#i need a job so bad i need to get started on my resume i wish i had help but simply put i wish i was built different. lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

beansricejc · 4 months

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THE CLIENT - John Wick x F!Reader

my masterlist.

synopsis: you go to some extreme measures to make sure you get your rent paid on time.

⚠️ warnings ⚠️: DUB/NON con, s3x work, cursing, sugar daddycore, implied violence, brief descriptions of violence, misleading job descriptions, good & bad name calling, chasing, financial / emotional manipulation, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT! MINORS DNI! 4379 words.

author’s note: I am so sorry about not being active, I’ve been meaning to take this off of the back burner for some time now. If you follow me you probably have noticed that this is based off of a short blurb I uploaded a few months ago. I’ve been avoiding writing because of several anon hate messages I’ve gotten about Fake It, and it put a huge damper on my writing process. but I’m back and I hope you all enjoy!

This economy is shit.

That's the sentence you continue to repeat in your brain. Should you have to work more than your full time accounting job at that stupidly high skyscraper downtown? Absolutely not, but your rent was bumped up by 15%, and a mere 40 hour work week won’t cut it anymore.

“Can you work nights?” The temp agent asks from across his desk. The florescent lights of his office (that is desperately in need of an update) are giving you a headache. The pot of coffee on the table in the corner is starting to burn.

“Yeah. Anytime after 6.” You quickly answer, your leg that’s crossed on top of the other is bouncing. The worker nods his head and clacks his vintage looking keyboard in front of his computer monitor.

The thick silence in this small space might kill you.

The worker’s eyes squint at his screen, before they trail back to you, seeming to give your face and your body a look over.

“Do you have any experience with housekeeping?” The worker asks, which makes your head tilt. Your printed and slightly crumpled resume is right there in front of him. Idiot.

“I mean, not houses, but when I worked retail I would have to clean the store from time to time.” You tell him and raise your eyebrows.

He nods and continues to stare at you. Creep.

“There’s an opening for a private housekeeper gig a bit north. You wouldn’t be tied to an agency, the client would pay you directly.” The man informs you. “Can, can I just do one thing first? Usually our employers, uh, they typically request pictures of their applicants.” The temp agent stammers and grabs his smartphone from his desk drawer. “Let me just…”

You don’t have any time to decline, since the flash is already going off in your direction.

“Uh- I’ve never heard of anything like that.” you question while the man types on his phone.

“Have you been employed through a temp agency before?”

“Well, not exact-“

“Then clearly you’re unfamiliar with how this works.” He interjects before setting the device down. “The pay is very good, although the employer hasn’t told me specifics. 3 nights a week after 6:30. 3 to 4 hour shifts. Does that work?” the worker asks and pushes up his glasses.

You feel a bit dumbfounded, and you have a strange suspicion that this man is gaslighting the hell out of you. But what can you do? You’re about to be 3 weeks late on rent.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” You mumble out.

It wasn’t fine. You hate the fact that instead of being able to snuggle up with your dog and watch reruns of New Girl, you have to pick up a second job.

“Great. I’ll have him give you a call.” was the last thing the man told you before you left the building. Secretly, you hope whoever this ‘employer’ is, they just forget about contacting you.

Hours later, you’re putting groceries into your fridge when your phone starts to vibrate in your pocket. You answer of course.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this, uh…” a deep male voice on the other line asks, accidentally mispronouncing your first name. Chuckling, you quickly correct him. “My mistake, forgive me. Ah, I heard you’re looking for a job?”

Your eyes bulge and you suddenly straighten up as if the man is having a face to face conversation with you. There was no way he was already calling you! Totally unprepared, you cleared your dry throat.

“Yeah, yep, that’s me.” you answer his question. His voice is so sultry. The man is clearly older than you, and it’s clear that he thinks before he speaks.

“Perfect. Pay is 1200 an hour, and if you swing by around 6:45 tomorrow that would be great. Can I email you my address?” The man offers online. You frown and choke on the water you were sipping.

“Woah, woah, excuse me. You said… 1200 an hour?” You repeat his payment offer.

“Yeah, is that a problem? All in cash.”

You almost have a heart attack.

“Nope, nope no problem at all.”

“Excellent. And, by the way, wear something, comfortable.” He says over the phone. You frown.

“Comfortable?” You question.

“Yeah. Comfortable.” He replies.

In hindsight you should have thought this through. You should have seen this coming, since men are disappointing and so vile. And you even know that you’re an idiot for agreeing.

So you do, and end the call.

6:45 comes faster than you thought it would. Your finger presses the door bell, and as you look around the neighborhood he’s in, the only thing you can think of? This dude is in a completely different tax bracket than you.

As for the comfortable clothing, you opted for some leggings and a long sleeve tee shirt that accidentally accentuates your waist and chest. You didn’t think anything of it. Did you think $1200 an hour was a bit off? Totally. But the guy was probably desperate for someone to clean this enormous house up.

You’re completely wrong.

The large door creaks open, and you come to face a man, middle aged, with long dark hair that seems to be tied in the back. A man bun? Really. You don’t say anything about it. Instead you smile and give the classic:

“Hi! You had a cleaning scheduled for 6:45?”

The words are bubbly and of course higher pitched. Like any customer service job, you’ve trained yourself to fake a smile and a friendly voice.

His rugged features surprise you. The way his jaw clenched and unclenched, his dark beard that grows on his face. The way his thin brown eyes trace over your body as he pressed his lips together. As if you were on display, only for him.

You couldn’t deny that he was handsome. But you’re not here for that. You’re here to work.

Are you?

“Yeah, you’ll do.” The man nods and allows you to enter his domain.

What the fuck did that mean? You don’t allow him to see the way your eyebrows scrunch up at his remark.

His house that reeks of modern contemporary architecture, the bachelor pad vibes were insane in this place. Regardless, the home seemed almost empty, even though it wasn’t. The vast size of it makes it so every little noise is able to bounce off the walls.

“Do you want something to drink?” Your new boss asks. He looks down at you with little to no expression on his handsome features. Despite the lack of emotion, a tinge of determination lingers in his narrowed brown eyes. “Call me John, by the way. Mister Wick will make me feel like a senior citizen.”

You just laugh. He already knows your name. Of course he does, why didn’t you expect otherwise? That temp agency definitely gave it to him.

“John it is.” You test out the name on your tongue; the simplicity of it is so right for him.

But something doesn’t sit right with you. It’s as if your body is subconsciously ringing all of the woman alarms that you should listen to.

Oh but you could use the cash! It’s the uneasy pit in your gut that churns and twists, attempting to pry yourself out of the situation.

Of course you ignore it.

“Right. So. There’s this particular spot I need help cleaning.” John’s hand guided you by the small of your back, you didn’t even notice how close he was standing to you. As if John were nothing but a ghost in the wind.

He leads you right in the living room, where a large crimson stain has set itself into the oak flooring. Your eyes widen, instinctively backing away, forgetting that John was directly behind you. Your shorter body runs into his, and he sets his strong hands on your shoulders.

Oh my god. A serial killer hired you. Or at least a murderer. The sheer size of the blood stain definitely was a fatal amount to lose. It’s as if someone had taken a liter of blood and dumped it onto his expensive flooring.

“I’m sure you can understand why this is such a lucrative deal, right?” John’s voice rumbled into your right ear. Chills trickle down your spine, caused simply from his touch and his murmur. But this is bad. You need to leave. You can’t just clean up murder messes for a living!

“I, I don’t know if I can-“

“Oh I know you can. Say, are you a good multi-tasker?” John asked, his grip on your shoulders becoming a bit tighter. It feels possessive almost. You should have listened to your woman warnings your body gave you.

Your canine teeth dig into your soft tongue.

“I mean, yeah.” You squeak out to answer the man who’s paying you. A throaty laugh leaves his mouth.

“Oh, good to hear.”

The scent of his cologne enters your nose. Tobacco, ginger, cocoa even. It’s intoxicating, the way his smell lingers in the air; and how it’ll imprint itself onto your own clothes and skin. You can’t let this man’s Dior Sauvage distract you from getting the fuck out of this house.

“Listen, I don’t-“

“2156, 45rd Avenue. Apartment 5. Right?” John suddenly asks. Those chills that ran down your spine seem to be more sinister than you initially realized. You turn around and glare up at him.

“How do you know that?” You immediately question him with a brash voice.

John lets out a deep chuckle, his handsome smile is so stupid. You don’t want to be attracted to him.

“You should take the job. I could buy your building, your rent could go down significantly.” John smirked down at your trembling form. “But, I’ll need you to be good at more than just cleaning.” His voice grumbles into your ear. His hot breath sticks to your neck. His voice is deep and almost off putting, in a good way. God the way he speaks. The way he looks you over with those pretty brown eyes.

Your mouth lets out a gasp as you suddenly feel his large hand reach around and grab one of your breasts. His unwanted touch feels like fire against your clothing. Your body tries to squirm.

“Shh, dear, let me touch you. I like it more if there’s less of a reaction.” John whispered, you feel his erection grow as he presses his groin into your ass.

“Woah, WOAH!” You yell, shoving him away. Surprisingly he backs away, with his hands in the air. There’s a smirk that plays on his rugged face, as he bites his tongue and lets his eyes devour your body.

“Really? You want to refuse me? Do you know who I am, little girl?” John chuckled, taking a few steps forward.

“You know what? I think I’m good on the job, you’re a fucking weirdo.” Is all you have to say to that. His rugged face has the meanest scowl you have ever seen in your life.

The tension in the air is so uncomfortable, and you want to punch yourself for not listening to your gut. The churning. The accelerated heart rate.

This was all wrong, that creepy temp agent had set you up with some gig that was clearly not legitimate in the slightest, of course it was too good to be true. Men only want one thing, and you don’t know how you didn’t manage to connect the dots.

You grimace at the thought of what he just did to you as your legs sprint towards the door.

“Not so fast, little one.” John growls, it seems he’s got you pinned against his entryway door. Your face is pressed against the wood, and you cry out in pain from the abrupt slam of your body.

“What if I bought your apartment building, and raised your rent? That’s why you have this job, right? That’s why a pretty thing like you waltzed into that temp agency and expected some help. God, I’m glad that agent sent me a picture. Do you know how much I came looking at your confused face?” John huffs out, biting his lip and moaning at the thought. His brown eyes roll to the back of his head for a split second as he recalls the orgasm he had, just thinking about you.

When he was hunched over in his shower, canines digging cuts into his bottom lip and drawing blood as John fucked into his balled up fist. When he whimpered your name like a pathetic needy bitch, the noise bouncing off of the bathroom walls to remind him of what a sick piece of shit he is. The mere idea of him taking advantage of a woman in a predicament like this made his balls ache in excitement. His toes would curl on the wet bathtub floor just imagining you being his good little fuck toy.

The ragged tone in his breath and voice make John sound desperate, deprived even.

“God I want you to swallow my cum so bad, I bet you’d look like a good girl, taking me in your mouth, huh? You wanna swallow daddy’s load?”

You elbow him right in the chest, but fall to the wooden floor while you do so. Too bad you’ve always been a clumsy bitch.

You groan as the pain shoots up your spine. And you panic. This absolute dilf of a man was a freak! And by the looks of all of that blood on his floor, a monster. A serial killer maybe! What the fuck was the point of listening to all of those podcasts if you didn’t take the god damn hints John had shown several times?!

John doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around your waist, lifting you up as you kick, scream, struggle, he even gives your left asscheek a swift smack just for fun. You let out a yelp.

“Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to go into the other room, and I’m going to buy your building. All I have to do is make a call. And you, cutie, get to make a decision.” John chuckled. “You leave, and I’ll have a group of men take out all of your shit from your place; and replace your doorknobs. Or,” John grabs your waist, your hand swats him away as you give him a glare. John sighs and gives you a smile, ruffling your hair with his large hand. “Or you let me have my way with you; while you clean up my little mess. And you won’t have to worry about paying a thing ever again.” John whispers. The man takes a step back, biting his lip at the sight of you being scared of him, before leaving and going into the other room.

You groan, tears brim your eyes as you contemplate your choices. Seeing the vast wealth displayed by just his household furnishings, you figured he wasn’t bluffing. The sting from holding back the cry hurts like a bitch, realizing you have no choice in the matter.

“God dammit.” You mumble, grabbing the cleaning supplies. You can’t help but wonder how the hell this much blood got on this asshole’s floor anyhow. Maybe you didn’t want to know. Either way, baking soda would do the trick here; with some water and dishwasher fluid.

So you get to work, scrubbing and finishing away the blood stain from the wooden floor. It wasn’t nearly as easy as it sounded.

Your stomach churned as you hear him approaching, his Oxford shoes clicking on the ground.

“Oh, good girl.” John snickered from above, you looked up at him with an icy stare, only to see something you certainly didn’t expect.

John and his hand, expertly stroking his hard cock to the sight of you cleaning.

John’s a good size. Bigger than average. Not something straight out of some unrealistic porn video online. The 7 inch long and slightly girthy dick in his grasp twitched, while it dripped precum from the pink shaded tip.

You start to feel something stir in you. This is wrong. You know it’s wrong. But fuck. His lip bite, the way he stroked himself to the sight of you, it’s not like he was ugly or anything. Quite the opposite.

He’s everything every woman dreams about in a man. Dark, brooding, with chiselled features and a symmetrical face. His olive skinned forehead is slick with sweat, definitely from being all hot and bothered at the sight of lil’ ol’ you.

Realistically, there could be worse out there to have fuck you.

“No no, little one. Keep cleaning,” John takes in a sharp breath. “Don’t mind me. Just pretend that this is normal, don’t be distracted. This will be your new normal. You’ll do various tasks around my house, and you let me touch you however I want.”

Now despite what your brain is telling you, the churning in your stomach drifts into butterflies. This isn’t right. In fact, it’s fucking vile. But why is your breath caught in your throat? Why does your head feel like it’s spinning?

You’re too much in your head at the moment, and you don’t notice the sound of a switchblade opening. With one quick motion, you can feel your leggings slice open. Before you have time to gasp, next comes your thong, he’s cutting the fabric and peeling it from your body.

John pressed the soaked cloth to his large nose, taking in a deep breath to get a whiff of your essence. Chills run down his spine as he grows even harder, your pure femininity smells absolutely divine to him.

“Oh you’re so wet for me, you like this, don’t you? You bad fucking girl,” he laughs. Your yelp escaped your dry lips as one of his long fingers swiped your moist entrance, pushing one in to test the waters. Your soft grunt of surprise and disdain covers your pleasure as you continue to try to clean up this stupid blood stain on the wooden floor.

You have to wonder, what the fuck happened here? Your mind goes haywire, imagining the man behind you potentially taking a life in the very spot that you’re in. How did he do it? A gunshot wound? Cutting someone’s throat? Torture? Tying them up by their feet to hang upside down, only to stab their jugular and letting gravity do its job? And why exactly are you thinking of it while John adds another finger, pumping the long calloused digits into your soaking cunt.

You catch yourself backing up against him, moaning a bit as you bite your lip to punish yourself for it. You’re not supposed to like this! What the fuck are you doing?

A suit jacket is tossed aside out of the corner of your eye, as a deep throaty chuckle echoes from the walls of his large house.

“Oh? So I’m right. You do like it.” John chuckles, pulling his fingers out. You let out a whine, almost angry that he would stop fingering you all of a sudden. John slaps your folds with the tip of his cock just for fun.

Your whine is replaced with a sharp squeal, his large hands grip the roots of your messy hair, pulling your head back as his fat tip eases into your pussy. The burn of your head and the burn of his dick throws you in a loop, especially at the sight of John.

John. This perverted, sick and despicable example of a human being, who’s eyes look so soft as he inches in and out of you. There’s a wicked smirk on his face when your eyes shoot to his lips, nothing that the cut up remains of your thong are in his mouth.

And you’re not sure if it’s hot or nasty. The obscene view of him damn near chewing on your underwear has you… well, fucked up. But it’s the way he begins to snap his hips against your ass that makes you forget about it. The other hand whacks your right asscheek, earning another yelp from you.

“You’re a fucking pig!” you sputter out, trying your best to show absolutely revulsion to the way he’s fucking you.

John can see through you like a piece of cling wrap.

You’re not making any progress in cleaning the blood stain, as he thrusts harder into you. You mew loudly while he takes his hand in your hair and instead presses your pretty little face into the floor. Your cheeks and nose throb as scratches embed themselves into your skin, as if you hardly notice. The way John’s cock feels as he has his way with your fluttering cunt is too good to even put into words. You have to remind yourself to breathe while he speaks to you.

“Fuck, you take me so well, princess. I didn’t take you for a good little slut, who’s my slut?”

Gritting your teeth, his tip brushed your cervix, and that will certainly give you an aching feeling tomorrow. You don’t want to admit anything to this monster. But his fist tightens at the roots of your hair, sending pain down your scalp right as his other hand reaches your clit and draws quick circles on it.

“I asked you something, sweetheart. Now fucking answer me.”

“I’m your slut! I’m your slut!” You repeat out, shame fills your belly as you give in to John’s desires, and he giggles in return.

“What an obedient girl you are.” John praises, his thrusts become slower, more passionate even, as if he’s rewarding you for answering him. Somehow, the slower and more sensual movement of his dick feels even better, especially with John incorporating those finger movements on your clit.

“Stop fuckin’ cleanin’, you’re doing a shit job anyway.” John grunts, swatting the brush out of your tiny hands and flipping your body over like a ragdoll. I mean, he’s not wrong, he just doesn’t have to be a dick about it.

“You think you can take me? You’ve been doin’ a good job so far. Better than cleaning, you got a talent for letting me fuck you like this.” John’s words are almost garbled and incoherent but you’re too afraid to shake your head. Before you can even respond, he shoves your cut up panties into your mouth, covering your lips with those calloused large hands, much to your dismay.

You muffle loudly, an attempted “What the fuck?!”, but he only snickered before pumping his cock back into your cunt, lifting your legs so your ankles could have resembled earmuffs on him. Your eyes roll back. He’s so fucking deep, John’s hand moved from your mouth to your throat, restricting your oxygen intake by squeezing as he fucks into you. Using you as his little play thing. Your sticky sweat coated flesh smacks against another, sending the sound throughout the house, along with your softened moans and whimpers.

“Your cunt belongs to me. Got it, bitch?” John asks, these things he is saying to you are fucking terrible, but you can’t help but be excited when they come out. You nod and bite down on what used to be your thong as he continued to rub your wet nub and fuck you hard. Your sharp fingernails dub themselves into his bare thighs, which will definitely leave marks later.

John hisses, but continues plowing into you nonetheless.

“Cum for me. Do it before I change my mind.” John ordered. Say less.

He didn’t have to ask you twice. While your eyes cross, your pussy pulses around his dick, as you become undone under him. Your walls flutter and you whimper loudly, your climax unraveling and finally giving you that oh so satisfying release. John grunts over you.

“That’s it, cum for me, who’s making you cum?” He asks.

“You are! Shit- you are, John,” you mumble into your underwear as your cock drunk state leaves you unable to adjust your body.

John laughs at your undoing, pulling your thong out of your teeth and slipping out of your cunt. It doesn’t take long for him to use his immense strength to lift you up onto your knees, as he gives his slick cock a few jerks with his hand.

“Open.”

In a state of euphoria, you don’t question the man who just gave you a mind blowing orgasm. Your lips part, and he bites his lip as the tip of his dick reached the back of your throat. Your eyes widen as he moans, fingers gripping into your hair once more as he fucks into your mouth a bit more. It doesn’t take long before he climaxed, spurts of cum that you’re forced to take and swallow, like the naive little thing you are.

The things a girl will do to make sure rent is paid in full.

The next few days are certainly something. There are scratches on your face and some light bruising here and there on your body from your, ahem, shift, with John the other night. A male coworker even asked if you had a sprained ankle or something from the way you were walking into the office the next morning.

How embarrassing.

And now you find yourself, checking your mail and getting your rent bill in for the upcoming month. You roll your eyes, tearing the envelope open as your little dog jumps up on your leg, excited that you have arrived home. You aimlessly scratch his head, setting the invoice on your kitchen counter before feeding your pet a scoop of food, and grabbing the checkbook.

It’s almost like it slipped your mind that John had actually acquired your apartment building.

John does many things, but he doesn’t bluff.

Your eyes scan the piece of paper as it hits you like a brick.

Thank you for your business. Please send your payment of: $0.00 by March 1st, 2024.

What the fuck?

The stack of a few thousand dollars stares at you from your desk, and you swallow the lump in your throat. Your mouth dries up when the words in scribbled writing at the bottom read:

See you next week, pretty girl.

xoxo, J.

#john wick #jw #john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #john wick x you #keanu reeves #john wick imagine #jw4 #keanu #john wick fanfic #john wick fanfiction

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ckret2 · 2 months

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Chapter 45 of human Bill Cipher would give anything to be trapped in the Mystery Shack again; The Eclipse, part 3.

Whatever's making gravity disappear in Gravity Falls is accelerating; Bill continues to insist he knows exactly what it is but won't say what; Ford's getting pretty fed up with him; and poor Dipper's just got to put up with them.

Oh, and totality arrives.

Bill woke up before full dawn with his cheek in half an inch of water.

He sat up with a gasp. The movement flung his bedsheet off; it floated gently in the air. Bill's exhalations moved it faster than gravity did. The lake was flooding the tent.

He was collapsed halfway out of his tent. He crawled the rest of the way out, dry heaved, splashed some water on his face, forced himself to his feet, and looked at the golden sky.

He didn't like what he saw.

####

Ford and Dipper were woken up by "Reveille" playing on a kazoo. "Rise and shine, puppets, the situation's gotten worse!"

Ford sat up with a groan. "The devil's going..." He lifted his hand to rub his eyes, and instead splashed himself with water. He gasped. "What?"

Bill kicked at the zipped tent flap. "You're flooding, and that's the least of your bad news."

When Ford got out of the tent, Bill was pacing back and forth on top of the water, wringing water out of his bedsheet. "My estimate was wrong. Totality's happening today," he said. "The eclipse must have accelerated."

"Oh, that's ridiculous," Ford said. "How can an eclipse accelerate?"

"You don't know everything! You study the paranormal, you should be used to the inexplicable!"

"My job is to explain the inexplicable."

"Split hairs later!" Bill pointed toward Tate & Backle's Bait & Tackle shop at the far end of the lake. From that distance, it seemed to be sitting on the surface of the water as well. "The closest shelter's the bait shop. We can wait out totality there—"

"No," Ford said.

Bill stared at him. "What do you mean no. You don't still plan on hiking up to Gravity Peak—"

"I do."

"Are you insane!"

"That's an interesting question out of you."

"It's going to be here in hours! And you want to be at the highest point in Gravity Falls?!"

Dipper shuffled out of the tent, blinking groggily. "Why do you have a kazoo?"

"Not! Important! Now!" Bill resumed pacing. "What'll it take to convince you to take this seriously and stay low?"

"You could start with a proper explanation."

"I've explained as much as you need to—" Bill abruptly fell silent and stopped walking, eyes wide with horror.

Dipper and Ford turned to see what he was looking at.

There was nothing. Just a few pine trees in front of a line of gray rocks still tall enough to stick up out of the shallow water in front of the sheer cliff face below Gravity Peak. Dipper turned to Bill. "What?"

Bill didn't answer. He just took off his backpack and started stuffing his damp bedsheet inside. "With gravity so low, the climb through the tunnel to the peak should be a lot faster than humans can usually go," Bill muttered. "If we can get up there in an hour or two, do your stupid scans, and at least get back to the cave before totality..." He looked worriedly at the sky, then slung his backpack back on. "But we need to leave now."

Ford said, "I suppose we could have breakfast on the go. As soon as we pack our tents and change into dry clothes..."

"No time," Bill said. "You can change in the cave, you'll just get your clothes wet again if you do it here. We'll come back for the tents later."

Dryly, Ford said, "Who put you in charge of this expedition?"

"If we waste any more time, the lake will rise higher than the cave opening and we won't be able to get in."

Ford mentally measured how high the lake had risen already. "We'll come back for the tents later."

The survival equipment Ford kept in his backpack included a self-inflating raft with two collapsible paddles, which was well worth the slightly-unstable magic he'd used to get it to fit without being too heavy to carry. He inflated the raft, everyone climbed in, Ford gave Dipper the second paddle, and they set out across the lake in the pinkish early morning light.

Bill looked back over his shoulder one last time at the the line of sharp, gray rocks, and the beforeimage of brilliant red blood drying on their points, such a dramatic and permanent change to their appearance that even hours beforehand he could see it; and then he forced himself to turn away. The only way they were avoiding that was if they were off the cliff before totality.

####

As they crossed the lake, Bill ran his hands beneath the surface next to the inflatable raft and scooped up a handful of water. With the water came eight small, wriggly, ghostly axolotls, clear as glass and shining in the thin rays of dawn.

Dipper gasped. "What are those?"

Bill gave him a sharp look. "You can see them?"

"See what?" Ford asked, leaning over to peer at Bill's hands.

Dipper said, "The—the axolotls?" At Ford's frown, Dipper asked, "Can't you see them?"

"He can't see them," Bill said.

Uncertainly, glancing over the side of the boat, Ford asked, "In the water? Where?"

"No, in Bill's hands."

"He can't see them," Bill repeated. "You shouldn't be able to see them, either." He spilled the axolotls back into the lake. They melted into the water as though they'd never existed. "You really, really need to get inside."

Dipper did not like the sound of that. He swallowed hard.

"What exactly did you see?" Ford asked.

"Bill just... scooped a bunch of tiny axolotls out of the water," Dipper said. "Like the one in the fish tank, but smaller. And they were completely clear, like they were made out of ice."

"Were they alive?"

"Yeah, they were wiggling around. They disappeared when he dropped them back in the water."

"At least they're still transparent," Bill muttered. "And I suppose you won't take this as proof that I've been right about everything."

"Wh—" Ford lowered his paddle and gestured at the lake, "How do invisible axolotls that only some people can see prove anything about 'gravitational eclipses'! If anything, that sounds like the exact kind of weirdness that would come from the Nightmare Realm ripping open!"

"Oh, I wish it was the Nightmare Realm, I would love for it to be the Nightmare Realm," Bill snapped. "You know what, never mind! I changed my mind! Keep saying your thing about the sky ripping open and pouring all my friends into town! Maybe if you say it enough times I'll be wrong and it'll happen, that'd be great!"

"It at least makes more sense than your story! What in the world are a bunch of invisible axolotls doing in the lake, anyway!"

"Migrating."

"Axolotls don't migrate to Oregon, their native range is in Mexico!"

"Fine. Harbinging. They're harbingers."

"Of what?"

"The eclipse."

Ford dropped his oar, made a gesture like he was fighting himself not to strangle Bill, and finally dragged his hands down his face. "Why. Are invisible axolotls the harbingers of an eclipse."

"I don't know, it's just one of those things! Are we going to the cave or not?!"

Ford furiously started rowing again. Dipper had to hurry to keep up.

As he paddled, Ford snapped, "And for as often as you've told us not to look up, now that this 'eclipse' of yours is nearly at 'totality,' I still don't see anything out of the ordinary in the sky!"

"Of course you don't," Bill snapped back, "it's not in the sky."

"Then why can't we look up?!"

"I don't mean up, I mean up-up."

Ford stared at Bill like he'd grown a second head. "WHAT?!"

"I mean... ahhh," Bill made a frustrated noise, snapping his fingers, "English doesn't have a word for— upward-but-not-skyward! You know what I mean!"

Ford almost snapped at Bill again; but then paused. "Hold on," he said slowly. "That's from..."

"Who cares what it's from, you at least know what it means—"

"Flatworld," Ford said. "That was the name of it, right?"

A brief grimace flashed across Bill's face. "Yes, that."

Dipper looked between them, confused. "What?"

Ford said, "It's a novella that explains the concept of higher dimensions by using a metaphor about lower dimensions. A sphere visits the second dimension to teach a square about the third—but where the sphere intersects the second dimension, all the square can see is a circle."

Bill muttered, "Would you drop the wise mentor schtick for five minutes—"

Ford raised his voice. "The sphere tries to explain that the rest of its body is above the second dimension—but having never seen the third dimension, in the square's language 'up' and 'above' mean the same thing as 'north.' The sphere resorts to calling the third dimension up-but-not-north to indicate that it's a different, unseen dimension."

Dipper nodded slowly. "So, if the eclipse is upward-but-not-skyward, then... what, you're telling us not to look in the fourth dimension?"

"Finally!" Bill sighed. "It's not exclusively in the fourth, but—it's close enough, you get the idea!"

Ford said, "But we can't see the fourth dimension."

Bill gave Dipper a dubious look that Dipper didn't like at all; but Bill only said, "Then you've got nothing to worry about, just like I've been saying! Keep your eyes shut just in case."

"Convenient that your proof is only visible in a dimension we can't see," Ford said wryly.

Dipper looked up, squinting at the sky. Bill shoved his head back down.

####

The waterfall was more of a waterfloat. Large orbs of water gently descended from the cliff high above, catching the early morning light. Ford and Dipper stopped paddling to watch in wonder. Bill muttered a spell under his breath, and a foot over their heads the waterfall landed on an invisible umbrella and rolled to the sides rather than land in their raft.

The water level had risen so high they had to lay nearly flat in the raft to get through the cave entrance; rather than paddling, Ford pushed them through with his hands on the tunnel's ceiling. Bill was out of the raft and walking across the water to the shore while Ford and Dipper were still getting their paddles positioned again.

"Gravity's currently—what, about twenty-five percent?" Bill tugged off a shoe, dropped it, and observed how fast it fell. "Twenty to twenty-five percent." He took off his other shoe, rung out his socks over the lake, and stuffed them in his backpack, preparing to climb barefoot. "And it's only going lower. You should be able to just jump up most of the way to the top of Gravity Peak. So if you waste my time trying to climb..."

"Would you relax?" Dipper said irritably. "You should be glad we got up at the crack of dawn for you at all." He climbed out of the raft, copied Bill's attempt to dry out his socks and shoes, and then rung out his wet hat.

"You should be grateful I warned you totality's getting closer! Weren't you the ones convinced the world's going to end if you don't chuck a glue bomb at the sky?"

Ford muttered, "I'm surprised you didn't just have us waste time until the cave was inaccessible."

Bill processed that. He pressed his lips together, squeezed his eyes shut, and his face contorted in an expression of exquisite pain and regret. Through gritted teeth, he muttered, "Happy to help."

Ford reeled out a few feet of cable from his infinity belt, looped it around Dipper's waist, and tied it securely. An infinitely-long cable wouldn't be very helpful on a real climb—if Dipper lost his grip, it would just keep unreeling rather than stop his fall—but this wasn't much of a real climb, and at least it would ensure they couldn't get separated. Dipper took out a flashlight, Ford lit his antique lantern—instead of rising up, the flame inside looked nearly like a ball—and Bill hurried ahead of them, not bothering with any light source, eyes occasionally flashing like a cat's in the dark when he glanced back to check the humans' progress.

This was the fastest Ford had ever climbed the tunnel path up to the top of the mountain, easily leaping nearly twice his height to grab handholds that would previously have taken several minutes to climb to; and before long, he was all but ignoring basic spelunking safety to keep up with Bill. Losing his footing simply meant a slow, gentle fall back to the nearest level ground to try again. The only thing holding Bill back—who, Ford suspected, was now simply flying through the shadows—was Dipper, who was also climbing as fast as he could.

The only time Ford even came close to catching up was when Bill paused to look down the path that, if Ford remembered right, led to the thousand-year-old cave paintings where Ford first learned about his "muse"; but then Bill was gone again, rushing ahead into the dark.

While Bill was at the furthest end of his tether, Ford dropped back to keep pace with Dipper. "Keep your voice low," he said, "but—Dipper, are you absolutely positive that what you saw in the lake were axolotls?"

"Pretty sure. They had the frills and everything, I don't know what else they'd be," Dipper said. "Do you think that's important? In your third journal..."

"That's just what I was thinking."

When Ford had documented his interdimensional travels in Journal 3, he'd included a few strange references to axolotls he'd heard over the years: refugees in the Nightmare Realm who'd cried "praise the Axolotl" when Ford had said he would kill Bill; an oracle who mentioned Bill's history and prophesied his defeat, whose temple was filled with tapestries and paintings of axolotls.

"Maybe they're connected?" Dipper asked. "Maybe the axolotl they're talking about is some kind of... ancient enemy of Bill?"

"I think it's more complicated than that," Ford said. "I was only able to describe a few of my travels in Journal 3—but I heard 'the Axolotl' mentioned in multiple dimensions."

Dipper processed that. "What, so... do you think they're all talking about the same god or something?"

"Yes and no. Some societies referred to this Axolotl as a divinity—although not a creator god. But nobody seems to agree on what its domain is. I heard some say it's the god of goodness. Other, the god of justice. The god of luck. The god of second chances. I've rarely seen the same label twice." Ford shrugged. "But then sometimes it was described like a vast animal or a force of nature—something that travels between stars and watches astronautical travelers, like a curious dolphin watching a boat. I never learned if they were all describing the same being, a group of beings—or if it was a simple translation error for some other term like 'demigod.'"

Dipper scrunched his nose. "'Translation error,' what? Across multiple civilizations?"

"The dimensional translator I received was somewhat buggy," Ford said. "From time to time it would offer wildly incorrect translations for individual words. For instance, it consistently replaced the word 'soccer ball' with soccer ball, of all things. You can only imagine what kind of trouble that got me into."

Dipper blinked in bafflement, opened his mouth, decided maybe this was a can of worms best opened later, and shut his mouth.

"And on top of all that, not all the cultures I encountered respect this 'Axolotl.' In some places, it was called the god of injustice, inequality, or cruelty. The patron deity of criminals and tyrants. Sometimes it's a villain in folklore—a legendary thief, mercenary, liar, or thug. I don't know why the stories vary so wildly," Ford said. "But that Axolotl certainly doesn't sound like someone who would be Bill's enemy."

"I guess not." But how could one being be the god of both justice and injustice? Second chances and cruelty? Either some of the stories had to be wrong, or else they were about different axolotls.

"So in the end, I have no idea what the Axolotl is. But," Ford said, "I wouldn't be surprised if it has something to do with whatever Bill's hiding."

####

When they reached the tunnel's exit, Bill was standing beneath a tree, staring fixedly at something unseen in the sky. "I think it's still speeding up," he muttered. "Not that either of you care. I suppose I'm just talking to myself."

Ford elected to ignore Bill as he untied the infinity belt's cable from around Dipper's waist and reeled it in. He started the walk to the highest point along the cliff's edge. Dipper followed, and reluctantly Bill did too.

The tunnel had meandered sideways as it rose through the mountain; the stream that fed the waterfall they'd passed under was far to their left side, and the cliff looked out not over the lake, but over what used to be the shore, which was now submerged in several inches of water.

Dipper followed Ford to the edge so he could look over at the waterfall. For a moment, he couldn't figure out why the lake below looked wrong; but then he realized that the sun had risen high enough that the sky had changed from pink to pale blue. Which meant the lake should have been reflecting blue. "Why's the lake pink?"

When Ford just gave him a puzzled look—"It doesn't look pink to me."—Dipper turned to Bill.

Bill didn't even glance toward the lake. "Congratulations on being able to fully see the axolotls."

"There can't be enough to turn the lake pink," Ford protested, a tad irritably. "Leucistic axolotls are rare in the wild, they usually come in shades of brown and black."

"Oh you'll find anything to—" Bill pointed toward Dipper. "If you don't like their coloration, take it up with him! I'm not the one that told you how they look! If there weren't an independent witness here, you wouldn't have even believed me if I said there were axolotls."

"If there weren't an independent witness here, you wouldn't have told us there were axolotls." Ford slung off his backpack to rummage through it for the micro-rip scanner.

"Why am I seeing axolotls?" Dipper asked. "I mean, why... just me?"

Bill didn't answer for a second. He was still staring at the sky, watching something. He finally muttered, "Good question."

Dipper wasn't reassured by the fact that Bill wasn't even interested in pretending he knew the answer.

Bill said, "Remember when I told you that meeting some things—even just looking at them—will drive you mad? And that you almost met one?" He finally lowered his gaze to give Dipper a cruel smile. "Well, lucky you, you don't even need to build a portal. One's coming here."

Dipper swallowed hard. "So, don't look up?"

"Look who's finally catching on." Bill's gaze drifted away from Dipper's face and back to the sky.

"If just looking at it can drive you crazy, why are you looking?"

Bill laughed bitterly. "I've already taken as much damage as I can." With considerable effort, he tore his eyes from the sky. He floated to the edge of the cliff and peered over the edge.

Below were the sharp gray rocks near last night's campsite. Even from this high up, the future bloodstains were visible, bright red. They looked soon. Bill suppressed a shudder; his feet settled back on the ground and he backed away. "We're running out of time," he said. "You're as high as you can get, and you're still hundreds of feet below where the rift was. What now, smart guy?"

"I'm working on it." Ford was tying the end of his infinity belt's cable around the scanner. He gave the cable several feet of slack; twirled it in the air a few times to build up speed; and then let it go, sending it soaring into the sky. With gravity practically non-existent, the act of throwing it knocked Ford back a few inches, and the scanner simply kept on flying into the air.

Bill watched with his hands on his hips and a sour look. "Yeah, okay, all right, I guess that works."

"If anywhere is likely to have enough micro-rips to threaten reality, it'll be here," Ford said. "Here, we may need this." He took out the glue grenade, poured in his remaining adhesive, and handed the grenade to Dipper.

When the scanner reached its apex and began slowly falling, Ford pressed a button on his belt to retract the cable. He caught the scanner, examined the numbers, and frowned.

"Well?" Bill asked. He'd backed under the protective shade of a tree and was leaning on it with his arms crossed.

"Twenty-seven thousand micro-rips," Ford muttered. "The highest number so far. Nearly double the amount by Mabel's Fault."

Bill cupped a hand around his ear. "Sorry, did I hear you say 'a quarter of the danger threshold'?"

Ford didn't answer, still glaring at the numbers.

"So can we go now?" Bill asked. "Totality could be here any minute, and I do not want to be exposed on the highest spot in town."

Ford twirled the scanner over his head and chucked it again at another spot.

Bill let out a very quiet, very long, very high-pitched scream.

Ford whirled around. "Would you stop complaining!"

"SORRY! I've been seized by the FATAL HUMAN DELUSION that my actions might have an IMPACT on my FUTURE!" His face flushed with rage and his feet lifted several inches off the ground with the force of his screaming. "Or that MAKING SOUNDS with my MOUTH will COMMUNICATE MESSAGES that the HUMANS AROUND ME CAN COMPREHEND! But don't worry! I'm QUICKLY being proven wrong!"

Ford actually bared his teeth at Bill, and immediately felt stupid for it. He turned away and reeled in the scanner. Catching it bounced him into the air; it took him several seconds to settle back on the ground. "Twenty-five thousand."

"Great!" Bill snapped. "Let's go!"

"So... does that mean we don't need this?" Dipper asked, holding up the glue grenade.

Ford hesitated, looking out over the town. Maybe the danger threshold was lower than Fiddleford had calculated. Or maybe Ford hadn't thrown the scanner at the right spot. Or maybe the problem was dozens and dozens of sites that didn't reach the danger threshold alone, but compounded on each other to destabilize the whole region. Maybe throwing the glue grenade and dispersing it over town was still necessary to stop all this. Bill was right about one thing: "totality," whatever it really was—the full disappearance of gravity—was close. Every movement seemed to knock him minutely off the ground, and he could see his clothes floating.

But he had no evidence the glue grenade would do anything but wreck the environment. Plus, axolotls were endangered; he couldn't imagine invisible leucistic ones were doing much better. He sighed, stuffing his scanner away in his backpack. "I suppose not." Dipper nodded and stored the glue grenade in his own backpack.

"Great," Bill said. "Let's go."

"The micro-rip theory doesn't look likely," Ford said. "But that means something else is going on. And we don't have any backup explanation." He turned and gestured impatiently at Bill. "Except your stupid eclipse story, which is too vague to explain anything and probably riddled with lies."

"GREAT! Let's GO!"

"I came up here to find out what's going on. So what's going on?"

Bill's worried gaze flicked from Ford's face to the sky, back to Ford, over to Dipper. "Your uncle's gonna get himself killed, kid. We don't have to join him. Get over here, at least we can get back in the cave."

Dipper glanced at Ford, crossed his arms, glared at Bill, and stood his ground.

"Hsgd—Fffss—shhk." Bill covered his face, whimpered, and dragged his hands down his face so hard his nails left red lines. "I hate you both so much."

They weren't getting anywhere unless Ford caught Bill off-guard enough to accidentally reveal something. "Bill, what's the Axolotl."

Bill's gaze shot to Ford's face. He pointed past him toward the lake. "Kid saw as much as I did, he can tell you—"

"No, Bill. What is the Axolotl," Ford said. "Friend of yours?"

All the blood drained out of Bill's face.

Ford had struck a nerve. "What does it have to do with all this?"

"How much do you know."

Ford laughed harshly. "And give you an opportunity to mold your lies around my knowledge? Tell us what it is!"

"It's—a curse," Bill said. "It's a curse in living form."

"No. Tell the truth."

"What do you want to hear! He's my defense attorney, okay?!"

"I said the truth, Cipher!"

"WHY?! How would you know the truth if I told it?!" He flung his arms wide in defeat, voice climbing toward a desperate shriek, "I haven't lied once since the eclipse began! What else can I do?! Should I start making up plausible stories again?! Why are you pumping me for information you don't even believe! How can I tell you the truth if you won't give me any trust!"

Ford didn't have an answer.

Bill didn't deserve trust. Offering him even a sliver of trust could be fatal. Ford was 100% certain of that. And if Ford never trusted a single word out of Bill, then they'd never be able to hold a conversation, about anything, ever. Which was fine. He didn't want a conversation. That bridge burned over thirty years ago. Don't trust him.

So then why was Ford trying to hold a conversation with Bill? If Ford didn't believe him, why did he keep trying? What was he hoping for?

What did Ford want to hear?

He didn't have a chance to figure it out. Bill's gaze flicked behind Ford, he screamed, "Anchor yourselves!" and he flung his arms around the tree.

"Wh—" Ford dropped to one knee as he turned to look where Bill was looking, and Dipper tried to fling himself to the ground; but neither had a chance to get a grip in the grass before the last little bit of gravity disappeared—and was replaced by something new.

The waterfalls stopped flowing, then curled up into the sky. The grass and trees tilted toward the center of Gravity Falls, as though blown by an unfelt breeze. Water slowly rose up out of the lake. The Island Head Beast was lifted into the air, eyes frantically rolling around and groaning in alarm.

And an unseen force pulled Dipper and Ford over the edge of the cliff and into the sky.

Dipper only made it five feet before the bracelet's invisible thread pulled taut. It took him another second to realize he wasn't moving and stop screaming. Bill was still clinging to the tree. The bracelets' thread could pass through objects when it was invisible, but if you tried to grab onto it, you could; could Dipper use it to climb back to land?

"Don't let go! I'm gonna reel myself in!"

Bill laughed hysterically. "Do anything you want, I'm not going anywhere."

Dipper groped blindly around his braceleted wrist with his free hand; caught the thread; and started dragging himself, hand over hand, down toward Bill. But even as Dipper tried to reel himself in, the unseen force continued to pull him back—in more dimensions and planes than he could see.

Something poorly attached tugged loose.

His vision swam and the world went gray.

And his soul popped out of his body.

Dipper's ghost looked at Bill. Bill looked at Dipper's ghost. They both looked at Dipper's dead body. They started screaming.

"What happened?!" Dipper groped at his ghostly torso—and through it—and then flailed his arms in a desperate attempt to make them more corporeal. "Ohmigosh what happened to me!"

"It's not me!" Bill shouted. "I didn't do it, you saw me, I wasn't even touching your body, I'm innocent!"

"I'm in the mindscape," Dipper said, "this is the mindscape, right?" It was unmistakeable; the world was cool and gray and muffled, just like last year, just like in all his nightmares. "Why am I in the mindscape! What am I doing here!"

And then the gray landscape fell beneath a reddish-pink shadow.

Dipper turned around.

A massive shape, winding slowly through the air as though it were swimming, descended over Gravity Falls, sunlight filtering through its translucent pink body. So massive that Dipper couldn't see both ends of it at once. So massive that even though only a tiny cross section of its body passed through the third dimension's mindscape at once, the full mass of its unseen higher-dimensional body was vast enough to eclipse Earth's gravity—and cause every loose object in town to slowly fall skyward toward its body.

It was awe-inspiring and terrifying and majestic; and Dipper was sure he'd seen it before.

The Axolotl twisted back on itself, doing a loop in the sky that carried it halfway to the moon, to position itself to look down at the peak over Gravity Falls with one huge, black eye. Bill looked at the ground. Dipper looked at its face.

As Dipper made eye contact, the world froze. Everything slowed down. A hole in time and space opened where only the two of them existed; no one else could hear them and they could hear no one else. The Axolotl was so massive that Dipper could feel its thoughts like the static charge in a lightning storm and hear them like the echo of thunder. It thought—thunderously, apocalyptically, infinitely kindly—"Ah, yes. Hello again."

Dipper swallowed hard. "Hey," he croaked. "Have—we met?"

"Yes," the Axolotl said. "I'm afraid that's the only question I have time to answer. Tell your sister I said hello." Its world-making gaze moved off of Dipper, and he was back in the mindscape.

And the Axolotl turned his attention to Bill.

####

(Congratulations to the three people who saw it coming. Hope y'all enjoyed, would LOVE to hear what you think, and next week Things Get Worse, Again!!)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #grunkle ford #stanford pines #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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a-little-unsteddie · 6 months

Text

stuck in your throat || 1.1

[here] | 1.2 | 1.3 | 1.4 | 1.5

ah hello hello :) i have finished chapter two and started into chapter three so i’m comfortable with starting to post the first chapter. idk how many parts each chapter will be, but after i finish posting all of each chapter, i will post the entire chapter on ao3.

i’ll be posting each chapter after i finish another one, so i’ll post chapter two after i finish writing chapter 3, so i always am one chapter ahead :)

this started because @/lexirosewrites followed me ages ago and i was possessed to write an omegaverse fic because of it, as a gift :D hope you enjoy <3

anyway, i think i’ve probably gone on a bit too long now, so enjoy chapter one, part one of stuck in your throat! it’s a bit short, but the next one is like almost 2k so i think it’ll even out :b

Steve sighed as he stared blearily at the screen in front of him, meticulously scanning his resume for what could have been the hundredth time. He needed it to be absolutely perfect before he sent it to any potential employers. He knew he didn’t have the most experience, given that the entirety of his knowledge of nannying came in the form of babysitting Dustin and his friends. Steve hardly counted that, considering the pups were almost all high school age at the time. Even if they were a bit much to deal with at the best of times.

Steve hoped that the fact he went to school to get his teaching license would make him stand out as a candidate.

“You’ve made it as perfect as you can.” Robin said from behind Steve, causing the omega to startle.

“Jesus, wear a bell or something.” he muttered with a grumpy glare in the alpha’s direction. He looked back at his laptop screen and sighed deeply. “No one’s gonna hire some washed up omega,” he threw his arms over his face, speaking with a whine. Robin plopped on their couch next to him and peered at the laptop screen curiously. She took it off Steve’s lap while ignoring his half-hearted protests. She scanned over it with a hum.

“You’re right,” she said with a firm nod, “no one wants to hire some washed up omega.” Steve gaped at her in shock and hurt, until Robin continued. “Good thing you’re applying, so they don’t have to!”

Steve scrunched his face up at her, sticking his tongue out. “Oh, shut the fuck up.”

“Oh, ho ho ho!” Robin said, squinting at the screen with a grin. “Looks like someone’s hiring a fulltime nanny and tutor!” she skimmed over the job ad and nodded firmly. “Apparently you’ll have to sign NDAs to work for them.” her eyes widened as she continued reading the advert. “And traveling? Sounds like exactly what you need. I’m sending your application to them.”

“What? Rob, no! I’m not done with my resum—” Steve scrambled to take the laptop from her.

“Too late!” Robin said, allowing the omega to take the laptop back.

“Robbie!” Steve whined, looking at the ‘thank you for your application!’ message that had popped up on the screen.

“What? You’ve been staring at your resume for like, six hours! It’s almost two in the morning!” she justified, feeling no remorse for pushing her friend to apply somewhere. “You weren’t going to do it, so I had to take matters into my own hands.”

Steve huffed and glared at her for a moment longer before looking at where she sent the application to. “Robbie, this looks like a perfect way to get trafficked,” he said flatly. “I mean, what kind of employer requires an NDA to be signed before they tell you who you’re working for?”

Robin shrugged, then leaned over and scrolled down to point out how much he could potentially make. “I dunno, but I’ll be with you every step of the way because that amount of money…” she whistled, flopping back into the couch.

Steve rolled his eyes, “Any place that requires an NDA probably won’t hire me, Robs. I’ve got no experience.”

“Yet!” Robin insisted, frowning at Steve. “No experience doesn’t mean you’re bad at it!”

“I could be! I don’t know!”

“You won’t be, dingus. Any pup will be better off if you’re their nanny.” Robin said in a rare moment of sincerity. Steve sighed and rolled his eyes fondly.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, but no less sincere. “Now help me pick a few other places to apply to.” he grumbled, knowing that Robin was right.

Someone would hire him, it was only a matter of time.

follow the tag #stuck in your throat or #siyt 🎤 to get notified when i post an update. i might do a tag list, but i make no promises because that seems stressful. i’ll only tag 18+ blogs, so either verify in the tags you’re 18+ or have it in your bio.

#steve harrington #robin buckley #eddie munson (eventually)#eventual steddie #steve x eddie #stuck in your throat #siyt 🎤#tw omegaverse #tw a/b/o #unsteddie writing

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margotw10bis · 6 months

Text

Crashing On Crush. JJK 2 [m]

crush!Jungkook x reader

Genre: smut; series; romance; angst

Words: 2.9k

Synopsis: What happens when your first encounter with your crush is Jungkook seeing your ass?

Warnings: sexual tension; alchool consumption; make out in public

previous ← 2 → next

"You're close. Just hold on a little bit more"

You have dreamt about those words coming from Jungkook's mouth. However, you thought you would hear them in the bedroom, during a hot roll in the hay. Not in the hallway towards your apartment door with Jungkook carrying you because you're feeling weak.

Skillfully, he takes your keys in your bag and opens the door. He quickly takes off his shoes before helping you with your heels. You really, really wanted to bring him to your place tonight but not in this situation... Why is fate so unfair to you?

Jungkook helps you to walk to your bedroom and gently drops you on your bed. You close your eyes for several reasons. First, to try to feel better. Secondly, to not think about the fact that your crush is seeing you like that. Thirdly, to stop imaging how tonight could have been so much better than this, you and Jungkook in the bedroom.

"Do you want a glass of water or something?" Jungkook asks

You grumble, sluggishly shaking your hand to say no. Right now, you just want to be alone and die in peace from the humiliation. From start to finish, tonight was a catastrophe.

"Okay" Jungkook finally says after a few minutes of silence. "I give you my number, please call me if you're feeling bad, or if you need anything"

He grabs a little post-it pad and writes down his phone number before putting it on your nightstand. With a last worried glaze, he leaves.

———

Two weeks have passed since your first encounter with Jungkook. You kind of hoped this embarrassing night would have put an end to your stupid crush but it didn't. It is even worse now. You just keep waiting for an Instagram notification of a new post. And you keep thinking about his body pressed against yours at night, in your bed. And that leads to a harden arousal that can only go away with an orgasm you provide to yourself while you imagine his hand instead of yours on your wet pussy.

You never felt like that about a man. Of course, some of them like your ex-boyfriends excited you but never this much. You've never been so wet for someone, and Jungkook hasn't even touched you. At this point, you just hope you'll meet some guy who will take care of your horniness but you know you'll think about your crush all along.

The end of the school year and the fact that you have passed most of your exams now give you too much time to think - or more overthink - the situation.

Thankfully, starting today, your mind will be occupied: you finally begin your new job. This job in a famous art gallery in Seoul will be a great point on your resume and will definitely help you in a few weeks when you graduate with a master's degree in Cultural Business. To make a good first impression, you are wearing a brand new outfit: a light pink blouse and a white pencil skirt. You look professional and maybe a little sexy too, which boosts your confidence. And you really need it since you are stressed.

The building is very modern and it's clear that you are in an artistic place: the architecture is signed by a famous contemporary designer. The huge and minimalistic lobby is fancy and you feel quite impressed by it. But you don't have time to admire your new work place because a handsome, tall, blond haired man with glasses welcomes you.

"Hi! I'm Kim Namjoon, nice to meet you. I'm the assistant of the owner" His voice is deep and warm and you can't help blushing from his good-looking. His smile is so cute with his dimples.

"Hi, I'm Y/N. Thanks for hiring me. It's a great opportunity and I'm willing to prove you you made the right call"

"I have no doubt. Follow me, I'll introduce you to the team and I'll show you around so you can get familiar with the gallery"

And just like that, he walks you around everywhere: the two large exhibition halls, the staff lounge, the administration offices and the storage where some of the art pieces are safely kept for the next exhibitions. You are very impressed with the logistics. Of course, you had studied these things in college but it was theoretical. It's so different to experience it.

Then, you meet your new colleagues and you immediately feel good. Everyone seems so nice and is really careful about making you feel at ease. Yep, you'll be happy working here.

"Hi Giiirl! Let's celebrate your first day! Tonight, at 8? Danbam? 🥂" You smile reading Suzi's text message. She is your number 1 fan and she always makes your big - or little - accomplishments count. Thinking about how lucky you are to have her in your life, your heart is wrapped with love. Indeed, your first - and so good - day deserves to be toasted. And there is no better place than your and your best friend's HQ: Danbam bar in Itaewon.

At 8 sharp, you enter the bar. The nice and not too loud music immediately puts you in the mood. You don't take long to spot Suzi at your usual table. When she sees you, she smiles widely and hugs you.

"How is my favorite boss girl?"

"She is tired but so happy to see you" You answer with a laugh

You and Suzi don't waste time and order your drinks. She asks you questions about everything: the place, the people, the artists, ... She is so invested, just like she would be with her own career and you can't help but tell her, for the hundredth time, that she is the best-est best friend in the world.

"Well, keep that in mind then because I have a surprise for you"

You don't like her tone. She is plotting something and you know by experience that you won't like it. You know she means well but Suzi is a whimsical and unpredictable person so her 'surprises' can easily turn into chaos. This one is not an exception.

Your best friend looks over your shoulder and you turn around to discover - with anxiety - what she has planned. And oh-my-god. You choke on your spit when your eyes meet Jungkook and all his glory. He is not alone though: Taehyung is by his side but you barely notice him. The only thing you see is your crush. He looks so damn hot with his oversized black t-shirt that allows his tattoos to show and his black cargo pants. If handsomeness could kill, you'd be dead by now. His long hair is shiny and fluffy, you want to run your fingers in it.

You just have time to pull yourself back together before the two guys arrive at your table. You bow timidly and take a swig of your cocktail. You glare at Suzi, saying through your eyes how betrayed you feel. She responds with a half-apologetic half-teasing look.

"So, Y/N" Jungkook speaks after order his drink "Suzi told us you started a new job. How is it?"

"It's really nice" Your voice sounds so unsure, you clear your throat. "The place is very beautiful and everyone is very kind with me. I'm glad to work there"

"Congratulations then!" Jungkook exclaims, clinking your glass with his own that has just arrived.

———

You don't really know how it happened but with the alcohol blurring your mind, you didn't notice Suzi and Tae leaving, leading to a one-on-one with Jungkook. Suzi might be your best friend but right now you hate her. The silence between your crush and you is so embarrassing. You still don't know how to act with him. However, you know that your current mouth shut is no help.

"So, uhm, Jungkook" you start, unsteady. "Where do you work?"

Yes, just like you haven't stalked him on Instagram. You know exactly what's his work: graphic designer.

"I'm a freelance graphic designer" You notice how his doe eyes sparkle with passion. "I have some good partners now so I'm not as stressed as at the beginning. It's more settled now. Maybe I can show you some of my works on Instagram?"

Oh boy.

You gulp loudly. You've seen his work. A lot of times actually. But there is no way you'll confess that so a weak 'sure' escapes your lips. Your heart raises its pace when Jungkook moves his seat closer to you. Your shoulders almost touch each other's. He takes off his phone from his pocket and opens the well-known app. He scrolls through his profile, explaining the concept or telling you an anecdote about each project. However, you can't really focus on his words when you feel the heat of his body irradiating. And that's what explains your sudden heating for sure and definitely not the fact that you are imagining yourself riding his strong thighs while kissing his pretty lips passionately.

"Are you okay?"

Jungkook's concerned voice rips you off from your fantasy.

"I-I'm okay" You finish your drink to cool you down because, Lord, you're burning.

You look up at him and you are destabilized by his intense glance. He smacks his lips and the movement catches your eyes. You stare at his pulpy pretty mouth. It must be so soft. It must feel so good.

"Do you want to kiss me?" Jungkook asks

Your lips parted due to the surprise. Maybe he is trying to joke because he feels you tensed but he is not joking. He is goddamn serious. And even if you were a good liar - which you are not -, the blush of your cheeks would deny your words.

"I-No, I don't want it" Your voice is a whisper. Especially when Jungkook is getting closer.

His face is now only a few inches away, you can even feel his breath on your skin.

"But I think you do"

"I..."

You don't know what to say because yes, you fucking want to kiss him. The simple thought of it starts your arousal and you feel your panties slowly getting wet. Anyway, you don't have to think about it because the sexiest man you've ever met closes the distance between you and kisses you.

He kisses so fucking good. His lips are soft, warm but the cold little metal of his piercing is like a delicious prickle of extra pleasure. It's not a chaste kiss but it's not an outrageous French kiss. It's the perfect center between the two and it's really, really good. It's so good that you can't help a little moan. Jungkook smirks when he hears it: what a beautiful music to his ears. It makes him want to kiss you deeply, just to hear it again. Your instinct controls your hands that grab the back of his head, not really to pull him closer but to feel more of him than his lips on yours. You feel his smooth hair, it's delightful. Jungkook's hands don't stay static either: his left arm grabs your waist to pull you closer - if that is even possible - while his tattooed hand delicately caresses your cheek. This is the best kiss of your life.

Jungkook's kiss conveys his desire for you and it's so fucking hot. Knowing you attract him makes you wet. You press your thighs together to prevent the leaking from your pussy. A gasp of surprise escapes your lips, but is silenced by Jungkook's mouth, when you feel his arm going down to grab your ass. The fact that you are in public makes the scene so scandalous but also so arousing. A small part of you is filled with pride that this attractive man is kissing you.

The magical, dream-comes-true moment is shut down by your phone. You both grunt in disappointment when you pull apart. You check your phone with annoyance and internally curse at the person who dared to disturb this fucking good kiss.

However, the euphoria of Jungkook's pulp lips on yours is quickly put aside when you read the message:

"Hi Y/N. I'm sorry to bother you but we really need your help at the gallery. You remember when I told you that working in art business could be handful? Well, your first day will prove it to you: the artist who was supposed to exhibit next month withdrew. Can you come please? Namjoon".

Your heart beating with horniness is replaced by your heart beating with stress. You look up at Jungkook. His lips are shiny and red due to your harsh kiss and his long black hair is a mess, but you also notice the concern in his big eyes.

"I'm sorry, I have to go to work" You don't even recognize your hoarse voice, effect of the arousal in your body

"Right now?" Jungkook exclaims with a clear disappointment

"Yes I'm sorry. There are some problems, they need me..."

You are so frustrated but you also have no choice. You are not going just because it's your first day and you don't want to make a bad impression, but you are going because you do care about the gallery and you are not willing to let your kind colleagues dealing with it alone.

"I'll drive you" Jungkook offers

Your cheeks redden. "Cute" Jungkook thinks. Gosh, he loves so much seeing how you physically respond to his actions. This kiss was one of his best ones. Your little moans turned him on, especially because he knew some other guys have seen and heard the way you two kissed. He can't help but feel possessive towards you. When you stood up earlier to go to the restroom, he knew he wasn't the only one to look at your beautiful ass in this tight white skirt. All your outfit is hot, he wishes he could work with you just to fuck you dressed like that. You look like a good girl he wants to do naughty things to and the fact that some guys looked at you the exact same way makes him mad. He has never been the jealous type but now, his cockiness is fully satisfied: the other men think you are his.

"Thank you, Jungkook. Let's go then"

You stand up and are ready to leave but Jungkook grabs your wrist.

"Can, uhm, can you wait just a few minutes?" He stammers

"Is everything okay?" You ask him, worried

"Yeah, yeah. It's just that..." He is groping for words, not wanting to be too crude. "I can't stand up right now"

He indicates his crotch with his eyes. When your own look down at the so-called area, they widen: there is a clear bulge. You'd dare to say a huge bulge. You blush even more by the sight of it but you also feel the wetness between your legs. You try not to think about how big Jungkook must be and how much you would like to feel him inside you.

So you just sit back down and send a message to Namjoon to tell him you'll be there in few minutes. While waiting for Jungkook's cock to... set down, you try to have a normal conversation with him. You don't know if you're released or disappointed that your crush doesn't seem to care much about the hottest moment of your life. He just keeps talking like nothing happened. Is this normal for him? Does he kiss a lot of girls like that? Because you surely don't and you kind of thought it was special... You hide your sadness behind a smile and thankfully, Jungkook tells you that you are good to go.

You're not surprised with Jungkook's car. His black Mercedes AMG matches his style. But you do feel a little intimidated by the vehicle. It looks so expensive and sporty. You're afraid to scratch the door... The interior of the car is breathtaking: all leather with blue and purple led lights. You spend the whole ride examining all the details. By the way Jungkook is speaking about his car, his 'Mimi' like he calls it, you can see how proud he is about it. And he definitely can. He explains to you that it was his dream car and that he saved all the money that he could when he started to work to buy it. You listen to him, a tender smile on your face that Jungkook can't see because of the night.

He pulls over on the parking lot and you both get out of the car. He walks you to the entrance.

"Thank you so much for the ride Jungkook. If you haven't been there, I would have had to take the bus"

"You're welcome"

You see him hesitate, looking at his feet. You can't guess that, in his head, Jungkook is wondering if he should kiss you goodbye or if you'd find it too intimate. However, he doesn't have time to decide since he sees a tall blond guy coming to you.

"Y/N! You're here, thanks God!"

Jungkook frowns when he watches you smile softy at the guy. 'Who is he?' He wonders. There is no doubt that the feeling squeezing his heart is possessiveness, he has just felt it few minutes ago in the bar when he was kissing you.

"Well, good luck Y/N" he finally decides to say

"Thanks, see you soon!" You hide your disappointment with a smile and wave him good bye. You wished he'd kiss you or hug you.

"Is he your boyfriend?" Namjoon asks when Jungkook is back in his Mercedes

"Jungkook? No, not at all" You blush.

Trying to cover your red cheeks with your hands, you don't notice Namjoon's slight relief.

Your mind is filled with questions after the kiss. Jungkook is not your boyfriend, for sure, but you did make out with him. In public. Eventually, you're glad to spend most of the night working because you won't have to think about what this kiss fucking means.

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#bts jungkook #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts #jungkook #jjk #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jeon jungkook #fanfic

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marsxcutie · 15 days

Text

Fixation│Jonathan Crane x Reader

Part two here <3

Fixation Masterlist

A/N: This is a TEST, PLEASEE interact if you're interested in this story line and I will gladly continue. This is my first fanfic so I'm just publishing this first part to see if there's any positive feedback! Suggestions are welcomed!

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x Female Reader

Synopsis: (Y/N) is Arkham's new lead psychologist in the developing acute pediatric unit. Dr. Crane soon becomes fixated on the pretty young doctor. Is she just as fixated on him?

Warnings: no warnings in this part, planning on it becoming a little dark if that's what the people want hehe

Dr. Crane's eyes scanned over the email, his brow furrowing in confusion. Arkham decided to build another wing for an acute pediatric unit? Who in their right mind allowed this? Yes, there was a desperate need for children's psychiatric services, especially in Gotham, but to put children in the same building as psychopaths and murderers? Even Dr. Crane had the common sense to see how bad of an idea this was. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, this was not a change that he had been anticipating. He shut his computer off, deciding to be done for the day. He had much more pressing matters that needed his attention.

Your eyes scanned over the email, eyebrows raised at the seemingly amazing opportunity presenting itself to you. You had just checked your emails to see a new message from a job recruiter.

"Hello (Y/N),

Arkham Asylum is opening up an acute pediatric unit and is currently accepting applications for various positions. I got ahold of your resume and found it very impressive. Please take a look at the open positions and let me know if you were interested in applying for any of them.

Hope to hear from you soon.

James"

Attached to the email was a link, that took you to all the open positions and their job descriptions. Scanning over all of them briefly, one in particular caught your attention:

LEAD PEDIATRIC PSYCHOLOGIST

TWO WEEKS LATER

The sound of your kitten heels clacking on the pavement stopped suddenly as you were met with the front of the large ominous gate. You looked up at the building beyond the gate, a knot beginning to form in your stomach, this place looked a lot scarier than you had remembered. You let out a breath that you seemed to be holding and looked around for a buzzer or something that could someone of your presence. You jumped at the loud creaking noise that came from the gate as it swung open slowly.

"(Y/N)! Nice to see you made it in one piece."

A man stepped out from the opening of the gate, extending his hand. "I'm Rick, Arkham's executive director. I'll be showing you around and getting you settled, we're happy to have you here." His voice was gruff but his eyes were quite kind. You took his hand in yours, giving him a warm smile, "Nice to meet you Rick. I'm happy to be here." He gave you a smile and turned, gesturing you to follow him.

You followed him, taking in your surroundings as you walked. The grey overcast made the large vast building look like something out of an old horror film, the tall weeds poking out in the cracks in the cobblestone really added to the creepy scene laid out before you.

Rick led you inside, giving you a quick tour of the building. "I'll show you to your office now and let you get started with your training." Rick led you up a flight of stairs and down a hallway stopping at an office door. "So uh, since we haven't exactly finished building the pediatric wing, your office will temporarily be over here." You nodded, "That's fine by me."

He brought out a key from his pocket, turning the lock and opening the door for you. You stepped into your new space, it was a good sized space, with a large white desk, a couch, and some bookcases.

"Feel free to make yourself at home. I will let Dr. Crane know you're here, he will be doing most of your training with you. His office is actually right next to yours so should be pretty convenient for the two of you." Rick gave you a smile and nod and closed the door behind him.

You let out a small sigh, looking around the room, even though this was only your office for a short while it was still a good way to envision all your ideas for a cute and cozy space for you and your patients.

A loud knock on the door broke you out of thought, your head turning to the now open door. Your mouth unintentionally dropped open a bit at the sight of who you assumed was Dr. Crane. You were honestly expecting an old man not someone like Dr. Crane. His dark hair framed his handsome face perfectly and his intense eyes were the most perfect shade of blue. Your eyes flickered to his lips and you'd be surprised if he didn't notice the blush that covered your cheeks.

"You're (Y/N) I presume?" He smiled softly at you, extending his hand to you. "Y-yes, nice to meet you, Dr. Crane." You took his hand in yours, feeling silly at the flutter in your chest. "Call me Jonathan."

#Jonathan Crane x Reader #Scarecrow x reader #Jonathan Crane #batman

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bonkhrnyjail · 4 months

Text

sweet plum | chapter four

masterlist | pinterest board | spotify playlist

pairing: pedro pascal x fem!reader (plus size)

rating: mature (will become explicit in the future)

warnings: mentions of alcohol/drinking, mild mentions of weight discrimination

summary: a late night facetime turns into a midnight adventure

a/n: well shit yall. thank you for all the love on what i've posted so far. the validation is like crack for my stupid little dopamine deficiency. and strap in for a slow burn. also, i want to note, you definitely don't have to live in a bigger body to enjoy this story. give it a try if you're on the fence. <3

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“Leave me alone,” you whine at Bella, their shrill laughter crackling from your shit-quality phone speakers.

They continue to poke fun at you for watching Bridgerton for the fourth time in the past few months. Work has been painfully slow, and you have to wait until after the premiere to take on any other big projects. With your NDA, you can't exactly put the best job you've ever booked on your resume until the show is aired.

You continue to defend yourself, huffy and stern, glaring at them through your camera lens.

“I love a slow burn romance… it’s not my fault.”

“I know you do,” Bella mumbles in a somewhat accusatory tone, chuckling to themselves with a shake of their head.

“Excuse me?” you question, a palpable underlying meaning to the statement clear as day. "That felt pointed."

“Pfft, it's nothing,” they quip with a jovial eye roll.

“No, no, please. Enlighten me.” you playfully push, somewhat perplexed by their vagueness.

“I mean… you—”

Bella gets cut off by the familiar notification sound of someone joining the call.

Pedro’s face appears massive on the screen, his head propped up against a pillow on his green leather couch. His hair is completely disheveled, sticking straight to the heavens on the left side. He smiles, beamingly, the majority of his pearly teeth on vivid display.

“So this is what happens when I don’t see you for a few months," you jest.

“Got drunk, slept face first on the couch. I just woke up,” he explains, his voice cloaked in a thick rasp, clearly still acclimating to his consciousness. “But you’re right regardless. I am a bed-headed disaster without you.”

A fantasy floats into your head, you helping him tame his unruly mane in the morning, planting soft kisses along his forehead with every huffy groan, denying every whine and protest to return with you to the bed.

“You need to hire her as a live-in,” Bella jeers, “It’s really… really bad.”

The three of you chat for a while, weaving in and out of conversation topics with lubricious ease. Embarrassing moments, family memories, recalling inside jokes from your days in Canada, the leisure of it reminds you of how effortless it is with them. Your incessant laughter burns your stomach as tears prick the corner of your eyes.

“One time, my mum and I went to a dairy farm and the baby calves would not stop sucking on my fingers,” Bella recounts, wiping the tears from their eyes. “I tried to put my hands in my pockets but they started going for the pockets too. I eventually had to run away and they kept trying to chase me.”

“That sounds like a dream! I'd love to go to a dairy farm,” you exclaim, puppy-eyed with a gentle pout. “Cows are my favorite animal, you know.”

“Let's go to a dairy farm then,” Pedro blurts in.

You scoff, taken aback by his offer.

“With your schedule? Please.”

“Oh hush, I’ll always make time for you.”

Your breath hitches.

He'll always make time for you?

The call falls silent for a moment, your mouth falling open as you process the sentiment. You examine his expression, sincere and warm and ever-so-slightly bashful, and the sight of it sends blood rushing to the apples of your cheeks.

Bella’s eyes widen as their lips curl inward, cheeks blowing out to stifle a giggle.

“Alright! Well… I gotta go... early day tomorrow. I love you both!”

They blow a kiss to each of you and disconnect from the call before you can say goodbye.

An uncomfortable air of silence hangs between the two of you, still heavy and unnerving despite the miles separating you. You chuckle to yourself on instinct, just to create some sort of noise to cut through the tension.

“Are you still drunk?” you inquire.

It’s heavily rumored that Pedro is an obvious flirt under the influence. You’ve heard the stories of him, teasing and lightheartedly flirting with the cast and crew after a couple of drinks. Stupid, corny comments and lots of touching with no clear intent behind it. Maybe that's what he's doing, maybe it's just an offhand sentiment, a product of his lingering intoxication.

“I don’t know… I don’t think so. But I did drink almost an entire bottle of wine, and that was only 6 or so hours ago.” He runs a hand through his scraggly, unkempt curls. “Why?”

The compiling list of questions run circles in your head as you attempt to formulate some kind of comprehensible answer.

“I suppose… well... I was just…” you fumble, picking at your already tattered cuticles. “I guess I just want to…. Were you serious?”

“About what? Taking you to a farm?”

A half smile slowly appears on the left side of his lips, an expression of an almost amusement. Heat races to your cheeks in an instant.

“Of course I was," he responds, nonchalantly but with a genuine earnest. “I really like being with you. Farm or otherwise. Drunk or sober.”

A wave of goosebumps erupts across your skin like a forest fire. You instinctively clench your fists to bear through the surging sensation in your chest, the feeling somehow distressing and euphoric at the same time.

You decide to play along, push a little further, despite your better judgment.

“So, if you could choose anywhere to take me, where would we go?”

You lay your head back on the pillow behind you and hold the phone high above your head. The senseless part of you carefully angles a peek of cleavage in the bottom left corner, just enough to hopefully warrant a quick glance.

And glance he does.

Not once, but twice. The first one is almost instinctual, like a natural reaction to something new and foreign coming into his line of sight. You see his eyes widen slightly and immediately dart back up to meet your gaze. He smiles, a nervous smile, and reaches a hand up to run his thumb along the wiry salt and pepper of his jaw.

Now, the second glance is definitely intentional. As his eyes lower, his smile falls into slightly parted lips. It’s akin to gawking, the way his eyebrows raise and his pupils explode. You watch as his fingers curl and press deep into his jawline as he takes a small portion of his lower lip into his teeth and bites.

Seconds pass, achingly slow, and he seems to be entirely elsewhere.

Suddenly his body jolts and his eyes return to yours once more, a flustered pink painting his cheeks. You can feel a prickly heat spreading down your neck and across your chest, a plethora of contradicting thoughts and feelings bouncing rapidly in your head.

"Well, it’s hard to pick just one," his thick fingers lay flat against his cheekbone as he ponders. "There’s quite a few I’ve thought of showing you.”

You curl your toes as another surge of anxious excitement obliterates your nervous system.

“Well, how about a top three then?"

After about ten seconds of deep pondering, his eyes light up.

“There’s this juice place that I’ve been really liking. They have a fruit juice with plum in it, it made me think of you. I bet you’d like it.”

You ball the sheet beneath your hand into your fist, your knuckles surely painted white with the sheer force of it. The thought of him… thinking about you, wanting you to be there with him, makes you ache with pure adoration. You’ve had daydreams like that hundreds of times, trips for coffee or takeout, holding hands, sharing the little things, weaving your way into each other's lives.

“I definitely want to take you to my favorite deli in New York. I still can’t believe you’ve never had a fuckin’ bagel sandwich. That’s just… just wrong.”

The memory floats into your mind; The gasp that left his mouth when you told him was damn near cartoonish. He lectured you for at least five minutes straight as you tried not to laugh, your lips pressed tightly together, tears welling at the corners of your eyes.

“And definitely Spain. I just feel like you’d blossom there. It’d be beautiful to see. Plus, I miss it. If it weren’t for work I’d stay there forever.”

The statement hangs in the air for a bit, not in a stale and brooding way, but more like a wispy cloud passing between you. Your mind goes still and is washed clean with a warm, velvet enchantment.

All of your useless anxieties melt under the gentle heat of his unwavering gaze, his words so tender, so utterly astonishing to hear from the mouth of a man. It’s often hard to believe that he’s real, like somehow everything you’ve ever wanted in a lover and friend came wrapped up in the Adonis masterpiece that is him.

The profound worry that plagues you, incessant since the day that the already precarious line between friends and lovers have been blurred, is really just a deep-rooted fear. Fear that you’ll lose him, fear that things will change, an irrevocable leap could irreversibly damage one of the most meaningful connections you’ve ever experienced. If you could just know what he is thinking, exactly what he is thinking, maybe the violent kick in your stomach that seems to accompany every flirtatious interaction with the man would finally leave you be.

Images of Spain waltz through your mind, of sundresses and fresh fruit, music, dancing, exquisite wine and food to die for. Bare feet sinking into warm sand, Pedro trailing close behind you with a camera in hand, capturing you as you blossom.

“Those all sound really, really lovely," you gush, allowing the grin that’s been repeatedly tugging at the corners of your lips to grow wide and toothy across your face. "I’ve always wanted to go abroad. Hey, if you ever need a hairdresser overseas, you know who to call.”

You catch a glimpse of yourself on your screen, your eyes twinkling and a soft glow washed over the apples of your rounded cheeks. You look positively enamored, entirely lovestruck, and you honestly couldn't care less.

“Where do you want to go most in the world?” his voice softens further as he rests a hand on his cheek, cozying himself against the arm of the couch.

The phone is inches from his face, likely because he misplaced his glasses, as he so often does. His eyes have that slight downturn, the innermost part of his brows raised slightly upward and inward, his irises catching every glint of the headlights passing by his window. The movement of the sparkle, along with the rich chocolate hue illuminated in its presence, leaves you struggling to form a coherent sentence.

“I... I think..." you stutter, closing your eyes for a few seconds to collect your thoughts. "I think I'd want to go to Greece. It’s a bit ridiculous, but I had a phase in my childhood where I was completely obsessed with Greek mythology. There are so many things I want to see there. And the photos I’ve seen… I just really want to experience that energy. It looks like it has a kindness to it, I can’t really explain what I mean by that... I just can feel it, you know?”

“You don’t have to explain, I know what you’re saying. Things are more gentle there," He speaks softly, his eyes decorating themselves with delicate crinkles and lines as his lips curl into an upward crescent. "The energy honestly kind of reminds me of you. Your… lightheartedness.”

“You think I’m gentle? And lighthearted?” you let out a hearty laugh, entirely spurred by your surprise.

You’ve never viewed yourself that way, at least from the outside looking in. Most of your life you've felt very coarse, gentleness not ever coming naturally to you.

When you grow up in a larger body, every single thing you do feels too big, too clumsy, too loud, every action feels like it should be followed up by an apology for simply existing. The world tries its darnedest to shrink you, to diminish your presence and lock you into a cage of shame, the only key to escape being a success in the pursuit of thinness. You’ve done endless internal work to break free from that prison, to allow yourself the freedom to be yourself unabashedly and throw a middle finger to the consequences.

But you have to admit, a part of you has always wanted to feel delicate.

It’s not that you want to shrink yourself, it’s quite the opposite. You want to be utterly yourself, and you want someone to actually see the gentleness that lives there. Through all the noise, the rowdiness, the bellowing laughter. Through the rough exterior, you want someone to find the soft woman that lives inside of you and love her delicately.

“Yes!” Pedro exclaims with wide, passionate eyes. “Well, not in a way that indicates weakness. No, you’re definitely a powerful woman."

His irises shift up, searching for words as he continues to play with his beard.

"You don’t let the world harden you. Your gentleness is resilient to… bullshit, I guess. You stay open. And not only that, but you stay playful too. Lighthearted. I admire that about you."

The words land like a grenade to the chest, the sensation coursing through your body completely unfamiliar. It’s almost agonizing, yet completely painless. Your veins must be vibrating, and you can hear the whoosh your blood flowing to and from your heart as it knocks violently about your ribcage.

You instinctively deflect as you attempt to bear through the absolute tsunami of emotions currently drowning you.

“P! Jesus, please!" you let out a fake gag, then another, speaking between each retch. "Too... many... compliments."

His hearty laugh booms through your shitty iPhone speakers, the sound of it crackling through the phone causing you to break from your performance, your unruly cackle echoing off the walls of your room. You only egg him on as he laughs harder and harder, eventually nothing but a wheeze escaping from his lungs. Your stomach burns as tears start to roll down your cheeks, and every attempt at steadying yourself only results in you completely losing it again.

You finally catch your breath, doubled over and clutching for dear life at your abdomen.

“I’ve missed you.” he mumbles through a heavy breath.

“I… I’ve missed you too.” you whisper back, just audible enough that you’re certain he can hear.

An inquisitive expression washes over his face, before he springs into an upright position.

“Well, we’ll have to do something about that then. Are you hungry?”

Does he mean… now?

“I mean… I could eat. Why?”

“If I come and get you, will you go get a burger with me? I’m having a craving.”

A pang of excitement explodes in your belly. Shit, of course you need to change, tame the current state of your hair, and honestly you could even use a shower. Some of the particularly heated scenes in Bridgerton caused you to break a sweat.

And, there’s no way in hell you’re going to let Pedro pick you up in his half-drunken state.

“I’m not letting you drive wine drunk, P. I’ll come get you," you announce, surprising yourself with your sudden assertiveness. "Send me your location, I’ll see how far you are from me.”

You suppose your tendency to take care of others triumphs over your jitters in this moment.

“Um… I… don’t... think I know how to do that.” he furrows his eyebrows with confusion as he focuses diligently on his screen.

Old man.

You’re able to walk him through it, but not without a proper teasing that he doesn’t know how to use his phone.

“Oh, ok, you’re like 25 minutes from me. I can swing that.”

You wonder if he can see through your facade, your pressed efforts at being nonchalant. Because truth be told, you’d drive for hours if he asked.

“Be ready, ok? I’ll see you soon.”

. . . . .

You’ve never gotten ready that fast in your life. You were able to assemble your hair into messy-yet-stylish fashion, apply a speedy coat of mascara and brow gel, spritz yourself with a subtle perfume and throw on an "I was just planning on sleeping in this" yet cute outfit. All in roughly… five minutes?

Now you’re dangling out of your car, throwing things about so Pedro can actually sit on the passenger’s seat. You’ve managed to wrangle up all of the various empty coffee cups and receipts floating around on the floor, and you cross your fingers that with the seat all the way back he'll have enough leg room.

He’s seen your car plenty of times, seen the mess that always seems to accumulate despite weekly clean outs, but he's never actually been inside. For some reason it feels very personal to drive him somewhere, to let him inside your car though you're sure he's used to far more luxurious modes of travel. But alas, here you are preparing to pick him up, and it makes you so nervous that your hands tremble.

You finally sink down into the velour fabric behind the wheel and select a playlist to keep you company. You choose the one with the most songs you can sing along to, anything to release an ounce the unidentifiable buzz swarming through your veins.

You can't help but chuckle at yourself, the fervid state of your mind and body absolutely laughable in its dramatics. Yes, of course you’re excited to see him in person. There are so many little things you miss. It’s been almost four months since you've heard the roar of his bellowing laugh in person. You miss the weight of his palm stabilizing himself on your shoulder as he crashes his head into you, the sounds escaping his throat akin to that of a tea kettle that's reached a boil. That was often a daily occurrence, the two of you overcome with giggles, holding on to each other for dear life, unable to catch your breath or maintain any sort of upright posture. You miss the morning coffee runs that left you scrambling for time while Pedro innocently sipped his six-shot monstrosity of a beverage, knowing full well it was his fault because he needed his espresso. You miss the feeling of his hair, how it would glide along your hands, intertwined in your fingers, yours to bend and mold in exactly the way you needed. You miss how he'd soften and slouch under your touch when you'd softly massage his scalp, how his shoulders would sink and his head would roll about like it was attached by an overcooked noodle. You miss the way his scent would fill the trailer and linger slightly after he would leave, the air laced with spice and wood and leather…

You sing to distract yourself, tapping complex rhythms on the back of the steering wheel with considerable force, trying to channel your giddy quivering out of your body through the tips of your fingers. The headlights of the cars in front of you shine and splinter in your vision like a supernova, and it soothes you just a bit, just enough to stop visibly shaking.

Somehow you arrive to the pin Pedro sent you in once piece. You haphazardly park on the dimly lit street and bounce your knee endlessly as you wait. You give yourself one more mist of perfume, the sweet scent wafting through the air in the car.

You need to just get a fucking… grip...

A loud bang jolts every bone in your body, your heart nearly leaping through the bones of your sternum and onto the black leather of the dash. Your head snaps to the left to see two flat palms and a thick pair of foggy black frames pressed up against the driver’s side window.

Idiot.

You open your door to hear his proud laughter echoing down the empty street. Before you can berate him, he pulls you into a tight hug, his strong hands grasping at the softness of your hips. The two of you spin around in the street, your arms still wrapped around each other, your legs doing something resembling a waddle back and forth. A prickly warmth spreads throughout you, radiating from the very center of your chest.

He pulls away to examine you, his palm resting gently on your right shoulder, where it seems to fit just perfectly. His smile softens as your eyes meets his, the street lights creating a freckled glimmer in his deep brown irises.

“I should punch you for scaring me like that,” you murmur, feeling suddenly bashful under his unwavering gaze, fixed on you like you’re the only other person in the world.

“You should, but you won’t,” he winks and gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Now come on, I’m starving.”

He opens the driver’s side door for you with a satisfied grin and guides you into the car, his hand resting gently on the small of your back. His fingers shift, slipping just beneath the hem of your shirt and brushing against your bare skin.

Your knees nearly buckle.

You grip the steering wheel as you lower yourself into the seat and squeeze, straining to bear through the sudden panging need in lower belly. Jesus, you’re far too touch-starved for your own good.

Pedro slams his body weight into the passenger’s seat, causing your car to bounce a few times from the recoil. You jokingly shoot him a look of disgust and he throws his head back, cackling and reaching over the console to smack you in the arm.

“God, just put the address in my phone you idiot!” you exclaim through your own chuckles. He snags your phone from your extending hand and begins searching on your maps app.

He has on his purple Laker’s shirt and some black athletic shorts. The shorts are the perfect length, showcasing just enough of his thigh to garner a bit of attention but not so much that you can't keep your focus elsewhere. He paired the outfit with striped socks and sneakers, an almost copy-paste of every casual outfit you've seen him in, very on-brand for his day to day. You once tried to explain the concept of being on-brand to Pedro, but he just went around telling everyone he was “serving brand” for about a week straight. You honestly regret ever teaching him about “serve” in the first place.

You start to drive, a quiet and comfortable hum falling over the two of you. Your music is still playing, so soft that it's barely audible over the growl of the engine. Pedro reaches to crank the volume, veins protruding on the back of his hand as he turns the knob gently.

“You know how much I love Fleetwood Mac,” he speaks in his low, growling baritone, his scent filling the air and mixing with your lingering perfume, creating a fragrance intoxicating enough to give you a head rush.

You take a beat before responding, transfixed by the width and curve of his fingers and the spiral of ink at the crux of his thumb.

“I know, I picked the playlist with my passenger in mind.”

“Well I won’t subject you to any singing,” he teases. “Since you’re such a music snob.”

“I am not!” You reach over and shove his shoulder. “I have a deep appreciation for good music, that doesn’t make me a snob.”

“Sure… says the girl who was critiquing my playlists every goddamn day.” he shoves you back, this time against your thigh.

“What playlists?! Purple Rain fifteen times in a row is not a playlist,” you jab.

An offended, dramatized gasp fills his lungs before he scoffs ostentatiously, prompting an immediate eye roll from your side of the car.

It’s truly like no time has passed since you last saw each other.

. . . . .

You plop down into a slightly cramped, cherry red booth in the back corner of a slightly shoddy, time capsule of a diner. The vinyl cushions are cracked and peeling, beige crumbles of the filling erupting from the openings and spilling over. You scoot in carefully, hoping to avoid causing any further damage.

When you'd pulled in to park moments ago, your knee-jerk reaction to the sight of the place was a look of genuine concern. The lot was packed with toxically masculine trucks and seemingly refurbished vintage vehicles, and a hoard of beefy, somewhat terrifying men crowded the entrance in a haze of flickering red light and cigarette smoke.

“Just, trust me, will ya? It’ll be the best burger you’ve ever had," he insisted, shooting a subtle wink and a flash of pearly teeth, glimmering off of the sole street light illuminating the entirety of the parking lot.

He sits down opposite to you, raising his hand to greet the waitress from across the counter with a quick wave. You catch sight of her as her remarkably wrinkled, heavily kohl-lined eyes brighten at the sight of him. Her cherry red lips spread wide across her bony, slightly sullen face. She whispers something to the line cook standing next to her, and then immediately hightails it over to your table.

“S'been a while since we’ve seen you, Mister Pascal, I was startin’ to worry you’d went n' forgot 'bout us! But I know you’re a busy guy n’ all, bein' Hollywood's latest and greatest.”

Her voice is steeped overnight in a viscous southern drawl. It’s so thick that it almost makes the words move slower from her mouth, like they’re coagulating on her tongue on the way out.

“Darlene,” Pedro reaches a hand to grab hers, a tinge of Texan twang tickling the vowels in her name. “You know I can’t stay away from you for too long. And you know better than to call me anything other than Pedro.”

He gives her hand a little squeeze and you watch as the woman melts under his touch. You really can't blame her.

“Now, who is this sweet thing?” Darlene cocks her head slightly in your direction, her eyes still fixed on the cocoa irises gazing back at her.

“This is my… friend,” Pedro smiles, glancing towards you as his dimple indents beneath the bristles of his scruff. “And coworker.”

“You n' actress, honey?” she diverts her attention to you, her head bobbing slightly with a palpable sass.

“Oh, no, a hairstylist actually,” you explain, inexplicably embarrassed by the implication. “That’s how we met. I did his hair for a more recent project.”

“She’s very talented.” he chimes in. “She managed to make me look like an old man!”

“Darlene, it was one of the easiest jobs I’ve ever had, I’ll tell you that much.”

Pedro attempts to take a jab at your shoulder from across the table, but you duck slightly at just the right moment, his hand colliding with shiny smooth cushion.

Darlene lets out a laugh, one that sounds more like a prolonged smoker’s cough than anything else. She takes down Pedro’s order, the usual, and after a solid minute of convincing from both parties, you decide to go with the same thing.

Darlene hurries back to the kitchen and leaves you with a hungry-eyed man studying your every move.

“I promise you’re gonna like it. You’re gonna love it. It literally melts in your mouth. Hey—”

He reaches quicker than you can dodge him and his thumb and index finger grab ahold of your chin, slightly squishing your lips together.

“Quit making that face at me! I’m serious, it's really good!”

Another waitress swings around the corner, dropping off a pot of potent smelling coffee and two mugs, medium-sized and a robin’s egg blue.

“Always good to see you, Pedro.” she speaks in a low rasp, deeper than you'd anticipated from her petite frame and soft features. Pedro shoots her a wink before immediately reaching for the coffee pot.

“I’ll get this in right away for y’all. Anything else I can getcha in the meantime?” Darlene questions.

Pedro meets your gaze as you shake your heads in unison.

“Y'all've a real cute, uh, friendship,” she speaks hesitantly, one of her pencil-thin eyebrows cocked up with suspicion and her ruby lips curled into a smirk. A soft chuckle lilts in her trail as she turns away from you and slinks back to the kitchen.

“This place feels like a fever dream,” you mouth in a hushed tone as you attempt to sip on the scalding coffee in front of you. “Is she… is Darlene real? She doesn’t seem real.”

“Like straight out of a time capsule, right?” he grins.

“How the hell did you find this place?" you question him as you glance around to people-watch, catching sight of the elderly biker couple to your right, decked head to toe in worn black leather, demolishing two double cheeseburgers with reckless abandon.

“An old agent of mine took me here a long time ago. Since I’ve been in LA so much, I just find myself drawn back here,” his disposition softens as he speaks. “Reminds me of home, I guess, I can’t put my finger on why.”

You listen intently as he chronicles stories of New York, letting your fingers unconsciously twirl through your hair, the nasty habit that always seems to return in his presence. It's easy to get lost in the way he muses on about his experiences, like his own trance pulls you along with him into his dream-like state. He speaks with effervescent detail, a syrupy adoration on his tongue with each word that leaves his mouth. You could listen to him talk for hours and hours, utterly entranced by the way he transports you into his world, the lull of his voice like a spoonful of honey.

“Jesus, I’ve been blabbing on and on," he reaches up a hand to scratch behind his ear, a nervous tick you’ve noticed he frequents. "Am I boring you?"

“No no no, hey, you're not boring me," You rest your hand gently on the table, resisting the urge to grab his fidgeting hand and steady him. “You've got a way with words, I honestly feel like I’m right there with you.”

With a brief inhale, his hand falls slowly until it rests atop yours. You silently gasp at the sudden sensation, his touch heedfully delicate as he caresses the back of your hand with his thumb. His eyes are fixed as he wraps the rest of his fingers around and settles them in the crook of your palm. The thump of his pulse echoes yours as he traces up from your knuckles and slowly back to the base of your wrist, drawing a perfect ellipse on your velvety skin, sending goosebumps to riddle every square inch of your body. As your gaze flutters, you catch a glimpse of his face, his lips parted slightly in complete transfixion. You bite down on the inside of your cheek at the sight.

“Alrighty y’all, I go-” Darlene clears her throat as you both jolt violently, your spines simultaneously snapping upright as your hands tear apart. “I… got your burgers here. Just holler if ya need anythin' else.”

She smiles sweetly, a slight smugness tugging at her expression.

An involuntary chuckle escapes you, responding unconsciously to the knotting discomfort you feel in growing in your stomach. You stare unwaveringly at the mass of burger sitting in front of you, cheddar cheese oozing down the sides of the thick patty and spilling onto the plate. The thick veil of tension lies stagnant between you as the knot pulsing in your stomach threatens to snap.

“I’m like… scared of this thing. It’s a bit of a beast.” you murmur uneasily.

“Definitely don’t eat the whole thing. I’ve made that mistake… more than once," he admits, cutting carefully through the gargantuan sandwich down the middle. "I’m honestly amazed I can still enjoy this considering what it’s done to my stomach in the past. Here—"

He reaches across the table, cutting yours into perfect halves with conscious diligence.

"S'a lot easier to eat this way."

A flush creeps across your cheeks, the same sentence repeating in your head like a skip on a broken CD.

Why does he have to be so fucking thoughtful?

. . . . .

“I can’t… breathe properly. It hurts.” Pedro blabbers as he trudges himself from the restaurant, his hand clutching at his stomach as he groans in pain.

“Girl, I warned you to stop after you ate the half!”

After a third and some of the fries you were toast, and you by no means have a small appetite.

“Do I need to help you to the car? Have we gotten to that point?” you manage through a bout of laughter.

“Leave me alone!” he grunts, nearly doubled over at this point, shuffling toward the car with visible strain.

You sling his arm over your shoulder despite his protests, and let him lean a decent amount of his weight into you.

“I look like I’m drunk off of my ass,” he mumbles in your ear as you approach the passenger door. You open it for him and gesture your hand.

“Don't worry princess, I'll get you home safe.” you quip through a teasing smile, almost immediately followed by a shrill cackle.

He gives you a protesting shove as he plops down weakly into the seat.

You don't really want to take him home. Part of you wants to just drive for hours, listen to more of his musings, keep teasing and laughing and wearing out the energy lingering from your multiple cups of coffee coursing through your system. Maybe you could park in an empty lot and watch the sun come up. You just want to be with him, stay with him, just a little while longer.

But you know him. He’s busy. Always busy. Press tours, talk shows, auditions, meetings, he's never not booked for some sort of event. And of course he's never well rested, a borderline insomniac, and you'll be damned if you keep him from the sleep you know he desperately needs.. You shove down your selfish desire and set course back to town.

“I’m takin’ you home, you poor thing,” you turn the key in the ignition and pop the headlights on, a wash of yellowish-white beaming over the vintage vehicles and motorcycles parked in front of you. "You really should be in bed anyways."

“You know I don’t need sleep,” he teases, his body slumped over and his head looming fairly close to your body. With a quick peek, you find him glancing longingly at your right shoulder, as if he is using nothing but sheer willpower to stay upright and not rest his head on your bare skin.

“It's alright,” you whisper in a moment of understanding. You pat your shoulder twice, lightly, hoping he’ll register what you mean. “Rest.”

His head crooks up at you, clearly surprised, but with a soft and sweetened gaze. It’s almost as if his eyes are saying “thank you” and “are you sure?” in the same puppy dog expression. You nod slightly, a reassuring smile curling the corners of your lips.

He lets the top of his head settle in the crook of your neck as his cheek rests gently on your shoulder, his scruff tickling at the skin there. The tension in his body is evident, the muscles in his neck stiff and straining and his hands gripped together tightly in his lap. Quickly you fish your phone from your pocket and scroll through your music, finding your "cheaper than xanax" playlist before turning out of the parking lot.

The two of you stay silent, but not an uncomfortable and brooding silence. It feels meditative, almost like a single word would eradicate the solace you’re sharing amongst the hum and glow of the golden street lights. Minutes pass and you feel his breathing start to slow and deepen as he finally allows the full weight of his head to sink into you. You quietly begin to hum along to the soothing song that is playing, unable to remember the last time you felt so at peace.

Because that’s the thing about Pedro. He feels like peace.

If you void all of the external factors, his hectic schedule, the blur of professionalism, the enigmatic feelings and moments of anxious uncertainty… none of it truly matters when it boils down to the core of who you are. You just fit together, inexplicably, undeniably, effortlessly. You can talk for hours, god knows, but quiet settles in just as easily, the pressure to perform completely eradicated in each other's presence. In moments like these, being with him feels like being wrapped in a warm comforter, fresh out of the dryer. You can just… be. He sees you, you see him, and you can take comfort in knowing the other is there, and no one is expected to break the silence.

He falls asleep by the end of the first song and stays dormant on your shoulder the whole drive home. Your chest starts to ache as you turn onto his street. The last thing you want right now is to watch him leave without any idea when you’ll see him again.

You give his hand a little shake and whisper his name into his ear. He groans softly and nuzzles into your skin, the prickle of his mustache tickling the delicate skin of your shoulder. You shake a little harder this time, more of a gentle shove. He inhales deeply as his eyes flutter open.

“You're home,” you speak softly.

He sits himself upright slowly, his hair vertical on the side he was resting against you. You unconsciously reach to smooth the mess for him, a habit you fell into after doing it so often in between takes during filming. He leans into your hand, ever so slightly, his eyes droopy and blinking sluggishly.

“I missed that, you know,” he admits, his voice laced with sleep. “You, fixing my… mess.” He motions to his tousled curls.

You missed it too, the way he would always hum deeply when your fingers ran across his scalp. You missed the way he would always say “Better?” once you seemed satisfied with the adjustment. He loved to tease your perfectionism, and especially loved to try and tousle your hair back.

You miss every minute.

“Me too,” you reply demurely. “Now, you better go to bed once you get upstairs. I won’t have your sleep-deprived grumpiness getting blamed on me.”

“We’ll see. I haven’t fallen asleep that fast in months. Twice in a row would be a miracle," he chuckles. He unfastens his seatbelt and lets out a deep, bellowing yawn. “Now, come give me a hug.”

You oblige through your slight haze, stepping out as he meets you by the driver’s side and wraps himself around you, his arms finding their familiar spot and his hands resting perfectly on the small of your back. You allow yourself to hang gently from his shoulders as you lightly nuzzle your nose into his neck, tipsy on the intoxicating scent of him.

You stay like that, for a moment, until Pedro places a small kiss on your temple.

The warmth of it lights you up in your entirety. You manage to untether yourself from him as you stomach does a flip, and then another, and another. When you meet his gaze, he smiles gently as he unravels himself from you, your arms falling to your sides, completely limp.

“Thank you for indulging me. I promise next time I’ll only eat half,” he laughs quietly to himself as he lazily paces backwards across the pavement. “Goodnight, sweet plum.”

“Goodnight,” you simper, your bones growing more flimsy with the passing of each second.

Every time he calls you that, sweet plum, you feel as though you could melt into his arms and he'd hold you like a puddle in his hands.

He turns away and walks towards the entrance to his building, but not without looking back to glance at you one more time. You offer a pitiful wave as he grins from ear to ear, waving again with a quick wink. You stay as he slips through the door, down the hall, and then he’s gone.

Through a sudden bout of dizziness, you manage your way back to the driver’s seat. You turn the key in the ignition, fasten your seatbelt, and start to drive away, a singular thought looping through your mind on repeat.

He kissed you. He kissed you. He kissed you.

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chapter five

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #plus size reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #the last of us

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