#blows a kiss to u from a distance | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

miraclewoozi · 8 months

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DO YOU DREAM OF ME? - c.hs

the first time you kiss your soulmate, you’ll open your eyes to a world of colour. the problem? vernon hates the thought that he might pull away from you and still see in monochrome. or, five times he wanted to plant one on you, and the one time you beat him to it.

pairing ; vernon x gn!reader. content ; all the tropes. 5 times fic. soulmate au. slight college au if you squint. f2l. fluff, some angst. pining. one (1) hint of suggestiveness if u squint. MINORS STILL DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT. content notes ; mentions of reader having a(n unnamed) partner & thereafter, going through a breakup due to said partner cheating. reader is maybe implied to be shorter than him but hopefully not too obviously or frequently. alcohol is mentioned & is a key theme in scene #3. pov switch for the final part (necessary for logistical reasons.) PLEASE let me know if i've forgotten anything. w/c ; 9.6k note ; welcome to thee most self indulgent fic ever lmao. i hope u enjoy this slight break away from what i usually post here (as if my entire brand isn’t writing losers in love. ANYWAY) -- this was very fun and a little bit special for me! <3

“What was your first kiss like?”

Initially, Vernon swears he just didn’t hear you right. It’s dark up here, where you’re hiding away from a party on the roof of his university accommodation and he’s starting to get tired. There’s some sort of siren wailing away in the distance to his left, and on the street below, a gaggle of freshmen are cackling as they walk past the building. His ear closest to you is currently listening to your favourite song.

All the signs suggest that he simply got it wrong.

But he doesn’t know if he believes those signs, especially not seeing as when he looks over at you, you’re staring pointedly up at the stars overhead. He doesn’t doubt that you’re giving yourself an ache in your neck in the process, too.

“Hmm?” He asks, taking out the earphone that connects him to you. The other one is still nestled away in your ear and he reaches to gently pull it away. “What was that?”

You still don’t look at him, but you do repeat yourself. Quietly. “What… was your first kiss like?”

“Oh.”

He was right.

“You don’t have to tell me,” you hurry to say, hugging his jacket tighter around yourself to block out the cold air that blows across the rooftop. He shrugged it off and told you to take it the very moment your teeth started chattering — almost an hour ago now. His arms are bare, shoulders and biceps only covered by a t-shirt so thin it’s practically sheer, but he isn’t cold. He’s always run hotter than most. “Sorry.”

He nudges you with his knee, silently telling you that you don’t need to apologise. He doesn’t mind — you just caught him off guard; Vernon hasn’t given this any thought in a long time, and he has to really put his mind to coming up with an answer. It was forever ago — when he was eleven or twelve, maybe, with his first ever girlfriend. They dated for a whole two and a half weeks. He doesn’t know if it really counts: the kiss was a dare, after all.

“Kinda…” He starts, trying to follow the line of your sight, wondering if he can find the exact stars you’re looking at. “She’d just put this weird lipgloss on. It was real tingly. And like, neither of us knew what we were doing? So it… got everywhere. I think I ended up swallowing some, I don’t know. My mouth felt weird after. Thought I was having an allergic reaction.”

You laugh softly at him. “I think that would put me off for the rest of my life,” you say.

“It almost did,” he chuckles. You hum at him and lean back on your elbows, leaving Vernon more than a little bit confused. He readjusts his hold on his knees, bringing them closer to his chest as he tilts his head down at you in your new position.

“…why?” He asks, just as you close your eyes and take a deep inhale of the cool air.

You just shrug. “I guess I just… wondered.”

He nods, and it’s his turn to fall short of a response, but that’s okay. You’ve known each other for too long for these silences to feel uncomfortable. He grew up with you. In fact, he’s reasonably sure he’s told you this story before. He must have done.

Then he realises, maybe he hasn’t. Because he doesn’t know the story behind yours, and maybe that’s just a line the two of you never came to crossing. He knows he told his other friends, back then, because he was the last one in his circle to have a first kiss and he felt like it made him more grown-up, or something. Naturally, he left out the more embarrassing details. But maybe you just told your other friends who weren’t him, and went on with your life. Maybe yours was just… normal.

Either way, he’s interested now. And there’s no time to ask like the present.

“What was yours like?” He asks, fiddling with the strap on his wristwatch. You don’t answer straight away; he doesn’t think anything of it, because neither did he, but when he’s still waiting for you to speak a small eternity later, he prompts you again. “Hey, it can't have been worse than mine.”

You snort.

“You’ll laugh at me,” you say, shaking your head. Vernon furrows his brows and drops his legs flat, twisting to one side to look at you.

He doesn’t know where you’d get that idea from, but he’s… almost a bit offended by it?

“No I won’t,” he tells you softly. Maybe at first, he might’ve laughed with you, if your story happened to be as dumb as his own. But not at you. Never at. Not when he’s been the butt of the joke in too many friendship circles, for about as long as he can remember.

You take a shallow breath, pursing your lips. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not…” you start to say, before you clear your throat and try again, this time heading in a different direction. “I don’t know. It’s dumb, I guess.”

“Don’t make me come down there,” Vernon threatens playfully, poking you in your side. You squirm, giggling despite yourself, despite the serenity of the sanctuary you two have found, despite the fact that you, too, were on the edge of falling asleep before your question came out of nowhere.

He pokes you again, and again, and then starts to tickle your ribs instead. You squeal, swatting his hands away to no avail and you move to sit up, grabbing him by the forearms to physically make him stop. The grin on Vernon’s face is wide and heart-shaped. A warm feeling spreads through him: it has everything to do with the sweet sounds of your slowly dissolving laughter.

You sit cross-legged across from each other like this for a moment or two. Your knees are touching. Your hands move down his arms until you’re holding him firmly by the wrists. Your eyes lock together: his crease with the sheer force of his boyish smile, while yours are narrowed, daring him to try and wiggle free and attack you again.

He doesn’t, but for the first time ever, he’s struck with the urge to do something maybe more scary.

The urge to just… lean in to you.

It makes his heart do a backflip, in a way that it hasn’t done since he had his last crush. His head goes empty, and he forgets what he was even asking you before: the only thoughts he can muster are ones regarding what your lips taste like, whether they’re half as soft as they look, if you’d lightly touch his shoulder or his arm or his chest or his cheek—

Do you smile when you kiss?, he wonders. Do you sigh? Do you—

“I’ve never kissed anyone,” you answer, looking away now and letting go of him. He’s gone so loose in the moments since you grabbed hold of him that when you’re not supporting their weight, his arms fall like two cinder blocks onto his knees.

True to his word, he doesn’t laugh. He’s surprised by your revelation, sure, but in no way humoured; actually, he feels a little saddened by it, for a reason he can’t put his finger to. He ends up not saying anything, just biting the inside of his cheek; he wants to ask why, but knows maybe that’s a bit of a dick move, and if it’s something you’re sensitive about he doesn’t want to risk hurting you.

But he’s watched people fawn over you for years, and he doesn’t think you’ve ever been short of attention from those who have thought you were attractive. So it can’t be that you’ve been lacking in chances? Surely?

“I thought… maybe I should save it,” you go on to explain. Your hands keep busy by playing with a thread at the cuff of his jacket sleeve, wrapping it around one finger until the skin beneath it pinches before you unravel it again.

“Save it?” He asks. You nod your head.

“For when I thought I’d found them.” You pause, swallowing hard. “Like I said, it’s s—.”

“No it’s not,” Vernon says abruptly, shaking his head. He holds onto you now, one hand slipping around your back until it rests on the shoulder furthest away from him. You scoff. He squeezes you into his side. “Hey. It’s not stupid.”

He doesn’t like how this admission has, somehow, made his desire to kiss you stronger. He hates that he feels even more drawn to you, a magnet finally finding its opposing pole. It freaks him out a little. He’s never wanted to kiss anyone this badly.

Red button theory, he tells himself to try and get back on the straight and narrow. If you hadn’t said anything, none of this would be happening.

“It’s romantic,” he says finally, swiping his thumb in small motions over the top of your shoulder. You nod, mumbling a ‘thank you’ (for what, he isn’t sure), and shiver. Vernon doesn’t know if that’s because of his proximity to you or because you’re finally starting to feel the cold. Either way, he takes the initiative to stand up and holds a hand out for you to take so he can tug you to your feet too. You get up with a little hop.

It’s… devastatingly cute.

“Where are we going?” You ask, brushing off your jeans before shoving your hands into the jacket’s pockets. He’s already on the retreat, walking backwards towards the door that took you up here.

“To get food,” he tells you, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “That party was dead, anyway.”

It doesn’t cross his mind again until your twenty-first birthday.

He’s not your soulmate. He couldn’t be. The thought he had on the roof that autumnal night was little more than a passing fantasy; besides, he doesn’t have a thing for you. He doesn’t want to kiss you, or date you, or have you be his soulmate. The reason you work so well together is because you’re just friends; he thinks you’d drive each other crazy if things ever went romantic between you. You bicker with him for sport. He drowns away hours at a time with his headphones clamped over his ears and forgets to answer your texts. It would be a nightmare.

Not that he’s ever thought about all that. Not actively, or even passively. Not when he should be listening to college lectures instead, for example. Not awake, nor in his dreams. He hasn’t. Not once.

He swears.

“You can save it ‘til tomorrow, if you want.”

Vernon bounces his leg nervously, fidgeting with the edge of your comforter as you sit on the floor in front of him, styling your hair for your party. He arrived half an hour ago while you were still waltzing around in your bathrobe, holding a small, neatly wrapped box in both of his hands. It’s several degrees too warm in your bedroom. He feels a bead of sweat roll down his back as you grumble what seems to be a threat at a strand that won’t cooperate. Thankfully, you don’t seem to notice his discomfort. (If you do, he’s grateful that you don’t say anything.)

“But it’s my birthday today,” you pouted, taking the box from him. “Let me finish getting ready, then I’ll open it. Come on.”

His wrist still aches with the pressure you held onto him with as you dragged him up the stairs. Your parents are away for the weekend and the house is all yours, so there’s a speaker blasting your favourite playlist full volume on your nightstand and there’s nobody to tell you to turn it down. He flits his attention between his phone and watching you, but he can’t fully concentrate on either; he’s too nervous that maybe you won’t like his gift, and he’s never been the type to splash out on birthday presents before but this… well, it burned a hole in his wallet, that’s for sure.

“Okay. Wait here,” you tell him as you push up off the floor, limping on the leg that had started to fall asleep thanks to the way you were sitting.

“All right,” he says back. As if he’d go anywhere, anyway.

You grab a hanger from inside your closet and scurry off down the hall to the bathroom. For the first time, Vernon feels like he can actually breathe. He drops his phone onto the comforter between his crossed legs and cradles his head in his hands, telling himself that he needs to get it together. You’ve never not liked anything he’s given you, and you’ve known him now for more birthdays than you haven’t.

Your friends said you’d love it. So did your mother, with a sparkle in her eye as she held it delicately in her fingers. He has nothing to worry about. It’s only you.

And yet—

“You’ll be honest if it looks bad?” You call from the other side of the door, interrupting how his lips move wordlessly in an endless mantra of self-reassurances.

Vernon snaps his head up and he clears his throat, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. “Aren’t I always?” He answers.

You click your tongue, evidently disagreeing, but you pull the handle and take a step into the room anyway. When you see him, he looks exactly as he did when you left, no trace of his anxieties anywhere to be seen on his face or otherwise.

When he sees you, he feels like the world could end any moment and he’d be okay with that.

His mouth runs dry and his eyes seem to be stuck open, unblinking, fixated on you in your all black outfit as you stand still as a statue with your hands behind your back. You cough quietly, waiting for some kind of a response other than a dumb stare, but it doesn’t come.

Eight seconds later… still nothing.

“Do you hate it?” you fret, because Vernon is a very good hype-man and you’ve never known him struggle to find something positive to say. “All right, uh— okay—”

“No!” He rushes, almost shouting in his urgency to assure you that that’s not the case at all. He scrambles up to his feet, taking a breath, and pushes a hand through his hair. He’s been growing it out lately, and he kind of hates how his fingers catch on a tangle even though he brushed it meticulously before he left his apartment. You keep telling him it looks good, though, so he hasn’t been to get it cut. “God, no. I’m sorry. You look amazing.”

It doesn’t sound like much to the untrained ear, but the warmth of his compliments comes less in the words he says and more in the sincerity he says them with. Your face softens, and Vernon can see the way the thoughts of changing into something else fizzle out behind your eyes. He takes a backwards step to try and tempt you further into your own bedroom, and you move in tandem with him, closing that space and coming better into the light.

“Wow,” he says, swallowing hard and looking you up and down. “I-… wow.”

It’s your turn to clam up, now. You look down at the floor, kicking at the carpet with your toes. “Shut up,” you say. “I’m not...”

“Yes, you are,” he protests, leaving no room for argument as he crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t know who you’re trying to impress but… yeah, it’s gonna work.”

You walk past him with a scoff, barging against his shoulder on your way; he dramatically staggers to the side, rubbing at the impact site, laughing. When he faces you again, you’ve picked the gift up from the end of your bed and are moving to sit on the mattress yourself. Your eyes flicker between Vernon and the empty space in front of you. He takes the hint, settling back down with one foot tucked beneath him, the other still planted on your rug.

His heart shoots back up into his throat and he stares down at the box, licking over his lips and frowning at how dry they feel. He glances away, lifting a hand to his mouth, running his fingertips over his lips. What would they feel like pressed against yours? He thinks, and then he cringes again.

You misread his reaction and hesitate with your finger pressed underneath a strip of tape, tilting your head at him. “What’s going to jump out at me when I open this?”

“Nothing,” he says, rolling his eyes at you. “What do you take me for?”

“The kind of guy who puts glitter in birthday cards because he thinks it’s funny,” you retort, earning a click of his tongue.

“That was one time!”

“One time too many.”

“I swear,” he laughs, tight shoulders easing, both hands falling to his lap. “No sparkles, no loud noises, nothing jumpy. Cross my heart.“

You eye him a little suspiciously but eventually tug your finger beneath the wrapping and make the first rip in the paper, allowing you to tear into the gift after keeping Vernon on edge for almost an hour and a half. You peel it away and it falls to the bedsheets, in your hands now a small, square box not too dissimilar a shade to your comforter. You look from it, to him, and he thinks you notice how his cheeks are a little darker than they were before.

He nods at you once and you slowly pull it open. On a plush, velvety bedding sits an elegant, dainty bracelet. A small gemstone is set in the metal of the bar in the middle of the chain. You skim a thumb over it, your breath held.

“Vernon,” you murmur, tearing your eyes away from the bracelet to look at him. Now, even the tips of his ears have grown flushed, but you’re kind enough not to comment on it to avoid spoiling the moment you’re in. “This is…”

“The lady in the store said it was your birthstone,” he says, twiddling his thumbs. “I mean… I’m really just taking her word for it, ‘cause they all look the same to me, but—”

He’s interrupted as all of your weight topples against him, arms thrown around his neck in a hug. He hesitates a moment before he wraps his own around your waist, drops his head to your shoulder and he smiles wider than he thinks he ever has. “Happy Birthday,” he says, dragging his thumb up and down over your hip.

“Silly,” you scold him playfully, still pressing wholly against him and showing no signs of moving. Your voice sounds thick, a little like you’re tearing up, so Vernon squeezes you tighter.

“I know you are,” he chuckles. “But what am I?”

You swallow hard, finally now pulling away from the hug but sitting entirely too close for comfort, one knee pressing into the outside of his thigh.

Your surprise attack has left him dishevelled. With a quiet apology, your fingers innocently try to smooth everything back into place, but Vernon doesn’t hear you say you’re sorry. His pulse, thundering in his ears, drowns it out while also skipping a beat with each little touch. You’re not looking into his eyes as you shyly put him back to rights, too busy working to tame his — at the best of times — unruly hair.

He’s looking into yours though, and he can’t stop.

Your eyes, which dart all over to find strands out of place, so your hands can move them to where they ought to sit and lay them down flat. Your eyes, that drop down the length of his throat as you realign the neck of his t-shirt over his broad shoulders.

Your eyes: the ones crinkled at the corners as you pick the bracelet back up from your bed and admire it under your bedroom light. Your eyes, landing on his, finally, in a silent plea for help.

“The best?” you answer, now, extending your wrist to ask him to put it on you. He takes the chain from your fingers and unclasps it, slipping it beneath your hand and holding it in place.

“I know you are,” he says again, but it’s quieter now as he concentrates on trying to reconnect the two pieces. “But what am I?”

When he successfully fastens your gift onto your arm, he looks up to see your watery eyes still staring down at it. He decides this is the time to reveal part two of the surprise. Pulling up the sleeve of his t-shirt, he reveals his own wrist to you, and you now see there’s a matching chain hanging off it. A little stone set in the metal. His stone, presumably. You choke out a laugh around your tears, shaking your head.

“You got us friendship bracelets,” you giggle, holding your hand next to his and admiring them together. Your skin touches and he feels butterflies erupt in his stomach, which he hasn’t felt around you since…

He nods, breathing a chuckle too. “Yeah,” he says. His heart is pounding. “I guess I did. Is… that okay?”

“I love them,” you insist, leaning forward to affectionately press your lips to his cheek. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”

Your doorbell sounds downstairs and Vernon’s words die in his throat. Maybe that’s for the best, though; he’s got so much nervous energy rising up inside him and he’s scared it might accidentally force up something he’ll regret saying. You spring off the bed again, fussing in the mirror, and he watches you rush out the bedroom warbling about how you’re not ready for anyone to be here yet. It’s too early. What’s going on? Who is it?

He shifts his legs so both his feet are planted on the floor, letting out a breath he doesn’t remember sucking in.

I love them. Thank you, you said.

It’s perfect.

He groans when he stands up, too, tugging his sleeve back down as he starts to follow after you.

“I know you are,” he mumbles under his breath, hearing your relieved laughter at it just being the FedEx man on your doorstep. It makes him feel warm. Everywhere. “But what am I?”

Five hours later, Vernon is seeing double.

He has Seungkwan’s hands massaging the tops of his shoulders and there are two Juns sitting across from him at your dining table. He remembers feeling fine around 9pm, distinctly: like nothing he drank was having any kind of effect on him. Like he could walk home on his hands — like he was invincible. Now, after spending exactly five minutes out in the fresh air, he’s blinking four times for every breath he takes and his friends’ voices keep phasing in and out of focus.

“But what if they’re not?” Vernon stresses for the eighth time, fingers clumsily peeling at the label on his bottle.

“And what if they are?” Jun tries. Again. Also, for the eighth time, because apparently when Vernon gets tipsy, his skull gets really really thick and nothing in the world can penetrate it. “You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

Vernon shakes his head, sitting back so heavily that his chair tips and he sends Seungkwan stumbling into the wall behind them. His friend gives up trying to rub the stupid out of him and settles into the chair at Vernon’s side instead.

“I don’t know-…”

“If you’re about to say you don’t know what you’ll do if it isn’t them, I’m putting you in an Uber and sending you home.” Seungkwan claps his hand down onto Vernon’s knee for good measure. “It’s not even been a day.”

Vernon groans, threading his fingers into his hair and tipping his head back. “It hasn’t, though,” he whines. “What if it’s been like this since… and I just kept ignoring…”

Jun and Seungkwan exchange a look. An exhausted one. They both know Vernon turns into a complete baby when he’s had a drink and can just about manage a trip to the bathroom without somebody holding his hand, but neither of them have seen him like this before. Neither of them want to see him like this ever again.

Hell, neither of them want to be dealing with him like this right now.

“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” Jun’s (remarkably) calm voice repeats as he pushes up from his seat and glances towards the doorway. His ears lock onto a voice just beyond it, and in an instant, the older man recognises his chance at an exit. He casts an apologetic glance at Seungkwan, who has resorted to rubbing Vernon’s earlobes to try and get him to stop stressing, and he dips out before either of them can argue.

On his way, though, he throws in a sly little remark. One that raises Vernon’s– and Seungkwan’s– blood pressure to a level that would get them prescribed a week of strict bed rest.

“Besides – everyone can see the two of you were practically made for each other.”

Vernon whips around to face Seungkwan with shock written into every line of his face. It paints perfect full-signal WiFi creases on his forehead; it makes his jaw hang loose.

“I– what?” Vernon splutters, shooting a hand to the back of his head. Seungkwan hasn’t taken his eyes off the doorway since Jun slipped through it. Vernon doesn’t notice the fact that his older friend’s full genetic line is currently being cursed out. “What does he mean?”

“You don’t have to do anything tonight,” Seungkwan tries, now acutely aware of the fact that Jun has just given Vernon a nudge he should never have. There’s a fine line between bolstering a friend and straight-up causing chaos. This could get messy. Seungkwan doesn’t like messy.

But… It's too late.

Before Seungkwan can wrangle him back into his seat, Vernon has broken away from the table and is on the hunt for you. Seungkwan follows behind, doing his best to summon Vernon back, but he can’t. He’s on a mission now. And maybe that mission involves giving in to the thing that eats away at his brain when he should be waist-deep in music theory assignments. Maybe that mission is to finally, after two years, know what it feels like to kiss you. He’s going to find you, so help him God. He has to.

And yes. He does. He finds you, eventually. As soon as he reaches the top of the staircase, there you are.

Being pressed into the wood of your bedroom door, wrapped up in the arms of some pretentious looking art student in an oversized button-down and baggy, ripped jeans. Your mouth is covered by theirs, your fingers are threaded through those glossy fucking locks, both of you are laughing breathlessly as you drop one hand and it fumbles blindly to reach for the doorknob.

Vernon spins away, turning his back as he hears the door click. At this exact moment, Seungkwan comes stumbling up the stairs too and plants his forehead into Vernon’s sternum.

But his good friend’s skull is not the only thing Vernon is struck with, not the only thing knocking the wind out of him.

Simultaneously, he’s swept up with the sobering realisations that either this guy is your soulmate, or you’re not the same person you were when you were nineteen.

It’s eleven o’clock and two years later when he hears your secret knock on his apartment door.

Maybe it’s luck. Maybe it’s fate. He only took his noise cancelling headphones off a few minutes ago before he washed up and settled into bed; his head has hardly even had time to make a dent in the pillows. But whichever force is at play, the thing that matters is that he hears you and he knows it’s you, straight away. He doesn’t remember how it started, exactly. He thinks it might have been while he was in his exam-season hermit stage in his first year of university and refused to come to the door unless it was something important.

You’ve been knocking the same way for years now though, and he slides out of bed with creased brows at how desperate your fist sounds as it pounds against the wood. He pulls on an old t-shirt and perhaps the loosest fitting pair of shorts anyone’s ever owned, at least making himself decent before he answers. He’s still tying the drawstring when he gets to the door.

When he looks through the peep-hole to make sure he’s right, you’re drying your eyes on the back of your sweatshirt sleeve. You’re shivering quite violently, and you’ve got a bag on your shoulder that’s weighing you down on one side. Vernon’s heart sinks. He unbolts the door, pulling it open just as you lift your hand to knock again; your knuckles punch the air between you as your eyes land on him, and your bottom lip wobbles in despair.

You fall into his chest with a sob. Tears start to soak their way through his shirt until it clings to the skin underneath.

“Hey,” he soothes you, locking his arms so tight around you that there’s a strong chance they’re the only thing holding you upright.

“I didn’t— know where else to go—” you choke out, your arm trapped between your chest and his as he rests his head on top of yours and pats your back softly. “I’m s-”

“Don’t you dare,” he murmurs, tilting his chin down to press a soft kiss to the top of your head. “It’s okay. I’m here. You can always come to me.”

He holds you until your shakes start to subside, trying to talk you through whatever this is with soft reassurances and gentle shushing sounds. When you pull back from him, Vernon guides you into his apartment, flicking on the lamp in his living room so he can see to settle you down on his couch. He throws a blanket over your legs before he sits down himself, pulling your hand into his lap and holding it between both of his own, his thumb moving absently over your knuckles. You’re still crying, but when you shuffle against the seat to be a little more comfortable and finally turn to face him, he finds his voice long enough to ask you what happened.

“He kissed— kissed someone else,” you tell him, sniffling and shaking your head.

His blood reaches boiling point in what must be record time and he knows he accidentally starts to grip your hand tighter, but he can’t stop.

“He what?”

Vernon knows this guy wasn’t your soulmate. You told him, a few days after your birthday. You said everything was still black and white when you pulled back from the first of — what you spared no detail in explaining was — many, many, many kisses with him that evening. But you didn’t care. Not then, and not for the whole time you’ve been together.

He asked you about it once. About four months in (when he figured things were starting to get serious), late at night, if it bothered you. Whether you were going to keep seeing him. If you still thought about finding your soulmate. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget what your replying message said.

I mean, sure, I’m curious. But maybe I don’t need to see in colour. I think being in love is enough :)

So… you were in love.

With someone who wasn’t him.

He didn’t speak to anyone — not even you — for two whole days after that. He felt like he’d gone ten rounds with a peak-form George Foreman. He felt like he’d never be able to get rid of the pit that had developed in the depths of his gut. He couldn’t sleep, he could barely eat, he couldn’t focus: it was the worst he’d ever felt. And, well… Vernon knew it was immature. He knew he was acting like a child. If he could’ve shaken it off, the way he’s always done with so many of the things in his life that have bothered him, he’d have loved to. But he couldn’t.

Besides. Only about four people noticed his silence, anyway. You weren’t one of them; your boyfriend was keeping you plenty busy.

“He went to a club and got completely wasted and he— he—” you say, squeezing his hand even tighter than he’s holding yours. “But-… he says he-…” Hiccup. “Everything. Straight away — his…”

You don’t need to say it out loud; if anything, he’s a little disgusted with himself that he didn’t figure this out sooner. “His soulmate,” Vernon ruefully finishes for you. He groans the words out, feeling rotten to his core. “I’m so sorry…”

Your shoulders start to shake and he wastes no time in pulling you sideways against him, both his arms locked around you again, just like before.

“It’s so stupid,” you cry, laughing emptily. His stomach turns; he hates this. Your anguish is an assault on his eardrums, especially when he’s got you so close, but he tries so hard not to flinch, not to move away. You need him, no matter how agonised it makes him feel. “I knew he wasn’t mine, but I thought-…”

Your voice fades away to nothing. You shake your head.

“You thought he was happy the same way you were,” he finishes again. You just nod, sobbing harder. “That's not—… stop saying the way you feel is stupid.”

Vernon doesn’t understand how that loser could ever not have been happy with you. How could he dream about going out in search of something more? Hell, Vernon doesn’t think there’s a soul alive better than you — how could anyone stand to just throw you away?

He wonders briefly if you can hear his heartbeat, thundering in his chest with the rage he feels all the way into his bones. You’ve always told him that you admire how chilled out, how collected he is, but Vernon has never felt less calm in his entire life. It’s only as he acknowledges that he has no right to feel like this, that he takes a few deep breaths in an attempt to bring his fever down. You mimic him, trying to do the same, and by the time his pulse starts to settle, you’re back to just sniffling against his shoulder.

“Stay the night here,” he tells you. It isn’t a suggestion, or really even a request. It’s an order. There’s no room for negotiation. “We’ll go get your things in the morning. I’ll be right there with you.”

You open your mouth to speak, but Vernon gets there before you do. Before you can protest the offers he’s made. Before you can ask him if he’s sure. He knows you, a little too well: he knows these are the words that are going to come out of your mouth next. “I’m with you, okay? Always.”

You sit back from him with a quiet chuckle, wiping your eyes again on your damp sleeve. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you,” you murmur. “You’re the best— the best thing that ever happened to me.”

He just rolls his eyes at you and shakes his head, standing up from the couch. (I know you are, he thinks. This isn’t the time for jokes, though.) He wishes you knew what you mean to him; how, in his eyes, you deserve the world, presented to you on a shining silver platter. Wishes you knew that he’d give it to you if thought he could carry it.

“Go wash up,” he says, ignoring the ache in his chest at the way your watery lashes flutter when you look up at him. “I’ll find you something to sleep in.”

He locates a spare toothbrush from a travelling kit he’s never used and sets a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants on the heated towel rail, leaving you alone in the bathroom to go about your business. You emerge some fifteen minutes later to find Vernon perched on the edge of his bed, scrolling through an app on his phone. He can’t help but swallow at the way his clothes fit you. How the steam from your shower clings to your skin, casts a heavenly haze around you. He hopes it isn’t obvious. This is about more than his dumb little crush.

“Were you asleep?” You ask him, nodding towards his comforter, still pushed back on one side. He turns to glance over his shoulder, following the line of your sight, before he looks back at you and shakes his head.

“Not even close,” he says. “I’d just got into bed when you got here.”

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth and nod. Vernon doesn't think you look totally convinced, but he can’t force you to believe him, even if it is the truth.

It’s unspoken but accepted that you'll sleep in the bed with him; he’s never let you stay on his couch when you spend the night, and you never agree to displacing him even though he always tries to insist he doesn’t mind. You’ve been friends for enough time now that it’ll never be weird to crawl beneath the sheets with him, anyway. At first, he didn’t really like sharing (he’s a bit… particular with how he sleeps, after all), but he got used to your weight on the mattress beside him quite quickly and makes a point to say he always sleeps better with you.

He hasn’t curled up next to you for the night in over two years. It’s awful, that that’s what he thinks about now as he turns off the lights and you settle down, shuffling under the comforter until he slides in next to you in the dark and you can lay your head on his chest. He knows it’s selfish. He thinks it probably makes him a bad person, too.

“Do you think—” you start to say, cut off by a long, vocal yawn. Your breath feels so warm through his t-shirt. “If you fall out of love with them… do the colours go away?”

With his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling he can’t even see, Vernon feels his heart shatter beneath the soft cushion of your cheek. He’s suddenly grateful he’s still fully clothed, as if the cotton barrier is the only thing stopping you from getting scratched by the splinters beneath his skin. He wonders if you hear it. It would be an easier explanation for why he doesn’t say anything than whatever his mouth could come up with, that’s for sure.

“I don’t know,” he says after a few seconds too long. The arm wrapped around your shoulders slips down to your waist and he squeezes you. Briefly, he wonders if it can force your broken pieces back together.

Vernon knows he would never do this to you. He’d never hurt you this way. Out of everyone he’s ever met, he thinks you’re the sweetest, the kindest, the most thoughtful of them all. The last person he’d ever wish a heartbreak upon. He even used to joke that he’d go to war with anyone who dared to try.

But now he’s seeing it happen? He feels as if he really could.

“I just hope you never have to find out,” he follows up, blinking back the thoughts that start to bubble away as your breaths slow down.

He wrapped a band-aid around your finger when you got a papercut once and you asked him, then, if he would kiss it better.

When you bumped your head in the playground, the same.

He’d kiss it all better now too, if he could. He’d show you how you deserve to be loved.

And he doesn’t just think it, anymore; Vernon knows that this makes him a terrible person.

“I hope you don’t, either,” you mumble back. “... and I hope we find them soon.”

He’s so proud of you.

Okay, it never took much. He’s been proud of you for every good grade you’ve ever achieved, every doctor's appointment you booked for yourself, every trip to the dentist you stressed over. He’s been proud of you for finishing projects you were struggling with. Proud of you for learning new recipes. For every milestone, personal or professional, it’s the first thing he makes sure to say.

[ hey, look at u go!!! proud of u :) ]

Now? He’s seen you crawl from rock bottom to the top of the world. It hasn’t been easy. There have been hurdles and barriers and sometimes, sixty foot high walls you’ve had to climb up and over, but you’ve done it. You’re thriving. Every time he looks at you, these days, if you’re not wearing a smile there are at least traces of one in your eyes, on your face, in your voice. Happiness suits you, and he’s so, so proud of you for getting here.

He knows you’re doing better, because between Christmas and New Year, you asked him if he wanted to come to a party with you. At first, he wasn’t sure; the holidays left his wallet feeling a little light and he’s been on a really good streak of not drinking anything lately, but when you promised that you’d stay sober too, he kind of couldn’t say no.

[ i just wanna see in the new year with my favourite person ever <3 ]

[ ha. flattery will get u everywhere ]

So here he finds himself, out in the backyard of somebody he’s never met, a can of Coke in one hand and your gloved fingers holding tightly onto the other. You dragged him outside at five minutes to midnight and — though he doesn’t know why — you decided you didn’t want to let go. Vernon certainly wasn’t going to be the one to make you. Your warmth down his left side is settling the slight unease he’s felt all evening while also making him feel tipsier than he’s ever been under the influence of any amount of soju; he thinks maybe this should scare him, but he’s just… so glad he came.

With sixty seconds until the clock strikes twelve, somebody stands up on top of the picnic table in the yard and starts to try and coordinate a countdown. With forty-five, Vernon squeezes your hand, butterflies where his stomach ought to be. With thirty, he takes a long drain of his drink, finishing it as if it’ll give him some courage, maybe, or… he doesn’t know. Zero sugar, zero caffeine — there’s no logic behind his process, just a lot of bubbles and artificially sweetened syrup. All the same, he crushes the can against his thigh and slips it into his pocket to throw away later. That alone relieves a bit of his adrenaline.

Not enough, but some.

With ten seconds remaining, the first shout drowns out the white noise in his ears, the chaos of his thoughts. 10. He joins them. So do you. 9. 8. Your voice is the loudest, the most excited sounding. You want this year to be over. You want the rest of your life to begin.

7. 6. 5.

The crackers are set. Flames dance at the end of the garden on fire lighters, ready to send rockets shooting into the sky.

Some people here are going to see them as they truly are. Brilliant and vibrant and colourful against the black canvas of the midnight sky. Vernon won’t. Neither will you. But what was it you said to him once?

4. 3.

Maybe I don’t need to see in colour.

For the first time, he thinks he agrees. The feeling of loving you, even if he never knows green from red, blue from orange? He doesn’t care. He has you. He loves you. That’s enough.

Happy New Year.

As if dawn has broken early, the world becomes impossibly bright, pyrotechnics bursting not only over your own heads but everywhere, as far as his eyes can see. After the first few, he permits himself a glance over at your face: there are tears running down it, and his heart stutters, but then he hears you laugh. Brightly, wetly, more resonant than any of the booms and crackles and cheers he can feel all the way down to his toes.

For whatever reason, Vernon starts laughing with you.

You pull him closer into a bone-crushing hug and blink your damp lashes against the side of his neck. “Thank you for being here with me,” you say to him, practically shouting to be heard. “I love you so much.”

“I’m always gonna be with you,” he says as you pull back a little. Your arms are still around him. The chain of the bracelet he bought you all those years ago is bitterly cold against the back of his neck. He can’t feel his fingers anymore, all he knows is that they’re resting on the curve of your spine. He thinks he can see something in the way you look at him, so softly and tenderly and yet, in the twitch of your brow…

Like you’re searching for something that might not be there.

He knows his gaze moves in a perfect triangle — from your left eye, to your slightly parted, wind-chapped lips, to your right. He knows he stops breathing. He swears you do, too. Something builds — a spark catches, an energy festers, egged on by the curious murmurs of the people around you.

You could do it, his brain tells him.

So what if he’s a few minutes late for it to be traditional? Does it really matter?

But he’s reminded, again, this time with a whizz and a boom and a crackle, that you aren’t his to have this way. His storybook moment fizzles out, the final firework bursting into sparkles overhead. He sees every one of your perfect features brighten in wonder as you tilt your head back to look up at it. Sees it beautifully reflected in your glassy eyes. He has about enough time to commit the image to memory before you clear your throat and finally step away from him, losing all touch for the first time since you came outside.

One of your friends comes and pulls you into an embrace, before passing you along to someone else, and then someone else again. He loses you in the crowd that rushes to get back in the warm, but he makes no effort to move with them. He just stays out in the dark for a while with his own thoughts for company, shoving his frigid hands into the pockets of his jeans.

He’s happy, though. It’s like you said.

Being in love is enough.

“There’s just one more thing,” you say as the waitress returns with your bank card and a receipt. Vernon slides you a look as he stands, picking up his jacket from the back of the chair he’s been sitting in.

He shakes his head at you. “Whatever it is, it better not be edible,” he laughs. “I think this is the most full I’ve ever been.”

In other words, you’ve done enough already. Stop spending money on me. Please. Thankfully, your final surprise is in-keeping with his unspoken rule.

His birthday rolled around way too quickly. The start of the year has been so chaotically busy; you swear, you’ve hardly seen him since he dropped you off home after the party. You moved out of your parents’ house for the second time a few weeks ago and settling in, unpacking boxes, sorting through clothes and belongings and trinkets has taken you much longer than you care to admit. You’ve been busy at work, too. So has he. Your social calendars have barely lined up at all.

But you were determined to make plenty of time for him on his birthday.

To Vernon, this has always just been another day. He’s never cared too much about big celebrations: as long as he can spend some time with people he cares about, he’s happy, and this year he’s managed exactly that. He saw his family this morning, had some friends drop by his apartment later in the day, and now, he’s with you.

You’ve never been great at the laid-back approach, though. Not with him. How could you be, when he does so much for you, always without even batting an eye? When he deserves to be doted on, and adored, and thoroughly spoiled? It’s the same every year. You make a fuss, he playfully scolds you for it; you and he are creatures of habit. It’ll probably never change.

This year, you invited him to your new place to open the gifts you’d bought him: the new speaker he kept saying he couldn’t justify buying, a record he looked at in the store a few months ago but never bought, a sweatshirt to replace the one you stole off him on New Years Eve. Some candies he likes. Then, after he finally stopped pouting and sighing that you really didn’t need to go to all this effort, you took him out for dinner, making a reservation for two at his favourite restaurant.

The pouting continued.

Only up until your appetisers came out, though. The moment your food was placed down in front of you, his eyes doubled in size and his lips became a little too busy to stay pursed. Your own dinner almost went cold with how fondly you sat and watched him. This year, you even spared Vernon the embarrassment of having the restaurant staff sing at the side of your table.

All right, you have an ulterior motive, but… it’s the thought that counts, right?

He holds the door open for you now as you thank the waitress who served you one last time and without him lowering his arm, you step into place beneath it. Tucked up into Vernon’s side, you’re as happy as you’ve ever been. Nervous, too, but… you have a good feeling.

“Where to?” He asks as you fall into step together.

“This way.”

You emerge from the shelter of the canopy outside the restaurant’s front door and immediately feel the cool tickle of a snowflake landing on your cheek. They started to fall while you were eating and Vernon couldn’t stop watching through the window, small specks that grew over the hour into big clumps that tumbled towards the ground. He’s always loved the snow, and there’s no real destination for this gift, anyway. You guide him to the left and watch as peace takes its rightful home on his beautiful features.

“We’ve walked in a perfect square three times now,” Vernon says after a little while of meandering about in the dark, making comfortable small talk and laughing as the champagne bubbles in your stomachs continue to fizz away. “Where are we supposed to be going?”

You wondered how long it was going to take him to notice, or even if he was going to realise at all. Looking up and down the street you’re on, you stop in your tracks, standing beneath the same flickering street lamp that you’ve passed twice already. Your footprints trail both behind and in front of you, neither quite covered yet by the snowfall. You break into a laugh when you notice that the convenience store on your left has closed since the last time you came down this road.

“I can get a map open, if…” Vernon starts, reaching into his pocket. You stop him, stepping out from under his arm and wrapping your hand around his wrist instead.

“I might’ve told a little white lie,” you confess,

He halts with his phone only half pulled out, pushing it into his hip for fear of it falling if either of you let go. “What do you mean?” He asks.

You know he’s probably thinking back to your earlier conversations, trying to figure out which part exactly is the mistruth you’re now admitting to. But whether he gets there on his own or not, he waits for you to answer.

“I had it with me this whole time,” you explain, readjusting your hold on his covered forearm. His eyes dart downwards, looking at the site of contact, but he quickly lifts them back up to your face. “I was just… waiting for… ”

“What are you talking about?” Vernon asks.

“Close your eyes.”

You know.

Unfortunately for your best friend, as hush-hush as he’s managed to be all this time, the same can’t be said for the other person he entrusts all his secrets to. A few weeks ago, when you’d called Seungkwan to coordinate timings for Vernon’s birthday plans, he’d accidentally let something slip. It was your suggestion of taking Vernon to dinner that did the trick.

“Oh, he’s going to love that,” Seungkwan had gushed. You could hear the breadth of his smile down the phone and felt yourself growing hot at the compliment.

“You really think so?”

“Pfft. You could take him to the Eiffel Tower or to a drive-through KFC, and he’d still have hearts in his eyes – because it’s you.”

Of course, he attempted to do some damage control immediately after. Make out that he meant it in strictly platonic terms. But once the idea planted itself in your head, it sort of… made sense. You mulled it over for a couple of days but when you finally asked Seungkwan, deathly serious, if he really thought you stood a chance with Vernon?

He practically screamed ‘yes’ down the phone.

“The last time you asked me to do this, you killed me at laser-tag,” Vernon says, narrowing his eyes. He surely doesn’t think you’re hiding a plastic gun underneath the coat he literally just watched you don, but he doesn’t do as you ask and you suck your front teeth at him.

“Luckily for you, I left all my weapons at home,” you counter. “Come on, please. Just… trust me.”

“Said that last time, too,” he snickers. But, to his merit, he finally does it. He takes in a breath and follows your instruction. “I swear to God…”

Selfishly, you take a moment to bask in how handsome he really is. His eyes twitch underneath his lids and snowflakes cling to his lashes, moving with them. It’s in his hair, too. On his shoulders. Melting on his cheeks, leaving small wet spots on his face. One lands perfectly on the tip of his nose. You would immortalise this moment, if you could.

It made sense, when you found out, because thinking back? Nobody has ever loved you how Vernon does. He shows it in so many ways – he sends you the songs that he hears and thinks you’ll like, the pretty photographs that he takes when he’s away for work, some variant of a ‘good morning’ text, almost every day. He massages your shoulders, lets you fall asleep on his lap, follows you around like an obedient puppy when you have errands to run just so you don’t have to do them on your own.

He tries, and often fails, to cook you breakfast when you stay over. He brings you coffees, or lunch. He looks at you like you’re the moon and the stars. People have teased for years that you could be psychically connected. That you were cosmically united. That it was fate for Vernon to move into the house down the street from you when you were nine. To be the only other child your age on the block.

Two people, perfect for one another, lives intertwined eternally by fate. Or, in other words…

“Are you…?” He asks, breaking the quiet that has only been filled with your cloud-forming breaths.

“Give me a second,” you breathe. There’s no doubt in your mind.

You lean forward to kiss him softly, free hand settling against the side of his neck. In the February chill, Vernon freezes, no part of his body reacting to you except for his lips. Though they twitch in a gasp, they press back against yours as if he isn’t even thinking about doing it. As if it’s instinctual. As if he was always supposed to kiss you – as if he’s your…

There it all is, when you finally pull away.

Brown eyes, framed by fluttering lashes that untangle from one another to finally see you, too. Brown, you know, because when you asked your mother to tell you about Vernon’s colours when you were younger, that was the only one she told you, saying everything else might change when he got older. Warm, brown eyes. Glistening with every blink, blink, blink of the bulb above you. Pupils slowly dilating, drowning the colours out of view. You see his lids shoot wide as he realises, as he glances left and right, as he takes this new world in for the first time, too.

“I knew it,” you say on a stuttered breath, so overwhelmed you could cry. “My soulmate.”

A brilliant smile threatens to split Vernon’s features in two as he cups your cheeks and pulls you back to him, kissing you again, and again, and again.

“I know you are,” he says against your lips, his bare thumbs pink and cold as they press into your skin. And, before you can kiss him quiet – “but what ‘m I?”

thank u so much for reading, i really hope you enjoyed this. as always, your likes/reblogs/comments and feedback are always deeply appreciated.<3

#vernon fluff #vernon x reader #vernon chwe fluff #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #hansol x reader #hansol fluff #kpop fluff #j writes.#*#so nervous ab posting this. anyway. i wrote this for meeeeeeeeeeeeeeee and my deluded ass is gonna go jump in a hole now GOODBYE <3 #vernon fanfic

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churipu · 9 months

Note

I love you so so much omg ur posts, ur content, un vibe everything. you’re so so nice and yet you have me crying over every single post because of how good this is. Like yesterday i had a whole debate talking to myself abt how good of a person you were and how the likes were not doing you justice.. usually I never send requests mostly because i’m scared they take a look at it and be like “you cannot be srs”. Idk if it makes sense but oh well😭😭

can i request u make a scenario where the reader is insecure and worried their partner is going to leave them for someone prettier but they dont say anything and just start to distance themselves from them from how big of a toll it was taking on the reader? thank you sm😭🫶🏽

YOU BEING INSECURE + JJK MEN

featuring. gojo satoru, nanami kento, sukuna ryomen x reader

warning. cursing

note. ANON YOU'RE SO SWEET OMG BRB SOBBING HAVE ABIG FAT KISS, and i love this request so much, you don't have to worry <33 thank you for requesting my love, sorry it took so long :')

GOJO SATORU. even if gojo didn't seem like the type to be aware of his surroundings — he is very much aware. behind those blindfolds and dark glasses, his eyes darts everywhere, making sure everything is fine. even if one small thing is different to his eyes, he'll notice.

so when you began distancing yourself from him, he notices off the bat. but decided to say nothing just to make sure of it, gojo did not want to jump into conclusions. it started off as you telling him that you're busy to go on dates, or even declining his offers when he wanted to come over to your place.

he didn't think much of it until it visibly worsened, you looked miserable. when he sees you, it was like the shine in your eyes have gone away — gojo didn't know what happened, but he automatically assumed that he was behind the disappearance of it. when he asks you if you were okay, you brushed him off with a forced out smile, and he was dying to push you to just tell him everything.

but he didn't. he was afraid that if he'd push you, it would spiral an argument. for a while, he was walking on eggshells around you, you were like a ticking time bomb ready to blow up at any minute.

it was gnawing internally in gojo's mind, what did he do? what happened to you? what happened to y/n?

his y/n.

so when shoko drops the bomb on him, asking if he had broken up with you. gojo was mortified, is that what it looks like to other people? him and you calling it off? he was terrified, scared, nervous. the strongest sorcerer. yeah — he was scared.

and so he felt like it was a now or never situation.

"y/n, can we talk?"

you grimaced at his soft voice, wondering if this is the part where he's had enough and decided he'd leave you. but you nodded your head, your mind was ready, you were ready to hear it, those words: "i want to break up with you."

"please talk to me. i can't do this whole...you avoiding me, tell me what's bothering you...please." the desperation in his voice was visible, almost as if he was in the verge of tears.

his cerulean eyes were filled with such hopelessness, one you've never seen even when he was fighting a curse. you widened your eyes and inhaled sharply, "i...i'm sorry, satoru."

that was all you managed to muster up and gojo was clueless, he needed more answers, he needed answers to why you were like this, "baby, i don't... is it me? did i do anything wrong to you? please tell me, don't run away.. let me make it up to you."

it pained you to see that he thinks it was him, when it was you behind this. you shook your head, "'s not you 'ts me."

and that made gojo even more terrified than he already is, a lot of questions spiraling in his mind, did you find someone else? did you get bored of him? were you finally breaking up with him because of his constant bothering? so many questions.

"i just...there're so many more people prettier than i am. i just can't stop thinking about it. you leaving and all. 'm sorry i distanced myself from you." when you said that, gojo felt like half of his questions were all useless and he felt a bit relieved to finally get an answer to his speculations.

gojo wasted no time pulling you into his embrace, he needed it, you needed it. both of you needed it just as much, you felt so small in his embrace, head buried into his chest. gojo didn't move a bit, fearing if he moved at all — you'd break, you looked so fragile and so dainty, it scares him.

"i..love you so much." was all he could say,

"'ts you, 'ts you that i love. it hurts me to hear you talk like that." you felt like shit, you really do — so you said nothing back, you kept your face hidden in his chest.

and gojo didn't pry you away, he just needed to be close to you, "sorry."

that was when he pulled away, "you don't have to be sorry, but please talk to me, 'ts not fair if we're happy together and you have to be sad alone.." you hated crying in front of people, especially gojo, and he knew that about you.

so when you cried in that moment, gojo knew this wasn't something light — he didn't need any more explaining from you, he was just there by your side the whole night. and the next day. the next week. month. year. both of you never spoke of it again.

he's in love with you and nobody could change that, he thinks you're the prettiest anyways.

NANAMI KENTO. nanami's eyes are always on you. nobody else. and everyone knows that.

everyone except for you, unfortunately.

usually he comes home and you were always there to greet him, with a hug and kiss. it was an inseparable combo he made a routine, but for the past couple of days — he hasn't been getting that.

instead, he was greeted with silence. and just from the second time, he knew that something was definitely wrong with you. he'll find you curled up in bed, under the covers like it was the only thing that mattered in the world; but he tries to see it as a sign of exhaustion.

nanami watches your every move, for the past couple of days. you have been out of it. to the point where it was plain obvious and nanami tries asking about it, but you tell him it was just because of the stress. a sweetheart he is, he tries telling you to get some rest from work — he'd even excuse you if it's needed, but you tell him that wasn't needed and that you were fine.

obviously lying. he could see it, smell it, hear it.

it was suffocating. everything was suffocating to you, it's like everything was slowly masticating on every fiber in your body. you wanted to just, drop down and cry but whenever you try to, you just end up sitting on the floor blankly staring at nothing.

it scares yourself sometimes how empty your eyes look.

you wouldn't be surprised if nanami didn't come back home one day because he's so fed up — that's what you've been planting in you. that nanami would leave you for prettier people, for people who don't overthink, people who are generally better than you.

"y/n?"

oh. you didn't even hear him come home, you sat on the bedroom floor trying to push yourself up. and you couldn't even do that, so when nanami opens the bedroom door, seeing you on the floor — he said nothing, not even a hello.

nanami just scoops you into his arms and lays you down on the bed mutely, his slender fingers brushing your hair, "i love you," he murmurs quietly.

that was enough to make tears dwell up at the corner of your eyes, and he said nothing, grazing your tears away, "'m sorry. 'm so sorry, kento."

nanami didn't understand why you were apologizing, he hushed you, cradling you in his embrace as you let your tears free fall, "why are you sorry?"

that's when it struck you, why were you apologizing?

nanami didn't question you any further but he held you close, pressing chaste kisses onto your forehead, "is something in your mind?" you nodded slowly, "do you want to tell me about it?"

you nodded, inhaling sharply, "i just don't feel pretty enough...i feel like you deserve better than me, ken."

nanami laced your fingers with his, kissing your knuckles, "why do you say such things?" you didn't answer him, and it just breaks his heart even more, "you're perfect for me."

his words fall into deaf ears, but you didn't continue saying your worries, you just feel like nanami gets a gist of it. nanami didn't leave your side, cradling you in his arms like you're the most fragile being, "i love you," he kissed your forehead, "so much," and he kisses your lips.

nanami makes sure to spend every second telling you how much he loves you, telling you how beautiful you are, and how you're the most perfect for him.

SUKUNA RYOMEN. he hates it when you ignore him without any explanations, he's told you before, "if you have anything to say, say it to my face, don't ignore me."

but this feels like something you couldn't tell him, how you feel. it's obvious that you were distancing yourself from him, when he calls you, you sometimes pretend like you didn't hear him — and when he confronts you later, you tell him that you just didn't hear his calls.

"you're ignoring me, hm?"

"what? no— i just didn't hear you calling out to me."

don't even try to lie to him because he will always confront you about it, he sees right through you and your lies. the second time you try to run away from him when he calls out to you, he wastes no time holding you in place; confronting you right at that moment.

"why're you running away, brat?"

"i...oh, i didn't realize you were here, ryo." sukuna clicks his tongue in mere annoyance — what a bad actor you are, it's so ridiculous sukuna wanted to just burst out into laughter.

"bullshit. why're you avoiding me?"

that was it. you were cornered just like that. sighing, there isn't any way out unless you tell him — sukuna just won't let you go unless you tell him everything behind your recent behaviors.

"just don't feel pretty enough for you," you mutter out, avoiding his sharp gaze, "i feel like you can do much better than me. you deserve better than me."

sukuna gave you nothing but a mere smirk, pushing his lips onto yours. god, he didn't want to admit it — but he hates the way you talk shit about yourself, if he could tell you everything that he loves about you, he would. but he didn't because he's a jackass (and he's too shy to tell you that).

"that's it?" that's it? that's it?

you were about to push him away when he gives you that glare of his, "which person has been making you think like that?"

"no one. me."

he flicks your forehead, "then stop."

if only it was that easy, you grumbled at his response, and said nothing else so you could just leave. but sukuna, despite his ignorant answers always makes sure that you never run away from him anymore, he's a lot more touchy than usual — and he (tries) to compliment you and your appearance.

keyword: tries

he fails at it though. but you gave him kudos for trying, that's all that matters, really. that he makes you feel loved.

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trulyumai · 3 months

Text

Landing a Blow

Pairing: Messmer the Impaler x Reader

Synopsis; The tarnished invaded his keep, Messmer on the brink of defeat, thinks of his wife.

But wait, isn't that her pushing towards him and the Elden Lord ?

Warnings: Blood, Fighting, Violence, Anger.

A/N: Wooo boy! enjoy :)

Read with my Messmer playlist ! https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4Lv2RUNKH2voR45QP07ryd?si=WjtWV47iSiywnT7JhADyUg&pi=u-iz0Wfu53T36-

“Gah- Ah,”

The tarnished, as if to mock the legend of flames, stood proudly above him; with his weapon pointed downward towards Messmer, ready for the final strike, once and for all sealing their prophecy of lordship.

He followed the roads, the soldiers all the way to the darkened castle. And now, with the last standing relative of the grace; he could begin his reign. For only him could be Elden Lord.

“To fall- to such a- an indictment upon light; a curse to smother beneath mine own heel,” Messmer gritted out, blood falling off in rhythm off his temple and with teeth bared spat red at the man. His vision blurred, trying not to groan; he focused- the figure in front of him was too shaky for his liking, black dots entered his view.

His opponent said nothing, with a calm but eerie facade, the tarnished raised his sword above Messmer. It shined against the rising fire cascading the surrounding walls.

He couldn't believe it- to die by such indecent hands?

Despicable, what would his family think,

His followers,

His mother?

“O mother,” head tilted down, he could no longer hold the strong appearance, the pain numbed his senses.

His eyes burned, cuts lay waste to his body and his hands- were covered in blood and ash.

The maroon stains were dry, flaking off with each nervous twitch of the man's limb and his nails scratched at his knuckles in shame.

The silence of the room, it pissed him off to no end. For the tarnish to have such a stance- such ground before him, it boiled his blood, flamed his knuckles once more and made him bite down with such a pressure that made the bones in his teeth click and grind.

“Do it,” Messmer urged, red brows furrowed.

“Or is thou such a coward, thy won’t serve me deliverance?”

The blade began its descent, and Messmer couldn't physically shut his eyes. Memories upon memories graced his presence.

And it all involved his wife; his beloved.

Her laugh, the way she kissed him, smiled at him.

She was so, so proud of him, even through all the bodies that lay wasted upon the fields; she stayed upon his altar.

“I'm sorry, my love.” With those final words, his form could now relax and with a wobbling lip, smiled. The smell of Erdflowers and apples comforted his last moments as the blade grew closer.

“Stop! Please!”

A voice so delicate, so desperate drew the man from his displayed remorse.

“Wife?” He all but whispered. It wasn’t possible. It couldn't be real.

And yet there she stood, just beside the pushed open stone hinges- panting and wobbling toward the pair.

“Stop, please, I beg of you!” Tripping over a fallen piece of debris she cried out. Messmer couldn't help but jolt towards her in response; only to be stopped by a blade to the neck.

The girl's eyes widened, still laying on her chest adrenaline began to rush through her bones, shaky arms lifted her upper form yet her bottom half lay sprawled out. Too afraid of the sword running across her husband's skin, distance was kept between them.

However, the flames held no patience; they burnt the wooden beams around the ceiling, every second that passed meant that more instability entered the chambers. Suddenly, a large pillar fell atop the girl, she screamed out from underneath it and Messmer shuddered. Racked with fear he pushed against the blade, looking- wanting to see if her form laid whole.

It had.

She stared back at his yellow iris with blood dripping down the middle of her forehead.

The walls began to crack under such heat, paintings lay melted upon the ground and more objects fell upon the vicinity with a startling bang.

Her eyes, how they shined with such a deep remorse- a sadness that Messmer wished he could pluck out. His hands shook, just how was he supposed to protect his wife in such a state of disarray?

The tarnished so called, “Lord,” did nothing but glance at the woman and her pitiful state.

He felt the need to cut- maim such a pathetic sort in his presence. So with a kick to Messmer’s chest, he acted upon such intrusive thoughts.

The air plummeted out of the knight's throat, landing on his back he did nothing but cough out the ash that had landed in his windpipe. From the corner of his eye, he saw the movement and how the tarnished gripped onto his sword.

“No,” with every fiber of his being he lifted his figure, it was hunched and bloodied, but it stood afoot. His eyes, crazed and desperate, looked towards his cowering wife.

“Halt!” Ignoring the knight's pleas, the intruder quickened his pace. The girl tried to wiggle out from the object atop of her. It burned the back of her skin and she yelled out in fear.

He had to act.

Go.

GO!

“Mmph!” Finally free, his wife leaned back and tried crawling anywhere away from the approaching mongrel feasting upon her delicacy.

But, it was too late.

For the lord had gripped her hair and pulled back with all the might he could. Her feet scraped against the ground until she hung up like a rag doll, clinging desperately onto the man's dirtied glove.

She cried out, tears littered pinkened cheeks as wails left her throat unconsciously.

With his back to Messmer he had to be quick.

It would be clean; one slice.

The blade struck against her throat, creating a line of blood that reached down to her ruined dress.

For it would have been deeper, if nobody had slammed against his backside.

“Augh-”

“How dare you,”

Long fingers found their way against the tarnished neck.

“Touch my wife, with your graceless, vile hands.”

Desperate for air the man kicked- wriggled under the tall flame.

It wasn’t enough- for the knight was fueled with fire and anger; only to be snuffed out by the revenge he sought.

His wife did nothing but push her back against the farthest corner, sobs racked her body and the tears flowed freely.

She didn't hear the plethora of curses,

The kicking of the crazed lord,

Or the stillness that came after.

Everything went quiet. Only smoke clouded her vision and it began assaulting her throat most viciously. Coughing she looked, she needed proof of her husband, she wouldn't leave without it. Blinking she tried to push past the itching of her face- ash fell atop it gracefully as her nails itched without care upon her features.

“Mess-” a dry cough

“Mess-mer!” With such a scratchy tone, there was no way to hear her over the roaring of the flames.

For once, she crumpled. Did nothing but lay wilted against the floorboards as grief seeped into her bones like a plague.

Eyelids heavy, they sagged against the itchy smoke filled air. She couldn’t find the energy to leave the chambers.

Finally allowing her lids to fall; she waited. For death to come and pluck her away, away from the smoke and bodies.

Warm fingers touched her cheeks, the tips reached to her ears and her eyes jostled open.

It was him, her darling husband covered in fresh blood, with blackened ash clinging onto his frame. His snakes not upon his form, only ripped pieces of armor littered with maroon stains.

Grunting the man pushed forward, with everything he had left he began to lift the withered girl.

She tried to cry out in joy, cheer on her husband for such a monstrosity of a fight- but the tears ran thick. They wouldn't stop leaking out and falling atop her husband's hair and face.

Bursting through the doors, Messmer leaned against the wall as he descended down the walkway.

His wife whimpered out incessant worries, nabbing at his face as the man tried his best to find the way out of such a destroyed place.

“Wife- Ah, please,”

Her lips wobbled as the man continued his trek, never once did her eyes strain from his bloodied form.

Her hands gripped onto his shoulders, his face, neck- anything she could touch- she did.

Finally bursting through the last set of doors, Messmer collapsed, his knees skidded against the floor as he held his wife up against him.

She crumpled with the knight, leaned right into his form with a tight embrace.

“You- Are you hurt?”

He felt her head shift back and forth.

“Thou is- ah, sure?”

Another shift.

His palms rested on her back, soothingly trying to comfort the sniveling woman.

She jolted back, and Messmer would have been relieved to see her if not for the harsh slap that accompanied her features.

“You fool!” She bellowed.

“You- you ingrate, you nobody! You swore to be the strongest- to protect the order-

“I swore to protect you, darling- stop this,”

A single hand rose to capture her violent fists.

“Thou is fine, the order is fine. That pretender? He lays in the flames of the past, my love-

“Don’t ‘my love me!’ You could have died Messmer, and what then? Am I just supposed to forget you-us?!”

“Don't be foolish.”

No longer interested in such a conversation the man leaned back, he groaned out in pain as his bones once more lit aflame with agony.

His eyes were on hers, and with the other hand, captured her jaw.

“Thou remains safe, that's all that matters.”

She was too tired to argue- after such an event she was grateful to have her husband alive and well, but the fear had been replaced with anger.

Remorse hit her like a bolt of lightning.

“I'm sorry.” She whispered.

“I thought you died.”

He smiled lightly upon the girl- ever infatuated with the love she held for the man.

“Mmm,” He hummed. “That’s alright, dear wife.”

Without hesitation she leaned in, her bloodied forehead molded against his.

He could do nothing but stare with half lidded eyes- fighting the sleep off with only her image.

Noticing the blank expression upon him she laughed, it was rough and exhausted.

“Sleep, my husband. I will watch over thee, hm?”

Nothing more needed to be said, securing his head against the stone support behind him, sleep took over the lanky man.

His wife sighed and with an adoring smile, kissed upon his stained lips.

It was her time to watch over and protect.

Nothing would get between her and the knight snoring tiredly against her body.

#elden ring dlc #Elden ring #Messmer #Messmer the impaler #Messmer x you #Messmer x reader #Messmer the impaler x reader #video game #video game x reader #angst with a happy ending #Fluff #Messmer is so tired bro #Let that man rest #Spotify

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bluem1ngs · 3 months

Note

Can u do a first kiss one with Marc and after you have your first kiss you can’t stop kissing.. tyyy

Things between them were strange and confusing.

It was obvious to everyone around them that the two liked each other, besides them.

They were friends, but also more than that. There were numerous unspoken words between them, and things quickly became difficult. Their lives were changing, and they no longer revolved around one another as much as they had before.

It was as if they were in two separate worlds, and he had lost all contact with her.

Like an idiot, he stood in front of her house, throwing pebbles at her bedroom window.

She stood behind him, arms folded over her chest, "Are you trying to wake up my parents? It’s their room now." She told him, finally catching his attention, and walked over to the front door.

He stood in front of her to prevent her from entering the house.

"Look, I need to apologize." he begged, refusing to move out of her way.

"You should buy them in bulk if you're going to hand out apologies that often," she said without guilt.

“Look, I—I just don’t know how to do this, alright?” He stammered out, “I’m not like you.”

She looked at him and asked, "What does that mean?"

He exhaled deeply. “I know I screw up a lot, alright, and being around you, I just don’t want to be that guy anymore. That’s why I distanced myself from you.”

“Who do you want to be, Marc?” She asked him.

"I want to be someone who is good enough for you," he said with a serious expression.

She sighed and remarked, “You should have thought of that before! You know, I keep searching for you to try to keep our friendship together, but you keep blowing it, and it’s probably a good thing because there’s nothing that you can say or do that’s going to surprise me—“

He cut her off with a kiss on her lips, taking her breath away.

As he broke away from the kiss, she whispered, "Expect that."

"You shouldn't have done that, Marc." She murmured to him, and his only response was, "I wanted to."

Without saying another word, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. She moved to cup the back of his neck, tangled her fingers in his hair, and felt his pulse pound against her palm.

His hands flattened on the small of her back, bringing her closer to him. He drew back, and the two stared at each other in complete awe.

She placed her hands on the sides of his face and pressed their foreheads together.

She ached to kiss him again, to feel his lips against hers. As if he could read her mind, he lifted her off her feet and kissed her again.

She slowly pulls them apart, her eyelids fluttered half-closed as she relished the kiss.

She gave him that compassionate and humane stare that had the power to bring him to his knees.

With a sigh of love, he pressed several kisses on her lips. She was so irresistible that he couldn't get enough of her.

She drew him close, tracing soft kisses against his lips. She bit gently at his lips, teasing him, and his breathing caught.

"I can't get enough of you," he said softly against her lips, and she merely laughed before kissing him again.

#marc guiu x reader #marc guiu #barca x reader #fc barcelona #fc barca #fc barça

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steddiealltheway · 2 years

Text

Eddie is definitely someone who hears “You won’t…” and will do ANYTHING that person says to prove them wrong.

Steve, on the other hand, hears “You won’t…” and will agree that he won’t do that because it’s a terrible idea.

The kids have the amazing idea of daring Eddie to kiss Steve. So, when Eddie is driving Max home from school, she blurts out, “You won’t kiss Steve!”

And right away, Max expects him to shoot back, “Yeah I fucking will!” Instead, Eddie is silent for a few moments and replies, “You’re right. I won’t.”

Max goes back to her house and her walkie is blowing up (mainly from Dustin), as everyone in the party is asking what Eddie said and when he’s planning on kissing Steve.

Max responds, “Guys, he said he wouldn’t.”

Everyone’s quiet for a bit, but then they’re all questioning why and asking if Max is lying. When their theories about why Eddie said no die down, Will finally speaks up. “Why don’t we dare Steve to?”

“We all know Steve will say no,” Dustin shoots back.

Will replies, “And we all thought Eddie would say yes.”

Mike immediately agrees with him and soon everyone else is agreeing to the new plan. Tomorrow after school, Dustin will dare Steve to kiss Eddie.

-:-:-:-:-:-

Dustin climbs into Steve’s car and watches as everyone else heads to Max’s house to discuss in person instead of over the walkie-talkies.

Steve, at first, is oblivious to Dustin’s inner conflict on how to bring up the dare. But when Dustin continues thinking in silence, Steve asks, “You alright, man?”

Dustin looks at Steve and yells, “You won’t kiss Eddie!!”

And Steve slams on the breaks and yells back, extremely defensively, “Yes I will!!”

Dustin and Steve stare at each other with wide eyes. And Dustin pushes it further by saying, “You won’t kiss him right now.”

Steve’s chest heaves. He makes a quick u-turn and starts heading towards Eddie’s. They ride in silence and Dustin tries not to laugh as Steve mutters a pep talk under his breath - not knowing he’s talking loud enough that Dustin can hear every word.

Steve pulls up in front of Max’s house and drops Dustin off with a tight smile - obviously extremely nervous to see Eddie.

Dustin giggles, “Good luuuuck!” And sprints into Max’s trailer home. “Guys! It’s happening!!”

Everyone in the party rushes out of Max’s room, and they stare at Dustin who frantically points towards Eddie’s house. All of them run to the front window, elbowing each other out of the way, trying to find a spot as they see Steve make his way to the front door.

Eddie opens his door shortly after Steve knocks looking extremely confused. He starts chatting with Steve for a few moments, nervously twiddling his hair and pulling it in front of his mouth.

“He’s not going to do it,” Mike says.

Everyone shushes him.

Steve awkwardly puts his hand on Eddie’s shoulder, and everyone holds their breath. Even from the distance, the party can see Eddie’s eyes go comically wide as Steve leans in and gently kisses him.

The pair pull away and freeze. The rest of the party remains silent.

Eddie yanks Steve into a kiss and pulls him inside, closing the door behind them.

Everyone in Max’s house starts screaming, jumping up and down while celebrating.

“Woah! Woah!” Dustin yells quieting everyone down. He continues, “Why aren’t we celebrating with them?”

Max raises her eyebrows and says, “I’m pretty sure we don’t want to be with them right now.”

The rest of the party erupts in noises of disgust while Max tries to explain to El what she means.

Meanwhile, Eddie asks Steve if he was dared to kiss him. Steve says he was, and Eddie immediately pulls away and is about to kick him out of the trailer when Steve realizes what he just said.

“I did it because I wanted to, Eddie. I wanted to. I guess I needed a push from Dustin of all people. It isn’t just a dare to me,” Steve says earnestly.

Eddie laughs and says, “Max dared me to as well. I said no because it wasn’t just a dare to me either.”

Steve wraps his arms around Eddie and pulls him into his chest. They hold each other a few moments until Eddie tenses up.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks.

“You said Dustin dare you to?”

“Yeah.”

Eddie’s eyes widen. And Steve wonders aloud, “Did they…”

Eddie’s eyes flicker towards the door. Both boys race towards it and make their way outside to where Max’s curtains are wide open and all the kids are standing in the window.

Will is the first one to notice the two of them staring at everyone. He nudges everyone and says something that makes everyone slowly turn towards the window.

Eddie snorts which causes Steve to slowly break out in a wide smile.

“Oh no,” Eddie says as the party charges towards them, pulling the pair into a tight hug.

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #the party stranger things #steddie ficlet #steddie headcannons

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bleuside97 · 1 year

Text

Redemption and Regression

paring: babydaddy!jungkook x exgirlfriend!reader

summary: even after five years there is not escaping of jeon jungkook.

warnings: reader has a four year old child, reader gets kidnapped by jjk, manhandling, harsh words, profanities, a bit of angst,

genre: yandere jungkook

"Hi mommy." A little voice called through the phone call. You hold the phone close to your ear. Relief filled your senses by hearing your son's voice. Looking both ways before crossing the empty street. "Hello mommy's baby." You replied to your son, U-Jin Y/L/N, smiling ear to ear. "How are you liking it at Grandma's house?" You asked the small boy. "I love it here, Grandma has lots of toys for me to play with and she cooked samgyupsal for dinner." You couldn't see him but you can tell that joy evident in his voice. In the background of the phone call the sound of toys clashing together. Clearly, submerged in his fun toys he stopped taking.

Your four year old baby, frequently stays at his grandparents house on nights you have to work overtime. This whole week has been filled with late shifts at the office. You are employed as a journalist, a struggling one if that, you are writing your newest article that could be your breakthrough. A female voice cuts in, "Y/n." "Hello Mom, thank you for taking U-Jin in again, I've been so busy at the office." Walking home from work alone in the dark of the night. Thankfully you're almost at home. Just a few more blocks from it. You walk through the patches of yellow lights given by the street lights, within every kilometer. A gust of wind flies past you and bites your nose and cheeks turning a bright rose color. Your cling onto your light jacket a little tighter with your free hand. It was cold but your pursed nonetheless pulling the hood over your head. Pushing your hands deeper into your jacket's pocket for warmth. You continue to walk to your destination.

"I can't neglect my responsibility as a Grandmother," She dismisses your gratitude, always selfless. You're grateful to have her in your life, the only person you trust right now. You smile gratefully, admitting, "I can't do this alone." Tears well up, clouding your vision. "I'm a struggling single mom, trying to keep my job." A compassionate sigh emanates from the other end of the phone. "Don't give up, Y/n. You've come so far from those so many years ago." Her encouraging words bring a smile to your face. The smile fades as you recall your life before five years ago. Swiftly changing the subject, you attempt to forget about it. "I'll pick up U-Jin tomorrow, it's my day off. See you then, please kiss U-Jin goodnight for me."

You conclude the call quick to tuck it in your purse. A shadow of a figure in the distance. A rather tall figure, with long brunette hair blowing in the wind. He wore a loose-fitting hoodie and baggy jeans. He walks, his gaze locked on the sidewalk ahead, his face obscured by a cap that renders him faceless in the dim light. In the midst of the crowded sidewalk, your shoulders accidentally collide. You're quick to offer an apology, but as you do, the faceless figure slowly turns to face you, and in that instant, you imprint a name on his featureless visage. A surge of instinctive fear jolts through your mind, urging your body into action. Your legs propel you into motion before rational thought can catch up.

In the darkness behind you, an iron grip suddenly clamps onto your arms, imprisoning them against your trembling frame. You instinctively struggle, desperately attempting to wriggle free from his unyielding hold, but he remains an immovable force. As fear courses through your veins, you open your mouth to scream, only to be violently yanked backward, stealing the very breath from your lungs and reducing your scream to a feeble gasp.

His fingers constrict around your waist and throat, the world narrowing to the thunderous pounding of your heart in your ears and the veins throbbing visibly in your throat. Panic surges within you, tears welling up in your eyes. Amidst the chaotic moment, your vision is reduced to a blur of blinding car headlights, the whizzing of the street, and a fraction of a car door frame as you're forcibly thrust into the passenger-side seat. Desperation fuels your efforts as you claw your nails against his arm, a frantic struggle to break free.

Having cornered you within the confines of the vehicle, your assailant steps back, allowing you a fleeting glimpse. Through your disheveled hair, the darkness, and the tears clouding your vision, you discern little more than the silhouette of a man. His head abruptly swivels in your direction, his hand lunging forward, and a noxious cloth slaps onto your face.

In your frantic struggle with all your might, you toss your head back, a desperate bid to evade him, your instincts screaming about the consequences of failure. You were forcibly shoved into the car, an unsettling sense of déjà vu washed over you, and you could have sworn that your faceless assailant wore a hauntingly familiar, triumphant grin. A haunting warning chills your soul, "I warned you, y/n, from the moment you left me, I told you I will always find you." The world dissolves into darkness as he steps back, sealing your fate with a resounding slam of the car door. Rendering you unconscious.

(Transition)

A cold shiver danced down your spine, and the chill of damp concrete beneath your scent a jolt of discomfort through her frail frame. Panic began to claw at the edges of your consciousness as her memory reluctantly unveiled the grim truth: she was trapped, imprisoned by the very person she had once called her own.

As her senses gradually sharpened, she became aware of the stale, musty air, tinged with the scent of old wood and mildew. The sound of distant water dripping echoed ominously, punctuating the silence that enveloped her. Her hands, trembling as she explored her immediate surroundings, brushed against rough walls and the coarse surface of a cot, revealing the stark minimalism of her prison. With every fleeting moment, the dreadful awareness of her predicament grew more poignant. Memories of their tumultuous history resurfaced, casting shadows on her thoughts, and the realization dawned that she was now at the mercy of her former captor. Tears welled up in her eyes as she grappled with the agonizing helplessness of her situation.

Amidst the dimly lit basement's gloom, your eyes gradually adjusted to the obscurity, revealing the harsh reality of her situation. As her disoriented senses sharpened, she could make out a silhouette lurking in the shadows. Her heart raced, and a tremor coursed through her frail form as the figure gradually materialized before her.

a/n: it's been a minute bro ik i said that i was going to post like five days a week naaa that was a lie. it's not that easy im currently in school and im tired and doing work all the time. im exhausted but ima try to post once a week. i will try. anyways, im still on my yandere shit and i have way more coming up. i really this one and i think it's a cool story. please let me know your feedback please this is only the first part of the story and i don't want this to flop 😭 please don't make it flop I beg! i really worked hard on it it took me days to do!! there's gonna be two more chapters and smut would be included in the next chapter so...

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poppy-metal · 3 months

Note

(i might’ve sent an ask similar to this so ignore that one if i have) dbf patrick telling you “youre never getting this dick” makes you cry so bad. so embarrassing. how dare he. he wants to fuck you just as bad. you stomp out, panties throughly wet.

he doesn’t hear from you for days, then a week. a week and a bit. his chest aches a little bit, but this is good. distant is what you need. this is what he wanted. in theory.

distant is good, until he realised your audacity knows no bounds, and this distance is the only thing making you brave enough to send him that video. distance is the only thing stopping him from putting you back in your place.

as soon as he gets the notification, he opens it, without thought. what if you’re in trouble again? his baser instinct is to help you, to protect you. but what he fails to notice is that you’ve attached a video. and that video is you, laid up in your bed at arts house. girlish posters line the walls, boy bands and twilight and high school musical, all phases he saw you go through in your adolescence. wrapped in your bubble gum pink sheets, there you lay. legs spread wide, feet dangling, panties off. your pussy. your tiny little pussy. so wet, so small, glinting and winking at him in the light. the whole thing would fit in his mouth. his cock would tear you apart. propped up on your elbows. smiling like the cat who got the fucking cream.

you sigh, staring into the camera, widening your legs. a tiny hand moves down, down your body. you’re wearing a tshirt, but you’re bare other than that. braless. fuck. with fingers half the size of patrick’s your spread your pussy lips, giving him a glimpse of your tiny tiny hole. he’s transfixed, furious and mesmerised.

“too bad you don’t want this,” you say softly,”i saved it for you. no one has ever touched me here.”

you withdraw your fingers, and your lips reclose with a wet click and a quiet gasp.

his cock is so hard at the sound of your voice. your face as you touch around your cunt. you’re not even playing with it and your eyebrows draw together. he could pull you apart fibre by fibre. undo you, reduce you to nothing.

“but you think you’re better than me right? you think i don’t deserve your cock?”

oh, he thinks you deserve something.

“i think i deserve it.”

your three middle fingers circle your clit. you bite your lip to stifle a moan that escapes anyway.

“i think that-“ you say through gritted teeth,” you like when i’m-“

you rub faster, mouth falling open in an “O”. you take in a high pitched breath, light and airy with the airiness of your head.

“-bad. think you want to punish this-“

you flush, embarrassed even to say the word,

“-pussy. you want my little pussy so bad. makes you hate me.”

drool pours from your cunt. you whimper and moan helplessly, like it hurts to feel so good. just with the rubbing of your little fingers.

“shouldn’t hate me. you should love me, patty. love my pussy. fuck.”

your head hung limp of your shoulder. eyes rolled. the noises from your pussy were obscene, and he could see the clenching of your already minuscule hole. you were close.

“fuck, fuck, fuck, patrick. patrick. patrick. patrick. fuck me. patrick please.”

you cry, cry as you cum. your legs shudder, and your whimpers roll from your mouth. but it’s over so fast. such a mediocre orgasm. nothing compared to what he could give you.

the video finishes with you breathing heavily as you get up, slide panties on and a very mini mini skirt. you pick up your phone.

“ok, ive got a date now. bye patrick! love ya!”

you pucker your lips and blow a kiss into the camera. the video ends there.

do u want your ass beat (yes) do u want him to pop over and punish you (yes) and he knows that. really, all you're doing is pissing him the fuck off. more and more. if there's one thing patricks hated about people, its when they treat him like he's fucking stupid. its obvious you still think you're in control - that you hold the reigns.

and, well. he does save the video. he does fuck his fist watching you play with that slick little pussy - fuck, he knew it'd be small and tight and fucking juicy. basically begging to be fucked -

but no. it wont go your way. its obvious to patrick now that hes going to fuck you - that body belongs to him. he can't pretend it doesn't anymore. but it'll be on his terms - not yours.

when patrick tells you to come over you're ecstatic - you think you've won - you've cracked him - you shave yourself in the shower - fucking everywhere. you lotion yourself up - you sneak out - making sure to check on art - he's asleep, on his stomach like he usually does. you feel a moment of guilt - not for what you want but because of what this would do to him if he found out. you'd always been a good girl in his eyes. and you didn't want to ruin that image - you just wish he didn't have such a savior complex.

when you knock on patricks door and he answers you grin - tight dress on - and he takes a moment to soak that in. looks you up and down. then he steps aside to let you in and you do. except you freeze - because why is your friend here?

"steph?"

but she doesn't answer you. she gives you a look like, im sorry, but other than that she doesn't look guilty at all. she's in nothing but a bra and panties.

you look at patrick - "what's going on?" a sick feeling curdles your stomach. "oh my god. did you fuck her?"

the room tilts. your hands start to shake. you know patrick fucks other women, but those women are so far removed from you - much older.

patrick walks around you. comes to stephs side and you can't believe you're watching him cup her cheek and her lean into it - "not yet." patrick says. and then he kisses her. their tongues clash and he moves his hands down her body, slips and hand down her panties.

you take a step back. patrick lets go of steph and finally looks at you. doesn't take his hand from better her legs. "i told you." he tells you, "i don't fuck bad girls - and your friend here -" you can tell the moment he sinks a finger inside her - the way she moans and trembles - "- is very, very good. you can leave -" he jerks his head to the door. you are rooted to the spot. "- or you can stay and watch. maybe learn a thing or two about what happens when you push me."

you want to scream. you want to cry. you want to throw a fit and claw your friends eyes out and never ever talk to her again. you want to threaten that you'll tell art but you know that wont do anything - he hasn't fucking touched you. you've thrown yourself at him and he hasn't done anything. you want to pull your hair out and you think this might be what finally breaks you what pushes you over the edge, what makes you fall out of love and hate patrick zweig and move on from your crush -

you stay and watch.

because you know what this is all the sudden. he wants you to hate him. he wants to hurt you in the worst way possible so you'll leave him alone. because hes hanging on by a thread.

it hurts. and you do hate him, but not enough to walk away.

patricks eyes dont leave yours as he fucks your friend. draws it out, but you notice how he makes her get on all fours, pushes into her from behind - and you think thats good. because when he fucks my pussy, he'll have to look me in the eye.

like he's doing now. and you aren't a quitter, so you pull up your dress. show him your body inch by inch - the one you'd prepped for him to take tonight. your bare cunt - your soft glowing skin - patrick groans when he sees it. grunts "fuck," and you know it was for you. not for steph.

you watch and you spread you lower yourself to the ground in front of them and you spread your legs - show him your pussy - in full view this time - not on video.

"i love how you fuck," you tell him. sliding a hand down your body. "i know you wanna hurt me - make me run away, but i want you too much. nothing you can do will make me not want you."

patrick glares at you. its like steph isn't even there. you slide your fingers through your wet slit and patrick cant look away - cant take his eyes off you - watches you sink those fingers inside and he - he - "spread it," he spits out before he can think. realizes he said that out loud, but fuck it. hes in it now. "spread those lips - show me that fucking pussy -"

you moan - making a V with your fingers and splitting apart your folds so your glistening cunt is in full view to him - pulsing and wet. "fucking hell." god, you're going to kill him. he stops rocking into steph and when she lifts her head he fists a hand in her hair. "lick her -"

he doesn't give her time to answer - and you've never really been into women - your whole world has consistented of two men - your daddy and your daddy - but you gasp when he shoves her face into your cunt. "oh-"

its like hes living through her. eating your cunt through your friend. he wanted to make you suffer. he'd wanted to see you cry and run so he could hate himself and have all this be over but you'd gone and fucked it like you always did. making him crazy. driving him wild.

"when i fuck you." because why deny it now? "I'm gonna fucking tear you apart, swear to god you're gonna beg me to stop. but I won't listen."

stephs tongue rolls around your clit - you forgot she's into women, too, has obviously done this before - sucks it into your mouth and you whine. rock into her face desperately and nod at patricks words. "yes -" you gasp - "want you too - want you to ruin me, daddy -"

"stick your tongue in her cunt," he slaps stephs ass. "get her fucking sloppy-"

god, steph is really good at this. you clench around her tongue as she wriggles it into you, moaning into your mound and making your pussy vibrate with the sound.

"dont fucking shave anymore." he pulls out of steph. fucking her isn't gonna get him off. never planned on finishing inside her, anyway. the next cunt he unloads inside will be your virgin pussy. "i want your pussy with hair on it not bald like a fucking baby." he fists himself hard - pushes stephs face harder into you - you nod helplessly and he grins - "im gonna get us a hotel. you're going to let me take you out and show you off like a little show pony and then im gonna take you upstairs. lay you down on a real nice comforter - and im gonna lick every fucking inch of that tight little body."

his balls are fucking swinging between his legs. you're humping your friends face and your friend is humping her own hand and hes so close to coming - so fucking close - he thinks about making steph lick further down. making her eat your ass too. but no. he wants his tongue to be the first on that hole.

"every fucking inch." he repeats. "that little asshole belongs to me, too."

"oh fuck - " you whine. "yes, daddy - i want it - "

"fucking taunting me with that jailbait pussy between your legs - I'll show you what's it's like to be fucked by a real man with a big cock -" he pumps hard, swift strokes that shlick shlick shlick up and down "- I'll make you fucking addicted to it."

you already are and you haven't even had it inside you yet. you cry out when steph tries to slip a finger inside you along with her tongue - patrick sees it and winds his fist in her hair again, "nu uh. just your tongue." he fucking rubs her face up and down the whole of your slit, motorboats her in it. her moans vibrate deep inside your pussy. all the way to your toes. patrick meets your eyes. and hes so big and broad and his other hand is fisting his hard flushed cock and you're so empty - you need more - more - more - he sees you ogling it and grips himself around his thick base, jostles his cock - "the first thing inside you is gonna be this dick - and i - fuck - i expect you to christen it with your blood when i pop that little cherry. mark it as yours. cause there's no going back after that."

your eyes roll back into your skull when you cum. hard, drenching stephs face in your juices as you explode all over her tongue plunging in and out, in and out. you dont know if she comes and you dont care because you're too busy staring starry eyed at patrick as he grunts and paints the floor below him with white streaks.

you roll over and lick it from the floor.

"jesus." patrick grunts.

"you guys are so fucked up." steph says from behind you.

whatever. shes the one that agreed to fuck an older man with you present, and then proceeded to tongue fuck your cunt like it held the water of life.

"get the fuck out, steph." you glare at her. "seriously before i come down from that orgasm you just gave me and claw your fucking eyes out."

you do still love steph. if anything because she doesn't seem offended to be kicked out. she'd always been the most laid back. this probably isn't the craziest thing shes done this week. definitely not her first threesome.

"i see where the daddy kink comes from."

"hes not my dad."

"you'd still fuck him if he was."

well. probably.

#ask #frens <3 #well.#WELL #dbf!patrick #steph is not important she was a prop fr #patrick zweig smut

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cosmicflw3rr · 5 months

Note

omgomg can u write singer!r x dom hcs? 😵‍💫

dominik x singer! reader headcanons.

a/n: I’ve never done headcanons before so idrk if this is accurate😭 lmk how I did

- dom is SUPER supportive like there’s no way he’s not.

- he loves all your songs but has a playlist for his favorites.

- always makes it to your concerts when he doesn’t have shows raw or press to do.

- he'd repost all your concerts/performances on his story.

- is legit MESMERIZED by your voice.

- he doesn’t let you give yourself a hard time when you’re having trouble writing songs.

- he’s always there to help you. hanging out at your apartment, over facetime,anytime. he’ll help you brainstorm lyrics.

- goes crazy finding out some of your songs are made about him.

- loves that you’re fanbase is so positive and supportive.

- he’s always amazed by the amount of people at your concerts.

- if you’re nervous before going onstage and he’s there, he’ll comfort you.

- “you’ll do perfect out there amor, you always do.”

- either stands backstage, or in the vip section to watch you.

- him watching you sing and preform is the literal human version of ‘😍’

- you going to monday night raw, or ppv’s he’s in.

- surprising him at his shows when you get the chance.

- “I thought you were busy?” “never too busy to come see you.”

- him blowing you kisses from the ring during his matches, or when he’s ringside.

- the rest of the judgement day absolutely love your music.

- whenever dom goes to your concerts they beg to come with.

- btw they’re the ultimate hype ppl.

- if you're in a band, he loves your bandmates and they all love him, they all get along really well together.

- always watching your concerts no matter where he is in the world or what time it is.

- gives you ALL the reassurance when you’re upset.

- he always wants to come to the studio with you, which some of the time you decline because when you two do get the chance to be at home together you just wanna enjoy your time together,

- having to reassure you about the long distance thing, but you two make it work.

- showing him your music before releasing it. he loves it ofc 🤗

- one of his favorite artist is peso pluma.

-with a few strings being pulled, thanks to your manager, you were able to get dom and peso to meet.

- “babe tell me your lying.” he says with his mouth dropped, seeing you stand next to peso pluma as you laughed softly.

#dominik mysterio #dominik mysterio imagine #dominik mysterio x reader #fanfic #the judgement day #the judgment day x reader #wwe #wwe fanfiction #wwe imagines #aew #aew x reader #dom dom #nxt #nxt x reader #wwe fic #wwe imagine #raw

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nnight-dances · 2 months

Text

SEVENTEEN MEMBERS AND HOW I WOULD KISS THEM [WITH REASONS]

note: i would say sorry for this but i really am not. it's old news that i'm far from normal about seventeen so here's a post really proving it :) still, it's crazy that i've only known them from a year (lol this post from a year ago is so silly) so i'm feeling all kinds of sentimental lately. i love seventeen and i think i always will, in one way or another. enjoy this absolutely self-indulgent brainrot of a post!

SEUNGCHEOL - with tongue. immediately

i take this man very seriously so i’m gonna have to kiss him like i mean it. i’d be crazy to do anything but kiss this guy on the mouth because let’s be honest i will be thinking about it for the rest of my life

JEONGHAN - everywhere and all over

you’re gonna have to pull me off him because once i have access i will be peppering his face left and right with kisses sorry i’m just that batshit crazy

JOSHUA - cheek kiss

i’ve said before that i see joshua as a brother (the parasocial relationships are getting out of hand i hope that helps) so even a cheek kiss is a bit much but i wanna show him affection one way or another

JUN - a peck on his nose

the only appropriate way to kiss a cat… also he’s the most adorable little guy to me so this just feels right

SOONYOUNG - i’d take a bite out of him

i’m serious. look at the guy!!! i’ll actually die if i don’t bite him like he’s just so bite-sized and also isn't that how tigers mate or something (i’m the biggest horangdan alive next question please)

WONWOO - both of his cheeks

have you seen his smile??? he's the sweetest and i can't think of a better way to appreciate than to kiss his cheeks. i hope he smiles for a long long time

JIHOON - pat on the head

i’m not messing with him yo... we can just talk it out by which i mean i ugly cry to him about how much i love him but i'm doing anything else

SEOKMIN - hug and a kiss

best case scenario i stop at a hug! i need to express how precious he is and can't think of a better way. he's just everything to me and he needs to know that. kissing him gently because he's just the best

MINGYU - i'm proposing

good luck separating me from him! with any luck i’ll have made out with him and proposed to him because kim mingyu is the greeenest flag on god's green earth and the only man you could convince me to marry

MINGHAO - blowing kiss

i'm scared of him too so bluetooth will have to convey my love for him. minghao please don't perceive me as a weirdo i'm just a huge fan haha love u...

SEUNGKWAN - forehead kiss

kwan is my baby so i will baby him to death... but seriously, i can't put into words how i feel about him yet but he's a rare species so a rare type of kiss to express that

HANSOL - a wave will do

LMAO i'm just kidding (no i'm not) i have the biggest friend crush on vernon if you know what i mean... like i just wanna hang with him and hear what he has to say so bad... so i'm waving at him from a distance to save my chances at befriending him

CHAN - kiss on the hand

this boy oh god he's also soooo precious so i have to treat him right. he's so talented and idk i feel like kissing his hand would just be so classy and elegant like haha i'm so cool about you lee chan please don't run away from me

#officially crossing a line but i don't care!#svt fics #seventeen #seventeen x you #seventeen x y/n #seventeen scenarios #svt fluff #svt brainrot #seventeen x reader #horanghae

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faithshouseofchaos · 2 days

Note

Checo taking on you the frustration of the race result, in front of the mirror doggy style meandom!checo

“Fucking Baku” — Checo Perez x reader

Warnings — smut mean!dom!checo p in v unprotected sex doggy style mirror sex degradation + some praise slight pain kink and fear kink humiliation kink? Checo also calls reader a good girl,toy and outlet… so hint of free use name calling and objectification probably some other things to I can’t remember.

You can also pin point the exact moment I got bold and said fuck it.

Word count 3.3k

@selfishpresley

Your smile dropped as you and everyone watched as Checo, your husband, and Carlos collided on the second to last lap of the Baku Grand Prix. “Holy shit,” you said out loud as you listened to the angry radio message that came from Checo. Checo has had a bad season for racing and today was somewhat of a redemption day for him all up until the crash.

Checo arrived home, a look of anger on his face, slamming the door behind him and throwing his bag on the ground. He knew you’d be waiting for him and he made his way over to you. “That race was going so well. Why? Why did he have to ruin it for me?”

“It was an accident, Checo,” you said, attempting to calm him down, but he just wouldn’t budge. “I know it was, but still... It's so damn frustrating. He ruined everything.”

He leaned against the kitchen counter, his hands gripping the edges tightly as he continued to rant. “I was doing so well and I was so close to getting onto that podium again. But then he had to go and screw it up.”

You approached him, placing your hands on his chest in an attempt to soothe him, but he shrugged you off. “I just wanted a good race. Just one good damned race, but it didn’t happen. It never does.”

Frustration was seeping through his voice as he ran a hand through his hair, the stress getting to him. “I work so hard, but nothing ever goes my way. I’m stuck in this constant cycle of disappointment and it’s driving me crazy.”

You understood his feelings, you did; the long hours spent training, the sacrifices he made to achieve success, only for it to slip through his fingers time and time again. “I know it’s hard, but you can’t let it get to you like this,” you said gently, trying to reason with him.

“Is there anything u can do to help?” You asked.

He let out a heavy sigh before answering, “I don’t know, maybe I just need to hit the gym, blow off some steam. Or I could just go for a drive…” Then, a cheeky look appeared on his face. “Or there is another way you could help me relax…”

His words were laced with a hint of suggestion and a devilish smirk played on his lips. He pushed himself away from the counter and sauntered closer to you, closing the distance between you two.

His hand came up to caress your cheek, his gaze intense and filled with a mix of frustration and desire. “You’re always so good at helping me forget, you know that?” he said, his voice low and gravelly.

He stepped closer, his chest nearly touching yours as he continued to speak. “And I’ve been really stressed lately... maybe you could... help me relax,” he whispered, his eyes darkening with a smoldering look.

Your heart skipped a beat as he continued to lean in, his hot breath on your skin sending a shiver down your spine. He was so close, you could feel the heat radiating off his body, the tension in the room electric. He leaned down, his lips just barely brushing against your ear as he whispered, “I’m sure you know exactly what I need right now…”

Then, he pulled back, his eyes meeting yours as he waited for your response, his hands resting on your hips. “Oh yes, I have a few ideas…” you replied, your voice laced with a sultry tone.

He grinned, clearly pleased with your response. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

He leaned down again, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, and you melted into him. The kiss was intense, filled with pent-up frustration and desire. He pulled you flush against him, his hands roaming your body as he deepened the kiss.

He spun you around, pressing you back against the counter, his body flush against yours, the hardness of his muscles against your softness. His lips left your mouth, trailing hotly down your neck, leaving a trail of kisses and bite marks in their wake. You gasped, arching into him as his hands reached the hem of your shirt, quickly pulling it over your head.

His eyes roamed over your body, taking in every inch of you, his gaze filled with hunger. “You’re so damned beautiful,” he breathed, his hands sliding up your sides, his touch leaving goosebumps in its wake. He leaned back in, kissing and biting at your neck, his mouth moving down your collarbone and along your chest. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, trying to pull him closer, needing to feel more of him.

He shifted position slightly, his thigh sliding between your legs, pressing against you, the pressure sending a wave of pleasure through you. A shiver ran down your spine, your fingers threaded into his hair as you let out a soft moan.

He chuckled against your skin, his lips curving into a smirk. “Mmm, I love the sounds you make for me,” he said, nipping at your earlobe. “I think I could make you make even better noises though…”

His hands slid down your body, stopping at the waistband of your pants, his fingers brushing against your skin, teasing you. “Let’s see if I’m right, shall we?” he said, his voice dripping with desire.

You let out a soft gasp as he slowly pulls your pants down, his fingers tracing the lines of your underwear. He pauses for a moment, his breath hot against your skin, before he slips his hand inside your panties, his fingers brushing against your wet folds. "Fuck, you're so wet already,"

He looked up at you, the look on his face was filled with pure hunger. “You know, I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he said, his fingers tracing over the fabric of your underwear. “I’ve been imagining all of the things I’ve been wanting to do to you…”

Your breath hitches as he slowly slides your underwear off, baring you to his gaze. "Spread your legs for me, beautiful," he murmured, his voice low and commanding. You comply, parting your thighs as he settles between them, his warm breath on your most intimate area.

A whimper escaped your lips, and you pressed yourself against him, needing more. “Checo,” you gasped, your fingers gripping onto his shoulders. “Please... don’t tease me like this.”

“I’ll do what I want you're not in charge here and you should remember that” Checo responded standing up changing his mind at the last second. Your breath hitched in your throat as he stood up, the commanding tone in his voice sending a shiver down your spine. You swallowed hard, your heart racing. You knew he was right; you weren’t in charge here, and he was clearly in control.

“Y-Yes, Checo,” you managed to stutter out, a mix of fear and excitement in your voice. A smirk appeared on his face as he saw the effect his words had on you. “Good girl,” he said, his hand gripping your chin and tilting it up to meet his eyes. “You’re going to do everything I say, aren’t you?”

You nodded, your eyes wide and filled with a mixture of fear and arousal. “Yes,” you breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper. “Anything you want, I’ll do anything.”

A wicked gleam appeared in his eyes, a look of satisfaction on his face. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

He leaned in, his lips moving to your ear, his voice low and husky. “Now, be a good girl and get on the bed. I want you facing the mirror on your hands and knees.” Your heart pounded in your chest as you obeyed, moving to the bed and positioning yourself as he instructed. You felt exposed and vulnerable, and it was both terrifying and arousing. You swallowed hard and glanced into the mirror, seeing your reflection staring back at you, waiting for his next command.

He came up behind you, his hands on your hips, his touch firm and possessive. He leaned down so his lips were next to your ear. “Look at yourself,” he growled, his voice low and rough. “Look at how beautiful you look, waiting for me.”

You looked at yourself in the mirror; your hair messy, your cheeks flushed, your chest heaving. You did look beautiful, but also vulnerable, and a shiver ran down your spine as you waited for his next move. He pulled away from you for a moment, and the sound of him quickly removing his clothes could be heard. Then he was back behind you, his body pressing against yours, his hands roaming over your body.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “All yours.”

He chuckled, his fingers trailing over your side, his touch sending tingles through your body. “That’s right, you are mine, and I’m going to remind you of that over and over again my slut to ruin.” His words sent a shiver down your spine, a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through you. You were completely at his mercy, a submissive plaything for him to do whatever he wanted with. He stepped back momentarily, and then his hand was on your hip, his touch rough and possessive. “Keep looking at yourself,” he ordered, his voice a deep rumble. “Don’t take your eyes off the mirror.”

You couldn’t do anything but obey, your eyes fixated on your reflection in the mirror. You saw how vulnerable you looked, and how your body was responding to his touch. It was a mixture of humiliation and arousal, and you couldn’t do anything but submit to his will.

He stepped up behind you once again, his body pressing against yours, his chest against your back. You could feel the hardness of his body, the heat from his skin, as he aligned himself behind you. He leaned down so his lips were near your ear. “Are you ready for me, baby?” he asked, his voice huskier than usual. “Yes,” you breathed, your voice shaky as you braced yourself for what was to come. “Yes, I’m ready.”

Without another word, he positioned himself at your entrance, the tip of him just pressing against you, sending a wave of anticipation through you. “You look so good like this,” he muttered, his hands holding onto your hips tightly, steadying you. “So ready for me.”

Your heart was racing, your breath coming out in quick, shallow gasps as you waited for him to move. “Please,” you gasped, your voice pleading. “Please, I need you.”

“Shhh, I know what you need,” Checo replied softly, his hands tightening on your hips. With a slow, deliberate motion, he began to push inside you, inch by inch, allowing you to feel every hard ridge of his erection as he stretched you to accommodate his size.”

“Good girl.” His grip on your hips tightened, and he slowly, tantalizingly, pushed himself into you. You couldn’t help the gasp that escaped your lips as he filled you, your head falling back momentarily before you quickly looked back at the mirror, remembering his command. “Eyes on the mirror,”

he reminded you, his tone firm. “Don’t take your eyes off yourself.” You obeyed, your eyes fixed on your reflection in the mirror, taking in every detail. The way your body was pressed against his, the flush of your skin, the way your body responded to his every touch. “You like that?” he asked, his voice filled with a smug satisfaction.

His hands roamed over your body, caressing your curves, squeezing your full breasts, his touch possessive and demanding. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your shoulder blade as he began to move within you, pulling out almost completely before slamming back in.

You nodded, all you could manage was a desperate “mhm” sound in response, too overwhelmed by the sensations flooding through your body. He chuckled, the sound a mixture of amusement and pleasure. “I love hearing how desperate you are for me,” he murmured, his hands gripping your hips even tighter. “It’s so beautiful, the way you submit to me.”

He started moving, his pace slow and torturous, driving you to the edge of ecstasy. Every thrust sent jolts of ecstasy through your body, your eyes fluttering closed as the pleasure became too much. You were completely at his mercy. He suddenly leaned forward, stopping his movements, and grabbed a handful of your hair, yanking it back roughly. “I said, keep your eyes open,” he reminded you, his voice rough and commanding. “Don’t you dare close your eyes?”

With a swift motion, he began to move within you again, his pace quickening, his thrusts becoming more powerful. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, along with your moans and his grunts of pleasure.

You gasped, your eyes fluttering open again as you forced yourself to look in the mirror. The sight of yourself, completely under his control, was both mesmerizing and humiliating. He let go of your hair, but his grip on your hips didn’t release. “I want you to watch yourself as I make you lose control, " he growled. “I want to see you fall apart for me.” He adds pounding hard into you.

You couldn’t do anything but obey, your body shaking with the pleasure coursing through you. Every time he moved within you, every touch of his fingers burned hotter on your skin, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Maldito Buka, Maldito Sainz arruinando mi puta carrera” Checo seetha his grip on your hips tightened his nails dug into your skin sending waves of both pleasure and pain through your body causing you to fall onto your forearms and your head hung low.

He continued to fuck you mercilessly, his words a constant stream of profanity and abuse as he lost himself in the moment. "Fucking useless piece of shit, can't even win a race without fucking up," he spat, his hips slamming against yours with renewed vigor.

You groaned, your head dropping down as his words and actions hit you. “I know, baby, I know,” you pointed out, your body trembling with need, your voice filled with both sympathy and arousal.

“I’m so furious,” he growls, his voice deep and guttural. “I was doing so well, and then that idiot ruined it all…”

His fingers dig into your skin, a mix of anger and lust fueling his actions. The pain and pleasure mix, sending tremors down your spine. You can feel his frustration, his anger radiating through his touch. It’s both terrifying and exciting, knowing that he’s taking it out on you, using your body to release his aggression.

His pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more forceful as his anger took over. He let out a low, animalistic growl, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he continued to drive into you. “Look at yourself. Look at how beautifully you take my anger.” He grunted.”

“Uh-uh,” Checo says, yanking you back up by your hair, your back flushed against his chest, his now around your neck as he whispered into your ear. “I thought I told you to keep your eye on the mirror?” Checo says.

“See,” he growls, “see what I’ve been reduced to?” He tightens his grip on your neck slightly, a possessive gesture that makes your heart race with a mixture of fear and pleasure. “Because of that idiot.” You can feel his breath on your skin, hot and ragged. He’s completely enraged, and you’re the outlet for all his anger and frustration. The feeling of his grip on your neck, the sound of his voice in your ear, it’s both terrifying and thrilling.

“You’re mine,” he mutters, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a possessive whisper. “My outlet, my toy. I can do whatever I want with you, however I want. You won’t disappoint me right?” he asks. The question hangs in the air, a threat as much as a statement. You know he expects obedience, that you’re here to serve him, to fulfill his needs, no matter how rough or rough or intense they may be. “No, Checo,” you reply, your voice shaky with anticipation. “I won’t disappoint you.”

He chuckles, the sound dark and sinister. “Good,” he says. “Because if you do, I’ll make you pay for it.” He pauses for a moment, his grip on your neck tightening slightly as he continues. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He knows the answer, and you know he wants to hear you say it. The feeling of his power over you, the knowledge that he can make you submit to him utterly is a thrill that you both share. “Yes, I would,” you manage to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckles again, a deep, pleased sound. “I knew you would,” he says. “You’re my good girl, aren’t you?” He releases his grip on your neck, his hand moving down to your hip again, his fingers digging into your flesh.

“Yes,” you reply, your voice a mix of submission and arousal. “I’m your good girl, Checo. I’ll do anything you want.”

“Anything?” he repeats, a hint of challenge in his voice. “Anything at all?” You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “Anything,” you reaffirm, the word coming out in a trembling whisper. “Whatever you want, I’ll do it for you.”

“Good,” he murmurs, his voice rough and gravelly. “Because I have plans for you, mi niña. Things I’ve been thinking about all day, ways to use you, to break you but first I want you to come.” “Good,” he murmurs, his voice rough and gravelly. “Because I have plans for you, mi niña. Things I’ve been thinking about all day, ways to use you, to break you but first I want you to finish for me,” he says his hips still thrusting into yours.

“I want to watch you come apart, want to see your pretty face twisted in pleasure as you coat my cock with your release.” his hands grip your hips tightly, holding you in place as he continues to fuck you hard and fast. “Come for me, mi niña,” your eyes rolled to the back of your head as your core squeezed Checo's cock.

"Good girl," he hissed, his control unraveling as he felt your warmth pulsating around him. He grunted with each thrust, his voice growing hoarse as he chased his release. "Keep squeezing, just like that, mi vida." checo groans and you could feel his cock twitch inside of you letting you know that he was so close to cumming. "Yes, just like that, my sweet girl," he hisses, his hips stuttering as he neared release. His fingers dug into your hips painfully, his body tensing as he tried to hold back.

A few more thrusts later the two of you cummed at the same time. You felt Checo's cock throb inside you as he unloaded his seed deep within your pussy, his hot cum coating your walls. At the same moment, your orgasm overtook you, your cervix clenching and unclenching as your clit throbbed with pleasure. You both let out a chorus of moans and groans.

"Oh... mi amor... That was... amazing," Checo panted, burying his face in your neck. He stayed inside you, his weight heavy on top of you as he caught his breath. "You're so perfect for me, mi vida." He peppered your skin with gentle kisses.

“That was..that was just wow just wow,” you said laughing breathlessly. Checo chuckled, his arms wrapping around you as he gently rolled onto his back, taking you with him so you were sprawled on top of him. "I'm glad you liked it, mi vida," he murmured, his hands slowly caressing your back. "But we're not done yet."

“no?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No," he said, his voice firm with intention. His hands gripped your ass, lifting you slightly before guiding you back down onto his still-hard cock. "I told you, I have plans for you tonight. And I always keep my promises oh and one more thing when we’re done I want you to call your brother and tell him that he needs to learn how to drive.”

#f1 #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #formula one imagine #formula one x you #f1 x y/n #formula one x oc #formula one x y/n #faiths inboxes📥📨#checo perez #sergio checo pérez #sergio perez #checo perez x reader #checo Perez smut #sergio checo perez #sp11 #formula one #formula 1 #f1 x you

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iliketangerines · 7 months

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HI I LOVE U I LOVE U AND UR WORK SO VERY MUCH 🤞🤞🤞

do u have any thoughts on ANY mk boys (johnny, liu kang, kuai liang, literally any combo or individual IDM AT ALL) with a reader that has hella piercings :3 specifically or at least a tongue piercing

i have so many holes in my face i NEEEED to know what they'd do about it :3 nsfw if possibleee, giving u lots of room to work with tehe THANK YOU 🩷

show me what you can do

a/n: i gotchu pookie, haven't written for kenshi yet so here you go

pairing: kenshi x afab!reader

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), blowjobs, nipple play, pussy eating, finger-fucking, creampies (wrap it up dick-havers)

when you first arrive at the Wu Shi Academy, Kenshi has to do a double take when he sees you

your entire face is covered in piercings: two in your nose, two on each eyebrow, two pairs on your lips, and an endless amount on your ears

when you take a picture with Johnny Cage, you stick out your tongue, and he can see you have a piercing on your tongue as well

Kenshi knows for a fact that you’ve definitely been looked at weird and ostracized for having so many piercings, and he’s reminded of his own experience with his tattoos

you two buzz to each other like a flame and a moth

you’re spunky, fun, and performative, almost like Johnny but much more endearing and much less annoying

the two of you get closer as you train, but he notices you aren’t ever at their hand-to-hand combat training, maybe a few times to learn a few defensive moves but much less so than him and the others

you tell him later when he asks that 1. you don’t want your piercings to get ripped out (you’d seen some not so tasteful things at fights) and 2. you’re more a distance fighter

when he raises an eyebrow, you smile and tell him to find you tomorrow morning

he wakes up early and heads to your room, and you bring him to a different part of the Wu Shi Academy that he’s never explored

there’s a selection of weapons on the rack, and you beeline for some throwing knives

you pick them up, flipping them in the air and doing a myriad of tricks with them, flashing Kenshi a wink before flinging them in rapid succession at the human-dummy on the other wide of the field

they all hit, one right between the eyes, one in the neck, and one right in the dick

Kenshi cringes at that but is nonetheless still amazed at your skill

he watches you do this with a plethora of weapons, the crossbow, the bow and arrow, throwing axes, blow darts, and even a rope dart

by the time you’re done practicing/demonstrating your skills, it’s nighttime and he’s spent the whole day watching you practice with your weapons

he’s blown away, where had you learned to get so good at distance weapons?

you tell him you grew up in the circus, and at an early age you were very good at throwing darts

you were a great performer and trained in a bunch of different weapons to woo the audience: you could even use playing cards as a weapon if you wanted to

he can only stare at you in shock, and you ask him about his own life, after all, you had just shared your entire life story, and it’s only fair if you know his

he feels a bit uncomfortable but tells you that he was raised in yakuza, that he trained with a sword, that he’s done some unsavory things, and that he is trying to get Sento back from Johnny to save his clan from the yakuza

you squeeze his arm, telling him sorry but that you believe in him and that he can save his clan

you tell him that he’s amazing, that he’s the only one who's actually listened to you about what you do and hasn’t judged you for your piercings

he brings a hand up to cup your face and glances at your lips

you lean in close and give him a soft kiss, and he can feel the piercings digging into his face as you kiss him, but he doesn’t mind, even enjoying the way they rub against his skin

he pulls you into his arms and kisses you deeply, and you slip your tongue into his mouth and he groans at the feeling of your piercing rubbing against his tongue

the two of you make-out for a few moments before pulling away at the sound of Kung Lao calling you two for dinner

before the two of you leave, Kenshi tells you he wants to take things slow: he’s had to seduce people for the yakuza, but he actually wants this with you and wants to take it slow and you agree

the two of your find time for each other among all the training, sitting close to each other during meals and giving each other quick kisses before leaving for training

on nights, before the both of you retire to your rooms, you both look up at the stars together and tell stories about each other

you tell him about how you got your first piercing, how you got them at quite a late age: 14, and how you were so scared you nearly cried

he tells you about how he sliced off the bun of his mother’s hair when he wasn’t paying attention to where he was swinging his sword

after a few months, a few days before you all travel to Outworld, he escorts you to your room after one of your late-night talks, and you go to say good night

but he grabs onto your arm, and asks in a quiet voice if he can come in

you blush and smile and beckon him inside, sliding the door close and turning on the lamps in the room

it’s simple and plain, no decorations, but Liu Kang hadn’t really allowed them to bring anything with them

but, on your dresser, there’s a pile of playing cards, and you light up as he notices them

you drag him to sit on the bed, and you sit across from him and shuffle the cards and tell him to pick out a card

he picks out a card and memorizes it before sliding it back in the deck

you shuffle the cards and pull one out and ask him if it’s his card; it isn’t, and he tells you so

that’s when you lean in close and say you know before reaching your hand into the folds of his uniform, your hand brushing against his chest, and pull out a card

it’s his card this time, but Kenshi’s a bit red at how you had pushed your hand into his uniform

you look so proud, eyes shining brightly, and he can’t resist

he pulls you in for a kiss, pushing you back so you both fall back onto the bed

he grinds into you, and you moan at the feeling, and he’s going crazy

Kenshi kisses you for what feels like forever, running one of his hands up and down your body, squeezing at your hips and your thick thighs

finally, he pulls away and strips off his top, and you run your hands over his tattoos

he shivers and tugs at the edges of your own uniform, and you take it off before he leans back down to kiss you and slots his leg between your soft thighs

you moan and grind down onto his thigh, and he can feel himself growing harder by the second

he pulls you up slightly with one hand and uses his other hand to unhook your bra, you barely have time to be impressed because he shucks it away and starts trailing kisses down your neck

he goes to tease your nipples when he feels metal on them

in a daze, he pulls away and finds that you also have nipple piercings, and he almost cums in his pants at the sight of your chest heaving up and down with your pierced nipples

immediately he tugs at the piercings, and you whine

Kenshi smirks and brings his head down to lick and tug at your piercings, and you dig your fingers in his hair as he plays with your nipples

he can’t get enough of your sounds: your whines, your whimpers, especially the choked moans you make when he tugs at the piercing a little bit too hard

but you push him off your chest and flip him on the bed, and he props himself on his shoulders as you wiggle your way down his legs

he’s watching with blown-out pupils as you pull down his pants and release his cock from his underwear

it springs up, pre-cum leaking at the tip, and you pump at his dick and watch as Kenshi throws his head back in pleasure

he’s had sex before yes, but it’s never felt this intense, so warm, so loving before

his eyes shoot open when he feels your mouth envelop the tip, and he feel the piercing in your tongue press against the slit

he nearly cums right then and there as has to dig his fingers into the sheets to control himself

you bob your head and down his dick, piercing pressing deliciously into his dick, and he can’t help but watch as you eagerly try and make him cum

when you bring your head back up, suckling on the tip with the piercing pressing into him and your hand pumping him fast and hard, he cums hard into your mouth

it feels like forever as you keep stroking him through his orgasm, and he feels dizzy when you release his cock from your mouth with a small pop and stick out your tongue to show you’ve swallowed all his cum

he drags you back up to kiss him, tasting himself, and gropes at your ass

you grind down onto his abs, and he files that thought away for later

he wants to return the favor, so he flips you over onto your back and trails kisses down your stomach before taking off your pants

he spreads your legs and finds another piercing right on the hood of your clit, and somehow he isn’t surprised anymore and dives right in

he hums around your clit, sucking and flicking the sensitive bud, and you arch your back off the bed, whining at the sensation and tugging at his hair

he grinds his hardening dick into the mattress at the feeling and continues to lap at your sensitive clit, and he takes two of his fingers and pushes them into you

you moan at the stretch, your hips bucking toward him, and he fucks them into your wet pussy, curling his fingers to try and find that sweet spot

he’s watching you intently to see when he does, and as his fingers curl into you once more, you throw your head back and grind against his fingers

he smiles against your cunt as he massages the spot, and somehow your pussy grows even wetter, and there’s an audible squelching sounds he fucks you with his fingers

all too soon, you’re cumming around his fingers, and Kenshi sucks on your clit like a lifeline, prolonging your orgasm for as long as possible

when you come down from the high, he puts his fingers into his mouth and tastes your cum on his fingers, moaning at the taste of you

he then brings himself up to kiss you again and grinds against your pussy before finally aligning himself and sinking in

you both moan, and Kenshi swears he’s died and gone to heaven

you’re so soft and wet, and he never wants to leave so he just stays inside of you and grinds a little longer against you

you’re whining, fucked-out and light-headed from the stretch of his cock, and start to beg for him to please fuck you, and who is he to deny your request?

slowly, he starts to thrust into you, shallow little ones at first but they get deeper and deeper until he’s full-on fucking into you like a rabid animal

he brings one of his hands down to rub at your clit, your piercing digging into your clit and providing a little extra stimulation

you’re whimpering at the sensation, and he brings his lips down to kiss you

he can’t get enough of you sound, how you feel, how all of this is just so much

Kenshi can feel tears pricking at the edges of his eyes and can’t care, and he takes his other hand to hold hands with you as he keeps fucking into your wet pussy

his thrusts start to grow more erratic, and he’s close to cumming, and so he pinches at your clit, pressing your piercing into your clit

you cum with a loud moan, and you clench down on his dick, causing him to groan and cum inside of you

the both of you kiss for a little longer as Kenshi fucks the both of you through your orgasms, and then he stays a little longer inside of your cunt because it’s just so warm and wet just for him

but eventually, he pulls out of you and looks for something to wipe you both down

you point at one of the cabinets, and he pulls it open to find a spare hand towel

he takes dampens the rag with some bottled water on your dresser and wipes the both of you down and throws the rag down with the rest of your discarded clothes

he lays down on the bed, snuggling you in close and wrapping an arm around you

you trace his back with your hand, humming a soft song, presumably one from your circus, and he finds himself falling asleep to it

the next morning, Johnny Cage flings the door open and then immediately shuts it at the sight of the two of you laying naked in the bed and cuddling each other

the both of you change quickly and bolt out of the room to find Johnny Cage laughing his ass off

Kenshi scowls at him, and you smack the back of the actor’s head

but as you two walk to breakfast, the both of you intertwine your hands together and everything’s all right again

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