#everytime i see him. i get the urge to scream | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

formulaforza · 1 year

Text

—the seasons of love

or: the enemies to lovers situationship fic charles leclerc x female reader summ. winter, the first time. the start of the year, the start of it all. minors dni, nsfw warnings under the cut. 7k words part two part three part four part five

18+ because: brat taming, fingering, oral (f receiving), name calling, spit, unprotected sex, overstimulation, booty call!, masturbation (f receiving), voyeurism, mad sass, fucking porn without plot basically.

There’s nothing special about the club scene in Monte Carlo. If you’ve been to a club in any major city, anywhere in the world, you’ve been to a club in Monaco. It’s all neon lights and kaleidoscope colors and poorly lit dance floors and mid-tier DJs who think they’re the next coming of Jesus.

Tonight is no exception. The air is thick and heavy with the scent of floral perfume and alcohol, the entire room shaking with the pulsating beat of the bass, reverberating off every single corner and shaking the liquor in your glass. Bodies move—yours included—half in sync with the music, half in step with their drunken stupor. Perched in the safety of Charles’s section, away from the swaying forms of laughter and shouting and screaming, your entire body thumps alone to the beat from the DJ booth a couple meters away.

Across the section, Charles sits stoic on a couch, taking up a seat and a half and frozen like some magnetic force. His eyes are stuck on you in a way that pulls goosebumps from your skin, makes you irrational angry at him. You’re feeling particularly bratty today, egged on by the tequila and his visible annoyance.

You’re on your way to interject into his pity party when your sister catches your arm, pulls you by your bicep to dance with her. Her palms are sweaty and cold and you hope that it’s the condensation from her cold glass that’s got her all clammy. The two of you have always been quite a sight after a few drinks. You get your tolerance from your mother, are both disastrous lightweights, feel the need to give any and everyone around you a show.

The two of you twirl to the music with little effort, laughing like you’re seven and the hazard littered floor under your feet is the old brown carpet from the family room you grew up hosting dance parties in. It’s all hair and giggles and hands in the air like you just don’t care. Everytime your glance catches his, he’s staring back, nursing his drink and half participating in a conversation with your brother-in-law and Jo.

“What’s his fucking problem?” you ask, leaning over to shout into your sister’s ear.

“He can’t dance,” she slurs. You snort. He can dance.

You whistle, loud and commanding and cat-call-ish even though he’s already watching you. “Charles! Get out here and dance, you fucking buzzkill!”

Your sister joins in on the fun, playfully swaying her hips to the music, tossing out an imaginary fishing line to her husband and reeling him over, calling along teasingly to Charles. “Yeah, show us what you’ve got, Il Predestinato!”

Charles rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly. “I don’t dance,” he calls back with a soft chuckle. He tries to play it cool, like always, but everyone in the room knows you’re pushing his buttons. You always are. The reason he keeps you around is the same reason you stay around; your families’ relationship predates any animosity between the two of you. That, and the friend group was founded before you loathed each other and it would be too much work to try and split it up now. You’d probably never see Joris again.

You dance closer to him, putting on a dramatic show and a poor fight against the urge to continue challenging him. “Come on,” you tug on his arm, just out your bottom lip into a pretty little pout. “Live a little.”

He’s never been able to turn down one of your challenges, however thinly veiled they might be. It’s his own personal sore spot, the one that you poke and prod as often as you can. Competition has always been the foundation of your mutual annoyance, it’s not going to suddenly change after some eighteen years of consistency. Finally, he relents, lets you think you’re pulling him to his feet, dragging him to dance with you and your sister.

His moves are stiff and awkward, almost hard to watch. You laugh, because he’s wound up so fucking tight in two weeks you’d have a diamond. “See!?” your sister laughs, the contagion of it spreading to even the brunt of the joke. “I told you!” she continues, slinking her arm around her husband’s neck sloppily. His arm grips her side to hold her steady. It makes you feel sick.

A smirk tugs on his lips, and for a brief moment, there’s a hint of something more in his eyes. Not annoyance or frustration. Something seven, something innocent and childish. It’s fleeting, and you take a deep breath because the music feels quieter now. You down what’s left of your cocktail to clear your head, to calm the sudden flutter of nerves.

The more he drinks and the longer he’s forced to dance, the lighter and more magnetic he becomes. “You know, Charles, I never thought I’d see the day,” you tease. He’s been in a near constant state of pity-party for weeks now, ever since his dumb ass got dumped by another girl wildly out of his league.

He rolls his eyes, but his tone is as amused as it is drunk. “Don’t get too excited. It’s the liquor,” he retorts, a piss poor attempt at downplaying how much fun he’s having. He wouldn’t dare to give you the satisfaction. You lean in closer, brush your body against his, fueled by the noise and the alcohol.

“The liquor doing the touching, too?” you ask.

He’s always been a touchy drunk. Since before you and your friends were allowed to drink, he’s been hands-on. And maybe it’s because this is the first time he’s grabbing your hips, the first time his broad hand is flat over your stomach, but you’d never noticed him as this touchy with his girlfriends or his girls that appear when he’s around. Whatever it is, the more he drinks, the more comfortable he is with his hands on you, and the less you find the nerve to care.

It doesn’t matter how many times he does it, though. Every touch burns your skin. It’s a sick little game you two play. Sick and twisted and so, so unlike the two of you.

Watch yourself—he warns, hand on the small of your back. You play with fire. Well established and well documented, though; you never back down either. No, the thrill of annoying him is enough to dive head-first, to push his buttons until they stick. “Am I?” you ask, as innocently as the tequila can muster, taking hold of his wrist and moving it so his arm is wrapped around your midsection, fighting to settle in the space between your waistband and shirt hem.

You respond to every one of his careful touches, ever lingering finger on your arm and your waist and your back. When you close your eyes, you imagine the nonsense patterns he draws on your skin like it’s on canvas in a museum, hung front and center just for you. Your inhibitions are slipping too, and you let yourself trail wandering fingertips over his body, too.

This isn’t the Charles you’re used to, the one you go head-to-head with every fifteen minutes. This is something entirely new, so far into uncharted territory you’re not even sure which way is north. There’s something particularly intriguing about the nerves bouncing around your gut.

Everything fades away into the dark and crowded club. You don’t know if your sister and brother-in-law are still standing there, if any of your friends are. All you know if the electric charge of this, of every teasing remark and touch that draws you closer, forces you to test the waters of the newfound layer of tension.

Everything is building, it feels like, to some grand crescendo of emotion and desire. Before there’s room to explore it, though, to dive deeper into the unspoken shift, the moment is interrupted by the return of the friends you didn’t notice leaving.

The night drags on, the lines between annoyance and attraction blurring into some chaotic muddle of intoxication. Nothing is clear, nothing except the sobering and unignorable pull. It lingers in the air above you, in the space between like a secret just begging to be unraveled.

You’ve got another drink now, because you can only think of one decision that would be worse than more tequila. In due time, you’re worried you’re a lost cause when it comes to that choice as well. His eyes stay on you, even from a distance, and you revel in the glory of his attention. Embolden by it all, you continue fucking with him. “Having fun yet, Charles?” you ask, knowing smile, voice dripping in subtle suggestion.

He raises a brow, the corners of his lips quirking up. You don’t think you’ve ever spent much time looking at them, the soft shade of pink and the softer skin. “I suppose I can tolerate it,” he replies with teasing eyes. He’s irritated by your laugh, by your proximity, by your lips brushing against his ear when you whisper; you’re not the only one here trying to have fun. His jaw tightens but he doesn’t take your bait. Instead, he pulls you closer, sways in rhythm with you and replies, “I’m here to enjoy myself, not entertain you.”

He sends your brattiness running full-tilt. Forces you to carefully consider every movement, every ounce of playfulness that you allow to seep into your demeanor and the proactive sway of your hips. You grin at him every chance you get, sly and calculated, daring him to resist.

You lean in close, brush against his ear and can blame it on practicality, on the bass and the music and the DJ if anyone were to question your actions. You rest a hand on his chest. “I know you love my attention.”

His breath hitches at your audacity, heart racing so quick you can feel it in your palm. He pulls you closer, dangerously close to your lips and says, “you talk too much. Maybe it’s time someone shuts you up.”

You scoff, low and teasing. “I’d like to see you try.”

[18 minutes later]

You step into the well-lit lobby less than a pace behind him. Your hands are interlocked, have been for every block of the darkened streets—since he grabbed yours and pulled you out of the club. “Admit it,” you giggle. “You love having me push your buttons.”

He remains stoic, jaw set as he pushes the button on the elevator. The tension is at a boiling point. You’re either about to kill each other, to be on the news for some grand double murder, or something so, so much worse is going to unfold.

He leads you to the apartment without a word, but as soon as the door closes behind him, all is lost. Your head is bumping into the drywall before you even realize what’s happening, his lips harsh against yours, the pent up frustration and desire snapping like a dried twig.

It’s fierce and passionate and while you never, not for a single moment in your life, imagined what he would taste like, you somehow knew it would be like this, cool and fresh and drunk. He licks into your mouth, messy and intense, teeth clacking and both of you fighting for some nonexistent upper hand.

Fireworks are going off outside. They shake the windows with explosive gravitas as you’re blindly led by his backwards steps down the hallway. You realize that in an entire lifetime of knowing each other, this is the first time you’ve been in his place. It’s not what you expected, from what you can gather—all clutter and red cars and a boy who never had to drop his dream. “They’re going to look for us,” you say between sloppy, open mouthed kisses.

He mumbles against your skin, strong hands on either side of your jaw. “Let them look.”

You walk through a doorway, into a bedroom clad with clutter and blue sheets. He would have blue sheets. There’s another firework, loud and booming, it makes you jump. You check your watch over his shoulder, pretend your hand doesn’t shake. “It’s almost midnight.”

“Okay.” Your knees bump into his and he sits on the edge of the bed.

You laugh, climb onto his lap, your arms strewn around his shoulders, broad and strong and you laugh again–this time into his mouth. What the fuck is going on. Seriously, what the fuck is this? “Happy New Year.”

He sighs, pulls his mouth from yours long enough to roll his eyes, to speak annoyedly into the hot air between your lips. “Yeah, whatever. Happy New Year.”

“Charles,” you mutter, hand on his chest. You think he’s going to regret this more than you will. People have always told you he’s the best kind of person. You’re not held in the same regard, and you know it. Some people are made to regret and others are made to be the regret.

“Jesus Christ,” he laughs, but it’s curt and passive. Annoyed, as always, even when he palms at your ass, traces his hands along the bottom of your hiked up dress and pulls you down against him with a bruising grip. “Shut the fuck up.” You tug at the hem of his shirt, pull it off over his head in a swift movement.

“You’re doing a piss-poor job at making me.”

He moves you like you’re a fucking doll, like it’s lightwork, tossing you down against the mattress and swapping your positions in a swift movement. The strength and agility of it makes your head spin. He’s not supposed to make your head spin, he’s supposed to make it ache.

But no, no. You do ache for him. All of you aches for him, for his calloused hands and the roughness of his jeans against your thighs and the soft contrast of his lips against everything else. It’s embarrassing. You can’t believe he’s got you like this, hands pinned above your head while he buries his tongue in your mouth, grinds his hips against yours. The coarse denim is almost painful on your sensitive skin, but the growing bulge pulling the fabric tight is more intoxicating than any cocktail.

“You’re such a fucking brat,” he says, bites a bruise against the skin just above your clavicle. “Spoiled little shit.”

He sinks to his knees, big blue or green or whatever fucking color his eyes are today watching you intently, boring into you with blown, hungry pupils. His fingers trail along your underwear, pulling the thin, lacey fabric to the side, and then removes them all together. He gloats when he runs his thumb through your folds. “So fucking wet.”

“It’s not for you,” you goad.

“Oh?” He nods slowly, spreading your slick with the steady digit, watching you carefully for reaction. “For who then?”

Your eyes flutter shut when the pad of his thumb presses against your clit, circles it slowly, teases you. He’s unfocused, his mind lapsing and giving you a much needed in, a clear shot to piss him off. “Your teammate.”

“Fuck off.” You first.

“You’re right, Charles,” you speak slowly, careful to control your breathing, to hide every tell you might have. “Someone should shut me up. Do you know anyone?” Without warning, he thrusts two fingers inside you, curls them like someone had given him a diagram of your body. You gasp at the suddenness of it all. Yeah, he mutters, utterly delighted with himself. Yeah, I think I know someone.

You roll your eyes, push his head down, down, mouth onto your core. There, in the midst of licking a long stripe through your cunt, he fucking laughs, shakes his head with a subtlety you’d never perceive if it wasn’t for the tip of his nose bumping your clit when he does it. At least he can follow basic fucking instructions.

His dick must hurt pretty damn bad, all hard and swollen in his pants, because he’s unbuttoning his jeans and freeing himself from the constraints of the fabric while lapping at you, the other hand still fucking into you with steady pace and hazy curl. You can’t see it, view obstructed by the mattress and limbs and hair, but you can tell by the way his shoulders move that he’s trying to get himself off at the same time he works on you.

You’re not going to make his job that easy. You require all of his attention, pure and undivided and hopefully just as infuriated as you are. You reach down to the apex of your legs, pull his head up by his chin. “Just fuck me, already, you prick.”

He rises to his feet, shakes his head, “you’re a needy little thing,” he remarks. Needy? You haven’t fucking seen needy.

He guides the head of his cock through your folds, spreading slick and spit and smacking himself against your cunt.

Your lips purse into a sharp line. “Don’t tease me.”

“Why not?” He taunts, “you’ve been teasing for hours.”

“It’s different,” you grumble.

“How?” You could strangle him, him and all his questions. What’s a person have to do to get fucked properly around here? You already sacrified your morals by pulling tight against the navy blue sheets. A woman can only make so many sacrifices.

You groan, heavy and exasperated. He’s such a pest. “It just–oh, fuck you–” without warning, he plunges into you, buries himself in your cunt until he bottoms out, skin on skin and the sore sting of him stretching you. Your fingers bruise into his arms, nails scraping over his shoulder blades with a gasp. He gives you no time to adjust to him, rutting into you with deep, measured thrusts. What was that, he prodes. Somehow, you find the poise to stabilize yourself, to reply smugly. “it just is.”

His objective isn’t your pleasure, no. That would be his prerogative, a side privilege, a requirement in his quest to get you to close your mouth and stop pestering for once. Making you come is just another box to check.

You don’t fuck someone if you’re not going to finish, though. Sleeping with Charles might be a lapse in judgment, but being someone’s play toy, letting him reap without sowing, that’s a complete disregard of your dignity

Your fingers find your clit, circle it in just the right sequence, combining with the curve of his cock to push you closer, closer, closer to the edge of the fucking world. Your entire body burns, everywhere, all over, all at once you sweat. Tell me–he insists, voice short and breathy. Tell me when you’re going to come. “I thought you were trying to shut me up?”

“Just, fuck, just tell me.” He palms over your breasts, still covered by your bra and the fabric of your dress, however thin. “So many fucking clothes,” he grumbled, stalling inside you, hands slipping under your back, between you at the mattress to pull you off the bed. You hastily pull the dress over your head, toss it somewhere onto the clothing cluttered floor. Better? You ask. “Better,” he nods, bites your bottom lip roughly, licking against your teeth. One of the hands that explore the skin of your back make quick work of the clasp on your bra, dropping the straps from your shoulders and your back is against the sheets again, his hands groping at you, pinching your nipple between his middle and ring finger, working over it until you’re humming profanities and huffing into his mouth.

Hate and desire is such a fine, blurry line. Anyone who tells you differently is a liar.

“M’gonna,” you choke on your words. “I’m–shit–I’m coming.”

“Yeah,” He picks up his pace, maintains a steady, toe-curling rhythm. “Come for me,” his voice heavy and growled. “Come on my dick.”

You do. You come for him, hard and long, wrapping a leg around his hip in a failed attempt to still him, to just be full of him and nothing more. He’s stronger, though, and fucks you through the whole thing, faster, harder, big hands braced on your hips for leverage. You explore the idea that a person really could be fucked in half, forced right open.

“Good try,” you sputter, shaky and broken words leaving your lips before you’ve found a gravity that isn’t him. You lean up to kiss him, wrap your hand around the back of his neck and pull him to meet you halfway. Your fingers tickle the short hair at the nape of his neck, raise goosebumps to his skin. “Maybe next time,” you hum into his open mouth.

He spits a long string of saliva into your mouth when you move to close the gap. You laugh around it, down it in a single gulp and lick your lips, sticking out your tongue to showcase your empty mouth, big innocent doe-eyes watching his reaction, his eye roll and devilish smirk.

“Like I said–” you start, but he’s flipping you over, tossing you around like a ragdoll. You giggle, high on the teasing and the taunting and then he’s fucking your face into the mattress. He’s got your hair gathered up into a ratty ponytail, uses it like a handle, forcing your back into an arch, your ass to perk up into the air.

God, he’s so fucking deep, turning you into a mess of bruises and sweat stricken skin. Your hips bounce back against him, angle in any imaginable way in an attempt to feel him deeper, to feel him in your stomach and your chest and your head. To feel him everywhere that counts.

“Putain, taking me so good, baby” he groans, lets the praise and the pet name slipping past his lips in a moment that goes unnoticed by neither of you. He smacks your ass with a firm hand, trying to mask his words after they’ve already been spoken. Your eyes roll back into your head and you come again, without warning. You decide before you get to think about it that it was the stinging imprint of his hand that pushed you tumbling over the edge. Whatever the real reason, you’re up two-nothing, or, depending how you look at it, he’s the one winning.

That’s all any of this is, one big game. A power struggle. You’re always fighting to win, and this is not different. If there’s a way to lose at a game where everyone is supposed to win, one of you is going to fucking find it and force it on the other.

You’re the one doing the flipping, now. The pushing and the shoving so he’s on his back. You straddle him and he gives you this look like he’s fully pussy-drunk, sick and euphoric and floating somewhere far from here. You’re so winning at this. “Jesus Christ,” you poke, “wipe your fucking drool.”

His entire face contorts when you sink down onto him. Everytime you think you’ve reached a limit, he finds a way to hit a spot impossibly deeper than the last. His hips lift up off the bed to meet you halfway, rutting into pleasure spots you didn’t even know you had, hand moving to your cunt, thumbing lazily at your clit, leaving you fuzzy and drunk in a mess of mumbled moans above him.

When you come for the third time, messy and sweaty, nothing that leaves your lips is distinguishable, a mess of French and English and curses and nonsensical mewls. “Fuck you,” he moans, breath shaky when he pulls himself out of you. Your body clenches around air, aches for him to return.

He does, after he moves you back into the position it all started in. “So close,” he tells you, sinking slowly into you, his sigh hot and alcoholic on your shoulder. His pace is slow, then fast, then slow again. He’s as rapid as his breath is irregular. You better pull out–you groan, every muscle in your body strung out and exhausted and you’re coming again. It’s blinding white behind your closed lids, ears ringing and muscles flexing involuntarily. He’s wrecked you, finally, left you a mumbling mess.

He pulls out almost in sync with your orgasm, jerks himself no more than twice between your legs before he’s coating your stomach in hot stripes of cum, loud, guttural moans leaving his lips in a way that looks and sounds practically pained. “Christ,” he heaves, watches on as your fingers dance through his orgasm, spreading it over your skin and coating your fingers. You don’t break eye contact when you stick two of them into your mouth, swirl your tongue around them tauntingly, sucking them clean and pulling them from your mouth with a pop. You hold the clean hand up for him to see, palm facing him. When you turn it, you pull down all but your middle finger, flip him off cockily.

He swats you hand away, “Never fucking again,” he tells you.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about me,” you scoff. “I never want to see the inside of this apartment again.”

“Why are you here, then?” He remarks, turning the corner into what you assume is the bathroom, tossing a towel to you from across the room. You clean yourself up before anything dries, before coming up with a quick rebuttal.

You don’t come up with one, mind as tired as the rest of you. This game has been exhausting. “We’re never talking about this,” you say, pulling your dress over your head, stuffing your bra into your handbag because you aren’t sure you have the strength to clasp it closed. “Ever.”

“No shit,” he says, tosses your underwear in the general direction of you.

You bend over to pick them up, step into them with the snap of the elastic. “Promise me.” You have no idea where your shoes are, but he’s already ushering you out of the room, herding you down the long hall with wide, swooping waves of his arms.

“I promise.”

“Pinky,” you say, spot your shoes haphazardly stepped out of in the entryway. You don’t have any memory of them ever being on.

“Absolutely not.”

“Charles,” you lean against the wall to slip your heels on, hook up at him with a sober glare. He closes his eyes like you won’t be able to see them roll behind his lids, pinches the bridge of his nose and squints before dropping a heavy breath, holding out a pinky to you. You interlock it with yours. “Thank you.”

He pulls his hand from yours, turns the lock on his front door and swings it open, fingers wrapped around the edge, other hand gesturing out into the hallway. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

“With pleasure,” you say, stepping past him and into the well-lit hallway of sprawling marble floors. You stop in front of the elevator, press the button and wait for his inevitable comment.

“The whole brat-schtick you’ve got going on isn’t as believable when your leg shakes underneath you,” he calls down the hall. You don’t turn your head to face him, just extend your arm in his direction and flip him off. You hear his chuckle as he latches the door shut behind you.

Everything about today has been dreary–from the near constant mist that falls over the city, to the chilly temperatures, to the poor excuses for men that grace the screen of your dating app. This is not how Fridays in your twenties are meant to be spent, sulking in the dark of your bedroom after a miserable day at work.

You’re supposed to be out, partying with friends and making drunken decisions that have you waking up in a stranger’s bed after a good night you hardly remember.

God, you need to get fucked. It’s been months. Two months and ten days–not that you’re counting. Because you’re not. Counting. You aren’t.

You’re just restless, basking in the loneliness of the night, unable to shake the weight of your thoughts, of two months and ten days ago. Of Charles and how infuriatingly good he’d made you feel. The complexities of your relationship, the shift in the very DNA of what you know, it makes your heart race–a messy muddle of annoyance and desire that yearns to be untangled.

You give up on the dating apps, know that even if you do match with someone, there’s nothing that can be done to solve your problem tonight. You opt instead to scroll through social media aimlessly, searching for any distraction from the ache in your gut. Your hand unconsciously slips under the hem of your shirt, cups your breast while you scroll and scroll and scroll. It does little to quell your struggles. In fact, the game is over the moment you become conscious of your hand’s placement, the moment you start to massage your breast, to run your fingers over your nipple until it’s hard and perky.

You switch to the other breast, fingers gently tracing over the skin, sending chills up your arms, pinpointing the ache in your core. Your hand slides down your stomach, dips below the waistband of your shorts, into your underwear. You’re so worked up–pent up, reaching a boiling point.

Your middle finger glides through your folds, grazes over your clit, teases the slick at your entrance before dipping in, collecting enough to spread it around. Your clit is swollen, needy like the rest of you, and the pad of your fingers do little to relieve the pressure. Your fingers move clockwise, then counter. Vertical and horizontal and every combination of every direction and even though you can’t remember the last time you were this horny, this desperate to come, you can’t.

You slip in a finger, and then another, try to find the right curl and the right spot–to no avail. Now, you’re thinking about his fingers, about how much bigger his hands are, how his nimble fingers pumped in and out of you with sheet-gripping, whimper-inducing pace.

Your phone taunts you, his contact behind the locked screen just waiting to be messaged.

You try to resist. You hate him. He hates you. God, he knows how to fuck you, though; veiny hands and thick cock leaving you a writhing mess. Fuck. Fuck, why can’t your fingers move the way his did?

You cave, reaching over to grab your phone and text him. Hey. What are you up to tonight? It’s a mistake, you know that it is. He’s so damn annoying, there’s nothing about him that doesn’t drive you up a wall. Frustration makes the heart go fonder, you suppose, or maybe the cunt ache harder.

Within moments, your phone is buzzing against your palm with his reply. Chilling at home. You coming over?

You roll your eyes. No.

Ok.

You bite your bottom lip so hard you think you might accidentally draw blood. It’s phantom, almost, the way you can so perfectly imagine the sting of him stretching you out, the soreness of his bruising kisses, the swollen, wet head of his dick slapping against your clit. Come over.

You couldn’t pay me.

Door’s unlocked.

Give me 20.

You’re in the bedroom when he knocks. Three times, you wonder why he isn’t just walking in. You ignore the banging, let the universe decide for you if he’s meant to turn back and walk his happy ass out of your building. The universe decides he won’t be doing that, though, because he knocks again. Louder this time.

You pull yourself out of bed, feet creaking on the hardwood floors as you move to pull the door open. “I told you it was unlocked,” you grumble.

“Eh,” he shrugs, dumb fucking grin on his face. “Wasn’t up for your games.”

You internally debate just how bad you need him here, if it’s worth all the trouble that is him. It’s not, almost certainly it isn’t. You invite him in anyway.

“So, what’s the deal? Can’t get yourself off, so you call me?” He teases. Your frustrated blush gives you away before a witty comeback can slap the smirk off his face. “Oh my god,” he chuckles. “I was fucking around, but really?”

There’s no point in trying to lie now, not when your face has already betrayed your trust and revealed the truth. “Calm down,” you groused. “The last thing this world needs if your head to get any fucking bigger.”

He continues laughing like this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened to him. You want to smack the smile off his face, dimples and all. “The last thing this world needs is for this–” he gestures between the two of you, “–to become a thing.”

You mock his movements, the dumb look on his face. “This is not a thing. It’s just two friends–”

“–We aren’t friends.”

You sigh through gritted teeth. “Two not friends helping each other out.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, chews on the inside of his cheek while his eyes trace your finger, head to toe and back to head again. “You do know how ridiculous you sound, right?”

You breathe out in resignation, heading down the hall towards your room. “Can we just get on with it?”

“No.”

You stop in your tracks, turn on your heels. What the fuck is he here for, then? “No?” You close the gap between the two of you, plant your hands firmly on either side of his jaw and kiss him, all tongue and spit and rough lips. You knock him off balance, falling out of step when he kisses you back with a matching intensity, hands hovering over your hips. He doesn’t rest them there, you can feel the warmth in the space between your skin and his, the force that pulls you together.

When he does settle his hands, it’s not to deepen the kiss, to swallow any more frustration. It’s to put distance between your mouths. “I want you to–”

You nibble on his earlobe, cut him off with your hushed words. “I don’t give a fuck what you want, I want–”

“Show me how you touch yourself,” he commands, voice failing to waiver to your hushed level, an air of snugness to him.

“Charles,” your voice cracks with his name, a hint of your under the surface insecurity peeking through, putting themselves on display for him. Here! Here! Look at me!

“Show me, or I’m leaving,” he says, and it’s all throaty and husky.

(Eleven minutes later)

Legs spread for him, two fingers moving busily against your core, circling your clit, teasing your hole.

He stares at you like he can see your fucking soul, watches from his spot across the room, leant against the old wooden dresser, arms folded and ankles crossed. You stare back–harder, maybe–like if you win the little contest your cheeks won’t burn so bright, you won’t feel so exposed, so vulnerable, so embarrassed.

Those feelings fade, they do, with each flick of your wrist. With every glance of his hungry eyes to your fingers, to your cunt, tracing their way up and down your body, you feel calmer and calmer. And when he runs his hand over his mouth, along the stubble of his jaw and off his chin, you’re closer and closer.

It pulls whimpers, soft and slow and sweet, from your lips. There’s a sick thrill to it, to him seeing her like this, all needy and open and sensitive. It’s empowering, almost.

He breaks no more than twice, watches every brow quirk, lid flutter, and lip twitch with raw, intimate eyes. He’s less interested in what you do to yourself, the curve of your fingers or the noises they create, than he is in the way you react to the movements.

“You’re not even fucking watching,” you say, the letter sounds falling to your breath, hitching as your fingers angle just right.

“Watching what matters.”

“Oh? And, uh–” you huff. “What’s that?”

He laughs, dimples digging deep into his cheeks. You’ve always thought they made his smile so childish, like you can’t take anything seriously when it comes from someone with primary-school dimples and giddy eyes. You don’t struggle to take it seriously, now. “You’re thinking about me.”

Your eyes flutter shut, a soft sigh parting your lips. “Says who?”

He pushes himself off the dresser, saunters over with heavy feet, stopping at the foot of the bed. “What are you thinking about?” He humors.

Your eyes roll. You’re thinking about a lot of things. Half a dozen, atleast. About your fingers, the way they move against your swollen cunt, sticky with creamy slick, and how his fingers are that much longer than yours. About how loud he walks, how his heavy feet stand at the end of your bed, crossed arms that pull his t-shirt tight across his chest. About the fact that you’re not sure you locked the door behind him because you were so distracted by the way his sweatpants hung from his waist. About how he doesn’t bother to adjust or hide the protruding bulge under the fabric right now. About the curve of his cock, about how pathetic and full it makes you, utterly unable to spend time thinking about anything but how well he stretches you out. About his hair, flat and straight and wholly unstyled, how your hands would mess it up so nicely, tug and twist until he has something smart to say. Beyond frustratingly, he’s right. As you quickly approach a high, breath quickened and movements desperate, all you’re thinking about is him. “Things.”

“Mmhmm,” he hums, ever the rake, unsatisfied with your response.

You add a third finger, steady pace and a held stare. The muscles in your leg twitch. You’re so fucking close. “What are you thinking about?”

He sways, rocks his weight from his left foot to the right, runs his tongue over his teeth. “Things.”

A coy smile upturns the corner of your lips. “Mmhmm,” you mock.

He moves around the bed, trails his fingers over your skin; from your ankle, along the bone of your shin, a bruise on your knee. They stall on your thigh, trace small, soft circles on the inside of your leg. “You really want to know?”

He’s such a tease, keeps moving up, up, up, over your stomach and through the valley of your breast. “I–ah– I,” you stutter through your words, fingers working tirelessly to push you over the edge. Restless, further irritated by his delicate touch, his fingers up to your jaw now, slotting themselves there, you nod. “Yes.”

He leans over you, your lips inches apart, open and hot breathed. “Too bad,” he whispers into the space between, closing the gap and kissing you with an insatiable kind of fervor. Your fingers still, your other hand reaching to grip the back of his neck, to pull him deeper into the kiss. It’s a kiss that’s half as good as the sex, the breaking of the unbearable tension that’s filled the room while he’s watched, the promise of what’s to come. A lustful implication. His hand leaves your jaw when you pull apart for air, moving over your stilled hand. “Let me?” He asks, and it doesn’t feel like much of a question, the way he’s already slipping his fingers under yours before you can even squeak out an answer.

There’s something entirely different about his fingers, like the way that you can’t tickle yourself. You can’t predict his moves, every movement of every ridge of his fingerprints is something entirely surprising. “Yeah, fuck, you make, ah, make yourself…” You give up on the sentence, your body failing your mind in its ability to spit out a comeback. Yeah, you wish you could tell him. Yeah, make yourself fucking useful.

He laughs, slides his long middle finger inside you, pumps it twice and slips in another. You gasp at his sudden movement. “You’re embarrassing yourself, baby.”

Your back arches off the sheets. “Don’t call me that,” you seethe.

“But,” he curls his fingers against the spot you’ve been trying to reach all night. A moan tumbles from your mouth and he smirks. “It makes my job so easy.”

“Fuck you.”

“I was going to let you come first, but,” he chuckles. He’s so proud of himself it makes you ill. “If you insist.”

His hand stills, threatens to pull out of you entirely, but you’re covering it with your own, holding him there when you look up, hips instinctively grinding against him. “I’ll kill you. I will.”

You’re pushing him out of your apartment by the end of night, locking the door behind him. Your leg shakes when you slide down the door onto the floor. This is the last time, it has to be. Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence. Thrice. Thrice would be a pattern. You won’t let it become a pattern.

You wake up at seven-thirty and your hair is still in knots, your body still aching from him. You find a new bruise every time you look in the mirror. You can’t shake the image of his messy hair, of the feeling of the brown locks between your fingers and the sound he’d make when you’d tug on them.

It won’t be happening again.

#oi #this is getting me sent to hell.#charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc series #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #cl16 #charles leclerc imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #f1 x reader #f1 x you #ferrari

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soobrat · 2 months

Text

mosquito; choi soobin

part one; on a monday... masterlist

˗ˏˋ🎧´ˎ˗ pairing; popstar!soobin x rising star!reader

˗ˏˋ🎧´ˎ˗ synopsis; Soobin is one of the names you think of when you say "Pop Star", which remains true after his recent cold streak. To make up for his cold streak, his company urges him to enter a relationship with you, a rising star. Dreading another publicity stunt relationship, he says no before they get to the part where you're none the wiser.

˗ˏˋ🎧´ˎ˗ words; 7.9k

˗ˏˋ🎧´ˎ˗ genre; smut, slight angst, humor, alternate universe, opposite attract, unrequited love, fake relationship

˗ˏˋ🎧´ˎ˗ warnings; celeb sex party (if that makes you uncomfy considering recent events, please click here), breast play, fingering, piv, dom!soobin, eventual sub!jihyo, numbness to sex

˗ˏˋ🎧´ˎ˗ series song recs; mosquito by pinkpantheress, so i by charli xcx, turn it up by pinkpantheress

↻ ◁ || ▷ : New series! And it won't be as angsty as the other ones. Just light hearted fun... I hope. Also, this will be the only part that includes this many texts.

“...sex appeal?”

Soobin’s mind feels infested with the amount of thoughts swarming in his head. He has to meet with his… He needs to work on… He hasn’t had sex in a long time. Sex… didn’t she just say something about that? Oh, and he has to–

“Soobin!”

“Huh?” Soobin’s body flinches but his brain lags. His vision focuses on his phone he must have zoned out from while holding. He shifts his focus to his manager who is waiting patiently with an exaggerated smile. He smiles apologetically. “Come again?”

“I–” Sakura tries and immediately fails at talking, looking as if she's pushing the words down like bile. “Just… was it the sex appeal?” Her words send chills down Soobin’s spine.

“I told you my skin crawls when you try that.” Soobin’s attention is still locked onto his phone despite his manager.

“Try what.” Sakura pops her lips, sauntering toward him in a way only an aunt wanting to be cool would. The shockwaves from the high levels of cringe physically shake him. Soobin side eyes her, alarmed. He scoots away as she sits next to him. “Saying naughty words to sound cool.”

“Whatever. Was Jini that sexy?” Her tone straightens out, but he can tell she’s still trying to sound nonchalant. Trying so, so hard. All while clearly trying to force out whatever information she’s looking for. He doesn’t even let that nonsense simmer for a second.

“Please get away from me, Sakura.” He’s zoned back in to what he was doing before his brain flooded.

“Okay,” Sakura says hesitantly, “but if this is about the director-”

“I want to be alone right now.” The magic words tumble from his mouth with how fast he says them. He looks up at Sakura with a smile as if that’ll make her feel better. Sakura acknowledges the words begrudgingly, frustration mixing with the worry on her face. She hesitates before leaving but ultimately does.

Soobin sighs, but his body remains stiff. He refreshes the page. A text notification makes him jump, but his tension snaps right back in place once he sees it’s from Yeonjun.

Daniel Choi Yeonjun who else is going to buy a round for everyone tonight if ur not coming? ;(

His fingers dance across the screen typing a strongly worded no, and for Yeonjun to leave him the fuck alone, but his fingers freeze mid sentence. Everytime he goes to finish, his brain screams counterpoints that make his response feel wrong.

You’re going to pass up on a party to sit at home alone all day?

He casts a glance around his living room. He clears his throat, subtly checking if it’s still as echoey as last time, as if anything’s changed. He saved this room for last when decorating. He vaguely remembers the excitement he had to decorate. The embers of happiness still flicker, but fail to keep him warm. Four years later and he only has a tv and couch.

Soobin I’m not buying rounds for the whole party

Daniel Choi Yeonjun why not???

Soobin why don’t you buy drinks for everyone?

Daniel Choi Yeonjun bc thats a lot of fuckin money

“Hah.” He laughed dryly to himself. Yeonjun’s career has been chugging full steam ahead since 2014 with no sign of stopping. He's a great performer, but his sex appeal alone could’ve gotten him at least this far and he didn’t even start ripping his shirt off until 2017. He had more than enough money to have food delivered to the whole block and not even flinch.

Soobin I’ll pass, thanks

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

Soobin’s deep breath does nothing to prepare him for Sakura. He can hear her practically tap dancing on the other side of his door. The corners of his mouth twitch into an amused smirk that he wipes away quickly, conditioned by Sakura’s offended expression he knows too well. He clears his throat and opens the door.

“You know you can tell me anything, right? Ignore what the director said.” The words stumble off Sakura’s tongue and she steps in, reaching for Soobin. The last time she used unnecessary physical contact he threatened to request a new manager. Though right now he’s close to letting it fly because of how hilarious she is when she’s like this. She looks bug eyed and anxious like she does every time the director has notes. “Are you reading hate comments? Reading texts from Jini?” Her eyes drop down the phone in his hand.

“Why do you keep asking about Jini?” Soobin can’t help cackling, none of Sakura’s high anxiety rubbing off on him. Sakura wets her chapped lips, which ironically leads to her lips staying as cracked as they usually are. She glances into the hallway before swinging the door shut and looking back at him with a cautionary look in her eye.

“Did you really like her? I mean, we warned you–”

“PFFT-!” Soobin fails at stopping the onslaught of pure belly laughter that rocks his body. Just when he thinks he’ll stop to let Sakura get a word in, another viscous wave whips from his lungs and sends him curling over. His crazed laughter makes his stomach ache but he can’t stop. Soobin attempts to stand as Sakura’s worry turns to frustration. He falls to the floor, curled like a shrimp as the laughter slowly dies down.

“I’m glad you think it’s funny. I want you to keep this upbeat energy when–”

“I CAN’T BREATHE!” Soobin has been reduced to tentative whimpers that threaten to send him back into hysterics.

“Listen.” She snaps sternly, catching Soobin off guard. “Does this lady look familiar?” She faces the phone toward him. Soobin exhales heavily as he stands again. He recognizes the face but can’t place the name. He swipes his phone from the ground, remembering that face from a photo on Yeonjun’s Instagram. He taps on your username, scrolling through all your strange feed with pictures that lack the usual extravagance of someone as famous as you. Distracted by his phone again, he says your name questioningly.

“What about her?”

After a lengthy sigh and arms outstretched as if to stabilize herself, Sakura is back to normal. “She’s onto the recording stage of her first full album.” Unfortunately, normal for her is annoying for Soobin.

“Yeah? Am I featuring on it?” He asks impatiently. She’s not supposed to be here this long. Pep talk, discuss the director’s notes, deliver news, make it snappy so the talent can have alone time. Soobin wrinkles his nose at the fifth picture of you in the same puke green cardigan.

“No, more than that.” Sakura says, her tone sneaky. Soobin drops his phone away from his face. His attention is now fully on her and it’s not to be a smart ass. He clenches his phone, trying not to expose what he’s concerned about. If she finds out how much he dreads another publicity stunt, she might accuse him of liking Jini again.

“It’s more like a duet than a feature. It’s a love song sung equally to each other. Think… “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough”. It’s even upbeat like that song, I know how much you hate slow ones.” Sakura is in full on pitch mode, the one that hasn’t worked in the past four years.

“I never said I didn’t like slow songs…” His label scrapped every slow song for his upcoming project as a bandaid for his current cold streak. They never actually listen, just throw money or half-assed solutions said with flowery language.

“Please pay attention.” Sakura says, as if threatening him with her anxiety coming back, completely unaware that he prefers it. “You have to get to know her to get on that song.” She drives her finger into her palm to emphasize the last four words.

“Why do I have to get to know her? Just have my people reach out to her people–” Soobin feels like ice was dumped down his back as the realization hits him. He tosses his phone behind him, not even checking if it landed on the couch. He’s quick to protest before she could even pitch it.

“No! Absolutely not!”

“You have to! –” Sakura nearly dives to grab Soobin before he slides away.

“Did she already agree to it? Tell her to forget about it, I’m not fucking doing that again.” Soobin shakes his head furiously, upset by even the thought of going through this all over again.

“We…” Sakura sighs, this time he could hear the stress seeping into her body. “We didn’t tell her because… we don’t plan on telling her. We have no choice! She only makes music based on real passion and emotion–” She attempts to rush it out, desperate despite knowing he’s going to immediately decline.

“What the fuck?! Are you guys crazy?! No way in hell I’m doing that!” Soobin has made peace with the fact that he’s just not doing this, made evident by the fact he’s not even putting energy into his response.

“Look, if it’s Jini’s sex appeal that you liked…” Sakura looks down at the photo of you, reacting loudly in disappointment, “we can find women to scratch that itch behind the scenes. As maaaany as you’d like!” Sakura presents the offer like she just offered him the garden of Eden, and not women paid to suck his dick.

“I don’t give a fuck about Jini’s sex appeal.” Soobin deadpans.

“Well then what did you like about her?!” Sakura’s arms slam down at her sides exasperatedly. He can see that rope oh-so close to snapping. It’s not his problem, though, and he’s about to watch his favorite show as soon as she leaves. Soobin walks closer to Sakura with a shit-eating grin, ready to nip this in the bud.

“There was no part of Jini I enjoyed perceiving. Tell that to your bosses, too.” Soobin snickers, walking to grab his phone.

This has Sakura inhaling until her chest is fully puffed out before exclaiming, “When are you going to stop being a fucking brat?! Do you not realize you’re about to be kicked from the label?! Wake the fuck up and treat this like a job for once instead of throwing tantrums like a man child!”

Soobin is stunned into silence, staring at a heaving Sakura like a deer caught in headlights. He considers the threat. His company was shilling out money to him in order to keep morale high, but it’s been too long since he’s made money to pay that back. Of course he’s on thin ice. He has nightmares about that dreaded meeting once a week.

“She said she’s thinking of trashing the track unless she can find someone she has chemistry with in the booth or in real life. There will be artists lined up who can deliver on the temporary chemistry.”

Just a drop of dread stirs in his chest as he weighs his options. He could… start acting. He could make YouTube videos or TikToks. He could start some sort of brand. He’d even consider a sex tape before this because it’s a bad fucking idea. Jini doesn’t have the most spotless reputation but even their “breakup” got people speculating if Soobin was a shitty boyfriend and person. If you, someone he’s only heard annoying praise about, released a song detailing his deceit and your heartbreak, he’d be finished.

Either way, if he goes through another fake relationship he thinks he may quit once and for all.

Sakura groans through a sigh at his stunned silence.

“Despite what you might think, I know you. So I didn’t want to even tell you this unless shit got dire.” Sakura’s serious tone with the remorse in her eyes makes Soobin wish she was trying too hard to be cool again.

“Since you refuse to cooperate, the CEO said the only other way for you not to be kicked out and blacklisted to hell is if you marry his daughter. You heard me right. You’ll be buying the ring, and Mr. Cheon will be expecting nothing less than the best for his daughter’s proposal. So get ready to save money on the best venue you can find. And that’s all before the wedding.” Sakura’s remorse turns bitter as she narrows her eyes at him. The dread has now spread, constricting his chest painful as his hairline starts to perspire. He wipes at it angrily, glaring at his manager. She’s fought well throughout his whole career, but it’s clear now she’s done.

Soobin glances clambers frantically for his phone, opening the app and refreshing.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

“Drinks for everybody!” Yeonjun shouts as Soobin hands his credit card to the bartender. People flock over, ordering from the top shelf and glancing at him cheekily as if he’ll find it funny. He’s not sure whose party this is, but they’ve got a beautiful bar and nice big room for entertaining guests. The bartender hands back his card with an eye-crinkling smirk. Soobin returns it as he yanks his card from his hand.

Soobin declines a call for the fifteenth time since he took his card back. He checks the number, refreshes, checks again. The caller has resorted to texting which he quickly dismisses, as they block his view. The notification that drops down is nearly swept away before Soobin’s thumb freezes. He clicks the notification, eyeing your username at the top of his notifications tab.

His phone dings, indicating another.

___: Hi!! Omg I’m so excited that you fol…

Soobin quickly taps the message just as it recedes and is replaced by another call. He curses under his breath as the timer on the call ticks away. He hesitantly brings it up to his ear.

“Soobin?? Hello?”

“Heeey girl! How are you doing?” He says with unconvincing casualty.

“Don’t hey girl me! What are you doing right now?” She pauses, clearly hearing the blaring music. “Are you at a party?! I thought we agreed we were taking a break from those!”

“I’m fine! I’m a grown man!” He argues back.

“What part of being a grown man has to do with your spending habits? Why don’t you just go home early-”

“What? No. I’m already here, I already spent the money.”

“Yeah? And am I to believe Daniel Choi isn’t going to cart you and a group of people out to a second location that will have you spending more money?”

Soobin halts his response. How the hell did she know Yeonjun was here?

“Yeonjun isn’t even here.”

“Is that right?” Her tone illustrates very plainly that she doesn’t believe him, so he doesn’t even respond.

“Well, I’ll just trust you to make the right choice. Goodnight, Soobin.”

She hangs up before he can respond. He sighs, hoping he can keep that promise. But five shots later, he’s in Yeonjun’s Rolls Royce Phantom, speeding toward a casino. The place offering winnings none of them need, even the most beggarish among them. He blasts his own music in the car, giving Soobin a headache.

He looks to his left then his right, finding people whose public persona differs greatly from what he’s seen. And that’s just counting today. Sunmi catches him staring, a half smile forming on her face. She slides her hand on his thigh with her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. This is a woman he developed a crush on at seven years old. Teenage him would be absolutely elated right now. However, he could feel the heat in his stomach snuff out as fast as it was ignited.

The idea of being around celebrities hasn’t been shiny and appealing for years now. They all just talk about the same shit and do the same shit. The shit in question never being going for a bike ride or playing video games. It’s always this.

Yeonjun goes straight for the poker table, most of his lackeys following behind. Their pupils are dilated, eyelids cracked so far open you’d think they’re taped back. Soobin searches for another drink, ending up at the bar.

“Aw… why are you sulking, Binnie?” The bartender slides him his usual order. There’s not even enough noise to drown out his thoughts. Either Yeonjun had the building hurriedly cleaned out just before he got here or he planned to rent out the floor in advance. The latter pisses him off, considering he’s told Yeonjun so many times he’s watching his spending and he never briefs Soobin on plans such as this.

“Not in a partying mood.”

“Not in a spending mood?” Baekho cracks a brow, which Soobin glances at. He doesn’t answer. What’s the point of even saying it now?

“Look, all your drinks are on me today okay.” Baekho reaches over the bar to pat Soobin’s shoulder.

“Very funny.” Whenever Yeonjun buys out the floor, the casino includes all drinks in the price. Baekho looks proud of his joke, patting Soobin’s shoulder twice more.

His financial manager would be proud, as he did end up slipping away early. It was depressing, though. Leaving the lively building into the stormy night. He sits just outside where he’s sheltered from the rain. He slips out his phone, thumb hovering over his bank app. Instead he opens Instagram, finally opening your DM.

___: Hi!! Omg I’m so excited that you followed me back! I’m a huge fan.

Soobin cracks a crooked smile, narrowing his eyes at his screen.

page.soobin: ur a big fan of me? thats… surprising

He lingers outside, inhaling the scent of wet pavement as the rain slowly starts to clear up. He looks out into the many lights littering the horizon as he waits for you to answer. After what feels like too long for you not to have seen it, he looks at his screen.

3 am… of course you haven’t answered.

He orders an uber, locking his phone and slipping it into his pocket.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

Hearing Sakura’s signature knock actually strikes a little fear in him for the first time. She’s come far too frequently in the past few weeks, badgering him for an answer. Thankfully he’s up this early, or– thankfully he never went to sleep. He checks the time, 7 am. Just then, a notification from you pops up. Eugh, an early riser.

___: Of course! I’ve been following you since you were in Naekkeo Crew

Your response catches him so off guard he forgets Sakura is outside until she knocks again.

“Coming.” He shouts, hurrying to the door. She rushes in, looking sweaty.

“The director wants you to arrange a meeting with his daughter ASAP.” She says, out of breath.

“What?! But I still haven’t–”

“Thursday is her favorite day. Her favorite color is emerald and it has to be that specific hue of green or else she’ll be too disgusted to speak with you. Also, her birth year is the year of the rabbit so she expects a pet rabbit upon meeting her. A pure, expensive breed. But not harlequins because they’re ugly.”

“What? What– Sakura. Sakura, please, this doesn’t make sense.” Soobin reaches out for her, grabbing both of her arms and looking at her with pleading eyes.

“You’re taking too long.” She yanks her arms away, shaking her head. “I can’t help you anymore.”

“Just give me a chance–”

“We gave you a chance.”

“There’s still time!”

“It’s too late.”

“It’s not.” Soobin says sternly, holding his hands up for her to just give him a minute.

“What makes you say that?” Sakura pauses, intrigued by the look on her face. Soobin grabs his phone, looking at the DM again. Despite rereading the message a few more times, the words refuse to soak in. Naekkeo Crew… he hasn’t heard that name in years. His eyes demagnetize from the screen and he remembers where he is, what’s at stake.

He faces the phone toward her. Sakura’s face slowly melts into insidious excitement.

“Yes… Yes! This is perfect. Oh, Soobin!” She bounces in excitement. Soobin can’t bring himself to celebrate, but this is good. Well, it’s not. But it is! Soobin exhales through pursed lips. What’s good for now is that he doesn’t have to meet with Tsuki.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

page.soobin: is that so? wow, you really are a big fan then

___: Yeah, haha. Sorry if it was weird how I reached out. I just thought I’d let you know.

Soobin’s head thuds against the back of his couch. If he does neither, gets kicked out, is that really the end of the world? He could look for another agency, he wasn’t a big fan of this one anyway. Most of them probably suck for the same reasons, though, and he probably wouldn’t figure it out until he was already locked into a contract. And what if they’re not bluffing about blacklisting him? He could go independent, reach back out to Taehyun for help. But then he’d have to admit Taehyun was right.

His head is starting to hurt just thinking about leaving Pacific. He cracks his fingers one by one as he stares at nothing, letting his brain chug.

He could give up and move back in with his parents. His hands grasp blindly for his phone.

page.soobin: not at all, I find myself kinda intrigued by you to be honest

___: You? Intrigued by me??

page.soobin: ya… I mean you are the person with 16 Grammys?

___: Yeah, but you’re Soobin. I mean, if you called me by just my first name people wouldn’t know who you were talking about. But all you need to say is “Soobin” and BOOM. People think of Sutures or Goodwill or Nothin’ Can Stop Me.

The corner of Soobin’s mouth quirks up.

___: Even if someone doesn’t know your face or your name, they probably know your music.

page.soobin: didn’t you write like a shit ton of big songs?

___: No one knows they’re my songs. They’re a Chuu song, or a Taeyeon song, or a Jini song.

___: oh shit sorry

page.soobin: it’s fine, she’s a huge star and you guys have a history of sorts. it makes sense why you brought her up lol

Your embarrassingly quick response time halts suddenly. You’re probably banging your head against a wall or something, so it looks like he’ll have to take the reins again.

page.soobin: a lot of artists owe some of their success to you, you should be proud

___: Believe me, I am. It still shocks me every day that my work is this appreciated and praised

Soobin finds himself cringing. He can hear the way you said that, something about it feels so pompous.

page.soobin: what are you, giving an acceptance speech

___: ??? 😭😭😭

page.soobin: nvm, are you working on something new?

___: Oh! I’m surprised you haven’t heard.

He drops his phone into his lap in favor of running his hands over his face. His leg bounces as annoyance crawls under his skin and sinks into his flesh. He just can’t help this feeling you give him. It started when a meeting about him was derailed because they couldn’t stop gushing about the genius of that “young writer-slash-producer on the scene”. Back then most people didn’t know what you looked like, it wasn't just Soobin.

You’re absolutely correct with your analysis of your fame. Maybe some people know you by name but no one in their right mind would describe you as a household name. Hell, if someone posted you to stan twitter they’d probably ask who’s manager you were. But he can feel it. Not that he’s an expert, everyone can feel it. The aura surrounding you, your name, your work. It started to spark when a demo you made for Jini was leaked. It ignited when you started releasing your own music. Everyone is starting to feel the heat from your growing flame.

___: My manager said he’d put word out for any male singers interested in a duet track. I thought that was a crazy thing to do instead of just asking people I know. I expected maybe one or two, then I’m having these mega famous singers approach me at parties and events. Nearly everywhere I go, if celebrities are there, a different person is requesting to feature on the track.

Biting at his cuticles, Soobin debates on whether your block of text is more annoying or worrying.

page.soobin: that’s crazy! it’s ALL crazy famous people? no small artists at all?

___: It feels weird saying it… but I’m always surrounded by big people talking about my next project. I don’t think smaller artists could even find an opening to do so.

God, no one told him this. Or he just doesn’t remember… Either way, they didn’t explain how dire the situation is now. He’s gotta move fast. There’s no way he’s the only famous asshole attempting to manipulate you.

The DMs have halted because of some volunteer thing you do every Wednesday. Rolling his eyes again would be redundant, so instead he rested them. Not before leaving his number for you.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

Soobin blinks a few times, trying to blink the inky darkness away. He sits up, feeling as though he’s swimming with the lack of light. He eventually finds his phone and uses the flashlight to navigate to the blinds. Opening them offers no surprising information. He’s wide awake at the dead of night again. Having a concrete objective is helpful, but not when the girl he's seducing races the sun to bed.

Okay… getting to know you isn’t the only thing he has to get done. As soon as he attempts to list them his mind goes blank. He tries again, just for a hazy image of his bank account slowly draining distracts him. No, he has to focus. Third time’s the charm, he thinks. He prays. He has to…

Just then, the thought of a balance so low that only cents are dwindling away shakes him. It’s so vivid that he almost convinces himself it’s real. Checking won’t hurt, he feels like he’ll pass out if he doesn’t check. His trembling thumbs hovers over the screen as the app loads for what feels like hours.

Upon the app finally loading, the dreadful feeling refuses to go away. His account looks normal like always. Maybe not what one expects from someone with a net worth of forty million, but it’s perfectly fine. His heart, though, continues to hammer against his chest almost painfully. And his stomach continues this falling sensation, it all makes him want to throw up. He sits back on his couch, looking into the abyss of his half-empty, dim living room.

Just around the time his brain goes pleasantly numb, his phone vibrates in his hand. Judging by the custom vibration, it’s a text. Are you awake at this hour? He flips his phone over and taps the screen.

Daniel Choi Yeonjun u up?

“Tch,”

So much for taking a break from partying.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

Soobin glances at Yeonjun’s message as if it will help his decision. Forget about which color he should wear, is he actually going to this? He’s still confused about whether his lack of sex recently was a conscious decision or out of fear of the truth.

He eyes the dark blue shirt in his left hand, and the orange shirt in his right. No matter how many times he’s tried it, orange is tempting… but dark blue is what’s sure to get him off. Plus, dark blue is his color. Despite his reasoning, he debates the entire journey there if it was the correct choice. Soobin checks the shirt of Yeonjun who’s next to him as he enters the house. He can’t remember what light blue was or if it was even one of the options. They’re here now, so it doesn’t matter. He clears his throat, straightening out his shirt as they stand within the crowd in front of a platform.

A house this obnoxious could only belong to one person. There are no normal lights, just shifting hues of blue and purple. Soobin wonders if that defeats the purpose of colored shirts if lights alter the hues, then gets distracted by fog pooling around everyone else’s feet. Others seem to notice too, reacting gleefully like children. Hopefully they’re just excited, because no one with their net worth should be impressed by something so basic.

“Hello everybody!” Jackson Wang shouts, snapping everyone’s attention to him in an instant. Cheers erupt from the crowd as he grips the mic stand, giving everyone an intense stare as if he’s about to perform. Perform, he does. Nearly at every event he hosts his aura is so contagious and not for lack of trying. Even Soobin is feeling goosebumps erupt over his skin in anticipation.

“I’m so happy to see so many familiar faces. Some we haven’t seen in a while, some we see every time.” His pointed gaze turns in Soobin's direction. He immediately feels guilty for something he didn’t do. He’s never been to one of these, with the shit he gets up to he might as well have but the point still stands.

“Daniel Choi everybody!!” He draws out the end of the word as Yeonjun pumps his fists triumphantly. Featured prominently among the cheering are distinctly women’s shrieks of joy.

“Before we get to the fun–” The crowd is filled with playful aw’s and boo’s before Jackson brings them back down, “I know, I know! But I know some of you already forgot the colors and what they mean. I mean, how else are you gonna find your corresponding playmate?” The crowd laughs at his… joke? No doubt everyone is so ready to rip their clothes off that they’re giggly. Soobin even finds himself laughing. Jackson pulls out a laminated sheet of paper as he waits for it to die down.

“First off, anyone in white is an exhibitionist. You’ll be looking for anyone dressed in black, those are your voyeurs. White shirts can either have fun by themselves or grab another exhib to join the fun. Remember, you won’t be able to see the voyeur, but they are watching.” He explains that they each have designated rooms with a door that is their assigned color as the crowd chatters gleefully.

“Green is for costumes and roleplay. So greens, if you stumble into a random room and there’s a huge costume chest? You don’t need to check, that’s your room. Now, all my beautiful people in red? If you see someone in dark blue, that’s your dom.” He explains like a camp counsellor briefing campers on safe sex. Soobin casts a curious glance, able to spot some with a bright enough red, but others are hard to see. Judging by the confused looks on other people’s faces, they feel the same. “Don’t worry, the lights will come up in a second.” Jackson assures, mumbling afterwards about skipping the colored lights next time. That seems to satisfy everyone else, but Soobin is still looking around. No one is really catching his eye. He picks his cuticles, preparing in advance for a poor performance.

“Our next colors are orange and light blue. If you’re in orange, you’re a dude looking for two ladies or a lady looking for another lady and a dude. Our light blues switch it up with an MMF threesome. So if you’re looking for a little sausage party, search for your fellow light blues. The real party animals are in yellow, and for you guys? The orgy starts in twenty minutes.” He points out everyone in yellow, each person beaming with pride in response. “We used to do the kink and off-limits wristbands, but you guys are adults. Talk to each other.” He unzips his brown jacket slowly, holding his playful reproach with the crowd. With a quick motion he fully opens his jacket, revealing his yellow shirt like it’s Superman’s S to rapturous cheers.

The lights come up as Jackson hops from the platform, being consumed into the crowd. Soobin glances at Yeonjun’s light blue shirt and back up at him cautiously.

“Why did you invite me to this again?” Yeonjun doesn’t invite Soobin to anything without an ulterior motive. People sort of associate them with each other. This led to them being frequent collaborators or invited in tandem to events and television appearances. You’d think they were bandmates or something, but no. In reality, they were discovered in similar ways, got famous around the same time, and have similar audiences. Now people assume they’re best friends, which is another reason Soobin assumes Yeonjun carts him around. Their “close bond” is a big part of both of their brands. Even if Soobin didn’t hate his guts, he still wouldn’t have sex with him, though.

“Don’t worry, buddy, I don’t want to have sex with you. I brought you because Nayeon wouldn’t come without her plus one, and her plus one wouldn’t come unless someone hot was guaranteed to be here.” Yeonjun barely pays attention to Soobin as he explains why he’s here, instead craning his head to look for someone. That someone is unsurprisingly Nayeon, who approaches in a skin tight, light blue polo dress. The strands of hair framing her face fall away as she angles her head back to smile at Yeonjun. Once she’s close enough, she toys with the buttons of his polo shirt.

“I was looking for you…” She pouts, plucking one open, then two, “Have you picked someone?” Her eyes wander to Soobin, starting at his crotch and crawling up to his face. Oof, Yeonjun at least picked someone good. She eye fucks him once she realizes who he is. His tongue swipes across his bottom lip, taking his turn to check out her body. The way she pokes out her ass is so deliciously self aware. She seemingly notices his shirt color at that moment, gasping excitedly.

“Jihyo! Jihyo, get over here!” She looks over her shoulder, flailing her hand that’s not grasping Yeonjun’s shirt in that direction. From behind a small group emerges, surely enough, Park Jihyo. Who better to pair up with two loosely associated soloists than two rightfully associated ones. Childhood friends turned pop stars. Despite being older, Jihyo and Nayeon are newer to the scene. Solely due to not being shoved into the spotlight as teens like Soobin and Yeonjun.

Soobin can’t help noticing that her shirt is warping to… compensate, and that it’s dark blue. Yeonjun snorts, causing Nayeon to laugh.

“He’s the plus one. What do you think?” Nayeon feigns curiosity, tapping her chin. Jihyo copies her friend, crossing her arms and tapping her foot.

“I dunno,” She reaches over and pinches his bicep. Soobin allows it, watching her amusedly. “could be bigger.” She shrugs, sizing him up, offering a challenge.

“You haven’t seen big yet.” Soobin smirks, eyes slowly raking down to her chest. “Or maybe you have.”

Jihyo’s jaw drops, looking shocked but impressed. “So the rumors are true?” She shimmies her skirt higher, eyes lingering on his crotch. He doesn’t miss how they flit towards his shirt.

“Looks like one of us has to change.” Soobin closes in on her, enjoying the way her eyes become so doll-like as she looks up at him.

Back in one of the bedrooms, the two of them strip each other’s shirts off through a blur of lips and tongues. Without their shirts, there are no more explicit labels signaling how they want to be seen. Just what they have to show for it. They pull apart to grin at each other, kneeling on the bed and waiting for the other to strike.

Soobin takes the opportunity to examine her in just her skirt. He guesses he’s attracted to her. She’s attractive, and her breasts are fucking phenomenal. But…

He sighs as he feels the arousal slowly drain from his body.

“What’s wrong?”

His eyes stay trained on her breasts, refusing to meet her eyes. In doing so a lightbulb turns on in his brain. He pushes her down to the bed, ordering her to hold her legs up. Both his hands latch onto her breasts to squeeze and massage until he gets hard. Noticing her start to get impatient, he leans down to swirl his tongue over her nipple. A contented sigh floats from her mouth as her hands smooth over her legs. He reaches down, expecting to push her panties to the side, but feels nothing but her warm mound. She gasps lightly and he almost looks up at her. That should get him riled up… it should.

“Get that pussy nice and wet for me.” He brings his middle finger up to his lips and licks a salacious stripe up the digit. Still focusing on her boobs means he can’t see her face, but he feels her body melt. He uses his finger to massage her lips, pushing in slightly to rub her clit. He hears her head hit the pillows.

He’s not off the hook for overthinking yet. Minutes into thrusting into her his brain floats away from the situation. He clenches his eyes shut, trying to think about how naughty he’s being. He came to a sex party, is sleeping with a stranger. She wasn’t wearing a bra or any underwear. He saw her tits and her pussy. This is lewd, it’s nasty, it’s not just is cock pushing in and out of a meaningless wet pocket.

Manifesting does nothing. He does feel like his useless organ is going in and out of her useless organ. He tries to focus on how tight it is, the warmth–

“You’re so fucking big!” She purrs as she rakes her nails down his torso. Nope. Definitely not.

He sighs, quietly this time. Thankfully her eyes are screwed shut or she’d see how out of it he is.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

Daniel Choi Yeonjun where tf are u? jihyo’s looking 4 u

Soobin immediately squashes the guilt that crops up. He made her cum, there are plenty of people there for her to screw. He doesn’t owe her anything, and he definitely doesn’t owe Yeonjun anything. Luckily he drove here so he didn’t have to tuck his tail between his legs, waiting outside for his uber like a lost dog. And luckily he’s out of there. He should’ve known better. His financial manager was right, no more parties for good.

He glances at his watch as he steps through the door.

2:13 am

He was only there for an hour? He tosses his phone on the couch with a groan. He sets his keys in the dish by the door and kicks his shoes off. So much for killing time. He stares at his empty living room, waiting for the feeling in the pit of his stomach to go away.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

Hours of Sword Art Online seems to have done its job. His eyes slowly crack open only to be immediately blinded. The sliver of sun between his bedroom curtains singes his eyes. He blocks it with his hand, sitting up in his bed. His text tone sounds and he rubs his hands over his face. Probably Yeonjun bitching about him leaving ruining Yeonjun’s night and yada yada yada.

He grabs his phone anyway, realizing it could be you. A nagging red bubble reading 1,806 hovers above the Messages app just to mock him.

Lee Sunmi: Attachment: 1 Image Yoon Bomi: I think so Kim Doyoung: Website: TikTok • Tony St… Choi Yena: off to the airport <3 YooA Siah: Will I see you in Soho 👀 Daniel Choi Yeonjun: nayeon left early yesterday because… Kang Hyewon: don’t worry about it~ +6045559608: … were you interested? +0108273555: is this soobin?? Hani Heeyeon: Hey! How’s it going?

God, he should hire someone to clean out his messages. He only really talks to three people here. One of these unknown numbers must be you. He tries the first one.

+6045559608: Hey! This is ___.

+6045559608: Remember that duet song I told you about?

+6045559608: … were you interested?

Soobin tosses the covers off of him, sliding to the edge of the bed. This is it! Man, the one time Sakura isn’t banging on his door. All he’d have to do is show her this and he would be golden. He can’t fuck this up. God, he has to keep up the lie that he had no clue about it beforehand, too. He threads his hands through his hair and stares at his feet.

Think, fucking think.

“Fuck it.”

Soobin: How about we meet up?

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

That hue of green is still horrendous through the tint of his sunglasses. You watch confusedly as lowers and raises his sunglasses over and over, debating which version is uglier. You clear your throat.

“Um, about the song, I know it’s weird but I don’t want to record right away.” The tired drone in your voice indicates that you’ve gotten shit for sticking to your guns. “I want to really have that depth behind the song, especially because whoever I choose will write their own verse. I don’t want this to be another soulless cash grab with a throwaway verse, sung by me and someone I chose based on fame alone.” You rush out your explanation before he could pretend to be confused.

Soobin snorts, peering at you over the frame of his sunglasses, “Like Agassi?”

You sputter, outstretching your arms like the gesture will stop the anger you assume he’s feeling. Your face this entire time has been laughably sincere. There is no room for a manufactured image. Your earnest eyes and anxious lip bite make sure of that.

“No, no, no! That’s a cute song, really.” You assure him. He quirks up an eyebrow.

“Cute?”

“Well…” You shrug. Of course miss writer-producer extraordinaire is an expert on good music.

“Well what?” He asks, amused as he crosses his arms and reclines in the uncomfortable plastic stool. You sip your coffee, your eyes landing on anything but him.

“It’s… a little empty. But it’s pleasant! And catchy!” You snap on that last descriptor, pointing at him like that drives the “compliment” home. He scoffs, eyes drawn to your cardigan again.

“I was on your Insta… you wear that cardigan a lot.” He over-enunciates the “a lot” to a very petty degree. It’s your turn to scoff. You tongue your cheek, your head drops down for a moment. When you look back up you look worryingly somber.

“It’s um… it’s actually my late mother’s.” You croak out, facing the ceiling to prevent tears from spilling. The smugness is ripped straight from Soobin’s body and dread is shoved in its place. What has he done?! This time he’s reaching out to you.

“Really? I’m so sorry–”

“Nope!” You drop your head back down to face him, a shit eating grin gracing your features. Soobin sucks his teeth, lamenting over his wasted alarm. You chuckle, your shoulders bouncing. He can’t help but laugh as well. You insult one of his biggest songs and baits him into guilt all in one sitting. Most people he meets wouldn’t dare. Especially fans.

“I made this with my own blood sweat and tears, baby.” You kiss the sleeve of it like it’s a trophy.

“You made it?” He leans forward, incredulity and a little disgust evident on his face.

“If you spent months making something, you’d wear it all the time too.” You raise your mug toward him before knocking it back.

“So you chose that color?

You look down at it, still swallowing coffee. “Yeah?”

“You chose to make a puke green cardigan?” He says, exasperated with your logic.

“Pu–! This is olive green.” You change your voice when you say it as if it’ll encourage him to see it. When met with an unconvinced expression, you change the subject.

“Look. I’m not looking to get married. I just need the person to sit with me to make a truly cohesive and compelling track.” You explain confidently, your raised eyebrows seemingly asking if he’s game or not. If he’s honest, you’re still very much annoying, but you’re more down to Earth than he expected. Though, if he asked you about it, you’d probably say it was because of yoga or something. He grits his teeth.

“Tell me more about the song.”

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

Soobin shuts his eyes as he laughs along with you. He cracks one open just to monitor you a little more. He’s pretty sure he’s in. Not only were you a fan of Naekkeo Crew, but you only followed them for him.

“It’s fitting he’s a horrible YouTuber now. I understand he was a kid back then, but I was too. Beomgyu was so fucking annoying.” You cover your mouth, lowering your volume as you drop the curse word. It takes everything in Soobin not to react in exaggerated shock at your no-no word.

“Oh he was annoying in real life, too. He wasn’t that much younger than me but he made me feel mature.”

You settle, smacking your lips as you reminisce. “Mark Tuan is doing his musical thing I guess, but what about Jay? Jihoon? Do you keep up with any of them?”

“God no.” Soobin is not even sorry for crushing your dreams so quickly, but he doesn’t even like the thought of keeping up with them.

“I don’t blame you.”

Your words catch him off guard, looking up to see your expression matches his own contempt.

“I don’t know much about what happened in reality, but it just seemed like they were so cruel to you.”

“Cruel?” Soobin cringes at the perception of him.

“Maybe cruel is a strong word. They always played mean spirited pranks on you and they’d make fun of you for not being meatheads like them. I don’t know… I just felt like they always singled you out.” You look down at your coffee, most likely because of the intense expression on Soobin’s face. Once he realizes, he squeezes his eyes shut.

“The other fans found it funny, but I always hated it. So yeah, I wouldn’t contact them either.” You laugh awkwardly. “Sorry, I–”

“Don’t apologize.” He assures. “They did suck.” He narrows his eyes, trying to get a new read on you. All he finds are big, hopeful eyes and a soft smile. No one’s ever told him that before. You break eye contact to glance at your tiny watch, held in place by a skinny brown band.

“Oh! I’ve got to go, but this was really fun.” You smile, and he catches that earnestness in your eyes again. The kind he doesn’t see in many people who speak to him. “I was hoping to see you again? On a Monday?” You turn slightly, a cheeky look on your face as you reference the busy schedule you briefed him on earlier.

He tilts his head down to hide his triumphant smile, quickly wiping it away before facing you again. “Sounds perfect.”

“Really? Do you have any plans for this coming Monday?” You say as you pack your purse back up. Bold of you to assume he has a packed schedule. He’ll be either rotting in bed or staring at the wall in his living room.

“Schedule’s all clear.” He gives you a pressed smile.

txt masterlist

mosquito masterlist

#100 #txt #smut #kpop smut #soobin #choi soobin #soobin smut #x reader #txt smut #female reader #afab reader

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kisseobie · 5 months

Note

you asked for hard hours i am here to deliver

eager puppy bf intak who loves to hear you praise him and tell him he’s making you feel so good and he just gets so excited to touch you and have his mouth all over you *faints*

oh and he gets more turned on when he feels your hand in his hair tugging at his thick locks when something he does feels particularly good so he keeps going and doesn’t even realize he’s overstimulating you *dies*

i fear if i continue to speak someone will be at my window

oh my god yesssss.. he really is just an eager puppy obsessed with pleasing his pretty gf :(

i can see tak plopped onto his stomach, eyes leveled with your spread legs as he resists the urge to drool onto the bedsheets, taking in the scent of your pussy as he finally dives in. it’s rushed and messy, his spit mixing with your arousal as he licks and sucks at your cunt, and he can’t help himself from rutting and humping his clothed cock against the bedsheets, groaning and rolling his eyes back at your taste mixed with the sound of your sweet voice calling him a “good boy”. when you reach your climax, your hands find purchase in his hair, roughly tugging at his dark strands as more and more precum leaks from his tip :( he’s so easy to rile up and becomes a lust-driven mess within minutes of eating you out

when he’s finally fucking into you, he can’t help but whine everytime you scream out “more!” and “fuck, right there!”. is on cloud nine due to the heavenly feeling of your warm cunny around his thick cock, and if you call him a good boy again? he’s shooting his cum into you, thrusting uncontrollably and slobbering all over himself, tears threatening to leak from his eyes as he continues to fuck you through his orgasm. the pain from the overstimulation is overshadowed by the feeling of your tight walls, and he can’t help but tune out your pleas for him to slow down. pounds and pounds until he’s cumming deep in you again, tongue lolled out like a bitch in heat, dry heaving and sobbing at the intensity of it all….

taglist: @woozixo @hearts4chanhee @kyokopi @astro-doll-the-star @soobiary @kyaaramello @t3ssamoodboard @angelcbf @idontknow-1s-world @vivienne-sim @elissasimp @imjustayapper @ihatewreckingballmains @sosaverse @seobing @www90kitsch @khfviq @barbiekh86t @bbyjjunie @taeyangi @fullsunstrawberry @jihnyah @intheemptymirror @watamotee33 @dreamer1299 @jixnnsie @wonootnoot @yukx-x047 @cysier

ᥫ᭡

#kpop writers #p1h #p1harmony #p1harmony x reader #p1harmony hard hours #hwang intak #intak x reader

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gingiesworld · 9 months

Text

Baby It’s Cold Outside

Wanda Maximoff x GN! Reader

Warnings : Slight smut. Angst. Fluff. Afab! Reader

Taglist : @natashamaximoff-69 @canvascoloredin @wizardofstories @louxbloom @wandanats-goodgirl @the-ox-fan20 @ladyqueenxoxo @aemilia19 @wandaromamoff69 @mfd-101 @dorabledewdroop @marvelogic @dopeyouth @karsonromanoff

18+ MINORS DNI

The snow was starting to come down, growing heavier by the minute that passed. Wanda was a panting mess beneath Y/N as they thrust the silicone toy into her aching core.

“I’m gonna…” Wanda screamed as she came down from her high. What only started as a movie marathon turned into something much more.

“Are you ok?” Y/N asked once she had calmed down, all Wanda could do was nod before she looked over at the clock.

“Shit.” She pushed Y/N away from her, scrambling to get her clothes on as Y/N threw on their own. “He is going to be pissed.”

“Come on Wanda, he’ll understand.” They told her as Wanda fixed her hair with her fingers.

“He doesn’t know. No one knows about this.” She told them. “Pietro is cooking dinner and my parents are going to be there.” She looked at her phone, seeing multiple missed calls from her twin. “Fuck.”

“Hey, you can’t leave.” They told her, moving closer as she tried to make sure she had everything.

“This was never meant to happen.” Wanda whispered. “I never meant for this to happen.”

“Hey. It’s ok, just give him a call.” They told her as she looked out of the window.

“I won’t be able to get a cab, not in that.” Wanda told them as they gave her a gentle smile, although their heart broke piece by piece everytime she left.

“Stay here.” They tried as Wanda shook her head.

“You know why I can’t.” She whispered as she squeezed her eyes closed. “I’m sorry.” She started for the door as Y/N remained in their spot, frozen and nervous about what they were going to do.

“I am in love with you Wanda.” They told her, causing Wanda to stop. “I have been for a while now and since then, everytime you walk out through that door breaks my heart, little by little.” She took a shaky breath before she turned to face them. “Please stay here, it’s too cold and dangerous out there.”

“But my family?” She whispered as a tear fell.

“They will understand, your safety will be their first priority.” They stood before her, wiping her tears away before Wanda gazed into their eyes.

“I am in love with you too.” She whispered before Y/N placed a tender kiss on her lips. Y/N led her to their room, urging her to get out of her jeans and into something comfier as they prepared dinner.

“My god Wanda! I have been so worried!!” Her twin exclaimed as he answered the phone.

“I’m ok. I am stuck at Y/N’s.” She informed them. “There’s no cab available and well, it’s not going to be a nice walk.”

“As long as you’re safe. I honestly thought about calling around the local hospitals just in case.” He told her.

“You’re such a mom.” She teased him as he chuckled.

“Well, mama and papa will be here until New Year, so maybe you might be able to make it before they leave.” He suggested as she hummed a yes. “Maybe you can bring Y/N too.” He teased her as she swore at him before the two bid their goodbyes.

“My Gran’s famous sloppy soup.” Y/N exclaimed as Wanda smiled as they brought the bowls in on a tray.

“I’ve missed her soup.” Wanda told them.

“I’ve been meaning to cook it but I couldn’t bring myself to do it, until now.” They told her as the two sat side by side, an old christmas movie playing on the TV as they both conversed about the simple things. Both finally happy to have everything out in the open and honest with each other.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #marvel #elizabeth olsen #wanda x you #elizabeth olsen x reader #wanda x reader #wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff x you #natasha romanoff

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lincolndjarin · 7 months

Text

fine art

javi gutierrez x moviestar!reader - installment #1 of sparrow's spectacles

main masterlist - other spectacles - kofi

summary : you were an up and coming actress, javi is your biggest fan, he'd do anything to have meet you.

word count : 3.9k

warnings, tags : dead dove do not eat, !! dark fic !! mdni 18+, noncon, stalker!javi, kidnapping, capture, stockholm syndrome, m&f masturbation, sex toys, briefly mentioned periods, exhibitionism, voyurism, so much internal thought processing regarding readers situation, briefly referenced suicide, reader is undescribed other than briefly being mentioned as young in her acting career, in my head she's late twenties, probs other tags i missed sorry. tldr: you have spent so much time with javi against your will that you unwillingly start fantasizing about him and give in to destructive urges in an attempt to escape him, everything is bad here.

a/n : is this stupid and probably bad? who knows, i have a terrible sense of self judgement lately so i'm just gonna post this and hope it's good. also can you tell that i blatantly stole the set from You LMAO. anyhow this is the first installment of my little 'horror' series. but it's less horror and more just odd little stories i wanted to write tbh

Desk, bed, lamp, television, door, chair.

On days where you’re feeling particularly bored you list the things you can see. Unfortunately for you, your surroundings rarely change. Of course you could change that, if you asked him for something he’d give it to you, anything you wanted. Unless of course it was something he thought you could hurt yourself with or contact the outside world with.

You didn’t often ask.

Whenever you can have a conversation with him he always says the same thing.

“If you stopped being so stubborn you might actually be happy.”

“I would do anything for you.” “Then let me out.” “Anything but that.”

“It’s not as terrible as you make it out to be. It isn’t an actual cage, it isn’t so bad.”

So you don’t talk to him unless you have to.

But some days you’re just so painfully, agonizingly, bored and you can’t help yourself. So you scream at him, or you pound on the unyielding plexiglass, or you hold your hand up against it, hoping he’ll touch the other side and you can briefly imagine yourself having physical contact with another human being.

Sometimes you’ll even play his games.

You’ll read the scripts he slides through the small square opening in the cage that can’t be more than a foot wide, and act out scenes with him simply because it gives you something to do and for fucks sake you’re desperate for something to do. It’s so easy to get caught up in him, if it wasn’t so easy you’d probably let yourself do it more often, thankfully, it’s so fucking scary. If you spend too much time in the box you’re worried that eventually you’ll forget that you aren’t a doll and you'll grow to like your box. So you do your damndest to maintain a wall between the two of you, but when that wall is glass it is destined to break eventually. So you scream and you fight until you get tired, and then you let the walls down as you rest, before returning to your struggle. And everytime you let the walls down they take longer to put back up.

At the end of the day it never matters how you treat him, he loves you all the same.

Even on days where you scream your throat raw and throw your furniture against the walls, if you ask him to get you takeout from your favorite restaurant, or watch a movie with you, he always will. You asked him about it once. Why didn't he just make you do what he wanted? Why didn’t he just make you obey? He had looked genuinely offended, as if he couldn’t believe you thought him capable of such a thing.

And he told you that he loved you.

More than anything.

That you were his most prized possession.

That he would never do anything to hurt you, it would be like if he were angry and he threw a priceless vase, the only person it would hurt is himself.

You had nodded as if he was making any sense and you’d turned back to the movie he’d picked out.

You were a vase.

You were a collectible.

A priceless, collectable. He kept you in perfect condition and never took you out of the box. Not even to play with you himself. A small, rather demented part of you, is starting to wish that he would. Of course you don’t want him to force himself upon you, you aren’t that far gone. (Yet.) But it’s been so long since you’ve touched another person. You would give your left arm just to be held. If your calendar serves you well, it’s been just over two years since you last saw someone who wasn’t Javi.

And Javi wouldn’t touch you.

Not ever. You were too perfect to be defiled in such a way. He would sometimes hold his hand against the glass when you held up your own, he even kissed you through it once. (Although it had been rather awkward and neither one of you ever talked about it again.) But he never touched you.

Sometimes you can’t help but wonder what would have happened if you’d met Javi in a social setting. He is rather handsome, and though you hate to admit it, when he isn’t leering he’s almost charming.

Almost.

Everyday you slip further into the fantasy where Javi does something to break up the monotony. Is that his goal? To make you so desperate for human connection that you eventually snap and beg him to touch you? You shudder as you wonder how long that would take. After the first year you stopped wondering what would happen when he got bored of you. You know deep down that that will never happen. If anything his devotion for you only continues to grow with each passing day. If it’s possible he probably loves you more now then he did at the start of your stay here. Despite everything he takes care of you, in his own strange sort of way.

Like how he tracks your cycle, always making sure you have anything you need on those days. Sometimes he even knows it’s starting before you do, he’ll bring you baskets with blankets and candy and any other little trinket or gift he saw that made him think of you.

Jewelry, little plush toys, and books. Anything to try and make you feel anything other than the misery that constantly loomed over you as you waited for his next visit. He never goes more than a few days without seeing you and he always apologizes when he does. He returns with your favorite shampoo or lotion to make it up to you, but it never really changes how you feel about him. It’s nice to fantasize a world in which you enjoy your only source of company but you’re careful to never let that fantasy bleed into reality.

If he were actually your partner you’d have locked him down ages ago. A part of you knows that he doesn’t want that kind of relationship with you though. He doesn’t want a girlfriend, you’re much more than that. You’re more like a goddess in a cage to him than an actual human being. A beloved pet bird. It’s clear he feels something more than simple love for you. It’s a devotion, a conscious effort to worship you.

You are to be kept in pristine condition.

Of course that doesn’t mean he can’t look.

Two and a half years.

That’s how long it took for the looking to escalate into something more. You were watching a movie.

50 First Dates

You had picked it out, Javi liked action movies but would never complain when you wanted to watch a rom-com. You were on your bed, curled up under the blankets in a hoodie and sweatpants. You haven’t worn makeup since he took you, you rarely brushed your hair, you never put much thought into your appearance, and Javi wouldn’t give you a mirror.

You had one, a long time ago. Within the first week you’d smashed it, threatening to slit your own throat if he didn’t let you out. All that resulted in was you no longer being allowed to have breakables. Plastic cutlery and paper plates were wordlessly passed to you from that point forward.

You had been watching in silence, he sat on the couch outside the cage like he always did and it wasn’t until you heard a shuddering groan that you turned around to see him kneeling beside the cage, one hand pressed up against the glass, steadying himself, the other wrapped around his cock.

You were frozen in place.

What are you supposed to do in that situation?

You watched, slack jawed as he took his time. His gaze made you feel naked, like he could see through the layers of blankets and baggy clothing.

He had looked you in the eye when he finished. Briefly staring wide eyed before his eyes squeezed shut and with a long, drawn out moan and a strained cry of your name. His cum painted the glass and before you could form any sort of response he was already stuffing himself back into his pants and standing. You want to say something, anything. Something to hold him accountable for what he just did, but you can’t think of anything, and he’s already leaving.

Before you can even blink he’s gone, without so much as a glance in your direction. And you’re left alone, in the lamp light, unable to escape the sight of his filth on the glass. Covering your head with a blanket as you waited for it to be late enough for the power to cut out and leave you in a safe, and comfortable darkness.

A part of you hoped that the white speckles would be gone when you woke up but you weren’t that lucky.

You faced away from that wall, with your head buried in a book until you looked at the clock and knew it was almost time to face him again. When he returned he had an aura of shame around himself, his arms were full of grocery bags and his eyes were red rimmed and teary.

“I’m so sorry- I just- I love you so much, I don’t know what came over me.” If this was a normal relationship and the two of you had maybe gotten into an argument or something you would have forgiven him. After all he looked genuinely remorseful as he stared at you, going through the bags before setting down several takeout containers with labels you recognized. He had gone out and gotten all your favorites. Your favorite fast food place, as well as a high end chinese restaurant you loved for special occasions, and a clear plastic case with a slice of your favorite flavored cake from a small bakery near your apartment that you frequented. (You’d never asked him to get you anything from there before, you’d never even mentioned the place to him.)

Through his mumbled apologies he set down your favorite bubble tea flavor and a water bottle.

He had passed everything to you through the opening in the cage with trembling hands as he sniffled. Once you had everything he sprayed the drying remnants of his release with Windex, pulling several paper towels off the roll and wiping it until it was as if it never happened. By the time he was finished his cheeks were red and big tears rolled down his face.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Before you can stop yourself you’re comforting him, as if he’s the victim in this situation.

“It’s not okay, I don’t want you to think that that’s why you’re here.” He mumbles sadly, letting his forehead hit the glass. Through your disgust for your own words you sense something else.

Opportunity.

The only chance you’re going to get for escape involves him unlocking the door. Something he hasn’t done since he put you in here in the first place. You’ve tried in the past. Not often, there weren’t very many chances, you had everything you needed here, running water and a bathroom, any other sustenance was provided by him through the little opening. There was so rarely an opportunity, and when there were he always anticipated your plans before you got to put them into motion. But you’ve never tried deception. You think you would have, considering you’re an actress but it had never crossed your mind until just now. You can’t half ass this though. If you decide to do this you will get one chance to do it right.

Go big or go home.

“No really, it’s okay. It’s sort of… flattering.” His face drops the second you say it and regret starts creeping in. You’re going to die here. He’s going to keep you here until the day you die and no one will ever know what happened to you. A young starlight, taken out in her prime.

“It’s not, it’s disgusting.” He tosses the paper towels away, sniffling to himself as he stands with his hands clasped in front of him, swaying anxiously back and forth. You take a seat on your bed across from him, fighting the urge to put your hand on the glass. You don’t want to lay it on too thick, he’ll see right through that.

“It’s fine, it’s- it’s natural.” You’re struggling to find the right words that make it feel real. At one point you were a rather talented actress but you’re out of practice. “Seriously. Especially from you. It’s really sweet.” Fuck, are you doing too much?

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he chews his lip as he stares at you, you can tell he’s skeptical. He should be. You so rarely speak to him and when you do it’s never to be kind.

“Actions speak louder than words.”

Someone said that in a movie Javi picked, you had sat and let him read the scene to you afterwards.

He wants an actress, you can give him that. You can perform, as long as that’s all it is. If it’s a performance you can keep your wall up. You stumble off the bed, your legs feeling like jelly as you pull open the drawer on your nightstand.

This plan feels stupider by the minute but you need to commit.

He didn’t gift you sex toys the way he did with other little things to make you happier. But they were always just sort of there. In their original packaging, shoved in your nightstand drawer with a few batteries he’d left as well, they’d been here when you woke up in the cage. You doubt you’ll be able to relax enough to do this without a little help, and you have to be convincing. If you aren’t believable he’s unlikely to trust you in the future. If you fuck this up now you’ll never get another chance.

It’s a pale pink rabbit. You’d probably never buy something like it for yourself, it looks… expensive. The silicone is smooth against your fingers as you rip open the packaging, twisting the base open to pop in two batteries. Rushing in an attempt to not lose your nerve. When you gather your courage you risk a glance up at him, just fast enough to watch his tongue dart out and wet his lips.

So he does want this.

Good.

Pressing the button on the toy makes it buzz to life.

Okay.

This isn’t so bad. It’s just masturbating, if you do this for him you can take advantage of the obvious attraction he has for you. Even if it doesn’t work immediately, eventually this ends with him letting you out, or at the very least letting himself in, which is all you need.

So you get back into bed, and you lean on a stack of pillows before really focusing on him.

And you ask him the question he didn’t bother to ask you.

“Is this okay?” You hope the trembling in your voice comes off as endearing.

His throat bobs as he nods. Maybe he doesn’t mind that you’ve been laying it on a little thick. Maybe you’ve denied him your affections for so long that he doesn’t want to risk rejecting any advance from you. No matter how out of the blue it seems/.

You push your sweats down to your ankles before kicking them off the bed. No time for embarrassment or regret now, if he senses hesitation none of this will be worth it. He’s moved to be sitting on the couch directly outside the cage now. His knees pressed together as he sits with his hands in his lap, looking almost comically polite.

No sense putting off the inevitable.

It’s been a while, there’s a camera in the corner of the cage so you don’t masturbate often, and when you do it’s late at night, once the lights are off and you can hide under your blanket. You can’t do that now though, that would defeat the purpose.

You leave the toy off as you shove it down the front of your panties. Pressing the soft head of it against your slit, finding it surprisingly easy to tease your entrance with it.

Are you wet?

It’s been a while, that’s why.

Javi certainly hasn’t wasted any time. If he were sitting any closer he’d be fogging up the glass, his hand is shoved down his pants, his face already flushed red. His usual rigid posture is lost as he leans back into the couch cushions, refusing to tear his eyes off of you. Pulling your bottom lip between your teeth you push the toy into you, holding back a gasp as you swallow. At least it feels sort of good. Good enough to make you wish you’d swallowed your pride and used this before today.

Your body moves instinctually as your free hand reaches forward to push your panties down and turn the vibe on in one motion, the silicone attachment pressing against your clit as you press the toy deeper into your pussy. It’s a little too easy to relax suddenly. Javi now slowly strokes himself, his cock in his hand, looking painfully hard as he squeezes the base of his shaft, almost as if he’s scared of blowing his load too soon.

Good.

The less time it takes the better.

At least that’s what you tell yourself as you angle the toy, letting the tip of it brush against your g-spot and drawing an authentic moan from you. Fighting the urge to cover your mouth in surprise, you repeat the motion. The combination of sensations making your toes curl and your back arch into the mattress.

“Fuck-” Your voice catches in your throat, your fingers twitch against the button to turn the vibrations up a level.

Once you find your rhythm it’s easy to forget about the nerves and what’s at stake. It’s easy to get lost in the sensation and the sight of Javi shuddering as he gasps. It’s easy to focus on the attractive parts of him for a brief moment, to make things easier. And it’s easy to wonder if his cock would feel better than the toy that hums and makes your body tense up deliciously.

It’s actually terrifying how easy it is.

It’s enough to make you horrified for just a split second. He wasn’t lying when he said you could be happy if you stopped fighting. Twisted into the pleasure you’re feeling is something else. Relief. Relief for the peace you find when you stop fighting him. You could feel this good all the time if you wanted, you and Javi could have your favorite food for dinner, you could watch your favorite movies, and act out your favorite scenes.

You could feel good.

You could have nights like these where you watch him jerk off his pretty, thick cock and know that someone loves you enough to take care of you like this. You could let him buy you pretty things and toys that make you feel so so so good.

And that thought terrifies you.

If you stayed in this cage you would eventually become entirely complacent.

It might not be tomorrow, or next week, or next year, but eventually.

You will be happy to flutter about your cage once you’ve forgotten how to fly.

His pretty little bird.

It’s your orgasm that snaps you out of that living nightmare. You hadn’t even realized you’d still been fucking the toy, pleasuring yourself to that little daydream. This wasn’t a good idea and you shouldn’t have done it but it’s too late for that now especially when you’re groaning out his name as you remove the still buzzing toy, now slick with your wetness. Javi’s eyes are wide as he clearly can’t hold back any longer as he dirties his shirt and pants with his own release.

As you quickly reach for the toy, turning it off, you pull your panties up in a hurry. Maybe you should push your luck and ask him to come into the cage now. A sense of dread is settling in your stomach as you realize that you can’t be here much longer, who knows how quickly you’ll crumble if you keep letting yourself do this. It’s best to make this a swift process where you don’t have any more time to sink into the hell that is acceptance of these four glass walls.

You’re about to do it. About to tell him that he should join you, that it would feel better for the both of you if he was in the cage as well but you don’t get a chance to as he zips his pants back up.

“Go to bed, when you’re asleep I’m gonna leave you a gift.” He stands abruptly, giving you a reassuring smile before pressing his hand up to the glass. You don’t hesitate to crawl up the length of the bed and press your own to his, it’s brief but you can feel the connection here.

This is just the beginning.

After today you’ll put more effort in. You’ll make it happen and you’ll make it happen fast. You can put the time and effort in, it’s not like you have anything better to do. You’ll convince him that it’s real before you lose yourself entirely and when the day finally comes where he opens the door you won’t waste the opportunity.

You’ll leave your room.

You can figure out the logistics of it later but for now you take the sleeping pill he slides through the opening every night he visits. You don’t usually take it but you need sleep and this will be easier if he thinks you’re compliant. With a sip of your drink the little pill goes down and your eyes close.

And you dream that you’re a bird, flying through a blue sky.

You sleep better than you ever have before in the cage.

Until you wake, the lamp being on is the only indicator you have that it’s daytime. Your hair stands on end as you sit up. He was here. Things have been moved, little things, noticeable things. Your empty drink is tossed in the bin and it smells of cleaning supplies. He doesn’t ever come inside the cage, that goes against everything he tells you. Your head is spinning as you try to figure out what’s different. How long were you out? The pills have never made you feel this fuzzy before on the rare occasions that you’ve taken them, you do your best to focus but it’s difficult when everything’s so muddled. So you do the one thing you know will clear your head and you list the things you see.

Desk, bed, lamp, television, chair.

Something’s wrong, different.

He said he was going to give you a gift. What the fuck did he do? Did he leave it in here? Was it too big to fit through the opening? Is that why he came into the cage?

You don’t catch it immediately, but there is a note taped to the inside of the glass.

I knew you’d learn to be happy : )

See you tonight.

Love, Javi

You look back around the room, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Desk, bed, lamp, television, chair.

Oh.

i no longer have a tag list, follow @lincolndjarinnotifs for updates on my writing!!

#lincolndjarin #javi gutierrez #javi g x reader #javi gutierrez x reader #javi g x you #javier gutierrez #javi g fanfiction #pedro pascal #dead dove do not eat #tw noncon

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hitomisuzuya · 1 year

Note

OMGG REQUESTS ARE OPENNNNN

omg so can we get more scara, kuni and wanderer x reader smut 😈😈😈😈😈🔥🔥i love your work sm

Foursome brainrot. Scaramouche x fem!reader Wanderer x fem!reader Kunikuzushi x fem!reader. Smut. Overstimulation. Cunilligus. Breeding Degradation (Scaramouche) Praise (Kunikuzushi) Degrading praise (Wanderer)

Thank you very much ❤️💜💙

Kunikuzushi has been sucking and licking your sobbing cunt for what felt like hours to you. He would suck and lick your clit, dragging his tongue over it to hear you whimper. He would occasionally sink his teeth into your inner thigh, rubbing your clit while he sucked bruises into your skin.

Scaramouche and Wanderer are sucking on each of your nipples. All three of them were aiming to overstimulate you before they even fucked you, until you shook and trembled from it.

Wanderer who is getting wound up from your moaning that he moves Kunikuzushi aside so he can eat you out instead. He absolutely loves when you presshis face into your cunt. He loves holding it against his mouth when you roll your hips up.

Scaramouche bites bruises into your neck, pinching and flicking your nipple. The more you showed your throat to him in submission, the harder his cock throbbed. Giving last lick on your hardened nipple, he turns your head so you are looking at him. "I can tell you are about to cum on Wanderer's tongue, whore. Starting begging for me to fuck you now," He commands.

You screamed Scaramouche's name as you squirted on Wanderer's tongue. You writhed, squirming when Wanderer held your cunt to his face, groaning in bliss while he lapped up your release. "I just came," You said, looking at him desperately, "fuck me now, please. I can already feel my walls wanting to clench around your cock," Scaramouche laughed, smirking down at you in approval. He kissed you until Wanderer pulled away to wipe his mouth.

Scaramouche was always steadfast in not letting Wanderer or Kuni touch you while he is fucking you. He is a very possessive, selfish man. He liked having all of you to himself.

Kunikuzushi never took it well if he didn't get to touch you or taste you whenever he wanted. He would whine, watching Scaramouche ruin you while he stroked his cock. He would even beg Scaramouche to let him touch you. He got told to wait his turn everytime.

Wanderer is selfish too, but a lot softer than Scaramouche was. He let Kunikuzushi have you after Scaramouche. You would be twice as overstimulated when he got a turn with you, making you cream twice as hard on his cock.

Scaramouche lays your head in lap while Kunikuzushi babbled and whined praise at how good you feel on his cock, urging you to cum because he was already close. Scaramouche shoves his fingers into your mouth, making you choke on them while your release flooded over Kuni's cock.

Wanderer who wants to eat you out a little more just to see you cry from overstimulation. "What a cute slut you are being for me, crying sweetly for me to fuck you," He let's out a low groan as he pushes his cock slowly inside of you.

Scaramouche turns your head and opens your mouth for Kunikuzushi to put his cock in. He whines, pushing his cock deep into your throat while you obediently suck. He loves when you are submissive for him to. It makes him feel wanted and needed.

Kunikuzushi never stops praising you on how good your mouth feels, how good your throat feels spasming around his cock while you cough. He moans loud in between his praising when you vibrate moans on his cock.

"You'll be sucking me off next, so keep that your whore mouth of yours open after he cums down your slut throat," Scaramouche says, stroking a hand through your hair while he pushes your mouth on Kunikuzushi's cock.

They always take such great care to push any cum that leaks out of your cunt back in with their fingers. They each suck on your clit while they do so. They want to be thorough in breeding you after all.

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ashthemadwriter-archived · 2 years

Text

Getting to be your first time

Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs

Pairing: Akutagawa X Fem!Reader

Request: "Jesus christ i loved your drabbles of chuuya and dazai with a fem virgin reader, could you maybe write one for akutagawa?" ◜By lovely anon!!◞

Genre: Smut

Format: Drabble

Warnings: NSFW! content, nipple play, vaginal penetration

Word Count: 0.5K

A/n: E-eh?? I thought it wasn't good enough- Thanks!! T^T

For the first time in his life, Akutagawa has no idea what to do.

He's always following orders from higher ups, doing the job exactly as he's supposed to. He has done the trickiest missions in the port mafia, but not even once he has felt nervous, the way he feels now.

He avoids eye contact with you as his fingers slowly draw circles on your clit, pressing his naked body against yours unintentionally. This feels intimate; so scary yet so close and somehow he doesn't wanna pull away, not when you feel so warm, soft and kind.

Heavy breathes and low pitched moans scaping your lips are getting into him. He knows you can feel his throbbing member against your womanhood and the urge to get swallowed by the ground is kicking into him, but he can't separate from you now; not when he's this close to name you as his.

The gentle touch of your hand has him coming back to reality, turning his head toward you so he can meet your face.

Your pretty face, swollen lips and reddened cheeks.

He doesn't know what to say when you quietly ask him what's wrong, so he just slams his lips on yours, capturing them in a hungry kiss.

He's needy, you're just as needy as he is, you two really are a match.

Adjusting himself on your entrance, he reluctantly pulls away and looks you in the eye for approval, but all he can see is love, desire, and of course lust.

You whine a bit and pull him back so you can taste his lips again, feeling him smiling softly into the kiss. You don't let him break the kiss, not even when he slowly pushes inside, earning a slow gasp from you but not enough to break apart from him.

"O-oh!"

"Am I hurting you?"

"No..."

"You can tell me if you want to stop"

You don't want to stop.

When you wrap your arms around him, he lets out a heavy breath as he starts thrusting in and out of you, with a gentleness that seems familiar but is actually brand new. You don't hold back anymore. You moan everytime his length reaches a particular spot inside, and he feels honored as your voice gets louder and louder.

Akutagawa can't hold himself back anymore. You sound so nice and he has to hear more of you. He has to see you in your most vulnerable state, to hear you scream when you finally reach your orgasm. That's all on his mind when he tilts his head downward and starts sucking on your right nipple, using all the strength left in his body to speed his thrusts up, and boy he's pleased when you whimper loudly and throw your head back on the pillow.

For once in his life, Akutagawa doesn't want this intimate moment to be over. All he wants to do is doing all he can to pleasure you, and trap you in his arms, forever.

#bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd imagines #bungou stray dogs #bsd smut #bsd scenarios #akutagawa x reader #akutagawa ryuunosuke x reader #ryuunosuke akutagawa x reader #akutagawa x y/n #akutagawa x you #akutagawa smut #akutagawa scenario #akutagawa imagines #akutagawa fluff #ryuunosuke akutagawa smut #akutagawa ryuunosuke smut #ashthemadwriter

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minxiiwrites · 1 year

Text

Gekko Crushing on you headcannons!!

Gekko drabbles! Cause I don't see him a lot in this place :(((

He's a golden retriever typa guy

Everytime he sees you his eyes just lights up and he starts rushing towards you asking if you need help in anything or how are you in general

Definitely has an acts of service love language

He's so obvious that he's tripping head first for you to the point that when you guys are seen together, there's a chorus of "ooo~" and knowing smirks towards him

Number one cheer leader!! He will hype you up no matter what kind of thing you're doing he always has your back

Contrary to popular belief, he would love it whenever you play with his lil friends

Just seeing you being happy and cooing and wingman and dizzy for their cuteness makes him smile so wide

If you're busy with anything, he wouldn't wanna disturb you (though the urge to take your attention for himself is tempting)

He stares at you from a far with a hand on his cheek and a love struck gaze focusing on you

Like he would sigh and there's hearts surrounding him typa gaze

And it's so obvious that he's staring cause he's usually the noisy chatterbox

Yet suddenly when you walk him he's now putting his entire focus all on admiring you, completely disregarding the conversation he had whether important or not

Simp? Simp.

Often gets teased by Phoenix and Jett but he just laughs it off cause he finds no point in denying his affections for you

Reyna is just smirking every time she sees you guys together in any way (proud mama)

Sometimes when he's in a daze he just whispers Spanish about how pretty you are, how his heart it beating so fast or just how much he just wants to be yours

And every time you ask him about what he said he just bursts and nervously coughs it out while averting his eyes way from you

Wingman really likes to nudge on your leg to get your attention

Just like his owner, wingman loves to be held in your arms for no apparent reason

You could be strategizing for an enemy attack and suddenly feel a squishy hand gently push on your leg and lil wingman is motioning for you to carry him like a baby

Gekko often apologizes for his clingy behavior as if he doesn't ask just as clingy but I digress

Will text you at 3am for no reason (he misses you)

Gets super shy whenever you compliment him as he rubs his neck and shyly looks away from you with a nervous grin

One time in his room you gave him a pat on the head as a congratulation for succeeding in a mission and he just froze

After you left he's now bouncing on the walls and screaming about how he's won with his lil friends celebrating along with him

He's gotten a noise complaint from Yoru but honestly he could care less

I LOVE HIM SO MUCH BARKABRKABRKABRKABDKABEJABRKABEKABRKABAEKSBKEBSNDBANEBDNSNDNDBDBDBDJDDHJSJSABJSBAJEBAJEBANBENABEJSBEJSNSBEKABEGGERRGRGGRRGGRRBAKRGGRRRRGRRBAKEGGERRRRRRAHHHHHHRAHTAHHHHHBARJJJJJEVANBRKKKRVAJRRBBAKBARKKRGRRRR

#Minx writesඩා #gekko x reader #valorant #valorant x reader #mateo #mateo x reader

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sunflowerxthoughts · 5 months

Text

Eddie visits Work Uncle Wayne and reader at work, just to see you again and ends up defending your honor. So tw, sexism and violence.

Eddie is desperate. It’s been what? A few days since he last saw you and every part of his fibre is itching to see you again.

So with the excuse of visiting Wayne, he visits you two. Eddie is well aware of what your role is in the plant. While Wayne’s more hands on, you get to deal with the awful awful experience of costumer service, both in person and over the phone.

It’s draining and again, awful but you don’t dare complain when you see the state of Wayne’s hands everytime you two go to smoke. You two literally schedule them so you don’t go alone and Wayne doesn’t go with some of the dullest men to ever exist.

It’s on one of those little slices of social heaven that Eddie shows up, all smiles and a charm, saying he brought you two coffee to help with the day. You could kiss him then and there if it wasn’t for the man walking fast to you three, red in the face and extremly mad.

“You bitch!” He shouts. The second you flinch Eddie and Wayne stand in front of you with a protective stance. “It was you wasn’t it?”

“What the fuck man?” Eddie yells right back.

The man goes on and on about shit he can’t understand, but all he needs is to see Wayne’s face to know whatever the man is bitching about, isn’t true nor right. It only gets confirmed when the man screams that of you course you can’t do your job when you clearly only care about makeup.

“Right okay buddy, I’m going to stop you now.” Eddie is almost cocky, he is ready to go to war. “Do you feel better now? Got all your big boy feelings sorted?”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh no, you are not excused yet. You come here screaming absolute nonsense to my uncle and my girl here and for what? Do you feel happier after being sexist because god forbid she has some eyeliner on? You are full of shit man.” The man gets visibly angrier and you miss Eddie calling you his girl completely.

Wayne doesn’t and the smirk in his face doesn’t sit right with the angry man.

“You think this is funny man? Are you, the bitch and the satanist having fun?” He lounges towards Wayne and to all of their surprise, you stick your leg in front of them so the man falls to the floor.

Eddie and Wayne look surprised but Eddie has to fight the urge to kiss you yet again when you hum, and out of nowhere, punch the man square in the face and grab him by his collar.

“You call me a bitch? That’s fine. However if I see you so much as breathe in his- their direction I’ll fucking end you, you piece of shit.”

“Holy shit.”

The man runs after that, you are taking deep breaths because if he looks back, you are going to end him. Eddie on the other hand has heart eyes when he looks back at you.

“Please tell me you didn’t forget to clock out when we came back here.” Wayne is the first one to break the silence, ever the responsible adult because you are well aware those were grounds for firing you.

“Not today, Wayne. Not today.”

Original post!

Tag list: @josephquinnsfreckles 🦋

#this is for my costumer service girlies #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem! reader #eddie munson angst

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satoriberry · 2 years

Text

niko ikki crushing on you!! :>

❥ summary: headcanons with a pining niko [requested by anon]

❥ pairing: niko ikki x gn!reader

❥ watch out for: nothing!! just cute stuff with some crack + reader is oblivious asf btw not proofread

- let me preface by saying that i love this guy so much

- ok lets start

- you're a student at his school and you just happen to catch his attention

- maybe it was your charm, maybe it was the kindness that you treated everyone with unconditionally, but whatever it was, it pulled on his heart strings and made him a sucker for you

- you're just so perfect and beautiful and AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA <- representation of his thoughts about you

- everytime you walk past him, he just feels the urge to turn around and pull you into his arms but he can't because no.

- that's not how real life works

- even if you're not in the same class as him, he'd still try to find where you're hanging out in the school so he can sit far away and.....observe you.

- he does that a lot. his afro allows him to hide his eyes so you wouldn't tell whether he was staring at your or not

- doesnt have the courage to talk to you directly, but whenever he can, he tries to join conversations with mutual friend groups. he gets to hear your voice more closely :)

- he's an avid anime watcher (canon) and what he watches is influenced by his current life status

- so when he falls for you, you bet your ass he's watching all them cheesy shoujo anime where the male love interest is a suave, cool hottie so he can project onto him

- but at the same time, he feels so cringe because he thinks you'd definitely see him as some kind of weird loser with no social life

- tries to understand you by piecing together stuff his friends and classmates say about you, like favourite colour, food, celebrity, movie etc

- buys merch of your favourite band in hopes that it'll catch your attention and you'll walk up to him to talk :(

- he's bad at dropping signals and thinks that the most subtle gestures will attract you. they don't. you're too fucking dumb.

- his friends tease him for that a lot

- "bro, doodling their favourite character on your notebook will not make them notice you" "shut the fuck up, you don't know shit."

- seriously, he's so romantically inexperienced and doesn't know how to go about it

- during a particularly windy day, his bangs flew up and revealed his eyes when you were sitting on the rooftop (him alone and you with your friends). he ran off from embarrassment but left behind the book he was reading

- later that day, you walked up to him to return his book and while doing that, you slipped a complement about his eyes and how they were cute

- he screamed into his pillow when he got back home.

- but!!!! he can now talk to you!!

- buys your preferred candy by "accident" and gives it to you because "he pressed the wrong button on the vending machine"

- loves the little smile you wear when enjoying it ♡

- started to give you little acknowledgement nods when crossing each other in hallways. his brain melts when you nod back with a grin

- he daydreams about you a lot and even does that dreamy sigh thing with his cheek against his palm

- he....

- he has a manifestation journal and sporadically writes affirmations with your name in them...

- anyways.

- wants to invite you to soccer practice so you can watch him pull off sick tricks but doesnt know howwww >:/

- asks his friends to say good stuff about him so you can think he's cool

- "yeah niko regularly helps at a cat shelter", "he tutors my brother every sunday", "ive seen him adopt strays"

- at some point they started to say some ridiculous things so he had to force them to stop 💀💀

- watches your mannerisms closely and subconsciously copies them

- the way you open your drinks, tap your feet against the floor to make sure your shoes fit right, pop your neck in specific directions

- when he realizes what he's doing, he buries his face in his hands and lets out a high pitched scream with his face turning into a dark shade of pink

- gets really mushy when thinking about you, writes your name in hearts a lot

- turns into a mess when you're cheerfully talking to him about something you like

- once caught you napping in the library and took it upon himself to sit next to you and make sure nothing bad happens

- by the way that's a lie because nothing that bad could've happened and he wanted to gaze at your calm sleeping figure

- literally squealed as he watched you softly adjust your head on your arms

- so. we can conclude by saying that niko is really awkward when it comes to you and he has some pretty unorthodox methods of expressing his feelings, but he never loses hope that, maybe one day, you'll see him in the same light (he's a dumbass that can't see you already do)

#berry.requests <3 #berry.writes <3 #niko x reader #niko ikki x reader #ikki niko x reader #niko ikki #ikki niko #blue lock x reader #blue lock fluff #blue lock imagines #blue lock

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imrllytootiredforthis · 1 year

Note

I’ve had this thought in my head for a while but I don’t really know how to put it to words, so I apologize if this doesn’t make any sense 😞🙏💔

Imagine Jisung on his knees under your desk, cockwarming you with his mouth as you’re on a call with Felix and Minho, playing some games with them on your computer. He’s fully naked, his hands balled up into fists as he resists the urge to touch his wet pussy. He’s pressing his thighs together so he’s able to get some kind of friction, but it’s just not enough for him.

Everytime you jump in your seat, your cock (real or fake, doesn’t matter) goes deeper in his throat, causing him to gag. Felix and Minho notices the sounds, and thought nothing of it at first, but as they continued hearing the gagging sounds coming from over on your end, they quickly understood what was happening.

They questioned you about those noises, and you didn’t bother to lie and cover it up. You told them what exactly you were making Han do. Han got wetter and wetter, knowing that Felix and Minho now knew what he was doing.

Felix and Minho couldn’t help but slowly get hard imagining Jisung under your desk and gagging on your cock. They wished that they were in your position, or maybe…in Han’s position.

You look down at Han. His eyes were brimmed with tears from the constant gagging, drool slipping past his pretty lips that’s wrapped so nicely around your cock, his plush thighs pressing up against each other. You tried to resist the urge to fuck him right then and there. And unfortunately (fortunately) you couldn’t resist it.

You pulled out of his mouth, his jaw was slack from his mouth being open for hours. You cupped his face with one hand, and he leaned into your touch, leaving sloppy kisses on the palm of your hand. With your other hand, you clicked around with your mouse, changing the screen on your computer. You scooted your chair back and pulled Han up off his knees. Before he could even react, you pulled him into a full nelson position, and shoved your cock into his wet pussy and started fucking up into him at such a rough and fast pace.

Han couldn’t think straight from the sudden pleasure, his loud moans instantly filled up the room. Once he did adjust though, he noticed your computer screen. On your computer screen, it was split up into three separate screens.

Fuck. He knew you were on a call, but not a video call.

On one screen, he saw Felix with his cock out, leaning back against his chair and stroking his cock slow and hard, enjoying the view. On another screen was Minho, also stroking his cock, but at a fast and rough pace. On the last screen, Han could see himself with his legs spread, his pussy out on full display as he gets absolutely railed by you. He got wetter as he watched Felix and Minho watching him get fucked, and even more wet watching himself get fucked.

His moans got more and more shameless. As much as he was blushing like crazy and embarrassed looking at your computer screen, he just couldn’t take his eyes off of it. He loved how you knew exactly what spot to hit to make him scream, and how he loved watching his face contort in pleasure as you hit over and over.

It didn’t help with Felix’s and Minho’s words to him. Felix praising him for being such a good boy, telling him just how good he is for taking it all, asking him “who’s a good boy?” Minho on the other hand degraded him to no end, calling him a shameless whore, telling him that he’s so rude! for not thanking you for fucking a dirty slut like him.

Han thanked you over and over, praising and degrading himself in the process, thanking you for fucking into his filthy pussy, thanking you for fucking your good boy. The mix of praise and degradation from Felix and Minho made his head spin and made him closer to his orgasm. His moans got louder as he got closer. Felix and Minho sped up as they watched Jisung’s body writhe more and more. They moaned underneath their breaths, feeling themselves get closer and closer.

Without warning, Jisung squirted all over your keyboard and screen. His eyes were rolled back and his tongue lolled out, in complete bliss as he saw stars. He hadn’t realized what he’s done until he heard you asked him “Who the hell said you were allowed to cum? And all over my keyboard and computer too, you’re so filthy.”

Fuck.

You pulled him off of your cock and threw him onto the bed. You went over to your computer and said, “Come over if you want,” before leaving the call.

Holy shit this was longer than I expected but I know damn well Felix and Minho are rushing over to your house 🙈💕 gonna be filling up all of Han’s holes and passing him around like he’s just a toy for you guys to play with (but he doesn’t mind ofc, he’s loving every second of it <3)

this has been in my drafts literally forever bc i actually can't🥴, this is so hot, god😵‍💫😩

not only does it have hannie with a pussy but also LIXIE AND LEE KNOW😫😩

like jesus fuck-anon, you are going to be the actual death of me😮‍💨, i honestly don't know what else to say but i'm in absolute awe of your writing<3333

#inbox💌#PLEASE SEND MORE IN IF YOU WANT😫#hard thoughts #dom reader #stray kids smut #sub stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids #sub!stray kids #sub!kpop #sub!idol #sub kpop #sub idol

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echoedcrosshairs · 1 year

Text

Unseen Scars

Summary: Female Jedi survived order 66 hides out in the underground of Ord Mantell. Hiding out in Cid's parlor keeping your head down you see Rex's face and get sent backward in time. (Gif by @dreamswithghosts)

Warning: Order 66 Jedi Trauma, Feeling Haunted, Soft Rex, Angsty and Love

Word count: 2.7

(part two)

Masterlist

The costs of war can never be truly accounted for, you spun the disgusting bottom shelf liquid around your glass pondering Master Yoda's saying noting how right it was. Your head swam back to when the order was given, feeling all the death and pain through the force. The betrayal on the deepest level, soldiers we fought beside for years trusted with our lives killing us like discarded bantha fodder. We never saw it coming, we speculated something was coming but we never dreamed that our dearest allies would turn on us. You wondered if anyone had made it and if they too lived like womp rats hiding in darkness.

One must let go of the past to hold on to the future. The saying twisted in your guts like a knife, how does one even move past something like that? How could I even think of the future? Your mind wandered to your closest... friend and confidant then the rage seethed like it normally did when you envision his face knowing it was one of countless who gunned down Jedi. You slammed the drink back. Looking up you saw another hooded stranger walking sitting in the other dark corner. Your mind went blank at this presence, body screaming at you to run... it didn't take long to find out why. Frozen to your seat like the ice of Hoth itself held you down forcing you to watch the scene unfolds. In the commotion your hood most have fallen back, the four men and him stared at you you didn't hear a word that was said before that your ears rang and your mind fell blank. Puzzled looks fell on the four men's faces as he softly said "Commander..." The title use to make your heart flutter everytime he called it out but now it just filled you with terror. Any minute now he was going to shoot, your heart pounded and your feet finally started moving.

Rex fell to unabashedly to his knees for a moment watching you flee from him, she's not dead, the relief flooded him followed by agonizing truth that you were horrified of him, why wouldn't you be? Why didn't you hear that his chip was gone? His hand wiped the revolution that trickled from his eyes. Rex's head was spinning but he pulled himself up one leg at a time. He looked at Echo who was staring at the door before turning to him gripping his shoulder, "We'll find her, Captain."

"Who was that, Rex?" Hunter asked.

"A Jedi," Echo whispered, "a very dear friend of ours."

Hunter waited staring at Rex knowing there was more to the story, "Found her," Tech said interrupting the silence.

"Where is she," Echo said taking the data pad from Tech, "She's on the move-" finally noticing the wetness he wiped from his face.

"Girlfriend, wasn't she?" Tech said filling in the unspoken blanks.

"Soldier's can't have relations with the Jedi-" Rex stated.

"The Republic is gone and to the Empire you are dead," Tech said flatly.

"We have to go, Captain," Echo urged, Rex nodded and the Five of them started running.

What is lost is often found. Ord Mantell had become your darkness, a sliver of peace and privacy in the blossoming chaos of the Empire spreading through out the galaxy. A chance to fade into the shadows as a relic of an era that was over. Now this home had to be abandon just like everything else. Your feet kept running and the hair on back of your neck stood up. You looked back, nearly tripping noticing the four's armor. Commando's, the deadliest troopers, designed differently and raised to endure. They probably have everything mapped out in their hands, it's like shooting a rancor in a cage. Not even with my saber do I stand a chance against four... Although one seems familiar... You looked back noticing the one with a stomp, "Echo... Clone Force 99," you ducked sideways into the nearest building. Crosshair has to be up above some where waiting for his trap to spring.

You cut through the building hopefully buying yourself time to think. Running out of breath you rested for a second against the wall. You mentally listed Hunter's, Tech's and Wrecker's enhancements. Anyone but Wrecker even with his strength I doubt it would be quick... Then again with Crosshairs temperament I doubt he would be either. You hit your head back against the wall before taking off again. Turning your head again you saw Hunter catching up, you stopped for a second using the force to rip a door and shoved it in his direction, but you knew it was to late his hunters sense of smell and hearing... If I could just get to the nightclub... I could use that against him- You're body collided with a solid mass and tumbled back, Echo. You scrambled back to your feet defensively reaching for the lightsaber that was no longer there.

"I'm putting down my blaster," Echo said eyeing you like a rapid animal waiting to lounge, "Commander, you're safe. None of us are going to hurt you nor to turn you in."

"The clones betrayed us," you gritted out slowly backing out of the room.

"Not all of us, Commander," Rex said behind you and his arms come around you. Feeling you thrash against him, "Mesh'la..." he got out pained softly whispering your name, "You're safe," he felt your legs buckle slowly took both of you to the ground holding you against him wrapping his arms around you tighter hearing the sobs start. He gave Echo a weary look as he sat looking at the two of you.

"Commander, I'm glad you made it. Both of you," Echo said taking off his helmet setting it off to the side, "The three of us together again," he added quietly with a small chuckle.

"Say something..." Rex whispered, "anything..."

"Let me go.." as you finished the sentence Rex's arm came off, always the loyal solider following orders. Pathetically you crawled away from both of them curling your knees to your body. You looked at them resting your head on your knee, "Is this some sick trick?" You whispered.

Rex's fingers went to the scar on the side of his head, "It's gone," he paused reaching out his hand, "Ask me again."

Anxiously you took his hand and asked again feeling the truth in the answer and Echo did the same, "The others need to get their chips out but they haven't activated, I promise."

Finally you genuinely looked at Rex, the fine buzzed blonde hair, the poncho hiding his 501st armor and earthy tones eyes staring back at you. You stared at him the red veins in his eyes, you wiped the tears from your own looking up out the windows. There was no imperial ships above waiting because they would have been here by now. Glancing down you found your hand visibly shaking you pulled your arms into your lap handing them. You looked back at Rex as much as you wanted to see him your mind kept slipping backwards seeing the troopers fire at you and the others fleeing. Shutting your eyes you buried your head in your lap.

"So... why are they just sitting there?" Wrecker asked.

"Given the last time she was around regs they tried to terminate her per Order 66," Tech offered, "If she around them when the order was given which I am assuming she was given her behavior."

"Shouldn't we be in there because we're not regs?"

"No, we still have our chips however deviant we are if what Captain Rex says to be true, the three of us are the dangerous ones. I would leave them be."

"Commander..." Rex said softly.

"The war is over, you don't need to call me that," you said lifting your head to your knees. Rex whispered your name softly and you forced yourself to look at him, "What?" you whispered.

"I'm glad you're still here."

You reminded silent for a moment, How do I even answer that? I'm not. "Thank you," you decided to be polite.

"Do you want me to give you two a couple minutes?" Echo asked softly.

No, "Yes," forced its way out through your strained vocals.

Echo looked at Rex hesitantly before prying himself off the hard ground heading outside to meet up with his squad, finding the anxious look on their faces discussing what had compelled Rex to cry given it was next to impossible for a clone. Everyone in the had 501st gossiped about what was going between them but neither of them had every winded any truth to it, Echo aired that curiosity to them which silenced them in understanding.

Rex moved closer to you watching you flinch moving his hands under his poncho watching you tense up as he took it off. He slowly took off his armor laying it to him revealing the plain civvies underneath, "Just me," he whispered watching you relax a bit. He cautiously scoot forward waiting to see if you would move away when you didn't he came a hands width away. He looked at the ponchow with an idea putting it over both of your heads surrounding both of you in completed darkness to keep the reminders of his face at bay but also privacy, "Just us."

"Why did you chase after me?"

"I always protect my Jedi, I'll always protect you."

"Why did you send 99 after me... it was horrifying."

"That wasn't my idea albeit it was a good plan to get around you sensing me if you were distracted," Rex admitted, "It worked in my favor, albeit to well." Weakly Rex let his finger tips touch your knee waiting to see if you'd jerk away but you didn't and he slide his palm on your knee resting it there. He gave it a gentle squeeze, "I'm sorry."

Shakily you put your hand on top of it and squeezed it back. The familiar warmth radiated off him, "Rex," the name rolled from your tongue like a distant pleasant memory, "it's getting hot under here." He laid one hand on top yours and used the other to cast aside the poncho to the ground, "Better" you whispered.

"Do you want me to leave you alone?" it pained him to think about finding you again and losing you again but it comforted him that you had survived. He smiled watching the emotions coast through your face, you'd always been so good at hiding them but now they were as plain to see as the stars in a clear night.

Your mind screamed yes but the familiar warmth in your heart said no. Staring at the scar on his head, you shook your head Rex isn't a threat, Rex isn't a threat, Rex isn't a threat. Your stomach turned but you allowed yourself to reach out to him through the force finding the familiar honesty, courage, loyalty, the secret in his heart that did his best to hide from the outside world was so blatantly on display with his touch. You watch pain on his face slowly relieving.

You felt him slowly weave his fingers through yours, "Is that okay?" he asked.

"I can feel Echo's contentment and laughter from here," you weakly laughed.

"They did speculate about what was going on between us," Rex smiled looking up at Echo laughing in the window giving him a thumbs up hearing him faintly say 'Called it'. Rex groaned still smiling, "Will you allow this humble man to walk you back to the parlor?"

"Yeah... I need a drink... or a dozen," you said prying yourself up with him still holding your hand as he stood up himself temporarily letting go to reaffix his armor and poncho.

"When did you take up drinking?" he asked arching an eyebrow relacing his fingers through yours noting you wouldn't look at him to long but the expression said enough as to why. His thumb traced the reminiscent intimate skin of his love, each swipe solidifying that you were alive and there not just some figment of his imagination holding him to the past, "I've missed you with each breath of life my soul expels."

Your face flames at his words, "When did you become a poet?" you jested.

"To many late nights wondering what happened to you."

Echo rejoined the two of you but everyone else gave you breathing room. Even with his fingers gripping to yours he still brought his other hand across his body holding onto your arm for dear life. You looked up at him almost crying again, even before all of this you never publicly got to walk down the street with him or show any interest in him.

"What is it?" he whispered, "My fabulous hair getting in your eye?" he attempted to crack a joke.

"That was horrible, Captain," Echo chuckled.

You squeezed his hand, "Never got to do this before... walk down the street just as me and you."

"It's a different time," he offered.

"So Comm-" Echo caught the title switching to your name instead, "How long," he said motioning his finger between the two of you."

Rex looked at you a bright scarlet sweeping his face, "Well... somewhere between the whole time and now," he offered.

Echo gave him a flabbergasted look, "What."

"Help?" Rex choked out taking his extra hand off your arm to rub his head awkwardly which got an even more expressive reaction from Echo,

"Tibrin," you offered back smirking at the unspoken about mission.

Echo groaned knowing the answer was going to get him no where. He looked at both of you smiling, "Everything in the galaxy has changed but I'm glad something stayed the same."

"I didn't think it would," Rex said flatly staring at the ground for a couple minutes before looking back up.

You stopped as much as the anxiety about the clones put you on edge, that comment stung worse, "Commander?" he asked staring at you. Even Echo had stopped.

"To love, is to trust. To trust is to believe. Do you believe I would so easily changeable?"

"We change everyday to adapt to this new world. Who we are now is not who we were when we met."

You dropped his hand continued walking, "Cyare," he groaned wrapping his arms around you pulling you to him, "You didn't let me finish. We as people change but in no galaxy, nor time apart nor in death will my heart ever beat for anyone else. Looks at me Mesh'la," Rex swallowed although his mouth and throat were parched, "Let me kiss you to prove it."

You looked up at him, Rex had never been one for public affection even so much as holding his hands behind his back and side stepping if he was even within a foot of you even in moments of privacy outside of a confined bedroom. He peeled his gloves off sticking them in his pocket, "It's only ever been you," he said lightly touching your face with one hand waiting before bringing the other to your face caressing you pull you close to him lowering himself to you waiting and when you didn't move he took your bottom lip between his.

It was like thrusters coming online, an inferno blazing between the both of you. Every feeling of love, pain, lost and aching of the soul. Somewhere in the distant you heard Echo laughing and calling the two of you cute. Your fingers shakily found the side of his feeling the familiar cut of his cheeks and strength of his jaw. Then up to the scar flinching you pulled away. There was a temporary look of disappointment on his face followed by understanding. He grilled your fingers tighter, “I’ll spend the rest of life protecting you from the unseen scars with my love.” Rex pulled you closed, “I love you.”

Maybe a part two?

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