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strafepanzer · 29 days

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shoot your shot

k.bakugo | collab intro + m.list

▸ ▸ ▸ warnings: 18+! prohero!bakugo, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, alcohol, dubcon if you really squint

▸ ▸ ▸ wc: idk dude sorry

▸ ▸ ▸ a/n: hbd king! make sure to check out the other writers on the m.list and enjoy!!!

Among the thousands of replies, your pfp caught his eye.

anyone will do, huh?

Bakugo reads over the words a few times. Sure, his alcohol-induced thirst trap selfie was… out of character, but this from you?

Surely, it's an impossibility. He rubs his eyes and falls back into the black, plush leather of his couch, clicking your profile and scrolling through it. You're the quiet girl with the nice tits from insurance, the only person at the agency that he has anything remotely akin to a crush on.

You were there tonight in electric orange and black, stuffed into a booth with the other agency girls; your group sporadically sent him drinks-- those damn daiquiris-- and judging from the laughter pouring out of your booth, you all enjoyed watching him down them.

The one and only Dynamight downing bitch drinks? Hilarious, apparently.

The night got hazy, but he vaguely remembers getting you one-on-one at some point, remembers flashes of your smile, runs of your laughter, and your birthstone pendant hanging on a gold chain just below your collar bone.

Your delicate fingers on his forearm.

His teeth grind together, nostrils flaring as he reads over your words again, fingers flexing before he gropes his bulge. Your voice, seemingly teasing, rings through his brain melodically, but no matter how hard he closes his eyes, he can't remember the interaction.

What did you two talk about? Were you flirting with him? Fuck, did he miss his chance? If he concentrates, he can see the shimmer of your lipgloss reflecting the neon lights in that shitty bar, but everything else is radio silence.

A ding, then a notification flags across the top of his screen: 1 Photo Attached. He taps it and bites his bottom lip.

You're smiling at the camera, winking and throwing up a peace sign in front of expensive looking double doors. Familliar double doors. He recognises the gold embellishments and black glass tinted so dark, its impossible to see through from the outside.

A selfie in front of his apartment building.

Another sound and,

Typing…

Appears in the chat. He feels stupid just waiting, but if you're really coming onto him, he needs to not scare you away.

gonna buzz me up, mr hero?

He's on his feet at an almost embarrassing speed, unlocking the front door and sending you his floor and room number in the chat.

Then, he paces, pours himself a glass of water, and waits.

Your knock is faint, and he wonders if you've sobered up some, briefly hesitating at the doorknob. He looks through his spyhole and sees you looking this way and that, shifting nervously and fiddling with your hair.

He tugs the door open and leans against it, eyes staring you down. You blink and take a short breath, eyes scanning his naked torso, briefs, muscular thighs--

He clears his throat. "You look nervous."

Your eyes on his leave him a little starstruck. Sure, youre pretty to admire from afar, but up close? He's stupid for getting wasted and forgetting what he said to you.

"Liquid courage has thoroughly worn off." You agree with a nod and a nervous yet dazzling smile.

Fuck, he's so done for.

"Just to be clear, you hit me up." Bakugo says, opening the door and giving you space to enter. "I'm not holding you here against your will."

"What? No, yeah, I totally take the blame on this, one million percent." You agree, stepping into his apartment. He watches your ass in that tight dress as you walk past him, savours the scent of your perfumed skin while you're in his vicinity. "I just thought-- oh my gods," you turn to face him, embarrassed. "This is ridiculous, isn't it? I thought you were like... sending me signals at the bar."

He probably was, but he cant fucking remember.

He gestures for you to follow him into the living room. "I was wasted."

"You grabbed my ass and called me sexy." You laugh, kicking off your heels before stepping onto his carpet.

"Fat fuckin chance, sugar tits." He grumbles, embarrassed by his drunken antics, but then you're grabbing his hand and tugging him back half a step. Before he can even gasp, your lips are on his, your hands pulling him down to you, your tongue running along his lips.

"Yeah, you called me that, too." You breathe, nose to nose as you stare into his eyes.

His hands finally find your waist. "I didn't think you'd be this forward."

"This is how forward you were with me at the bar." You frown then, head tilting to the side. "You honestly don't remember? Now I feel like a predator."

He laughs, then, something full bodied and joyous. "Trust me, sweetheart, you're the prey here."

All logical thinking flies out the window the moment his lips meet yours again. Your bag drops to the floor as he devours you, hands bunching up that little orange dress at your waist and lifting you to wrap your legs over his hips.

You moan when he grinds his length up against you. "Oh my god, are we doing this?" You ask, his mouth assaulting your neck, littering it with kisses and nips as he walks you to his bedroom.

"It's my birthday," he rasps, revelling in the taste of you, the feel of you. It's one thing coveting something, but it's another to finally have it in your hands.

"Happy Birthday, Katsuki." You kiss him on the top of his head, wrapping your arms a little tighter around his neck.

"Being cute isn't gonna make me go any easier on you." He promises, dropping you onto his bed. You just laugh and pull your dress over your head, reaching behind your back to unclasp your bra.

"I came prepared to go down on you, but this kinda feels like you want a little more from me." You admit as he tugs off his briefs and covers you with his body.

"What gave you that idea?" He grins, palming your tits and dragging those battle worn hands down your soft torso to rest at your hips. "You sure you're okay with this?"

"What? Yes." You breathe, reaching down to ghost your fingers over his throbbing cock. He hisses before you grip it properly, with purpose, and begin pumping him slowly with your bottom lip between your teeth.

"Fuck," he curses softly, making light work of your panties and kissing you, bucking instinctually up into your hands. "I need to be inside you," he demands huskily, biting down on your lip and looking into your eyes for permission.

"Y-yeah, I want it," you nod feverishly as his fingers test your wet heat, rubbing and probing before sliding in.

"Shit," he huffs as you throw your head back, his fingers exploring you and stretching you out. "Fuck, I can't wait, are you good to go?"

"Stop talking and fuck me, Katsuki," you moan, laying there with your chest heaving and lipstick smudged.

His hands grope your thighs, pushing them up and opening yourself to him. With a curse at the tip of his tongue and his teeth in his bottom lip, he lines himself up and pushes forward.

"Oh--" you moan, before your hand slaps over your mouth.

Bakugo let's you silence yourself while he adjusts to the toe tingling feeling of being inside you. It's heavenly, but it feels like sinning. He pulls back a little before pushing forward, notices your free hand fisting his scarlet sheets beside your head.

After a few more testing thrusts and he stills inside you, his body covers yours, those big, calloused hands drawing up your forearms to interlock your fingers beside your head.

"I wanna hear you cry while I ruin you, pretty girl. You okay with that?" He asks lowly, voice almost a growl.

"Fuck, oh fuck, Katsuki it's so big," you babble, bordering incoherent already.

A feral grin grows on his face. He's gonna fuck you stupid.

"It's okay, baby, you can take it, I know you can," he mumbles condescendingly, kissing your nose gently, then your lips. "As a present, for my birthday."

He can't wait any longer, hips rocking into you, shallowly grinding, searching for that spot deep inside you that makes you moan. You're already gasping, eyes watering as your mouth hangs open, fingers flexing in his grip as your chest starts to heave.

You really are gorgeous like this, panting and wanton beneath him. Ideally, he'd make you cum a few times before he does, but he's been half mast all fucking week, and he really can't wait to fill you up.

"Sorry, baby, I can't hold back anymore." He kisses you deeply, before letting go of your hands and pushing your legs up, hands gripping the backs of your knees, then bruising at your thighs.

He licks his lips, pulls out, and hammers back in. You yelp, but he does it again, setting a pace that wouldn't be sustainable for your average man. It boosts his ego that he's gonna ruin other people for you, but the little breathy ohmygodkatsukifuck that leaves your lips while you scratch at his back is probably going to ruin other women for him.

Shit, your smell, the way you taste and feel-- you're sucking him back in when he tries to pull out, pussy hellbent on milking him before he's done with you. He kisses you while he fucks you, sloppy and messy and wet, and in moments you're a howling mess.

He swallows your cries as your whole body tenses, but he doesn't let himself cum with you, fucking you through it instead.

"Nonononononono..." you mutter, fingernails digging into his traps as you shake your head, pushing him away. "Stop stop, I'm gonna--"

Bakugo's heart flutters, grin feral. "Gonna what? Gonna what?" He grits, continuing to fuck you.

"Gonna-- hnghh!" You tense again, and as he fucks back into you, hot, wet squirt splashes against his groin, dripping all over the both of you and darkening those scarlet sheets maroon.

"Oh shit," he breathes, the feeling of it, the sight of you, the sound of his wet skin slapping against yours sending him over the edge as he fucks his cum into you, filling you up.

You're still mumbling incoherent nonsense when he collapses on top of you, your hands over your face in what he comes to realise is mortification.

"I'm s'sorry, oh my god, what was that? I'm so embarrassed, I--"

"Hey hey hey, are you crying?" He frowns prying your fingers from your face.

"I wet the bed in front of you!" You almost shriek, but he's just glad you're not crying. "Not just any guy, but you!"

"Yeah, and it was the hottest thing ever." He grins, feeling calm for the first time in a long time. "Fuck, I don't even care how the PR team are gonna react; getting you to squirt on me makes it worth it. I'm guessing you don't do that often?"

"Often? I never do that."

"Baby, that was hot as hell." He kisses you, then rolls over, bringing you with him.

"Happy Birthday, I guess?" You smile then, resting on his chest, drawing a finger over one of his more jaggered scars. "You don't remember what you said to me at the bar, do you?"

"I remember your tits?" He shrugs, still riding that post-orgasmic high. You laugh, and when you don't elaborate, he taps your chin so you look up at him. "What did I say?"

You start getting a little shy again. "You asked me on a date, said you were gonna take me somewhere, anywhere I want."

"I did, did I?"

"Mm, then you kissed me and claimed it was your birthday present from me."

"Fuck off," he chuckles then, embarrassed. "What a loser."

"Then I saw your... proposition online..." You mumble, eyes back on that scar.

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm deleting that post, but my offer to you still stands."

"Even though you don't remember making it?"

"Baby, I just filled you with my cum, and I'm feeling like I'd like to do it again real fuckin soon. And maybe even again after that." He pulls you closer, so you're straddling him properly, your lips hovering over his. "If you'll let me."

"I don't know if that's your twisted way of asking me out or if you're looking for a fuck buddy." You pout.

"You wanna be my girlfriend?" He asked, slightly shocked at the thought. Shocked, but not against it.

"Yeah, I do." You smile, that so pretty smile.

"Well shit, when are you moving in?" He asks, half joking.

You laugh, kissing him on the cheek. "Shut up, do you mean it? You really wanna date me?"

"Yeah, I do." He says, heart hammering in his chest.

"Good, thats-- that's good."

"It is, isn't it? Now that we have that outta the way," he sits up, keeping you in his lap. "Round 2 in the shower?"

"You'll have to carry me, I still can't feel my legs." You smile.

"Maybe the bitch drinks weren't such a bad idea, after all." Bakugo grins, pulling you close in a slow, deliberate kiss.

#bakugo x reader #bakugo birthday bash #hbd king

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lvnleah · 10 days

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Valentine’s Day | Beth Mead

This was a request but I cannot find it to save my life 🥲 anyways, in honour of Beth’s birthday enjoy this cute one-shot!

Summary: it’s valentine day and your wife, Beth, surprises you throughout the day and makes you feel like the luckiest girl ever.

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You stirred as you felt soft kisses being placed on your skin. You opened your eyes to see your girlfriend, Beth, hovering over you. Her lips brushed against your skin, leaving a trail of delicate kisses along your jawline. The softness of her touch sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Good morning,” she whispered, her voice a gentle whisper. “Happy Valentine’s Day, darling!”

You reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” you replied, leaning up to peck her lips.

It was Valentine’s Day, the four one together for you and Beth and the first one married. Beth reached over and grabbed a tray from her bedside table before handing it to you. As you sat up, Beth placed the tray in front of you. On it were four heart-shaped donuts and two glasses of orange juice as well as a card and a small box.

You laughed, “This is the best breakfast ever! Thank you, babe.” You picked the card up and undone it. You took the card out gently and as you opened it a handwritten note fell onto your lap.

“This is for me?” Beth nodded, answering your question, “Oh Beth, this is so sweet.”

Beth's soft laughter filled the air, you couldn't tear your gaze away from her. The handwritten note laid cradled in your hands, its words etching themselves into your heart.

"Read it aloud," Beth urged, her fingers tracing patterns on your leg above the duvet. "I want to hear it."

You cleared your throat, your voice trembling with emotion. "To my darling wife," you began, glancing up at Beth. "Happy Valentine's Day! Sometimes I wonder what I did to deserve you, to deserve the love that you give me."

Beth's smile widened, “Go on."

"I didn't realise I could feel this much love for someone until I met you," you continued, your voice soft. "There aren't enough words in the universe to express how much you mean to me. You make me smile every day, no matter how difficult or tough things get."

Beth's fingers brushed against your cheek, wiping away a stray tear. "Keep going," she whispered.

"You're my everything," you read, your voice catching. "My best friend, my lover, my partner in crime, my soulmate, and the mother to our future children." You glanced at the small box on the tray, wondering what it held. "I can't imagine life without you, and I never want to. You're my whole world and always will be."

Beth's eyes welled with tears. "And the last part?"

Taking a deep breath, you continued, "You're the most beautiful girl in the world. I love you, and forever will."

Beth's eyes never wavered from yours. She reached for the small box, her fingers trembling slightly. "Open it," she whispered.

Inside was a delicate silver necklace—a heart-shaped pendant with a tiny diamond nestled in the centre. It caught the morning light, sending rainbows across the walls. You touched the pendant, your heart swelling with love.

"It's beautiful," you said, your voice barely audible.

Beth leaned in, her lips brushing against yours. "It’s just a little something, instantly thought of you when I saw it in the shop with Jen and Steph.”

You kissed her, taking in the sweetness of the moment before pulling back and reaching down to your own draw and getting your gift for Beth.

“Don’t know how I’m going to upstage that.” you laughed, handing the grey box to Beth.

Nerves bubbled up inside you as you watched Beth take the grey box that was wrapped with a pink bow. You wanted your gift to be perfect and now that she’d given you yours, you didn’t know if your gift could be as beautiful as hers.

She untied the bow, her fingers unwrapping the silk material. Inside was a delicate silver bracelet. Two tiny hearts linked together were engraved on the front whilst your name was engraved inside the bracelet.

Beth’s breath caught as she lifted the bracelet. She turned it in her hands, the silver catching the light. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“Do you like it?” You asked, anxious about her answer, “I know there’s no sappy love note but—”

Before you could continue, Beth interrupted you, “Darling, this is perfect, I love it. Thank you.” She sealed her sentence with another kiss on your lips.

The pair of you ate your donuts in bed together before getting ready for work. Beth had training and you were a primary school teacher. You weren’t full time, you and another teacher shared a class and today was one of those days where you taught for just the afternoon.

You would’ve loved to spend your day with Beth but work needed you and you loved your year one class. You had many activities planned out for them, something that you were excited for and could take your mind off not spending the day with Beth.

Later that day, you were clearing up your classroom. It had been a messy day so things were everywhere and you felt bad for the cleaners. With the kids gone, you took this as your chance to tidy.

Your classroom door sounded open, you were greeted with your wife. Beth was standing in your classroom, holding a bouquet of pink tulips which were your favourite flowers. The silver bracelet you’d given her earlier shined her wrist, the delicate hearts catching the light.

“Beth!” You smiled as she held the bouquet of tulips out to you, “These are stunning!”

You closed the distance between you, wrapping your arms around her and placing a kiss on her lips. The scent of tulips enveloped you, and you buried your face in her hair. “I missed you,” you murmured against her lips. “What brings you here?”

Beth pulled back, “Just wanted to surprise my favourite teacher,” she teased. “And maybe steal a kiss or two.”

You chuckled, feeling the weight of the afternoon lift from your shoulders. “Well, you’ve succeeded on both counts.”

She looked around your classroom, “Looks like you gave them a fun afternoon then?”

You glanced around your room, taking in the sight around you. Colouring sheets were scattered across the tables, pencils were laying on the floor and paints from earlier were dotted around the room. You never knew five and six year olds could make this much mess.

You winced a little, “Yeah they definitely had fun, I did too, but not looking at my classroom I’m regretting my decisions.” You joked.

“How about I help you clean it up so we can head home?” Beth offered, placing a comforting hand on the small of your back.

You nodded, “that would be perfect if you didn’t mind.”

“Of course not, darling.” She placed a kiss on your temple, “team work makes dream work!”

Together, you tidied up. The tulips sat on your desk along with your other things. Beth took on the job of cleaning the pains up whilst you organised the children’s colouring sheets, each put into their draw ready for them to go home with the students tomorrow.

Before you knew it you were in your car, making your way home together with your playlist sounding in the background and you both sang along.

Beth handed you the front door keys as you stepped out of the lift. You turned the key in the front door, yoj stepped inside, kicking off your shoes. The lights were dimmed, and the soft glow of flickering candles shone across the walls. The dining table was set for two, decorated with delicate china, glasses, and a vase of fresh red roses.

“Beth?” You said, turning on your heels to face your wife. “What’s all this?”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, darling!” she smiled, “I thought we could have a quiet dinner together.”

You were speechless. Beth wasn’t usually one for grand gestures and after this morning you were just expecting a cosy night in bed together. After this, you felt like the luckiest girl in the whole world.

“You did all this?” You finally managed to say, your voice hoarse.

She nodded, stepping closer. “I wanted to remind you how much you mean to me,” she murmured. “After working hard today, I wanted to show my wife how much she meant to me.”

“I don’t deserve this.” You murmured, “this morning would’ve been more than enough, love. Thank you so much.”

You kissed Beth’s soft lips, her hands resting on your hips, “You deserve the whole world, darling.”

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ynmead6 Valentine’s Day <3

tagged: bethmead_

comments…

bethmead_ love you ❤️

leahwilliamsonn aww sappy

↳ ynmead6 aww single leah

jbeattie91 adorable

stephcatley my favourites!

kyracooneyx yuck

↳ bethmead_ go to bed child

comments limited

#awfc x reader #beth mead x reader #woso x reader #beth mead fluff #awfc

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buggreawlthys · 3 months

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'"...immeasurable halls, filled with an everlasting music of water that tinkles into pools, as fair as Kheled-zâram in the starlight. And, Legolas, when the torches are kindled and men walk on the sandy floors under the echoing domes, ah! then, Legolas, gems and crystals and veins of precious ore glint in the polished walls; and the light glows through folded marbles, shell-like, translucent as the living hands of Queen Galadriel. There are columns of white and saffron and dawn-rose, Legolas, fluted and twisted into dreamlike forms; they spring up from many-coloured floors to meet the glistening pendants of the roof: wings, ropes, curtains fine as frozen clouds; spears, banners, pinnacles of suspended palaces! Still lakes mirror them: a glimmering world looks up from dark pools covered with clear glass; cities, such as the mind of Durin could scarce have imagined in his sleep, stretch on through avenues and pillared courts, on into the dark recesses where no light can come. And plink! a silver drop falls, and the round wrinkles in the glass make all the towers bend and waver like weeds and corals in a grotto of the sea. Then evening comes: they fade and twinkle out; the torches pass on into another chamber and another dream. There is chamber after chamber, Legolas; hall opening out of hall, dome after dome, stair beyond stair; and still the winding paths lead on into the mountains' heart."'

--i mean, i'm sold. this dude knows how to spruik a cave.

#actual poet gimli gloinsson #i love this passage so much it's so beautiful #words to make you fall in love with geology #lotr newsletter

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ellies-little-thing · 6 months

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"And they roommates..." Oh my god, they were roommates! (e.w) p.2

*not my images

My Masterlist <3

Part 1 Part 2

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

Warnings: Roommates; modern Ellie; Mature content; swearing; fluf; smut; arguing; reader is referred to as she/her; Ellie is mean; Mentions of past relationships; mentions of drinking; love/hate relationship; Reader has a vagina; enemies to lovers (kinda); Kind of proofread, English is not my first language.

Author's notes: I really tried hard writing this one. It's my favorite one I've written yet. I hope you love it as much as I do! Happy reading!

NSFW MINORS AND MEN DNI!!

w/c: 5.2k

A few days later you got invited to a party by one of your friends and decided to go to clear your mind. It's better than staying in your bedroom avoiding Ellie anyway. You were getting ready and put on your favorite dress. Skintight and black. You felt good in that dress, it made you feel confident. You brushed your hair and put on some makeup. You decided to put on some red lipstick since the rest of your outfit was all black. You also put on your favorite pendant necklace. It was a simple silver necklace with a heart. You grabbed your purse and your jacket and headed out to meet your friend. What you didn't know was that Ellie was going to the party as well. As you got to your friend's house you were met by a bunch of people dancing and drinking. The music was playing loudly and muffled any other noise. The house was dimly lit and the atmosphere was one of euphoria and relaxation at the same time. You searched and searched for your friend but couldn’t find them anywhere, so you went to the kitchen and poured yourself a glass of something strong to get you through the night. You drank it in one go and felt your throat burn but poured another glass anyway. You weren't really in the mood for dancing, so you sat down on a couch nearby and watched the other people dance and almost makeout on the dance floor. Some time passed and you saw someone else entering the house. It was Ellie. With her favorite flannel, ripped skinny jeans and her trusty black converse that have definitely seen better days. As the light hit her face you could see her gorgeous green eyes shining in your direction. You got up as fast as you could and bolted to the bathroom to hide from her. She followed after you almost running and bumped into several people that were very annoyed by the act. As you were about to close the door and lock it, Ellie beat you to it and got in at the last second. She locked the door behind her so no one could interrupt you. You stayed back away from her as far as you could.

“Ellie! What the fuck?” You spat out annoyed and slightly embarrassed. “Why did you get in? Can’t a girl just use the bathroom anymore?” You asked frustrated. You were feeling the effects of the alcohol now. “I'm sorry, I just really need to talk to you…” Ellie looked at you and got closer. She was mesmerized by how hot you looked in your black dress. “Wow…” She said to herself looking at your body and how the fabric hugged you in all the right places. “Hey, my eyes are up here you perv!” She shook her head and looked at you blushing as she couldn't stop thinking of how much she just wanted to touch you. “Yeah.. right sorry… I just…” She got even closer. You could smell her cologne and see her freckled face. You looked at her lips, getting the urge to kiss her, you blamed the alcohol but it had nothing to do with this. She got even closer and you tried getting away but there was nowhere else to go. You felt yourself bump into the counter between the two sinks. Ellie had you right where she wanted. She now pressed her body to yours and held your waist. The tension was through the roof. “You look so beautiful, god…” She said almost whispering as she looked at you. You could feel her breath on your skin and couldn't stop looking into her lips. Without a warning she pressed her lips to yours and you were stunned. The kiss started to get heated as you put your arms around Ellie and her hands moved to your ass squeezing it and then lower to the back of your thighs as she pulled you onto the counter getting in between your legs.

You started to feel your core heating up as she kept kissing you. The way she was holding your ass and the friction from her jeans on your crotch were making you go insane. “Fuck.. I wanted to do this for so long…” Ellie said, almost whispering in your ear as she now moved to kiss your neck. “You’re so hot… god… You taste so good...” One of her hands moved to one of your thighs and then in between them. You could feel Ellie’s hands travel where she wanted and you let her. As she touched your cunt through your black lace panties you let out a moan. “Fuck baby… look at that…” Ellie said as she started moving her fingers in tiny circles around your clit through the fabric. You were already wet and she barely touched you. Your body was responding to her in ways you didn't think possible. She pulled your panties to the side and put her fingers to your sopping cunt. She felt how wet you were and let out an almost animalistic groan. “Oh god… Look at that.. already so wet for me….” She whispered in between kisses. “Ellie… fuck…” She moved her hand and collected some slick to prepare her fingers for tugging at your entrance. You felt lost in all the pleasure.

She stuck one finger in slowly, and looked you in the eyes while doing it so she could see your fucked out face. She bit her bottom lip as she kept going until she was knuckle deep inside you. “Fuck…. taking me so well…” All you could do was moan and let your head fall as you arched your back. Her pupils were blown looking at your state. She started pumping her finger in and out as she kissed your neck. You could feel her pulling your dress up so she could get a better view of you. “God, you're so tight… you are almost practically sucking my finger in…” She then pulls down the top of your strapless dress to reveal your beautiful tits. She quickly gets her mouth on them like she's starving. She pulled her finger out for a moment making you whine. She took off your panties and put them to her nose to smell you. She then put them in her back pocket for later. She was definitely going to use them to masturbate to. Her fingers quickly found their way back to your cunt and she stuck two fingers in this time. You let out a louder moan than the others and this only made her more aggressive. She started fingerfucking you as she held the back of your head so you looked her in the eyes as she went deeper and faster with each pump, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. Ellie started to feel a pool of wetness forming in her own boxers as she abused your hole. “That's it baby… moan for me.” She continued and started to hit that spongy spot inside you that made you go crazy. “Fuck ellie… Right there.. Don't stop please…” She took what you said and started going faster, inserting a third finger slowly looking at your gorgeous face to see you whine and moan as she stretched and filled you up. She then started fucking you as hard and fast as she could. She wanted you to cum on her fingers. She wanted to be the one to make you cum harder than you've ever cummed before in your life. She was having the best time of her life looking at you all red in the face and breathless from what she was doing to you. You were starting to lose your strength as you struggled to close your legs as Ellie held them open for her viewing. Ellie looked at you like a wild animal as she fucked your tight hole with her calloused hand and fingers. You've never felt this good. No one had ever made you feel so good and was so determined to make you cum. She bit her bottom lip has she continued fucking you until your mind was starting to go blank and you felt you where reaching your limit. “Ellie… i’m gonna cum.. fuck don’t stop…” You blurt out out of breath. “That's it, cum for me.. cum all over my fingers… You're doing so good…” She started kissing you like a starved woman and she went harder as if that was possible. You felt a wave of pleasure so intense you screamed Ellie's name out loud. You felt lucky no one could hear you because of the music. Ellie was relentless in her pace, she was determined to make you cum so hard you could pass out. “Ellie.. I'm cuming, I'm cuming, I'm cuming…” That was music to her ears as she looked at your face as you started to cum all over her fingers. “Yes… that's it… come on baby… give me your cum.. I want to taste it…” That was enough to make you go over the edge and moan between heavy breaths. Ellie’s eyes looked down at all the cum on her fingers. She helped you come down from your high, starting to slow down as she finally stopped. She then brought her fingers into her mouth and moaned as she tasted you on her tongue and her eyes rolled to the back of her head. “Fuck.. you taste like heaven babe…” She then kissed you so you could taste yourself on her tongue. “That was the best orgasm I've had in my life…” You sighed.

You were now feeling a bit like your usual self as your body started calming down. Ellie was still looking at you with a wide grin on her face. “What are you looking at?” You asked blushing as you were now starting to feel embarrassed. You still had your dress all fucked up and tried putting it where it belonged as Ellie still eyed you with lust in her eyes. You could see how turned on she was, if it were up to her she’d fuck you all night long. Her lips were still glistening from your slick. You loved that and she knew it too. She was all cocky all of a sudden from what she had just done with you. You could tell she wanted more just by looking into her eyes. “So… That wasn't so bad was it?” She asked in a teasing tone, looking you up and down still. “I knew you’d come around…” She smirked playfully. “Hum… Thanks I guess…” You noticed as you were trying to fix yourself up that your black lace panties were nowhere to be found, “Hey… Do you know where my panties ended up?...” You asked embarrassed and flustered. Ellie acted as if she didn't know a thing even though she had them in her back pocket. “No clue. I think you look better without them anyways…” She teased. “Great! Now I have to spend the rest of the night until we get home without them!” You said clearly annoyed. “We? Get home?” Ellie caught your little mistake saying you were gonna go home together. She really was imagining you in her bed right now as she fucked you relentlessly. She even thought about the possibility of using her new strap-on on you. She was looking at you with the eyes of someone who had tasted water for the first time in a week, lost in the desert. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m going home.” You stated as you started to walk to the door of the bathroom to get out of there. “Not so fast princess…” Ellie grabbed your arm and pulled you into her, kissing you again. “You're not going home alone in this state at this hour of the night.” The truth was that you didn't want to walk home alone either, You hadn't thought the night was going to turn out like this and Ellie was going home with you. After all you lived together, you were going to have to talk to her eventually, one way or another. “Fine…. But we're going right now, I don't want to be seen in a party like this coming out of the bathroom with you of all people.” You opened the door slightly to see if the coast was clear and once there was no one there you got out and bolted out of there.

As soon as you saw the hallway empty You walked out of the bathroom rapidly towards the front door ignoring everyone in your way. Ellie followed soon after. You two were now walking back to your shared place. You were walking side by side in silence. The night was cold and you were starting to shiver even though you had your coat on. Ellie noticed this and put her jacket around your shoulders to warm you up. None of you said anything and simply smiled awkwardly to each other. “So… Hum…” You started not knowing what to say after the moment you and her just shared in the bathroom of your friend's house. “Nothing, just.. forget it…” You said embarrassed. Ellie looked at you listening intently as you spoke and then looked at the floor embarrassed just like you. The both of you got home and as Ellie was locking the front door behind her, you had already bolted to your room to hide from her. She was a bit confused to not see you as she turned her back to face the room and you had disappeared at the speed of light. She noticed the door to your bedroom slightly ajar as the light came out of it, to see you as you took off your shoes. Ellie came in and grabbed your waist from behind, pressing her body to yours. She pushed the hair off of your neck and started kissing it. She then helped you take your coat off slowly as she kept her lips on your neck. You tilted your head to the side and closed your eyes giving her more access to your skin.”Ellie I….” “Shhh…. It's okay… Let me take care of you…” Ellie whispered in your ear seductively. She then turned you around to face her and continued kissing your neck slowly, coming back up to kiss your lips, leaving wet kisses on your skin as she moved upwards. Her hands started to travel from your waist, one going to your ass giving it a good squeeze and one to the back of your neck to hold your head in place so she could be in control of the kiss. You wrapped your arms around her neck as the kisses started getting more and more intense. You could feel your core heating up once again and the absence of your underwear only made it happen quicker. Ellie started walking backwards still kissing you until she put her hands on the back of your thighs just under your ass and pulled you onto her lap as you wrapped your legs around her and felt your cunt touch the front of her jeans as she carried you to her room. You were getting drunk on the smell of her cologne and the way she was kissing you getting more aggressive and hungry by the second. She opened the door to her room by kicking it with her foot, not taking her lips from yours.

She walked to her bed and laid you on it, laying on top of you as she did it. As the kiss continued, one of her hands found her way to your inner thigh and slowly traveled upwards towards your uncovered pussy. She was almost surprised you didn't have underwear on but then remembered she hid it for later in the back pocket of her jeans. As you felt Ellie touch you, you let out a tiny moan into the kiss. Ellies fingers found your clit and she started making small circular motions massaging you as she heard all of the moans and tiny sounds you made that drove her insane. She stopped kissing you for a second and looked you in the eyes to see the state she was leaving you in, and she smiled smugly as she saw your expression. “Do you like that?...hum?...” She asked, already knowing the answer. You were incapable of forming words at this point so you simply nodded quickly and pulled her by her face to feel her lips on yours again. She groaned into the kiss as she explored your mouth with her tongue. You made out for a minute or two as Ellie still caressed your clit, going faster by the second. You couldn't stop the moans from coming out of your mouth. She felt how wet you were already and let out a groan as her fingers now moved up and down your folds. She helped you take off that tight black dress of yours she loved so much and threw it to the floor. She looked at your naked body as if she was eating you with her eyes. “You're so hot.. god..” She said as her left hand traveled from your neck, down your body, slowly making you feel goose bumps. Ellie looked so good with her sleeves rolled back to show her forearms and her beautiful tattoo. You felt like just the sight of her hands alone could make you cum. As she took her flannel off and was left only with her white wife beater, you could see she didn't wear a bra. Her tits were small but made you go insane all the same, as you saw her nipples through the fabric. She then took off her converse in a hurry so she could take her ripped jeans off, leaving her in her boxers that were soaked at this point.

She couldn't stop thinking of the new strap-on she had stored in her closet and how it would look going inside your cunt. She was almost drooling imagining it. She then started kissing your lips again aggressively. Her hands were on your skin as she kissed down your body and biting it, making you whine. As she was getting close to your cunt she started kissing your inner thighs very slowly to make you beg her to eat you out already. She looked up at your fucked out and desperate face as she teased you. You put your hand on her head and pulled her by her hair so her mouth was on your cunt and her tongue started stimulating your clit as you so desperately needed it to. Ellie couldn't wait anymore either as much as she wanted to tease you. The sight of your glistening pussy right in front of her face was irresistible. As soon as she felt your hand on her head she dove into it starting to lick up your slit and taste your lovely juices. There was no stopping her now. She started eating you out like there was no tomorrow, her tongue felt like heaven as she made you moan with each small movement. “Fuck, you taste so good..” She moaned into your cunt without stopping. She brought her right hand under her chin so she could collect your slick with her fingers so she could abuse your hole for a second time this night and she planned on making you scream her name, time and time again. You started feeling her fingers at your entrance as she stuck two in, very slowly to stretch you out without hurting you. She kept pushing them in until she was knuckle deep inside you and started moving them slowly at first. When she felt that you were more comfortable she started moving a bit faster. After that she started pumping her fingers in and out curling them inside you to hit your g-spot just right and make you go nuts. You couldn't stop moaning and pulling her by the hair as you arched your back from all the pleasure she was providing you. “Ellie, fuuu…” You managed to say in the midst of all that she was making you feel. You started to feel your orgasm appearing. Ellie could see you were really enjoying yourself which only made her more determined to make you reach your peak. She kept going as you moaned more and more and tugged at her hair harder signifying how close you were to cumming. “Ells.. I’m….” That was all you could say before you felt your orgasm wash over you, making your body feel like it was levitating. Ellie didn't stop though. She kept her pace going, starting to make you feel overstimulated and almost scream. “Ellie… I can't… i cant take it anymore… fuck…” She looked up at your whiny face as you furrowed your eyebrows . You looked so adorable, she couldn't stop smiling to herself as she kept eating your pussy like a madwoman.

After a minute or two she started slowing down and came up to kiss you lovingly and you could taste yourself on her lips. She slowly pulled her fingers out of you and brought them to your mouth. “Open up….. That's it..” She said as she commanded you to open your mouth and suck her fingers clean from your slick. You happily obliged and sucked her fingers as she slowly pushed them deeper making you tear up a little bit as you started to gag on them. She looked at you mesmerized.The faces and noises you were making made her go wild, she had an animalistic look in her eyes as she kept going deeper until you couldn't take it anymore. After Ellie pulled them out she gave you a small peck on the lips as she got up and went to her wardrobe to get something.

You didn't know what she was doing and wondered what in the hell she could be looking for in there. She came back with a black bag with something inside. She popped it on the bed and looked at you with a smirk on her face as she bit her bottom lip. “You ready for more?...” She asked you with a teasing and seductive tone in her voice. “More?... You asked slightly at a loss, she had already made you cum 2 times today. What was she planning in that dirty mind if hers? “Yes, more…” She opened the bag to reveal her brand new purple strap-on. Your eyes went wide at the sight. You knew Ellie really knew how to fuck good but you werent expecting this. She picked it up and put it on. You couldn't stop imagining her fucking you dumb with that cock. She layed on top of you to kiss you gently before getting on her knees in between your open legs and looked down to admire yet again your beautiful cunt and hold the base of the dildo harnessed around her crotch before asking. “Are you ready to take my cock? Ready for me to fill you up?” You could feel yourself getting wet from her voice alone as she touched the tip to your slit teasing you. “You think you can be a good girl and take my cock like a good little slut?” Your face was bright red at this point and you couldn't wait for her to start fucking you. “Yes, please…” You whispered as you nodded frantically. “I’m going to fuck you dumb… Fuck.. look at you… so pretty and ready for me…” She said as she started rubbing the tip of her cock on your clit. You instantly moaned at the touch. Ellie then held the base of her cock and spat on it to ease the entrance into your cunt. She put it centered at the entrance of your hole. She then held you by the waist to hold you in place as she entered you slowly, not taking her eyes off of your face to see your expression as she got deeper and deeper into your sopping cunt. You closed your eyes as you felt her enter you but suddenly felt Ellie's hand on your chin. “Look at me while i fuck you..” She said with a stern and serious voice. You were going to take everything she gave you and you weren't going anywhere until she felt satisfied. “Understood slut?...” You nodded as she held your chin.

Her pupils were blown and her eyes looked like those of an animal chasing their prey. “Good… look at me as I fill up your tight little cunt.” You did as she said and did not take your eyes off of hers. As she went deeper you started to moan and hiss as you've never been fucked like this. You felt yourself getting stretched beyond your limits and it hurt a little bit, but it hurt so good though. As you started getting used to the large object being inserted into you, then and again slowly, Ellie started fastening up her pace still looking at you. her hand was now on your neck as if she was going to choke you but she wasn't putting pressure on it, at least not yet. You never knew you could feel so good like this. Ellie started fucking you with passion and hardly. You kept looking at her moaning louder with each thrust. Ellie was so turned on seeing her cock disappear into you and the faster she went the more her harness bumped into her clit making her go insane. She couldn't stop, it was like she could actually feel your insides. She could swear she could feel you squeezing her cock as she fucked you, it was almost an extention of her at this point. She just wished she could actually cum inside you, and that thought alone, to see her own cum spilling out of your tight little hole, made her want to have a real dick. The hand she had around your soft neck was starting to choke you lightly and tighter with each thrust of her hips into you. You’ve never been choked before and never thought you would actually enjoy it as much as you were at this moment. It made all the sensations more intense somehow and you were loving it, just as Ellie was loving being the one choking you. She had dreamt of doing this with you too many times to count. Some of the nights you heard the sound of her game from her bedroom was only on so you couldn't hear her moans as she fingers herself to the thought of you and hou much she wanted to fuck you.

“Fuck ellie.. it’s so big… fuck…” You blurted out as you looked up at her like she commanded you to. “God… you're taking it so well, I'm actually impressed princess…” She responded. “I thought you'd be screaming and begging for me to stop by now… fuck…” She admired you for a little while longer before pulling out and rolling you on your belly. “Get on all fours bitch.. Right now!” She ordered, very serious and commanding. As if you were her toy to play with as she pleased. You got on your hands and knees as she ordered you two, as soon as you were in position she got behind you and slapped your ass before teasing you by sliding her cock through your folds. She spat down on the toy and let her saliva serve as a lubricant so she could slide inside you easily. Without warning she thrusted into you full force and you actually screamed. She then grabbed you by the hair and started fucking you as hard as she could. This position permitted her to enter you fully and you could swear she had hit your cervix. She grunted louder with each thrust as the harness bumped into her clit just right every time. She was starting to feel her own orgasm brewing and she wasn't stopping now until she reached it. She was being so rough with you that you lost your strength on your arms and fell on your face. This made ellie go even more feral as she held your head in place to the mattress as her other hand grabbed you by the hips to insure she continued to fuck you just right. “Fuck… your such a slut… look at this..” She groaned, thrusting ever harder as if it were possible. You couldn't talk, your mind was going black as you felt your third orgasm of the night hit you like a truck, all you could do was moan and stay in place like the good girl Ellie wanted you to be. You were loving every single second of it, and to be honest you didn't want her to stop anytime soon. Ellie was getting more aggressive as she reached her peak, she was about to cum from fucking you. “Fuck baby… I'm about to cum…” She let out in between grunts and hard thrusts that were making the whole bed shake. She kept going as she moaned through her orgasm. Your eyes were rolled to the back of your head as you smiled and bit your lower lip and you heard ellie cum while fucking you into exhaustion.

As she started to come down from her high, she started slowing down coming in and out of you, she took her hand from securing your head to the bed allowing the pressure to subside. She slowly pulled out of you looking at the mess she had just made of you. She then took off the harness and laid next to you in bed. The only thing you wanted now was to taste her cum, so as soon as she was down on the bed you started taking off her boxers and opened her legs to see her gorgeous cunt glistening in the dimly lit room. she was a bit surprised by this action but as soon as you started licking her pussy she let her head fall back moaning. You slid your tongue downwards and then up collecting all of her delicious cum. Then you started licking her clit and she started to go crazy. You didn't stop eating her out until she cummed again on your tongue and gently pushed your head away. As you looked you you saw a fucked out Ellie smiling at the celling with her eyes closed. You came up and laid next to her ready to snuggle together for a bit. You never felt better than at this moment and wouldn't leave Ellie's arms for anything. “That was out of this world, Ells.” You said softly as you started to hold each other. “It really was babe…” she responded smiling at you and looked you in the eyes before giving you a peck on the lips and another kiss on your forehead as she cuddled with you and the two of you fell asleep in each other's arms, not wanting to ever leave that room again.

A/N: I hope you liked it! Likes, reblogs and comments are always welcome!

#ellie williams #ellie the last of us #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams the last of us #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie tlou #ellie williams x you #ellie smut

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hopefullyitsextensivebule · 11 months

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Plus One { J.T.K X Reader }

Pairing: Jake Kiskza x Reader

Writer’s Whining: Already hitting with the curve balls; I like it! Anon requested a possessive Jake smut. This is a slow build-up because I wanna give it some content before we get into the shit. This is also my first fanfic, so please, if I need to improve. I implore you to correct me. Warnings: Smut, Spanking/Smacking, Spitting, Unprotected Sex (No Glove, No Love) Minors DO NOT ENTER Word Count: 2K+

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It was no secret that you were the apple of Jake's eye.

Everyone saw how his eyes lit up every time you walked into a room; like a moth to a flame, he couldn't help but be allured to your light, and only wanting to be near it gave him ease. Since you were introduced to the group by a mutual friend, the guitarist and you shared a bond. It was refreshing since you have dealt with pricks left and right, but he didn't want anything from you, at least from what you saw on the surface.

It was the evening, and the venue was bustling. An old college friend of yours was celebrated for his glass ceramics getting into a city's permanent collection at a well-known museum. It was a momentous occasion; you were invited and could even bring a plus one. You wore a nice black dress and some heels but were still vertically challenged. People had greeted you, along with the star of the evening.

"Eli! How are you?" you ask, hugging the male and pulling away quickly.

"I'll tell ya, Y/N, it feels good," the male said. He was a tall fellow with a short hairdo and an angled nose, nonetheless easy on the eyes. "Thank you so much for coming; I appreciate it."

"Are you kidding me? And miss this wonderful evening, I would never," you say, happy to be called upon such an occasion, "I'm so proud of you."

"Thank you…" he said with a glint of humility, "And what about you? How's life for you going these days?"

"It's good," you said, looking at your phone and showing a bit of worry, "it's all good."

"Waiting for someone, aren't you?" he asked, "a date, I presume?"

You scoffed at the assumption and playfully smacked the man on his chest, "stop it. You know I don't deal with bozos anymore. I'm all about me as of right now," you said proudly.

"That's nice, but wouldn't you want someone else to be all about you, too?" Eli asked, holding your shoulder, "You're always stressed and trying to be the do-it-all girl, but someone needs to love on you. You know what I mean?"

"I'm sorry, I thought this evening was about you," you jeered, sarcasm a default in your personality.

"You know I'm right," he teased, "now, whoever this person is is not worth your time."

And just like that, another party guest came through the doors. He wore a felt hat, a vintage pirate coin pendant decorating his neck, and sunglasses to finish his bust. You immediately knew your plus one had arrived by the comments and the smell of Dior's Sauvage filling the room.

"Jake," you said as if his name was a breath of fresh air. “You came."

"You told me to come, so I came, love," Jake said, walking up to you and giving you a hug, to which you returned it with much enthusiasm. You pull away, seeing the tiniest hint of a smile behind those shades.

Eli had cleared his throat, having caught your attention and Jake's. "And who is this handsome young man?" he asked, your cheeks turning red from the question.

"I'm Jake Kiskza," he said, offering his hand, Eli taking it and shaking it. "I'm guessing you're the artist of the night. Congratulations."

"Why, thank you. I see you're a friend to our sweet Y/N," he pushed; you have to hide your face from the embarrassment.

"Yes, I am," Jake stated firmly, a protective arm around you and even pulling you close to make the statement clear to the gentlemen, "a special friend." You nudged Jake on his side, trying to keep him at ease. He always did this, trying to size up on any guy that spoke to you, much less breathed the same particles in the air as you.

"Is that so," Eli said, interested in getting to the tea. "Do tell me more."

"I would, but for tonight I'm here for Y/N, respectfully speaking," Jake said, his hand going down to your hip and feeling his thumb caress your side to keep you calm, knowing a fire had burned inside, and not for a good reason.

"See you," Eli said before dismissing himself, leaving you and Jake alone in a room full of people. Chastened, you part from Jake and scoff, Jake, throwing his hands up and following you. You find an unused lounge room where you sit and scowl in the venue.

Jake was right at your coattails, standing in from of you and having his thumb in the loop of his pants. "What's the matter with you?" he asked, sounding more accusatory than empathetic.

"Don't play dumb with me. You know what you were doing just now," you snap at Jake.

"I haven't the slightest idea of what you mean, Y/N," Jake said coyly, "be a good girl for me and do elaborate."

You stood up to Jake, snatching off his sunglasses and, chest out and ready to rumble, "Every time a guy talks to me, you come around and act as you own me. It never fails." Jake raised an eyebrow as you stood so close to him. "We're not dating, and you think you can act this way. Honestly, I don't know why I invite you to places."

"Watch that mouth of yours, little girl. Wouldn't want to punish it," he told you, chuckling a bit.

You gasped in shock, "are you serious? Are you shitting me right now? I'm having a serious conversation with you, and you're trying to play up your sick daddy kink?"

"I am serious," Jake said, walking up towards you, forcing you to walk backward and leaving you no choice but to surrender down on the velvet material of the couch underneath you, "you know as well as I do that you belong to me. That you've always belonged to me. Every curve, every inch of that body belongs to me."

You sat there silent, your thighs pressing together to stop yourself from leaking. You were aroused by Jake speaking to you like this. You were no better than him. "S-Stop it…"

"No," he said shortly with you, "I'm not gonna stop because tonight, I'm going to show you who you belong to."

You look up at him, feeling the apple of your cheeks swell up with blood and radiate heat as you see how close you two got. Jake sat down next to you, intimate and cozy, his hand on your thigh and his fingers trying to pry them over between. Your throat couldn't help but create a mewl, like a fearful yet anticipating whimper. It was as if you wanted it.

And you did.

By God, you did. You're pooling heat radiating like a pulsating heartbeat with a sting of a burn. "Come on, baby girl, you know you wanna give in, so why not do it," Jake said, trying to get you to cop out and give in to the game played. His fingers went up your thigh to find the pant of the underwear, searching for those shimmering folds.

You gave in.

Your legs slowly but surely spring open, as if meant to be, and give him access to you. "Good girl," Jake had pushed the front of your underwear from under the fabric to make space for his work, the sound of shredding cotton making you jump. Jake didn't start gentle or soft. He had pressed his middle and ring finger deep into your wet and slick cunt and began to finger you and a moderately fast pace. Whimpers and curses escape your lips as Jake unleashes all his desire for you into your center.

"Jake~," you say, your hips shifting height as you become overstimulated and restless. Just as he started, he quickly left, smacking your inner thighs and your vulva right. You let out a yelp and a curse.

"You call me daddy, understood?" Jake said, giving her another smack and teasing her hole. You push your hips off the couch, needing those broad fingertips using your heat. "Understood?"

"Yes… Daddy," you say with relief as you finally feel his back into you. You continued to give him a beautiful siren's serenade of moans and whimpers, his fingers stroking every wall of your center.

It was like a dream to you. You never would have thought you'd become putty to a foolish man like Jake Kiszka. He was the same Jake that would pretend to be the British drunkard Oliver Reed. The same Jake would be offended but with the color purple. You couldn't comprehend it at all.

"Turn around," Jake ordered, holding himself up and skillfully removing his belt buckle with one hand. You stayed open for Jake, anticipating what you were working with. "I said turn around."

As if your life depended on it, you quickly did as told, getting on your knees and your elbows tucked underneath your chest and armrest of the couch. You presented yourself with your ass up and your face down. It was a sight to see, Jake showing his appreciation but slowly letting a sliver of spit drip onto your entrance. After a while, his fingers rubbed slow and steady circles around your clit and down at your desperate slit. A whine escaped your lips as the teasing and playing with your center made you restless. "Daddy…"

Jake leaned down to your face and kissed your sweet lips before parting, taking a good piece of your hair into his fist and pulling your head a bit, a yelp escaping you. You could hear him undo his zipper, your eyes looking around frantically as you didn't know how he looked.

You felt the head press into you, your mouth hanging open, and your eyes crossed as you felt him bottom out inside you.

"Jake!" You moan out, fingernails digging into the upholstery. A smack on your ass made you scream, Jake giving you his all.

"What's my name?" He asked as he held onto your hips and thrust into you at an unforgiving pace but still slowed to get you adjusted.

"Daddy—" you dragged as his thrusts changed the vibrations in your voice, a reaction to his hot movement. You felt his hand pull your hair up and have you flush against his clothed chest. "I'm yours, Daddy! And I always will be—"

He pulls out, leaving you aching for his member. He begins to maneuver your body and press you against the wall, your thighs cocked open. "And what do you think you're doing?" you ask, becoming bolder.

"I wanna see your face when you cum." He pressed himself back into you and began to thrust in and out of you. Jake pins against the wall of the lounge area. How dirty this was. Fucking in a lounge room while your peers drank and talked about art. You were having your body slammed into by your long-time friend, and you were enjoying it fucking so much.

"I'm gonna cum," you warned him, feeling your core build up to your release. His hand went to your neck, Jake leaning in to kiss you. And the both of you kissed hard, teeth clashing and tongues fighting to hold dominion over the other. You'd have swollen lips later, but it was worth it.

"Tell me whose pussy this belongs to?" Jake said against your lips, purposely slowing down to drive you insane. You whined, trying to push yourself down on his cock, wanting it. "Tell me, or else I'll leave you here looking ruined."

"You, daddy~" you moaned his moniker. And with that, Jake gave you exactly what you wanted. His mouth found itself right where your earlobe and jawline met, your moans getting louder. It was a blur between you two, his pelvis meeting yours at an unforgiving pace. Your fingernails tugged into the back of his tailored blazer and soon released a sharp yelp, having released on his cock.

Jake had started to stutter in his movement, his cock releasing into you. He pulled his shirt up, seeing your abdomen and his cock twitch. The beautiful mess that you two made will forever hold space in your mind. He pulled out of you and laid you down on the couch. He fixed up his pants and sat down next to you. You looked angelic, from how your hair splayed out on the armchair to how your chest had risen and descended. It was beautiful. And it was all because of him.

Your eyes looked up at him, the guitarist looking worried. "Stop looking at me like that," you say, your arm over your eyes to break contact.

"You stop it," he said, removing your arm and leaning down to gently kiss either eyelid. You couldn't help but giggle at his affection. "You're beautiful..." You shake your head no, abashed, tears forming at the corner of your eyes. He leaned in and kissed you. It was a gentle and chaste display, his hand cupping your face and thumb rubbing your cheek to calm you. "Why are you crying, baby?"

"I'm not crying, I’m just tired," you lie, pushing Jake, to which he chuckled. You sit up and had fixed your hair. "How do I look?"

"Beautiful..." he said, his cheeks showing pink. You smiled, knowing what he said he meant it very much true. He had gotten up, fixing himself up and had extended his hand to you. "Come on, let's get back to the party," he told you. You look at his hand and smiled.

"Yes, Daddy."

#greta van fleet #greta van fic #greta van smut #jake gvf #jake kiszka #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka smut #greta van fleet fan fiction

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lavenderhhaze · 7 months

Text

DEAD BUTTERFLIES

pairing: Minho x fem!reader

wc: 5.9k

about: Minho wonders how he's supposed to go back after all this. Back to his shared apartment, to a stranger's mouth — a dead butterfly pinned under glass, watching as life unfolds before him.

warnings: toxic relationships, drug and alcohol abuse (sleeping pills and other pharmaceuticals), parental abuse and neglect, cheating, unrequited love, underage drinking and smoking, making out, unhealthy coping mechanisms, generally flawed characters

Aug'98

Minho has always smiled with silver teeth, bruised knuckles and bleeding lips staring back at him in the mirror until he couldn't recognise himself anymore.

And this time, he was grateful — barely half a drink in, not even tipsy. A head of silver hair and wild, crazy eyes. Fucking insane, is what his last girl had called him. There isn't much softness left within him. His eyes are sunken, his hair longer, curling at the nape of his neck.

If he tells the truth, he couldn't picture your face anymore. It's fuzzy and blurred, smudged like the edges of Hyunjin's favourite charcoal sketch.

He does, however, remember how you liked your coffee, your first kiss, throwing rocks at your window because he has always been too scared to say what he really feels, how you liked the snow, your texts and whatever the fuck it was that you made him feel — barefoot on your porch and it was ten in the morning.

He had thought little of '96 and '97, because he was young, with the world in his palm — he thinks little of time, as May soon melts into June. It's August and he has thought of little else but you.

And fuck, still, he smiles with the same silver teeth — all smart and casual, warm and tart, "Good evening, Sweetheart." As if something of you isn't stuck with him, like a splinter. But he'd lie to you. He doesn't love you anymore, he'd lie to you well, and get away with it.

Although his insides are churning, it's never his heart that's bleeding, not his hand in yours — it's a stranger's and he's glad. It has been six hundred and fifty six days since, his heart has only been growing and growing; until his ribs hurt. He hasn't really counted.

Minho is grateful he's the one you're staring at, doe eyes wide open; and he wonders if you're just as terrified as him. Grief catching up to him on a sunny street after running from it for years and he can only surrender.

"Hi Minho."

It's been two years since he last kissed you, two years since he has seen you smile one of those blinding and warm smiles. You're dead to me, Min. And it's been even longer since the last time Minho let his walls crumble.

"It's been so long," he says, but really he's just defeated. The day has been too long, and now even longer. His eyes wander in search of someone, looking anywhere but at you — as if he hasn't spent months dreaming of you.

The sun and your shoulders and his voice. It's all you, you, you. He feels the music in his chest — loud, too loud, and you smile. He's worried because it's a little too reminiscent. You could be cold, but he'd be colder.

"You've got your boyfriend on you," he comments, casually. But really, it's bitter and he hopes you catch on. Because decaying daydreams and throbbing hearts for eyes are too much to hold in his throat.

You clear your throat, eyes wandering back at that man you arrived here with. The red lights shine brighter over you, a stop sign asking him to cave. But has Minho ever cared?

"We're not really dating," you say, index and middle finger coming to fiddle with the pendant hanging off of a thin gold chain around your neck. It's a butterfly. And he has the same.

"You bullshit more than you did two years ago."

You scoff and he watches as the silver moonlight creeps into the cracks in the room. It holds on your shoulders as you sip your drink, "You never believe me."

"You never give me a reason to."

It's too quick, too sharp, too sardonic. And Minho curses at himself, sipping away at his whiskey on rocks to slow down his mind. He has always been like this — leaving doors open for people who will never knock again, hanging on to maybes and what-ifs. His heartbeat always too loud.

Your boyfriend invites himself, cutting into the brittle silence, hand around your waist and a kiss on your cheek. It doesn't hurt, not much and still Minho grips his drink tighter.

"Who's this?" He asks, a quick smile at Minho. All dark hair and sharp jaws and big arms. Minho couldn't take him down if he wanted to.

"A friend," you say, sharing a quick glance. He wonders if it would hurt more if you had said ex-boyfriend. But it never really went that far. But for a while it was love, wasn't it? For him it was love. "He's Minho. And Minho, this is Chris."

He raises his eyebrows in greeting, surely that was enough. And he wants to go back to being seventeen — being the half-grown grown up he's always been, with you. The glass in his hand is somehow colder, so he grips harder, his knuckles white.

The air is thick with tension and Minho walks a tightrope on a stretch of sea and sand. You only remind him of the ocean and he remembers smiling down at you and hoping he'd be your first and last everything.

Chris clears his throat, looking at you and then the bar. He glances back up at Minho, "Nice to see you, man." And he excuses himself.

He's leaving and everything is collapsing in Minho's chest because again, he's alone with you. He watches you loosen your grip on your drink after spending your life in tightened fists and your eyes are so bright tonight.

"I missed you," you say, your voice soft and your eyes sharp. Your fingertips stutter in their fiddling, eyes wet — the closest he's seen you to tears.

"You've learnt to lie, sweetheart. But not really better than me."

He hasn't ever tasted words more venomous and he can't look at you just yet. So he focuses on the crowd of hunched shoulders your boyfriend has dissapeared into. As if just two years ago, you both weren't just tragedy-stricken hearts with cherry-stained lips and sugared teeth.

"I'm not lying."

"Right," he says, all tart and humorous, but really he wishes what you say is true. His hand slips into his pocket and he brings a cigarette to his lips. He has never smoked as much as he does when he thinks of you.

Minho waits for you to protest, because you did when you cared. Because he wants to feel less like an abandoned porcelain cup with a chipped handle, drunk on your promises until they sting at the back of his throat. He can't look at you just yet, he tells himself. Not yet. He'd promise the world to you in a heartbeat if he did.

"Can you give me one?"

He blinks, watching you and then your boyfriend — to prim and proper to have ever held a cigarette. Minho has always been like this, tending to self destruct as if he's watching a trainwreck from a distance. He picked up smoking at twelve — stealing one and two from his mother's handbag until he was buying full packets himself.

"Your boyfriend will fucking beat me up."

"He's not my—"

"You don't have to do this."

You nod, arms folding and withdrawing within yourself at his sharp tone. He knows you can see it though — he's all open wounds with no intention of getting better.

He is a stop sign shining bright at your face: caution, step back, there is blood in places where there shouldn't be.

"How have you been?" you ask, cautious to overstep but you already have, and he hasn't ever cared.

There is a lump in my throat, the size of a cherry pit that I haven't managed to swallow since I was fifteen.

"Fine," he lies, trying his best for a smile though it wavers, "I mean, as much as it could be."

His ego has always held him in its first, fingers clawing around his throat keeping him from saying what he really means: I fucking miss you, come back to me. He watches you sigh, possibly exhausted from everytime you've tried to start up something only for him to shut it down.

"Really?"

Your eyes light up — an unadmired cityscape, at the possibility of him opening up. And fuck, he remembers with full force — your patience towards his unsolved heart, and nothing else tastes so bittersweet.

"Not really."

And then he sees it — maybe relief? He can't quite point it out. He doesn't know the intent, only the tilt of your jaw and the curve of your smile and he wishes you'd cling to his shirt and tell him you've been the same.

"It's been a trainwreck, you know?" you say, fingers tracing the rim of your drink because you can't quite look him in the eyes yet. "The last two years. But I feel like I'm getting somewhere."

"With your Chris?" He can't help how sour his tone is, but you take it lightly — with a laugh which reminds him of windchimes and seaside breeze.

"With Chris. With college. With everything, Minho."

He only nods, not pointing out the trainwreck you had left behind in the seaside town you never looked back at. Balmy nights, warm skin and cool cotton, damp earth and cheap beer left long forgotten.

"You want to get some air?"

"What about Chris?"

"Fuck Chris."

August stands before him, stretched thin — long, golden and reassuring. Almost permanent. The month he finally got to sane. His cigarette hangs between his lips, hands shoved in his pockets. He couldn't touch you. He couldn't touch you and return to his shared apartment, back to a stranger's mouth — unfazed and careless.

You say that you've been happy lately, wallowing a little selfishly in whatever of that is remaining, knowing it might not last very long. And he's proud, really. A part of him is the happiest because he's made the right choice. If he really squints, he can see himself in your eyes — staring back at him with hope. He hasn't seen that in years. He should be running the fuck away from you.

Minho wants to get better, hand on heart. But the chant of tart sleep and Tylenol pulls him back with fists knotting in his hair. And he wants to, for you. For you and whatever else is remaining of himself. He wants to sink his teeth into life until his heart stops beating and you'd smile and say that you're proud of him. He'll get it right next time, he says, sinking back into his bed. His hands fumble the nightstand for the remaining sleeping pills. And there is no you. There is no him.

"Minho?"

"Yeah?"

His heart is frantic — a dying moth hiding away in the corners of his cracked ribs.

"I missed you, really."

All tartness and sarcasm gone, he hasn't ever faced life so bare — asking to get hurt with no frankness to hide behind. Sincerity, both cold and sober. And he could only cave.

"Yeah?"

Oct'95

It's October and Minho lingers on your driveway, freshly seventeen with his face still young, breathing your name with his tongue touching the roof of his mouth.

Two summers ago, the weather had been perfect — the sea and the black glossy sky, the remaining suns heat heavy on your heads. And at the end of each day, walking home with a fever of happiness, as if he had someone to return to.

You unlock your door, peeking at him before rushing to lock it shut behind you. You shush him when he says your name a little too loud and then you're walking barefoot by his side, your shoes hanging from his crooked thumbs because you love the pebbled path at the turning.

Sometimes you'd sit on that flat stone ledge with your legs crossed, talking about Chris — top grades, Cheshire smile and this sort of charm he'd never figure out. And Minho liked to smoke a cigarette. He stole them from his mother's purse, she let him because she hardly cared. It started with the Calpol she slipped to him when he had a toothache, or when she wanted to sleep. Later it would be the cigarettes, and finally the pills.

You seemed to mind the cigarettes though, but you never complained.

Today, he hangs his legs off the ledge and turns his back to the breeze. It's an excuse to look at you, partly, but he'd never confess. He flints his plastic lighter, you had drawn hearts on it last week. And you cup your hands around his, watching the white end burn red.

"Close your eyes," you say and it's like warm wine going straight to his head. So he complies, waiting and patient.

You knot a white bracelet about his wrist, smiling so hard he wonders if your cheeks hurt. Drifting birdsongs and low flying dragonflies. Then you raise your wrist, showing a matching bracelet around your own. "So that you don't forget me, yeah? Happy fucking birthday, Minho."

You were so intense, so serious. He admits finally, it scared him a bit. You go back to talking about Chris and Minho only wonders how slowly the summer months drift by. Blush coloured clouds, coral skies and the world dusted in rose pink. A handful of months and you'll be far away.

He holds the smoke in his mouth, tapping the ash at his feet and leaning forward, watching the loose shape of your fingers as you fiddle with the bracelet on your wrist.

"Do you think my mom will really care? If I leave a few months early?"

Minho can only nod, so absent-minded. It is always cold, when he wanders back to the off-white tiles of his bathroom, with dirty porcelain fixtures and corners he could never quite get clean. He wonders if it's the smoke that sticks to the walls, casting that pale yellow gleam of paranoia. His mother doesn't care, not really. Only slipping a bill on the cold granite, asking for another pack.

He touches his thumb to the bare skin at the base of his throat, but he's looking at you. "Paint," he says, "You should get it clean."

"Shit," you squint at your shirt, at the smudge of blue paint rubbing off of wood.

Your mother's rules and his mother's absence seems so far away, miles from the secluded beach. His thumb burns when he touches the blue smudge — the shape of a crescent on your white shirt. It's teenage, he figures, spicing your blood and making you reckless and stupid.

"Let's get it clean," he says, reckless and fucking stupid. Taking your hand and the stolen key to the boathouse — all started wood and felted roof, like a garden shed. It bolts shut on the inside, and the only light is the moonlight slipping through the slats, smelling of wet-suits and fresh paint.

"Happy birthday, Min," you say again, and this time it's sweeter, sticking to him like nectar. He rubs at your stained collar with the little paint thinner left. You smell like oranges and fresh begonia — your perfume, he'd come to find out. Your clementine earrings dangle by his fingers, catching the little moonlight.

"Thankyou," he says, simply. But it's a slow rumble from the bottom of his throat. You're so close and he's ash-hands and honeyed-tongue, made of teeth and spidery orchids.

"Happy birthday," you repeat. And he sees flowers in your hair and stardust in your eyes — wild like a dream is wild and bright, so fucking bright. Your bracelet catches the low-light, glinting at him and demanding.

He shouldn't be doing this, ever. Last night, he dreamt of the rise and fall of your breath. But in this dream-like state, forgiveness comes easy. It's the want to be wanted that has always been so natural to him.

Red rimmed eyes and smoke, knuckles bruised this pale yellow — the shade of tulips, spidery fingers that remind you of orchids. And the cigarette is just an excuse to face you. He'll find you behind his eyelids when you're less than a feet away, the burning in his throat when you talk of Chris. So he'll sit beside you, all quiet and trembling, choking on his own smoke and despite it all, he'll love you anyway.

"Thankyou," he whispers again, quiet and shaky.

Nov'95

Winter is a pendant hanging off of your throat, and your silver necklaces look like they're pressing too hard against your throat. He likes the way you look against the starless night — a little scattered rather than the mostly assembled.

"Mom told me that all guys think about is sex."

"Yeah?" he chuckles, heaving a heavy exhale before looking back at you, "Does Chris think only about sex too?"

It's 3 a.m, far too late to return home by any means other than your open window. And Minho drives down the highway, stealing glances at you, pretending it's secretive. You're in the passanger seat and it's still summer inside, with the window drawn wide open, hand on your fist with your eyes weighed down by exhaustion.

"Not Chris," you decide, closing your eyes because the wind is too strong, "I don't think so."

You listen to Frank Ocean because he decided to choose the music for tonight and his ring-clad fingers drum along the beat on the stearing wheel. His hands are shaky, and you frown, eyes following when he runs it through his hair and it returns to the stearing wheel.

"You should stop smoking," you say, still frowning.

It's the pills. It's the fucking pills. He's screaming but he pretends he hasn't heard you. Pretending he doesn't stain everything he touches red on accident.

Your head tips up to look at him, not waiting for an answer because you know he never will. Cardinal moths with snow brushed wings nesle in a warm corner in his ribs. Minho feels whole. Complete.

Dec'95

Minho spends Christmas night with you again. You find him on the backstreets, leather jacket and boots and this wandering gaze. Your eyes are heavy when he links your arms, shivering when his skin meets yours. You look at him unsure, with this little bit of nostalgia and he's terrified.

Neon signs blare bright yellow, shining down at you with a halo surrounding your head. The baseline from the backstreet clubs makes the walls shake and he's only holding on tighter.

"It's your last Christmas here," he whispers, voice low, timid. Scared.

His heart is a blue lick of fire curling in his stomach. Don't go, it screams at you — steely and unoffering. His mother says he offers more that he can give, as if he's a dust cloud waiting to disappear. But his mother has never looked this close, never getting past the sight of teeth.

His mother had said there was an angel in the attic behind the stairs when he was seven. He had slipped on the carpet and landed on glass that year, splitting his foot open under the attic stairs and there was no angel swimming in the blood.

"I want to go away," you say, holding his hand tighter.

You trade confession for confession, only that his dies in his throat. He remembers summer like a splinter in his teeth — empty beer cans on porch steps, orange ladybugs curling on windowsills and strawberry stained lips.

This town was never a place for someone like you.

Jan'96

For Minho, things have always been okay eventually, not everything. You will never be. But he's learnt to be okay with that. It's one of the times he puts up a really good fight and still loses, he holds on really hard until there is no choice to let go. Then he lights himself a cigarette, sits across from you, and convinces himself that he's okay with it.

His mother always said he never had ambition but it's not quite true. His ambition has always been quiet — to exist, and to exist peacefully, drowned out by cans and cans of beer if that it what gets him to shut up.

But all that goes to hell when he's here, watching you, ringed fingers raising a cigarette to his mouth that hasn't shut up about you since you wished him a happy birthday.

"I think about it a lot."

Minho raises his brows, eyes of murky waters choking and chortling with dirty hands around his wrists. "About what?"

You frown and it's almost disbelief, if he hadn't noticed the corners of your lips curling upwards.

"You never listen to me."

"You're right," he shrugs, leaning further back in his pretend nonchalance. "You need to be more interesting."

You gasp, muttering an inaudible asshole under your breath before you return to what you were saying.

"I was thinking about you."

"Me?" His heart slows until it's at a halt, his nerves are aware. Very much aware of you. What do you think about? His scraped knees, the blood under his band-aids, split lips, split knuckles, spilt heart? It's just boyhood. It's just an excuse.

"Do you drink that often?"

"Sometimes," he says, waving around his cigarette hand for emphasis. Your face shines through the smoke and he can't bite back that smile. "When the world gets hard to live in."

"You should take me with you sometime," you say, a little bold, a little vulnerable. You tap your fingers on your knees and it's that sinking feeling as if he's being eaten alive.

"Does your world get hard to live in?"

"Sometimes," you shrug and he sees that smirk falter,"I've got my special little problems."

"Like what?"

"Like my mom, like boyfriends, like irregular periods, stuff."

Minho wrinkles his nose at the mention of boyfriends. It's an antic, but you laugh. You miss the faint blush spreading on his cheeks when he asks: you and Chris —?

"No," you roll your eyes, but there's a playful flick when you look again, "Not yet, at least."

It's his pretty boy antics, is what you call them. The way he looks at you now, all damp-eyed and nostalgic. But there's love rushing through his heart, there is always love rushing through his heart, ready to run in the rain with screaming confessions. When he says awestruck, he means you. When he thinks of you, he means terrified.

Feb '96

The moonlight reflects off the edge of the ocean like a sharpened blade, and the gleam catches Minho's eye, a little painstakingly. His imagination has been getting morbid. He sees scars on the sand, water spilling out and gathering at his feet until he's standing in a puddle of blood.

There is an attempted bonfire not too far away. He can see a middle aged man with thinning hair slotting driftwood and shoving crumpled up newspaper underneath. The driftwood seems too cold and wet to catch a fire, but again, Minho has always been a pessimist.

"You said you wanted to drink, right?"

And then there's you, wringing your hands in front of you — and Minho wonders if it's nervousness or excitement. It's too dark to see your face and still he can feel your eyes shining back at him. All diamonds and star-flecked and human, and he is almost jealous.

"So you were listening to me."

He grins, a little lopsided; before pulling out his thin metal flask from the pocket of his jacket. It's both his pride and the moonlight catching on the steel, gleaming off at you and you smile until your cheeks hurt.

A column of smoke rises from the pile of driftwood, white and clear — a smudge against the inky black sky, with no wind to disperse it.

"No I wasn't, this is for me."

You pay no attention, grabbing at the flask until he's letting go. It's the eagerness in you that makes him feel a lot older on the inside, he's still learning to appreciate his breathing.

He watches you twist off the cap. "It's whiskey," he says, when you look up at him with your eyebrows raised. You pour it in the cap, taking and apprehensive breath and following it up with a few small sips. You grimmace, but raise the flask again, chasing after that warm feeling that travels from your throat to your stomach.

"It's good," you say, eager and so bright. With you, the sky is still golden; the street lights come alive and the drizzle is still light. "It's got to be twenty one year old single malt. Aged in oak —"

Minho smiles, stealing back his flask for a sip before you go further. He's teasing and testing, when he raises a single brow, "Really?"

"I can hear the Scottish sea from this one."

His smile is wider and he takes another sip, "Because this is the cheapest fucking whiskey you can find around here."

Your smile drops, reflecting off the bonfire in slow, gradual stages. You snatch back the flask, his warmth still residual on the thin metal from when his fingertips touch yours.

"Oh, fuck you, you know that?"

It is the sound of distant church bells, and for a long time it's just you and him and the rush of salt air. For a while, Minho wonders what it would mean to die here — in the same town that had grown its roots in his stomach, boasting more than what it offered.

"What if you leave with me?"

He hasn't really thought that far, growing old and sipping cheap whiskey from the metal cup you hand him. If he left, he'd bring the town with him. He'd bring the train tracks and the rocks under which he hid his cigarettes right with him. He'd come back, fall into faith or fall out of love or fall into something else entirely.

For you, the town brought misfortune. But he could be young and flighty, smoke while listening to the city river, but he couldn't escape what part of it grew within him.

He scoffs as if it's a joke, as if everything has been, "Why? You want me with you?"

"Yes, Minho."

It's sincere and that is what scares him. It is fearless and bold to confess, but it's a joke. Everything has been.

He grins, throwing back the remaining alcohol and hissing at the burn in his throat. It's screaming at your sincerity — because he's weak and hollow, but that doesn't matter.

"If it's not me staying here, then who is it?"

You blink at him, confused and he sees the shade of a peach tree, lemongrass and clean kitchen tiles with his radio playing jazz music. He sees acceptance in a rented apartment somewhere in the city, facing a brick wall but he has always been too in love to care.

Your breath trembles and you swallow harshly, looking away. He wonders if the flush of your cheeks is really the whiskey.

"I'll never understand why you feel the need to bleed for other people, Minho. But I'll never stop being grateful that you did."

March'96

The storms have begun in a way that reminds Minho of summer — everything does, because summer reminds him that you could have been something. You were something — even if it was only a beginning, just a whisper in his screaming world.

It was something, but you're someone who likes to set fires and he can only wait out the storms, and he can't allow himself to make a home of this. Because this is all he has.

"Remind me why it had to be a fucking department store again."

"Because," you start, drawing it out with all intented dramatics. "I haven't had department store beer. And I'm the one leaving next week."

It sounds more permanent when you say it like that. You're the one leaving next week. Next week. Six days. And Minho is scared he'll spend the rest of his life chasing your shadow in grocery store isles. That's what he keeps doing — recycling promises like plastic bottles. There is just so long you can stay here, purging those promises with dime store whiskey and pawn shop cigarettes.

"You've never had department store lunch?"

You shake your head, holding on to his sleeve as you struggle to keep up, "I don't know why. Mom just never took me there."

Strange, he thinks. Because that's all his mother seemed to do. He had the aisles memorized — alcohol on the first right, packed lunches on the third aisle and the freezers further down.

"It's weird, I know."

He frowns. It's not much weird as it is strange. Nothing experiential about stale lunches and shitty beer. Would it taste much differently in the city? The tinted windows now frosted up and lined with finger prints. You wouldn't miss much. You wouldn't miss him.

"I think it's nice. It isn't anything special anyways."

"How so?"

Because you mean everything to me. Because you're the light that rests in his stars and the love that hides in his teeth, the light escaping his thick curtains. And you'd pretend to be harsh, and angry. But you'd tread so softly and touch so tenderly.

"I don't know," he shrugs. "It just is."

Minho picks up the cheapest beer cans and you treasure your microwaved rice. It's a part of the ‘authentic experience’ as you had declared. It's the terrace again, with its bare cemented walls that scratch against his t-shirt, red and orange chalk smeared on the walls in attempted graffiti. Six days, the heat is clawing on him, gathering like the overhead clouds as you gladly open your microwaved lunch.

"It's not bad—" you start, frowning when you take your first bite, already defending your decisions.

"Yeah well, it's not good either," he scoffs, staring at the gradually darkening sky. And something in it weighs down in his chest, stinging at the back of his eyes. He wonders if you'll stay if he asks you to.

"You're just a pessimist."

He is. So he indulges in his beer instead, scowling deeper at her first sip, "It tastes like piss."

"It's a part of the experience," you chastise.

All he does is stare at the grey hue draping over he sky, bleeding into the distant buildings. He can't tell where it ends. There are cement pieces lodging in his heart when he thinks about six days later. Orange chalk rubs on his forearm like a flame licking up his skin — it hurts to breathe so he swallows haggardly.

"Min?"

He hums, too scared to speak.

"Talk to me."

He focuses on the tinted windows and the heavy sky. It'd rain soon, washing away the remaining bits of chalk and cigarette dust littering the rooftop. Minho is scared that a year later there will be a different boy sitting cross-legged across from you, smelling of a different brand of cigarettes.

"What will you miss when you're gone ?"

He's not in love with you. He knows what it means to play with fire when he's made of paper. He feels every word like teeth to his skin. He feels his dreams rot underneath his fingernails. He's both too much and not enough.

"Your shitty beer, the sea and you."

"Your turn."

He's not in love with you. He's just a teenage boy, wallowing in his remaining boyhood. He has a scar on his stomach that runs an inch too deep. He's no less afraid of dying than he is of losing you, and that scares him too.

"What are you scared of?"

Minho frowns, glancing back at you and lingering for too long, "Nothing much."

Everything, he swallows, he could never give that much away.

Off to the distance, there is a café — nothing much, except for a small white house with a front porch and a faded sign with the distinct shape of a coffee cup hanging from the eaves. Minho frowns at the crowd of tourists, wondering what it would mean to be normal. The beer tastes bitter on his tongue.

"What are you thinking about?"

Your voice breaks his trance, his frown lightening when he meets your eyes. That canted smile and his promise to protect what's precious. It comes with the realisation that there will never be more of summer than there is now — there will never be more of you than what he has now.

He could complain, of course. How can you live in the city for so long? It is terrible in its winters and summers, and springs. The fall would last two weeks. But he'd known your taste for difficult men — smelling of Newport cigarettes and dried blood.

"Nothing."

"Chris asked me if he could drive me to the city yesterday."

The sky darkens from grey to black, inky and inviting — reminding him of October. The earthy scent of petrichor lingers in the air and he doesn't miss the way you're shoulder quivers, shaking off his jacket and slinging it on your shoulders.

"Yeah? What'd you say?"

Minho wonders if he'd get that dream again tonight, the one with ash-stained cheekbones and teeth of splintered glass, smiling through a mouthful of bloody teeth— following him through the worst of his days.

"I told him no."

"Why?"

"I want you to drive me."

The night is so still he forgets to breathe. It doesn't matter much, he's was choking on the feeling of being temporary. But he knows the your smoke would still linger, even with you gone.

His voice is gruff and shaky, he feels the shape of his words in his throat, "Really?"

"Really?" you say, a little angry but mostly disappointed. He's never seen your eyes this damp, beaded lace shimmering in the moonlight. "Why can't you figure me out, Min? Why do you have to make me say it all? I like you more than him, that's all. And I wish I had fallen in love with him. But I didn't. I fell in love with you."

He tries to speak, but it's only an exhale, taking forever to get over. You'd never know him. But you'll think you do. And that's enough for him.

Your frown only deepens, shrugging off his jacket and wrapping your arms around yourself. It is March unfolding itself with a mess of aching limbs and hearts stretched too far. "Will you get that look off your fucking face? You'll make me cry. At least talk to me, Min."

He holds his jacket over your head, hiding you from where the drizzle meets you. His hands strain to find your face, when he'd kiss you. Petrichor clings to your hair and his jacket, your skin warm under his palms. He feels dreamy and distant — unreal. It's his summer but dark, with begonia and unkept promises, shadowy and melancholic with you smiling into his mouth.

Your lips taste of orange chapstick and he grins when you hold on tighter, "Drop that fucking jacket and hold me with both hands."

"But we'll get wet."

"Can you stop thinking for once, Min?"

He drops his jacket and wraps his free arm around your waist, grinning all the way through. Your chapstick has smudged, leaving orange flecks surrounding your lips.

At seven, he had found a butterfly on his window with half a wing missing. And he'd cupped it in his hands, held it secure against his sweater — terrified of the wind. He had clampered up the telephone stand, knees scraping against the unpolished wood, still drowsy off of Tylenol and called the animal helpline he had memorized. He was instructed to clip off the other wing to match the first one.

It died in a glass jar on his desk three days later. Too much sun, they had said. Too much love, he understood.

He'd climb in the jar if you ask him, he'd tear off his other wing himself. He'd wonder if Icarus was more than his fall. He'd try to make it charming when it's not, he'd wonder why he's not falling in love.

"I love you," your voice is deep and sincere and you press your cheek against his neck. It his real blood gushing through his veins — terrible, insecure anburdened, but alive.

"I know," he sighs, smiling into your hair — but it's sad. He'd hold his breath, close his fists and wait. He'd try to let go, but he can't. He doesn't know how to let go. No one taught him to let go. "But, it'll pass."

Aug'98

"Yeah."

Minho is still tipsy off of that old whiskey, not like three years has done much to sober him up. He still tastes you in the air, like it's '96 all over again. But he'd do it much better this time, he swears. He let you fuck him at nineteen and he'd let you fuck him again at twenty-one.

It's an awful sense of deja-vu, with you and the air too cold on his cheeks. You and Chris's borrowed leather jacket hanging off of your shoulders. It's awful because he's already forgiven you, because he's already done the hard part — told you where it hurts and begged for you to fix it. Because Minho keeps doors open for those who will never knock again.

"I missed you too, really."

He feels small, standing there and making a gift of his confession. It is guilt raking his throat on the inside. It is perhaps fear, or his nerves, or this awful self fulfilling prophecy he is turning into.

And that was the last of Minho's mistakes — letting you in, again. His hands finding you and your hands his shoulders, heart heaving and his breath accelerated beyond measure when you kissed him again. It is the smell of oranges and begonia that meets him again, and the taste of Coca-Cola when your hand winds in his hair. That is how it felt — inappropriate but instinctive.

He smiles into your mouth, feeling your clementine earrings dangle by his cheek and you only hold him tighter and kiss him harder.

Minho admits, he's jealous of your restraint — of you not touching him until he touched you. He's so jealous of everyone who gets to say it out loud — of Chris who gets to hold your hand and kiss you knowing it is where he belongs.

He sighs heavily, leaning further away to get a look at your eyes. Do you remember the beach? Is it twisted to want it back? His forehead finds yours as his hands hold your face — your cheeks wet, when he kisses you again. Once. Twice. And then he wonders if he'd let himself say more this time. Or he'd just drink more whiskey and go somewhere other than home.

"Your boyfriend is waiting on you," he says, smug and smiling, but really his heart is swelling from the moment you chose him, again. Even if it's only temporary.

"Fuck Chris."

Let the tide not be stronger than us, he hears.

He feels young and clumsy and ridiculous, teeth clashing into yours and giggling when your fingers find his collar — almost angry. Angry like the last eight seasons of grey buildings and self pity and moving into the city hoping something would change.

Angry in the way he pushes the leather jacket off your shoulders because it reminds him of Chris and how he could never catch up.

"Min, are you crying?"

He blinks back, a little confused but mostly frustrated. He is crying, hot tears warming his cheeks and then the rose flush of embarrassment when you cradle his face.

He shakes you off, eyes ringed with red because he's losing his mind — the city screams your name and he's too scared to leave, too in love to cover his ears. Maybe in the grand scheme of things, two years is nothing at all.

"Min—?"

He kisses you again, harsher, stronger and angrier— teeth clashing and biting. It feels more like an excuse, knowing you're not on his side, gliding over the seam of your mouth. You're not on Chris's side either, you're not anyone's infact. And you ease his understanding, holding his face closer to you and kissing him back with the same fever through his salt tears. It's always been this easy.

Minho wonders if it's really raining beyond the parking area, turning the grey of the buildings into watercolour bloom — because that's how he feels, his hands sliding underneath your blouse to feel warm skin under his freezing palms. He's very aware — aware of your blouse snagging on his fingertips, the alcohol rushing through his blood-streams, so loud that he could feel it in his ears. Aware of the fact that he's doing something absolutely stupid, that he could never remove from himself.

He stops when the rain does, removing himself from you and pressing his lips to your forehead. There are no words to follow with, nothing he can really say. It's mostly sadness — sadness shared, enough to drown him out. Maybe love does go bad, rotting on the top shelf of his apartment, screaming and then cradling him to sleep.

He fixes your blouse, reaching to pick up the leather jacket and slinging it back on your shoulders, when all you do is stare back at him.

"I'll miss you again," you say, when he rakes his fingers through your hair, attempting to fix the mess he made. Th crow's feet deepen near his eyes — he looks older, much older.

But will you miss me like I'll miss you? Will you wonder how I've changed since you've been gone? Will you keep being my home if I leave my heart behind?

He smiles, but it's sad and sardonic, because he'll always be like this — staining things red on accident, things that do not belong to him, "You can't do this to me, you know that?"

Perhaps it is that he's gone crazy. Or he's far too drunk. But pity feels the same no matter where it punctures him.

You sigh, deeply.

"You're dead to me, Min."

Minho feels that deep rooted sadness again, setling somewhere between his ribs. The moonlight makes his shadow small, and he feels like a child again. Your smoke will linger, the way it has in the last two years. And he wonders how he's supposed to go back after this. Back to his shared apartment, to a strangers mouth — a dead butterfly pinned under glass, watching as his life unfolds before him.

A/N: Six whole months in the making but we're back. So many murakami references again. Thankyou to that one ask that started it all. Asks, comments and reblogs — any sort of feedback is greatly appreciated!

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