye. Pieces of each of you that you never thought would ever come close to resembling what they used to have been meticulously pulled back together by each other. You can't go back and stop the accident from happening, but slowly, you can let yourself be put back together.

"I love you," you whisper, and she kisses your temple.

"I love you, too."

After a few more minutes of crying and hugging, Carolina and Ryan go home. You promise to come over and see them once you feel a little stronger, but they don't rush you. Joel hands you a tissue once they're down the hallway, and you smile before taking and wiping it under your eyes and nose.

"Feel better?" He asks, and you nod. You step into him and rest your head on his chest. It's partially so you can be close to him and partially because your body hurts too much to stay upright anymore.

"Thank you," you say. He kisses the top of your head and tucks your hair behind your ears so he can see you clearly.

"You don't have to thank me."

"I want to," you look up at him, and he smiles. Your phone buzzes on the side table, and you reach for it, but Joel stops you. His smile has dropped, and he suddenly looks worried. You furrow your brows and glance between him and your phone. "Joel, what's up?"

"Mel called this morning," he says, and your heart immediately sinks. "Um, she asked if you and Ryan would be ready to do reshoots in two weeks." You nod and bite the inside of your cheek before laughing. You feel crazy standing there, laughing so hard that the ache in your chest blossoms into sharp pain. Joel says your name softly, and you shake your head.

"I just had the scariest experience of my life, and the only thing she called to ask about was my fucking reshoot schedule?"

"I told her to wait."

"No, that's not how it works with her. She needs an answer immediately, or she doesn't get auditions, and if she doesn't get auditions, then I don't work, and she drops me," you scrub a hand down your face and take a deep breath. "I'll call her when I get home."

"What're you gonna say?"

"I'm gonna say yes."

"What?" He asks. "You just said this was the scariest experience you've ever had, and you wanna just go back to work?"

"I don't have a choice. The entire schedule gets thrown off if we don't go in and do whatever they need us to do. Thousands of people are relying on us so they can make money to feed their families. If I say no, production gets halted, it takes longer to get the movie to screens, and we lose money," you shrug. "And they'll put makeup on the bruises and stuff. It'll be like it never even happened. Just how they want it."

"You don't have to go through with this. I'm sure Mel would understand." He insists.

"You don't know Mel, then," you say. "I'll message her later. It's easier to just shut up and do it than fight about it."

"But-"

"It's fine, Joel. Please, just drop it." You blame your brain pulsing against your skull and the searing pain in your knees for snapping at him. It's not what you wanted to say, but you're so tired. And angry. And in pain. You pull away from him and sit back down on your hospital bed as a nurse comes in with your discharge paperwork. She's incredibly cheerful for ten in the morning. It almost hurts your head having to listen to her describe different types of infection and how to prevent it. Joel nods as she speaks, obviously taking in every piece of information he can and clutching the paperwork to his chest.

"Other than that, I think you guys are good to go. Do you have a way of getting home?" The nurse asks you.

"I'm takin' her back to my house," Joel answers, and you have to bite your tongue before you say something about him speaking on your behalf. The nurse leaves you with a wheelchair so you don't have to walk all the way to the car, and you look at Joel.

"I can take care of myself,"

"I know you can," he says as he begins gathering your things around the room. "I just wanna take care of you, too." He's being incredibly kind and helpful, you realize that, but that does nothing to stop your frustration with the whole situation.

Mel will always be Mel, this much you concluded years ago. But Joel butting into your professional life feels like a step too far. You know this business like the back of your hand. He doesn't. It's unfair for him to try to tell you how to deal with your agent when he doesn't know the repercussions. He doesn't understand just how many people are relying on you and Ryan to come back to set for a few reshoots. It would literally waste hundreds of thousands of dollars in studio money to push this back. Answering the nurse's question without consulting you first did nothing to make you feel better.

Joel seems to notice the silence filling the space between you at the same time as you because he turns and leans down so he can look you in the eye. All your things are stuffed into the huge bag Carolina fished from your closet, and the hospital room looks identical to when you arrived. Joel takes a deep breath and grinds his teeth as he thinks.

"Please, let me take care of you." He says quietly, his tone gentle and borderline begging. Nobody's taken care of you during a sickness or an injury since you left your parent's house. Especially after you started becoming more famous, you didn't want anyone to see you in that vulnerable state and exploit it. People like you are expected to suck it up, keep going and hope it'll go away in a week or two.

This is different. This is letting Joel assume responsibility for you for at least a few days, something you're sure you'll feel horrible about after the fact. This is staying at his house, eating his food, and sleeping in his bed because you're too wobbly to do those things alone. This is trusting him way more than you ever have. But he wants to. He told you he does. He took notes on how to change the bandages on your fucking stitches. He obviously cares. So, why does this feel so hard? You sigh and swallow your pride, and nod.

"Okay."

Joel's house is not what you expected it to look like. Most musicians you know stick to a very sleek, very boring black and white theme for their homes. White couch, black coffee table, white rug, black piano, white walls, black art. It's typical and almost a running joke between you and your friends each time you end up in a musician's house, but Joel's is different. His house looks lived in with scattered shoes by the door, backpacks slung over chairs, and colorful art on the walls. Some frames depict vast Texas landscapes or longhorns mean mugging the camera, while others are just abstract, bright paint splashes. There are smaller ones, too, with Ellie's loopy signature at the bottom. The couch is oversized and plush, with pillows and blankets nearby for movie nights. Report cards and family pictures hang on the fridge via silly magnets from different states and countries. You realize it feels like a real home after your first night.

You've gotten into a routine by the third day at Joel's house. Joel will wake up before you, sneak out of bed to make breakfast, and gather the pills you need to take to get through the day. Sometimes, he brings it to you, and other times, he helps you down the stairs and into the kitchen. You'll drink coffee and eat breakfast together as the sun slowly peeks over the Los Angeles skyscrapers. After you eat, he'll check your stitches and change the bandage to ensure they're healing correctly. Then, you'll just sit together and hold hands until one of the girls stirs awake, and you get to watch Joel be a dad.

Sarah is the next one up every morning, but especially this morning, walking down the stairs a full hour and a half before school starts and giving Joel the rundown of her schedule for the day as he makes her breakfast. She asks how you're feeling and then makes sure her dad gave you your medication. You really can take it yourself, but watching them work together to make sure you're alright is sweet. They tease each other for a while before Joel checks his watch and curses under his breath, making his way to the stairs after kissing your and Sarah's foreheads.

"I'm surprised he doesn't just yell up the stairs for her. That's what my dad used to do." You say as you sip what's left of your coffee, and Sarah shrugs.

"He doesn't yell very often. It scares Ellie. Besides, she wouldn't wake up even if he did." She says nonchalantly, and you immediately want to stuff the words back down your throat.

"I'm sorry."

"For what? You didn't know," she shrugs, and you shake your head. "In the wise words of Hank Miller," she says before assuming a slouched posture and putting a hand on your wrist. "You're too hard on yourself, darlin'." You laugh at her Texas accent but still can't shake the feeling that you keep getting this— your relationship with the girls— wrong.

"Well, your grandfather sounds like a very smart man."

"And he's right, y'know," she says, looking at you with those beautiful brown eyes. You wonder if she can see right through you like Joel can. "The whole time you've been here, you keep apologizing."

"I only apologized once this morning."

"Yeah, to me. How many times have you apologized to my dad?" She asks, raising her eyebrows, and you sigh. "It was a family decision to have you come stay with us. Three out of three Millers voted yes. I promise it's really okay."

"It's not that."

"Then, what is it?"

"I don't... I've never..." You struggle with the words. "I've never dated someone with kids, and I don't want to overstep or make you guys feel like I'm taking your dad away from you. I don't know how to do this, so I keep saying things and then just feeling stupid or like I messed up. Like I should've remembered the thing about Ellie's foster homes." You don't know why you're disclosing all the information to an eighteen-year-old, but she seems receptive.

"Ellie doesn't want any of us to treat her differently because of her past, and I'm pretty sure if you tried, she'd rip you a new one. The fact that you're even trying makes such a difference. My dad has dated... some really not great people he never even told about us. But not only do you know about us, you care about us enough to freak out about us, which is totally unnecessary, by the way," she says. "My dad, Ellie, and I are a team, and we have been for a really long time, so we were a little worried when he told us he was dating again. But he's so happy. Like annoyingly happy." You both laugh at that and feel the weight on your shoulders ease off.

"And Ellie and I kinda agreed that as long as you made my dad happy, we'd find a way to be happy for him, but you make it pretty easy. I like having you around. We both do."

"Yeah?" You ask, and she hums with a big smile on her face. You bump her shoulder with your own and smile too. "I like having you around, too."

"So, no more worrying about us, okay?"

"I can't guarantee anything, but thank you. I really appreciate you saying all that."

"You're welcome." She says as you wrap an arm around her shoulder and kiss her temple. Joel walks back into the kitchen with a knowing look but doesn't say anything, and you wonder how much he heard. A groggy Ellie, still in her pajamas, trails behind him and blindly reaches for the orange juice in the fridge.

"Oh, motherfucker," Ellie mutters as she sloshes around the last inch of orange juice. She holds up the mostly empty container and gives Joel a deadly serious look. "This is child abuse."

"That ain't child abuse," Joel says, already halfway to the garage. Ellie rolls her eyes before landing on you and softening.

"How're you feeling?" She asks, and you laugh.

"Better after watching you fuck with your dad."

"He's easy to fuck with," she says as the garage door opens again and Joel's footsteps get closer. "Watch this."

"Here you go," Joel says, handing Ellie a new container of orange juice. She furrows her eyebrows and looks at him.

"I didn't ask for this."

"What? Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't."

"Oh, my God, Dad's losing it." Sarah chimes in. Joel looks confused and like he's genuinely trying to remember if Ellie asked for it, and you can't stop the snort from leaving you.

"You little shit," Joel says, making Ellie laugh. Then, in the blink of an eye, Joel tickles Ellie, and her screeching laughter fills the kitchen. You and Sarah laugh, too, especially when the laughter turns into squeaks. Ellie tries to slip out of his grip, but he picks her up, hauls her over his shoulder, and makes for the backdoor.

"Joel Miller, do not throw your daughter in the pool!" You yell, and he groans before turning back around and dumping a still giggling Ellie on the couch.

"You win this round, kid," Joel points in her face before kissing her cheek. "Alright, we're gonna have to leave for school soon. Can you be ready in thirty minutes?"

"Yes, I'm not Sarah."

"Hey!" Sarah shouts as Ellie runs back up the stairs to get dressed, giggling the whole way to her room.

As you and Sarah talk about school, Joel puts eggs, bacon, and toast on a plastic plate for Ellie to eat in the car, forever worried about her missing meals. He takes a little longer than he needs to so he can watch how you two interact, his eyes twinkling in the sunshine. You and Sarah have been friends from the jump, but you have to admit that there's something a little more sacred about her letting you into her space. You and Sarah do your best to ignore his puppy dog eyes, but when Ellie comes downstairs with her backpack slung over her shoulder, she makes a face.

"Why do you look like that?" She asks, making Joel quickly snap out of it.

"Why do you look like that?"

"That's so funny. Did you come up with that yourself?" She rolls her eyes. Joel does a squeaky, high-pitched voice to mock her as he grabs his keys from the counter. He walks over and pecks your lips before walking to the front door.

"Alright, Miller bus is leavin'! Let's roll out!" He yells. The girls bid you a quick goodbye before chasing after him, leaving you completely alone in the house.

After putting your dirty dishes away, you venture through the house now that you feel a little stronger. You start at the fridge, looking through all the little pictures and magnets deemed worthy of being seen daily. You decide that your favorite is the one of Joel, Tommy, and the girls at the Grand Canyon. It looks like it was taken a few years ago based on the babyish plumpness of Ellie's face and the braces on Sarah's teeth as she smiles. Joel is squinting in the sun, but he's so completely in his element in the desert with his family, hands on the girls' shoulders. It's pinned to the fridge with a Washington, D.C. magnet depicting the Lincoln Memorial.

As you glide through the house, you keep finding new favorites. Many other celebrities you've met either don't hang up their family photos because they run the risk of ruining the aesthetic of their home or because they don't want people to see them. Joel, however, has massive frames holding multiple pictures of his family throughout the years. A picture of a much younger Joel with a baby strapped to his chest sets you back on your heels because of just how little he looks. He can't be older than twenty-three as he poses, one hand on baby Sarah's back and the other holding a diaper bag. You watch them grow alongside each other as you move down the wall.

You see pictures from an elementary school career day where Joel and Sarah pose with different tools. Pictures of Tommy, Joel, and Sarah lined up for what looks like a Fourth of July parade when Sarah was a toddler, her chubby hands latched to her dad's as she sat on his shoulders. Then, suddenly and without warning, a round little face framed with wavy brown hair enters the pictures, but it feels like she was always meant to be there. There's a framed photo strip of the three of them making goofy faces at the camera and pretending their dad isn't cool as he kisses their cheeks and rests his head on Ellie's shoulder. You feel almost emotional looking at the worn photos and seeing their love for each other transcend a camera lens. Though, a buzzing in your pocket stops you from thinking any more about it, and you roll your eyes as you read a text from Melanie.

Heard what happened. I'm so sorry :( I got all those pictures from the crash taken down 👍 Still good for reshoots in two weeks?

You sigh and type out a response as the front door opens and Joel walks back in.

"What're you doin'? I thought you'd be in bed." He says, and you shake your head.

"I wanted to snoop, and I'm responding to Melanie about scheduling."

"Oh, good. When are you gonna move reshoots to?" He asks as he walks over, his keys still jingling in his hands from dropping off the girls.

"I'm not moving them."

"What? I thought you were gonna try and change it." He says as you press send on your message confirming the dates and look up at him, confused.

"I never said that."

"We talked about it at the hospital."

"Yeah, but I never said I'd change the time just because you didn't agree." You say, and he scoffs. You tuck your phone away and cross your arms over your chest while he searches your face like he's waiting for the punchline to a joke he's never heard. When it doesn't come, he shakes his head.

"Wow." He breathes, and you furrow your brows.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Something."

"I just can't believe you didn't even try to fight her on it." He says in a frustrated tone, and you give him three beats of silence to rethink what he just said.

"Melanie can be a bitch, but she's also responsible for my career. If I fuck her over, I fuck myself over." You say when he doesn't backtrack.

"Is that what she told you?"

"Joel," you warn, but he doesn't stop.

"If you keep goin' like this, it's gonna kill you. Do you realize that?" He asks incredulously, and you throw your arms up.

"We are in entirely different worlds when it comes to our careers, so can you please stop telling me how to run mine? I don't get on you this much about your job."

"Because I don't work myself to the bone like you do."

"You're right. You don't," you snap, and he takes a deep breath. You're not quite sure where to go from here. You don't know if this counts as a fight, but you know you feel bad. "I already confirmed. I can't change it now." You say softer than the harshness that took over your voice moments ago.

"Okay," he nods. "Then, 'm comin' to set with you because we both know that if somethin' goes wrong, Mel isn't gonna do shit to help you." He says, all of his frustration pointed at your manager now, and you want to argue that what he said isn't true but can't find the words. You think it's because, deep down, you know he's right, but you won't say it. Not now. So, instead, you just nod and unclench your jaw.

"Fine." You say as you pull out your phone to add an addendum to your previous confirmation. Joel walks into the kitchen and puts his keys on the counter before leaning against it, arms crossed over his chest. Once you're done typing, you look up and stare at him, watching the gears in his head shift.

"I really thought the car accident would've made you wanna slow down or, at least, take the time to recover. Make you see there's more to life than just work." He scoffs, and you bite your tongue so hard you taste blood. You move from your place by the photos and reach the bottom of the stairs, fighting tears, before you turn to him. He hasn't moved, but he's watching you.

"I hope you know that was a really fucking shitty thing to say to me. I would never take something like this and spin it against you because I care about you."

"I do care about you."

"Then, let me do my fucking job and stay out of my way." You walk up the stairs with a little stomp in your step. It feels very juvenile and petulant, but you're pissed and embarrassed. Who is he to dictate what you do and when? It's none of his fucking business how you run your own career. Who is he to make you feel bad for working? To fight with you about something that doesn't concern him?

Still, even as these angry thoughts spiral in your mind, you cry the second you close the bedroom door behind you. The physical pain, nightmares, arguments, and guilt eat you from the inside out. And as you sit in that big house overflowing with love so real you can feel it in the floorboards and the man who showed up at the hospital for you downstairs, you feel completely and utterly alone for the first time since you signed your name on that stupid contract.

#one for the money two for the show #rockstar!joel miller #the last of us #joel miller #joel and ellie #joel miller x reader #joel tlou #the last of us x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller the last of us #joel miller fluff #the last of us au #tlou au #joel and sarah #joel miller drabble #joel miller x female reader #joel miller angst

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communicationthroughlyrics · 11 months

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I Like Your Blood On My Teeth Just A Little Too Much - 1

You're a former military, career oriented security executive who has made quite the living for yourself- but it has always been lacking. Your non-committal attitude has led you down a playgirl lifestyle, never really settling. What happens when your new boss throws you a curveball, and as a result? You end up hopelessly involved with a Hollywood starlet.

Here it is, the first story. Chapter numero uno. No smutty stuff yet, but it'll be incoming. If y'all like it, I'll keep posting. It will be a series. A long one, the plot needs to thicken. Bonus points if you can tell where the lyrics are from XD

3K Word Count

Chapter One- Are You At One, Or Do You Lie?

You stood on a patio, gripping your fresh mug of coffee as you gazed out towards the vast landscape that lay to the front of you. Sleep had eluded you all night, and when the decision had finally been made that you weren’t going to receive a restful slumber- you groggily made your way to the kitchen of mountain home for a source of fuel. Bundled in your favorite zip up hoodie and some fleece lined sweatpants, you made a strong cup of coffee and slowly made your way to the best part of the home (at least, to you).

This place you called home was far from most’s idea of humble and conservative, but to you it was a dream, and it was the perfect place to escape your tiny city apartment. Those who you trusted enough to bring here, upon their first visit could not believe that the slummy 600 sqft. apartment you slept in within city limits belonged to the same person who owned this chateau. It was easily ten times the size, housed your selection of transport handily- and allowed you to tinker and build to your hearts desire- in your free time.

Free time was a concept that had eluded you the past 8 months. This was the first time you had been able to escape the demanding requests of what allowed you such luxuries- your job that you had once loved. It allowed you to live this lifestyle of multiple residences, cars of your dreams, and a comfortable living since your early graduation from college, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude for that. Of late, the very job you swore you owed your happiness and gratitude for had completely drained you of all satisfaction you once held. The switch to a new management company and new bosses has made your life a living hell, and you were simply exhausted. You had spent the last year helping to roll everything over for this new ownership group, working tirelessly and many times staying at your corner office in a posh downtown Los Angeles high-rise, sleeping on the sofa that sat across desk.

Being a high ranking executive officer for a government-trusted security firm, you saw everything. The early exit from college sent you straight to the military- quickly earning the respect of all around you, and you worked the ranks within your 6 years in the US Army as fast as anyone ever had- particularly for a woman. Holding the title of a three star general was sheer insanity, with which no one thought it was a possibility to obtain a rank that high, that quickly- not without the drama and rumors, at least. That is what made you discharge with honors, quickly accepting your current position as the Chief Executive to Internal Affairs, which was a fancy way of saying you were in charge of the clean-up. You handled all internal affairs, information leaks, and other messes that someone’s lackadaisical attitude or poor judgment had created. You were also a secret weapon, of sorts. Many mistook your title as one where your hands never got dirty, you would have someone handle your “dirty work”. Oh, the fact that you handled it personally messed with many of the poor soul’s minds with whom you had to scour their mistakes and tie up any loose ends.

You were leaning up against one of the main support logs with your steaming cup, a timber that held the weight of a massive roofline, shielding your best mountain view from too much weather. The only lights on were the under cabinet lights in your kitchen, which was 30 or so feet behind you, behind a wall of glass that you demanded the house be built around. You had all but built the majority of the house yourself, the lack of control was too much- only contracting out the major structural aspects and work that was too involved for you to do alone. You had also purchased a fair amount of land surrounding your escape, to the tune of a few thousand acres. You wanted to ensure the utmost in privacy, and also security. Your career ensured that you made more than a lifetimes worth of enemies, as you more often than not cost them their jobs, at least.

Sometimes you cost people all but their lives, but made them wish you had just taken that instead. To this you had long since steeled your emotions to this, as it was a part of the business. The land included a large lake- so even on frigid night like tonight, you found solace in coming outside with something to warm your hands, while gazing at the reflection of the mountains and the nighttime sky reflecting in its calm waters, your boat barely moving against its dock. As you found yourself becoming more and more entranced by the view in front of you, the ever so slightly lightening of the sky before you and the vibration of the watch on your wrist told you that you needed to try and get at lest a few hours sleep, so you begrudgingly turned around, and placed the half empty mug of coffee in the sink, before slinking over to your sofa and flinging your exhausted form onto it, and turning into its back for a nap. Today was going to be a big day, so you needed some rest.

Your eyes opened right before your alarm went off on your cell phone, and you slowly sat up and groaned, muttering a “fuck” to yourself before standing up and stretching your sore body. You shuffled off to the master suite upstairs, quickly discarding the hoodie and sweatpants before walking into the shower to fire up its multitude of jets and shower heads with steaming water. You desperately needed to rinse off the lack of restful sleep and freshen up for your day. You grabbed a fresh towel from the linen cabinet that towered next to your side of the sprawling double vanity. The combination of wood and stone always calmed you- and it was evident in how this home was designed.

The shower you stepped inside of appeared as thought it had been cut out of a mountainside- with stone ledges holding all of your favorite soaps, shampoos and conditioners, and made you feel like you were showering in a waterfall. As the water cascaded and massaged at your aching form, you grabbed onto your soap of choice for the day, and lathered it all over your tattooed, chiseled body. Your parents had never been happy with your decision to tattoo the majority of your body, particularly the back of your neck. That had been the final straw of disappointment from you- they haven’t spoken to you since. Your childhood was highly conservative, as your dad was a southern, religious and military man himself, and your mom was the epitome of a housewife. She would bend to his opinion and will, as though she had no say of her own. While you deeply loved your mother, you could not stand to see how her opinions and values disappeared over time- being taken over by your strict fathers.

It’s not that you really mind that they cut you out- as you had always longed for your own sense of being, and hated living in your fathers shadow. The tattoos were at first seen as “acting out”, but they quickly realized that it went further than that, and you weren’t going to hear any of their disapproval regarding what you did with your body. The short hair dyed in any and every color, piercings that came and went, and ink were your way of displaying your current state. As you turned around to shut off the water, you reached out of the veil of steam that was flowing around the shower, and grabbed the towel hung on a convenient rack just on the outside of the showers walls, made to look like dead wood. You peered over at the large mirror, slicking back the dark brown and blonde streaked hair, leaning on the counter to truly see how exhausted you look. “You look like hell, Y/L/N.” You say to yourself in the mirror, before carrying on with your morning routine.

Opting for a navy blue pinstripe suit, with a black button up, you mussed your hair in the mirror, giving it your signature tousled look, before turning to weave the brown belt through the loops around your trim waist. You grabbed the matching pair of brown shoes out of your walk in closet, and slipped them onto your feet before turning and looking at your appearance in the mirror. You had always been an athletic kid, and the myriad of sports you were involved in growing up allowed you the luxury of a muscular build on your tall frame. You weren’t insanely tall, average for your family, but taller than most. You looked down as your watch vibrated on your wrist, reminding you that you needed to leave soon- otherwise your commute to work would take you past your typical start time, which was not the impression you wanted to set for the new bosses. You quickly spun around on the hardwood floor, grabbing your cologne from the wooden shelf, and spraying it onto your pulse point and wrists before grabbing the keys hanging below and making your way out of the bedroom and towards the other wing of your house- where all your toys were kept.

Typically you wouldn’t escape unless you had at least a few days to spend here, as this was seriously out of your way for a commute to work. But you needed the respite. Work had been abnormally stressful for you, as you were planning for a massive undertaking at work- a new security project that required the best of the best- so you were “volunteered” to be the only person for this mystery operation. You arrived in the warehouse of vehicles that were varying degrees of extravagance- from classic cars to modern exotics, you had your bases covered. You walked past them all, climbing a spiral staircase the the opposite end of the garage, and opening a hefty steel door and walking out to your helicopter. Your days in the military afforded you many things- a pilots license being one of them. You quickly climbed inside, placing the headset hanging from the ceiling next to you onto your head, and grabbing the aviator sunglasses on the seat next to you before switching all the necessary toggles and firing up the machine. You announced your presence to the nearby air traffic control tower- located in the neighboring city, before gently pulling the joystick between your legs and slowly raising the vehicle off of the ground, and up towards the city. The two hour flight to work would be plenty of time for you to get your mind into work mode.

You swiftly landed the helicopter on the rooftop of your workplace, only to be greeted by your new boss, as well as your assistant, Kris, waiting for you a safe distance off of the helipad. You hopped out of the copter, re-buttoning the top buttons of your pinstripe blazer, and walking towards the pair. Kris gently smiled your way, handing you a large cup of coffee, for which you were thankful. You nodded her way, raising your eyebrows so they could just be seen above your glasses as you too a sip of the liquid, then letting out a long sigh after swallowing the drink.

“Thank you.” You spoke quietly, and turned to your direct supervisor to shake his hand.

“Y/L/N. Good Morning, we have a lot to do today. I hope you are prepped and ready.” He lifted his head slightly, as he tried to make it like he was taller, so he could look down towards you.

“Yessir. I’ve been prepared for the last two months, sir.” You replied curtly as he turned and stalked back to the doorway that would descend back down to the executive level of the office.

“You look like shit, Y/N…” Kris whispered to you as you both walked behind your boss, a slight look of worry on her face. She had been one of the first people you met after you discharged from the military, and moved to Los Angeles. You had actually gotten her this job as your new assistant as she was one of the few you knew you could trust, and your former assistant had kept trying your patience and trust. She was dressed up more than usual, wearing a tight black pencil skirt, that fell just below her knees. It was slightly split up the back, and allowed you the slightest view of her toned thighs. She wore a dark green blouse, and her blonde hair was wrapped up in a bun, with her black glasses framing her piercingly grey eyes. That was the first thing you had noticed about the woman when you first met- how her eyes seemed to be so colorless, yet full of emotion. You both had tried the whole relationship thing- but with your lack of comfort within yourself to fully admit you were gay, and years of pretending you weren’t, being in the military and with your conservative parents- you had both decided that you couldn’t be together, but were mature enough to recognize that you both were good friends, and wouldn’t let the failed attempt ruin your friendship. But, the brief glimpse beyond your hardened, tattooed exterior allowed her to read you like a fucking book. And you hated it.

“Thanks, Sherlock.” You smirked over your coffee cup, as you approached the elevator to take you down towards your office.

“You’re working too much.” She stated flatly.

“No, I’m only doing what is necessary.” You state, and she rolls her eyes as you peel the glasses off your face, setting them on top of your hair. You briefly glance her direction to notice she rolls her eyes at you before the doors ding open, leading you towards a long marble lined hallway flanked by frosted glass doors and windows. You both walked towards the door that led you to your office.

“You never fly to McCall unless you can stay for a period of time. You flew there to stay the night? That’s not like you.” She was walking in front of you to be able to open the door before you approached it.

“Yeah, so? It’s my house. I can go if I want. What made you so sure I went there in the first place?” You asked pointedly, not meaning to come out that rude as you crossed the threshold to your office.

“Your car was still in the parking garage when I left last night. I came back up to check on you, but you were gone. I went upstairs and the heli was gone.” She narrowed her eyes in your direction. She always warned you not to burn the candle at both ends, but you did it anyways.

“You don’t need to check on me. I’m a grown ass woman, I will do what I need to for my job.”

“Y/N, this isn’t about work. You need to take care of you.” She spits back pointedly, before spinning on her heels and walking back out the door towards her office next door. You sighed, rubbing your hands on your face, before removing the blazer adorning your shoulders, and unbuttoning the cuffs to your black dress shirt, allowing you to slightly roll up the sleeves to show some of your inked skin. The holster you wore on your hip that housed your work pistol came off, to be sat next to your on your desk. You sat rather heavily into your large leather chair, taking a deep breath and opening your laptop to begin checking your emails.

You scrolled through every email, skimming them over, deleting the unnecessary ones, forwarding ones to Kris that she could handle, and finally your eyes fell upon the email you knew was coming. There was an attachment that was rather large, and you had to print it off before slipping it into a file and making your way towards the board room two floors down. You heard Kris’s door open as you opted to go down the stairs instead, and opened the door to lead you down towards your next assignment. You took the opportunity to glance at the file as you swiftly descended the stairs, and right as you approached the door to the correct floor, it opened up- causing your eyes to dart up and be met with a discontent gaze of your best friend. You blankly stared back as you walked by her, and made your way to the board room.

“Did you read any of that file yet?” She asked, shuffling a little bit quicker to catch up with you.

“Some of it, yes. Why are the names redacted? I have the highest security clearance of anyone here.” You turned to your assistant, who shrugged her shoulders, narrowing her eyes as she reached for the folder, to open the pages and confirm what you had already stated. You approached the door to the boardroom, the occupants of the room were obscured by heavily frosted glass, but you could hear a faint conversation. Kris shrugged, not knowing why, and stepped around you, to grab the door and hold it open for you. As you step inside the room, your eyes glance from person to person, astutely taking in their demeanors as your gaze bounces from person to person. First, your bosses, who were starting at you expectantly, and then to the people in the room you had no clue of- except one.

“Are you ready to start, Y/L/N?” The owner of your company asked. Your eyes remained locked onto the blonde bombshell sitting at the far end of the table, surrounded by people you assume are her assistants. You sit down at the opposite end of the table, without breaking eye contact.

“I thought we were a government military contractor, not some for-hire security outfit.” You state coldly as you sat next to your boss. He glared back at you, giving you the impression that this was not the time.

“We’re not for hire. But when someone asks for the best, they ask for us- more specifically, you, Y/L/N.” He quipped back. “And I shouldn’t have to remind you, that in this business- money talks. Back to business,” He says pointedly in your direction, earning a smirk from both blondes in your presence.

(CHAPTER 2)

A/N: Nothing like making your boss call you out in a meeting, amiright? Let me know what you think!

#communicatethrulyrics #scarlett johansson x fem!reader #scarlett johansson x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #scarlett johansson #scarlett johansson x you #scarlett johannsen #wlw fanfic #ILYBOMTJALTM

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