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rosachae · 26 days ago

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she plays bass | megan skiendiel x reader

⁍ song: she plays bass - beabadoobee ⁍ requested: yes ⁍ genre: band AU. non!idol megan x musician!reader. a little bit of angst, a little bit of fluff ⁍ a/n: thank you again for the prompt, anon! i hope this is what you were looking for. ⁍ wc: 5.3k ⁍ warnings: none that i can think of. ⁍ synopsis:

y/n falls. hard. just, not for the right girl. megan had long gotten used to being on the sidelines while she watched y/n pine after her best friend. if she couldn't call y/n hers, then she supposed being her confidant was the next best thing.

hyunjin’s garage always smelled like the ghost of gasoline and febreze. sharp and synthetic, like something trying too hard to cover up something worse. the cement floor was stained with oil spills from years ago, smudged into abstract shapes no one had bothered to clean, and every surface had a fine layer of dust that clung to fingers and instrument cases alike. wires snaked across the ground like vines, half-taped down with mismatched duct tape that peeled at the corners. an old fan groaned in the corner, doing very little besides moving the heat around in slow, humid circles.

y/n wasn’t sure which scent she hated more, the fuel or the floral, but they both clung to her clothes by the time she left. it was loud, so loud her ears buzzed between songs. the garage was hotter than it had any right to be, the fan hopeless against the summer bleeding in through the open door. kai had just broken another one of the cheap sticks they bought in a plastic-wrapped bulk pack from the club, splintered wood rolling across the floor like tired confetti.

she sighed and leaned against a crooked amp, watching hyunjin fumble with the aux cable again like it was some ancient artifact.

“dude,” hyunjin groaned, sliding off his stool and letting the aux cord fall to the floor with a defeated clatter. he grabbed a bent sheet of chord progressions from the amp and started fanning himself dramatically, like a wilted victorian heiress. “quit breaking my sticks. that’s the third one this week.”

kai didn’t even blink. “i’ve got rhythm and rage. sue me.”

“you’ve got weak wrists and commitment issues,” yuqi muttered from behind her mic, barely looking up as she tuned her guitar with one hand and sipped from a sweating iced coffee with the other. “we have a gig on friday. i’m not dragging your pretty ass out of another mess with mr. choi. he already hates it when you break his equipment.”

“mr. choi loves me,” kai said, flashing a grin that had absolutely no basis in reality.

“mr. choi has a heart condition,” hyunjin deadpanned, blotting his forehead with a faded bandana. “every time you walk in, he clutches his chest like he’s halfway to the light.”

then hyunjin let out an exaggerated sigh, dramatic enough to ruffle the sheet music still clutched in his hand. “anyway, is anyone going to acknowledge that i’m dying? of heatstroke? of being underappreciated? of being too hot for this mortal realm?”

y/n didn’t bother looking up from her bass, fingers still working through a scale she barely needed to think about. “you’ve been saying that since junior year.”

“and i’ve been right since junior year,” hyunjin shot back, fanning himself harder. “consistency is a virtue, y/n.”

all y/n could do was roll her eyes. honestly, she wasn’t sure how she managed it—spending hours holed up in hyunjin’s sweltering garage, surrounded by a chaotic blend of egos and inside jokes that grated on her nerves more often than not. still, they were her people. loud, messy, ridiculous— hers.

maybe that’s why she put up with the heat, the noise, the endless bickering over broken drumsticks and who drank the last of the lukewarm soda.

she figured she could overlook it all. for now. a small, reluctant grin tugged at the corner of her mouth before she buried it behind the low thrum of her bass.

especially hyunjin. for all his self-proclaimed glamour and melodrama, he was her best friend. they’d basically grown up side by side. sandboxes, scraped knees, and all. his mom still lit up like a marquee sign whenever y/n came over, insisting she stay for dinner, fussing over whether she’d eaten, if she was warm enough, if she needed anything at all. sometimes y/n swore hyunjin’s mom was secretly waiting for the day he’d turn around and admit they were dating. but that was never their dynamic. never had been.

they both liked girls. y/n, truthfully, wasn’t quite sure if that was a problem or perhaps the glue that held them together. it turned their friendship into a quiet battlefield of shared crushes and unspoken one-upmanship, always dancing on the edge of competition. they clicked a little too easily, probably because they were cut from the same cloth. same dry humor, same impulsive streak, same incurable weakness for a certain kind of girl.

it was a curse. or a cosmic joke. probably both.

y/n still got shivers thinking about chaewon, the girl from high school who had the misfortune of being exactly their type. soft-spoken, pretty, polite. practically a walking bullseye. they both zeroed in on her like moths to a chandelier, oblivious to the disaster unfolding in real time.

chaewon transferred schools halfway through senior year. honestly, it was probably the best thing that ever happened to her.

y/n still wasn’t sure how she lasted as long as she did, stuck between two emotionally chaotic teenagers who spent most of their free time either teasing each other or trying to one-up the other’s flirting. but through it all, nothing ever shifted between her and hyunjin. they were friends. chaotic, codependent, sometimes insufferable—but just friends. always had been. always would be.

this was i don’t care. the band that wasn’t supposed to be a band. born from a running joke they said out loud one too many times, sparked by a half-finished song y/n left in hyunjin’s car. something raw and messy that yuqi covered on a whim, recorded in one take, and posted to instagram with the caption: we’re sad and hot and broke. somehow, it took off.

now they had real gigs, a decent local following, and an accidental manager– yuqi’s cousin’s girlfriend’s sister, who claimed her marketing minor and “a vision” were all they needed to blow up.

it wasn’t that they weren’t good. they were. talent wasn’t the issue. but the soul of the thing had always been the chaos. the late nights in hyunjin’s garage, the impulse decisions, the fact that he once made a logo on canva at 3 a.m. and printed it on t-shirts without telling anyone. that was the band.

it was noise and laughter and friendship and half-eaten takeout on amps. it was making something that felt like them. unfiltered, unpolished, real. nothing had ever been that serious. and maybe that’s what made it work.

until, of course, the friday night show where everything changed.

megan skiendiel had a lot of opinions, most of them half-baked and delivered with the kind of timing that made people pause mid-sentence. earlier that day, she’d announced that 80s synth-pop deserved a cultural renaissance while buried elbow-deep in a crate of dusty vinyls at the record shop. a few hours later, she’d loudly speculated that their coworker jake was obviously into lara, citing the fact that he kept offering to cover her saturday night shifts like it meant something.

megan said things like they were gospel, as if the world would catch up eventually.

“it’s not because he’s nice,” megan said, tossing a cracked duran duran record back onto the shelf. she straightened up, brushing dust from her hands, her voice full of certainty. “he’s got crush energy. you can see it in the way he hovers. limp-wristed, overly eager, always offering to help with the trash like it’s some romantic gesture.”

lara didn’t even look up at first, just clicked her pen and made a note on her clipboard before glancing over, one brow raised. “so basically you, but with worse shoes.”

megan gasped like she’d just been shot. “excuse you. these are vintage.”

lara finally looked down at the scuffed platform boots on megan’s feet, the left one with a barely visible patch of duct tape near the sole. “those are a hate crime,” she said flatly.

megan clutched her chest like lara had just insulted her entire bloodline. “they’re from a thrift shop in sapporo,” she declared, eyes wide with the kind of faux betrayal she’d perfected over the years. “i had to elbow a grown man to get them. he had biker gloves on, lara. biker gloves. it was life or death.”

lara gave her a once-over, slow and unimpressed. “yeah, well, something tells me those boots were meant for that man. all gruff and dusty and slightly unhinged. they look like they’ve seen a bar fight.”

“they’re lived-in,” megan snapped, offended but not surprised.

“they’re tragic,” lara corrected, scribbling something on her clipboard before adding, “you look like you stole them off a trucker with emotional baggage and a fifth divorce.”

megan scoffed. “it’s called edge, lara. ever heard of it?”

“not when it’s flaking off the soles,” lara muttered, deadpan.

megan grumbled. “you’re lucky i believe in nonviolent communication.”

they were opposites in a way that just worked. where megan was all impulse and noise, lara had a sharp-edged charisma, the kind that made people pause and take a second look. they'd been inseparable since high school, partners in crime, co-conspirators in chaos. now, they ran the town's only indie record shop, a place that felt like a hipster’s fever dream, filled with dusty vinyl and the pervasive scent of incense and intellectual pretension. they’d already given up trying to convince yoonchae to join part time while she finished her senior year. the poor korean girl was too buried in coursework to even think about it.

with a sigh, megan pushed past the mess of records on the next rack. some kids had come in earlier, scattering vinyls like confetti, leaving chaos in their wake. but as she dug through the disarray, something caught her eye. something she’d never seen before. there, buried beneath a pile of mismatched album covers, was a record that felt out of place. the cover was stark white, almost blank, with an almost minimalist design. ‘i don’t care’ was printed in lowercase, as if the title itself couldn’t care less—simple, effortless, and unpretentious, like it wasn’t trying to make a statement.

“never heard of them,” she mumbled, turning it over. “should i?”

lara shrugged. “local maybe. looks cool.”

so they played it.

and god, the bassline. the low hum that thrummed right through her chest. a voice that sounded a little messy and a lot emotional. lyrics like inside jokes you weren’t quite in on but wanted to be. megan leaned against the counter, eyes wide.

“we’re going to their show.”

it was one of those club venues that tried too hard to be cozy but ended up just being loud and sticky. the floor clung to your shoes, the lights pulsed a relentless red for no real reason, and the bartender wore a look that suggested he hated everyone under thirty-five on principle. megan, though? she was right where she belonged. she couldn’t quite remember how she’d talked the whole group into coming out tonight, but low and behold, there they were.

"okay," megan practically shouted over the music, nursing her overpriced drink and scanning the stage like she was looking for hidden treasure. "which one do we think writes the lyrics?"

lara hummed. her eyes scanned the stage, no particular keen interest on her face. then she perked up as if the answer came to her in a dream. "oh, definitely him. he’s got it.”

megan followed her line of sight to the guy on drums. his dark brown hair bounced with sweat and clung to his forehead, pure concentration cemented across his face. she didn’t need to know what ‘it’ was. he was lost in the rhythm, eyes closed as his hands moved like they had a mind of their own. she couldn’t deny that there was something a little too intense about him.

before megan could reply, manon chimed in. the swiss girl leaned over, glass in hand and a fun loving grin painted across her lips. "it has to be the keyboard guy."

sophia and daniela had practically run to the dance floor the moment they’d entered the club, drawn in by the pulsing beat and the chaos of bodies moving to the music. sophia, already a few drinks in, was swaying slightly as she made her way back to the group, a wide grin plastered on her face. she wiped her hands on her jeans, clearly more tipsy than usual.

“what’s going on?" she asked, her voice laced with mischief, slurred. "are we picking which one of them cries in the shower?"

daniela, just behind her, looked like she was on her way to catching up to sophia’s buzz. she leaned against the bar, still catching her breath, eyes sparkling with curiosity. daniela squinted at the stage, then turned to look at keyboardist. "i’m voting for him too.”

megan grinned. "i think we’re all in agreement then. cheers to keyboard guy."

the set was already halfway through when megan saw her. she wasn’t sure how she didn’t notice sooner, but when she did, her heart thumped.

she wasn’t flashy, wasn’t trying to draw attention. she didn’t jump around or put on any kind of show for the crowd. but when megan’s eyes landed on her, everything else seemed to blur out. the girl was holding her bass like it belonged to her. like it was a part of her, like it meant something. her fingers moved with a calm precision, her face focused but distant, like she was lost in a world that was all her own. megan couldn’t help but watch, her heart suddenly a little too loud in her chest.

there was a look in her eyes, almost like she was listening to a secret only she could hear, and when she smiled, it wasn’t big, wasn’t one of those stage smiles people perfected. it was crooked, soft, like it happened by accident. it was the kind of smile that made megan forget to breathe.

“you’re staring,” lara said, leaning in slightly with a knowing grin.

megan blinked, realizing she hadn’t said anything for a few seconds. her hand was still clutching her drink, but it was starting to slip a little. "i’m admiring,” she corrected quickly, her voice coming out a little more flustered than she intended. “huge difference."

lara didn’t say anything at first. then, with the kind of dry humor megan knew too well, she added, “sure, romeo."

megan's cheeks flushed and she quickly looked away, trying to act like she hadn’t just made a fool of herself in front of the whole bar. but she couldn’t stop the way her eyes kept drifting back to the girl, as if there was something magnetic about her presence that megan just couldn’t look away from.

little did megan know, that would be the start of everything.

the crowd was still howling when y/n unplugged her bass, the last notes still humming in her fingertips. sweat clung to her collar, the adrenaline thrumming beneath her skin like a second heartbeat. hyunjin was already off his stool, dramatically twirling a drumstick and tossing it into the crowd like he was born to do it. the four of them slipped offstage, ducking into the narrow backstage corridor that smelled like beer and electrical wires.

someone’s drink had already spilled on the floor. the walls were lined with peeling posters, curling at the corners. the sound tech gave y/n a nod as she passed, and she returned it with a crooked grin, cheeks aching, the kind of post-show daze that made everything feel like it was moving half a second behind.

then came the chaos.

“oh my god, you—” a sharp voice broke through, right before a blur of limbs barreled past the security guard like a wrecking ball in lipstick.

y/n blinked.

a girl in a halter crop top and low-rise jeans launched herself forward– tall, pretty, absolutely hammered, her glossy lips moving faster than her brain. she headed straight for kai, arms outstretched like she’d just spotted a long-lost lover across a war zone.

kai, to his credit, looked horrified.

before security could step in, four other girls came flying in after her, looking every shade of mortified. manon and daniela managed to grab sophia by both arms, hauling her backward with a practiced desperation.

"we are so sorry—" manon started, breathless, still grappling with sophia like she was trying to wrangle a wild animal.

before she could finish, sophia whipped her head back in protest and caught manon square in the nose.

“ow! what the hell—”

“she has this thing for keyboardists,” daniela finished, like it was an explanation she’d given one too many times. she tightened her grip as sophia tried to lunge again.

“i swear to god, sophia, if you get us banned—”

“i just wanted to talk to him!” sophia whined, slurring a little as she dug her heels into the sticky floor.

kai blinked at them, shell-shocked, holding his keyboard like a shield. he only lowered it and shuffled away the moment he was sure manon and daniela successfully wrangled sophia out from backstage.

y/n stood frozen for a beat, trying to process what the hell she’d just witnessed. then she laughed. sharp and startled, the sound of someone caught between disbelief and secondhand embarrassment.

hyunjin leaned in. “that’s gonna be us one day,” he said, nodding sagely.

“stormed backstage by strangers?”

“groupies, y/n. we’re building a brand.”

“right,” y/n muttered, tugging her strap off her shoulder. “well, your brand just pissed off security.”

she raised a hand, waving security off when they moved to come over.

that’s when two other girls stepped forward. not charging like their friend, not slurring or flailing. megan looked like she’d sprinted halfway there and only just remembered to slow down. her hair was a little windblown, her expression wide-eyed and caught somewhere between panic and awe. lara, on the other hand, was all cool detachment, hands tucked into her jacket pockets, eyes scanning everything like she was cataloging it for later.

y/n straightened slightly, unsure whether to brace or laugh again.

“hi,” megan said, breathless. “um. sorry about our friend. she gets flirty when she’s drunk.”

“she almost ate kai,” hyunjin hummed, biting back another laugh.

“believe me, we know,” megan stammered, embarrassed, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. “sophia once hit on a waiter mid-order. it’s a full-time job trying to keep her from getting banned from establishments.”

“well, thanks for wrangling her,” y/n said, her voice steadier than she expected. “and for coming. to the show, i mean.”

but then y/n’s eyes trailed over to the girl standing behind her. she was stunning. tall, dressed in tailored black, sleek hair and gold jewelry catching the low light. there was something about her that immediately made y/n want to straighten her back. magnetic. she looked confident, the kind of confident that made you feel like she knew exactly who she was, and didn’t care if you didn’t.

“you guys were great,” lara said, flashing a smile. “really. we just found your record at the store and figured why not come check it out.”

“music store?” hyunjin perked up. “which one?”

“garrison’s. we both work there,” the first girl said. “i’m megan, by the way. this is lara.”

y/n repeated both names in her head. megan. lara.

however hyunjin, naturally, latched onto the pretty one.

“lara,” he said, already dialing it up. “you have a beautiful name.”

y/n nearly snorted.

“how about we get you girls a drink?”

to megan’s bad luck, both y/n and hyunjin seemed taken with the very pretty, very social girl standing beside her. it was obvious. painfully so. and yet, she couldn’t help herself. she kept gravitating toward y/n anyway.

hyunjin was shameless about it. all charm and theatrics, practically ignoring megan in favor of lavishing attention on lara. but y/n… y/n smiled at her. offered to buy her a drink. asked for her name. it was friendly. casual. meaningless, probably.

but it meant something to megan.

in that moment, she decided that if both of them were going to fall for her best friend, she’d rather it be y/n. if it had to be someone, let it be the one who smiled gently. who asked questions. who noticed. besides, she always believed what people said—if your friends can’t stand the person you’re dating, maybe that’s a red flag worth listening to.

maybe that was the real problem. megan got along with y/n a little too well.

megan and y/n became good friends. it started simple. megan showed up to shows, bought the merch before it was cool, called y/n’s bass lines sick even when they both knew the sound system was trash that night. they hung out between sets, shared fries at late-night diners, argued about which the smiths album aged the worst. it was easy. it was enough.

then, the love came slow. like a sunrise. subtle, steady, then suddenly everywhere.

megan realized it a year in. their friendship already carved deep, unshakeable. they were mid-set, stage lights flaring red and gold. megan stood in the crowd, bass thudding through her chest.

and then y/n looked up. their eyes met, and something in her splintered. after that, it hurt. a little bit, every day. a slow undoing. a soft ache she learned to live with.

but she never left.

at some point, maybe five months after they met, hyunjin and lara started dating. five months of half-flirting and inside jokes that weren’t so inside anymore. five months of megan watching y/n pretend she didn’t care.

the band had gotten bigger by then. not international– god, not yet– but local enough that strangers started recognizing them in line for coffee. their sound was sharp around the edges now, tighter, cleaner. more people were paying attention.

but still, y/n was pissed. quiet about it, mostly. but it lived in her shoulders, the way they hunched a little tighter when lara laughed at hyunjin’s jokes. in the way she stopped volunteering stories about her day whenever lara was around.

“i was the one who listened,” she told megan once, voice low like it was a secret. “to all her dumb little tangents. about which incense gives her migraines, or how her dog only eats if the bowl’s rotated a certain way. he wasn’t there. he didn’t even know the dog’s name.”

megan nodded, said nothing, and let her vent.

“i gave her my coat that night,” y/n added, quieter now. “when she shivered. he didn’t even notice she was cold.”

it was just something she needed to let out. and megan… megan made space for things like that. a quiet pocket of the world where y/n could be soft, small, furious, grieving, without ever having to say sorry for it.

it was always megan who showed up. not just for the gigs or the late-night diner runs. but at 2am, when everything felt too loud, too much. megan, who picked up the phone without hesitation. who sent stupid memes until y/n laughed again. who knew when she needed silence and when she needed to scream. who carried gum and painkillers and the exact words y/n needed to hear tucked somewhere behind her tongue.

megan knew every version of her. the messy ones. the moody ones. the ones that cried at shampoo commercials and flinched at confrontation. and she loved them all. quietly. stubbornly. without asking for anything in return.

because they were friends. just friends.

so megan kept her mouth shut. swallowed her feelings like bad medicine. because y/n was already hurting, and megan knew– intimately– what it felt like to love someone who didn’t love you back. she’d never wish that kind of loneliness on anyone. least of all her.

still, it was megan who listened. who stood in the sticky venues with bad acoustics and worse lighting. who cheered the loudest, even when the set was off. it was her y/n called when the world tilted sideways. it was her y/n trusted with the fragile parts, the ugly truths, the things she couldn’t tell anyone else.

megan never missed the details. how y/n took her coffee, which hoodie she wore when she was spiraling, the playlist she avoided when she was heartbroken. megan paid attention like it was a religion. like y/n was a language she was learning by heart.

she loved y/n in silence because it was safer. because it was easier than risking everything. because some part of her still hoped that one day, maybe, y/n would choose her.

for now, she settled on simply being.

two years had passed. the band got louder. not just in sound, but in presence. local fame turned regional. “i don’t care” started slipping onto playlists they’d never heard of, getting tagged in stories by strangers from cities they hadn’t played yet. they still rehearsed in hyunjin’s garage, still argued about setlists, still tripped over the same tangled cords. but the rooms got bigger. the lights got brighter. the noise followed them home.

through it all, megan was constant.

y/n couldn’t pinpoint when it changed. maybe it was always there, just quiet. maybe it was the way megan always had gum when her throat went dry before a set. maybe it was the way she cheered—arms in the air, mouthing every lyric like it mattered. maybe it was the night y/n crashed on her couch and woke up to tea already steeping, a blanket tucked around her shoulders like it had always been there.

she remembered calling megan when she found out about hyunjin and lara. she hadn’t cried, not the way she expected. just sat on megan’s floor with a pint of mint chocolate chip between them, watching reruns until the theme song blurred into background noise. megan leaned her head on her shoulder. y/n didn’t flinch. didn’t pull away. she just leaned back.

it stayed with her. for days. for weeks.

then it started happening more.

megan, humming along to rough cuts that weren’t even mixed yet. megan, lip syncing the bassline with a wink, like it was just for her. megan, dancing in the front row like no one else in the world existed.

and something in y/n started to unravel.

she started noticing things. the curve of megan’s smile when she was teasing. the way she always smelled faintly like coconut shampoo and old records. the way she made everything—music, heartbreak, life—feel easier just by being around. and then one day, in the middle of a show, y/n looked out into the crowd and found her.

megan. grinning like she had a secret. eyes bright. mouthing along to every word.

y/n forgot her next chord for half a second.

that’s when she knew. not all at once. not in some dramatic epiphany. but in a quiet, steady way.

then came the jealousy. sudden, sharp. it happened that night at manon’s rooftop party. it wasn’t like y/n to care who megan flirted with. she always chalked it up to megan being magnetic. of course people wanted her. megan was loud, energetic, silly and charismatic in her own socially awkward way. but it was charming. it was a sort of way that made her feel real. a type of authenticity that she found herself craving.

the energy was charged, an intimate gathering between friends. the whole time, she found herself watching her. when megan laughed at something a girl in a yellow dress— sophia— whispered in her ear, she felt herself stiffen. she recognized her briefly from the time she barreled backstage at their first big gig and the time she awkwardly apologised to kai a few months later. sophia was pretty. painstakingly so. watching it happen before her felt like a punch to the ribs.

“you good?” hyunjin had asked, nursing a warm beer beside her.

y/n didn’t answer straight away. just stared across the rooftop, jaw tight.

“is that megan jealousy?” he asked, tilting his head.

she still didn’t say anything.

“oh my god,” hyunjin whispered, turning to her in slow motion. “it is.”

y/n sighed, leaning back against the railing. “shut up.”

“i won’t. you’re pining. this is pining. this is textbook.”

“i’m not pining.”

“you’re glaring at a girl for speaking to your best friend. that’s at least two stages past pining.”

y/n groaned.

hyunjin leaned closer, voice soft. “why haven’t you said anything?”

she stared down at the street, lights blurring in her vision. still, she masked her internal worry with a quick joke and a teasing grin.

“why’re you interested so suddenly, hwang? gonna fight me for this one too?”

hyunjin chuckled good-naturedly. his eyes briefly glanced over to lara, the desi girl dancing with a younger korean in the middle of the dance floor. then he turned back to his friend with a shrug.

“you’ll get no push from me. you should go for it, y/n. what’s the worst that could happen?”

and she thought about it. about all that could go wrong.

they were friends. megan was phenomenal. what if she ruined it? for now, she’d wait. she’d bite back her jealousy.

though sometimes, the heart simply wants what it wants.

the confession came later. sooner than she expected. it wasn’t planned—just spilled out, raw and real, like most things y/n did when she finally let her heart speak louder than her head.

it was after a show. one of their best. the kind that left your lungs burning and your skin buzzing. the energy clung to them like static.

megan found her side stage, eyes bright, hair a mess, smile even messier.

“you guys killed it—”

“i love you,” y/n said. blurted, actually. no warning. no buildup.

megan blinked. “wait—what?”

“i love you,” she said again, steadier this time. her voice still shook, but there was no taking it back. ��i know you’re with sophia, and i know this might screw everything up, and i’m sorry if it does. but i’m in love with you. i couldn’t keep pretending i wasn’t.”

megan didn’t move. didn’t speak. just stared, eyes wide and unreadable.

“it’s okay if you don’t feel the same,” y/n rushed on, heart racing. “i just… i needed you to know. because you’ve always been there. you’ve seen the worst parts of me and never walked away. and somewhere in all of that, i fell for you. hard.”

silence.

then megan stepped forward, slow but certain, and cradled y/n’s face in both hands.

“i’m not dating sophia,” she said softly, almost like a secret. “you could’ve just asked.”

she laughed then—a quiet, breathless sound—and shook her head. “idiot.”

and then she kissed her. not just a kiss. the kiss. the kind that unraveled something deep in her chest, slow and aching and warm. the kind that made the noise of the world drop away, like a stage going dark after the final chord.

it was everything megan had imagined. every half-dreamed moment, every day she spent loving y/n in silence. for as long as she could remember, it had been her. from the first late-night walk, the first shared laugh, the first time y/n looked at her like she saw her. megan had loved her then, quietly and completely, like it was stitched into her bones.

and now, y/n had chosen her. out of everyone. not lara. not anyone else in the crowd. her.

the kiss tasted like every unsent text, every time megan had almost said something and swallowed it down instead. it tasted like hope. like relief. like a door finally opening after years of standing in the hallway.

all the waiting had led to this. all the almosts, all the quiet pining, all the nights she convinced herself to be content with friendship. it washed away in a single, breathless moment.

because y/n was kissing her like she meant it. like megan had been the one all along. and god, she had.

outside, the crowd screamed for an encore. but y/n?

she already had everything she needed.

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strawberriesandhotmen · 3 months ago

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Late Night Shenanigans

a/n: I absolutely adore getting requests from y’all, this one is from the lovely @purplekimijks. I’m so sorry this one took me FOREVER. I am pulling shit out of my ass I fear but I’m still pleased with this one. By the way, as usual, y’all are cooking with these asks. Making me feel some type of way 😘I think I only mentioned Louis and Harry specifically, but the others are obviously there in spirit, as we know. (also I know the gif isn't blonde Niall, but he's just so cute I had to use it)

pairing: fratboy!boyfriend!Niall Horan x fem!reader

CW +18 smut: swearing, basically pwp sorry not sorry y’all, reader is NEEDY but who isn’t for this man, things escalate quickly from the get go lmao, softdom!Niall (mainly in the beginning), public sex ish (everyone is asleep), exhibitionism if you squint (like really hard), let me know if I missed anything y’all

word count: 1.7k

This fucking bunk. You felt like a damn cave diver, imagining yourself trapped between two sheets of stone as you ran out of oxygen to breathe. The Devil’s Ass Crack seemed like a fitting enough name, given the close-as-fuck quarters. The only thing missing was a camera.

You really shouldn’t be complaining. Despite the aggravating sleeping conditions, these buses were actually fairly luxurious. They held whole living rooms, for fuck’s sake. More than that, what girlfriend gets to accompany her boyfriend on tour without anyone batting an eye? Probably a few, but you felt lucky nonetheless.

You found your thoughts shifting from irate to giddy as you imagined Niall, his adorable little Irish self fast asleep in his shitty bunk. He was incredibly precious, in any and all situations.

You began to recall the night before last, his hands all over you, his lips following close behind. You remembered his whispered praises in your ear and the way he touched your hair, those pretty blue eyes boring into yours as if begging you to never leave.

Soon, it became too much. You couldn’t take it anymore, being six feet apart from him. The distance was an annoyance, the location a minor inconvenience.

You climbed out of your bunk, attempting to be as quiet as you could and thoroughly failing as you tripped over an amp someone had left in the middle of the bus.

Dammit Louis.

You cursed under your breath as you clutched your stubbed toe. Fucking men.

You blinked hard as your eyes adjusted to the darkness, fumbling around until you reached Niall’s bunk, suddenly offended as his was slightly more spacious. That annoyance faded quickly, though, as you realized the use you could make of that extra room.

After pulling back the curtain, you not-so-elegantly climbed on top of him, holding back a giggle when his eyes fluttered open into a confused expression.

“Is that you, love?” He whispered, squinting adorably as he tried to discern my facial features.

“No, it’s Harry.” You replied sarcastically, rolling your eyes even though he couldn’t see. He let out a dramatic sigh.

“I told you we can’t keep doing this, man. The lads are starting to get suspicious.” Your jaw dropped in a momentary lapse of common sense, and you smacked his chest as aggressively as you could in the cramped space. He laughed louder than he should have at this late hour, quickly clamping his mouth shut and switching to a quiet snicker.

“Don’t worry, love. I’m only joking.” He assured you, his hands now sliding up your thighs to grip your hips. “What brings you to my chambers?” You giggled at the tease despite yourself, laying your head on his bare chest.

“Wanted to be with you.” You mumbled, absently tracing your finger along his toned stomach.

“Oh? Is my princess lonely?” He smiled, moving his grip to your waist now and giving you a light squeeze. You only nodded against him, relishing in the feeling of your bodies pressed together, of your legs straddled over his thighs. You could feel the thin material of his boxers along your inner thighs as his hands slipped under your sleep shirt, humming at the realization that you were only wearing panties.

“Dirty girl.” He husked against your ear, smirking. His fingers toyed with the lace adorning your hips, sliding under the material and back out. “These the ones I got you?” He asked, and you nodded again without looking up. “That’s my girl.” He praised, and you could practically hear the smile on his pretty pink lips.

“You have good taste, Ni. In both women as well as underthings.” He let out another snicker, bringing his hand up to card his fingers through your hair. After a moment of comfortable silence filled with only the sounds of your breathing, Niall slowly and carefully shifted your position so that he was now on top. “What does my princess need, hm?” He hummed, his lowering fingers silently suggesting filthy things. “Need you to ask me for it, love.” You whined a little in flushed embarrassment, squirming beneath him.

“You already know, though.” You protested stubbornly, throwing your arms around his neck. He chuckled at your resistance, teasingly sliding his hand under the hem of your shirt (well, technically his shirt; you stole it). You wiggled again impatiently, drawing a ‘tsk, tsk, tsk’ out of him.

“You know the rules, pretty girl. Use your words.” You clenched your thighs together as his tone grew deeper, huskier. That sexy-as-fuck accent only made it better. His calloused fingers brushed against the underside of your breast, drawing a pretty little gasp from you that only excited him more.

“Need you, Ni.” Your words escaped you in a whine, the pathetic sound sending a jolt straight to his half-hard dick. Dragging his thumb across your pebbled nipple, he gave the rosy bud a pinch in a way to scold you.

“Specifics, love.” You huffed out in sexual frustration, tightly gripping the sheet beneath you.

“Inside.” You forced out, ignoring the way your ears grew hot in embarrassment at your neediness. It was truly pathetic, the manner in which you were behaving, but how could you not? This was Niall, for fuck’s sake. The man of your dreams, practically your fucking life force.

You also chose to ignore the shit-eating grin you could just make out on his face, clearly displaying how pleased he was with your obedience to the ‘rules.’ They had never been distinctly laid out, per say, but given the dynamic between you, these guidelines were understood. Following an amused chuckle on his behalf, Niall leaned down to pepper kisses along the shell of your ear, his breath tickling your sensitive skin.

“What princess wants, princess gets.” And fuck you if those words didn’t nearly make you come undone on the spot, the sheer decision in his tone drawing another pool of arousal out of you to your already ruined panties.

In one swift motion, your (his) shirt was gone, your torso bare for him with only those useless panties to shield the rest (not that they were doing a great job of that, either).

“So pretty, baby.” He muttered between kisses on your neck, soon migrating to your collarbone and then your chest. And shit, he loved to play with your perky tits, rolling your nipples between his fingers and sucking like they gave him life.

While he occupied his mouth up top, his hands groped your hips and thighs, clearly growing impatient at the scrap of soaked fabric that still served as a barrier. He yanked them down to your ankles in one decisive motion, allowing you to kick them away before he descended upon you once more. He allowed you no time to process what was going on, impatiently ridding himself of his boxers and letting his stiff length smack against his stomach.

Fuck, you needed him.

Evidently, he needed you too, because without giving you a moment to think, his tip was already bullying its way into your dripping hole.

“Ni, fuck…” You trailed off, gritting your teeth at the delicious stretch you felt as he slid deeper, inch by inch. The moment he was up to the hilt, you let out a breath you hadn’t known you were holding, immediately beginning to pant as he pulled back slowly.

The pace he set was ruthless, unrelenting. Both of you were quite aware of the time constraint, and you couldn’t afford to drag this out for very long. He slammed into your g-spot with every snap of his hips, his pelvis smacking against your pulsing clit. He’s too fucking good at this, you thought.

His breath was coming in harsh pants, that rasp just audible above the sounds his actions were creating.

“Fuck, princess, feel so good around me.” He groaned against your neck, and you felt his cock twitch against your walls when you let out a pretty moan in response. You were being quiet, but probably not quiet enough.

“Faster, please…” You pleaded, desperately chasing that release as you held onto Niall. He obliged with immediate intensity, and you were surprised the both of you hadn’t yet toppled out of the bunk. You felt that knot in your stomach begin to grow to an unbearable amount, and with the way your plush walls clenched around his cock, Niall knew you were close.

“That’s it, love, let me feel you come around me. Fuck, want to see how pretty you look when you come.” His words were your undoing, your breath catching as you held back a moan when your back arched, your nails digging into his back. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, lasting a beat longer than you had remembered the last one lingering. You let out a squeak as he continued pounding into you, now chasing his own release.

“I know, princess, I know. I’m almost - shit - almost there.” And not three thrusts later, he was coming on your stomach, hot ropes of come shooting out to paint your sweat-soaked skin with white. He collapsed on top of you, holding you close as both of your breath’s slowed to normal.

“I love you so much, baby.” He murmured, pressing soft, tender kisses to your neck. You smiled, your eyes half-lidded, and you thought you may finally get some sleep.

“I love you too, Ni.” You chuckled to yourself, thinking back on what had just happened. “We really need to stop with these late-night shenanigans.” He let out a little giggle at your choice of words, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips before pulling back to smile at you.

“Not a chance, princess.”

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miyuhpapayuh · 3 months ago

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sex entry #4

Ass back high in the air, jiggling like jello as her lover slides inside her wet paradise, already grunting up a storm from how good she feels.

She's gripping for the sheets as he drags his dick back and forth, little resistance from dedicated foreplay.

“Oh my god,” is what she'd been saying all night, sounding like a broken record.

But what else could she say?

It felt too good to put into words.

“Oh my god, what?” He mocks, turning her on.

“It feels so good!”

His thrusts get deeper and a little faster, making her gasp and tighten around him, making him moan and bare down on her hips, pressing her into the bed.

“Oh my goddddd,” they moan in unison.

“That's the spot, huh?”

“Yes! I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum,”

“Let it out baby,”

“Don't stop,” she whines, “fuckkk, don't stop!”

“Cum on this dick, baby,” his encouragement sent her over the cliff, diving deep into that orgasm she'd been dying for, for a couple of days.

She wasn't sure what kind of noises she made, but she knew her audience was loving it.

“I'm cumming again,” she moans, reaching back to push him even deeper.

“Ohh, like that?”

“Yess,” she breathes, drooling into the mattress, “fuck mee,”

“Keep cumming on this dick, baby,” he smacks her ass, before grabbing both arms up behind her back, moving faster and digging right into her spot.

“Oh fuccckk! Just like that, justtt like that!”

Repositioning with his foot up on the bed, he drives up into her, making her eyes roll back.

“Yess, yesss!”

“This how you wanted it?”

“Yes, daddy! Yess!”

“Nut on this dick,”

“Oooh shit, don't st-stop!”

“Why not?”

“I'm cumming, I'm cumming!” She whimpers, going limp in his hold.

“How much?”

“Sooo much, daddy,” she whispers, squeezing him as the remnants of her orgasm shake through her, forcing him to pull out for a moment and gather himself.

“Shittt,” he sighs, rubbing against her clit, watching the way she twitched at the sensation, before sliding back inside.

Leaning up on her hands, she meets him thrust for thrust, loving how his grip on her tightens.

“Fuuck, you tryna make me nut!”

She smiles like he can see her, continuing to throw her ass back in his lap.

Gripping the bottom of her shirt up, he watches in amazement as she bounces, soft brown cheeks clapping in a perfect circle.

“Get that shit, baby,”

Amped up, she circles her hips before slowly rocking up and down, making him hiss as her pussy grips him tight.

“Shit, baby,” he moans, “pussy so good!”

“Just for you, daddy,” she bites her lip, her rocking coming to a teasing crawl as he shudders behind her, gripping her hips.

“Fuckk,” he tucks her legs tight underneath her, thrusting up into her again, making her mouth fall open.

He frees up a hand to grip her wild hair, keeping her in position as he pistons his hips into her ass.

Her eyes roll back at the overwhelming pleasure, the urge to cry sitting behind her closed lids.

“Oh my— fuck, oh my god,” she whimpers, feeling the tears slide down her hot face as he fucks her good.

“Fuccck, how you feelin’ baby?”

“S-so good,” she squeaks, wiping her face, “soooo good, baby!”

“You love me, don't you?”

“Yes, yesss, I do!”

“I love you too, mamas.”

“Oh my god, I'm gonna cum,” she gasps, her eyes crossing at the feeling creeping up her clit.

“I'm cummin, too,” he grunts, slamming into her as their orgasms hit simultaneously, a blend of curses and moans filling the room.

@abeautifulmindexposed @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @consent-is-king @blackerthings @blowmymbackout @ghostfacekill-monger @thegifstories @xo-goldengirl @dbaileyblog @blackpinup22 @kumkaniudaku @starcrossedxwriter @theereina @dabratzchronicles @hotgrlcece

#miyuhpapayuh #poc writers #blackwriters #black romance #smut #black writers

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mingwrites · 1 year ago

Note

Can you write a short blurb of using the safe word with san?

thanks so much for requesting! hope u enjoy ~

gentle, baby

WARNINGS: smut (MDNI) , choi san x afab reader, intercourse, rough sex, use of a safe word, mentions of pain

400 words

~♡༚✧˳⁺⁎

it had been a long night, a blur of san’s hands and mouth spilling warm pleasure over your entire body. he had brought you to orgasm twice already, and he was far from done with you. san was going to have his way with you, flipping you on your back and climbing over you, the drops of sweat sliding down his chest and abs and hitting your skin. he was breathless now, perhaps exhausted, and definitely amped up after a night of performing.

san was always ready to fuck after a concert - sometimes, and somehow, he would come off stage with more energy than when he went on. the praise from thousands of excited fans, the spotlight only on him, the act of performing for a crowd just made san a hard, horny mess. now he pinned you to the hotel mattress, spreading your thighs to the sheets as his rock-hard cock pounded erratically into you. he didn't hold back as he thrusted his hips aggressively into yours, pressing against your cervix again and again.

actually, it hurt a little.

"san," you groaned in discomfort, reaching for his biceps to try and contain his movements somehow. however, san mistook your unease for enthusiasm. he moaned in response to you, rhetorically asking, "yeah...you like it, huh baby?" you didn't respond, unsure of what to say. were you just being overly sensitive?

he groaned as your muscles began to stiffen. "my pretty girl likes to take me hard?" then your heart began to race. the tighter your muscles got, the more it was hurting. this didn't feel right, and you had to tell him.

"sannie, stop, it-it hurts." he didn't stop, instead whispering in your ear. "...so good."

"red, san, red!"

the bed was no longer shaking, he was no longer inside of you, and instead of panting, he was holding his breath. and finally, the soreness was gone.

"i'm so sorry," he said, his voice soft as petals, "i- what did i do? i'm so sorry."

you couldn't help but smile a little at his wide, worried puppy eyes. your heart got warm at his knee jerk reaction to you using your safe word for the very first time. he couldn't have reacted better, and you couldn't have trusted him more. "it's okay," you said. "it just hurt."

"i'm sorry, y/n. i'm really sorry."

"just maybe next time... a little more gentle?"

"i promise, from now on, i'll be more gentle, baby."

⁎⁺˳✧༚

author's note: PLEASE establish a safe word before sex. and if something doesn't feel right, use it!!! you're worth too much not to!

thank you for reading! <3

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onlygirlaliveinnyc · 15 days ago

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slide away 𐙚 ˚ ⋆｡˚ ᡣ𐭩

pairing: 1993ish!noel gallagher x reader words: 1217 genre: fluff, soft!noel warnings: mention of him being a bit tipsy? none really :p summary: noel comes home late from the pub—tipsy, tired. you’re half-asleep in his shirt, the flat warm with the echo of him, and he just wants to be close. post roadie but pre oasis blowin up ! a/n: ty anon for the req i have no idea why i decided to do it slide away based but i thought it was cute <3; not timeline accurate cause we are all just yearners on this page. ++ listened to this version of slide away when writing so yall should too ☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

he was still a bit drunk when he left the pub. coat unbuttoned, collar turned up against the cold, head full of lager and smoke and you.

bonehead had said something about staying for one more—some shite about “good vibes” and “potential birdwatching,” whatever that meant—but noel had waved him off. didn’t feel like sitting there without you beside him. didn’t feel like laughing if it wasn’t your thigh pressed to his, your voice in his ear saying something stupid just to make him grin into his pint.

he had a set of lyrics folded up in his coat pocket. scrawled earlier on a napkin between a small studio visit and a piss-poor meal deal. he’d been tweaking them all night, scribbling bits in the margins, muttering fragments into his pint. the lads had started calling him moz again just to take the piss. here he goes again, the tortured poet of manchester, bone had teased, but noel hadn’t minded. not really. not when the words were coming. not when they were about you.

his shoes thudded soft against the wet pavement, soles damp and worn. the air smelled like rain on brick, stale chip fat, car exhaust—somewhere between miserable and familiar. the wind tugged at his collar and numbed the tips of his fingers. still, he didn’t rush. hands buried deep in his coat pockets, shoulders hunched, head bowed slightly as he walked. he was thinking. humming. lyrics drifting in and out of his skull like smoke.

you’d been in his head all day.

he thought about the way you’d looked that morning—tangled in the duvet, bare legs wrapped around his under the sheets, wearing one of his old shirts with the hem just below your ass. the telly was playing some old Bowie video while you drank coffee out of a chipped mug and told him to please get that out-of-tune guitar off the bed before i chuck it out the window.

he’d laughed, but he’d also reached for his pen the second you turned your back.

he nearly tripped on the curb just thinking about it.

“fuck’s sake,” he muttered, not even annoyed—just dazed. tipsy. maybe a little smitten. maybe a lot.

—

he found the right key after a few tries and slipped into the flat as quiet as he could. the hallway light was out again, bulb probably gone for days. the front room was cluttered with the usual—guitar cases stacked two-deep against the wall, cables coiled like snakes on the floor, battered notebooks on every flat surface. someone’s half-broken amp sat in the corner, humming faintly even though it wasn’t plugged in.

he tripped on the corner of the skirting board and let out a low “fucking hell” that echoed louder than he wanted it to.

“wall’s a fuckin’ prick,” he muttered.

he shrugged off his coat and let it fall over the arm of the couch. kicked off his shoes with a muffled thump. the flat smelled faintly of cigarette ash and your shampoo—something soft and floral and warm, the kind of scent that stuck to his pillowcases and made him want to bury his face there in the mornings.

he padded soft down the hall, the floor cold beneath his socks. the radiator clanked faintly from the front room, like it was trying its best. the bedroom door creaked as he pushed it open.

and there you were. curled beneath the duvet, one arm flung over the pillow he’d been sleeping on before the last gig run. your breathing was slow, steady, the kind of rhythm that made him want to stay awake just to listen. you wore his shirt again—the one with fraying cuffs and a hole near the hem. the fabric had stretched slightly at the shoulders from being tugged off him too many times. the sight of you in it, soft and half-lit by the glow of the streetlamp outside, made his chest ache in that specific, familiar way.

you stirred when the door clicked shut.

“love?” his voice came out rough. soft.

you hummed, barely awake.

he crossed the room in a few quiet steps and sat on the edge of the bed, leaning down over you with a sigh. his hair was a mess from the wind, cheeks flushed pink from the cold and the drink. his breath smelled of Guinness and smoke and spearmint gum he’d bought hours ago and forgotten to chew. his eyes traced over your face like he was still catching up to being home. like he was afraid you’d vanish if he blinked.

“wasn’t,” you mumbled, “’til you started swearin’ at the lamp.”

“that lamp had it comin’,” he muttered. then leaned down and kissed your cheek. his lips were warm, and the kiss lingered a second longer than necessary. he kissed your jaw next, then the corner of your mouth. “missed you.”

you rolled onto your back as he shifted, half-climbing into bed, limbs heavy and warm. he exhaled deeply as he settled—his head dropping to your chest like he’d been waiting all day to do exactly that. one arm wrapped around your waist. his other hand slipped beneath the hem of the shirt on you, thumb tracing slow circles into the soft heat of your skin. not wanting. just needing.

you curled your fingers into his hair, soft under your hands. “you alright?”

“had some lyrics,” he mumbled. “wanted to show you.”

“yeah?”

he nodded, breath fanning warm against your collarbone. “wrote it before the pub. couldn’t get it out my head after.”

“let me hear, then.”

he propped himself up on one elbow, the bedsprings creaking faintly beneath him. cheeks pink. eyes bright in that way he got when he was just back from a gig—still half there, adrenaline not quite worn off. he reached into his back pocket and pulled out the napkin, unfolded it with the same care he might give to something breakable. sacred.

but he didn’t read from it. just looked at you. something soft, almost shy, flickering in his expression.

“i dream of you,” he said quietly. “’n all the things you say.”

his voice cracked a little on the next line. “i wonder where you are now.”

you thumbed over his jaw. he leaned into it, eyes fluttering closed like a cat in a sunbeam.

“pretty,” you whispered.

“it’s not done,” he muttered. “just words. no chords yet. just hums in my head.”

“then hum it,” you said. “i’ll remember it for you.”

he let his forehead drop to yours and closed his eyes. for a moment, everything went quiet. then he hummed. low and unsure, more breath than sound. a handful of chords, soft and clumsy, tumbling around in his chest. shaped by a shitty pint and a crowded pub and the way you looked that morning with sunlight in your hair.

he trailed off after a few seconds. let out a long, shaky breath. like he’d let go of something he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying.

you kissed his temple. “i think you’re a genius.”

“nah,” he mumbled. “just broke and obsessed.”

his hand found your hip again, thumb drawing lazy circles. grounding himself. his calluses were rough, fingertips slightly cold, but the touch was featherlight. reverent.

you smiled against his shoulder. “you’re warm.”

“you’re better,” he whispered.

#oasis #oasis fanfiction #britpop #britpop fanfiction #noel gallagher #noel gallagher x reader #noel gallagher/you #noel gallagher/reader #noel gallagher x you #noel gallagher fanfiction

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kingkatsuki · 1 year ago

Note

Barely got his GED hard working Kaji who helps keep the streets safe finally has a girlfriend now that he's in his mid twenties. Hard to get one when he always has headphones on or a sucker in his mouth but more and more he found himself placing his headphones by his neck music playing softly until it didn't play at all as he hoped to hear your cute voice better.

But now that he's got you underneath him, finally about to lose his virginity that he lied to you about the tip of his leaking dick slides into the wrong hole

If we’re on this wrong hole hype today I won’t survive it.

Warnings: 18+, virgin!Kaji, wrong hole, painal.

Word Count: 0.8k.

It’s not his fault, and you can’t blame him when you look this pretty beneath him. Your lips pouty and bruised from his rough kisses, cheeks flushed with heat and your chest heaves with anticipation. Your fingertips leave sparks of electricity across his skin as pretty manicured nails drag up his sternum to curl around his neck, desperately trying to pull him down for another sultry kiss as you whine his name against your lips and he’s certain he won’t survive this.

Kaji’s cock feels hot and heavy where it rests against your pelvis, leaking thick globs of pre that drool down the swollen tip and leave pools against your skin. He’s far too amped up and needs to ground himself, or he’s certain he’ll cum with the first sensation of your warm wet heat wrapped around his cock. If you were that tight when he slipped two fingers inside, he’s not even certain you’ll be able to take his full length. But god, he wants you to try. He wants to feel every single inch of you wrapped around his cock, clamping down around him like you had his fingers when he pushed you over the edge. God, you look so pretty when you cum—

“Ren,” You’re practically mewling now, the saccharine lilt to your voice sends a jolt directly to his cock, “Please, I need you.”

You need him, and he needs you.

Kaji hisses as he wraps himself in a fist, giving himself a cautious pump to try and allieviate the tension that sits in his pelvis as his balls threaten to empty all over you before you’ve even started. He had to push your smaller hands away moments earlier because the moment he felt your soft palm wrapped around his length his hips were bucking uncontrollably as he exercised every ounce of restraint he’d built over the years to stop himself from coming undone.

He chances a stroke through your sopping heat, dragging his leaky cockhead through your messy folds as you soak him in your slick. His lashes flutter as he has to close his eyes when your pouty lips part in a sultry whine as he knocks against your puffy clit, and you look so utterly fucked out beneath him when he hasn’t even breached your little hole.

“Fuck.” He mutters beneath his breath as he tries to focus, fingers tangled in the sheets by your head as he swallows thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing as he feels his slick tip catch against your entrance.

Your hips buck wildly at the contact, trying to coax him in and Kaji ruts his hips forward with a guttural grunt. The heat that engulfs him is tight, and he covets the sensation, despite the fact it clouds his brain and and has his heady balls throbbing for relief.

“Ren— fuck,” You cry out, and he panics.

He’s heard it hurts the first time, so he expects you to feel an ache from the stretch. Leaning down to pepper kisses against your jaw as the change of angle has him pushing another inch inside you, thankful his cock has leaked so much pre.

You’re squeezing so tight, and he can’t stop himself as his cock jumps. Pulsing with need as he finds himself succumb to the pressure that roars inside him, unable to hold on as he moves his hand to your hip, his upper lip doused with sweat as he tries to remember to breathe—

“No, ow— wrong hole, Ren.” Your pretty nails are clawing at his chest, leaving messy crimson lines against his pale chest as the painful ebb pushes him over the edge.

He can’t stop his hips from bucking when he cums, spilling his hot, thick spend into your unprepped asshole as he barely manages to pull out. More pearlescent ropes of cum land on your slit and pelvis as he moves back as though he’s burnt you. Wide eyes now glancing down at you with worry as he sees the look of pain that morphs your pretty features, teeth biting down on your bottom lip as he hates how his body reacts— you’re in pain and it still has his spent cock throbbing with want.

“I’m sorry,” He whispers, pressing lingering kisses to your warm cheek as he smooths calloused palms along your sides.

“It hurt,” You gasp out, thick tears clumping in your lashes as you stare up at him and oh god, he really is a sick fuck for getting off on it.

And what makes it even worse is the moment when Kaji pulls back to glance between your parted thighs to check if you’re okay and he sees what he’s done. Your tight, fluttering asshole pushes out the thick globs of spunk he’d pumped inside you moments earlier, drooling down the curve of your ass and pooling on the tousled sheets beneath you. It takes every single fibre of his being to stop himself from reaching out to push the moisture back inside your abused little hole.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” He coos, “I didn’t mean to—”

But he’s not really sorry, not even close.

#ren kaji x reader #ren kaji smut #ren kaji thirst #wind breaker smut #tw:dubcon #trigger:dubcon #tw:painal #trigger:painal

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kiwicopia · 2 years ago

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🔞 MDNI | Kinktober: Blindfold 🔞

🎃 Byakuya x Wife!Reader 🎃

TW: Soft Byakuya, kissing, licking, bit of sensual sex, creampie, fingering (f!receiving), cunnilingus, biting, praise, orgasm denial, reader being called Princess, missionary.

tags: @shes-so-insane @stygianoir @bleachbrainrotbro @uzxotic @aizenwifey

“Byakuya,” you moaned, his name falling from your lips as his lips trailed kisses from your collarbone down to your navel. It was enough for your back to arch a little as your hands fisted the bed sheets. The kisses then ceased, and your body shuddered in delight as his tongue licked a few inches upward, followed by a soft sigh that elicited from you. Your husband was obscured by the black cloth tied around your head. It was a delicious idea of his that you couldn’t even complain about. Having your sight taken away caused you to rely on your other senses as he pleased you—slowly, teasingly, drawing out every little moan, gasp, and sigh from those pretty lips of yours.

“Does it feel good?” He asked. It was a rhetorical question, but you still gave a nod of confirmation. To that, Byakuya hummed and moved his body lower, and you soon felt his hands cup themselves underneath your thighs before lifting your legs a little. You couldn’t see a thing, but you knew where he was and what he was going to do. After situating your legs in his preferred position—both over his broad shoulders—you felt his hot breath against your already cunt. “So eager,” he teased,” aren’t you, Princess?”

He worked you up for this, and now you were all wet and ready for him to devour. Your husband’s arms snaked around your legs, holding them in place before he shoved his face into your pussy. There wasn’t a warning whatsoever, and you moaned loudly as his tongue licked a thick stripe up your folds before the tip swirled around your clit, teasing it. He repeated the motion, bringing forth a series of wanton moans that were nothing but music to his ears. “Byakuya,” you whined out.

He stopped for a split second, his eyes glancing at your flushed face before he returned to his task at hand. For a man so softspoken at times in both actions and words, he seemed to have disregarded that for tonight. Tonight was all about you. His face pressed itself into your cunt even further, his tongue having slipped past your folds as he tasted your insides. You could hear the way he slurped and sucked on you, eating you out like a man that’s been starved for weeks. The pleasure from it was overwhelming, and your body squirmed a little as your legs clenched in response. If only you could see him when he relented, pulling back to give you just enough clarity for the moment. Your slick covered his face, but he didn’t care.

One of Byakuya’s arms unwound itself from one of your legs, his body shifting to a more comfortable position on his stomach before he shoved a finger inside of you. The intrusion had you gasp and whine, your hips wriggling slightly as he drew the digit out before pushing it back inside your sopping cunt. His other arm tried to still your movements as he clicked his tongue. “Princess,” he said, “be still for me. I can’t please you if you keep moving.”

When you stopped moving, he went back to work, his finger repeatedly sliding in and out of you. It was difficult to stay still for him, especially when he added a second finger, and you couldn’t help but whine when you felt the scissoring motion inside of you. “So good,” you mewled, “feels so good.” Your sounds only furthered his actions, amping them up as his tongue lapped at your clit once more. The sounds resonating from your cunt had your face flushed with embarrassment, but it couldn’t be helped. His fingers coupled with his mouth furthered the shameless squelching that came from your pussy, and your husband loved it.

His tongue ceased its relentless licking as he pulled his face away. “Do you hear it?” Byakuya asked. “You’re making such beautiful noises,” he cooed. Your lips parted to respond to his words, but all that came out was a sharp gasp as he sucked on your clit, assaulting it with his tongue while his fingers constantly slipped in and out of you. It was a shame you couldn’t see it all, but you could hear it, and you could feel the pleasure building up inside.

Just a little more, you thought, moaning repeatedly as he ravished you like some sort of fine cuisine. You were almost there, your body already clenching on the cusp of a long-awaited orgasm. Almost, almost, so close, so close, right there, right—.

“As much as it would please me to see you come undone, I can’t let you do that just yet.” Your husband’s words and the fact that he outright ceased all motion on you, denying your release, caused you to frown. You heard him chuckle, and you could already picture curved lips on his face. It was a shame you were blindfolded.

“Jerk,” you mumbled, garnering another chuckle from his lips. Your body ached for release, your cunt throbbing just from the mere thought of what could have been. Your husband was vile for that. His body shifted once more, and you felt him lift your legs up a bit higher, getting them situated on his shoulders—again—as he ran his cock up and down your slick folds, wetting the head. The feeling sent a shiver down your spine, but not as much as when he slid inside with ease. No matter how many times you fucked, it never ceased to amaze just how filling your husband was, and with your sight hindered, it really helped with focusing on the way he felt buried inside of you.

His hips moved at a languid pace, gyrating every so often to elicit another one of your adorable moans. Byakuya’s face hid itself in the crook of your neck, pressing gentle kisses against the skin as he slowly rocked into you. You silently praised him about bringing the blindfold to bed, relishing in how you could feel him inching deeper and deeper with each slow thrust, almost kissing your cervix with his tip. He wanted you to feel him—to truly feel him tonight.

“So tight,” he whispered in-between kisses, “you always take me so well, Princess.” Your walls clenched at his praise, garnering a soft chuckle from him. “You love it when I praise you, don’t you? My little wife loves being told how much of a good girl she is.”

You hated how right he was—how right he always was—but you ignored that thought and focused on feeling him. A soft groan left his lips as his body pressed down against yours, his hips now moving at a faster pace than before. You moaned in response; another groan being pulled from him as his hands slid up against the mattress to find yours—his fingers interlocking with your own as he kept you pinned down.

Your hips tried to buck up against his, but his weight on you prevented that. Byakuya wanted you to lie still and let him please you, for you to feel him like how he wanted you to. His hips smacked against yours as he moved faster now, his cock slipping in and out of your cunt with so much ease. The squelching from it was downright shameful, and the fact that you could hear just how loud it was made you whine. You couldn’t deny that it aroused you further, slowly bringing forth that pleasurable feeling from earlier.

Your body still ached for release. You knew it and your husband knew it, too, which is why his pace increased. His movements grew sporadic as his cock repeatedly shoved itself inside your pussy, causing you to moan even more. “Byakuya,” you whined at him, and he grunted in response. He knew you were close, that you were almost there. You just needed a few extra pushes.

With his face still buried into the crook of your neck, he let his teeth graze the skin before nipping your sweet spot. The gasp that ripped from your chest only caused him to bite down. Your walls started clenching around him, slowly, teasingly, as if to let him know just how close you were. “Cum for me, Princess,” he whispered, “please.” It wasn’t often that your husband begged, but it always made you weak when he did.

Your head tilted back against the pillow, and you moaned as you finally came undone. Your body twitched harshly as pleasure coursed throughout it. Byakuya felt your gummy walls clench around his dick, coaxing him to quickly follow suit, and he did. You were overtaken by another wave of pleasure as he emptied into you, painting your insides white with semen.

You could feel how it gushed around, filling you up entirely. Your husband breathed hard, his hot breath hitting your ear and neck before he placed gentle kisses against your skin. Your body clenched again in response, causing him to chuckle before pulling out of you with a shameful squelch. His seed seeped from your cunt as it dribbled down your thighs before slowly pooling onto the mattress.

“What a mess,” he said. He pressed a soft kiss to your temple before he pulled away. You felt his arms slip underneath your body, lifting you up against his broad chest as he carried you off somewhere. “Let’s get you cleaned up, Princess.”

Your body felt exhausted, but it was safe to say that you would both be using the blindfold in bed again. Perhaps your husband would wear it, if you asked ever so sweetly.

#bleach x reader #bleach x female reader #bleach x you #bleach x y/n #bleach byakuya #byakuya kuchiki #byakuya x reader #byakuya x you #byakuya x y/n #byakuya x female reader #byakuya kuchiki smut #bleach smut #wife reader #bleach kinktober #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #mdni #kiwicopia writes

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tbgblr2 · 1 year ago

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What happens late at night.

He stood there, his mouth agape as his very, very pregnant wife stood at the foot of the bed.

Without ceremony or warning she tugged down her pyjama bottoms, leaving her bottom half naked. He tried to rise, do something, but he couldn’t move he was fixed in place.

“It’s time” she said. Was he imagining it.. was she speaking… sensually?

She leaned forward, one hand on the bed between his legs, opened her own legs to a slight squat and there was a sudden splash as a gush of water was seen falling from between her legs… accompanied by a low moan, as if she was… orgasmic?

“Babe… are you ok?” Seems he can still speak.

“I’m perfect babe.” She purred. “Just lie back and enjoy the show.”

She reached down and grabbed the bottom of her pyjama top, lifting it up over her belly, up to her breasts which she caught in the fabric and lifted up, finally releasing as the top was pulled up, her breasts slapping back down against her belly as the top finally passed over her head and gets dropped to the floor.

“Oh look at that you are enjoying it…” her eyes focusing at the growing tent under the bed sheet covering him. He tried to reach an arm out but couldn’t move any part of his body.

She pulled the tie from her ponytail, her hair spilling down around her shoulders. Like some sort of Hollywood special effect she swings her head and her hair falls perfectly into place.

“What the hell?” He says, to himself, completely bewildered.

“Babe… you aren’t relaxing. I can’t do this without you supporting me… with your eyes.”

She pulls back the bed sheet and he finds himself naked, erect. And still unable to move. He wasn’t tied down or anything, just couldn’t move anything.

“Just let it happen…” she said, crawling on her hands and knees onto the bed. Her breasts and belly hanging down. Her head reached his cock and she lowered her head down onto it, her wet lips slipping slickly down the shaft.

She let out another sensual moan as she pressed her belly down onto his legs and he felt the belly getting tight.

“Contraction?” He asked. She made an affirmative sound which vibrated up and down his cock, sending a shockwave down his spine. Whatever was happening right now amped the sensitivity he usually felt up to maximum. He tried to shiver, but couldn’t.

She pulls her head up, sucking as she goes leading to an audible pop as she lets go of his cock with her lips, only to lift herself up shuffling forward on her knees so she was straddling his hips.

“Are you going to ride me?” He asked… getting into the swing of things.

“No silly… you won’t fit with this big head in here.” As she bucked her hips forward rubbing her slit up and down his shaft accompanied with moans of pleasure.

He finally put two and two together to realise what was going on. “You’re in labour?”

“Got it in one baby…” she continued to slide up and down without actually letting him slip in.

“This can’t be right… isn’t it supposed to be painful?”

“Pain… as well as pleasure… is all in the mind.” She was getting breathy at her movements, rubbing faster and faster. “It’s coming… it’s coming… I’m coming.” She shrieked but there was no sign of pain in the exclamation, only pure pleasure, her smiling face beaming as she came down from whatever high she was on.

She crawled backwards up his body so her knees rested either side of his torso, her belly pressing down against his hard shaft and her breasts resting against his thighs. Her ass – and perhaps more importantly given the current situation – her pussy - was inches away from his face.

He saw a trail of slick juices elongate and drip from her opening as she groaned, putting effort into a push. She didn’t seem to be uncomfortable in any way whilst doing it. She pushed again, her back end lifting closer to his face and her belly pressing down further into his waist as she let out one of the most sensual sounds he ever heard.

“Can you see the head?” She panted as she set into another push. He was bewildered. Unable to act to do anything other than speak so he settled with saying that no, he couldn’t see anything.

“Oh good… I’ll have to push more.” She actually sounded ecstatic for needing to keep going. She got right back into it, her grunting, moaning sounds echoing in the bedroom. She slipped a hand back under her belly and used two fingers to spread her lips. “Does that help, can you see it… please say you can!”

He gulped. He saw it. A dark, hairy mass just visible when her lips were parted. He got excited.

“Yes baby, yes, I see it. I can see our baby. You’re doing so well!” He was desperate to move, to reach out, to touch it but he was frozen in place. Her head turned back and she looked at her husband and smiled, blowing him a kiss as she started to push once more.

He watched as the viscous fluid dripped from between her legs and splashed onto his chest as the room filled with the sound of her moaning.

“I can feel it, it’s right there” she squealed but it wasn’t in pain, she giggled at the end of the exclamation.

“What can I do, how can I help?” He said, eyes open wide and focused between her legs watching the dark shape move and grow as she pushed more and more. She removed her fingers, her lips slipping back in place and covering the head again.

“Just tell me how well I’m doing. I love hearing your encouragement.” She was still actively pushing but was not out of breath, seemed to be actively enjoying things.

He took up the mantle “you’re doing great babe, keep up the good work. Now push for me, let’s see the head. Good girl!” Her response was magical, a low groan that rumbled from her chest as she pressed her body hard against him and pushed. Her efforts were rewarded by the teardrop shape of the head head starting to poke through between her lips.

“I can see it, keep going!” He encouraged, so she pushed hard again, more and more of the head becoming visible as she put in the work.

He watched enraptured as the head grew and grew her lips sliding back to let more and more of it push through. She pushed harder and harder, her body pressing against his as she exclaimed how good she felt and how tight everything was. She shivered in orgasmic bliss as she finally pushed out the head with another good-natured squeal, a splash of the amniotic fluid gushing over his chest.

Suddenly he was rocking left to right. Suddenly he heard a noise he hadn’t heard before this had started. Suddenly he was awake, his wife jostling him from sleep. The tone of her voice and look was very exasperated.

“Joe… Joe. Wake up. My waters have broken, I think I’m in labour. We’ve got to get to hospital!”

#birth kink #fpreg #birth #labor kink #pregnancy #short

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broidobe · 6 months ago

Text

𝔢𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔫𝔞𝔩 𝔪𝔞𝔡𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰

requested!!! im glad you liked the last one!

⁎⁺˳✧༚megadeth masterlist

you were no stranger to chaos—it came with the territory of dating dave mustaine. but when he asked you to come along for the next megadeth tour, you didn’t hesitate for a second. life with dave was an adventure, and there was no way you were missing this one.

“are you sure you’re ready for this?” dave asked, leaning casually against the doorframe of the tour bus as you approached with your bags. his signature smirk tugged at his lips, but there was a flicker of softness in his eyes.

“i was born ready,” you teased, stepping up onto the bus.

the bus was a mix of rock star luxury and road warrior practicality. guitars in hard cases leaned against plush leather couches, and the faint hum of amps and lingering scent of leather filled the air. dave led you to the back, where his personal space was decked out with lyric sheets, notebooks, and his favorite guitars.

“you can crash here when you need a break,” he said, gesturing to a cozy corner with a blanket you recognized from his place. “i made sure to bring this for you. figured it’d feel a little like home.”

the thoughtful gesture warmed you. you wrapped your arms around him, standing on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “thanks, babe. but i think i’m more excited to see you in your element.”

dave chuckled. “you say that now. wait until you’ve heard me rehearse ‘holy wars’ about fifty times.”

the days were a whirlwind of soundchecks, interviews, and meet-and-greets. you’d sit in the wings during rehearsals, watching as dave poured himself into every note. sometimes, he’d glance your way, flashing you a grin that made your heart race.

on show nights, you had a front-row view, tucked to the side of the stage where you could see him in his full glory—sweat-drenched hair flying, fingers dancing over his guitar, voice cutting through the roar of the crowd like a blade.

during quieter moments, it was just the two of you. one night, after a particularly electric show, dave found you sitting on the tour bus, thumbing through one of his notebooks.

“find anything good?” he asked, sliding into the seat beside you.

“just this little masterpiece,” you said, pointing to a half-finished song scribbled in his unmistakable handwriting.

dave leaned in, his breath warm against your neck as he read over your shoulder. “you like it?”

“i love it,” you said. “but i think it needs a killer title.”

“got any ideas?”

you grinned. “what about ‘eternal madness’?”

dave tilted his head, considering. “not bad,” he said, then kissed you—soft and lingering. “you’re good at this. maybe i should keep you around.”

“you’d better,” you teased. “i’m kind of the best part of this tour.”

dave laughed, the sound rich and genuine. “you might be right.”

#broidobe #dave mustaine #dave mustaine x reader #dave mustaine fanfiction #megadeth #metallica

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sinfulsalutations · 1 year ago

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*slides $500 in Monopoly money over*

Got any sub!Hunter and Dom!femreader smut in the back?

(you can ignore this if your requests are closed, I'm not sure if they're open right now)

⋆ ★ *ꜱʟᴏᴡʟʏ ꜱᴛᴜꜰꜰꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏɴᴇʏ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ᴘᴏᴄᴋᴇᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱʟɪᴅᴇꜱ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ* ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴜɪᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ? ᴀʟꜱᴏ, ᴍʏ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛꜱ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴜꜱᴜᴀʟʟʏ ɪ’ᴅ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴅᴇʟᴇᴛᴇ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴇɴᴛɪᴄɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴ ᴀꜱᴋ. ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ꜰɪɴᴇ :)

➼ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ 18+ ᴅɴɪ

Hunter is a keen lover who's always in tune with both his senses and yours, due to his heightened senses but also his natural instinct as a leader.

But when he finds himself in a rather submissive mind space, eagerly ready for you to take the lead, he lets those senses swallow him.

He still has his subconscious checking in to make sure it isn't too much, and if it ever is he'll tell you exactly that, but for the most part, he's letting all the sensations overtake him in the most pleasant way possible.

Speaking of his senses, depriving him of one thrills him in a way he can't explain. Blindfolding or tying him up forces him to solely focus on one sense at a time, amping it up to another level.

Enjoys it when you urge him on to do certain things; "Squeeze my hips. Yeah, just like that. Good." "Look up. Let me look into those gorgeous eyes. There he is." It genuinely makes him crumble in your grasp immediately.

Additionally, he'd never say this out loud (both because he doesn't know how to express it and because he hasn't truly realized it), but he likes soft pampering. Kisses along his jaw, massaging his shoulders as you grind on him, anything that makes him sigh and flutter his lashes. For once, it feels nice to just sit back and be doted on.

That doesn't mean he dislikes it when you fully take control, pin his hands over his head, bounce yourself up and down his cock, and rumble out filthy words into his ear. Tell him to just sit there and take it, be a good boy for you, and his chest is heaving.

You swear you've never seen him choke and stammer so much than when you take his cock in your mouth. He's a mess the moment you slip his blacks off and look up at him with that mischievous grin. You keep his hands away from your hair or body and instead urge him to place them over his head or grip onto the sheets-- "Let me have my fun, Hunter."

Edging is a dangerous game with Hunter. If he isn't in the right mind space or physical capacity, it could lead to a sensory overload and he'll have to tap out. But if it works does it work. You have to urge him to keep his thighs and hips from twitching and bucking up into you when you pepper kitten licks over his length and run the tops of your fingers over his balls. You'll never hear him more depraved than when he gasps out "Mesh'la, I'm so-- fuck, please--"

ragu list: @starstofillmydream @pb-jellybeans @corrieguards @badbatchbabe @ladytano420 @jediknightjana @sleepycreativewriter @shinyshayminflower @thebahdbitch @secondaryrealm @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @kimiheartblade @followthepurrgil @starrylothcat @sev-on-kamino @aconstructofamind @padawancat97 @littlemissmanga @starqueensthings @anxiouspineapple99 @freesia-writes @wings-and-beskar @clio3kantarella @secretthegriffin @523rdrebel @dystopicjumpsuit @sunshinesdaydream @clonemedickix @andrakass2 @jesjestraverse @crosshairlovebot @wizardofrozz @dangraccoon @lickylickylicky @urmomsmattress @jedi-hawkins @who-would-want-a-broken-heart @cw80831 @ladyzirkonia @multi-fan-dom-madness @moonlightwarriorqueen @eyeluvmusic21 @mythical-illustrator @a-single-tulip

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waytooinvested · 7 months ago

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Forgotten, Not Forgiven - Chapter 36

This and previous chapters are also on AO3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lena woke feeling unexpectedly cold.

She snuggled sleepily towards Kara’s warmth, only to find a bare expanse of cool mattress. Tangled blankets. Tossed pillows. Rumpled top sheet. No Kara.

The bed was empty.

She was alone.

She sat up, her heart sinking as she pondered the possibility that last night had been nothing more than a particularly vivid dream after all, and she was briefly devastated.

Then she heard the slide of her balcony door, and in another few seconds Kara was there, laden tray in hand and a smile on her face.

‘Good morning. I woke up early, so I thought I’d fix breakfast for you.’

Lena quirked a half-smile, the moment of doubt quickly dissipating now she realised her mistake.

‘Pancakes?’

‘Absolutely not, I learned my lesson. I didn’t actually make any of this, unless you count squeezing the oranges for the juice.’

Kara set the tray down on the bed, and Lena was at last able to see it properly. In addition to the promised orange juice there was a heap of scones and coffee eclairs artfully arranged on a pretty willow pattern plate that Lena was pretty sure she didn’t own, a cappuccino with a dusting of chocolate in the shape of a stylised L on top, and a tiny vase containing a single sprig of lily-of-the-valley.

The lily means I dare you to love me.

It was probably a coincidence, given that lily and lily-of-the-valley weren’t actually related, but even so it made her heart leap. The care that had gone into arranging all this was undeniable.

‘It looks beautiful, but where did it all come from? I’m pretty sure we didn’t have scones in the kitchen this time yesterday, not to mention the rest of it.’

‘No, I just popped over to Dublin to get them fresh.’

Kara said it so breezily, she might as well have said ‘I popped to the bodega across the street’, and Lena blinked dazedly up at her, not quite able to take it in.

‘You popped to Dublin? Seriously?’

‘It didn’t take that long. The coffee is actually from Milan, and the eclairs are from Paris. Oh, and I stopped off in Valencia for the oranges on the way home. Superspeed has its advantages!’

‘Kara, you know you didn’t have to do all that.’

‘I know, but I wanted to thank you for taking care of me these past months, and also for helping me get my powers back. You didn’t have to do any of it, and after our fight I know that must have been hard for you.’

Lena picked up one of the scones, breaking off a small piece to find steam rising up from inside. It had been flown halfway around the world to get to her, and yet it was still warm.

‘We should probably talk about that now, shouldn’t we?’

‘Probably... Only if you’re ready.’

Kara looked tense, amped up and jumpy, and Lena understood that this was the other reason for the special effort breakfast. She was trying to make what came next easier. She held out a hand to her, and unthinkingly Kara came over to take it, her fingers sliding between Lena’s in a more intimate clasp than was strictly called for by the gesture, and Lena was glad.

It was harder now than it had been last night, when the darkness and their recent shared trauma had invited intimacy, but the fact that Kara’s instinct was to twine their fingers together was a good sign. She tugged gently on the hand in hers, shuffling over to make room on the bed beside her.

‘I’m ready. I don’t want there to be any more secrets between us.’

‘Same. Definitely ready to be done with secrets. I’m sorry I didn’t realise that sooner and avoid any of this ever happening.’

‘I know you are. But I understand better now how hard it was for you to tell me the truth about being Supergirl. I felt the same way when I had to choose between being honest with you and keeping things hidden to avoid losing you. I almost made the wrong choice. I did make the wrong choice for a long time.’

‘No, hey, that wasn’t your fault. Alex told me what Lex did, you were lying to protect me. You had to.’

Lena shrugged, unmollified.

‘I couldn’t tell you the truth about your identity. I could have told you about Catco.’

‘That was- it’s not the same.’

‘No, it’s not. But it still made me understand how your secret must have felt for you. Especially when I kept telling you how your integrity was the only thing stopping me from giving up on humanity as a whole. I meant it as a compliment, but looking back I can see how unfair it was to put that responsibility on you, and how impossible it must have made it to come clean after a certain point. You should have been able to rely on me to listen, and give you grace for your mistakes the way you did for me. I’m sorry that wasn’t true then.’

‘I’m sorry I didn’t trust that you’d still see me when you knew I was Supergirl. You were the one person who I could just be Kara with, and I couldn’t bear the idea that you’d start looking at me differently when you knew.’

Kara said this to her knees as if on some level that fear was still there, and Lena reached over to cup her chin in her free hand, tilting her face until their eyes met, though she knew Kara could have resisted the touch without effort if she wanted to.

‘Am I looking at you differently now?’

‘No…’

‘No. I see you Kara. I didn’t, for a while, but I do now. Okay?’

Kara nodded against her hand, lips parting a little as she gazed back at Lena, and she knew that right then could have been their moment, but also that it shouldn’t be.

Not yet.

She released Kara’s chin and took a sip of cappuccino to steady herself, then said what she knew she needed to.

‘So, I should probably tell you about Project Atlantis.’

Kara sat up straight, instantly attentive.

‘Alex told me some of it last night, but yeah, I’d like to hear your side.’

So Lena told her, going right back to the first text she had received from Alex the day Kara had gone missing, and continuing on through everything that had happened after that point. Kara listened, mostly quiet but occasionally asking a question, or chipping in with her own perspective on something that had happened, until they had pieced together a reasonably complete picture of the time between Kara’s kidnap and her memory recovery the night before. When at last it was done, Kara shook her head slowly.

‘And you did all that for me, even after I hurt you so much. Even though what Lex did made me into the Kara you had always thought I was. The version of Kara that you could-’

She broke off, blinking several times before dropping her eyes down to the breakfast tray and whispering into her chest, as if she wasn’t sure whether she actually wanted Lena to hear the next bit or not.

‘-The Kara you could love.’

‘You’re the Kara I could love. You’re not two people, and I’m not sorry you have your powers back. You know that, right?’

It had taken Lena a while to get there, but she meant it now. She had spent her whole life trying to be the person she thought would be deemed acceptable, first for her family, and then by distancing herself from them, and she didn’t want Kara to ever have to diminish herself that way. Not with her.

Tears glimmered on Kara’s lashes, and she sniffed.

‘You told Supergirl- you told me as Supergirl, that you didn’t want to be my friend. That you had real friends, and I would never be one of them.’

Lena’s heart twisted at the memory. Kara’s reaction to finding out about the kryptonite had been hurtful and out of proportion, but it made more sense knowing it was Kara she had been keeping the truth from. Logically, it hadn’t been reasonable to treat Lena as someone who had kept a huge secret from her best friend when she didn’t know that’s who she was dealing with, but feelings weren’t logical; and it also wasn’t fair to hold Kara up to such a high moral standard that she was never allowed to be irrational, or hypocritical, or say things she regretted. She wasn’t a perfect, flawless example of the goodness in the world the way others saw Supergirl and Lena had once seen Kara Danvers. But she was good, and she was real, and she was still Lena’s hero.

‘I was wrong. I can’t pretend that we’re never going to clash about some of the things that came up in those days, but if we fight it can be just that – a fight. We’ll work through it, and we’ll get over it. I can’t lose you again Kara. I won’t.’

‘Okay, you’re right… And nothing has to change between us. I can still be your Kara, just with extra Parisian pastries, and a more honest explanation when I have to run out on a spin class.’

Kara tried to share a smile, but Lena frowned.

‘No.’

‘...No?’

‘No. I don’t want you to be ‘my Kara’, or Supergirl, or some version of yourself you think will make me comfortable. I want you to be you. I want to know all of you Kara, including the Kryptonian parts. I want to know about your childhood. The customs of Krypton. I want to learn your language so you can speak to someone other than your cousin in your mother tongue. I want to know how you came to be fostered by the Danvers’, and how you became Supergirl. I want to know what it’s been like for you having to juggle those parts of yourself, and what we might be able to do to make it easier going forwards. And I know a lot of that is going to be incredibly painful, so if you can’t tell me I’ll understand, and I won’t push for more than you’re comfortable with. But as much of yourself as you’re willing to share, I want.’

Kara stared back at her, the tears that had been a mere suggestion before now pouring freely down her cheeks as she pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them hard – the only thing in the room that she could safely squeeze as tightly as she needed to without fear of breaking something.

Lena wished that she could be Kara’s safe thing to hold, the way she had been the night of the dream journey, but she knew it was impossible. Instead she wriggled out from under the covers to kneel beside Kara, wrapping herself around her huddled form as fully as she could, trying to make her own body into a protective cocoon that would make Kara feel as safely anchored as she always did for Lena.

‘I’ve got you darling. I’ve always got you. Let it out.’

And Kara did. She sobbed convulsively into her knees while Lena held onto her, making meaningless, soothing sounds against the curve of her spine until the shaking stopped, and Kara slowly uncurled from her protective ball. She reached round and pulled Lena carefully into a proper hug, her cheek leaving a wet patch as she burrowed against her neck.

‘No one has ever asked me for that before. No one. I never expected- thank you. And I’d love the same in return, if you’re willing. I want to know about your life, your heritage, your adoption, everything. I want to be your person, too.’

No one had ever asked Lena for that before either. So much of her life was public that people seemed to just assume they knew her already, or else they were only interested in learning about her as a means to an end. Digging for details about Lena’s past had always been leverage, never love.

Not until Kara.

They spent the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon exchanging the first of many stories of their lives so far. Some parts they already knew. Some were told through tears, and for Kara in particular, some could only be confessed with her face buried against Lena’s shoulder, sobs heaving her body even as she continued to push the words out, her hand fisted in the top sheet so tightly that the creases were probably there for good now. But not all her stories of Krypton made Kara sad. There were times when she talked about her childhood that made her laugh, or smile fondly at the memory of some friend she hadn’t thought of in a long time. It had been so many years since she had lived on her home planet that parts of its culture that had once felt so natural now seemed restrictive and joyless, and Kara told Lena about all the things she had loved about Earth when she arrived, and still did.

She also admitted how angry she felt so much of the time, and how it conflicted with her grief when she thought of what her parents had done to her. Even after finding Argo, it couldn’t undo the years she had spent knowing herself to be the last daughter of Krypton, burdened with the responsibility of keeping her vanished home’s memory alive while forcibly assimilating into a world that would never truly embrace that part of who she was. She had been so terribly, painfully alone, and her own parents had chosen that life for her. Then the Danvers had taken her in and loved her, and she was so grateful to them for that, but they had also added to her loss of self by making her hide her powers, and for all it had been done with the very best of intentions, the outcome was to irrevocably stunt another piece of who she might have been. The rage she carried inside over the things that had happened and the choices that had been made for her frightened her sometimes, knowing just how much damage she could do if she ever let it get out of control.

The confession of her anger was made much more tentatively than the rest, as if Kara was afraid that admitting to having such strong negative feelings would make Lena want to withdraw from her, but if anything it did the opposite. Lena understood anger. Her own was something she likewise felt a great deal of shame over, fearing the implacable flow of it would prove so strong and swift that she would be dragged under into her own darkness if she didn’t keep fighting to keep her head above water. She also understood that while it might match or even exceed it in intensity, Kara’s fury was different from her own. It was a wild fire – hot and passionate and searingly bright. Her anger could certainly be destructive if left to burn out of control, but Lena didn’t think it would ever be truly dark.

Kara had lived through a level of loss that would break most people a dozen times over, and yet even through the very worst of it, there was a common theme weaving through like a thread of purest gold. She always had so much hope. Even in her deepest despair, when she felt completely abandoned on a world full of aliens who couldn’t ever truly understand her, Kara never entirely gave up on the goodness of people, or the joy that could be found even in something as simple as an order of potstickers. Listening to it only made Lena admire her all the more.

She couldn’t imagine how the same could be true for Kara when she told her own story. There was no shining gold glimmer of heroism here, just the long shadow of her family name, and the taint of darkness she had been fighting against her entire life but that was in her nevertheless, and probably always would be.

And yet when she dared to catch Kara’s eye after she had told as much as she could bear to for one day she was met with a look of radiant adoration, as if she had taken something quite different from Lena’s life history.

‘You’re incredible, you know that?’

‘Am I?’

‘Yes. Fuck. Lena, I am so in love with you.’

And Lena couldn’t even spare a moment to be surprised at the ‘fuck’ from Kara uses-golly-as-a-cuss-word Danvers, because she had just listened to Lena spill out every dark part of herself that she had spent her life running from, and her response to all of it was I am so in love with you.

‘I’m in love with you too.’

They looked into each other’s eyes, and all of their almosts pressed against them, but there was one more thing Lena wanted before she gave in to them. One more part of Kara she needed to know without the barrier of deception keeping them apart.

‘Would you do something for me?’

Kara laughed shakily, her cheeks flushed and her smile so bright it put the midday sun to shame.

‘I would do literally anything for you.’

‘Will you take me flying?’

Kara tilted her head to one side, not unwilling, but clearly confused.

‘Of course, if that’s what you want. But why? You hate flying.’

‘I hate planes. And helicopters. And climbing walls. But I was never afraid of flying with Supergirl, even before I knew she was you. I want to experience what it’s like when I do know. And… do you remember when you told me about paragliding? How you wished I could feel what you felt when you were up there? Well, I want to. I want to experience that with you, so I can understand at least a small part of your joy.’

‘If you make me cry any more today I’m going to need to squeeze more oranges so I can re-hydrate. Yes. I would love to share that with you, if you’re really sure it’s what you want.’

‘It is.’

After their hours-long heart to heart Lena was still wearing her pajamas, for all it was now well into the afternoon, but she didn’t object when Kara scooped her up from the bed, clearly intent on taking their flight right that minute, tousled hair, bare feet and all. And for once Lena didn’t care either. So what if someone saw her like this? If they were more interested in Lena Luthor’s unkempt appearance than the fact that she was flying through National City cradled in the strong arms of a freshly returned Supergirl that was their problem, and Lena pitied their small mindedness.

Kara stepped out onto the balcony and looked up at the cloud-scattered blue of the sky with a broad, excited grin before dropping her gaze back to Lena.

‘Are you ready? If at any time you don’t like it and want to stop just let me know and we can land straight away.’

‘I’ll be fine.’

Kara bent her knees a little, as if she was preparing to jump up onto the ledge, and then they were airborne, Lena’s building receding below them until it was just one more rooftop amidst a vista of others. The city opened up beneath them, and Lena peered down over her own shoulder to see the ground, terrifyingly far away and still dropping. But her arms were looped securely around Kara’s neck, and Kara’s were cradling her so tenderly, and the pounding in Lena’s chest had much more to do with that proximity than the fact that they were so high up.

And it was breathtaking.

Somehow flying in a plane, or even an open sided helicopter, was nothing compared to this. The whole world spread out beneath them in every direction, the grey grid of the city fading out to rambling green in one direction and the blue of the bay in the other, its water shifting and glimmering with the warm buttery light of the afternoon sun.

‘Can we fly over the bay?’

‘Are you sure?’

Kara’s expression said that she was remembering their conversation about deep water, and the journey in the Luthor jet that had first triggered her fear of flying, but Lena wasn’t worried. Now they were up here with nothing between her and the ground but the circle of Kara’s arms, she knew with a deep, powerful certainty that she could never feel anything but perfectly safe like this.

She was always safe with Kara.

They did a slow loop of the bay, and as she grew more used to the sensation Lena felt the swelling, swooping joy of flight burgeoning in her chest, her feelings reflected back at her in Kara’s expression tenfold as the wind whipped their hair and confused gulls screeched at them before veering off on a different course.

‘Kara.’

Kara looked back at her, her smile if anything growing even wider as she took in Lena’s flushed cheeks and shining eyes.

‘Are you okay?’

Lena didn’t answer with words. Instead she moved one hand from its hold around Kara’s neck to slide up into the hair at her nape, her fingers closing round a loose fistful of golden silk to gently guide her in, until at last their lips met. The kiss was soft at first, a tentative brush that quivered with years of yearning and months of nearlys, then at long last the final thread that separated them snapped, and it wasn’t soft anymore.

They were kissing like it was oxygen, like if they didn’t get close enough they would die of it, and once they had started it was impossible to stop. Lena twisted towards Kara as best she could in their current position, her arms wrapping properly around her to bring her mouth closer still, hands running over the compact muscles of her back and shoulders while Kara, unable to move her own hands from where they were holding Lena up, settled for pressing her against her body, a small whimper escaping from her throat.

They kissed until they were both breathless and flushed, until the world had receded to insignificance and all that existed was the two of them and all the points where their bodies were making contact, until not having more became more difficult than putting a temporary space between them, and at last Lena pulled back, panting slightly.

‘Okay, that’s enough. Take me home Supergirl.’

‘Are you scared?’

‘No, but what I want to do next requires a bed and a locked door between us and the rest of the world.’

‘Oh.’

Kara went adorably pink, and Lena wondered for a moment if she had been too forward, but she wasn’t left to worry for long. Kara turned abruptly in the air and flew them back to Lena’s apartment at about twice the speed they had left it, though given that she had flown to Europe and back before breakfast, Lena didn’t think exertion was the reason for the now thundering heartbeat she could hear when she laid her head against Kara’s chest.

She smiled to herself, snuggling more securely against Kara’s radiating warmth and savouring the thrill of anticipation as she watched the future they had both waited so long for rushing in to meet them.

#Unscheduled midweek posting because I missed a week and want to catch tumblr up with AO3 #Last chapter before the epilogue!#supercorp #kara danvers #lena luthor #supergirl #supercorp fanfic #my fic #kara x lena #supergirl fanfiction #multi chapter fic #forgotten not forgiven

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lillandyrshadowglade · 27 days ago

Text

Prelude

Part one of two. It helps to read this first. Written by @wraheathcliff…this is RP, so not in our usual story format but yes. Lovely writing here. TW/CW: smut, light bdsm kink, not heavily detailed memory of SA. Ideation/attempt. Very dark themes please heed the warnings.

Heathcliff:

He was quick to react to her words, and it was not quite gentle.

The belt was slipped from her neck into her mouth, the taste of it strong mixed with his layered sweat on the strap forced upon her tongue. The buckle pressed into her hair and he buckled it tight, falling from grace artfully over delicious skin and lace. Her face was pressed against the bed, cheek on cool silk that smelled like him.

Her hips were yanked effortlessly in the air, allowing Heathcliff the plush expanse of her delicious rear, beautifully decorated with lacy lines and lewd open holes through delicate stitching. He allowed himself many drooling, kissing, mean bites, squeezing with one hand while the other kneaded with hard desire. He slapped her luscious rear until it was as red as the roses around them. Then he was on the floor, head leaning back as he seized her cheeks and forced her to sit on his face, legs spread wide, smothering him. His mouth was already in a maddening, lapping rhythm, coaxing and caressing her clit until he felt his own drool pool past his ears and down his neck mixed with her confessing wetness. He was making out with her clit and then he opened his mouth and bit down over her whole sex, pinching her clit deliciously before soothing it with a barrage of licks and deep moans. He knew exactly how to touch her now, and he was merciless. They were both wordless, just a series of moans and cries as Lillandyr was gagged by the belt, drooling on his sheets as well.

And as she shuttered with her first, convulsing and bearing down hard only then did he chase the second with his fingers inside her, moving roughly in her easy slippery warmth with a hammering relentlessness but perfectly aimed, his mouth working in tandem as he pressed her down harder, feeling her grind against his purring moans and throaty sloppy noises as she pleased.

When she was close to coming he suddenly withdrew, yanking away fingers and tongues to take off his pants. As she turned around he pulled off the belt back to her neck and kissed her with heart-breaking tenderness as a hand reached to meanly pinch and squeeze and grip tender breast and sensitive nipple.

The other held the belt taunt so she was breathless. His kiss was so slow, his eyes pulling back to look in hers, a lusty affection burning into his eyes. This was the doctor without games, without agenda. Just purely himself. As if to conclude unspoken words he could only touch her to confess, he gave her a final deepening kiss as he pulled the leather tighter and tighter. It was only until he was done he released and laid her back, kissing down her body while he guided himself inside her, his gentleness slowly amping to a waving rhythm as he teased, teased her clit with his pressing palm, pulling her towards him as he sat back on his knees. He kissed the side of her knees, and down her inner thigh as far as he could crane his neck.

"It's all I could think about." he said, as if he already told her what 'all' was. Then his eyes rolled back at the pure sensation on his throbbing cock, her delicious pussy forcing tight breath and parted lips. He looked a bit helpless a moment, neck dropping back to the ceiling, black curls separated from sweat falling back with a groan of pleasure as he slowed a moment to enjoy her.

"This is how the gods feel when they fuck." he declared loudly, triumphant satisfaction flooding his face. He bent back down, a hand in her roots, sliding into her hair like snakes.

"But what do demons feel..." he asked as his body pressed into her harder, just about to start hard thrusts meant to take and use her for his own needs. He used the grip on her skull to press her harder into him as he started to feverishly fuck, their bodies becoming a slick blur mounting higher together.

Aronsen:

Aronsen remembered what it was like the first time someone slipped into his mind like melted ice. It was everyone in the San'layn court, together. They were breaking him. He resisted until all his muscles released at once. He lost control of his bladder and bowels and they all laughed, throwing wine on the vicious naked stupid brute. He was shaking uncontrollably, barely alive after they turned him, bites all over his body. He didn't have a sire, he had an entire coven that owned him, used him. He was thrown in the fountain to clean his filth, dunked several times as they taunted and abused him. This was no easy feat. He was twice their size. This was the work of weeks of torture and debasement.

As time went on, Aronsen built a tunnel in his mind. He imagined placing every brick, adjusting every seam, focusing on a pattern as he went. Click and scrape of stone was louder than his slapping skin, drowned out their moans and insults. Their thirst for him only got worse when they realized he was taking it all so well. He had no idea how many of them were, it didn't matter after the fourth or fifth. He was building his tunnel, he was crawling inside.

It was cool in here, quiet. At the other end if he built for long enough was a gentle glimmer of light. A small hole that got bigger the more he built. At the end was a ledge, a ledge with his favorite tree as a child overlooking the roaring greedy ocean. A large branch snaked over a dropping cliff so he could sit on it, feet dangling like he was already falling to the blender of rocks below. The breeze would tease and warn him about death's sweet words. He came here when he wanted to fall. With feet dangling, he'd close his eyes and balance his arms over his head and imagine he was falling. It was a suspension, the freedom of it usually calming his pain, soothing his heart.

He did almost fall once. Eve bit into his clothing with hundreds of beaks and feathers, pinching skin where she could to lift him to the ledge with frantic haste. This was the most affection he had with his mother in years. The next day the branch was gone. Thousands of marks on the wood looked like it was whittled down by sharp beak. It was now a spear that could hold nothing.

But Aronsen didn't need the branch anymore. He only needed the ledge.

Hot breath burned through his chest as he retreated to the ledge now after he hunted for Varistan and gave up, his brain filled with thoughts not his own. He didn't want to jump. He wanted to be with her forever. There was nothing about her pain that scared him. Nothing about her anger or bites that turned him off. He saw the neglect plainly sifted out after her memories took over him. And he knew she didn't see it. How she was crafted, how it was self-preservation. How her fierce heart was in equal balance to her rage. He would have done the same. There was no shame he did not love, no desperation he did not understand. So when his thoughts wandered to his own, he worried she could read them. That she would see what he felt. He knew the loop was forming, it was getting faster.

She didn't need to see that.

No one should see that.

So he jumped.

For a moment, it felt like freedom.

Then the falling he could only imagine as a child surprised him. It was faster than he expected, faster than he could think. That only lasted a moment after he hit the water, bringing blackness, breaking his bones. A wave bore him into the rocks, pulling his limp hulk around stones to catch on a large one, sea water streaming out from his armor with every wave.

And that link that bound them was no more.

@wraheathcliff @wraaronsen

#Rp #roleplay #wra #wra roleplay #writing #wow rp #wow roleplay #smut #angst #dark writing #Spotify

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ace-does-stuff · 2 years ago

Text

Strum

Summary: Craig plays bass sometimes, Kenny notices that he doesn't have a chip

Warnings: Swearing

Authors Note: crenny week... i have wanted an excuse to write some crenny for a considerable while now, so imma try and get out some fics despite school. @thecrennyweek, i wish i knew about this sooner, so i doubt i'll do something for everyday, but i hope the crenny bros enjoy. sorry its so very, very, short, went with band AU but it's more of 'craig plays bass and kenny plays drums' thing.

Blunted nails strum across chords with a skill usually found in those who have been playing for more than a years time, but Craig is full of surprises. Kenny learned that a very long time ago but it still catches him off guard whenever he hears Craig play, whenever he hears Craig belt out some lyrics with the ferocity of a wild animal. It's only describable as an experience, one that Kenny quite likes being exposed to whenever he gets a chance.

"Do you play?" Craig asked once when Kenny was tapping along the neck of his bass.

Kenny just shook his head and played a twangy and awful sounding note with a smirk. He handed it to Craig, "I play drums."

"Cool," Craig hummed as he popped open the case and slid his instrument in, "We should have a band date sometime."

"A date you say?" Kenny purred as he leaned just a bit closer to Craig.

Craig just rolled his eyes, "Yeah, sure, a date, just tell me where you keep your kit and I'll meet you there."

-/-/-/-

It's dark out when they meet up, in the basement of the high school they're still stuck in. The band room is in the basement, Craig didn't know that until now. Meandering through empty hallways using his phone as a flashlight and following Kenny's directions. His jacket got torn on the fence on the way in, thankfully, nobody in South Park robs a school so the doors were unlocked.

It's almost a haunting sound, to hear a drum being played one floor down with expertise to the rhythm. He glides down stairs and the door to the band room is propped open, a soft light glows from inside. It beckons him ever closer, even as the sounds get louder, the warm glow of yellow tinted light is alluring.

He kicks his heel at the wall when he enters, and Kenny perks up from where he was skillfully banging out some tunes. He grins and gives a spin on the stool before rushing over to meet Craig. The ravenette would give a 'hi' but he's being crushed in a hug before that can transpire.

"You actually came!" Exuberance is heavy on his voice before he unlatches himself from Craig.

"Yeah, of course I did," Craig said before being led across the dimly lit room, one light in the far corner was turned on, "What's with the lights?"

"If I turn on more than one someone outside might notice," Kenny explained before he waltzed over to his kit and tapped along the snare. It gave a welcome tangy sound, banging back and forth across the echo chamber comfortably.

"Seriously?" Craig asked in disbelief as he opened up his instrument case and pulled out the heavily stickered bass. Some gifts, some handmade, some from before he owned the instrument.

Kenny nodded before sliding onto the stool, "Seriously, the cops nearly busted my ass. It was two years ago, so if you're still curious about why their was sheet music and blood strewn about the hallways, that's why," He kicked up a foot and rolled up the sleeve, revealing a nasty gunshot scar, "I got shot."

Craig gives a sound of disgust, "Not fun."

"Not at all, thankfully, I died," Kenny said, and to anyone else the statement would raise questions, but Craig already knew. Most residents of South Park Colorado knew, some more intimately than others.

The ravenette gives a hum, slinging on the bass and hooking it up, "What are we playing?" He sits down on top of the amp, he is not singing tonight.

Kenny shrugged, "Whatever's whatever, just play."

"So, we're just gonna noodle?" Craig asked with a bit of a laugh to his voice, it rested under his words. He holds his fingers over the strings tentatively.

"I doubt there's a comparative term for drumming, but yeah, we're just gonna noodle," Kenny said before grabbing his sticks and dragging the rounded tip along the rim of the snare. He popped the chains back to clinging to the drum instead of laying slack.

Craig gives a nod to Kenny, "You wanna start?" He strums once, then again, and turns up the volume of his amp.

"You can do the honors," Kenny said.

And then Craig started to play, and Kenny swears he falls a little bit more in love with him every time he does. Craig is blissfully unaware he has that effect on Kenny, he probably has that effect on just about everyone that's heard him play. Which is a very small group of people that only includes Kenny by chance.

Somewhere he stops playing and just watches Craig, he doesn't have a chip to play his guitar with. He's still nodding to the count that they had achieved, it takes him a moment to realize that Kenny's stopped playing.

He opens his eyes and glances up to the blonde, "Dude, that was barely three minutes."

Kenny taps the kick drum with the tip of steel toed boots, "Bass solos are fun."

"Wanna keep going?"

"Oh, absolutely,"

-/-/-/-

"Craig, this is kind of, out of nowhere," Kenny started with, his voice cracked. He can feel Cartmans gaze on him, the one who pressured Kenny into actually going through. The one who bought Kenny the item he'll be giving to Craig (he likes it when his friend isn't pining over Craig while they play Mortal Kombat).

Craig just stared at him, glancing over Kenny's shoulder. He caught sight of the brunette who was quick to dash out of view, "Did Cartman put you up to this?"

"Yes, and no?" Kenny said with a nervous laugh, hands stuffed into his pocket. His hands rested on the box in his pocket, he was gonna do it, he needed to do it, "Look, that does not matter."

"Then go on, speak, I don't wanna miss band club," Craig said rather bluntly, and his gaze on Kenny only intensified. He could pick apart Kenny at the seams using his eyes alone, one question and Kenny would fall apart if Craig wanted him too.

Kenny pulled out the box, and only now is he realizing it looks like one of an engagement rings. He wants to laugh, of course Cartman would do that on purpose, of course he would, what a dick. He drops onto one knee.

"Kenny," Craig said, a hint of nervousness on his voice, "People."

He takes a steady breath before popping open the box, inside lay a deep blue guitar chip with black accents, "Craig, be my boyfriend?"

Craig laughs, "Obviously man," He grabs the guitar pick and flips it to find his initials engraved in the back, "Of course I will, you're great."

Kenny releases a large breath and his body untenses entirely. He stands up and pops the box back into his pocket, "Thank fuck," Then he drags Craig into a hug, and he has the audacity to kiss him on the cheek, "Man, I have wanted to do that for a very long time."

"Kenny," Craig damn near whined, embarrassment flooding every inch of his body. People, looking at them, he can feel their eyes, "People."

Kenny pulled back, "Sorry, I'll stop," He still held onto Craig's hand.

"You can be touchy-feely when no one else is around," Craig said, "Now hurry up, we're gonna be late to band club."

#crennyweek2023 #kenny mccormick #craig tucker #sp crenny #craig x kenny #south park #south park fanfiction #writing #fanfic #fanfiction

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