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writingsbychlo · 5 months

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IS IT NEW YEARS YET? | lorenzo berkshire

summary; you're not a huge fan of new years, since when was it all about couples, anyway? luckily, someone else is in the same boat.

word count; 6712

notes; this is completely unedited, it's bound to be riddled with mistakes. this is the second to last christmas fic, just my baby mattheo to go! I saved the best for last.

Sitting at the table, you did your very best to hide the scowl sitting on your face. Pansy had left you only a moment ago to dance with Luna, Astoria had pulled Draco away onto the floor ages ago, and Blaise was off flirting up a storm with every girl possible. Regulus was sulking at the bar with his brother, while Mattheo and Theo had long since snuck away to smoke and hide from the party.

That just left you. Sat alone at the table, trying not to get too drunk as you watched all the happy couples around you mingle. The Christmas period had always been so fun, but lately, it only seemed to be a holiday for couples. Which, really wasn’t fair, in your opinion. They already had Valentine’s Day, why the fuck did they need this one, too?

However, everything seemed to be spinning around kissing at midnight, and dancing, and romance, and Luna’s bag full of grapes, for whatever that was about. You’d tuned out when she’d begun explaining.

Glancing around the room in search of the only remaining member of your party who was unaccompanied, perhaps a little reprieve from the loneliness, you spotted Enzo near his parent's table. He looked, in a single word, uncomfortable. Scratching at the back of his neck, he wore a scowl, and while you couldn't hear over the loud music and chatter what he was saying all that distance away, it was clear that he wasn’t happy.

His mother glared at him, and his anger dimmed only a second, a flash of fear in his eyes, a bob of his throat, but he didn’t back down. Finishing off the last of your drink and standing, the sequins of your dress glitter under the lights, falling perfectly in the simple, floor-length dress you’d chosen for the evening.

As you wove through the bodies, heels clicking on the floor, you started to be able to pick out the deep rumble of his voice throughout the other conversations. He didn’t have a great relationship with his parents. Certainly, not as bad as others in the group, but strained He rarely wrote them, he only ever went home at Christmas and Summer, and they never came to visit. In almost a decade of knowing Enzo, you’d perhaps spoken to them three times, and once, was merely your introduction.

“I’m not going to date a girl I don’t know just because you think I ought to!”

Your brows furrowed, stilling momentarily as his words raced through your mind. Regulus’ parents had tried to set him up with someone recently too, only six months ago, they’d sent him letter after letter about the eligible girls from other noble families he could woo. You’d gone pale upon discovering your own name on the list, quite highly ranked, and Regulus had assured you that as much as he loved you dearly as a friend, he had absolutely no interest in pursuing you romantically. Nor, any of the girls on the list.

However, you hadn't expected Enzo’s parents to leap on him so fast. Your mother had been making some subtle comments about relationships lately, but nothing nearly so bold, not since your break-up. Enzo dragged a hand through his hair as he groaned, this conversation obviously wasn’t going in his favour, and you pitied him.

In a generous mood, you finished your walk, closing in by his side and putting on the charming smile that you knew could win over any adult or peer, with a few simple words and a bat of your lashes. Anyone, except, perhaps Enzo’s mother. Her eyes narrowed on you as you placed a hand on Enzo’s lower back, standing respectably by his side, by far closer than could be considered friendly, as you smiled up at him.

“Enzo, sweetie, Draco is looking for you.”

“Wh— What?” His brows pulled together, obviously confused, and you slipped your arm around his waist, settling in by his side.

“Lorenzo, who’s your friend?” His mother’s cold tone sliced through the space between you as his gaze scanned over your features.

“Hi, Mrs Berkshire.” You held your hand out offering your name, and she only hummed, shaking it loosely before returning her hand to her side, elegantly. “I’m Enzo’s… well, we haven’t quite figured out terms yet, have we? I’m his date tonight… at least, I hope?”

He did well to hide his flicker of surprise, before finally seeming to understand the aim of the game, his arm snaking around your body like a boyfriend might do, and curling you further into his side. “Of course you are, darling.”

“Well, that’s good to know.” Your giggle was far more high-pitched and sweet than usual, but the tension bled from his mother’s shoulders just a fraction, as she analysed the pair of you. For emphasis, Enzo leaned in to press a polite kiss to your temple, and you stretched your smile wider, like a happy girlfriend would. “I’m so sorry to have interrupted, I promised Draco I’d find you, and you left me all alone at the table. I was starting to miss you, but now I see you were doing something important. I thought perhaps you’d snuck away with the boys.”

The piercing gaze of his mother drilled into you, but you didn’t falter, or show any weakness. In your social circles, one cowering sign was just an opening for snapping teeth at throats, and you wouldn't give anyone such an opportunity.

“Why would you now simply tell us that you had a date, Lorenzo?” His mother eventually questioned, finally dragging her stare away from you and back to her son, and you felt like you could breathe again at last.

“Well, as you heard my girl say,” He murmured, stumbling only slightly over the words, and recovering them smoothly with a cough. “We haven’t settled on any kinds of labels yet. I didn’t want to be presumptuous, or too forward.”

“And how long have you been seeing one another?” She wasted no time, raising a brow.

“Just two months.” You smiled, and she flickered her sights to you for only a moment. “You raised a real gentleman, Mrs Berkshire. He’s been so patient and sweet, it can be so hard to find times between classes to see one another and spend time together. We’ve been taking it slow. I apologise if I come as a surprise to you tonight, that’s my fault. I asked Enzo not to write to you, because I haven’t told my own parents yet, you see.”

Leaning in to whisper your joke, as if you were passing secret information;

“My father can be a little over-protective, I wanted to spare Enzo, so I knew my father wouldn't scare him away.”

At that finally, a smirk broke on her lips. She made a vague sound of agreement, and you could feel your friend relax a little where your hand was rubbing his side, gently. “Well, I suppose I can understand that. Lorenzo, you may leave for now. But I do not expect to be kept in the dark on such matters again.”

Waggling a finger at him, he only nodded, eyes wide. “Of course, Mother. It won’t happen again.”

Leaning in to kiss her cheek, he gave a hurried goodbye, before steering you away with his arm still around you, and guiding you back toward the other side of the room. When you were far enough away he knew his parents wouldn't hear them, he let out a shaky laugh, and turned to look down at you.

“I don’t know if you’re brave, stupid, or both. Taking on my mother like that? Impressive, and also insane.”

“You have a funny way of saying ‘thank you’, Berkshire.” You tutted, and he only grinned. Dipping down, he kissed your cheek now, coming to a stop beside your table.

“Thank you, for saving me back there.”

“Well, you seemed like you needed a save.” You shrugged, his arm still looped around your waist, hand on your lower back, rubbing lightly as he looked around the room.

“You don’t have an actual date, right?” Leaning in, his breath brushed your ear, and you shuddered at the feel, “Because there’s a guy over there glaring at me like I kicked his dog.”

His fingers touched your cheek, guiding your gaze to casually follow where he had been looking. As your eyes fixed on the man on the other side of the dance floor, you hardly concealed a scoff. He wasn’t glaring, so much as staring with curiosity now that you were the one looking. He smoothed a hand up his girlfriend’s leg as she sat beside him engaged in another conversation, not noticing where his attention now lingered.

Turning your gaze away with a heavy sigh, your motions caused you to curl a little further into Enzo, who leant back enough to look down at you. “Is that the dickhead-ex that broke up with you in a letter a few months ago?” He whispered, and you could only nod, swallowing back the lump in your throat.

Over him, you might be, but that didn’t make it sting any less. You’d suspected for a while he might be cheating, based on how soon he’d moved on, how ingratiated into his social circles she seemed, but this was the first time you’d ever seen her.

She was pretty.

“That would be the one.” You replied, and Enzo only hummed, freeing his other hand from his pocket to tip your face up, an act that was far more intimate than any touch the two of you had ever shared. His thumb smoothed over your cheek, flicking a gaze back to the other side of the room and smirking slightly. “I don’t need to make him jealous, Enz. As much as I appreciate the sentiments, this is unnecessary.

It wasn't needed, but you couldn't deny it felt good. Felt good to be held again, to settle your hands on someone’s chest, to feel his steady heartbeat under your palm as he touched you so tenderly. “I know, but isn’t it nice? To make him see what he let go, to show him how you should’ve been treated. We’re stuck together all night anyway, might as well make it count for you too.”

“Why is it that we’re stuck together?” You murmured, scowling a little at his choice of words, even more so when he only chuckled. You both knew he didn’t mean it like that, but it felt better to channel a little bitterness than let in the hurt.

“My parents now believe we’re a couple. Your heroic act of saving me now has consequences.” He clicked his tongue, his hand smoothing down to your neck, thumb under your chin to force you to look up at him.

“I figured you’d sneak away to see the other boys once I got you out.”

“And abandon my doting girlfriend who comes to my rescue?” He gasped dramatically, shaking his head, and a small laugh fell from your lips. “I would never. So, what do you say? I’m in your debt, let me be your real date for the night. I promise I’m a fun date.”

“You don’t have to beg, Lorenzo. I’ll let you be my date.”

“Oh, you haven’t seen me beg yet.” He smirked, a wicked look glinting in his eye, before he stepped back from you. Slipping the hand from your waist to slip into your own, he grasped tightly. “How about we go and get a drink?”

“I have a drink.”

“A real drink. I hate champagne, and I know you do too.” He cringed at the sight of your half-drunk glass, and didn’t wait for an answer, beginning to lead you both through the party and towards the bar.

Settling in together, he pulled out a stool for you, tapping at the surface of it for you to sit on. When you shifted towards it, his hands settled on your waist, boosting you up to sit on it, and winking at the surprised sound that slipped free.

He flagged down the bartender with a quick wave, before stepping in closer to your side, his hand finding a home on your lower back once again. Your spine was stiff, and you tried to convince yourself to relax, mumbling your drink order to the waitress as she passed by and took them both.

Leaning back into his touch, he responded in kind, hand rubbing up and down your back softly, and turning to face you. Twisting your body on the stool, your knee bumped into his thigh, and your hand dropped to sit over the top of his on the bar before you.

“So, didn’t expect your parents to be pushing your impending marriage so hard.” You murmured, tracing a finger over the prominent veins and marks in his hand, along each finger, all the way to the tips until they twitched, before returning to the back of his hand. On one finger sat a prominent family ring, the Slytherin ring on his thumb, and a couple of varied bands stacked amongst the others. “How are you feeling?”

“I feel like I’m far too young to be considering marriage. I haven’t seen the world yet, I’ve never been in love. Not— Not that soul-shredding, intense kind of love. I want to experience that at least once. I want to pick my own wife.” He shook his head, casting you a downtrodden look, a pout on his lips. “Doesn’t seem like that’ll be in the playing cards for me.”

“You could always leave. After we graduate, we get to leave. Maybe you should just… run.”

He only raised a brow at you, shaking his head slightly. It was a stupid suggestion, really. There wasn’t a place he could go that he wouldn't be followed by the reputation of his family, of his magical status. Unless he were to give it all up, disappear as a muggle, and spend the rest of his life feeling like he’d chopped off a limb, or had a vital organ removed.

“Sorry. Dumb thing to say.”

“No, it was sweet. You were just trying to be comforting.” He whispered, and the drinks were placed down before you both. Pushing your drink to you with two fingers, you tapped them together gently, glass clinking, before taking a sip of your cocktail. “I might milk this little situation you’ve gotten us into for a while, though. Let my parents believe I’m courting you back at Hogwarts, and when we call it quits, I’ll be heartbroken. I’ll tell them I need time to get over you.”

Shaking your head with a small laugh, the sound brought a smile to his face.

“I’ll milk that one too. I reckon I can buy myself… at least a year, all in all.”

“Only a year, is that all my fictional love is worth?” You raised a hand to your chest, and he stepped even closer, playing into the act as his arm tightened around your waist.

“You’re right. You're the one. When you leave me, I’ll be devastated. I’ll never get over it. You’ll be my one that got away.” He gave a heavy sigh, a groan at the end of it, slumping slightly into the bar and only increasing his dramatics as you giggled. “Don’t leave me, I’ll be better! I’ll buy you more flowers, I’ll stop sleeping with my secretary!”

You were gathering odd looks at his declaration, an older couple behind you tittering disapprovingly but you didn’t care. Not as he straightened back up, standing closer to you still, and smiling at you so widely. Your cheeks flushed as he took in your features, and you sipped at the cold alcohol in your glass, fingers raising to your cheeks to hide the blush.

“Truly, though. Thank you. That was sweet of you, you didn’t have to step in for me.”

“I know, but you’re my friend. One of my best friends. I know you’d help me out in a pinch, too.” Your hand fell back to his, toying with the house ring on his thumb, and he twisted his hand to give you better access. Such a small gesture, but you appreciated it nonetheless, as he fed into your anxious habits with no extra thought, your chest flooding with warmth and gratitude for him.

“I would, but, my parents are more than just a pinch. You were brave, my mum likes to pride herself on being intimidating.”

“She doesn’t have to like me, but I knew she wouldn't hurt me.” He raised his brows, silently questioning, and you looked at his hand. Unfolding his loose fist, you laced your fingers through his. “You were there with me. I knew she wouldn't hurt me.”

His hand tightened around yours, and his throat bobbed slightly. Lifting your raised hands, he kissed your knuckles softly. Instead of finding words to respond, he used gestures, his eyes fixed on yours as everything that needed to be said shone in them. He wasn’t his parents you saw him for that and trusted him. This was real, it wasn’t just for show, and when he moved his lips from your skin, you cupped his cheek with your other hand.

“I know you’re good, Enzo.” You whispered, a fragile tone for just him to hear over the music, and his smile wobbled from flirty to heartfelt. “You’ve been my friend for so long now, I feel pretty confident in saying I know who you are.”

“Thank you.” His words came on a rushed sigh, and you swiped your thumb across his cheekbone one final time, before pulling away to clasp your drink and take a sip. He kept a tight grip on your other hand, though, clasping it to his chest momentarily, before resting your joined hands back on the bar. “So, what have I got to do to get you to dance with me out there?”

“Oh, no. I don’t dance at these things.” You shook your head quickly, and his grin only stretched at that prospect. At the look on his face, you waved a finger at him. “I have never danced at one of these things before. You aren’t the first guy to ask. I. Don’t. Dance.”

“I say you can.” He snickered, humming a fragment of the song as your eyes rolled. Leaning in a little closer to him, his wicked, flirty smile was back. Your nose brushed his.

“Not a chance.”

He seemed to accept the challenge, finishing off the whiskey that was in his glass. He wasn’t giving up, and you knew for certain that once Enzo set his mind to something, he achieved it. He waved to the bartender again, ignoring her flirty smile as he placed his order with two fingers raised, “Can I get two shots of tequila, please?”

“Make it four.” You muttered, and his eyes sparkled as he corrected himself. Finishing off your own drink, you pushed the empty glass toward his own, nothing but an overly saturated berry left in the bottom. “How’d you know tequila is my go-to for shots?”

“Because, my darling, I am observant. In fourth year, you legitimately gagged when we gave you Sambuca to try and you refuse to touch it even to this day, you say vodka tastes like nail polish, and you never drink whiskey or rum. And, only a psychopath would shoot gin.” His nose scrunched up, and four shot glasses were soon placed down before you, each one being filled up, a few droplets escaping to the bar. A dish of salt and limes followed, and you awed silently over it as he wiggled his brows.

“Fancy, we get the fruit, too.”

“Always impressive these days, every family trying to one-up each other with parties.” He handed you your first shot, clinking your glasses together and spilling some of the sticky amber liquid onto your fingertips. Sprinkling salt on your hand, he winked, “Cheers.”

Licking the salt from his own fingertips, you copied, licking the substance from the back of your hand. Quickly, you did your first shot, then the next, and before you could even reach for one, Enzo was pushing a slice of lime between your lips. He’d surely smudged your lipstick, and juice was now running down your chin, but he caught it with a quick swipe of his thumb, grinning around the citrus in his mouth as he sucked it dry, and winced.

Pulling the lime out from between your teeth, laughter soon spilt over in its place, and you left the half-drained slice in one of the empty glasses. Licking the tips of your fingers for the remaining tequila, Enzo watched, eyes a little foggy, as you cleaned up. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“Why?” You muttered, and he leaned in again, invading your space as the woodsy smell of his cologne overpowered you, making you want to press your face into his neck. Instead, you held his gaze, with bated breath.

“Because it’s hot. And I’m only so strong.”

“Are you flirting with me, Enz?” You smirked, watching as he offered you his hand. Taking it, you hopped down from the bar stool, waiting for the effects of the shots to kick in, ready to welcome the numbing buzz they’d carry.

“Most definitely. You like it?”

“I do, actually.”

Linking your arm through his own as he led you slowly to the dance floor, he patted your hand on his bicep. “You could try to sound less shocked by that. I’m great at flirting.”

“Oh, I know. I’ve seen you put it into use before. That pretty smile, a few sweet words and a wink, you normally have women falling at your feet.”

As you reached the edge of the floor, he turned to face you, settling a hand on your hip, and tugging you in closer than needed. “But not you? Because you’re different to other girls.”

“Oh, no. I’m just like other girls. And it would work on me too, if I didn’t know you so well. Unfortunately, I’ve watched you throw up in your own shoe and eat food off the floor. You’ll have to work a little harder to get me.” Pinching your fingers between your faces to show a gap, he watched, before taking that hand and placing it on his shoulder, smoothly.

“I love a good challenge.”

With that, he was sweeping you across the floor, your shocked laughter breaking free as he spun you suddenly into the madness of the dance floor. Perfected routines and perfect dances, and even in your addled mind, the steps began to come back to you. You’d always thought that there was something so eerie about the dances, the melancholic music that played, always building to a crashing crescendo.

It felt like music with a tragic tale, spinning and dipping and dancing, like a Shakespeare play given music instead of words. Rows of perfectly organised dancers, all moving in perfect sync and harmony.

Luckily, tonight, that structure seemed to have fallen apart a little. Various levels of dancing skills were taking place. Some were just swaying, others were performing flips and spins that made you dizzy, as you and Enzo settled somewhere in the middle. His hand tight on your waist, the other clasping your own, he spun you between people, guiding you towards the centre of the floor.

“I thought you said you didn’t dance!”

“I don’t, that doesn’t mean I can’t. My mother had me in lessons three times a week as a child. I am an excellent dancer.” Glancing around, it was mercifully informal tonight, not the regimented performances it sometimes could be. “This whole… thing. It just creeps me out sometimes.”

“When they all dance in perfect, synchronised lines, like some kind of terrifying ballet performance?” He muttered, smiling and nodding as you wove past an older couple.

“Yes!”

“I get you,” He hummed, shuddering a little. Ahead of you both, Draco was spinning a smiling Astoria, and he looked utterly exhausted by this point. She didn’t seem ready to stop dancing any time soon, though.

As he spun you back in, your arm wrapped around his neck this time, holding yourself closer to him and calming the crazy dance he’d drawn you into. He was smiling himself, cheeks flushed from the exertion, and as you began to move into a slower sway, his cheek came to rest against the top of your head.

“You ever dance at one of these parties with your ex?”

“I told you, I don’t dance.” You mumble, the arm around his neck sliding, hand slipping to brush lightly at the hair on the base of his neck. He stretched his head a little further, leaning into the touch with a soft sigh.

“You didn’t dance,” He corrected cheekily, pinching at your hip, and your eyes rolled upwards at his pedantic behaviour. “Your ex is watching us.”

“I told you, I don’t care.”

He made a vague noise before turning you subtly, so that you could see him now. The displeased look on his face, the narrowed eyes as he watched you and Enzo, and the way he turned in a flustered rush once he realised you’d caught him. “You may not care, but I’m getting a sick sort of satisfaction from it. I had to watch you hurt over him, even when you tried to pretend you weren’t. The way your face fell that day in the hall when you opened that letter, I’ll never forget it.”

“Enz…” Your whisper is barely audible, his own words mumbled by your ear so low they were barely decipherable. Goosebumps still rose along your skin at the snarl he made, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he shook his head.

Dipping down, he pressed a kiss to your cheek, so tender and loving that you felt your heart skip in your chest. “He’s a dick, and I wish I could do a lot more to him than just pork a few holes in his ego tonight. He deserves a right kicking.”

“I was over him long before that letter came. The distance had been growing.”

“Maybe so, but he’s still a prick.” Turning you around and around in slow circles, you gained and lost sight repeatedly each scene just a little different from the last. He was putting on a show, that was for sure, as Enzo took you for turns around the dance floor. One moment he had his new girlfriend in a passionate kiss, the next she was laughing as she stared up at him, the next, whispering sweet words in her ear.

If you could see it, you were sure Enzo could too, his grip tightening on you protectively. Leaning up, you returned the affection, pulling his focus back to you as you pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Let’s go get another drink, yeah? I could use some hydration after all this dancing.”

He looked right through you, like he knew it was a distraction, and yet he nodded anyway, jaw clenched. This time, you took one of his hands in both of yours, leading him through the crowd as his fingers clutched your own.

Settling at the bar, you called for two waters, before turning your gaze back to him.

“Wish I could just push them both in the fireplace, and watch them burn.”

His words made your eyes widen slightly, and you pressed a glass into his hand the moment they arrived, encouraging him to drink. “Enzo, why are you so bothered about this all of a sudden?”

“Because— Because I can see him now! And he’s a jackass, and I’m already mad enough about my parents, and the fact it’s this stupid day. I need something to channel my anger into, and he’s a mighty good conduit.” He took another swig of his drink, jaw clenching as he slammed the empty glass down and licked his lips.

Placing a finger on his chin, you twisted his head to you, and he softened slightly as he looked. “Not a fan of New Year's, huh?”

“Not a fan of the holidays in general. Especially once I have to go home.” Your heart clenched for him. The expression on your face must’ve given you away, because he soon shrugged. “I used to love the holiday period, but nowadays, all my parents do is get at me. Plus, being single at Christmas sucks, y’know? Since when was this time all about love? I thought it was supposed to be about generosity and love and whatever. Now it’s all about couples.”

Your jaw dropped a little, and his brows furrowed.

“What?”

Enzo had just echoed the exact sentiments you’d been thinking about only a couple of hours ago, and a breathless laugh escaped you as you shook your head. At least he understood you. “Nothing. Just, I was thinking the same thing, earlier.”

“Great minds.” He whispered, shaking a little tension out of his body and closing his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, the fire was dulled, sweet sparkle back, and he loosed a heavy breath. “Sorry. That got heavy.”

“I’m always here for you to talk, Enz.”

He smiled, eyes closing again as he rested his forehead on yours, tugging you in with arms around your waist for a hug. His face moved, chin hooking over your shoulder, with a kiss pressed there as he did, which sent your pulse skyrocketing at the feel of his lips on your skin. “I love you, you know that, right? You’re one of the most important people in my life.”

“Love you too, Enzo…” You murmured, running your fingers through his hair. He pulled away, a shy smile on his face, and he nudged your glass to you this time.

“Drink up. I want to get you back out on that dance floor. I take pride in knowing I’m the only man you’ll dance with.”

“Because you’re the most insistent man I’ve ever met. I know that if I said no, you’d only spend the whole night bugging me.”

“It’s charming how well you know me.” He teased, and your eyes rolled, resulting in a soft slap to the outside of your thigh as he tutted at you, mumbling about your attitude. “Oh, incoming.”

“Who—” You barely got the word out before an arm was slung over your shoulder, a heavy weight following as they leaned on you. Mattheo beamed at you lazily when you turned your head to see. Theo soon followed, shuffling his feet a little, and rubbing at his eyes. The second he saw the half-drunk glass of water in your hands, he lunged for it, managing to get the whole thing down in one go, without evening coming up for breath. “Jeez, how baked are you two?”

“Theo brought some good shit this time,” Mattheo murmured, kissing his fingers and waving them to the air, and Theo gave a delayed scoff after a couple of seconds.

“I always bring good shit.”

“Agree to disagree.” Mattheo smiled, bopping his friend on the nose, as Enzo only laughed.

“So, that’s where you two have been, huh? Outside smoking all night.”

“Not all night,” Theo smirked, waggling his brows as he produced his phone from his back pocket. “I spent a good deal of time flirting. I got six girls’ numbers, and Matt here only got four.”

He set off snickering as Mattheo only grumbled, and the moment he loosened his hold on you, you slipped free so he could lean against the bar instead. You didn’t get far, not before Enzo was snaking an arm around you, and tugging you into his chest. Theo might have been higher than a kite, but he didn’t miss the way Enzo’s touches trailed over your back, settling low on your spine. He smirked, eyes glinting when Enzo dropped an absentminded kiss to the top of your head.

“So, what’s new with you two?”

“We’re dating now.” Enzo beamed, and Mattheo spluttered over his drinks order, the bartender wandering way as Mattheo turned to face you, and Theo’s jaw dropped. “Or, at least, that’s what we’re letting my parents believe, so they’ll hop off my dick about marrying some stranger.”

You pat his chest for his use of words, and he shrugged. Finally, Draco seemed to have persuaded Astoria to let him go. She was now happily dancing with her sister, as Draco stumbled over to your group at the bar, and collapsed down onto a free stool.

“That girl has more energy than a toddler on crack.”

“Interesting metaphor.” You said, and Draco only patted his chest, sticking an extra glass of water and a whiskey onto Mattheo’s order as he tried to get a drink once again. Turning his gaze back to you, those grey eyes slid from head to toe, a pale brow raising.

“What’s with you two?”

“Haven’t you heard, Dray?” Theo mused, “They’re dating.”

He had a similar reaction to the other two, equally as entertaining until the news was broken, and you hid your laughter in Enzo’s shoulder. He was smiling, hiding his own amusement in your hair, his fingers playing with the tips as the strands spilt down your back.

The night went on much the same, hours blurring by as more friends came and went, joining you in the group, before being pulled away. For a while, you sat on the stool beside Enzo, listening to Mattheo retell the story of their competition to get numbers.

You let Enzo pull you onto the dance floor again, and even Mattheo, who swung you off-beat and out of sync to a song in his head, certainly not the one being played, but it made you laugh until your stomach hurt, so it was worth it. You danced with the girls too, and exchanged gossip in hushed whispers as you moved across the checkered floor.

It always ended with you stumbling back to Enzo, progressively building more of a buzz as the night went on, falling back into the security of his arms. And he was always there, smiling, tucking hair behind your ear and kissing your forehead as he asked you whether you were having fun. For the first time in a long time at one of these events, you could say yes.

Only as the hour was finally approaching midnight, less than fifteen minutes to go, did you all leave. Mattheo ordered several bottles of champagne, gathering two in his hands and passing two more to Theo. Then, he was commanding you all to follow him, and marching away without another word.

You shared a look with Enzo, before hopping down, following after him with an equally puzzled group. Your hand found Enzo’s quickly, a comfortable act that had become familiar far too quickly, but just for tonight, you didn’t care. Not as Mattheo led you down all and corridors, away from all the noise.

Not as he led you all up, until you were exiting onto the roof. Below you, chatter filled the courtyard as the party guests began to file out onto the patio, ready to witness the fireworks. The view would be uninterrupted from here, a perfect view of it all, and a contented sound left your lips.

Staring up at the night sky, stars twinkled in the cold void, and you rubbed one arm lightly as you stared into the vast openness. Only a second later, a jacket was slipping over your shoulders, and Enzo was turning you to him, guiding your arms through each of the sleeves, bashfully.

“Told you I was a good date.” He winked, hand on your back as you followed the rest of your friends to sit down.

“You said you were a fun date,”

“Well then, I’m a good and fun date.” He effectively ended the conversation with a kiss to your cheek, hand sliding dangerously low on your back as you gathered with the others. A couple of benches and boxes were up here, stacks of pallets for makeshift seating, and you settled onto one, Enzo following you down.

Once you were sat, he pulled you in, tucking you into the heat of his side, and you curled in closer, twisting to face him. “Tonight has been… wonderful. Thank you.”

“Are you kidding? Thank you.” He whispered, nose brushing your hairline as the words were whispered onto your skin. “Tonight has been one of the best nights I’ve ever had, and I never thought I’d say that about one of these parties.”

You fiddled with the edge of the sleeves hanging over your palms, grinning at him. Your head fell to his shoulder, and your gaze moved to scan over your friends. Draco and Astoria were cuddling equally as sweetly, as were Blaise and Daphne. Luna and Pansy were nowhere to be seen, but Tom and Reggie stood at the edge of the roof, talking quietly. Mattheo and Theo were bent over laughing, trying to pop the corks on the bottles, and almost taking out each other’s eyes each time.

When a bottle was passed to you and Enzo, fizzing over the top and foaming on the wooden palette you perched on, you took a sip. The bitter liquid fizzed on your tongue just as the countdown began to sound from all of the people below.

“Ten, nine, eight…” Mattheo screamed, arms held up in the air with his excitement.

“Seven, six, five…” You murmured, sitting up straighter as the anticipation of the new year came in.

“Four, three, two…” Enzo joined you, your face turning to smile at him as you heard his voice mix with yours.

“One.” You spoke, just as Enzo leaned in. His lips closed over your own, warm and spicy from the lingering remnants of firewhiskey, and you groaned against his mouth. As you did, his hand slipped up to your cheek, angling your head just right as his tongue slid into your mouth.

He kissed slow, and deep, like he had all the time in the world to be here. You were gripping his shoulder, kissing back with just as much passion, sliding closer to him until there was no space between your body and his. Your thigh pressed to his own, his hand on your cheek slipping into your hair as he pulled back for a breath, just to dive right back in.

And you loved it, leaning forward, chasing his lips, kissing him until you couldn’t think straight, couldn't think at all, unless it was about him.

Finally, he pulled back, to the cheering and celebrating of your friends as the New Year rolled in. Fireworks began to explode behind you, and you sighed, breath clouding in the night air and floating up to the sky. Licking the taste of him from your lip as you panted, his nose bumped your own.

“What was that for?” You mumbled, the way he kissed you still playing over and over again in your mind like a loop.

“Because when we go back,” He stole another kiss, your lips stretching in a smile as his palm engulfed your cheek. “I’d love to take you on a real date.”

You’d never looked at him like this before, never let yourself consider what it would be like to date Enzo. That urge had never arisen, everything between you both had always been platonic, he was one of your best friends. Now, as those pretty eyes opened up to stare at you, he was anything but platonic.

He was pretty, in a way you’d acknowledged but never appreciated before. Loyal in a best friend way, but would doubtless be a wonderful boyfriend. He was doting, and kind, and sweet. He was cheeky and funny and caring. He was here, and interested, and if tonight had proven anything, it was your compatibility.

You and Enzo worked well together, you made a great couple, and for the first time ever, he was staring at you in a way that made you think he wanted to take your clothes off. And you liked it.

The choice seemed clear.

“I’d like that too, Enzo.”

#lorenzo berkshire #enzo berkshire #lorenzo berkshire x reader #lorenzo berkshire x you #lorenzo berkshire/reader #lorenzo berkshire/you #enzo berkshire x reader #enzo berkshire x you #enzo berkshire/reader #enzo berkshire/you #harry potter #HP #slytherin boys #louis partridge

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iznsfw · 3 months

Text

Lucid Dream

IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 7 - Kim Minju

IZ*ONE's Kim Minju x Male Reader Smut

8,525 words

Categories | married man!You, wife!Wonyoung, daddy kink, degradation, rough sex, OC is not a good person

Content warning | cheating, humiliation, Wonyoung slander (it hurt to write but I read "Gone Girl" by Gillian Flynn recently so I guess that went into the whole wife-hating thing)

Skipping again a bit (still will do Chaeyeon and Chaewon and everyone because IZ*ONE best girls). Expect a commission and an IZ Days of Xmas fics this month again <3 I love you all, you make me happy. And as always, sorry for the inconsistency!

Wonyoung is beautiful.

You stare at her as she undresses in front of the full-length mirror. She’s the kind of woman whose vanity seldom rolls eyes because her adoration for herself—smoothing down her dark hair, strictly adhering herself to that keto diet, doing her skincare with the dedication of one who prays nightly to god (pick any)—is wholly justifiable. Look at her. Anyone would understand.

The dress she wore for her hosting show slips off her body. Her abs reflect in the mirror, the result of hard work in the gym. Wonyoung’s waist is impeccable. Magazines have written over and over tips to attain it but it seems that the signature Bratz doll feature can only belong to Wonyoung. The makeup was cleaned up by her stylist but her eyes still shine, her lashes are still long, and her lips are still plump.

Wonyoung is standing there in nothing but her underwear, an attractive set of lace.

Wonyoung is the perfect female form, a goddess from above choosing a man from below.

Wonyoung is beautiful, a feat that no matter how amazing besides true, she remains the same old fucking bore.

“Did you like my MCing, babe?” she asks.

“Uh-huh.”

Her legs, long and thin, move in planned strides down the room. To the bed. You know where this is going.

Your feet are killing you. Recline, welcoming yourself into the softness of the expensive mattress and pillows your wife paid for all in all. “Wonyoung, I’m tired.”

She’s a celebrity. Of course, endless days filled to the edge with schedules chase after her. She ought to understand. The nights are her only rest hours, yet with this energy, it’s like Jang Wonyoung never gets exhausted. Always bubbly, always sweet, always so seductive.

All these are positive traits that any other man would adore and own had you not married her.

Wonyoung makes an adorable sigh. “But you say that everytime,” she replies sullenly.

She’s pushing her lips out into this cute pout while her brown puppy eyes beg you to give in like you used to. Once upon a time, you were putty around Wonyoung. Never could give an answer without your voice shaking. Never could come near her without blushing.

She’s the prettiest woman in the world.

You’re the most awful, undeserving man in the world, for all you could think, as you look at her, is: Fucking bitch.

“Well, maybe it’s because I’m always tired.”

“How about,” she puts a finger on her chin, “I do the job for you?”

Her knees are bruised. You notice this when she drops to them so she could pull your pants to the ground. So she’s been doing this for so long? Lowering herself for you? Sucking you off? You thought that she’d get the hint by now: you don’t want to have sex with her.

So instead, she uses her mouth. Better than her pussy anyway. What are you saying? She’s a tight woman. But it’s the same thing everyday: she gets on your cock and you hear her annoying voice straining as she rides you. Her cunt, soaked and useless, makes you want to call her its name. She’s always needy. It isn’t flattering when you don’t reciprocate it.

It’s a goddamned chore. Wonyoung’s throat welcomes you. The other way around, actually: your cock welcomes a claustrophobically closed passageway and has to deal with it until you cum. It’s an unwanted visitor. She rang the bell, said hi, and you let her in. Doesn’t mean you like her there.

“Doing so good, baby,” you say. Oh, yeah, doesn’t mean you mean it either—although you do feel Wonyoung smile happily. She’s happy when she makes you happy. When she makes you give her the illusion that you have any happiness in this worn-out marriage.

Her lips seal around you. You can feel them suckling. Your knees are tense. The moans are forced, though. Hearing them come out from your own mouth makes you want to place a pillow over your face and press it down as hard as you can.

She slides you down her throat. Admittedly, you love the way she chokes. Her eyes get all watery, like she’s crying from pain. That sounds appealing.

You’re a critically messed up man, you know. But they’re what make the world go ‘round. Why do you think they write romance books about them—the bad boy, the mafia boss, the killer? Plus, one of those “terrible” people inspires the biggest Korean celebrity to continue hosting, dancing, and singing. So who’s so terrible now?

To conclude, if anything, you’re the one responsible for Wonyoung’s success.

To conclude, you groan as desperately as you can then release in her mouth. Wonyoung gags. Another pretty sound. Her eyes look up while she attempts to swallow. Saliva sticks to her chin. Semen floods up to the roof of her mouth. It reminds you of how it ends up there more often than in her womb.

You would’ve made beautiful children with Wonyoung in another world where she wasn’t famous and you actually loved her. You would have been a softer, kinder man. She would have been a person who’s easier to love and make love with.

“Wonyoung, Wonyoung, that… was incredible.”

If you weren’t a director, you’d be the one on camera. You’re a great actor when it comes to your wife. Your incompetence in the house is masked by husbandly exhaustion; an artificial gaze of attentiveness hides your indifference to conversation.

She smiles coquettishly. “I try.”

The wide closet parts. She chooses a pair of silk pajamas that hang around her thin frame. She climbs onto the bed and wraps an arm around you. Her skin is always cold to the touch. Like she’s dead or something. How interesting.

You stroke her hair. “I’d return the favor but… I’m actually gonna pass out. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She kisses your forehead. Wonyoung’s a sweet girl. “Good night.”

You smile. Say it back. Her eyelids flutter closed. Her palms are flat against each other and are placed under her cheek. Cute, you guess. She sleeps.

You don’t.

You should have—nothing good ever happens after midnight.

2:05 a.m., more specifically.

Amazing how time slips through your grasp like air. You reach and reach, desperate for a return, desperate for a flash to the past. As always, your efforts aren’t fruitful. The seconds pour through the pinched waist of the hourglass and you can’t stand it on its other head. You’re unable to revert back to the moment you took your arm from underneath your wife’s skull. The moment you opened your phone. If you hadn’t, maybe things would have been different.

But it’s past two, and you’re resting your back on the pillowy headboard with your phone in your hands. The circumstances just play right into danger: Wonyoung’s asleep, the night is eerily quiet, and the screen is there, awaiting the secret routine. Which girls would you cum for today? Why aren’t your thumbs clicking over censored sites?

Your feed shows a naked woman, her eyes staring up and her mouth wide. Scroll past that—you prefer the amateur videos, where the expressions balance between exaggerated and naturally provoked. A ton of videos could help in the bathroom where you take your nightly “shower,” and it’s not one of those.

Maybe you need the real thing.

Look at Wonyoung. Perhaps you should have let her ride you just so you could cum in a warm pussy again. After all, it’s the least you could do when you were once a fan of her. That’s how everyone starts: puppy-like adoration. But she doesn’t have the star quality she once did onstage; the coy thoughtful princess you envisioned her as. That’s why you haven’t fucked her in weeks.

You’re about to wrap your hand around your cock and ready yourself for another night of conflicted pleasure. This video is perfect for that already. You could jerk yourself off then get a good night’s sleep. Simple. This is the safest option for a dangerous want. By just watching, you’re not cheating on your wife. It’s just porn. Jerk off, cum, cum again probably, then sleep. Nobody gets hurt.

“Fuck me… please,” whimpers the woman in the video. Her legs are spread open. Her partner’s swiping his cock at her lips while she looks at him with equal hunger, equal desire. “I can’t take it anymore.”

Then, a text message notifies you, peeking from the top of your screen. It dares you to click it.

And it says the exact same thing.

fuck me please, i cant take it anymore.

i miss you

You look around, like you’re afraid someone might see it. There’s only the dimness of your bedroom that greets you. It’s safe, but this message isn’t.

The number is familiar. Has one of your friends gone crazy? Or did they send a text to the wrong person? Take it for spam, a perfectly coincidental one, or a scam, a typical, preying-on-the-married, pwning message.

But why would a contact spam you at a time so strangely perfect?

Don’t bother. Your fist works on your dick as you watch the video. The woman’s so wet that although she isn’t squirting, her juices start to stick to the man’s thighs. Her mouth is wide open as he finally pounds her.

What you’d give to have good sex like that again.

XXX-XXX-XXX sent a video message.

Fine. Click it, you’re curious.

Oh, so apparently, the answer is your marriage.

The video shows a face that’s more intimate than familiar. The ebony-black hair already tells you who she is, as does her body. Her form is encased in a floral tank top and nothing else. Although her chest is covered, she’s still a little daring with how her nipples stamp the fabric. She turns herself around to let you admire the curve of her wide hips and her round butt.

There’s only one woman with a body so perfect. And she’s the one and only Kim Minju.

There are reasons for everything. This is yours for why you didn’t give this number a name:

No one needs to know just from a text that you cheated on Jang Wonyoung.

That was so long ago, back when you were still boyfriend and girlfriend. You were drunk and missed Wonyoung’s old self. Why did she have to be such a bitch? Why did she dedicate herself to work and leave you dry? It’s not like the industry would go bankrupt without her. Minju came over, listened to your complaints—every little whine about Wonyoung being busy, every little jab at her workaholic character—then said something along the lines of, why don’t you have a little fun while she’s away.

And you thought… yeah, that was a really great idea.

That was the beginning of the end. After multiple secret meet-ups and raunchy sex in alleyways, you didn’t contact Minju again. You forgot her. You thought she did, too. She should have understood that your infidelity, albeit alluring, would be a thing of the past.

But here she is, in your messages, with a pornographic clip of herself in a round-cornered bubble. She’s waiting for a reply.

Although you’ve long lost your aspirations to be a better husband, you type what a good man should. This man is proper, faithful, and loving. He loves his wife only and the only other people he loves with this deep of a bond is his family.

Stop texting me or I’ll block you.

It’s not enough. You’re not a good man. You aren’t proper or faithful or loving or any of that shit. You were about to masturbate to an internet celebrity after turning down sex with your wife. What about that makes you a good person?

:( you miss me sooooo bad it’s pathetic, Minju replies.

You look at her again. You may not be able to turn back time with your metaphorical hourglass, but you can turn this hourglass body into any position you want. You could push her against a window for all to see, perhaps fuck her to the floor, or slam her on a desk like a teacher would to a test paper. Minju would let you do anything to her.

Stop it.

She really has to. As much as you dislike Wonyoung, she’s your wife, and you vowed on your wedding day to only have eyes for her.

But you’re only one man against a body like Minju’s that curves in every right place.

Three circles float up and down in a contained bubble before she texts you back:

alright…what a pity :( i’m already outside!! i guess ill have to go back…

You’ve never bolted out of bed so fast.

You look back at Wonyoung as you stand in the doorway. She’s still in deep slumber. Now, are the curtains closed? The entrances locked? Scan the house thoroughly, until you inch your way to the front door.

Hesitate. You didn’t know you had a conscience but here it is. It tells you to wonder if Minju really is behind it, like she said. She knows how to use the privilege of being Wonyoung’s close friend. That’s how she came to your house like she used to with no worry for paparazzi or suspicion. Best friends don’t fuck their best friends’ husbands, right?

Open the door. This one did.

Minju grew more beautiful in her absence. Her hair is silkier this time and her shy smile is brighter. The long coat is smoothed by her fingers, and you wish you could be the brown piece of fabric her pale hands run down. What makes you guilty for thinking it, even when you’ve done it, is the fact that she looks so innocent. It’s like it would be a crime to even buy her a drink.

How could she be innocent with that photo she sent? The time you spent together: you folding her over a table and promising to fill her up? Fucking her while Wonyoung is busy and counting on you to welcome her home? Sending nudes like there’s no tomorrow? Nothing about Minju is pure, yet she acts like she could do no wrong.

“Minju,” you say. Your voice sounds fragile. She has a way of breaking you befote you’re breaking her into breaking another bed.

She blinks theatrically. Everything she does is angelic. “Glad you opened the door.”

The knob is cold in your fist. It chills your animalistic brain and urges you to consider the consequences. Right, it says, here’s what a human—a good one—would think. If Wonyoung wakes and sees you with Minju, she’d have a lot of questions. If paparazzi are somehow hiding in the forest that extends to acres before your house, everyone would know you’re cheating on her. Most of all, you’re married, monogamy and everything.

So what will it be? This is your last and only chance to send her away.

You know what you have to do. Take a few breaths. “You have to leave. I’m not joking, it isn’t right.”

In response, Minju unravels the ribbon of the layers sealed around her waist. It falls apart. You do, too.

She’s a real danger. As it turns out, the girl isn’t wearing anything underneath that trench coat. She’s an artist’s naked muse—bare long legs, wide hips, and a sizable bust that has sculptors carving something else.

The cold hardens her pink nipples. You notice how her breasts are much bigger than your wife’s. How her hips are more tempting to grab, so you do. How her body is meatier, a lot more enticing that you wouldn’t refuse a day without touching it.

Minju fuels your infidelity, and you won’t stop for it if it kills you.

She simpers, fingers curling into your work shirt. “Still wanna make me leave,” she asks, “when you can breed me all night long?”

You laugh, huffing it out as you pull her inside and close the door behind her. Minju looks gorgeous pressed to it. She looks gorgeous in whatever situation, actually. Her thighs squish against the carved design and look thicker as a result. More reasons to dive into that shaven cunt and abuse it.

“You’re not leaving until we make a fucking mess, Minju.” You take your shirt off. Throw it on the ground. “And we better make it quick.”

“Of course.” She nods. She’s slyer than a fox, but she submits to you without a second thought.

You lean in to kiss her. The heat is unbearable. You can feel it from Minju’s body transferring to yours. It’s the effect of her natural skills as your personal slut: trying to fit her tongue deeper in your mouth while you pull her close like she’d dare to run away.

You haven’t gotten this hard for anyone else. It’s always been Minju you fall for. You miss the way she kisses, the way she roams her hands all over your torso, the way she’s goddamned insatiable. Feeling it all now in one, heated moment makes you dizzy. You’re taking in too much of her, but without her, you’d go thirsty again.

Your fingers are in her hair; hers are on your waist. Your teeth are clamped down on Minju’s bottom lip; hers are apart and allow soft moans to pass through—one, two, three. You fit each other in so many wicked ways. They did say misery loves company.

Open your eyes. The dream doesn’t stop. Minju’s still pushing her mouth in your face and you’re letting her. You don’t know if you ought to be relieved or downright horrified. You’re cheating on Wonyoung again with a woman whose body is just a bit nicer. You should be furious at yourself. You aren’t.

You’ve made out with each other on the way to the dining room. You and your wife worked hard for its designed walls and sturdy, well-furnished ornaments. A lot of money was raked out to make this house the best place to call home. So, why do you want to ruin it?

Well, because of her.

Minju leans on the dining table with a funny smile on her face. “She really doesn’t do it for you, huh?” she asks.

It makes you wince how you know who she’s talking about. Who else is she referring to other than poor Wonyoung? Poor, skinny, ugly Wonyoung?

Nibble at her earlobe. Hear little gasps come out of her. “Don’t talk about her,” you say.

You don’t want to have any afterthoughts about fucking Minju. Besides, being reminded that you’re disloyal to a woman who loves you very much is painful, even to a man like you.

Wonyoung is an angel. Minju isn’t—but you run after her to darkness.

“Ohh, come on, I know I’m better than her.” Minju squirms with erotic moans. Your kisses are going south, and she loves their little detour. “You don’t fuck her like you fuck me.”

When was the last time you worshiped Wonyoung? Like what you’re doing to Minju now? Your lips haven’t passed over it in ages that you probably wouldn’t know where the bigs and smalls of her body are. Like there’s anything to know.

“Actually,” you snort, “I don’t fuck her at all.”

You stop chuckling. That was the wrong thing to say. That was the wrongest thing to say out of the millions of other cocky phrases you could’ve thrown to Minju. The look on her face, the one that’s of pride and submission and dangerous knowledge united, tells you to watch your mouth.

You’re five seconds minimum too late to listen.

Minju grins. There’s the answer she wanted. “That’s how it is? Just looking at a girl and thinking you wanna stamp a divorce approval on her forehead? Jesus. This is why I never got married.”

“First off, nobody put a ring on you because you’re a slut, Minju.”

“That’s only the third reason.” Her fingers drape the sides of your face and tugs you in. You’re invited to the sight of her infallible tits. “These are the first two.”

The girl isn’t as busty as that woman Wonyoung likes to call her industry mom, but you bet they’re better. No, it’s a matter of truth. Minju’s boobs aren’t too big or too small; just the perfect, filling size to hold onto when you’re railing her from behind.

You choose to suck on them for now. It’s like a trip down memory lane when you kiss down her neck and collarbone. You remember how good her smooth, soft skin feels beneath you, how her moans are a favorite tune. Minju bites her lip while you do so to her shoulder.

It’s crazy to think that she just so happened to be born with this. She was born to be a pretty face with a sex-defined body that you pull and push and pry apart. Best thing is, she’ll lay back down and beg for more. It’s like she knows her purpose, which would’ve shot down her dignity and humanity.

Her nipple pops in your mouth. Your sucking guarantees its hardness, and Minju starts whining. She arcs her body, wanting something rougher. Thus, you seize the span of her hip to rub her pearl with fierce speed.

“Oh, fuck, god—” What others might take for blasphemy, you take for praise. Minju’s already soaking wet. She would have had embarrassing laundry to do if she wore panties. Maybe it’s a good thing she arrived wearing nothing.

She’s still so sensitive. You caress her clit after a few kisses down her midriff. She fidgets needily like you aren’t already touching her. You’re nearly right—this touch is nothing when she needs something harsher. That something involves you treating her less than a human being, putting her down and tearing at her hair.

“Please just fuck me,” she whispers. “Breed me, breed me, breed me—”

Yeah, that’s what she wants.

You don’t need further motivation, not when you’re presented with the prettiest pussy you’ve ever seen. Her fat lips are soaked. They frame the clitoris you’ve been stimulating that shines with slick. Then there’s the tiniest hole below it that begs to be used.

Your digits shove past all tightness. Her wetness allows a deeper exploration, so you curl your digits like you’re beckoning the orgasm forward. You know how easily you can get it out of her. All it needs to get Minju cumming around you is a slap, roughness, and giving her what she wants anyway. You know your methods, she knows hers. It’s a recognizable cycle that despite this, you can’t break.

Part your fingers widely to spread her. She’s so wet that she soaks your knuckles. There’s an ocean inside her waiting to be waved to shore. A storm, too, brews from the base of her throat as Minju whimpers. Her body lifts off the table but you force her down on it. She isn’t going anywhere, not without a fight.

Oh, and fight she does. She was an idol before an actress, so her muscles still memorize the circling motions that repeat on your fingers rather than move onstage. She sang once. That was a long time ago yet her voice sounds perfect as it strains her moans. Every little thing she does is a reflection of her past.

That’s why when she leans back, pupils dilating north, and says “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” you get deja vu.

Your palm hits her clit, adding impact to your strokes. “There you go, little slut,” you snarl. “Are you happy now? Maybe even a little grateful?”

If Minju’s ass isn’t pressed down on the glass mantling your dining table, it hovers so her pink little hole receives you better. It’s not without the help of her weak hands clinging to the table for dear life, but she seems to be losing her balance. Her hips are shuddering. Her beautiful face is squeezed up into a blissful wince. Her breaths are becoming blunt little gasps that say none of the gratitude you want to hear.

You slap her boob. Red blooms from her pale skin that deepens when another impacts her bosom. The recoil dizzies you. If anyone’s getting the impression that you’ll slap her bouncy tits until you hear a proper word of thanks, they’d be right. First impressions are right just for once.

“T-thank you—” Her voice cracks, breaking like her. “Fuck, shit, thank you, thank you.”

Squeeze her cruelly and pull on the perky nipple. Your thrusts become mindlessly paced. Your hand returns to your cock while the other ruins her pussy. The pleasure is telepathic. It’s connecting you; her screams and squirms make you do the same. The electricity firing up in your veins is a shared network. When you point your fingers to her spot, she arcs her back in the same direction. How beautifully fucked up is that?

“That’s not enough. You didn’t come here for nothing. What do you want, Minju?”

Minju babbles. You got your gratitude but not a proper answer. To be fair, she can’t speak when you’re fucking her like it’s your dick inside her, and when your lips are all over her collarbone.

“And you better keep quiet,” you add, curling your thrusts, “or Wonyoung‘s gonna hear. Do you really want her to know her precious friend is a big slut?”

However, despite the rumors she starts, Minju could be a very good girl when needed.

“Need you to make me cum,” she whispers. Her midriff is fluid as water with the way it rolls, showing off the hourglass shape of her waist and a soft tummy. “Do everything to me you can’t with Wonyoung. P-please, I can’t take it.”

Even if she can’t (wrong by the way), you’ll make her. She asked for it. She walked up to your house with a purpose: to be used, to be treated like less of a human being. So it’s understandable that you slam her down the table and seal a hand around her neck.

She’s so light that the forceful push doesn’t break the fragile glass. But there’s something of hers instead that’s going to be broken.

“Oh fuck! It’s so–” Minju’s eyes roll back. “Ohh… oh!”

Little sparks of wetness shoot in the air. Your pace turns merciless. With just three fingers, you puppet her body. Strings are pulled—her arms raise and her long legs strain to pull you in. You push and she keens, you pull and she yells. You’re making her desecrate the place with her water.

“C-can’t breathe.” A squeeze of her beautiful features—eyelids wrinkling, mouth parting, cheeks filling with scarlet—occurs before she squirts again. She whimpers pathetically, sounding so pitiful you want to laugh. “Ah, fuck, daddy—”

Something stirs inside you. When men hear that name, it ought to feel purely platonic and familial. They’d hear it from their daughter and feel compelled to protect them from men who’d do to them what you do to Minju. But you much prefer hearing that two-syllable word when it comes from a naked woman squirting all over the floor, from whom once you register it, you’re urged to pin her down, tie her down, hold her down.

Ironically, you release her. That isn’t because it’s over though. “On your knees. Follow me.”

Minju releases a gasp, grateful for the oxygen. The color returns to her face yet she barely has the energy to get off the table. You’re a generous man, and hey, it still counts as helping. So you yank her hair and force her on the ground. She fucking moans, a feat deserving of a healthy spank to her ass.

You walk to the living room. She follows you withher hands and knees bearing the cold tiles. You lead her to the place where you spend your time watching movies, rehearsing, and hanging out with Wonyoung if she’s ever home.

Speaking of, glance at the door of your bedroom. It’s still closed. It’ll stay that way.

Look down after wondering why Minju’s noisier. She’s playing with herself on the floor with no care for the cold chill of the tiles or the little dirt wedged between them. She lightly rubs her abused clit, quivering at the contact. You expect that from her—she’s corrupted, an irredeemable cause. She’ll get herself off anytime anywhere.

But what’s unexpected is what those watery eyes are focused on: you, in a framed picture on the wall. You look younger, happier. You’re in formal garments standing next to Wonyoung in a church.

It was you on your wedding day.

You spit on Minju. “Filthy cumslut.”

The drool slides down her cheek like a tear. She darts her tongue out and licks it. One could’ve thought it was candy considering the lift of a smile.

“I’m sorry, daddy,” she says resolutely. Her fingers still toy with her entrance. They won’t serve her well when there’s a bigger, better thing behind your pants to do it for her.

Your pants are already off. “Get up. Get the fuck up,” you command, but you do it for her.

You grab her neck and force her up. The look on her face is addicting, the way the shock turns into carnal need, the way she bites her lip. You press her to the wall, right under the framed wedding pictures, and finally plunge yourself inside her.

“Oh, oh, oh!”

What did Minju do to get this tight? Her walls are squeezed closer around you than you remember. They’re still wet from her squirting, easing your burden of fighting against the tautness of her core.

Her groans are pitched just like how you pitch yourself in her and make her fight for it. She tries everything: gathering the strength she has to push her ass into your crotch, rolling her body, looking back to watch your cock disappear between her lips.

“So big, daddy!” she cries. With a lick of her lips, she turns to face you. “Mmm, d-do you ever get this massive when you’re fucking Wonyoung?”

That seals it. There’s no restraint in using her body. Her plump ass leading to her toned back is a temptation by itself. You’d burst all over it (maybe in it) if you weren’t already firm in breeding her. But dear god—it rises and descends into your angled pumps so effortlessly that you aren’t afraid to spank it like you’re angry at her.

“Keep your whore mouth shut.”

Spank after spank you bestow and you realize, oh, you and Minju are really made for each other. The more her ass reddens, the more hot pain sparks on your palm. She throws herself back hard, you piston her harder.

Your puzzle pieces stick together so perfectly that it’s a shame you didn’t meet under different circumstances. She could’ve been an adorable girl next door and you could have been a guy looking to slip her a love letter. She would’ve been your loving girlfriend, a beautiful wife, someone you’d actually enjoy touching, so different from the woman asleep in the bed upstairs.

But that’s never happening. Minju’s a slut through and through, and she’ll forever be a sin you won’t go to confessions for. She was made to be fucked then discarded of when she’s no longer of use. You see it in the way she’s in a mantra of craziness, the way she yells, the way she looks back at you like she’s daring you to hurt her.

You choose the dare rather than to tell her the truth. You curl her hair into a fist and pull her into you.

“God, I’m so close.” Minju’s trembling body grows warmer in your touch. “I’m gonna cum all over your big gorgeous cock. I can’t hold out longer, daddy.”

Your teeth dig into her earlobe. You could make her bleed and she’d still find a way to make the pain heavenly. “I thought I told you to be quiet. Is Wonyoung waking up and ending your life worth it for this?”

“What if I say yes?”

“Fuck.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice, making her see you’d give her away to get a night with me? You’ll give up all this stupid shit t-to be my daddy. Because Wonyoung’s just sooo worthless, isn’t she?”

Savage her cunt and shove your fingers down her mouth just so she could shut up. You love this. Minju’s always so ready for you.

No, actually—now that you think about it, you hate it. You hate how she’s curvier than your wife, how she’s more alluring than she could ever be, how she moans despite the blockage in her throat. Everything about her is so sexy that the sound of her choking up spit makes you throb.

This is the wrong time to have a conscience. You’ve already split her apart. You’ve already got your fingers in her hair that pull hard to the point that damage is highly likely. You’ve already—

—got Minju screaming, biting down on your skin as her legs spread. What a strange thing to have as a natural reflex. That’s all she knows to do: spread her legs, hope her innocent face attracts a guy into her home and his dick into her pussy. Her skin, white as snow, has become impure with red blemishes. You see her purple-bruised neck flex when she yells into your hand.

“Daddy! Daddy!” Minju yells. Her fingernails leave fine scratches on the wall. “Fuck, I’m squirting so much I don’t know what to do—oh fuck!”

You bump the manic girl up on your knee before spreading her legs. A godless squirt of her juices hits Wonyoung’s face, the savior being the glass protecting the picture. Others bless their homes with water blessed by esteemed priests; you like to stand out. Choose to have Minju’s unholy juice flood the photo you once held dear.

Did something possess you? An evil spirit, a god of fertility? All are clichés but you can’t help but think so when you notice how fast you’re pumping Minju. It’s like greed’s finally reigned you. It’s difficult to resist. Minju just wrings your cock perfectly dry with her tight cunt, keeps you speedy with her desperate moans. You’re vandalizing her with your climax and she doesn’t want to be clean ever again.

“You think you’re special, Minju?” You press her to the ruined picture. Her side profile mashes on the glass. “You’re nothing, only a useless hole, just like that bitch. Now clean it up.”

Her eyes light up in shock. Excitement? “What?”

You pull her head back in order to have her full lips pressed against Wonyoung’s face. The clear squirt is still dripping from it. Minju’s face is red, and although your cock left her moments ago, she insists on tensing like it’s there. Is that how she lives? Her way of bonding is riding on the high she got the night before and the night before that. She always has sex in her mind that thoughts of it occur to her as they would to an animal.

That’s right; she’s an animal. Perhaps even a dog would have more self-control than her, ironically.

“Lick your mess,” you command. “Now.”

Minju whimpers. You bury your fingernails in her scalp until she loses her fake hesitance. Her tongue glides on Wonyoung’s face and relieves her of the mess. Her lips part and close, taking in her own taste.

She looks like she’s making out with your wife. Her pretty face smudges the other pretty face in the picture and it’s so much hotter than it’s got the permit to be. Wonder how it’ll look if she’s actually kissing the real Wonyoung—picture them with their legs locked together and tongues coming out to play—and you’re hard enough for another round.

“That’s right. You want to be Wonyoung so bad? You want to be the one I drive into the bed everyday? So fucking make out with her.”

“Y-yes, daddy. Oh.” Minju’s moans fog the glass. “I taste delicious.”

It’s probably a hygienically reprehensible thing to do. But her mouth is dirtier than the picture anyway. You force her lips deeper into it until you pull her away, satisfied.

Not quite.

Rub her clit a few more times. Hose her squirt all over the floor. You’ll have a mess to clean up. Oh, there’s all the evidence: her squirt on the floor, her lipstick in the shape of a languid kiss on the picture frame, the mess she made in the dining table where you ate her rather than your food.

But it’s all worth it. An evil idea plants and sprouts in your mind. “Bedroom.”

Minju pants. Her hands are flat on the wall. She turns to you, saliva and lipstick smeared on her chin, and asks, “W-which one?”

“You know exactly where.”

Her wide eyes tell you wordlessly that she got the point. She’s well aware of what room you want to use her body next. It’s not even supposed to be a question given the ways and moments you fucked her there.

“But daddy—if, if she hears us?”

You grin. “Then you’ll have to be pretty fucking quiet.”

The best thing about Minju besides her body is her passiveness. She may act up sometimes but she still needs your cock, and she’ll do anything to get it. So when she hangs her head to hide her smile, you spank her. It speeds her steps to the staircase. Continue doing so all the way.

It’s funny how she struggles to even lift a foot. Streams of your cum and hers slide down her legs, staining the carpet. You’ll have to wash that out, too. If you have the maid do it, she’s likely to put two and two together.

Even from the back, Minju’s body is beautiful. Her reddened ass twists from side to side and brings attention to her wide hips. The deep line on her spine is a path you trace your fingertips on. She quivers.

“Daddy,” she whines.

Hit her butt. Let it fill your palm. “Keep on walking.”

It’s borderline dehumanizing. You’re treating her with a ferociousness a woman like her should never have to go through. The eyes of the painted men and women on your walls lock on her. It’s like their hard stares are real. Minju bears the blows to her cheeks during her walk of humiliation up the stairs. Tiny yelps are caused by each one. It’s in her to be quiet now that Wonyoung is quite near, although not as close as she is to another heavy orgasm.

You slap her pussy, making her shake, then lead the juices mingling in it up to her asshole. She chews on the inside of her cheek to hide her moan. She reaches the last step with a huge sigh of relief.

The finality of the torture doesn’t last long. Fuck, it doesn’t even exist. You collect the semen and wetness from her legs, then drag it right back to her pussy.

You shove your fingers deep in her cave. There. Now your cum stays inside her. After that, it’ll drip all the way to her womb. She screams through pursed lips.

Push her hard against your bedroom door. Her stomach’s flatness goes up to the point that it’s the only thing engendered into the wood. Minju’s tiny gasp is already loud for you. Her beautiful side profile is mashed deep into the solid barrier between the two women.

Minju whimpers. Is she scared or heavily turned on? The thing with her is she likes both. So, yeah—she’s wet at the thought of being caught with you, being fucked within a distance of your wife wherein she could finally pin down your infidelity.

The little angel closes her eyes when your words hover near her prone ear. “Shut up,” you warn, “unless you want to lose your career. Or this dick.”

You slip your shaft between Minju’s shapely thighs. A friction is nurtured and grown into rough, pant-accompanied humping that leaves both of you breathless. Her pussy lips splay warmly on you and you’re allowed to rub yourself on her clit.

Minju tenses up. Her breaths are kept to a hummed volume yet their huskiness gets you to fuck her legs faster. The core between them is so warm and you haven’t even welcomed yourself in it again.

You carefully open the door. You don’t know what you’re expecting: Wonyoung crying with her face in her knees? An anger you never knew she could have? But what shows calms you. There’s your wife who remains asleep on the bed. From the soft snores, it’s easy to tell she’s deep in a dream.

“Wonyoung’s so pretty, daddy,” whispers Minju. You push her to the footboard where she holds on tight. “Do you think she’ll want to join if she wakes up? Or she’ll leave you for me?”

“Are you sure you want to act like that?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “Depends on what you’re gonna do to me.”

Everything. You’re planning on doing everything to her.

Push her to the small pole of the wood. You’re forced to shove your fingers in her mouth again to keep her from yelling. The contact it makes to her clit is already overwhelming. But she’s all for overwhelming—she wants the kind of sex that leaves her beaten and bruised, the kind that leaves her sore and not knowing if she should tell you to keep going or halt.

You know what she’d choose.

Minju grinds on the pole. She’s dancing her hips again. Somehow, things of the past don’t leave her. Her idol days still leave an impact on her. The guy she made cheat on his wife a long time ago returned to her life to cheat again.

No, you’ve never been one for sentimentality, but things have somehow stayed the same. The slut that is Minju today was a slut all those years ago, too.

Grab her hips and force her to hump the ball of the pole. She soaks it instantly. Minju is corrupted to no hope of return. There’s your cum, leaking from her pussy and to the bedsheets. Her juices wet the pole and increase the creaking noises that would wake Wonyoung up if not for whatever dream she’s having.

“Oh, daddy! Oh, daaaddy—” she stammers, words bitten and broken in the major need to be quiet. “Just… fuck me. Please?”

“As long as you—”

“Be a good quiet girl, yes. I’ll do anything, daddy. Anything for this cock.”

She kneels down. Her tender mouth seals around your left testicle. You nearly shout right there and then. Minju’s running her lips on the underside of your swelling dick. She feels so good, and she is so good. She has all the tips and tricks to keep you hard memorized, if her brain wasn’t too full of other dirty thoughts.

The rasp in your throat materializes and makes her squirm her legs together. She puckers her lips then slips your cock through their joined entrance. Her almond eyes look wider tonight. Your tip pokes the back of her throat. She lets it rub there for now. You find pleasure in the texture that makes you leak. No, you can’t cum. Not yet.

Take a last look at Wonyoung before diving your rod to the depths of Minju’s throat.

It’s funny that the girl still has a gag reflex. Sucking dick is second nature to her. So is getting throatfucked. The walls of her oral hole flex to keep you in. She makes sharp inhalations only to take in the musky scent you thrust on her. In her?

Choking comes after. The orifice grows tighter which makes you fuck it harder. Saliva’s slick liquid state sheens your erection. Minju’s lost her breath a long time ago but she’s lost more than that now. The regular beat of her heart is gone. You can’t search her face for any color other than the palest white.

“You have to stop gagging, Minju,” you say. Don’t help her though; keep ruining that throat. “Maybe you really do wanna get caught. Makes you really wet, doesn’t it?”

She nods. Your hard tip bobs in her mouth as she does. Her pretty eyes, with their long lashes and big pupils that always seem to gleam with innocence, fill with watery tears.

“How cute.” You’re surprised that her hair is intact to her scalp after you pull it back. “But I make the rules around here. And I need you to seal that mouth shut and use it for good.”

There’s a possibility that, like Minju, you’re a dancer as well. But the upward grind of your body has no grace in it. It’s a rough, punked up beat that renders the girl humming and screaming. This roughness is nowhere close to natural.

You dip your cock in her just to see how far you could go, how far is needed to keep her quiet. Feed her more than she could suck. Every sensitive spot of yours is on fire thanks to Minju’s dutiful tongue and hard sucking. Your sack slaps her chin so hard it’s surprising it doesn’t hurt.

But, like you iterated, Minju isn’t normal. She takes the pain for pleasure and doesn’t give a damn if she gets wounded because of it.

The tears finally fall from her eyes.

The lines blur. Who is she—the woman asleep on your bed or the woman you fucked to be disloyal to her? Minju’s beautiful; so is Wonyoung. Jang Wonyoung is beautiful but there’s a category of beauty wherein the girl you’re destroying right now falls in. That’s the section for women who look pretty when they cry, who’ve accepted they’re as fucked up as whoever finds them and takes them in for who they are.

Your wife is pretty. You guess. But Minju is a beauty who lets you do everything to her, and that makes her a little bit more important.

Defile, defile, defile. Wonyoung wouldn’t let you get cum in her hair—(”I have a photoshoot, babe, you can’t!”). Semen sticks to Minju’s locks right now. Wonyoung wouldn’t let you be this rough with her—(“And what if they see? I shouldn’t look dirty to the fans.”) Minju is sitting there taking it like she’s just a cum dump. Wonyoung wouldn’t let you tear off her clothes because “they’re couture so it’s not really mine.” The coat Minju wore coming here lies discarded on the first floor.

Wonyoung doesn’t let anyone defile her. It’s her most fatal flaw. It’s the flaw that makes her husband see all the tiny imperfections she doesn’t allow the camera to see and chase highs in another woman’s throat.

So when Minju cries, gags, chokes—you realize it’s all so simple.

Slip out of her. The delusions clouding your head make you steal a look at the bed. Oh, now it’s unbelievable. Wonyoung is still asleep.

Not that it’s any inconvenience to you.

You prop Minju up to the vanity table. The counter carries the heave of her small chest. She can barely lift her head up. It makes her carry a look of humiliation that’s not at all true. She’s the most shameless woman you’ve ever met.

“Daddy… daddy…”

Twist her chin so she can look at herself in the mirror. Her body is amazing despite the handprints and bruises peppered on her stomach, butt, and neck. She flusters but your finger presses on her lips before she can look away.

“Not a single sound,” you remind her.

She nods. Good girl.

Minju’s a capable girl. Well, mostly. She offers those amazing dicksucking lips, shapely curves, and sometimes, her ass for ruining its own tightness. But nothing beats the feeling of her cunt. It’s all the right things: wet, tight, and perfectly quivering as they wrap around your shaft.

Minju closes her eyes. Bites down on her lip. She fights to be true to her promise of silence. Being a good girl and bad girl simultaneously is one of her versatile traits. The table creaks louder than expected. You would’ve shot another look at your spouse again, but Minju’s pretty face is in the way. Her cheeks are scarlet and her brows bead with sweat. She really is a beauty.

Your strokes are ceaseless. The thing that shocks you the least is the fact that her legs look as if they spread wider and wider. She splits while you split her apart. Place a hand on her tummy to muffle the sounds of skin colliding and wood creaking, and reach a better end: your cock is hitting her guts, making a bobbing print on her flat stomach.

“Look how deep I am, Minju.” You grin wickedly at her reflection. “You call me daddy anywhere, don’t you? How about I become a real one?”

Minju bounces herself on you. That’s a yes. A definite, enthusiastic yes.

Your penetration is rougher, gliding on places she can’t even imagine. If you cum right now, and this far in, you’ll live up to your name of “daddy.” Minju isn’t the only one who has to keep promises.

Corner a pulse point on her neck. Her core squeezes and although its resistance is tough, your pumps are more so.

“You’ll be my secret good girl. Daddy’s gonna put a fucking baby in your stomach, and no one has to know it’s mine. No one has to know you’re mine.”

Minju pouts, not out of sadness but of the orgasm that’s creeping from her feet to her center. It’s so close she could reach for it, taste it like a strong wind. You allow the tiny breaths and pants that leave her to be exemptions from your bedroom law.

“Wonyoung would be so happy for you.” You lick the sensitive spot behind her ear. “‘That’s so great, unnie! Come on, tell us who’s the lucky guy.’ And you’ll have to stop yourself from telling her that I did it. Can you do that?”

Minju emphasizes each repetition with a responding throb and push of her cunt. “Yes, yes, yes—”

Allow that, too. Burst inside Minju. Flood her insides with cum that shall infiltrate her fertile womb. Soon, that tummy would be round rather than flat. It’ll be your baby.

Minju got what she wanted in the end.

The next day, Wonyoung will wake up crying.

It’ll happen early in the morning, when the moon is still up and sheets still wrap your exhausted form. But she’s sobbing so loud that it’ll rouse you.

“What’s wrong?” you’ll say.

She’ll tell you about a dream she had. Wonyoung’s going to narrate a complex dream of Minju, her beloved former member and best friend, seducing you. It happened right in the house and in front of her. You dared to do it to her while she was sleeping and thought she didn’t know.

And you?

You’ll take her in your arms, kiss the inside of her trembling wrist, and say, “Oh, honey—it’s okay. I’m here, baby. I’m here. I’m here.”

1K notes · View notes

zaephix · 3 months

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golden child , lion boy , tell me what it's like to conquer / / jing yuan . . .

as his wife, you have the right to dream of other possibilities, right?

warnings: married!jing yuan and reader, f!reader, use of pet names (love), no y/n, spoilers for the luofu storyline, jealousy, suggestive themes, lowercase intended

w/c: 635 words

a/n: double upload!?!?! cant help it i love this man so much lord help me, art cred: mugenoumi on twt

"you seem to be enjoying your time with those finches."

soft clicks of shoes stepping on the wooden floor reach the general's ears, and as well as the birds he was currently devoting his attention to. jing yuan knew better than to frustrate his wife, however he can't won't seem stop making that pout appear.

"and you know better than to be jealous of some innocent birds, love." the resonant voice of his leaves faint echoes in the chamber. he hums happily as your hands snake around his waist, your face buried in his back. "not m' fault- i missed you," your muffled voice tickles his back, earning you a chuckle.

he gently releases the birds, much to your pleasure. "there. they're gone now, but you ought to open your heart to them. they're excellent companions."

"better companions than me?" you prod with an eyebrow raised. he turns around to face you, and now you can finally see your husband's infuriatingly handsome portrait once more. hundreds of years have passed since your union with jing yuan, and yet he still leaves you breathless each time.

long locks of golden white hair frame his head, stray strands everywhere. it's a common sight for your eyes these days, the ten-lords commission giving your husband more work to do these days, especially after the incident with phantilya. noticing your internal worry, he cradles you in his arms.

"now, now. would i have stuck with you for this long if i'd found better a companion? you think too much, love."

"and you think too little." you buried your face yet again in the crook of his neck. it was times like these when you wished you and your husband were not such important figures to the xianzhou, daydreams of you and jing yuan living a simple life away from here plague your mind almost every day.

"some people think me a fool, reduced down from a feared general to a lazy idiot who can't seem to pick up a pen for the life of him."

"and what do you say to that?"

he grins down at you, the outer corners of his eyes wrinkling with his breathy laugh. "i agree with them. however, there's one thing they do have wrong."

this piques your interest, lifting your head up to make eye contact with him. you tilt your head to the side, encouraging him to continue. "well?"

with sudden enthusiasm, he picks you up and spins you around, your back now hitting the cool concrete of some wall in the room. however, you don't have time to think about what had just happened, as he stole your lips and your breath in that same second.

his lips moved against yours with passion, arms coiling around you in a tight grip. kisses with jing yuan were usually slow and sensual, nothing like the show he's putting on for you right now. you swear you could feel your lips go numb, both of you breathing into each other like you'd never breathe again.

he finally pulls away, a thin strand of saliva connecting you both still. he sighs deeply with a smile on his face. "i've already conquered a feat very few people have before. your love and loyalty to me."

you giggle at the mushy confession. general or not, he'd still be your loving husband. "you can never not have the last word, can you?"

"no ma'am." and he pulls you in again, this time going back to his usual kisses. slow, sensual, and sultry.

a few moments later, something soft and bushy made contact with your leg. your husband's hair was certainly not that long, and you know for a fact you don't have a carpet this fluffy in this room...

"jing, i think mimi wants your attention as well."

667 notes · View notes

citrustan · 7 months

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slipping through my fingers [prologue] (myg)

pairing: min yoongi x reader genre: dilf!yoongi, exes and co-parents au, angst, fluff, smut summary: you've always thought you had it way too easy. all of a sudden, your life seems to be taking a few unexpected turns. it's time your luck ran out. word count: 1.4k warnings: none, you're all good > : )

The soft whirring sound of the radiator echoed through your cozy apartment.

It’s homey and comforting to hear the constant hum in the background. Sometimes, you’d leave the window open for the cold air to enter your space just so you had an excuse to use your radiator.

Still, you ought to get that fixed up before your ex-boyfriend lectures you about getting a new one already.

It was one of those days when time seemed to have slowed down. As you folded your daughter’s fresh laundry, you went over your tasks for the day.

You were in no hurry because for once, you had everything together.

The living room bathed in the sun’s golden hue.

Your daughter sat on her favourite spongy floor mat, completely absorbed in creating her new art piece. Her fingers were covered in pink, purple and white paint.

Momentarily pausing, you take note of what type of paint she used.

Acrylic.

You sigh. That would be a pain to clean off.

After putting away the laundered clothes, you remind your daughter to get into the bath.

You stood in front of her with your hand on your hips, “Nao, do you want mommy to run you a warm bath or would you rather shower?”

She simply hums.

“Mommy needs to shower too. You better get in there…” You walk away after adding, “Before I do.”

At that, Naomi instantaneously stops and rushes into the bath.

Naomi was a lot like you. She hated using wet bathrooms, as do you. But motherhood had changed you. Now, you’d do just about anything for your daughter.

As if you just remembered, you yelp, “Hold on! Let me clean the paint off of you first.”

You didn’t want your pristine white bathroom tiles to stain.

After bathing and dressing your daughter in a sage green cotton dress that you stitched yourself, you decide to let her watch TV even though it isn’t time for that just yet.

“Is daddy coming to get me today?” Naomi’s enthusiastic voice stopped you. It’s a bittersweet moment for you. On one hand, you’re happy that your daughter’s happy, on the other, you’re reminded that Yoongi and you aren’t together anymore.

“Of course, he is. It’s Friday!” You match her tone. She perks up and resumes watching the Barbie movie you put on for her.

Naomi would be distracted for a good thirty minutes now.

That does not leave you a lot of time for your ‘everything’ shower, but you were aiming high either way.

While in the shower, you let your thoughts wander to Yoongi.

He suggested you have dinner together because he had a few things to discuss with you.

You don’t think too much of it. It’s probably something about his upcoming business trip. You’ve got everything covered either way.

Your breakup was… inevitable. It wasn’t mutual at first, but you knew it’s where you were headed to.

After five years of dating, while simultaneously parenting Naomi, you wanted to get married. Yoongi didn’t.

You yearned for the validation and commitment of marriage, while Yoongi held steadfast to his belief against it. He refused to confine himself to a traditional marriage.

When you opened up to him about your insecurities about him leaving you for someone else, he grappled to reassure and console you. It worked for about a month.

Your differences, once manageable, had now grown into impossible divides, creating a rift that stretched beyond mere disagreement.

Self-doubt and a lack of validation destroyed your relationship.

The water had almost run cold by the time you finished your shower routine.

You pick out a sage green dress for yourself, similar to Naomi’s, just longer.

In no hurry, you moisturize and blow-dry your hair.

Even though you’re broken up, you still try to dress up for him. You don’t know why.

Apart from some lingering stares, there hasn’t been any sign of a reconciliation since you broke up. Yet, you always try to look good for him.

Although, that’s just who you are. You’d dress up for anyone. But, it’s still different with Yoongi. You especially enjoy his compliments.

The doorbell rang, forcing you to hurry and spritz on the first perfume bottle you touch.

“Don’t open the door! You don’t know who it is!” You warn Naomi, but to no avail.

He’s early today.

Naomi races you to the door, “It’s daddy!” You let her win. You rush to tidy up the living room as you walk to the door.

“You’re so early!” Your daughter clings to his leg. Yoongi laughs and drags his foot in.

“How are my girls feeling?” He smirks at you. “A little troubled now that you’re here.” You bicker.

Yoongi vocalizes a groan, “Why’s mommy so mean to daddy?” He directs it to Naomi.

You smile and wait by the coat hanger stand to receive his jacket.

The apartment feels a little livelier every time he stops by.

“Why are you here so soon? I haven’t even begun cooking yet.” You walk into your kitchen to quickly gather ingredients to prepare a fresh pasta dough.

“No reason.” Yoongi cleared his throat, “Let me help you cook.” You gladly accept his help.

You assign both Nao and Yoongi to make the sauce and the salad.

Soon, your kitchen was filled with the clatter of pots and pans and laughter.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

After dinner, Naomi spends time watching TV and working on her masterpiece.

In the serene quiet of your kitchen, the clinking of dishes echoed softly as you and Yoongi worked in unison, a familiar rhythm of cleaning up after a shared meal.

The warmth of the evening meal lingered; the comforting ambiance contrasted with the weight of the impending conversation.

Yoongi sighed for the fifth time that evening before you finally asked him, “What is it you wanted to talk about? Is everything okay?”

As you wiped a bowl dry, you stole a glance at Yoongi, noticing the hint of unease in his demeanour. Your heart fluttered with a sense of foreboding, sensing something amiss.

Yoongi paused for a moment; his hands still submerged in soapy water. "I... I have something I need to tell you."

You laughed uneasily, “I know. Spit it out already. You’re worrying me.”

The air around you felt heavier.

You set down the dishcloth, turning to face him, a sense of apprehension settling in.

Yoongi stared back into your eyes.

"I... I'm getting engaged," Yoongi finally uttered, his words hanging heavily in the air.

WHAT?

The world seemed to pause for a moment as you tried to process his words.

Your chest tightened, emotions swirling within you—a mix of surprise, disbelief, and an (un)expected pang of sorrow.

You searched his eyes for reassurance, for any sign of hesitation or doubt.

"Engaged?" Your voice was barely a whisper.

You’re hoping he misspoke. Maybe he’s getting engraved or encased or embraced.

Yoongi nodded, his expression a blend of remorse and an unspoken plea for understanding. "It's been on my mind for a while."

“Has it, now?” You scoffed.

WOW, really?

You didn’t even know he was seeing someone like that.

Even though you’re broken up, you feel cheated on in some way.

“I don’t know what to say.” You deadpan.

Your conversation was interrupted by the distant sound of Naomi's laughter, a stark reminder of the delicate balance you maintained for your daughter's sake.

"I wanted you to know first," Yoongi added softly, his eyes a mosaic of regret and an unspoken apology. One that you don’t want to acknowledge or accept.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you look down at your floral dishcloth.

You have a lot of questions but you don’t really want answers to all of them.

Yoongi feels ashamed of himself. But he knew he’d have to have this conversation with you someday. The sooner the better. He thoroughly beat himself up for this too.

You excused yourself promptly, “I’ll check on Nao.” Yoongi simply nodded.

Alone in the quiet of the short hallway that connects the kitchen to your living room, you leaned against the wall. A mix of emotions threatened to overwhelm you. You took a deep breath, bracing yourself against the ache in your chest.

₊˚.🎧 ✩｡ in my dreams by red velvet ₊˚.🎧 ✩｡

note: this is a self-indulgent drabble series i'm writing, nothing is planned and i'll just write as i go

i hope u guys enjoy it!

find the series masterlist here.

#fic: slipping through my fingers #yoongi x reader #yoongi fic #yoongi smut #yoongi x oc #yoongi fanfic #bts angst #bts x reader #yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #suga x reader #suga fic #suga angst #min yoongi smut #min yoongi x you #min yoongi x oc #dilf yoongi

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devilfic · 5 months

Text

❝friends of the web❞

plot: you have a fear of spiders, but you've made a promise to work past it. peter thinks your determination is really quite adorable. pairing: tasm!peter parker x gn!reader. cw: fluff, humor, established relationship, spiders (not graphic), reader has arachnophobia but is being so brave about it, based on the poem "ten legs, eight broken" by I, e on tiktok because it fundamentally changed the way I interact with small bugs forevermore. words: 1.2k.

a/n: I have had pretty bad arachnophobia my entire life and after reading ten legs, eight broken a while back, it convinced me to start saving little spiders I find in my house. this fic is 100% based on how that ends up going every single time. minus peter parker coming to save the day

He's careful, stomach coiled tight to control his breathing. One hand is delicately pinching a bolt with tweezers, the other holding his webshooter frighteningly still. One wrong move would trigger the suspension, and about four hours' worth of fluid refill would end up all over his research notes. He has to be slow. He lowers the tweezers another half inch.

Gently, the bolt's thread catches and he releases the breath he'd been holding. In that same moment, you shout and his tweezers slip.

It's the feeling of webs spraying him in the face that he registers first, their tendrils catching onto his glasses and eyelashes and lips. Then it's your rushed breathing, the pumping of your heart nearly beating out of your chest. He doesn't feel a tingle along his spine but your shout jolts Peter out of his spell. In an instant, he's batting away the webs and throwing himself out of his office with enough velocity to take down a wall. He's expecting scorpions, vultures, lizards, his hearing zeroing in on you, and-

-and he turns the corner and there's you, crouched on the floor, hands cupped in front of you—cocooning something. "Hey, hey, hey, whoa, whoa." Peter's eyes flit around the room, looking for the threat his senses ought to have picked up on by now, and kneels beside you. He focuses on your hands and your complete and utter lack of urgency. "What's going on?"

You glance to the side, so quick he doesn't even think you register the panic on his face, "Pete, thank God. Can you talk to this thing for me?"

You move your hand and the other breathing thing in the room becomes apparent. A spider, barely the size of a crumb, is crawling over mountains of carpet thread. It's moving quickly but in circles, clearly confounded by the terrain. Peter looks at you. He drags each syllable out as he asks, "What is happening?"

You shift and Peter shifts with you, keeping an eye on the spider, "This thing- this spider is such a jackass."

"Yeah?"

"I'm trying to get him outside and he won't go."

You've got a flier for Pilates in the Park clenched in one hand, while the other is cautiously putting a wall between the spider and the abyss under your sofa, a place where even Peter dares not go. "Why don't you just kill it?"

Clearly that was the wrong thing to say. You look horrified at him as you answer, "I can't kill him!"

"Do we- are we sure it's a him? Have you decided he's a him?"

"I made a promise to myself that I would stop killing."

"I don't think... okay, what is going on here?"

You struggle to explain and focus on the spider at the same time, "It's a resolution I made for the new year. That even though I'm terrified of these things, I won't kill them anymore because... because they're living beings just like me." Peter watches you bite your lip, a twinge of pity sewn into the divot between your furrowed brows, "So I'm putting them outside whenever I see one... if only they would stop being jackasses about it."

Peter half-laughs, half-sighs. The little spider crawling around on the ground is none the wiser to your inner peril, "This isn't just because your boyfriend is, like, 1/3 spider, is it? I won't take it personally if you hit him with a shoe."

You snort and place your flier in front of the escaping spider, watching it crawl over the word "yoga" before making a u-turn for the carpet, "Of course not, my spider overlord."

You try to scoop up the spider again but every time you lift the paper, it dives off the other side and back into the carpet. "How long does this usually take?" Peter asks. He sits back on his ass, propping up a knee to rest his arm on.

"Ten minutes at best. If I don't lose them."

"Hm. And this works for you?"

You pout up at him, scooping up the spider again and watching it fly off once more, "I usually manage to get them outside, I'll have you know."

"And the screaming?"

"I never said it was a peaceful process."

"So, let me get this straight," Peter leans into you, "you spot the spider, you grab the nearest piece of paper, you try to get the spider on the paper, and then you...?"

"Scream and run until I make it to the window."

"Why- why the screaming?"

You wince, trying not to lose the bug in the carpet, "Because I'm scared they'll touch me." Your boyfriend tickles his fingers along your arm and you shiver, swatting him with your free hand.

After another failed attempt, Peter places his hand in front of the spider's path and it crawls into his palm to get to the kitchen. Before it can cross over into tiled territory, it's forced to a sudden stop, and Peter takes advantage.

It takes him three strides to get to the living room window, yank it open, and release the spiderling into the wild.

You're standing behind him with a look of frustration on your face, even though your shoulders have finally sagged with relief, "How'd you convince him to sit in your hand like that?"

"I didn't. Sticky hands." Peter wiggles all his fingers at you, amused.

"Wh- that's it? Do they not usually listen to you or something?" You grab one of his hands and quickly realize he's using that ability on you this time. He's got you stuck in a handhold.

"I can't remember when I ever said I could talk to spiders."

"I mean, it seems like a pretty fair assumption," you grumble, trying to shake his hand away before giving in, "they put their juices in you after all."

"Why would you say that?"

"Thanks for the help, by the way. I'm still... getting used to not panicking when I see them."

Peter raises his other hand to your hair and gives you a kiss on the temple, smiling against your skin, "You are so, so, so brave."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I mean, it's pretty brave to show mercy to something you fear, right? You could've killed it or asked me to do it, but you didn't. You wanted it to live."

"It doesn't mean to scare me," you bring your intertwined hands up to your mouth and press a kiss to his knuckles, "I'd want it to take pity on me if it was the other way around."

"I think the spiders will appreciate that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Then why do they give me such a hard time?"

"Well, you're so scared of them that you don't even realize they're just as scared of you. You gotta make 'em like you, you know?"

"Got any tips for that?"

Peter guides his free hand to your waist, rocking you side to side, "Hm. Buy them sushi. Take them to a midnight showing of Night of the Living Dead. Tell him you think his nerdy rambling after the movie is sexy..." You giggle into Peter's chest and his heart swells, "Don't laugh! It worked on me."

You tilt your head up and he steals a kiss without hesitation, making you stumble on what you say next, "How about you just come let them out for me next time, hm?"

"And if I'm not around?"

"...make me a super scientific spider catching gadget?"

Peter hooks his hands underneath your thighs and hikes you up around his waist, "I'll make you one if you refill my web fluid for me."

"You can fill me with your web fluid."

"Okay. I'm putting you in time out, freak."

taglist: @yikes-buddy @alexxavicry @theclassicvinyldragon @marina-and-the-memes

#peter parker x reader #peter parker scenarios #peter parker fic #peter parker fluff #peter parker #spiderman x reader #spiderman scenarios #spiderman fic #spiderman fluff #spider-man #tasm #marvel #mjwrites

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faeriekit · 1 year

Note

So, in the spirit of causing problems on purpose, I wanted to share a new idea with you that I just had:

Young/“warm” ghosts have very large cores. As they get more settled into their Obsession, their core condenses. The smaller the core, the older the ghost, etc.

One day, Danny gets really hurt, and he runs off to heal. Pick your favorite headache victim to find him, and boom! Suddenly they have a goddamn ostrich egg to watch over!

Got that? Great!

Now imagine all of Danny’s frenemies turning the world upside down, trying to find a fucking marble.

This reminds me of the flour bag episode ouhdsfohsdoih poor Valerie 😂

Just—

Sam and Tuck find the baby sling they used for their flour bag assignment and reluctantly put themselves on BabyWatch, babysitting a giant pearlescent-blue glass blob of a bestie, who weighs a ton when he's asleep by the way. They look absolutely bizarre doing it ("Hasn't that assignment been over? ...Since, like, Freshman year?") but they're reallyreallyreally hoping no one's paying too much attention at, uh, how cold the room gets, his weird spherical shape, the emf readings from the classroom ghost sensors...

Meanwhile. Val, who poofed him, is losing her shit. Where the fuck is he?!?!! Research says he should be like the size of her thumbnail but he can't be that small that she can't find him?? Hello?? Did she— Did she lose him in the grass??? Cut to a montage of Red Huntress furiously tidying up the grassy knoll she had just been fighting Phantom in because he has to be somewhere!! Right?!

Meanwhile:

Vlad hears that Valerie has his little Badger poofed, and is old enough to have no idea how large a warm newdead ghost would be— Wait, he should be able to find the boy first and keep him captive! Obviously now is the time to get a jump on the boy— Why can't he find Phantom, this shouldn't be so hard—

And the vultures hear it from Vlad, and hey! If they find that little marble, free lunch! Now all they have to do is find the thing...why can't they find the little sucker...

And Skulker hears it from the vultures. It would be so easy to skin the half-ghost. As soon as he finds it.

...Where is it.

Skulker leaks the news to Ember who gossips with Kitty who reports to Johnny, and suddenly there's a hunt for a baby-blue glass bead both in the Infinite Realms and in the human world (because not everyone got all of the memo, exactly.) And someone should have found it by now. Someone ought to have found Phantom by now.

Is he...is he actually gone?

Meanwhile, Sam and Tucker are incorporating the equivalent of Danny's comatose body into their art project so that they can have him on them at all times at school without anyone thinking of it. Or. Well. Have anyone thinking too much of it. He makes a very pretty centerpiece. They might even get a B on it! High five!

👻*time skip* 👻

Danny wakes up two weeks later dazed, confused, nauseous, and covered in hot glue and craft stickers.

#I lOVE problems thank you #danny phantom #faer fic #ghost fanlore

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mrm0rgansw0man · 13 days

Note

Hii can I please have a scene with Arthur Morgan and his fem s/o in an alternate universe where Arthur never got TB and he is happily married living with his wife on a cosy farm similar to the marstons. They have just had a newborn daughter and she is only a few days old and Arthur sees his wife picking up their newborn, still in shock from giving birth just days prior. She is cuddling and sweet talking her baby, gently kissing her head and loving her. She coos and gently but sweetly whispers good morning to her baby girl. I just want Arthur’s reaction to this and how he reacts to all the fluff plus him being a new father. Can you please end it with fem reader putting their child back in the crib and making their way to the living room, relaxing on the sofa together and talking about how they should visit the marstons soon. Thank you 💞💞💞💞💞💞

The Life a Good Man Deserves

Has it really been only a week since I watched her walk along the tree line of the forest near our home, soaking in the sun, glowing like a god damn angel? She was pregnant as could be, but she wanted to take one last walk before we took our first walk with our baby girl.

And a few days later, she was here. God was it hard, watchin' my wife hurt like that. Her screams and all the blood... it left me shakin' like a leaf. I've never felt so scared in my life I don't think. We didn't have a doctor or a nurse or anythin', but we had Charles and a forest only a few yards away. Thank whatever lord there was above that he had stopped by that morning, and right as he was about to leave I heard my wife screamin' for me from our bedroom. We both came running, and that was the start of the longest night of my life.

Charles made a million different remedies on the stove of our kitchen. For pain, for infection, any complications my wife or our little girl could have after birth. All the while I was holding my wife's hand as she brought our baby-girl into the world, how crazy life is sometimes.

We named her 'Briar-Rose.' Right after she was born, my wife looked out the window and saw the ones we had planted had finally bloomed. We'd have horrible luck with them before, so it seemed perfect.

I ought to go find them now, instead of just sittin' her day dreaming about the family that I finally have. God, I love them so much.

• • • • • • •

Arthur set his leather journal down on his bedside table, the matching ones he made for the two of you for your first anniversary you spent together in your home. The one he had built for you, with the help of Charles and John. Oh and little Jack of course, he did so much!

Arthur got up and slipped on a pair of worn old jeans and his favorite blue button up shirt. How it had survived all these years, he didn't know.

How he had survived all these years, he didn't know either.

Arthur quietly made his way to the nursery. It was right next to the bedroom the two of you shared, and the door was cracked open. There was no other place you could be. Arthur was about to walk in, but he stopped when he heard you talking to your daughter. He watched through the crack of the door, completely mesmerized.

Your hair was in a messy braid down your back, and you wore a long flowing white nightgown. It was long sleeved, and the strings around your bosom area were tied into a pretty bow. The sleeves, which had forever been too long for your arms but you refused to mend time, rested around your whole hand, only leaving your fingers sticking out. Arthur could see them sticking out under your coat and laughed to himself. He loved these little things about you, and he had them all written down in his journal.

Your coat, which was actually the brown plaid one that belonged to Abigail, also hung loosely around you with your nightgown. He smiled as he remembered both you and Abigail trading your favorite coats. John and Arthur had both been talking and they decided it was time to leave the gang, it wasn't an easy decision but a necessary one. You and Abigail were two peas in a pod, like sisters almost. You had both decided you needed to do something to always stay together now that you wouldn't be able to see each other everyday.

A small cry from your daughter pulled him from his thoughts.

"Oh my sweet girl, shh shh." You cooed softly, you picked up your daughter from her crib and cradled her in your arms. Holding her close and tight. You pressed a gentle kiss on your daughters head, and she calmed. You rocked her back and fourth and started talking to her.

"How'd my baby sleep? Did you sleep well?" You asked, your tone so gentle and full of love Arthur thought he could cry. You were the perfect mother. "I love you, so much my sweet girl. Your so beautiful. You've got your daddy in you, those stunning blue eyes and that hair of yours. I can't wait to watch you grow up."

Arthur couldn't take it, tears fell freely from his eyes and he opened the door of his daughters room and actually ran to you. He held you close to him, careful to not hurt your stomach.

"Oh Arthur, are you alright?" You said with a light laugh, though your voice was laced with concern.

"Honey, I have never been more alright in my life." He said shakily. His quiet voice held so much emotion it broke your heart.

When Arthur first found out you were pregnant, he was angry. Not at you, and certainly not at your unborn child. He was angry at himself, how could he be so stupid? Getting another woman pregnant, while still being in the gang? Which was definitely going to shit, by the way. Arthur could feel it happening. His heart actually hurt when he thought about Eliza and Issac, how his stupidity had gotten them killed. His little boy, and the woman he never married but god damn he should've, both dead over 10 dollars. 10. Fucking. Dollars. If he had been there, those bastards would've been dead in a second! He was a gunslinger for fucks sake! He could've saved them if he had just done right. But he was so scared to be a father, especially to a son. He didn't want to turn into his own father. He wouldn't wish that on anyone. But once a certain Karen Jones dragged him by the ear to the hiding spot you had found to cry in telling him to "fix it" he knew what he had to do. And it wasn't easy.

He held you in his arms, and apologized for every second he made you think or feel like he didn't want you or the child growing inside you. He said he had a plan, and it was the first time since joining the gang that you were relieved to hear those words.

"Arthur?"

Your voice pulled him from his thoughts. Arthur pulled away from you so he could get a better look

"Would you like to hold your daughter Mr. Morgan?" You asked with a smile just as sweet as your southern drawl.

"Yes I would, Mrs. Morgan." He said with a smile, quickly wiping the tears from his eyes. He ever so carefully took his daughter into his arms. She fussed for a moment, before quickly settling back down again.

"I can't believe I'm a daddy..." Arthur said softly. "Look at my sweet girl... Both of my sweet girls."

You stood on your tip toes and kissed Arthur on the cheek, and you bent back down to kiss your daughter. You winced straightening back up.

"Sit down, please honey." Arthur said gently. "You just had a baby after all."

"'M fine sweetheart." You dismissed. "I need to get the best view possible of this.."

A sudden sharp cry erupted from your daughter, causing both you and Arthur to laugh.

"Still a view I want to see." You said with a smile. Arthur passed Briar off to you, and she quieted down a bit.

"Ain't nothin' like the touch of a mother." Arthur said softly, gently wrapping his arms around your stomach. With your body flush against his, he rested his chin on top of your head. You chuckled.

"You should sing her a lullaby. Arthur suggested. You chuckled, knowing he'd use any excuse to hear you sing. You took a breathe, and began a gentle lullaby:

Down in the valley, valley so low Hang your head over, hear the wind blow Hear the wind blow, dear, hear the wind blow Hang your head over, hear the wind blow.

Roses love sunshine, violets love dew Angels in heaven know I love you Know I love you, dear, know I love you Angels in heaven, know I love you.

Writing this letter, containing three lines Answer my question, "Will you be mine?" "Will you be mine, dear, will you be mine?" Answer my question, "Will you be mine?"

Down in the valley, valley so low Hang your head over, hear the wind blow Hear the wind blow, dear, hear the wind blow Hang your head over, hear the wind blow.

You finished the song, and were now left with a sleeping daughter and a husband who was weeping. The sight of it brought tears to your own eyes.

"I just watched my wife sing my daughter to sleep for the first time.." Arthur wept. "Look at me, I'm a god damn mess. God I love you so much, I love her so much- (Name), this is real. This is our life."

"I can't belive it either!" You said with a sniffle. "Let me put her in her cradle before we wake her up."

Arthur nodded, sneaking a quick kiss to your forehead before heading to the door. Arthur was about to leave, but something told him to stay a moment longer. He turned just in time to see you tenderly set your daughter down in her crib and cover her up with her blanket which you had sewn by hand for her. You kissed your daughter one last time before joining Arthur.

As soon as you were in arms reach, Arthur scooped you up and carried you bridal style right into the living room. You giggled like some lovesick schoolgirl, causing Arthur to giggle too.

"Nothin but laughter and tears of joy in this house." You said happily. "That's exactly how I wanna be livin'!"

"Me too darlin!" Arthur said, gently setting you down on the sofa. He sat down right next to you and opened his arms, which you gladly crawled into. With your head resting in the crook of his neck and your legs curled up in his lap, you felt so safe. And so loved, you swore Arthur Morgan was sent from the lord above just for you.

"When do you think you'll be up for a trip to go see Abigail?" Arthur said, a sly smile on his face.

You gasped in excitment. "Oh goodness, is the house done already!? Did John invite you?"

"Yes ma'am! And guess what else darlin'?" Arthur said with a laugh. Your excitement was contagious, anyone could agree to that. "They made us a nursery for Briar-Rose."

Your eyes welled up with tears and you covered your mouth with your hand.

"Your kiddin' me..." You said softly, a smile slowly forming on your face.

"They really did honey." Arthur said and smiled softly at you. "Abigail wrote to me. I got the letter the night I went to town right before you had Briar. Said the house is done and we need to come visit as soon as you feel up to it after you have the baby."

"I don't know how soon, but I can't wait to go! Oh Arthur I miss her so much.." You said sadly. "I'm gonna write her back! We'll plan a visit next month...." You said, but your words trailed off into a yawn.

"Sounds good t'me baby." Arthur said, his hand natrually finding your hair to begin running his fingers through it. It put you to sleep faster then you'd like to admit.

Arthur let out a content sigh. He had never dared even daydream of a life like this for too long, yet here he was. Actually living the life of his dreams. With his wife, daughter, and even his 'brother'.

He wouldn't have it any other way.

authors note: I HOPE YOU ENJOYED CAUSE I LITERALLY HAD THE BEST TIME WRITING THISSS Xx

#x reader #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 arthur #red dead redemption 2 #red dead fanfiction #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan is a sweetheart #arthur morgan fluff #dad arthur morgan #arthur morgan as a father #rdr2 #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan #tooth rotting fluff #thanks for the submission!#reader is an amazing mother #arthur is an amazing father #briar rose morgan

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imrllytootiredforthis · 1 year

Note

for the submissions thing, could u write something w/ needy!gyu who acts like a brat to get ur attention at dinner with u and txt? :) no worries if not!

Behave

pairing: beomgyu x reader

warnings: sub gyu, dom reader, nipple play, begging, slight overstimulation, exhibitionism, oral fixation, think that's it, there may be more tho

word count: 2.6k

a/n: this took so long, bc i am perpetually procrastinating and inspiration hits once in a blue moon so i'm sorry anon but it's here now!

It's been happening all night.

His hand sliding up your thigh, fingers dancing along the waistband of your pants, just enough to make sure you notice. You brush him away every time but he doesn't seem to be getting the hint.

Or, more likely option, he got the hint and decided to actively ignore it and continue on, the little brat.

"So what's been up with you guys lately?"

And all while he keeps trying to rile you up you also have a conversation to juggle.

"Oh nothing really," your words are too composed, too put together for Beomgyu. You're supposed to be struggling, trying to catching your breath as your face goes red-how he looks when you tease him. "The same old. What about you though, how is it trying to control these minx's?"

You gesture to the rest of the boys, taking the opportunity to slap Gyu's hand away, pushing off of you.

"Oh, you know," Soobin says, glancing meaningfully at the boy beside you.

The boy in question takes no notice, instead 'dropping' his fork and a little too happily proclaiming that he needs to pick it up, climbing under the table.

"Brat." you mutter under your breath, feeling his soft hair come into contact with your skin before it's his lips, peppering kisses over your leg, nose nuzzling into your heated flesh.

"I definitely know." You reply, taking a bite of food to cover the groan that almost escapes.

What motivation does he have? What's driving him to do this? All while you're out at dinner with all of the rest of his friends.With his bandmembers.

Desire. Want. Pure horniness that he's been harbouring all day long, imagining sinful things all while you try to hold up a conversation.

He needs you so bad.

Ever since this morning, ever since he watched you slide your rings onto your onto each finger while getting ready for the day.

He felt saliva pool in his mouth as he fixated on your hands, on the metal and pretty jewels that coated them. In the lithe way that your fingers moved.

He'd gave an experimental grind against the bed at the time, holding back a desperate moan.

But you'd heard him. You'd heard him and you'd known, with the way his eyes were fixed intently and what exactly they were on.

You'd known and you'd teased him, played with him like the little toy he is for you, stepping closer and dipping down to wrap your hand around his jaw, pushing it up to force him to look at you.

"Are you needy, Gyu?"

He'd nodded desperately, hips working against the sheets below him in a futile attempt to gain a sensation that would replicate you.

"From my fingers huh? From watching them?"

His eyes had flickered down to your ring-clad hand and he nodded, mouth falling open, drool coating his lips.

He'd wanted them in his mouth so bad. He still wanted them in his mouth for fucks sake but you'd just smirked down at him before leaving a peck on his nose and telling him to be good while you were gone.

Telling him to behave.

This was payback.

For making him horny and needy and desperate.

He ought to be ashamed of his behaviour now as you tug him back up into his seat. His cheeks are flushed pink and drool creeps down from the corner of his mouth which you quickly brush away.

The others continue to talk as if they don't notice anything. As if they aren't vaguely aware of the tension between the two of you. Acting as if it's so thick you could practically cut it with a knife at this point.

His hand slides up your thigh, getting a touch too high, agile fingers sweeping to rub over you. Your teeth sink into your lip.

"Behave." If only you knew the things that one small word does to him, setting something alight inside of him, burning hotter and hotter and hotter.

But he doesn't. He won't. He enjoys this too much to even consider it.

So his quick fingers will continue their exploration as they begin to slip under your shirt, palm flattening against your skin to grab onto your hip.

"You better stop right now if you know what's good for you." The hiss is low and only makes his body hotter.

You should really know this by now.

A small smile curls at his lips and a faux innocent look enters his eye as he hooks the thumb of his free hand towards the bathroom.

You sigh, trying to turn away from him and continue the conversation you had trailed off in.

He doesn't let you though, instead he slots his mouth right beside your ear, warm breath sliding across your neck, "I’m not wearing any underwear." fuck, you can hear the shit-eating grin you're sure is on his face, knowing that he's succeeded in his endeavor to rile you up. "Thought you might like to know."

Your breath comes out sharply and all you can imagine is everything you're not supposed to right now.

Shameless brat.

You should really know this by now.

You have learned. A long, long time ago that he was like this. That Beomgyu is something outside the realm of common decency and wouldn't care if any one of his friends were to catch him in the act right here and right now.

"Hello, are you guys okay?"

You turn to Kai, a blush coating your cheeks.

He's probably the only one who doesn't have some kind of idea of what's going on right now.

The only one that doesn't put the pieces together. Of your red face and Beomgyu's smirk and the fact that he's using his non-dominant hand to clumsily eat because his dominant hand is the one that's on the side that you're on.

The others watch, amused. Yeonjun whispers something to Taehyun and he whispers something back and you're ninety percent sure that they just made a bet on how you're gonna dig the both of you out of this hole this time.

You blank.

Shit.

"Yeah! We are, completely fine Kai. Beomgyu uh, just remembered," a low escapes your throat as his fingers rub against you, up and down and relentless. You cover it with a cough but just barely. "That-that he forgot to turn off the stove, so we have to get going to y'know turn that off, so the entire apartment doesn't burn down."

"O-kay then?"

It's not a very believable lie, not with the way you scramble to grab your things, the others nearly laughing as Taehyun tries to discreetly slide something under the table to Yeonjun.

And definitely not with the way you shove Beomgyu, hissing into his ear, goosebumps rising along his skin. "Don't you dare look back, just keep walking."

"Um, guys! You know the door is that way-"

"We parked out back!" you call back.

You pass the door to behind the restaurant and head straight for the back to the bathroom instead, pushing the door open and leading him inside.

He's whining, nearly dropping to his knees the second the door is shut. You don't let him though, fingers digging into his hair, pulling him up and he hardly minds.

The lock clicks and he whimpers at the sound.

And then your lips are on his.

A downright disgusting mix of spit and teeth and tongue, a sinful mess that makes his head spin, his hands flying to paw at your body, searching for something-anything to hold onto.

It's hungry and it's consuming, moaning and messy, sucking his tongue into your mouth to which he gladly accepts. His body going limp in your hold, leaning against you, into you.

It's almost as if you're trying to devour him alive, taking and taking and taking everything he can give.

Until he feels lightheaded and floaty from lack of oxygen and the weak grip he hold around your bicep goes completely lax. When you're both out of air and your own lungs burn is when you pull away, heaving air in huge gulps as he looks at you with dazed eyes.

He's in shambles and it's one of the hottest things you've ever seen. The attitude he had been harbouring before melts away into something pliable and easy and so cute.

Your fingers brush over his cheekbone and he eyes them. The rings, your rings glimmer in the lighting of the room, calling him in like a crow to a shine.

Your touch is light, almost a brush. Like he's made of glass or porcelain, fragile and dainty, a precious object to be treasured and cared for. Over the slope of his nose right to the and down to his lips, so soft and so gentle it's like you're afraid that you're going to break him.

"You're so pretty Gyu." This kind of gentleness surprises him, but he won't reject it. Not when it's you touching him, making his head feel fuzzy and warm.

But he wants more, needs more. "You can be rough with me. I can take it." The words are drunkenly slurred, intoxicated off of your touch and voice and taste.

Your eyes harden in an instant, as if you were waiting for this. Waiting for the little shit to brat out again.

He's flipped so quickly his head is left reeling, moaning as his body is roughly shoved against the counter.

"You're such a brat." open mouthed kisses trail down his neck, teeth scraping against his skin, leaving marks and claims he'll appreciate later and appreciates now. "A fucking brat, who doesn't know how to fucking behave." His nails claw at your scalp as his head falls back, mouth opening to let out raw hearty moans. "I'm gonna ruin you."

It's a promise. A threat. Everything in between. Everything he loves. Everything he's been longing for.

Hands fumble, rushed and wanting, trying to tug his shirt over his head as quickly as possible, unbuttoning his pants to see that he is, indeed, not wearing any underwear. Not regular boxers or decorative panties he wears to rile you up. Nothing.

And you can almost feel back with the fact that he's had to go all night with his poor dick just rubbing against his jeans but then you remember exactly who's fault that is.

Beomgyu waits. Waits for you to touch it, put it in your mouth, do anything but you don't. And he gets impatient.

His hips roll forward and you roll your eyes. "How about tonight," you leave his pants open and crystalline tears run over his cheeks. "I make you cum with only your nipples, huh?"

It's a rhetorical question. You don't care what his answer will be, you'll do whatever you want anyways. But you do know how much it messes with him to tell him exactly what you'll do to him.

"You have the most beautiful tits, don't you baby?" he pants at the words, at the way your eyes sweep over them obsessively. Only looking, letting the suspense build before even you can't bear it any longer.

"Be good for me." And then you're twisting them and pinching them, cupping his pecs in your hands.

His breath hitches when you lean forward and lick over one of the red hard buds pervertedly, tracing it with your tongue and basking in the way he tastes, in the way he sounds. Pausing to listen to his whiny gasp.

He keens as you wrap your lips around his nipple, giving it a careful suck, swirling your tongue around it. Spit starts to coat his chest, he doesn't care, he just wants more, needs more. "Ple-I-i need, i need."

You give one last lick and look up at him, pupils lust-blown, lips puffy. "Need what Gyu?"

He doesn't know. He can't think, he can't decipher which way is left and which way is right when you do this. He's so sensitive, his nipples are so sensitive. It's one of the things you love so much about him, how something as simple as this could cause such a reaction.

"Ne-" He tries to talk but his tongue only lolls out, trying to keep his eyes focused so he can see straight. "Need," He whimpers and squeezes his eyes shut as tightly as possible.

"Shh, relax, I got you."

He gasps and grabs a handful of your hair as your lips attach to his chest once more. You begin to suck again, this time you carefully let your teeth graze his skin, circling around.

Mindless babbles and incoherent words fall from his lips. His eyes squeezed shut, blocking out the sound of chatter outside and the bathroom counter cutting into his spine. Blocking out the world entirely to focus on you.

You and your mouth, sucking harshly before licking over it softly and switching over to the other in a tortuous pattern.

He pushes your head closer, arching his back, urging without words to be a little more rough with his chest, to stop being so nice.

You growl and it vibrates against him, making his head fall back, debauched cries and porno worthy moans escaping.

"M-more," He gasps, "More!"

It's an obligation, one you could hardly ignore.

And so you bite him-hard and he sobs out, tears dripping down his cheeks.

He's so sensitive, his nipples are so sensitive. It's one of the things you love so much about him, how a simple bite could cause such a reaction.

Because to him it’s ecstasy, all encompassing and overwhelming; it’s pure bliss, a drug pumping straight into his veins like the teeth that dig into his flesh, the blunt nails that sink into his back to keep him in place while he nearly screams, the sound only muffled by his shirt that you quickly press into his mouth.

His teeth dig into the fabric as ropes of cum cover his chest and pants. He doesn't care.

Pleasure and pain, mix together like euphoria stealing the breath from his lungs and making his legs tremble in the best way.

His jeans are probably ruined. He's vaguely aware that he's going to have to leave the restaurant like this. Cum-stained pants and a look on his face that tells that he's been fucked. His shirt drool-soaked and rumpled.

The bite inevitably stops, your head coming up to look at him. He feels so sad. He wants more. He wants everything. You look almost smug at the utter ruination written across him face, the way his eyebrows scrunch together, the way his hips rut forward.

Kisses are placed all over his neck and collarbone, sweet before getting rougher and rougher.

Your lips curl against him and he realizes his mistake.

Made a hundred times worse by the fact that he's been a menace all day long.

"I didn't hear you ask for permission pup."

A squeak escapes Beomgyu as your fingers pinch at his nipples once more. Mean and unrelenting at the oversensitivity they now have.

"Now I'm gonna make everyone out there hear you beg for it."

a/n: enjoy this bc it's the last thing i have queued until i get back, which hopefully won't be that much longer than when this comes out

but besides that, hope you enjoy! it's partly also influenced by this post here and the dialogue prompts!

taglist is open here: @hobihearteu, @shincode, @lemonhongjoong, @d7dream, @laylasbunbunny, @maru-matt, @xcookiemonsteer

#txt smut #sub txt #sub! txt #txt x reader #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu smut #sub beomgyu #dom reader #sub kpop #sub!kpop #sub idol #sub!idol #sub!txt #queued :p

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nichuuu · 8 months

Text

Beats Me - 5: Tamed

(Ryujin & Yeji)

Being Yeji’s neighbour was more of a nightmare than you’d imagined.

Yes. The prospect of her threats of coming to your house and killing you becoming reality scared you shitless. You knew she meant every word she said. You did what you could to avoid her in your apartment complex, taking the stairs, making sure to leave the house slightly earlier so that you didn’t see her at the lift landing… But no matter what you did, avoiding her was one hell of a sisyphean task. She was just about everywhere. You bumped into her in the lobby, saw her in the nearby convenience store, crossed her at the laundry room…

It was like she was teleporting to your location each time you left your flat. It didn’t help that the two of you were perpetually on the same bus to campus each morning. She never really said much to you, opting to shoot you with her signature glare that never failed to scare you out of your skin. You wished you could just shrink away from her gaze sometimes, cower from those sharp feline-like eyes that bore into your soul each time you looked into them. She was terrifying to say the least.

“Sounds like a shitshow for you,” Ryujin mused, staring nonchalantly at the fry in her hand. You set down your drink.

“Calling it a shitshow would be an understatement,” you corrected. “It’s more of a… Fuck, I don’t know what it is.”

Ryujin chuckled and dipped her fry into her ketchup. “So tragic for you yet so entertaining for us…”

She popped the soggy fry into her mouth and leaned back in her seat. The beeping coming from the Mcdonalds kitchen was starting to irk you more than it should’ve in the given moment. Next to Ryujin, Kwon Eunbi sighed and took a sip of her drink.

“You ought to try and get friendly with her,” she advised. “If you don’t, it’s gonna be plain awkward. I for one don’t like the idea of being glared at on a daily basis…”

“How the hell do I even approach that woman?” You asked exasperatedly, “What do I say? Oh hey Yeji, I know you hate my guts and all but can we be chill?”

Putting her legs up on the table, Ryujin replied. “I think you could try that.”

“She would cut me in half just by looking at me,” you promptly shot back. Ryujin shrugged.

“You never know… Might be worth a shot.”

Eunbi sighed and folded her arms. “Sorry Myeong-seok… You’re kinda on your own for this.”

Your lips formed a thin line as you buried your face in your hands. “I know… It makes this whole thing suck a little more than it has to.”

Karina cleared her throat next to you. “You could uh… You know… Try saying hi to her when you see her around?”

“That sounds like suicide,” you told your pianist truthfully.

“Being a decent human being doesn’t mean you’re insane,” Karina told you.

“But this is Yeji we’re talking about here,” you reminded her, “I barely even open my mouth around her and she already wants to murder me! What will happen if I say hello?”

Jimin clicked her tongue and drew in a breath. She must’ve remembered that Yeji had an unexplained vendetta against you. You felt like it was due to the fact that you showed up late on your first day. Then again… Who stays mad at someone for that long? You didn’t know Yeji well enough to know if she was the type to hold grudges against people.

“I’ll try and talk to her one of these days,” Ryujin piped, “maybe I can find a way to get her to be less of a bitch around you, but you’ll eventually have to get around to talking to her you know?”

“ Yea… I do,” you told her. Trying to talk to Yeji wasn’t exactly on your bucket list, but you knew that you’d eventually have to try and sort things out with her if the band chemistry was to improve.

Eunbi’s phone started to ring. She picked it up off the table.

“I gotta take this. If you guys have to leave, go ahead,” she told you guys. She stood up and hurriedly walked out of the Mcdonalds. You took a look at your watch and noted that it was getting pretty late.

“I think I’m gonna make a move,” you told your band members, “see you guys.”

They all waved to you as you gathered your things. You waved goodbye to Eunbi on the way out, but she was too absorbed in her phone call to see you. You decided not to disturb her and set off to the nearest bus stop. A couple minutes of waiting and a rather unpleasant ride home later, you found yourself walking down the usual path you took to get home. As you set down the footpath, thunder rumbled off in the distance. You quickened your pace, hoping to get home before the sky opened up above you.

The gate to the lobby was in sight, the faint warm glow from the lights within the apartment complex illuminating the small space before the door like a fireplace would on a cold winter night. The light was always rather comforting to you, it symbolised security and respite from a long day.

“Hehe… Eat up little fella…”

Though you were just metres away from the door, the voice that travelled from your left made you halt in your tracks. There was a soft meow, followed by an even softer giggle.

“There you go… You better lick this bowl clean.”

You refused to believe your ears. But when you turned to the source of the voice, your eyes only served to prove what your ears had made you conclude.

The voice you heard was indeed Hwang Yeji’s. It sounded foreign at first, but then you realised it was because it had taken on a softer, warmer tone. Your guitarist was squatting before a metal bowl, a rare trace of a smile on her face as she watched a cat eat cat food out of the metal bowl before her. She giggled again, a little louder this time.

“You look terribly skinny,” she muttered, tilting her head as she examined the cat closely. “You don’t have a collar… You must be a stray then…”

She gingerly stretched out a hand towards the cat. It had dark brown fur, patches of white spotting its body. Her fingers gently rested themselves atop the cat’s head, her knuckles curling and uncurling as she softly scratched the top of its head. You could only stare in shock and awe as you took in this gentler side of Yeji. You’d never thought it’d be possible for her to display affection towards anything or anyone.

You must’ve stood there longer than you should’ve, for Yeji sensed someone’s gaze on her and whipped her head towards you. Her eyes locked with yours. For a moment, you swore you saw shock behind her eyes, then curiosity… And then they reverted back to their usual coldness.

“Fuck are you looking at Squeaker?” she spat.

You snapped out of your trance. “O-Oh… I-I was just… Walking home…”

“Then keep walking home. Don’t bother me,” she replied, fixing you with her usual piercing glare. She turned back to the cat, clicking her tongue in annoyance as she continued to watch it eat. You took that as your cue to leave her with her feline friend and continued to walk back towards the gate of your apartment complex.

“Myeong-seok!”

You turned back to see Hwang Yeju waving frantically as she ran towards you. In her arm, she cradled a loaf of bread and a six pack of beer. You could also make out a tray of eggs and a pack of sausages. The items looked like they were bound to fall at any second.

“M-Ms Hwang! Be careful!” You cautioned her, brisk walking towards Yeji’s sister. To your amazement, she was able to keep all the items within the cradle of her arm and stopped right before you.

“Hello!” She greeted you bubbly, “did you just come back from school?”

“Y-Yea…” you answered. You pointed to the groceries in her hands. “Do you need me to take some of those?”

You didn’t expect her to thrust all of her groceries into your arms.

“Thanks! You’re really sweet!” Yeju beamed, “by the way, thanks for lending us salt yesterday. I think the cooking would’ve been a disaster without it!”

You didn’t know how this woman had this much energy this late in the night. Your best guess was that it was simply just her personality. Furthermore, this was her third time thanking you for letting her borrow salt. It weirded you out a little, but you figured that it was simply her nature.

“N-No problem Ms Hwang,” you assured her.

“We’ve been through this. Just call me Yeju!” she reminded you.

“R-Right… S-Sorry Yeju…”

The older girl smiled, radiating a glow brighter than the street lights. Yeji emerged from the alley.

“Unnie, let’s go,” she said.

“Aww come on Yeji, at least talk to your neighbour for a bit!” Yeju argued. Yeji fixed her elder sister with a glare.

“I would rather shove a burning hot pan up my ass,” she grunted, “let’s just go.”

Yeji walked past you. She tapped her card against the reader in the gate. “I’m not waiting for you!”

“Come back here Yeji!” Yeju called. Unfortunately, Yeji had already disappeared into the lobby. With a heavy sigh, Hwang Yeju dug for her keys in her pocket.

“She’s a lot more cranky these days… Can’t put my finger on it,” she muttered, “sorry for my sister’s behaviour… She’s a little… You know…”

You waved it off.

“I understand,” you assured the older girl. She seemed relieved.

“Great. Let’s go inside before it starts pouring.”

The two of you entered the lobby. She asked you about your day, how things were going—The usual friendly neighbour stuff. You rode the lift together with Yeji’s older sister, carrying her groceries all the way to her apartment door where she finally took them back from you. With a friendly wave and a chirpy goodbye!, she entered her apartment and left you out in the hallway. You slotted your hands into the pockets of your jeans. “What an interesting woman…”

You headed back to your own apartment just down the hall.

For the rest of the week, you didn’t see much of Yeju, but the frequency at which you bumped into Yeji seemed to increase. The campus cafeteria—once a haven where you were certain that you would not see Yeji—had become a meeting ground for the two of you. You’d bump into her as she was getting food or travelling to her next classroom, even spotting her from the corner of your eye while you ate your lunch. She was icy as always, her signature look of disdain glued onto her face with super glue, silently berating you as you scuttled by.

And then there was the cat. It appeared that Yeji would always come down at night to feed the stray in the alley near the complex, whispering to it in a hushed, tender tone. She’d be in the same spot, same position—Squatted just a few metres away from the alley entrance. You made the mistake of stopping and staring the first few times, but soon learnt to keep walking on without looking at her.

That night as the rain lashed your umbrella and the wind howled incessantly, you walked down the familiar stretch of pavement. Band practice had ended and you’d turned down Eunbi’s offer for dinner to catch up on some work. The concrete was slick with rain water, the warm glow of streetlights reflected in the stream of water that flowed down the pavement. It was chilly. Not winter chilly, but the type of cold that was unpleasant enough to make you want to huddle up at home with a nice hot drink—That type of chilly. The rain was merciless, fat droplets pelting your face as a gust of wind blew what felt like an ocean’s worth of water towards you. In hindsight, you realised that you may have been better off going to dinner with your singer. That way, you could at least wait out the rain before heading home.

You walked by the convenience store. The lobby was just a few metres away now.

“Here… This should keep you warm.”

Under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t have stopped to look at Yeji. But under the assault of the storm, you couldn’t help but stop and turn to see if that truly was her talking to her feline friend in this weather.

Sure enough, she was there. In a black raincoat with her hood up, you could make out the smiling features of Hwang Yeji as she slid something into a cardboard box. The box was beneath what looked like a small makeshift shelter, made from sticks and a plastic bag. It kept the rain from attacking the cardboard beneath it, sheltering its occupant from the storm. Yeji reached in and adjusted something, her mouth moving as she whispered something to the cat. You knew that it was in your best interest to set off by now, but you found yourself walking towards your guitarist.

“There… That should do it,” she said. She’d wrapped a blanket around the cat, swaddling the shivering animal in warmth. Yeji folded the flaps of the box—by just a little—shielding her companion from the rain while giving it ample air to breathe. You stopped behind her, holding your umbrella out slightly such that it shielded the both of you from the rain. You knew that she could sense your presence from the way her shoulders tensed.

“What did I say about bothering me?” she asked.

“W-Well… You’d catch a cold if I just left you alone…”

She turned to look at you. You could only see one of her eyes under the hood of her raincoat.

Yeji pitched the wet raincoat. “Don’t you see I have this on?”

“I-I know. But the rain’s p-pretty heavy… You could catch a cold from this.”

Yeji clicked her tongue in annoyance. “What do you take me for? Some girl who’s weak and helpless?”

“N-No! I-I just…”

“Then why the fuck bother with me? Do you want something out of me?” Yeji retorted, rising from her position to look you in the eye.

The air that already felt dense because of the rain somehow grew denser. Yeji fixed you with one of her usual nasty glares. You felt something bubbling inside you—A balloon of frustration slowly growing and expanding, increasing in volume as it slowly rose up from your core to your throat. The fact that she’d taken your act of kindness for an act driven by the desire to achieve something didn’t sit well with you.

“I… I just wanted to help,” you told her sincerely.

“I don’t need your help. Go away.”

The balloon burst.

“I don’t get it Yeji,” you began, unable to withhold the frustration from flooding your voice, “from day one, you’ve been at my throat, hounding and threatening me with snarky remarks. I don’t know if you only act this way towards me, but it’s seriously putting me off. I don’t know what I did to piss you off so much, nor do I understand how I’ve been able to piss you off to the extent that you literally despise me. Please, explain it to me.”

Yeji glared silently. Then she squatted back down and faced the cat.

“It’s… Not your fault.”

Your grip on your umbrella—that you didn't know had tightened—relaxed a little. “H-Huh?”

Yeji drew in a breath. “Go away.”

The roar of pattering raindrops on your umbrella seemed to go silent.

“W-Wait… What do you mean—”

“Go away or I’ll scream.”

You stood there for a moment. Then you slowly turned and retreated from your guitarist, leaving her vulnerable to the onslaught of water droplets from the sky once more. As you stood in the elevator, your mind seemed to be incapable of handling the creation of a mere string of thought. Yeji’s ambiguous line impacted you more than it should’ve.

No work was done that night. Instead, you stared blankly at the login screen to your laptop, your fingers frozen on the keyboard. The cup of tea you’d made had gone cold long ago, the condensation on the inner walls of the cup flowing into the liquid and diluting it.

Why is this affecting me so much? I’m not even that close to her…

You could figure out why Yeji’s statement screwed with you the way it did. However, an hour’s worth of thinking made you realise that it was the desire to receive her acceptance that drove you to care about this more than you should. You frustratedly smacked your forehead with your palm repeatedly, loud smacks carrying your confusement and frustration throughout your apartment.

“Fuck. This band is messing me up…” you sighed. You took a sip of your lukewarm tea and cringed at its unnatural taste. It seems as though the tea was affected by your mood too. You felt the urge to talk to someone about what had happened, and when it came to Yeji, there was only one person that came to mind.

From Shin Ryujin’s end, you could distinctly hear the sound of her cracking open a beer as you finished the last bit of your recount.

“Hm…” your bassist mumbled, “I wonder what that could mean…”

You leaned back in your own chair and sighed. “This is bothering me more than it should. Is that weird? Am I weird?”

“Relax man. I think it’s just your nature,” she assured you, “don’t stress over this stuff, it’s alright to care sometimes.”

She belched loudly. You hurried to move the phone away from your ear.

“That’s fucking disgusting,” you muttered.

“Fuck you sideways Squeaker,” Ryujin retorted. She always had a thing for firing back with remarks that were beyond human imagination. “Anyway, thanks for telling me this. I’ll see if I can try to talk to her sister about it. Maybe she knows a thing or two.”

“Y-Yea… Maybe she does,” you echoed, “do you need help arranging a meeting? I can always just go down the hall and ask…”

“Shit. You live down the hall from Yeji?”

“Unfortunately. She moved in last week.”

There was a brief pause from Ryujin’s end.

“Go get a six pack of beer for me,” she instructed, “I think I’m gonna be paying a house-warming visit.”

She followed you home from school the next night and retrieved the beer from your place. To your surprise, she’d actually bought a house warming gift for the Hwang’s.

“The beer is simply a formality,” she told you, slinging the tote bag that contained her gift for the Hwangs over her shoulder. “It’s simply the warmer of souls, the pleaser of—”

“Just take the fucking beer and get out,” you told her. She grinned like a cheshire cat, satisfied that she’d managed to annoy you for the day. She went over to the Hwang residence without another word. You were relatively productive that night, burning through a decent amount of readings and completing two of the assignments that were due the next week.

And then at 11pm, there was a knock on your door. You were lazing on your beanbag by then, mindlessly scrolling through Instagram and liking random images of capybaras.

“Coming,” you muttered lazily. You rose and shuffled to the door. Two unexpected guests stood before you when you pulled the door open.

“Hello!” Ryujin beamed. Next to her, Yeji grumbled something incoherent.

“W-What the…” you stammered. You were more shocked by Yeji’s presence than anything.

“Yeju wasn’t home,” Ryujin explained, waltzing into your apartment, “Yeji opened the door, I entered, cracked open a few beers, Yeji tried to chase me out, I pulled her out together with me, Yeji forgot her keys, here we are!”

The list of occurrences that tumbled from Ryujin’s mouth was nothing far from confusing.

“I’m going to wait in front of my door,” Yeji muttered.

As the guitarist turned, Ryujin quickly strode over and grabbed her by the arm. “Nuh-uh.”

She dragged Yeji into your apartment and closed the door with her leg. “Let’s spend the time here! It’s so nice in Squeaker’s place!”

“She’s drunk,” Yeji told you.

“Not drunk! Tipsy!” Ryujin corrected, “if I were drunk, I would be slurring my sentences, but I’m not! Take that bitch!”

Yeji rolled her eyes. “This is ridiculous. I’m leaving.”

Ryujin blocked the door with her body.

“You ain’t going nowhere kitty,” Ryujin smiled.

“Ryujin. Move,” Yeji growled.

“Or what? What are you gonna do Yeji?”

Yeji sighed and tried to push your bassist aside. With surprising agility, Ryujin grabbed Yeji’s wrist, pinning it against the wall in a swift movement.

“W-What the hell! Let me go!” Yeji demanded. Ryujin grinned.

“Nah-ah,” she replied.

Yeji futilely attempted to wrest herself from Ryujin’s grip. The bassist stayed smirking, catching her friend’s hand as she tried to push her away—Yeji’s other hand was pinned against the wall.

“Relax kitty,” Ryujin whispered to her, “you’re being a very bad girl.”

“R-Ryujin! Don’t you dare!” Yeji warned. The panic was apparent in her voice.

That was the first…

Ryujin's smirk seemed to get even more smug . “Why not? We’ve done it before haven’t we?”

“T-That was a one off! I-I was drunk!” Yeji reasoned.

Ryujin silenced her with a finger on her lips. “You enjoyed it last time, didn’t you?”

“R-Ryujin… Please…” Yeji pleaded, “n-not here…”

Ryujin casted a glance in your direction.

“Why? You afraid Squeaker’s gonna let the whole world know about this?” she questioned Yeji.

“Ryujin…” Yeji tried.

When Ryujin shoved her knee in between Yeji’s legs, you knew that Yeji’s fate was sealed. You had no idea that Shin Ryujin of all people would be able to tame someone as fierce as Yej—Yet there she was, making the impossible possible.

“Anything else before we go on?” Ryujin questioned. Yeji opened her mouth, then she closed it.

Yeji shook her head. Ryujin beamed.

“Neat,” your bassist mused, “we’ll have a fun time tonight.”

She was quick to drag Yeji over to the beanbag you were on just minutes ago. Then—rather boldly—Ryujin gripped Yeji’s T-shirt and ripped it right off her.

“H-Hey!” Yeji cried, arms shooting across her chest to cover her vulnerable areas. “H-He’s right there!”

“Oh relax, will you?” Ryujin scoffed, “he’s respectful. Isn’t that right Squeaky?”

You flashed an awkward smile. You hoped that Yeji couldn’t see the tent in your pyjama pants.

“Come over here and help me,” Ryujin requested.

“I-I… I really don’t think I should,” you reasoned, “I-I don’t think she wants me to touch her…”

“Does that really matter right now?” Ryujin rebutted.

When you continued to stand there awkwardly, Ryujin rolled her eyes. “Ugh… No fun.”

She tugged Yeji’s shorts down, letting them fall and pool around her ankles. Yeji quickly moved and covered up her private parts. She looked rather uncomfortable.

“Ryujin,” you cautioned your bassist, “I-I don’t think we should—”

“I don’t need you being a wet blanket right now,” she chided, “if you aren’t joining, just sit out and watch.”

Every fibre of your body was urging you to just walk over right there and then. However, your conscience told you that doing so wouldn’t be wise. When Ryujin saw that you still remained in your spot, she scoffed. “Lame…”

She pushed Yeji down onto the beanbag. Yeji yelped as she fell into it, a gasp quickly following up as Ryujin fell atop of her. Ryujin manoeuvred around Yeji’s body to remove the bra from her body. She succeeded and threw it away. In a flash, Ryujin herself was topless, her clothes adding on to the growing pile next to the beanbag. Her lips found Yeji’s, a sloppy makeout session ensuing.

Ryuin continued to assert her dominance over Yeji. Her right hand slowly made its way downward, until it reached the waistband of the simple, white panties Yeji wore. Spending not more than a second or two there, she reached further. The tips of her slim fingers quested below the thin cotton. When they reached a certain point, the gasps and soft sounds escaping Yeji’s lips cleared for a full moan of pleasure as Ryujin’s fingertips finally reached her most intimate parts. The moment that moan left Yeji’s mouth, you could see the smirk on Ryujin’s face grow wider. It was like she’d found a treasure.

From then, Ryujin refused to cease her assault on the guitarist’s body. Her left hand slid down the waistband of Yeji’s panties until the thin, tiny slip of fabric was halfway down the guitarist’s hips, giving her more than enough access to Yeji’s slick heat. You watched as Ryujin’s middle finger disappeared between Yeji’s legs. The rest of her hand covered your view—But the look on Yeji’s pleasure-stricken face told you all you needed to know regarding what that middle finger was doing.

“Look how fucking hot she is,” Ryujin said, her words dripping with lust, “she’s so fucking wet.”

Yehi let her loudest moan yet escape her lips. The sudden thrust and twist of Ryujin’s wrist tells you that she had penetrated the other girl with her fingers. Yeji’s legs close around her friend’s hand.

“Fuck… Just as tight as the last time,” Ryujin smirked.

You found yourself squirming in place as your shaft continued to strain painfully against your pants.

“I think you’ll like fucking her,” Ryujin stated, her voice taking on a softer tone, “She’ll be tight and wet for you… I bet you’d cum so quickly… A fucking shame that you’re choosing to miss out on this.”

Ryujin’s ring finger slipped between Yeji’s legs. You knew full well it had joined her middle finger inside Yeji’s body. Yeji’s legs seemed to have turned to jelly. Ryujin’s body covers Yeji’s bare skin, so you let your gaze roam up Ryujin’s toned back. And there, just to the left of Ryujin’s well shaped shoulders, you saw a pink nub rise and fall with each of Yeji’s laboured breaths.

Pink nipples—Yeji had pink nipples.

Yeji’s features—Usually fierce and full of anger—were twisted, wracked and contorted—Pleasure and lust coursed through her system, making her squirm beneath her friend. Her eyes, half-lidded with pleasure, stared up at the ceiling. Her mouth formed a perfect “O” as wordless sounds of pleasure left her lips.

“So tight… And she’s fucking drenched… Little slut,” Ryujin hissed.

It all quickly becomes too much for the guitarist to handle. The pleasure of it all… It threatened to overwhelm her senses.

“Ryujin, I… Ryujin—” Yeji said quickly, as though she was barely able to form the words, “I’m going to…”

“You like being fingered? You like how I mess up your insides, don’t you Yeji?”

The guitarist’s only response was a long, passionate moan. She was suddenly unable to form words with her mouth. Every sound that escaped her was a moan of pleasure or a noise of the sort. It was like her brain had shut off, the pleasure in her system pushing the ability to think right out of her being.

“Do you like my fingers? Do you like getting finger fucked Yeji?”

Yeji squirmed. Her eyes shut as she moaned softly. It was like she was suddenly ashamed of how quickly and completely she had allowed Yeji to dominate her body and manipulate it to her liking. Ryujin moved her left hand to cup Yeji’s left breast, the index finger and thumb capturing her exposed, hardened nipple and giving it a soft squeeze.

“Fucking cum Yeji.”

On cue, Yeji let out a scream. Her legs spasmed as an orgasm wracked her body. For several long seconds, Yeji writhes in pleasure beneath the bassist. Ryujin turned and smiled devilishly at you. It was as if she was asking you whether you liked the little show she had just given you. She rose, leaving Yeji’s sweaty, heaving body on your bean bag as she strutted over.

“I feel generous tonight,” she told you. Her hand grips your chin, tearing your gaze away from the guitarist before you can even take in her body.

“Your table should hold my weight, right?” she asked. You nodded numbly. Wordlessly, she saunters over and clears a space for her to sit. Swiftly, she undid the belt that held up her baggy jeans, letting the denim fall off her slender legs. Her panties were off even quicker.

You smiled devilishly as you undid your own pants and took your cock in one hand. You approached Ryujin, placing your shaft on Ryujin’s wanton pussy and dragging the head up and down her moist, dripping lips.

Ryujin licked her lips. “She’s watching. Let’s give her a show, shall we?”

Grasping Ryujin’s legs, you raised them so that her calves were on your shoulders. Reaching down and placing your tip at her opening, you slowly pushed inside her. Entering Ryujin elicited a deep, lustful moan from her. You hear a soft set of footsteps approaching from behind. Yeji walked up next to the two of you. She knelt down, eyes glued on your cock that was buried inside her friend.

“T-Tell me how he feels,” Yeji requested.

“Fuck…” Ryujin gasped, unable to answer as you filled her completely. Your hips now touch her soaked, hot crotch as you bottomed out inside her heat. She savoured the feeling of being filled by you once more.

“He’s so big, Yeji,” Ryujin hissed, not taking her eyes away from yours, “he’s so big and thick and he’s fucking stretching me out… I think—”

Her moan cuts through her sentence. You’d cut short Ryujin’s descriptions as you began to move. Slowly, you drew your cock out from her tightly gripping pussy for the first time, savouring the feel of her lips wrapped tightly around your hard shaft as it tried to pull you back into her. You heard Yeji gasp at the sight of your cock drenched in slick, thick pussy juices.

You drove back into Ryujin. Before long, you’ve settled into a slow but steady rhythm. You took your time, letting Yeji have a long glimpse of your cock as it appeared from between Ryujin’s glistening pussy before disappearing once more into the girl’s tight body. Ryujin was quickly reduced to a quivering, moaning mess as you fucked her. Gone was the girl that dominated Yeji just minutes before.

Her hands gripped the edge of your table with knuckle white grips, her mind and body relishing every thrust you made into her body. Words, cusses, moans… They spilled freely from her lips.

“Oh, fuck! Fuck me just like that… Fuck me slow… Make me… Feel… Every inch of you! He’s so big, Yeji! He feels so fucking good inside me!”

You tore your gaze from Ryuin’s writhing body. Yeji had begun to work her hand between her milky legs, her left hand clutching her right breast. You watched eagerly as she captured the pinkness of her nipples between her index and middle finger, delivering a small amount of pressure to the perky nubs.

With a foreign tone of lust, she drawled. “Fuck her… Fuck her harder…”

You grinned as the girl finally give into her desires. Her pleasure must’ve been heightened as she watched the erotic scene play out in front of her. You grasped Ryujin’s thighs and speared yourself deeper and deeper into the girl, using her long limbs as leverage to make each thrust harder than the last.

For long minutes, you fucked her like that. Her toned, slim body rocked back and forth helplessly on the table, her round breasts bouncing wantonly with each impact of your hips into her hot body..

“Oh, fuck! Yes! Fuck me harder… As hard as you want! O-Oh! Fuck YES!”

Ryujin is more than happy to let you have your way with her body. You knew from all the time you’d spent with her that she was more than comfortable with rough sex. Unreserved, you let loose and began o truly fuck her the way she wanted, the way she yearned, the way she loved to be fucked.

Pounded. That was it—Shin Ryujin loved getting pounded.

You let her legs fall from your shoulders. You spread her thighs, a palm on each one before forcing her onto her left side. Keeping her right leg in the air, you continued to fuck her, giving Yeji the perfect view of your cock as it slid in and out of her friend’s pussy.

The new position drives Ryujin mad. Your first few thrusts into her wet, tight pussy were your indication. Her moans and gasps continued, higher in pitch and louder in volume as you drove deeper and faster into her pussy. The wet, slick sounds of her juices and the wet flesh around your cock reverberates through the apartment as you continued to fuck the mewling, moaning girl. Between her splayed lips, you could feel the heat radiating from her core surrounding your shaft.

“Oh god, Yeji he’s… he’s so big inside me. He’s fucking me so good!”

“How… how does your pussy f-feel, Ryujin?”

“It feels… So good… So full of his cock… M-Mmmmph… I’m so fucking wet! I'm gonna... I'm gonna...”

It was all quickly becoming too much to handle—Watching Yeji be used and Yeji watching you use her friend. Your own peak was rapidly approaching.

“Fuck… I’m gonna cum soon.”

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop fucking me!” Ryujin cried. “Mmmm, I’m getting close!”

“I… I’m cumming!” you heard. The voice was not from Ryuin, but from Yeji. The guitarist was a squirming mess on her knees, her body wracked with spasms as she orgasmed. You tore your gaze from Ryujin to watch as Yeji quivered and shook in her place, her hand working busily between her thighs as the rest of her body straightened involuntarily in pleasure.

“Ohh.. oh, I’m cumming!” Ryujin exclaimed. She took your attention back once again. Her pussy pulsated, squeezing you tightly—The signal of her impending orgasm.

“Where—”

“Inside me!” she answered, cutting you off, “inside me, please! Fill me… Fill me with your cum!”

She came first. The tightening of her spasming pussy around your shaft quickly drove you to orgasm as well. Burying yourself as deep as you can within her hot, slick pussy, you erupted.

Your cock sent stream after stream of thick, hot semen into her body. She tightened around you, squeezing your cock tightly and milking you of every drop. You let yourself savour every second of it, the feel of Ryujin’s body wrapped around you, the feel of her wet walls being painted with cum, the sound of her and Yeji’s moans filling your ears. You were certain that this was paradise.

You stood there exhausted. Soon you finally slipped out of her body with a slick pop. Ryujin turned onto her back, too exhausted to do anything further. White, thick liquid oozes between the splayed lips of her freshly fucked pussy, before a thick stream began to flow from her body onto her flushed thighs and your table.

“Oh fuck…” Ryujin heaved, “that… That was fucking hot…”

She let her legs dangle off the table, keeping them spread as she looked over to her friend on her knees. “Come here and clean me up Yeji.”

The girl eagerly rose from her knees and knelt back down in front of Ryujin’s still spread legs. She doesn’t waste any time, diving in and licking the thick white cum that flowed from your bassist’s pussy like it was a delicacy. Ryujin hummed softly, basking in the pleasure at the feel of Yeji’s tongue attacking her still sensitive lips. When Ryujin had enough, she pushed Yeji’s head away. You swore you saw a hint of disappointment on Yeji’s face.

She slid off the desk. You caught her, holding her steady as she found her footing on her jelly-like legs.

“Shit… I need to sleep,” she muttered, “Squeaker, carry me to your bed, will you?”

You complied. You laid her down on your mattress as gingerly as you could, making sure to pull the covers over her nude body. Then, you went over to your cupboard and pulled out a shirt.

“Where… Are you going?” Ryujin asked as you were about to head out.

“I’m just passing this to Yeji,” you told her, “she’ll need this.”

Ryujin hummed and turned on her side. “Sleep next to me when you come back.”

You walked out. Yeji had put her bra and shorts back on and was gathering what was left of her shirt.

“H-Hey,” you called. You walked over and handed the shirt to her. “You’ll need to cover up. H-Have this.”

Yeji stared at the shirt for a moment. It was one of those old anime shirts you picked up from the thrift store. It would definitely be baggy on Yeji’s small frame, but it was all you could really offer her.

You thought that she’d smack your hand away and tell you to fuck off or something. To your surprise—and some delight—she gingerly took the shirt from you. Wordlessly, she slipped it on.

“Thanks,” she voiced, “I’ll go now.”

You walked her to the door and opened it for her. “I-Is Yeju back to open the door?”

“S-She should be,” Yeji replied.

“R-Right then… H-Have a good night,” you wished her. She looked at you for a moment. You were certain she was going to call you a slur.

“G-Good night,” she wished back, “I-I’ll see you tomorrow for practice...”

Yeji hugged herself and hurried down the hall. You figured that the embarrassment had made her act like this. Tomorrow, she’d go back to cussing you out like a sailor.

You returned to your room after locking up. Ryujin had fallen fast asleep by then, snoring rather loudly as you silently slipped into the space next to her.

***

“You think she’ll be awkward when she sees us?” Ryujin asked as the two of you got off the bus.

“She’ll be fine with you, but she’s gonna kill me,” you muttered.

Ryujin cackled. “Ah… So this whole thing is no longer my problem!”

You shot her a glare.

“You were the one that initiated things. It still is your problem,” you told her.

“Hey. You both enjoyed it didn’t you?” she smirked.

“That doesn’t negate the fact that you started the whole thing!” you argued.

“What are you guys getting so heated over?”

You turned. Kim Chaewon gazed at the both of you, a blank expression on her face.

“Oh. Hey Chaewon,” Ryujin waved, “we were just having friendly banter. We aren’t gonna kill each other if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Chaewon gazed intently at Ryujin for a moment, then transferred her gaze back to you. “So I was that forgettable huh?”

You blinked. “W-What?”

“You’ve already moved on, haven’t you?” Chaewon questioned, “getting yourself involved in a band with a bunch of girls like I was never important. You’re fucking disgusting.”

Chaewon shoulder-checked you as she walked past, making sure to let her trumpet case strike your shin as well. You winced, a sharp pain shooting up your leg.

“Fuck,” you hissed. Ryujin quickly held onto you.

“That girl is psycho,” she told you.

“Bratty is a better word,” you replied, “please don’t tell me she’s gonna join the band…”

Ryujin pursed her lips. “Well… Judging from the fact that she has her trumpet case with her on a Friday—I’d say that Eunbi managed to get through to her.”

“Christ on a fucking pike,” you sighed, “Yeji was enough for me to handle already…”

The pain was slowly fading now. You tapped Ryujin’s shoulder. “I think I can walk this off,”

Your bassist let go of you, letting you walk forward on your own for a bit before jogging up to you.

“Chin up Squeaker,” she assured you, “I’m sure that there’s a way to achieve peace in our band.”

You sure as hell hoped so. If not—you were in for one hell of a ride.

#smut #shin ryujin #hwang yeji #ryujin smut #itzy smut #yeji smut #ryeji #ryeji smut

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beatrixstonehill2 · 2 months

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"Is the dress too much? I figure I might as well look good if I'm getting my boobs chopped off! Oh, did I not tell you guys? My bad, I've just been so excited! I think? I was going out the other day, walking along the boardwalk in my little blue bikini, picking up guys, normal Saturday. A guy approached me with a small film crew and started asking questions, telling me he runs a popular internet show involving beautiful young talent like me. He complimented my breasts and told me girls with 'oversized melons' like mine were exactly what he was looking for. He asked me if I liked being so big breasted, I said yes. He asked if I fantasize about my boobs getting destroyed or chopped off from time to time, I said yes, duh, what busty girl doesn't have that kink? He asked me if I've ever considered living out those fantasies, I said no, not really. He asked if I ever fantasized about having my clit removed, I blushed and said 'now I will, that's super hot!' He seemed very pleased by my answers, asking me if I thought girls like me ought to get their boobs destroyed for male pleasure. I asked him to clarify and he said if girls like me date guys who want us to get our boobs removed or reduced to nothing because it would turn them on, should we? I emphatically said yes!

He then revealed that he was gathering talent for his next online pageant. He told me it was technically adult content because his fans jerked off to it, but it was presented under the guise of a medical charity. That I and nine other girls like me would be paraded out into a packed auditorium of his fans. A staff of surgical students from a nearby university would be there, and he'd present the main event as a charitable pageant, of sorts. We'd walk out in formal wear, like any beauty pageant. Then we'd wear bikinis. After that we'd strip naked on stage and be lined up, sitting at a chair, with a sturdy tray in front of us. The surgical students would then numb our breasts, and we'd be forced to answer intimate questions about ourselves and our love-lives, all under the pretense of how being so big breasted has negatively impacted our lives and forced us to be oversexualized and overly sexual.

As we're interviewed, the surgeons in training would then remove our breasts, putting on a bit of a show.... playing with their food, basically. Cutting our boobs open vertically and showing the audience all the fat inside, any cysts or tumors (of which I maaay have quite a few, no surprises there!), for educational purposes, emphasizing how unhealthy they are..... piece by piece our boobs will be dismantled and tossed on a scale next to us. The weight of our breasts, how much was removed, apparently contribute a lot to who wins the pageant, so I should definitely stand a good chance of winning with these massive melons! After they're weighed our breasts are tossed in the trash, 'where they belong' the guy interviewing me made it a point to say. By this time in the interview I was straight up fondling my pussy and one tit in public, all caught on camera, available to view on his channel..... I watched the other girls get interviewed and they're so gorgeous, all equally excited to get their huge breasts chopped to mincemeat for this pageant.

It's only a couple hours away now, and I am a bit nervous. I obviously love having breasts this massive but the thought of doing this makes me sooooo wet! And seeing all these men comment on my video about how much they can't wait to jerk off watching my boobs get dismantled, I simply can't let them down! Wish me luck! I can't wait to stand on that stage with a bandage wrapped around my former tits, smiling and showing off my sexy new flat chest, along with the other girls. All for a good cause of course! How else do you make money to support breast cancer? Gotta show millions and millions of hungry eyes how dangerous and unhealthy my big fat perfect titties really are on the inside.... Ya'll are gonna flip when you see how many tumors and cysts these gorgeous fuckable titties have. I can't wait to show them off for you at long last! ❤️"

#breast reduction kink #breast shrinking kink #breast destruction #breast removal kink

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sabcandoit · 1 year

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As you wish

Spider noir x fem reader

Summary: Spider-Man Noir comes home from a late night saving the world. You cooked dinner for him and as the night progresses on you both find yourselves naked and begging for more.

Warnings: smut. and fluff! but mostly smut and pet names. No real roles are pushed but Noir is a bit more dom and the one in control. Fingering, begging, and lots and lots of flirting.

A/N: Ugh i'm a slut for this man. Also this is my first fic so !!! Please enjoy!

You were at home, cooking a dinner to share with your husband. Peter was busy at work and usually wasn't back until late. Oh, how you missed his presence during the day. Waking up with him was a treat in itself, but the rest of the day was torturous. It was definitely not easy being married to Spiderman.

You had put Dean Martin’s hits on the record player, lighting a few candles, trying to set a romantic and calming atmosphere. You and Peter had a shared love for jazz. As you continued to put the dishes on the dining table, you sighed, wiping the back of your hand on your forehead. Even through almost a year of marriage, you two still had this honeymoon phase running, never fully thinking it would stop. You smiled, thinking about how gentlemanly and chivalrous he was. You couldn't wait to see him again and wrap your arms around him and kiss his beautiful lips and…

Keys jangled at the door, and a hand turned the knob as a shadowy figure stepped in. Clad in his dark suit, Peter closed the door behind him. You turned to see his masked face looking over at you in the Kitchen.

“Peter!” You smiled, “Welcome home.” you sweetly walked up to him, snaking your hands around his waist, looking up at him.

“Ah, hello darling…” he sighed, exhausted. “I see you have dinner all ready.” you could tell he was smiling too even under his mask.

“Oh yes,” you turned around, looking at the table. As you let go of his waist and stepped back, he watched as you walked over, fixing up your hair as you untied the apron from around you. Peter took off his hat, setting it on the coat stand and pushed off his trench coat. He pulled his mask up, showing his tired face and disheveled hair., and picked off his gloves. His black, buttoned up vest over a black turtleneck now visible as he still sported his black pants and knee-length heavy duty boots, walking towards the diner table. As you placed the platter of roast and vegetables down, Peter pulled out your chair. “It looks delicious, doll” he softly said as he put his hand on your lower back.

“Thank you.” You replied, sitting down. He then moved over to his chair and sat down. As you ate dinner he sat up, smirking as he complimented the soft music playing. “So… it's a Dean Martin kind of night?” he questioned with his fork in the air. You chuckled and nodded, “You bet.”

As you and Peter finished eating, you started to stand up, grabbing your dishes as he stopped you, with his hand stretched out. “Let me do that Sweetheart.” He rolled up his sleeves before grabbing the plate in your hands as you walked over to wash more dishes. After he put the dirty plates in the soapy water you were using to clean, he wrapped his half-covered arms around your waist and rested his head on your shoulder.

“I missed you.” he softly said. You only closed your eyes and breathed in, resting your own head on his. “I did too.” you spoke. As his hands moved up your body, he stood up straight and looked down at your figure. Wearing a simple, mid length floral dress and stockings with your hair falling out of the temporary updo. “I love this dress on you…” he flirted as he hitched up the dress slightly while still caressing your body from behind.

“Oh Pete, you ought to be ashamed of yourself” you raised your head, feeling his touch getting more and more heated. “Why?” he was quick to respond, you could hear a smirk in his voice. “I should be able to appreciate my beautiful wife…” he continued. You blushed slightly, drying off your hands in a towel as you turned around, now facing him. You looked up into his eyes, him being quite taller than you. Reaching up, wrapping your arms around his neck, you smiled as his hands continued to place on your waist. You both leaned in, kissing passionately.

As you continued to kiss, sweet and simply, your linked arms fell down to his neck. The kisses started getting more intense and sultry, making you both breathe laborly. Parting for just a moment, you mumbled gently “Well, big guy.”, making Peter chuckle and lightly blush too, coming back into the kiss. He eventually made it down your neck, growing impatient. You felt his breath lowering with every kiss. As he did this, you made little noises, not being able to stay quiet. One of your arms came between you two as you started unbuttoning the top of his vest. “Peter…” you groaned. He stopped, looking at you, “Perhaps we should move?”, he looked with a playful tone. You giggled and nodded as he picked you up bridal style. When he did this, your dress only rid up more, showing your upper thighs. He took notice, his eyes traveling over your body. Then he snapped his eyes directly into yours, raising his brows as you blushed.

Neither of you had to say anything, you already knew what you were both thinking. Peter walked into your bedroom, setting you on the bed and leaning down on you, kissing feverishly. Your hands pushed up on his chest while you made out. He paused to comment, “Oh you doll… so pretty”.

Your hair completely fell out of the tie you had it in at this point as he undid a few more of his buttons. His clunky shoes were still on, frustrating him as he leaned down to untie them, mumbling apologies to you for leaving your excited bodies behind. You just chuckled as he came back up to you after successfully kicking them off. Your dress was practically useless in covering you, now halfway up your body, showing your tan stockings and panties. He smirked at the sight, uttering under his breath “Woman…”, giving you one chaste kiss before pulling your sheen stockings down. You watched him intently as he did so, rummaging your hands through his vest again, unbuttoning the rest and helping him shrug it off.

He hummed as he kissed your exposed collarbone, and you moaned lightly, rubbing your hand along his muscular back. He pulled your dress over your arms and head, panting in the kiss as he brought his large hands to fondle your covered breasts. You moaned into the kiss.

“D’you like that?” he slurred, frantically trying to continue his work. You felt the bulge in his pants rub against your panties and stomach. You boldly brought a hand down to his clothed dick, palming it, making him gasp. He stood up, keeping eye contact with a sinful look as he was still surprised from your daring hand. Quickly crossing his arms, he pulled up on his tucked in turtleneck, tossing it to the floor harshly before coming back down on you again. Your eyes followed his bare chest, hairy and robust, muscles contracting as he moved. Only in your undergarments now, he slipped a hand in your panties. “Already this wet? Wow, you must be pleased.” he mischievously commented.

You moaned more, desperately needing him. Peter then stuck one finger up your cunt, moving in and out. “Oh.. Ah!.. Peter, please!” you screamed in between heavy breaths. “Please what?” he teased. He was having fun with this, too much fun. You furrowed your eyebrows in irritation, not wanting to play around. As he continued to finger you, adding another digit in, you mumbled “Fuck me”. He partially heard you, an idea coming to his mind. “What was that?” he chuckled breathlessly. You only raised your voice slightly, uttering, “Fuck me…” He definitely heard you this time, but went along with his plan. “Say it louder, like you mean it doll.” he voiced, egging you on. After a few pants and you grasping onto his back for dear life, overstimulated by his fingers, you spoke loud and clear. “Fuck me Peter Parker.” All though he was feeling very playful and very much so liking where this was going, something clicked in him with your last remark. Maybe it was hearing his full name being spouted so desperately from your mouth. “As you wish.” He then retracted his digits from your pussy and stood up again.

You laid on the bed, exasperated yet completely aroused and ready as he unlatched his belt buckle, slipping it off and pushing his pants down. His dick, large and rock hard, was faced up in his tight, black boxers. Before pulling said clothing down, he ran his hand through his hair with a lustful look on his face. You looked him in the eyes with an innocent, adoring sort of look. When he noticed your stares, he leaned back, already high off of the foreplay. While you watched him, you unfastened your bra from behind and threw it on the floor, sporting a seductive look. “Dear God…” he muttered as he slipped off his boxers. Your eyes widened as you saw his veiny and tall member. How did his confidence never waver? He always looked at you so adoringly, as though you were the only thing that mattered. He was so vocal about it too, calling you all sorts of cute and lustful names. It no doubt turned you on each time, hanging on to his every word.

All that was left was your underwear, absolutely soaked. He leant back down again, rubbing your hips and sliding down to your panties, picking them off, dragging them down your legs as you collectively panted. You bit your lip as you watched him slide back up to your now barren privates. He kissed it slowly, as though he was praising your body, ascending to your breasts and collarbone. He sucked on one of the nipples, softly stroking and pinching the other one. “Peter!” you moaned. You could feel him smirking against your breast, clearly liking the sounds you made. “Keep making those pretty noises, Angel.”

You couldn't continue like this, you thought. Every passing second becoming more impatient. His hard on was now edging you, and the sensation making you groan. He finally parted from your chest and led his cock into your vagina, going slow and steady, so as not to hurt you. You whined his name lewdly. This drove him to move more forcefully. He whispered sweet pet names in your ear as he held on tightly to your hips. Little kisses were marked all over you in the meantime as your arms clung to his back, hastily clenching your fists. He enjoyed every minute of watching you. His lips pursed as he slid in and out of you. You both couldnt speak at this point, being too engulfed in the intensity of the moment, but he managed to spill out a quick “Fuck.” and “I love you” as he continued to pound into you. You had no need to beg him to go faster or harder, he knew just how you liked it.

“Im Close!” you moaned. He kissed and bit on your neck, making you squirm and blush. “Cum for me darling.” he commanded sweetly. With one last cry out, your cum dripped out, being blocked by his member still very much so in you. This drove him mad, and his release was soon after. White fluid, a mixture of both of yours, ran lewdly down your leg and onto the bed. You both continued moaning, still high off of the circumstances.

As the intoxicating moment wore off, you laid next to each other on the bed, hugging. He stroked your head lightly, playing with your hair and kissing your temple. “My dove,” he called. “You are amazing.” you just closed your eyes, basking in the moment, smiling. Peter mumbled, “One moment dear, let me get you something” as he rolled over and pushed off of the bed, grabbing his boxers and slipping them on. As he walked out of the room, you watched his sinewy back and cute butt. You put your hand at the side of your mouth as you teasingly spoke, “Be quick, handsome!”. He glanced back at you with a raised eyebrow and curious smirk.

He grabbed two glasses and filled them with water, returning back to the bedroom. As he came back in, he saw you throwing on one of his short sleeve button-up (it being very large on you), and your underwear as you stood. “I'm going to freshen up” you explained, walking towards the bathroom connected to your room. He followed you, handing you a glass as you smiled back and thanked him. He stretched an arm out to your waist, grazing it lightly as he spoke in a husky voice, “Such a beautiful girl.”

#across the spiderverse #into the spider verse #spiderman noir #spiderman #spidernoir #spider noir x reader #spider man noir x reader #smut #fluff #pet names #what a gentleman #i am obsessed #fanfic #tumblr

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annabelinlove · 3 months

Text

No Games (pt.2)

Pairing: Wolfstar x reader (Sirius Black x Remus Lupin x Reader)

Summary: The aftermath of the attack

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: angst, past description on violence, non sexual nudity, language, English isn’t my first language, no use of Y/n, Peter doesn’t exist

Readers note: You wanted part 2, so here it is! I’m sorry for the rushed ending but i have another thing planned and i really wanted to post this on. Lmk if you like it. Read part 1, if you haven’t already and checkout my masterlist. Every kind word is appreciated. Enjoy!

Pt. 1

Masterlist

You’ve spent the whole week at the infirmary and not even for a second were you alone. You had no idea how they did it, but your friends and boyfriends kept your company even thought you were sure they had classes they ought to attend. Whenever you tried to bring it up, they just shushed you and told you it was dealt with. You didn’t know what that was supposed to mean and weren’t even sure if it really was dealt with, but you were glad for the company so you decided to let it go. Regulus himself sent you a card telling you he hoped you’ll recover soon but you were yet to talk to him. You brought it up carefully when you were alone with Sirius, you knew his family was a sensitive topic for him.

“Have you talked to Regulus?” You asked, looking at your beautiful boyfriend who was working on his Herbology essay, his legs on your bed. He looked up from his work and smiled gently.

“Yeah, we met yesterday at the Tower, talked the whole night. That reminds me, he wishes you the best but said he’ll talk to you when you’re out of here, if you’re still up for it.”

He didn’t tell you the details of their conversation, but the small smile present on fis handsome face told you everything you needed to know, so you didn’t bring it up again. You’ve received many get well soon cards, some of them from students you didn’t even know at it warmed your heart. Even Marlene and Mary came to visit you. The whole day you spent with your friends and Madam Pomfrey and at the night, you always shared the bed with your boyfriends, who left in the morning to go to classes but still came back after few hours and this cycle repeated itself for the whole time you were in the hospital wing. It made you forget about the main reason you were even here and considering all odds, you were quite happy in your bubble. When Sunday came, Poppy told you that you were free to go but take it easy, which meant no quidditch and pranks, and to come back Monday evening for her to check you up again. Most of your wounds were healed and the bruises were barely visible, but still, some of them took longer to heal. One wound in particular, the one on your side, was pretty nasty and sometimes still bled a bit. It was sure to say you were glad to finally leave the infirmary.

“You’re ready, pet?” Asked Sirius as he took your bad, with all the cards and sweets that people sent you in his hands, and watched Remus, who was tying up your shoes. You told him you were perfectly fine to do it yourself, but he just waved his hand and kneeled in front of you. Why would you when I can? was his only response.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” You smiled at him and hopped off the bed, taking Remus’s hand as all three of you left the hospital wing. But as soon as you walked down the corridor to your common room, the reality hit you and you stopped to take a deep breath. What if it happens again? What if they pick on someone else? What would happen if Regulus hadn’t come? I’d probably die. The boys must have noticed your sudden panic and stopped as well. Siris stood in front of you and put his hands on your cheeks to make you look up at him. His gaze was soft and full of love.

“I know it’s scary right now, but nothing like that is ever gonna happen again, do you trust me? Do you trust us to protect you?” He asked softly, not breaking eye contact so you knew he was serious. Remus squeezed your hand, to reassure you in your own way. Your timid nod didn’t seem to please them.

“Words, angel. Do you trust us to protect you?” Remus prodded and your eyes shifted to his honey ones.

“I do, with my life.” You responded verbally now, which seemed to please them, as you all continued walking to the portrait, one boy at either of your side. Once in the common room, all of your friends were already there a big barel welcome back hung from the chandelier and you genuinely smiled as they all gave you a big and long hug.

“Now, now, don’t smother our girl.” Remus protectively pulled you to sit on his lap as he sat on the couch and buried his face into your neck, inhaling your scent. “She must be used to it, dating the two of you.” James stuck his tongue out at him playfully and they started to bicker. You felt like you were finally home. With your friends all around you, in the middle of the loves of your life, both of them touching you at all times, you were happy. This is where I belong, you thought. The rest of the day was spent talking, laughing and playing wizarding chess or exploding snap.

“Alright, its time for dinner kids, lets go.” Lily decided, standing up and ordering everybody around like the mum of the group. Your whole body seemed to freeze at that. The thought of leaving you little bubble of happiness to go to the Great Hall was more then unsettling for you.

“Go without us, we’ll just hang in here. Would you mind bringing us something?” Remus spoke up, obviously noticing your sudden anxious state. You both loved and hated how they could read you and knew you like the back of their hands. Nothing would get past them. James nodded before running after Marlene, probably to discuss the upcoming quidditch match. Lily sent you an understanding smile before waving at you and leaving the common room.

“Thanks, I’m just not ready to face them, yet.” You uttered, feeling embarrassed.

“Hey, you don’t have to explain yourself to us. Anything to make you feel the most comfortable, always.” Sirius was quick to argue and attacked your face with small, wet kisses. You laughed as you tried to get away from him. However, during your wiggling around, you accidentally pushed on your sore side and a sharp pain ran through your body. You let out a groan and the boy stopped quickly and distanced himself from you.

“Hey, are you okay? I’m so sorry if I hurt you, darling.” He was quick to speak, looking you up and down to spot any wound reopening and bleeding. You placed your hand on his cheek and smiled.

“It’s okay, just my stupid side. You didn’t do anything, I must have moved wrong or something. It’s fine.” You tried to assure him, but he still looked worried. Remus decided to step in and stood up, holding his hand out for you to take.

“Why don’t we go back to our dorm, hm? You could take a warm bath and relax as we wait for James to bring us something to eat. Then we can cuddle, how does that sound, my loves?” The idea of hot bath has already calmed you and you were quick to take his hand and get up. “Sounds like heaven.” You gave him a kiss and you all went to your dorm.

Well, it was their dorm, but you spent all of your time there anyway. You had your things there and to be honest, you couldn’t remember the last time you slept with the girls in your own dorm. James didn’t mind and claimed he was happy to have someone who’d help him deal with the two idiots. Once inside, Remus drew you a warm bath and even added some bubbles for you. It was nothing like the prefect bathroom, where you sometimes sneaked in with you boyfriends, but at that moment, it was perfect. You slowly undressed, with Sirius helping you, and softly kissing every new scar and unhealed bruise. You daren’t look into the mirror, terrified what you’d see, but right then and there, you felt loved, bare in front of your boys who stared at you with nothing but love in their eyes. Sirius helped you into the bathtub and you let out a content sigh when you sank into the hot water. Remus kissed your forehead and took Sirius’s hand, as they went to leave you alone.

“Stay.” You whispered, giving them your best puppy eyes, that Sirius taught you. Without another word, they both sat next to your bathtub, and you were finally able to relax, feeling every single muscle loosening after what felt like ages. You were all silent as Remus laid his hands on the edge of the tub and rested his hands on top of them, Sirius resting his head on his shoulder. You had no idea how much time has passed, all of you just enjoying the quiet time together, but it was interrupted by James, who poked his head inside the bathroom.

“Y’all good?” At the disturbance, Sirius quickly threw a bottle of shampoo on his head.

“Oi! Get out and stop ogling my naked girlfriend!” He shouted at his friend who put up his hands in surrender. James couldn’t have seen anything, as you were covered in bubbles but your boyfriend’s protectiveness mage you laugh a little.

“It ain’t nothing I haven’t seen before.” He joked before quickly shutting the door as Sirius got up with the intention to punch him. You laughed at that, remembering the few times when you walked out of the bathroom naked, thinking you were alone in the dorm, with James sitting on his bed or him walking into the bathroom when you were showering. Not to mention that all of your friends went skinny dipping into the Black Lake.

“I’m kidding, sorry! Just wanted to know if you’re okay since you’ve been silent for the whole 20 minutes I’ve been here.” He said behind the closed door. At that, Remus put his hand into the bath which has gotten cold already. “Alright, let’s get you out, the water is freezing and you need to eat something.”

Sirius washed your hair as Remus went to get some clothes for you as well as a new bandage and some ointment. After drying you up, he carefully rubbed in on the wounds and bruises as well as some pink scars. You mustered up the courage to look at yourself in the mirror and sucked in a breath. You looked much worse than you thought. Even after almost a full week of being at the infirmary, unhealed scratches could be seen all over your body, numerous of bruises and scars, some bigger then other, keeping them company. Your cheeks were hollowed, and you had dark circles under your eyes. You also looked thinner. Sirius quickly stepped in front of you when he saw the disgusted look you gave yourself in the mirror.

“Hey,” he said as he put some hair behind your ear, “you’re beautiful.”

The smile you gave him was genuine and you stopped thinking about it as he kissed you passionately. They dressed you in some sweatpants and shirt, none of which were yours. When you emerged from the bathroom, you realized that James has already prepared the food on Sirius’s bed, which was the biggest of them all, thanks to a single spell, since the three of you slept on it every single night. You settled comfortably on the bed, under the covers with the boys around you and contently started eating.

“Thank you, Jamie.” You thanked him with a mouth full of mashed potatoes. You didn’t even realize how hungry you were, but it was really no surprise since Poppy fed you mostly soups from various of herbs to help you heal.

“Anytime, sunshine.” He winked at you and started a calm conversation. Mostly between the boys, since you were too busy eating. After dinner, Sirius sat behind you and without a word started to braid your still wet hair. It was your routine, doing each others hair, sometimes Remus’ as well, if he had them long enough. When he was done, you all bid good night to James and laid on the bed.

“Would you read to us Moony?” Sirius asked sweetly, pulling you closer, careful not to hurt you in any way. Remus pulled out his book, The Lord of the Rings, and his calm voice filled the silence. You nuzzled yourself closer to him and quickly fell asleep, his voice fading away in the background.

You were running away from someone, you didn’t know who, but knew they were dangerous. You were in some dark place, when someone pushed you to the ground.

“This is what you fucking deserve, filthy bitch!” The unknown person spat at you as he hit you, pain erupting immediately all over your face. You were suddenly on the floor and someone was kicking you over and over again. Your hands tied so you wouldn’t be able to protect yourself. You screamed for help but an evil laugh was the only thing heard. “Shh, we’re just playing.” And another blow, now into your head. You felt like you were under water and running out of air, not being able to breathe.

“Hey, hey, wake up. It’s okay.”

Unknown hands shook you, but you saw only silhouettes, and green flashes of lights. Suddenly, you had a wand at your neck. You tried to pull away, but couldn’t. The wand suddenly slashed your throat.

“C’mon, wake up darling.”

You sat up quickly in your bed, gasping for breath as your hands flew to your throat. You’re safe, your in your dorm with your boys. It was only a dream. You were shaking like a leaf, only now just realizing that someone was talking to you.

“Breath for me, angel. It’s okay, we’re here. You’re here, you’re in our dorm, with me and Moony, you’re safe. Just keep on breathing for me, please.” You concentrated on Sirius’ words, slowly calming your breath.

“I’m gonna touch you, is that okay, my darling?” Remus said in his soft tone, you weren’t able to speak so you tried to nod, but it wasn’t enough for the boys.

“Please, use your words. I know it’s hard, but try, pet.” You croaked a yes, which seemed to satisfy him and he gently wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a gentle, yet firm embrace. Sirius handed you a glass of water you didn’t even see him get it. You gulped the water like your life depended on it.

“It was just a bad dream, my love. You’re okay.” You were able to calm down, but was still shaking lightly in Remus’ arms.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He whispered as he kept on rubbing small circles on your back. You took a deep breath, trying to remember the dream but it was all hazy.

“I-I was in some dark room or something and someone kept on hurting me. And then-then..” you were interrupted by your own sobs but tried to pull it together to finish “then a wand slashed my throat and I couldn’t breathe.” You cried into his shoulder. Sirius took your hand in is and placed it where your heart is.

“Do you feel that?” He patiently waited for you to nod before continuing, “that’s your heart and it’s beating. It means you’re alive and breathing, my love. It was just a nightmare. Take a deep breath, because you can, baby. It’s okay.”

You felt your heartbeat and started to slow down your breathing, the shaking stopped as did the tears. You pulled out of Remus’ hug and looked at them sheepishly.

“I’m sorry for waking you up.” You just now noticed the darkness of the room and heard James’ loud snores. You swore he would sleep through an earthquake.

“You have nothing to apologize for, angel. We knew the nightmares would come sooner or later.” Remus soothed your worry but his words confused you and you looked at him with furrowed brows.

“Well, at the infirmary, Poppy gave you a sleeping draught every night so you could sleep peacefully, but you didn’t take any tonight. I was just kinda counting on it. It makes sense after what happened.” You froze at his words, you didn’t even think about that.

“Oh, I’ll go and get it tomorrow then.” You sighed, fatigued overtaking of your body.

“No, pet. I know its hard and the nightmares are terrible. Trust me, I know, but you can’t take it for such a long time, it could really mess you up.” Sirius looked at you apologetic, feeling bad for crushing your vision for peaceful sleep.

Your whole face fell down and you looked close to tears again. “But I don’t wanna have a nightmare every night.” You uttered, looking at your hands, picking at your nails.

“And you won’t! Me and Pads will do everything in our power to help you with them, just not through medications, okay?” Remus was quick to reassure you, taking your hand in his so you would stop picking at your nails before they started to bleed. You were too tired to fight with them, so you sighed a small yes and let them lay you on the bed again, squeezed in between them.

“Moony’s gonna read to us again, until you fall asleep, okay?” Sirius said and kissed your nose, but you were quick to protest. “No, I don’t want to keep you up for no reason, you shouldn’t stay away just because I can’t sleep.”

Remus gave you almost a bored look but still looked at you lovingly. “Hey, none of that, darling. Anything to help you. Plus, I ended at quite an interesting chapter, so I’m curious what’s gonna happen next.” And with that, he picked up the book and started to read, just like few hours ago. And just like few hours ago, you feel asleep.

The next time you woke up, it was by Sirius who was leaving wet kisses all over your face. “Wakey, wakey. We need to get ready for classes.” He whispered but still continued to kiss your face. It was Remus, who ushered both of you to the bathroom to clean up (and redress your wounds, of course) and soon enough, you were on your way to the Great Hall for breakfast with your friends.

Everybody was chatting with you the whole time, to help you ease your nervousness, and you were immensely grateful for them all. You stopped in front of the huge door to the Hall, but before you could start to think too much about things, Remus took your hand and Sirius screamed your name to gain your attention.

“Look, look! This is how to make someone your peasant.” And before you, or anyone really, processed his words, he jumped on James’ back, held tight with one hand, the other high in the air as he started screaming loudly. “Go, my slave. Take me to my fine breakfast and DO NOT DROP ME!”

James wasn’t even complaining, pretty used to his theatrics and he ran straight to their places, making a huge scene with Sirius. All of them laughed at their silliness and before you knew it, you were sat at the table, with your back to the Slytherins, and started to eat. All of your friends were distracting you with jokes and you were smiling the whole time. Sirius was still ordering James around and he did everything the long haired boy asked.

“Pass me the juice.”

“Of course, my lord. Is there anything else I could aide you with? Your wish is my command.”

After breakfast, Remus took your backpack and you walked hand in hand to your class. Sirius was, of course, riding on James’ back to the class.You were thankful that you shared Charms, your first class, with your boyfriends, as well as Lily. The worst part was, that the Slytherins were taking Charms as well. Sirius got off James’ back before the classroom and looked you deep in the eyes.

“Listen, and listen to me closely, pet. Me and Remmy are gonna be with you the whole time. There’s not gonna be a second when one of us isn’t close to you, okay? It’s gonna be okay, you’ll be fine and we’ll be always by your side.” He reassured you and you smiled at his thoughtfulness to calm you down. You took a deep breath and Remus squeezed your hand in support. You nodded that you were ready and you entered the classroom. You didn’t look around, your gaze set on your desk. Sirius and Remus were on both your sides, squashing you in between them.

Remus still hasn’t let go of your hand as you squeezed it tightly when you felt the hairs on your neck rising. Snape and Mulicber were here. You didn’t dare to move a muscle, your body in a trance, too scared to even breathe. Both of your boys noticed and they tried to talk to you and joked around to make you smile, but you weren’t able to concentrate on them. You didn’t even notice when the class started, nor did you registered that it has finished. You could feel their eyes on you, the whole time. You knew that Snape was staring at the back of your head, his eyes sending daggers your way, but you were too afraid to look back. To look at him, them.

Sirius had to nudge you that the class was over and you had to go to the other one. You felt like you were sleepwalking as they took your things and led you out of the classroom. But you froze in your tracks as you heard the cold laugh behind you. You knew it was Mulciber.

“Well, well, well. Surprised to see you at school and not the graveyard.” He snickered but before you could do as much as blink, you heard a loud bang from behind you. You turned ground quickly, waiting for some king of danger coming your way, but were met with Sirius pinning him to the wall, his wand at his neck and hand holding his chest so he couldn’t move.

You saw as Snape took out his wand, but Remus casted a quick Expelliarmus and his wand flew out of his hand and his reach. He was stood protectively in front of you, his wand aimed at Snape as Sirius hold Mulciber. You didn’t even know how any of that happened, if was all too quick.

“Say another word to her, I dare you. Let’s see who will be buried six feet under.” Sirius seethed, his voice low and dangerous. You’ve never heard him use this tone.

“You’ve got bodyguards now, heh?” Snivellus snickered at you but not moving an inch. Before any of you could say or do anything, Lily appeared out of thin air and hit him square in the face. Snape fell to the ground, holding his bleeding nose and looking up at her in surprise.

“If you ever come close to her, I will hurt you. And I fucking mean it, Severus. I don’t know what happened to you but it gives you no right to act like an asshole. You are nothing but a fucking scam and dirt. Don’t come close to her or any of us, never again.” She told him, her voice cold and face blank of any emotions. You have never heard Lily use so many swear words in your life, let alone in one sentence.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Mulciber trying to get out of Sirius’ gasp and Remus was ready to send some hex his way, but you stopped him as you laid your slightly shaking hand on his shoulder.

“Wait.” You said quietly but strongly. He stopped and looked at you, his wand still aiming at his enemy.

“Don’t be like them. Let them go, karma will get them soon and better then us.” I said loudly, for all of them to hear me. Remus’ gaze softened but his wand still raised high.

You could hear Sirius growl, not moving an inch, so you walked up to him and took his hand with his wand an out it down. He looked unsure, but wasn’t fighting your touch. You looked deep inside Mulciber’s eyes and when he open his mouth to say something, you spat at him. You could hear Lily gasp, but you didn’t care as you turned around and walked away with your head held high.Remus, Lily and Sirius quickly caught up with you, your raven boyfriends taking your waist and spinning you in the air.

“That’s my fucking girl! You shoved them who has the power!” He hollered, and you laughed. When he set you down, both he and Remus hugged you tightly and you felt the weight lifting off your shoulders.

“That was brilliant, my sweet girl. I’m so so proud of you.” Remus beamed with pride, kissing the top of your head. “I could never do it without you. Thank you, for everything.” You squeezed their arms and quickly went to hug Lily as well.

“That must have been hard for you, I know you two used to be close.” You whispered into her ears. She sighed and let you go, looking into your eyes.

“Yeah, used to. Before he turned out to be such a prick. But I won’t hesitate to protect you from him, or anyone else, no matter what.” She gave you a kind and sincere smile and you knew she meant it.

As you walked down the corridor, with Sirius and Remus nonstop praising you, you felt lighter. You knew it wasn’t the end. The wounds were yet to be healed, the physical ones as well as emotional ones, and the war was far from the end, but you knew you could do it.

With your boyfriends and friends by your side, you were unstoppable.

——————-

Tag list: @quackitysdrugdealer @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @oweninadaydream @noodlesareokah @wings-of-tranquility @oweninadaydream @leafpagesingfan

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syrma-sensei · 1 year

Text

→ Love Underwater.

gif credit.

pairing: namor of talokan x queen!reader.

rating: fluff.

warning: spoilers for black panther: wakanda forever.

The King lets out a light grunt when you slip his large necklace off after you took his cape off of his shoulders, revealing the gills on the two crooks of his neck. He tilts his head, cracking the bones of his neck, and you giggle when his lips graze the knuckles of your fingers. Then, you click each of his arm bracelets open, removing and putting them on the adorned tray for the servants to pick up later when you're done.

You massage the muscles of his arms and shoulders, and he groans approvingly. Hands trailing down to his abdomen, unclasping his large belt from around his refined waist. You never let the servants undress the King when he retires to his chambers; a job you've taken it upon yourself since the day you married the King of Talokan; a sweet and intimate gesture of a wife to her husband. When you're done, Ku'kul'kan whisks you playfully to his lap while he's sitting on the large bed. He kisses your neck fondly, while you kiss the crown of his head, then you rest your cheek on his shoulder.

“Namora came to me today, my love.” You say idly, “Again.”

“Oh,” He raises an eyebrow, “Did she?”

“Yes.” You answer, drawing your head back so you can look at his face, “She's expressed her worry about you, my King.”

The latter regards you with gentle eyes, “And you share the same sentiment as well?”

You cup his cheek, your palm pressing lightly on the three marks left by the three scars.

In the recent weeks, the King has spent most of his time drawing the murals at his memorabilia cave —his sacred shrine as you call it— where you're used to watch him flicking his brush nimbly against the wall, recoding history. The latest of his works is The Battle Between The Serpent God and the Black Panther, the first time your husband lost.

“Our King chose peace over slaughter.” You told Namora, when came to you sulking, in her rough way of speeech, about her king cousin, your husband. The seasoned warrioress still can't digest the defeat of Talokan — of her king... god. In all honesty, neither could you, but as the queen, it's your duty to calm your subjects' qualms down, even if you have some of your own.

You glance down at his wrapped ankle, the slightest frown on your face; you've never seen your husband wounded in such a grotesque way. Despite your displeasure, the King seems to wear it with pride. Your eyes flit back to his face again.

“I did.” You answer frankly, “But not anymore. My trust in your judgement never wavers, my King.”

Ku'kul'kan cradles your cheeks in his warm hands, pressing a smooth kiss on your forehead, “Sometimes, I wish they had a piece of your wisdom, my love.”

You hold his hands, pressing kisses to his palms. “You flatter me, my King.”

“I only speak the truth, my Queen.” He smiles, thumbs gently stroking your cheeks.

Even after hundred years of marriage, you can't prevent the blush from smearing your cheeks red, and your husband laughs, flicking your cheek with his fingers.

“But the Panther Princess ought to be true to her words.” You say stubbornly. “Should she break them, and I'll be the one to bring her head on a spike,”

Ku'kul'kan smiles. “I'm counting on that.”

#namor x you #namor x reader #namor smut #tenoch huerta namor #namor fluff #namor x y/n #namor imagine #namor fic #namor fanfiction #namor of talokan #ku'kul'kan #namor #mcu namor #tenoch huerta #black panther wakanda forever #namor mcu #kukulkan x you #kukulkan x reader #kukulkan

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shieldofiron · 2 months

Text

Pretty Boy Live in Santa Fe, 1977

Part 1/3 Also on Ao3 here

For @harringrove-relay-race. Very happy with how part 1 turned out, and there will be more to come. Thanks to @foxxtastic for the intro and next up will be something stunning from our fearless Relay Race leader @half-oz-eddie

Rated M / 5k words / Part 1/3

Part 1: Into Hades

Rolling Stone Magazine - May 2002

Billy Hargrove arrived after I did, in his lovingly maintained blue Camaro, the subject of his song, “Lady Blue.” “Lady Blue” was recently named #93 on Rolling Stone’s Top Love Songs of the Century.

“I wrote, ‘She’s the wind in my hair, the rumble in my soul.’ I thought it was so obvious,” He laughed, his blue eyes still boyish. “My niece made it her wedding song, I said ‘Really? It’s about a fuckin’ car!’”

He showed me several pictures of his niece, the supermodel Tyler Sinclair. It seems good looks run in the family. He suggested the diner and he ordered waffles, winking when I mentioned that we’ll be here a long time.

The decades have been kind to him, maybe a few more lines. It’s not hard to imagine him stepping right back onto the stage, as if no time has passed at all.

“A little extra glitter on the eyes,” He said with a smile, “to hide my crows feet. That’s all I need.”

I ask what he’s going to wear to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame ceremony for Kaleidoscope's induction and his smile dims only for a moment.

“I think I should pull out some old costumes. You know, the butterfly still fits.”

He was referring, of course, to the sheer butterfly cape costume that nearly had him thrown off the stage in Houston Texas in December 1976. He caved to putting on a pair of silvery shorts rather than the nude underwear it was designed with. He later wore it with the nude underwear on the inside cover of Kaleidoscope, the album that will be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in just a few short weeks. Kaleidoscope was his last album with the iconic Glam Rock band Pretty Boy, which famously broke up at the height of their career while touring for the album, onstage.

It’s not often that a band is inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and there’s a question if all of them will even show up.

“I’ll be there,” Hargrove said, fiddling with the silver band on his middle finger. “I have no problem with seeing him.”

The him is, of course, the lead guitarist and other lead singer of Pretty Boy, Steve Harrington.

Steve Harrington invites me to his oceanfront house in Malibu later that afternoon.

“I haven’t decided if I’m going to go,” He said thoughtfully, his brown eyes darting around the room.

When I mention that Billy is going to go, he seems surprised.

“He didn’t say he was going to punch me, did he?” Harrington smiled, but it doesn’t seem like much of a joke.

For one of the most famous rock stars of the 70s, Harrington is shockingly low key. He wears a t-shirt and slouchy linen pants, and he jokes that he ought to have shaved when I take out my camera. The house is stunning but empty, with miles of blank white walls and overstuffed white furniture.

“I’m looking for a little peace,” He shrugs, “I used to have all these pictures up, all this furniture… It was too much.”

It was hard not to see him as an artist without a muse. He drifted listlessly, picking things up and putting them down as we talked. So it was a surprise to me to hear that he’s been recording.

“I may never release it but… Yeah,” He laughed, “Music. After all this time. Bet you didn’t know.”

He picks up a rare photo from the piano. It’s from the early days of Pretty Boy, before Billy Hargrove. Harrington has his arm around his bandmate, Eddie Munson. Their drummer Chrissy Cunningham is balanced precariously across their shoulders, laughing and cringing at the same time. Bassist Robin Buckley smirks from the corner of the frame, messy bangs in her eyes.

“Who knew, right?” He asked no one, shaking the frame a little.

There are no pictures of Billy Hargrove.

“That’s a… a long story,” He said, when I asked.

But I have time. I tell him Rolling Stone will pay for it. At least that makes him laugh.

It was just by chance that Pretty Boy’s last concert was filmed.

“We were meant to just film in Vegas,” The director, Argyle Molina-Zapata, sat down with me after a private screening of Pretty Boy Live in Santa Fe, 1977, “But there was a freak rainstorm, and I couldn’t get my camera’s out of the back. The crowd was digging it, refused to leave. I remember when Billy hit the high note for ‘Mother Make Me,’ there was this lightning crack… brilliant.”

Molina-Zapata shook his head, “But the footage, what I got of it, was awful. Awful! So I begged Murray to let me come with them to Santa Fe.”

Murray was Murray Bauman, famed tour manager, who handled the Boys, later Pretty Boy from their first album Starfire, all the way to Kaleidoscope.

“And I was lucky,” Argyle nodded, “They had that extra tour bus.”

The tour busses are featured in the first few minutes of the film. They roll around the corner, one reading Billy Blue (Billy’s original stage name was Billy Blue before he dropped the Blue), and the other, Steve’s Six (Named after Steve’s best friends from his hometown.)

“They were nightmares,” Murray Bauman’s voice crackled over the phone, “Nightmares on tour. Separate buses. Separate hotels. Fuck me, I swear to god at one point they wanted separate stages. And the label caved on almost all of it. Fucking nightmare.”

It’s almost impossible to imagine it when you see them on stage together. There’s something electric that passed between Billy Hargrove and Steve Harrington, something that drove crowds wild. They gravitate towards each other on the stage, orbiting like planets until they can share the same mic. They can’t seem to stay apart.

It’s hard to see exactly what happened that night.

“I’ve watched it a million times,” Argyle laughed, “But the only two people who can really say what happened are Billy and Steve.”

What you can see is this: Steve tearing into “Pride & Prejudice”, the lead off Kaleidoscope and the last song of the night.

Billy was trembling, visibly shaking as he sang and Steve harmonized along.

What can I say, if you ask me to walk away?

Baby, there’s no words for you.

Baby. I don’t know what to do.

Billy danced closer, joining Steve, his handheld mic loose at his side.

Can you ever put away your pride?

Is it worth it to not have me at your side?

I guess it must be, because I’m yours,

Regretfully,

Baby.

Billy leans in, sharing Steve’s mic for the bridge.

Is it really a mystery?

What I mean to you, and you mean to me?

Is it really, baby?

Billy shook his head, curls bouncing. He looked into Steve's eyes. He smiled. Steve looks at Billy, and Billy looks at him. It almost looks like Billy mouths something, but bootleg footage also has appeared where it looks like Billy just nodded. Steve goes a little shell shocked, hand freezing on his guitar, falling out of sync.

And then Steve turned away and left the stage, handing his guitar to a stagehand. Billy turned to the crowd, his expression strangely triumphant. He was always magnetic on stage, but this moment transcends that. It somehow feels like he’s getting everything he wants.

So I guess I’m losing you,

You promised me you would and it’s true.

Baby, there’s no words for you.

Baby. I don’t know what to do.

Steve Harrington hasn’t performed in public since 1977.

“None of us knew what was going to happen that night,” Chrissy Cunningham curled up next to her husband, Eddie Munson, on the large white couch of their Seattle home.

They’re a handsome couple still, draped in rock and roll finery. He toyed with the edge of her scarf, and she curled his long hair around her long fingers.

“We had some of our own shit going on at the time so…” Munson shrugged, “Maybe we were distracted.”

Their living room was crowded and verdant, every spare flat surface covered in plants. Their partner, former record executive Jason Carver, puttered in the kitchen in an apron that read Plant Papa.

“Yeah,” Chrissy smiled, “We had some stuff going on at the same time. But still… It seemed like they were getting better. Didn’t it seem like they were getting better?”

Munson shrugged, “The thing about Billy and Steve… they were soulmates. You don’t write music like that and not… it was like they had a second language, just for them. They were soulmates, I really believe that. Everything they did, everything that happened… they could only hurt each other that badly if… yeah.”

When I ask what they did to each other, Eddie and Chrissy just scooted closer together, like teenagers in a slasher, hiding from the killer. She laid a hand over his leg, her two stone diamond ring catching the sunlight.

“Steve never wanted Billy to be in the band,” Eddie shook his head, “but Jim had a soft spot for Billy. And Steve had… I mean Jim was…”

“Jim was like a father. To all of us.” Chrissy’s knee jiggled.

“We were this little tiny band from Nowhere, Indiana,” Eddie nodded, “And Jim believed in us.”

“I was just a junior exec at the time. I was put on the Kaleidoscope tour in case of catastrophic failure, which by the way it was,” Jason Carver is making risotto while we speak, the steam curling the lock of hair that falls over his face. “But it wasn’t my fault although I was high as hell on coke half the time. I guess I deserved to get fired. But Jim was the real deal. Gold records out the ass, best wife in the world, and his daughter, I mean… she was something else.”

They’re referring, of course, to Jim Hopper, producer on Kaleidoscope as well as Billy Blue and The Boys’ records, and the father of pop superstar Eleven aka Jane Hopper.

“Jim was…” Steve Harrington’s eyes always got a little misty talking about Jim, staring out over the ocean. “Yeah, I guess he was a little like my dad. My own parents were always gone. Which is like… I grew up so privileged so like I’m not saying… I just mean I grew up mostly by myself. And we were just so lucky he even agreed to listen to us when we got to LA.”

“I remember that night,” Joyce Hopper’s voice was raspy, cigarette-y in the way only old movie stars are. She’s a gorgeous woman in jeans and a gardening hat, speaking to me while she tends to her garden at her home in Castellammare. “He came home and said, ‘I have the next ones, the next big ones. Fuck, Joyce, they’re brilliant. Unpolished, but brilliant.’”

When I ask about when Jim discovered Billy Hargrove she just laughed.

“If Steve and the rest of The Boys were unpolished, Billy Hargrove was a fucking ten carat diamond,” She said. “But Steve’s band was Jim’s, and he could polish them up how he wanted. And then when he thought they were just right for it… he set the diamond.”

Jim Hopper was a big man, larger than life both in appearance and in personality. His fingerprints are all over some of the best hits of the decade.

Watching him on old interviews, there’s an immediacy to his presence that leaps off the screen.

“My daughter is the one who really found him. She snuck out with her sister and wandered God knows where. And she just… found him. Called me the next morning, saying ‘Dad, you have to hear this guy.’ He was playing in this… terrible club,” Jim said, tapping his cigar on the table of Merv Griffin’s set. “Absolute shithole, pardon my french. And he’s got a great voice, you’ve heard his voice, right?”

“I have,” Merv said.

“I had to get him out of there. He was a star.”

Billy Hargrove was a teenage runaway from San Diego when he came to LA in 1971.

“I had a girl’s backpack from my stepsister, eight dollars, and an extra pair of underwear. By the end of the next week? I had two more dollars,” Billy laughed. “But I got lucky. I met Heather.”

Heather Holloway was a showgirl at Wildwoods, a nightly revue. She found Billy at the backdoor, and took him to her apartment.

“She saved me,” He frowned. “Whenever I needed her most.”

Heather Holloway, Billy Hargrove’s first and only wife, died in 1979.

“I got a job singing at Sugar, this great gay club downtown. It was in the late afternoons, so I had a crowd of about… two. But those two brought two more,” Billy smiled, “Heather would talk me up to all the promoters. He’s a singer, he’s great, you’ll love him, he’s so cute.”

“He was an instant hit,” Sugar’s manager, Bob Newby, tells me by phone as well. “I did have to keep a couple of creeps off him, when he just started he was only nineteen. But even if you closed your eyes… he was a hit.”

“Guys used to think that because I was a part of the entertainment, I was fair game. And let me tell you, the novelty of that wears off mighty quick,” Billy shakes his head.

He shares a diary entry from his late wife of a night in April 1972. He came to her home with blood all over his face.

“Some guy thought because I was a fag…” Billy’s mouth twisted, but he went on, cradling the little marble notebook in his hand. “He could do whatever he wanted to me. When I fought back… he cracked a bottle over my head.”

He’s not just a piece of meat. He’s a person. I don’t understand these people. I just don’t understand, Heather Holloway wrote. I cleaned him up and he’s sleeping now.

The next diary entry is from a day later. April 12. Billy and I drove to Vegas and got married. When we spoke in the morning he said he was afraid for me too, even though I’m careful with the girls. He’s afraid of the cops trying to bust up the Wildwoods and picking me up. At least this way, he says. He and I can come home to each other. Look out for each other. Always. The groom wore band aids and his great velvet pants. The bride wore lavender. It was perfect.

“And lucky too. Because within a month… I met Jim,” Billy smiled. “And my whole life changed.”

Upside Down Records signed Billy Blue, unagented, in1972 and he spent the next year working on his debut album with Jim Hopper.

“I didn’t even realize, when it happened,” Billy shook his head. “A couple of girls came by after a show, wanting to talk to me, wanting to meet me. That wasn’t that unusual. But they were young, far too young to get into the club. And the little one, she was asking all these weird questions. Did I have an agent? Did I know if I had enough songs for an album? Weird fuckin’ questions. And then she said I have to meet someone. To be honest, I thought she was coked out of her mind when she said, ‘You have to meet my dad.’”

“I was not,” Eleven promised me, “coked out of my mind. But that’s just Billy.”

Eleven aka Jane Hopper, meets me backstage at one of her shows. She’s dressed in slouchy leather pants, to match her sister and drummer Kali Hopper.

“I knew he was something special. My dad was always talking about the IT factor. That thing that made a person something special. But I didn’t get it until I saw Billy Blue singing on that tiny stage,” She smiled. “He didn’t just have the IT factor. He was IT.”

It’s odd then, that Billy Blue’s first album had a surprisingly tepid response. His first single, in 1973, “Let Alone,” came in at only 26th for the month of April on the pop charts.

“People liked it,” Billy shrugs, “But I don’t think they knew what to do with it. You have my songs, these like… little pop love songs and ballads. I wasn’t that strong of a writer at the time. It was like half my songs, half covers. And so they’d book me, expecting fucking… Peter Frampton. And here comes this big queer with glitter on his nipples.”

But the lyrics of “Let Alone” would hint at his later songs, a hallmark simplicity that shone off his raw voice and poetry that hinted at a troubled past.

And if you were meant to care for me

You would, and that’s how it has to be

You said I couldn’t go on without you

Ha, look at me, looking brand new

At the same time, The Boys’ song “Paper Girl,” penned by Harrington, was number one.

She’s my paper girl

Wakes me up every morning, right on time

She got me smiling, got my head in a whirl

Picture perfect, paper girl

“Billy didn’t have much commercial appeal. Sex appeal, yes,” Jason laughed, toying with Chrissy’s hair. “But for sales? That’s where The Boys came in.”

“I hated that name,” Eddie said, “To start with we were half girls.”

The Boys had already had a somewhat successful tour under their belt by the time Jim suggested a collaboration with Billy Hargrove.

“It was a nice, short tour,” Steve Harrington glances away when I ask about the first tour.

“It was a nightmare. Balls to the wall nightmare,” Robin Buckley’s voice is a warm crackle over the phone. “Steve went on like thirty overlapping benders at once.”

Her partner, soap actress Vickie Carmichael cackles behind her, at their home in Salt Lake City.

“The thing about Steve is… well… he’s never found a good way of coping with himself,” Robin huffs. “Music was about as close as he ever got. But in those early days, he just kept looking for more and more.”

“You don’t think it was about-” Vickie asked, just barely into the phone.

“No.”

“It was about Nancy,” Eddie said confidently when I mentioned their first tour. “Nancy, Nancy, Nancy.”

The Boys got their start in the late sixties, beginning with Eddie and Steve. Eddie gave Steve guitar lessons, which turned into some talent show performances. They used to practice at Eddie’s Uncle’s trailer.

“That’s where we got the name,” Eddie nodded, “My uncle used to just call us that, and it stuck.”

“I don’t even remember,” Chrissy said.

“That’s not how we got the name,” Steve shook his head, when I mention Eddie. “It was our first gig, after we got Chrissy and Robin. Robin put it down after the headliner kept asking when ‘you boys’ would go on, and kept addressing it to Chrissy’s chest. She blew him out of the fucking water.”

Nancy Wheeler was there that night, writing about local bands for a tiny column in the school paper.

“She was beautiful. Smart. So smart. Could hear her talk forever,” Steve said, eyes falling.

Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler were married in 1972 after they graduated high school.

“Steve made his own choices,” Chrissy shook her head.

That summer, the Boys plus one drove to LA and Nancy Wheeler took a job at Women’s Day Magazine and later, Rolling Stone. Steve Harrington and The Boys got a “steady gig” at La Bonita Rosa on the strip, playing for drunks every night from seven to eight.

“I really liked playing at La Bonita,” Steve said. “The audience, right there. You could smell the sweat. You could see on their faces if you were bombing. And we used to bomb. A lot. But it was a great place to try things. Experiment. We played there for about a year but… it felt too short.”

Within the year they had met Jim Hopper, who got them into the recording studio and sold their demo nearly on the spot to Upside Down Records.

“They had a great sound. They had got this way of playing. Smooth like a polished stone. Everything sounds good sitting in a frame like that,” Jim said in an interview with Rolling Stone in 1981. “Their songs were… catchy, but basic. But they had the sound.”

Upside Down records set the Boys on a US tour after “Paper Girl,” and “Joy to Love You,” both charted.

“It was like… overnight. One day we’re in a studio, messing around. Kid stuff. I was nineteen,” Steve Harrington shookhis head. “But…”

“That tour,” Chrissy trails off, playing with her ring again.

“I…” Steve Harrington scratched his nose. “I was losing it. Majorly losing it. It felt like we had just moved to LA and we were already neck deep. I mean, I had a number one fucking song. And for some reason I got it in my head to call my mom. She told the maid she wasn’t home. And I could hear her over the phone. My mom. So yeah. I lost it. Lost about half my damn mind on that tour. And people will say it was because of Nancy, because we got married just out of high school, and she wasn’t supportive… but that wasn’t true. Nancy saved me.”

“Nancy never wanted him to be in the band. But… she also didn’t seem to care that much either,” Eddie shook his head, “It’s… complicated. Love is supposed to be. Simple. Like the chords of a song. 1-3-5.”

Jason Carver rolled his eyes at that, “Then what are we?”

Eddie grinned, “We’re a band.”

Nancy Wheeler met me on a Thursday in New York City, slim sunglasses dominating her small porcelain face. We get lunch at her favorite deli shop, and she perches at the counter, loafers dangling. She’s an editor at The New Yorker now, but she still has a soft spot for rock and roll, as evidenced by the Grateful Dead t-shirt under her blazer.

“That tour. I didn’t even know anything was wrong. He just came home with a funny look on his face, saying, ‘We’re headlining.’ So I said, ‘That’s great, Steve.’ He just kept… saying it. It was starting to piss me off, if I’m being honest,” She shook her head. “I should have known something was wrong.”

“I wish she had stopped me. But how could you know right? Hindsight is always 2020,” Steve Harrington said. “I mean, she was my wife. How could she not want me home? But that’s just… sorry. That’s not fair to put on her. I chose to go.”

“I flew out to meet them when they were in Indianapolis, visited my family, and I came a day early to see him,” She smiled warmly, and then it fell. “He was… Well, first, Eddie Munson tried to intercept me at the hotel, so I wouldn’t see him. I told him, ‘I’m here to see my fucking husband.’”

Steve Harrington didn’t add any more details about the tour, just shrugged when I asked.

“He was coked up like you wouldn’t believe,” Robin scoffed. “She walked in on him with two girls and coke all over his… well.”

“I just asked him. Do you want to come home? Do you want to get help? Or not?” She purses her lips. “And so he came home and we found a rehab place near Hawkins.”

“The tour kind of… fell apart. Obviously. We had lost our lead singer and guitarist to fucking… Hawkins, Indiana,”

Everything stopped for the Boys. Upside Down offered to let them out of their two album contract, but Steve couldn’t afford to pay it down.

“Rehab,” He shrugged. “Is expensive.”

Right as it seemed that everything would be over for the Boys, things were looking up for Billy Blue.

“Jim was always saying, ‘the record is selling alright, the songs are getting there but he needs a… push,’” Joyce said. “‘He’s so close. So close. He’s a star.’”

“He always believed in me,” Billy smiled, toying with his ring again. “Always. Even when I threw a jug of milk at his head.”

Joyce laughed when I asked about that moment, “He came home saying, ‘He milked me, Joyce. But he’ll fix the song tonight.’”

“And I did,” Billy said. “And the album was going alright. I did a little tour, socal and the southwest. And then one night, Jim brings me this song. He said, ‘I want you to tell me what’s missing from this.’”

The song was, of course, the Boys’ biggest hit, “Hades.” Steve Harrington’s first version was called, “To Orpheus” and the chorus goes:

Don’t turn back don’t look behind you baby

I’m close, I’m right behind

The future's so bright, and I want you to take me

Wanna be holding your hand when I make it across the line.

“It was fine, but just kind of… nothing. It was supposed to be about Eurydice, but it was so… nothing. She just loved Orpheus and that was it. There were no insides to her. She was going to follow him to her doom,” Billy shook his head. “That’s not right.”

This was not the version that made it to the recording booth, of course. The Boys’ single, “Hades featuring Billy Blue,” came out in 1975. The actual chorus goes:

Turn back on me and I won’t forgive you baby

Don’t want you to see me like this

Up ahead is bright, and I want you to take me

If you’re strong enough to cross that finish line

“‘Hades,’ was a real step forward for the Boys. Gone were the teenybopper tunes,” Steve Harrington’s biographer and personal friend Dustin Henderson wrote in his book The Pretty Boy. “Their first album got the kids dancing. But the second proved that they actually had something to say.”

“Still hate it,” Steve Harrington said. “I wrote that song in rehab. It was deeply, deeply personal to me.”

“He came out, all ready. He wanted to start recording right away,” Robin sighed. “Like I mean the next day. All these songs, just pouring out of him. But the label had lost faith in us. And they certainly weren’t going to let us start recording with a guy who had only just earned his thirty day sober chip.”

“The song wasn’t ready,” Billy shook his head. “But I guess he was. Jim said he needed this. So Jim asked if I would come and like… pitch some stuff as a personal favor. Songwriting credit, that’s all it was supposed to be. Get the songs moving, get them going.”

Steve Harrington takes a long time to continue speaking about it.

“I felt it, writing for that album. I felt proud of those songs. They didn’t belong to anyone else but me,” He toyed with some piano keys while we talked, and then finally sat down and began to play something tuneless and half formed.

“That album was all about Nancy,” Chrissy said. “I mean. I know it. You know it. Nancy knew it. And she kind of hated it. But-”

“You can’t leave your husband right as he gets out of rehab,” Nancy said to me, toying with her wedding ring. “When he writes all these songs about how you’re the only thing… Steve was always like that. Heart wide open. That’s why when he met Billy. I almost thought… it would all be okay. That sounds fucked up but. I thought they could save each other. That the music could save him.”

“It was just a songwriting credit,” Billy raised his hands. “Jim swore up and down. I was just gonna come in there and sit down with this guy Steve. But when I walk into the studio, there’s two mics set up.”

“I was the Boys’ only singer,” Steve Harrington shook his head. “And to be absolutely honest, I was kind of a jackass about it. So to have some guy come in and say he’s gonna sing me my song… well…”

“Steve was the only one who would ever argue with Jim, And he let him have it that day,” Eddie laughed. “He called him the most low down, dirty, rat bitten bastard in California, and that he would die rather than give up his band to someone else.”

“I did not want his band. I did not know his band. And I did not care. And his song sucked. And I told him so. And then I sang it. Better.” Billy smiled.

“Billy was…” Chrissy shook her head. “Incredible.”

I ask Steve what Billy was like that first day in the studio.

“He was,” Something passed over his face. “Alright. He has a great voice, alright.”

“I was good. Better. Best.” Billy smiled.

“But he didn’t understand the song. He wanted Eurydice to… doubt. To think she wasn’t going to get out,” Steve slammed his hands on the keys. “It’s been… almost twenty years. I still don’t understand it.”

I asked why he let Billy stay. But Steve doesn’t have an answer.

“They were like oil and water, right away,” Chrissy said.

“Yeah, but oil on the water can catch fire,” Eddie shrugged.

“Jim asked me to stay,” Billy looked away from me, down at his waffles. “It was a favor to the label.”

“If Billy said louder, Steve said mute,” Robin snickered. “It was kind of great, actually. Finally someone called King Steve on his shit. One day I came in and they were arguing over how close the microphone should be to your throat. Almost got in a physical fight over a fucking microphone. I mean, I love Steve. But he always thinks he’s like… the babysitter. It’s his job to do everything for everybody.”

“Like who was this guy? Really? He came into my studio with no shirt on, most of the time still half smashed from the night before, and he thinks he can make all these changes. But Jim keeps telling me it’s just business, the label thinks it’s good business.” Steve frowned, and then smiled, and then frowned again.

“Yeah, I never wore shirts back then. Or underwear,” Billy said with a grin. “I was a rockstar!”

“Steve fought for every song on that album,” Nancy Wheeler patted her lips primly with a napkin. “He only lost on one.”

“Billy Hargove has songwriting credit and lead vocals on “Hades.” Dustin Henderson wrote.

“Billy was all over that album. He’d make some minor suggestion, maybe this chord instead of that, this word is better. And Steve would flip out, yell at him, yell at Jim, threaten to storm out… and then two days later quietly tell me to change the chord, he’d start singing the new words. Billy was there with us about every single day,” Eddie said.

“Of course, it was our biggest hit,” Chrissy laughed. “Everything but that song, Steve did what he wanted. Oh we had Billy in the studio, making suggestions. But Steve did what he wanted except for ‘Hades.’ Jim said that song is the album, and he wouldn’t cut it.”

“Jim was always right,” Steve closed the piano. “The bastard.”

Hades exploded onto the radio in late 1975. They didn’t have the same distribution as their first record, but the Boys had another hit.

“Billy had this way of singing it. Still does. He broke four mics when we recorded it. Singing so loud I had to keep an eye on the cymbals to stop them from shaking. You can feel him, right in your chest.” Chrissy giggled. “Like he was trying to wake all the dead from Hades. If anyone could, he could.”

“It’s a really, really great song,” Robin said.

This song belongs to Billy Blue, Rolling Stone wrote in 1976. The only question now is, what will The Boys do next?

“I remember that article. Fucking… Harrington said that he basically wrote the whole song. But he said, ‘the label thought bringing Billy in was a good idea,’” Billy gets tense for the first time. “I’m not saying I was like… I just mean. It would have been nice. To treat me like an equal. I’m more than just a singer. I’m not just… a piece of meat.”

“Billy was really pissed about that article. I remember, the day after the article came out, we were getting breakfast at this tiny place off La Cienega. Steve had this car back then, a big maroon BMW, and Eddie had got him a vanity plate when he bought it. Stupid thing it said, ‘BIGBOY.’ Anyway, We’re having breakfast, and we hear this screech outside, like an accident,” Robin Buckley gets uncharacteristically quiet as she goes on through this story. “Billy’s car is parked halfway out of the parking lot, and he comes in like a bull in a charge. Billy… he wasn’t some wimpy guy. He was small, but he was strong as hell… He came right over and grabbed Steve by his collar and lifted him right off the counter. And he said, I’ll never forget it because Steve used to recite it from memory, yell it at me, ‘Tell me I’m not dreaming. Is that Steve fucking Harrington? The lead singer of the Boys. Hey man, I love your song ‘Hades.’ How’d you get your voice to sound halfway decent for once?’”

“I don’t remember that,” Steve Harrington said flatly when I asked.

“And Steve used to be a fucking dick in high school. So he starts getting real bitchy, shoving Billy off him, asking what his problem is, why he’s such a dick all the fucking time, when it’s not even his band. And Billy said something like, ‘No one wants your shit band. Not with you in it,’” Robin paused for a moment. “And they just. Stare at each other. Like… daring each other to do something.”

Billy just shrugs when I ask, “I was pissed. I gave this guy a number one hit, and he still wanted to treat me like some… airhead singer the label brought in as a stunt. I’m not just a singer. I’m not a piece of meat. I’m a person.”

When I ask Steve about that day he’s pretty quiet, deflated at his piano. He only wants to talk about the song. The music. Can’t seem to talk about Billy any other way.

“He sang it like he not only knows Orpheus can’t save him, but that he won’t. It was supposed to be hopeful. A happy ending.” Steve said.

“So you still hate the song?” I asked.

“No, I don’t. It’s brilliant. And that’s the whole problem.”

To be continued...

Next up is Half-Oz-Eddie's piece at 7:00 pm. GET HYPE!

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