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fairyysoup · 3 months

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easy living

pairing: eric (a quiet place: day one) x fem!reader

summary: You ran into Eric on accident. Now you're facing the end of the world together. How do you get to know someone when you can't make a sound?

tags: smut, oral (f receiving), dry humping, piv sex, silent fucking, angst, hurt/comfort, survival, discussions of trauma, slight suicidal ideation by reader, words of affirmation as a love language, stay silent or die (obviously), strangers to lovers, apocalyptic, the cheesiest ending bc it's me writing, billie holiday lyrics bc it's also me writing

a/n: here it is, the silent fucking fic i promised y'all a year ago when this movie was announced. it was supposed to be like 1-2k words of plain smut but then I got too into the theory of what one does when you can't show affection through words and I genuinely discovered a tidbit of trauma I didn't know I had while writing it so I will be talking to a therapist about it, and also I'm literally out here baring my soul lol.

i also want to thank @bigtiddythanos @raraeavesmoriendi and @maximoffwxnda for supporting me throughout this writing process <3 this fic literally would not have been finished or published without y'all

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

The rain has ended. Morose, you stare up at the ceiling, wondering when you’ll get something close to free reign with your voice again.

Of course the world had to end while you were at fucking Whole Foods.

You’ll miss certain things. Things you always took for granted, that you never even considered made a lot of noise until now. Typing on the computer. Making stir fry. Microwaving a burrito at 3am. Lighting a match, washing your face. Taking a shower.

And other things, too, that are more obvious, like singing while making cookies. Slurping the bottom of a milkshake. You’ll never be able to have a pet bird. You’ll never be able to see another concert again, and damn it if you didn’t really want those Glastonbury tickets a month ago. But it all just seems trivial, now. You don’t see why you shouldn’t just lay here on the couch forever.

On the other side of the coffee table there’s a gentle shuffling. Eric rouses as quietly as he can; at the very least, your apartment creates a hospitable enough environment that he isn’t startled awake. It’s so silent in the apartment that you can hear the slight shift in his intake of breath, the rustle of the pillow as he turns his head to look at you.

You want to look at him, but you fear that you’ll end up wanting to talk. So, you say nothing. You do nothing. You stare at the white paint on the ceiling and you wonder whether it would be better to get on one of the boats headed out into the water, or to move inland, away from people, away from sound. There has to be somewhere far enough away from the city that the… creatures won’t go, right?

Eric waves his hand in your periphery, so that you have no choice but to acknowledge that you know he’s awake. You have no choice but to turn your head and look into the depths of his eyes, and feel all the pain of the last 48 hours return to you. You’d been able to talk last night, just enough, in time with the rain and the thunder– enough to learn that he has family across the world.

You can’t imagine knowing that somewhere, across an ocean and half a world away, your parents may or may not be dead. No way to contact them, no way to know what’s become of them. You can’t even begin to fathom the fear that he’s feeling, as much as you’re despairing.

Eric’s big eyes tell you everything. Sadness and fear, and trying to grasp at the smallest hint of normalcy he can get. He blinks at you, and mouths, You okay?

No, you’re definitely not okay. Things are not okay. Things are broken and can’t be fixed. Things will never be the same again. He knows that, as much as you know that. But you nod anyway, even though you feel your heart beat a little bit slower than usual, like it wants to just go ahead and give up already. Tears prick at your eyes, and you have to close them before you let on that you’re lying.

Eric knows you’re lying, of course. How could anyone be okay, in this kind of situation? But he waits until you open your eyes, and then he mouths, Coffee?

You let out a small sigh of relief, and a smile that’s indescribably warm crosses your face. Even though he can’t make a sound, he knows exactly what to say.

You don’t have a coffee maker that doesn’t also make a ton of noise. But through some kind of witchcraft, Eric quietly empties two k-cups into a glass measuring cup and boils a soup pot full of water on the stove, and suddenly you have hot coffee in front of you.

On a notepad left on the counter, you write, Wish I had some tea for you.

Eric’s lips turn up at the edges, and he takes the pen from you. You’re able to doctor your coffee for about one second before he slides the notepad back to you.

Bloody American.

Your ensuing huff of a laugh is enough to make him turn pink around the ears, and he turns to place the dirty measuring cup into the sink. He reaches for the faucet, but then thinks better of it. You’ll have to figure out how to wash the dishes later.

You both drink your coffee in silence on the couch. You never considered yourself uncomfortable with silence; you’ve lived alone, you’ve gone for weeks without uttering a word before. But it’s so difficult to be sitting next to someone– someone you feel you could really get to like– and not be able to say a word. To make a sound, laugh or cry or snort or grunt.

You’ll never be able to know what Eric’s laugh sounds like, or listen to his favorite song with him, or watch some stupid rerun of Friends with him while ignoring your responsibilities. He’s right there next to you, he’s risked his life to save you once already, and yet he’s so far away. You’ll never get to know him in all the ways you want to. Will you ever really know him at all?

He’d created a diversion when one of the fucking things had you trapped in a corner, between a dumpster and a brick wall. He chucked a rock at a car and set off an alarm, and then ran with you down an alleyway, his arm wrapped tight around your waist. Eric looked so sad, following you like a lost puppy. He was fucking drenched, too, so you know he’d probably been through one hell of a morning. And then the rain started, and the creatures were confused and… well, you weren’t just gonna leave him, scared and alone.

You, too, were scared and alone.

Eric’s hand appears to brush away a tear that had begun to fall down your cheek, betraying your internal monologue. You look to him with puffy eyes, and he pulls his hand away, suddenly unsure of whether you’re okay with such an intimate gesture.

Your coffee cup meets the table with a quiet tap. You’re slow to move, but you scoot towards him, his arm still outstretched towards you, his eyes wide. Eric has the prettiest eyes in the world, you think. You want to tell him so.

But you’re a little too choked up to form words, anyways. Your forehead meets Eric’s shoulder, and his arm comes around you before you can huff the first silent sob that brims up. He coos softly into your hair, so softly that you can barely hear it, but it conveys enough. It does enough.

The world is fucked. Your life is fucked. You have tunnel vision and you can only see things getting worse from here on; the only good thing you know anymore is holding you and caressing your head so gently that it pushes your tears out for you.

You’ll never get to see a movie in a theater, and smell the stale popcorn again. You’ll never drive down the highway with the wind in your hair. You’ll never ride a roller coaster or sing karaoke. You’ll never go to a club and have a drunken heart to heart with a stranger in a bathroom.

“Do you think it’s worth it?” You whisper, so faintly that it’s barely above a breath, your lips pressed to the shell of his ear. “To try to exist in a world where you have to pretend like you don’t exist?”

Eric pauses, holding you to him. You can see the wheels turning in his head, while he tries to figure out what to say. Then he turns his face to put his lips against your ear, the same way you’d done to him.

“I think it’s worth it to try to survive.” His breath tickles your skin when he whispers, “So survive with me, yeah?”

You nod solemnly, your tears threatening to rise up again. “I can’t stand not talking to you.” It’s so hard to keep your voice from cracking, from rising above the merest hint of a whisper, directly to him and no one or nothing else.

Eric takes it in stride. “You are talking to me.” He pulls back and bats his eyelashes, and you think, he oughta fucking know what that does to me.

“Not like this,” you breathe to him, because that’s really what it is– it’s a breath. A sigh. A gust of air and nothing else, barely anything that registers on your vocal chords. Your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him close to you. His hand, tightening on the middle of your back, holding you there. “I want to talk– I want to get to know you.”

“Well, this isn’t so bad, is it?” Eric turns his head. His forehead nudges yours at the temple, and you swear you see a flash of a smile on his face. “What do you want to know?”

His forefinger traces up and down, up and down, a gentle pattern that keeps you grounded. You bite your lip, trying to keep from letting the sounds come out too loud. You say the first thing that comes to mind. “What’s your favorite song?”

“Easy Living. Billie Holiday.”

“You’re kidding.” You’re blushing, hot in the cheeks. You’re imagining it; slow dancing in the kitchen with him while oldies plays on the radio. You didn’t think such an innocent question would send you spiraling like this, but it hurts worse to know that it will probably never happen.

“Absolutely not.”

“Somehow… I can’t picture you listening to jazz.”

“Picture it all you want,” he whispers. Eric swallows, and continues, “My granddad used to have these records, and we used to play them on Christmas. But when– when he died, the records went missing. I couldn’t find the song until a couple years ago,” he explains, and his voice cracks just slightly into a murmur.

You both freeze. You wait for the sound of creatures coming down the hallway, busting down the walls… nothing happens. You let out a breath, and you pull his face closer to yours. His eyes flick over your face, and you put your lips against his ear.

“You have to be so quiet. Can you do that for me?” Eric nods in your hands. “I wish we could do anything but this. I wish that we could have met in better circumstances. I wish… I wish I had known you before all of this. I think we would have had a lot of fun. But if this is the only way I can get to know you, and hear your voice now, I’ll take it.” You’re nodding as well now, like you’re trying to convince yourself of it. “I’m telling you this because I don’t know how long we have. Together, I mean. And I don’t want to waste it passing notes. Okay?”

“Okay.” He sounds clipped. His hand fidgets on your back, and you pull away to find him misty-eyed, his brows turned up. He fishes for words that don’t come, and then he nods. “Okay.”

Neither of you move. The atmosphere around you feels heavy, like it’s pressing in on all sides. Eric’s hand slides up your back and to your face, and you remember that you’re still holding his. You’re near sitting in his lap with how close you’ve become, and the realization of that feels like a punch to the gut.

You think you should pull away. You don’t.

Eric’s thumb traces a gentle arc across your bottom lip. It’s so featherlight it’s barely there– his eyes are honed in on your mouth, clearly lost in thought. You’d let him stay there as long as he wants, but you want every minute you can get. “Eric–”

He closes the gap and kisses you. The way you’d said his name– or not said it, rather, you sort of mouthed it against his thumb– had done the job you wanted it to. It feels like this was the obvious conclusion to the system you’d worked out, the close proximity and your shared fears. He’s scared, he said as much last night. You’re scared, you said so just now.

Nowhere to go, nothing else to do except be right here, living. Alive, together. Kissing Eric, and him pulling you close by the waist, so that you do swing your leg and seat yourself in his lap. And as much as you love talking, and it breaks your heart that you can’t jabber at him, there are some things you just can’t put into words. Like the way that his hand on the back of your neck lights you up inside, or that you can’t think of anything other than all the areas where his skin is touching yours, and how you suddenly wish there was way more of them.

It’s stupid how much you like him already, really. You can feel your nonexistent friends clucking their tongues and shaking their heads, saying, “One day? That’s all it takes? You find some guy at the end of the world and you fall in love in 24 hours?” And they’d be right– maybe it’s not love. Not yet, anyways. But you could see it easily becoming that. And that fact scares you even more.

Your hands find Eric’s chest and the frantic beating of his heart tells you nearly the same thing. You break the kiss, trying to quietly catch your breath without gasping like you’re half-drowning. It’s harder than you expected.

“Been wanting to do that all morning,” Eric whispers. And just like that you’re falling again, faster this time, like he’s just melted your wings right off and sent you plummeting.

You struggle to keep from gasping aloud when he kisses your jaw, just beneath your ear. It’s the lightest touch but you swear it burns, sears your skin.

Your hands find the back of the couch, twitchy fingers digging in to keep you steady. Your mouth finds his again, his tongue tasting of coffee, and Eric kisses you a bit harder now, a bit sloppier.

Breaking away, you open your eyes to find his wide, starstruck, his mouth hanging open like he’s been shocked beyond belief. You didn’t honestly intend for this to happen– you wanted to talk. But somehow this seems better, more appropriate.

How do you get your feelings across when talking isn’t really an option? When innocent attraction becomes… whatever this is?

You press a single finger to his plush lips, signaling exactly what you mean without a word. Quiet.

Eric purses his lips, kisses your finger without breaking eye contact. His pupils are blown out so far that the barest hint of golden brown surrounds them, glinting in the sunlight from the window.

You lean forward, until your mouth touches his ear. “Your eyes are so fucking pretty, Eric,” you whisper to him, and your teeth latch onto his earlobe to tug gently. You can’t help it– you grind your hips down into his lap, without even thinking of doing it. “You’re so pretty.”

Eric whimpers. It’s a soft sound, hollow in the back of his throat, but it’s still too loud for the world that you’re in. You clamp your hand down over his mouth, and his breath comes out sharp and hot over your knuckles as he tries to regain composure.

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask him, whispering gently in his ear. Against you, he shakes his head no. “Want me to keep going?” Eric nods his head yes.

He’s shaking under you, his fingertips digging into your lower back like he can’t hold onto you hard enough. At the thought, your pulse pounds, blood positively humming through your veins.

You nuzzle his cheek, and give him the sweetest kiss you can while your hand is still clamped over his mouth insistently. “You have to be. Fucking. Silent. Do you understand?” He nods. “We can’t make a sound. Okay?”

Eric nods again, and keeps nodding until you let him go. If the rain was still pouring like earlier, you could tell him how much you want him, too. How you don’t want to be mean, you just don’t want to get hurt. This is a bad idea, all things considered. But Eric slides his hand down and cups your ass to lift you up a bit, and the words bad and idea suddenly fucking vanish from your vocabulary.

You stand long enough to kick off your sweats, your day old panties going down with them. You hadn’t dressed to be sexy yesterday, you dressed to get groceries. You don’t necessarily want Eric to see your faded cotton underwear with the stretched out elastic and multiple frayed holes. You don’t think it would add to your sex appeal right now.

He doesn’t notice the lack of a strip tease– he’s already taking you by the hips, not even waiting for you to shuck your t-shirt. He pulls until you’re stood in front of him, and then hooks your leg over his shoulder.

So. Eric doesn’t need to be asked to go down on you, he just does. The gentleman. His hands are firm on your ass as he nuzzles into the patch of hair between your legs, and the precarious balancing act makes you snatch onto the back of the couch again.

His tongue glides through the folds of your pussy slowly, methodically. You aren’t sure if he wants to take his time, or if he’s going slow so that he doesn’t make too much noise when doing it, but he latches onto your clit and sucks agonizingly softly, like he knows he should do it harder but won’t risk making you moan.

It’s so gentle, and it builds. Pretty soon, you’re having a tough time keeping your whimpers in, even when he’s basically just teasing you, flicking his tongue over your clit with even the barest pressure. Your head has fallen back on your shoulders, your hand now clasped over your own mouth to stifle your sighs.

Then, Eric’s hand glides up to splay across your lower back, and he sucks long and hard at your clit, and your hand squeezes murderously at the back of the couch while you ride out your orgasm on his tongue.

Knees buckling, you collapse into Eric’s lap. He has a doe-eyed look on his face that’s way too innocent after what he just did to you. With panting breath and shaking hands, you cup his rosy cheeks in your palms, shaking your head in disbelief.

Eric’s brows tilt in worry, like he did something wrong. He opens his mouth, but you put your fingers against his lips to silence him, and lean forward to breathe, “You’re too sweet for me, Eric.”

He traces his fingers lightly up your spine, and turns his head. “Maybe one day I won’t have to be sweet. Maybe then I can really fuck you.”

The sound of his whispering voice in your ear makes you shiver, your lust reaching a boiling point. The idea of him really fucking you– that this isn’t even him as normal, that he’s having to hold so much back– makes you burn hot all at once. That this isn’t something he’s planning on doing once. That there’s a ‘one day’ that he sees in the future with you in it.

With a nod, your breath catches in your throat. You find your way to his mouth again, kissing him desperately. You can taste yourself lingering on his lips, and your hips rock forward against his again.

Eric inhales sharply, stifling his own moan. You guess you have to take it just as slowly as he did, ease him into it. You work your hand beneath his unbuttoned fly and palm him, keeping your touch gentle against his hot skin. He shakes, his hands laid out against your spine, his eyes sparkling when he looks up at you.

You push your forehead against his as you sink onto his cock, letting yourself adjust to his size. His breath stutters as he tries to keep quiet, small puffs of air spilling out and meeting your electrified skin. You curl your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, rocking your hips just barely, settling into his lap.

This is more intimate than you can ever remember being with anyone, but right now it just feels right. Maybe it could be cathartic to fuck like a couple of animals in the face of doom, but Eric pulls your body flush against his, one strong forearm around your waist, and his nose nudges yours, and you think this is better. This is what you both need. Closeness. Sweetness.

There isn’t a lot of movement– you can’t risk it. You and Eric seem to be in agreement on that, because as soon as you start trying to move in earnest, he just pulls you back to him, his arm around your waist and his hand petting the back of your head.

Eric rocks his hips up into yours slowly, deeply, and it’s the depth of it and the slow sensuality that keeps you floating. Your clit catches on the patch of hair at the base of his cock each time you roll your hips with him, and you have to kiss him to keep from keening aloud. He doesn’t seem to mind it.

You know he’s close when he tucks his face against your neck, his arm tightening around you. “Feels so fucking good,” comes his whine in your ear, and you gently shush him, your hand resting on the back of his head to keep him muffled against your shoulder. You want so badly to look at his face when he cums, but there’s that pesky issue of staying alive, and that hinges on whether or not he can keep quiet when he does.

To his credit, he bites your shoulder and only whimpers a little bit. It’s just a squeak, but really, he could have been much louder about it, and then you would have both been in trouble. Imagine having to run for your life with your pants down.

Ever the gentleman, he keeps you there even after he’s spent and sensitive, his hand clamped down on your thigh to prevent you from moving. His thumb finds your clit, and he lifts his head to watch you, his hooded eyes trained on your face as he brings you to the edge and over it again. He watches the way your brows tilt up, the way you struggle to keep your own eyes open, and the silent moan that threatens to break past your parted lips.

Eric claps his hand down over your mouth before it can. Your eyes fly open, your cunt clenches down around him, and he bares his teeth as you cum hard. It’s cyclical, comes in waves as he continues to stroke you through it, as he keeps his hand clamped down on your mouth to keep you quiet.

To keep you quiet.

Feverish and exhausted, you come down with your chest against his, Eric’s head flopped back onto the backrest of the couch. Your knees fucking hurt and you have yet to get off of him, and you sort of dread the moment when you have to. But this means your mouth is positioned right next to Eric’s ear, and you’re nothing if not a talker.

“Eric?” you whisper, and he turns his head just enough to let you know he heard you. “I’m glad that I met you when I did. Even if it’s terrible timing, I’m glad we met.”

A sweet, tired smile flits across Eric’s beautiful face. He nudges his nose against your temple. “I’m glad, too.”

You shift off of him, and he squeezes your thigh just at the same time as he scrunches his face. He’s such a trooper about it, you kiss his cheek as you go, leaning over to grab a pair of earphones from the coffee table.

You hand one ear bud to him, watching as confusion crosses his face. He watches you type on your phone as he tucks the bud into his ear, and you the other.

On low volume, you listen to the soft piano and saxophone intro to an old jazz standard. Eric grins, his hand finding your cheek before he pulls you in for a kiss.

And then, Billie Holiday’s voice plays for only you two to hear.

Living for you is easy living, It’s easy to live when you’re in love And I’m so in love, There’s nothing in life but you.

#eric a quiet place day one #eric a quiet place x reader #a quiet place day one #roses*#eric x reader #eric a quiet place day one x you #eric a quiet place x you #eric a quiet place day one x reader #eric fan fiction #eric x you #joseph quinn

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adragonprinceswhore · 1 month

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Rumours

Aemond Targaryen x (Ex)Wife

Chapter II: Go Your Own Way 🎼 Masterlist

Summary: Aemond's written another song about your separation, and it becomes clear to you that he'll do anything to make you suffer.

Warnings: 18+, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, angst, toxic relationship dynamic, depictions of anxiety, smut, oral (f receiving), facesitting, phone sex, description of naughty videos

Word count: 3600 A/N: Thank you so much lovely Justine for looking this over for me @theoneeyedprince ♡

‘DRAGONSTONE: VIBRANT START OF TOUR FOR DRAGON DREAMERS’

Eyes glued to the screen of your phone, you absentmindedly sip your cup of tea, newly awake and curled up on a puffy armchair in your hotel room.

Life on the road proves to be draining. You still feel exhausted from having to fly from Dragonstone to your current location, Gulltown, right after the show, currently operating on merely 4 hours of sleep.

You had told yourself that you wouldn’t check reviews from your opening night before you felt ready to deal with all possible speculations of your and Aemond’s divorce.

You know that the concert had been fantastic, the audience demanded two encores and you left the venue with a sore throat and an unquenchable thirst for more. There’s nothing as exhilarating as the high you feel after a live show.

Still, you couldn’t fight the urge to google reviews, curiosity getting the best of you.

‘Tensions were high as Dragon Dreamers entered the nearly full venue on Dragonstone last night. Kicking off with a song from their new album, The Chain, devoted fans are quick to speculate whether guitarist Aemond Targaryen wrote it to-’

You can’t bring yourself to continue, knowing that whatever they’d written would only leave you feeling melancholic. You need all the energy you can muster, which means torturing yourself reading about your divorce isn’t a good idea.

As you’re about to put your phone down, it lights up with Helaena’s name.

“Are you okay, love? We’ve been waiting for 10 minutes”, she asks, voice sounding a bit strained.

A meek “What?” is all you manage to get out. You were supposed to meet up in an hour, not now.

“The press? We’ve got 5 interviews lined up and need to leave now. Didn’t Tyland tell you about the change in schedule?”

No.

And you have a feeling that it isn’t Tyland who’ll be delighted when you show up smelling of sweat from yesterday's gig, with your hair in tangles and face fatigued.

“Sorry, Hel. I’ll be there as soon as I can, give me five minutes”

No shower.

No hair.

No makeup.

Great.

In haste, you throw on a pair of jeans, a burgundy top and messily apply some blush and mascara, hoping it’ll distract from the bags under your eyes. You throw one last glance at your reflection before heading down.

You look exactly like you feel,

Shit.

You try your best to not let your cheery facade crack, smiling brightly at the journalists as they ask you about yesterday’s show and the ongoing tour.

No one dares to ask about your personal lives, something you find yourself feeling immensely grateful for.

Three interviews down, two to go.

You throw a quick glance at Aemond. You’d been careful to sit on his blind side so you wouldn’t have to feel the searing sensation of him staring you down. Observing him in secret still burns though.

You know he won’t move quickly enough for you to get caught. After the accident that left him blind in one eye, he always moved slowly. His blind eye has a tendency to lag slightly, not always looking in the same direction as his seeing eye. Self-conscious and afraid of being awarded the epithet ‘lazy eye’ on top of ‘one eye’, he’s trained his body to always move slowly, giving his blind eye a chance to keep up.

The next interviewer enters the small room you’ve been assigned, donning a wide smile as she makes her way to the chair in front of the two sofas where you and your bandmates are seated.

After quickly introducing herself and the magazine she works for, Harrentown Underground, she jumps straight to the questions, asking you how yesterday’s gig felt and what fans should expect from the upcoming tour.

As she talks, her gaze is trained on Aemond, nodding and smiling brightly when he answers.

Her eyes narrow slightly as she purses her lips together, visibly tensing up as she asks,

“Has the recent, um, changes in your personal life aided your creative process?”

The tension in the room grows as Aemond stays silent despite the journalist looking solely at him. You’d asked management to let the journalists know that you wouldn’t be taking any questions about your personal lives. She either doesn’t know or doesn’t care; you can’t make out which it is.

Aemond finally breaks the silence,

“Yes. I guess so”

“Many fans online suspect the new song you performed yesterday is about your failed marriage, is that correct?”, she continues, completely ignoring you and the other band members as she looks up from her notepad, meeting Aemond’s eye.

He’s completely still as he regards her, taking time to answer so that the awkward atmosphere of the room lingers.

“It is”, he finally admits, catching you by surprise. He’d always been so reserved; never wanting to let the public in on his private life.

The journalist gives Aemond a sympathetic look, nodding as she replies,

“Heartache really fuels the creative process, is that it?”

Aemond lets out a detached hum,

“I’m not one to go back on my promises. I value loyalty. The song is about when promises are broken”

Helaena has started to pick at her nail beds next to you. On your other side you feel Jace straighten up, eyes cast down to inspect the floor with newfound interest.

Nobody wants to say anything; nobody wants to continue this conversation. Except for the journalist, who nods in understanding as she scribbles on her notepad.

“It must be hard, being left by your partner”, she says, throwing a brief, disapproving look your way, “Have you had time to process it all?”

She is clearly not interested in speaking to anyone else in the band. She regards Aemond as if they are the only two in the room. It feels so belittling, being talked about like you’re not even present.

“Hmm. Betrayal takes time to recover from”, he replies curtly, sounding cold and harsh.

You feel your throat close up, eyesight going blurry as you take in his words.

Betrayal?

You try to the best of your ability to not let any tears escape down your cheeks, tilting your head slightly backwards as you take a deep, quiet breath.

You will not cause a scene.

You will not give him the satisfaction of knowing that his words got to you.

You will not give him what he wants.

As soon as the journalist from Harrentown Underground leaves and Tyland tells you to take a break, you make your way to the bathroom in quick steps.

You rush inside a booth, quickly locking the door before you fall down on the toilet seat, hand over your mouth in an attempt to muffle your wailing as you begin to cry heavily, sobs ripping through your body in angry waves, and tears pouring down your cheeks.

He’s such a fucking prick.

He knows exactly what buttons to push to upset you. He also knows exactly how to do it in front of others, without them knowing of the quiet war being fought between the two of you. If that journalist knew the full story of what led to your divorce, would she still pity poor Aemond?

You cry hard, trying to release some of the frustration built up inside. After a couple of minutes, the tears start to lessen and you roll out some toilet paper, patting it over your soaked face before throwing it in the toilet.

You exit the booth and move to stand in front of the mirror.

Seeing your reflection makes you feel worse. Your hair is frizzy from the way you tossed in bed, your mascara has run down your cheeks in black streaks, and your eyes are puffy and red.

You sigh in surrender, pulling out a concealer from your purse and patting some under your eye to hide the smudged blackness and swollen skin.

If strength was measured by resilience, you’d be a warrior. You wouldn’t let Aemond’s attempts at hurting you hinder you. He’d already controlled your life when you were married. He wasn’t going to continue to restrict you now.

The last interview is with a journalist from King’s Landing Weekly, and you remember meeting him last year when you’d just released your first album.

He’s a true music nerd, always asking insightful questions about your inspirations, what you want to convey, how you went about the recording process.

“How has recording been this time around?”, the journalist asks, oblivious to the fact that you’d spent most time alone in the studio, recording your parts separately.

“It’s been interesting. Production has taken longer than we anticipated, but we’ve got some real bangers we’re eager to share with our fans”, Jace answers with a smile, going on to reveal that you’ll perform some of the new songs during your tour.

You think back to when you recorded your first album, spending almost every waking hour in the studio with your bandmates.

Well, mostly with Aemond.

The nostalgic past when you were madly in love. It seems so distant now.

On your knees, you hover over Aemond’s face. His nose repeatedly brushes against your clit as his tongue moves in and out of you. He’s lying on his back on the dirty floor of the studio, his arms locked around your thighs, and his hands grip your hips tightly.

You’re so close to breaking. So close.

Hands resting on your thighs to keep yourself upright, you let your hips rock in tandem with Aemond’s tongue as it fucks you. And when your orgasm crashes over you, one hand moves to his hair, grabbing it harshly as you moan his name.

Unabashedly, you cry out in pleasure before stilling. Breathing heavily, your mind feels delightfully empty in the bliss-filled aftermath of your peak.

As you move to get up, Aemond’s grip on your hips tighten, focing you to stay put as he continues his assault on your cunt. You moan, half in pleasure, half in pain, from how his nose brushes against your over sensitive clit, sending jolts of stinging delight through your body.

“Aem, I can’t-”, you weakly protest as he brings his tongue up to your clit, gently swiping over it.

His voice is muffled underneath you as he replies, “Yes you can”

His hands push your hips to forcefully rock your body against his face once more, and you feel the stinging between your legs morph into fierce pleasure, consuming your senses.

You had tried to keep yourself up slightly to not place all your weight on Aemond’s face, but you slowly lose control over your body and slump down against his face as a second orgasm approaches.

Satisfied at your defeat, Aemond moves one hand down to your entrance and pushes two fingers inside at once, stretching your slippery hole. You gasp, and when his fingers find your g-spot, you moan without inhibition.

“Fu-, k-”, you sigh, voice strained.

Your hands hold on to the edge of the desk in front of you, head thrown back. Aemond’s fingers continue to move in and out of you in calculated strokes as his tongue determinedly massages your clit, and when he closes his lips around your bundle of nerves and suck, you come for the second time; the edge of your vision going black from the intensity.

Your body jerks uncontrollably as you gasp and sigh and moan.

After your body’s stopped twitching, Aemond’s face pokes out from beneath you, covered in your slick. You’re still breathing heavily, trying to regain your posture and stand, but he tugs you down to the ground and places you in his arms.

“Go on, pretty girl. Clean me up”, he whispers into your ear. You oblige with a smile, kissing away all the remnants of your arousal on his face, revelling in the taste of you on his skin.

You wish your mind wouldn’t go there whenever you think about the last time you were in the studio together. You wish it wouldn’t drift to the happy memories.

They hurt the most.

Leaving someone you still love is so much harder than leaving someone you don’t. You have to continually remind yourself of what a toxic husband he could be. Of how unfair, and controlling, and dangerous he could be.

In fact, you didn’t really need to remind yourself; Aemond was fully capable of acting horrible on his own.

As the journalist from King’s Landing Weekly wraps up the last interview of the day, he stands and thanks you all for your time.

He stretches out his hand and offers each member a handshake. When he reaches you, he holds onto your hand as he gleefully states, “I truly hope we get to hear one of your new songs soon. The emotions you put into song-making is truly something else”

You smile back at him and squeeze his hand, assuring him that you’ll perform a new song soon.

Behind you, Aemond clears his throat a bit too loudly for it to seem unintentional. He stands up, prompting the reporter to move to shake Jace’s hand next to you before leaving.

All you can think about is getting back to your hotel room, take a long-overdue shower, and a much-needed nap.

You make your way out of the conference room, but before you can leave, a large hand gently tugs at your shoulder, stopping you.

You turn around to face Aemond, who gives your form a once-over,

“Are you doing okay? You look a bit, hm, disoriented”

If he is trying to sound caring he’s failing miserably. His tone is condescending, nearly mocking.

“I’m fine”, you reply, jaw shut tight and annoyance tinting your voice “No one told me about the sudden change in schedule”

You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?

He nods curtly, “Alright. I’d like to perform a new song tonight, you did back-ups on it in recording; ‘Go your own way’. Would that be okay with you?”

The forced, nice pretence he’s trying to uphold doesn’t fool you for a second, you can hear how he’s holding himself back as he speaks.

“Of course”, you reply shortly.

Why is he asking for permission?

You turn and move towards the door, eager to retreat to your room. Aemond stays put behind you, voice a little more urgent than before as he adds,

“My girlfriend will come to tonight's gig, if you don’t mind?”

You sigh as you turn the handle of the door,

“Why would I mind?”

You do mind.

It feels so wrong to see Alys sit on Aemond’s lap backstage as he whispers something in her ear. It almost feels perverse, seeing your husband with someone else. Like they’re committing a sin.

Still, you say nothing. Instead, you stubbornly refuse to look their way, focusing on helping Helaena with her eyeshadow at the other end of the room.

You can’t help but ponder their dynamic.

Is he as possessive of her as he had been over you?

Is he as insatiable?

Like the time he demanded you record when you touch yourself, instructing you to place your phone on your stomach so he could hear just how wet you were as your fingers slip inside and you moan his name.

That was back when he was still working for his grandfather’s company, and he’d occasionally go away on business trips. He’d call you around midnight every night.

“What would you do if I were there?”

You hear him breathe heavily. His voice is strained and the distant sounds of him stroking his cock echo in the background.

“I’d climb on your lap and beg you to fuck me. Beg you to let me ride you”.

Aemond groans.

“And then?”

“I’d beg you to suck on my tits as I bounce up, ah-, and down”

You’re so close, forcefully letting your fingers push at your g-spot while the palm of your hand presses at your clit. You know he’s close too by the sounds of his breath hitching and the way he’s swearing under his breath, mumbling “I can’t wait to sink my cock into you”

Or the videos he had on his phone of you. God, did he keep those? You know his favourite had been the one where you’re seen kneeling in front of him, tongue sticking out of your mouth as he coats your face with his cum, asking you who you belong to, who’s little slut you are.

“Only yours, Aemond. Always yours”

You shiver at the memory. Hopefully Alys had gone through his phone and deleted any and all trace of you.

You do some vocal warm-ups with Helaena, restless nerves bubbling inside you as you wait backstage to soon enter the stage.

Wiping some sweat from your palms onto the jeans you’re wearing, you internally remind yourself of the fact that you’d done an incredible show yesterday, and today would be just as good.

You know that your band will deliver. You always do. Even Erryk, being a new addition, has proven to be a great drummer and teamplayer, possessing both the stamina and skills needed to thrive in Dragon Dreamers.

You hear the crowd chanting, mood just as elevated as it had been the day before on Dragonstone. As you go over the set list for the night, Aemond suggests you start with ‘The Chain’, like you did yesterday, and end with his new song, ‘Go your own way’.

Although you’d recorded backups for the song, you hadn’t listened to the entirety of it in the studio.

Somewhere inside, you know that the song is about you. About the divorce. You remember singing,

‘You can go your own way’

‘You can call it another lonely day’

Anxiety grows within you as you think of having to listen to the entire song. You’d put it off in the studio, never feeling mentally prepared to hear Aemond’s thoughts on how you’ve ‘wronged’ him.

And now you’ll have to hear it for the first time in public. In front of an audience.

You can do this.

Just breathe. In. Hold three seconds. Out. Hold three seconds.

Your breathing is laboured, body vibrating from the excitement of performing. This truly is where you thrive; where you feel your best.

Where you can contribute something to the world.

Make people happy.

You look down at the fans beaming up at you, howling in excitement as they demand another song.

“Here’s a new song from our upcoming album”, Aemond starts, the crowd cheering louder.

This is it. The anxiety you’d felt about hearing Aemond’s new song still buzzes within you, but you won’t let that hinder you from giving this song your all as well. You won’t let him intimidate you.

The song is fast-paced, and Aemond’s fingers quickly pluck the strings of his guitar as he starts to sing,

‘Loving you isn’t the right thing to do’

‘How can I ever change things that I feel?’

‘If I could, baby, I’d give you my world’

‘How can I when you won’t take it from me?’

He was so intent on playing the victim it was almost laughable. Ignoring his own wrong-doings; his part in your separation. He was suffering; left to bleed out from the knife you’d stabbed in his back.

Fuck that.

He’d driven you away with his obsessive behaviour and anger issues. But that was not the story he wanted to tell.

‘You can go your own way’

‘Go your own way’

‘You can call it another lonely day’

‘Another lonely day’

As he sings his solo lines, Aemond stares you down.

His seeing eye bores into you with a fire you’d hardly seen before. It’s a stark contrast from his damaged eye; the white mist covering it making it appear calm, almost gentle.

He’s found a way to yell at you in public, berating you for leaving him in front of the entire world, without causing a scene. That’s why he’d been so set on appearing civil with you around others. He wants to break you.

‘Open up, everything’s waiting for you’

Just like yesterday, he sounds uncharacteristically passionate as he sings, much angrier than usual. He basically spits the words at you; ‘go your own way’, ‘everything’s waiting for you’

You can’t keep eye contact with him for long, his gaze too scorching.

Why is he suddenly so intimidating?

You try to remind yourself of the fact that you were married mere months ago.

You know him. He’s still Aemond. Your Aemond.

Or is he? The man staring at you on stage feels far removed from the person you married two years ago.

As Aemond starts to play his guitar solo, he leaves his microphone, furious eye never leaving you as he approaches you; more akin to a predator than a man.

You hear the crowd cheer.

He doesn’t have to look at his guitar as his skillful fingers effortlessly play the climatic guitar solo. He’s treating his instrument like he’s angry at it, harshly plucking at the strings in the most violent manner. He comes up to stand right by you, between you and the audience. You’re forced to face him. To meet his eye.

The crowd cheers louder and louder.

His expression is stoic, eye unblinking as he assaults the strings of his guitar.

Never looking down.

Only at you.

Thank you for reading!

#aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen imagines #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond x you #my fics #rumours #Spotify

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ugh-yoongi · 7 months

Text

hang up if u want to | kmg

he's in japan. you're at home, knowing there's no point in staring at your phone, waiting. mingyu might not wanna define what the two of you are, but that certainly doesn't stop him from asking for what he wants.

pairing: idol!mingyu x f. reader genre: situationship au; a lil angst, smut warnings: swearing. sexting — use of gendered terms for genitalia, mentions of oral and penetrative sex, masturbation, images/videos, dirty talk i guess?, squirting. one mention of reader wearing a dress. another mention of reader wearing mingyu’s shirt and it being large on her. (not meant to be an indication of size—that mf is just so large i think most people would drown in his clothes.) mingyu is domineering and kind of brat tamer-y but i wouldn't say this is dom-y at all. he also uses the term "baby" a lot bc i refuse to use y/n. rating: explicit. minors dni. wordcount: 3.6k listen to: namasenda - dare (pm) / khalid, 6lack, ty dolla $ign - otw / keshi - like i need u / edward maya & vika jigulina - stereo love / monsta x - addicted / brockhampton - sugar / shy martin - good together author's note: hello, i barely text men let alone sext them, so if this sucks my bad. i'm also not 100% comfy for writing any groups outside of bts, so i'm also sorry if the characterization is off. the mingyu brainrot was brainrotting tho bc if there's one thing he's gonna do it's look hot holding his phone in a photo, so. here we are. i was gonna wait and post this tomorrow but it's valentine's day so fuck it we ball. thank you: @the-boy-meets-evil, @hot-soop, & @effortandmore for checking this over and brainstorming with me. namasenda for the lyrics in the title and inspo.

Kim Mingyu Missed Call (2)

Your eyes glance upwards at the time. It’s nearing one a.m.; Mingyu’s second call came and went only a few minutes ago. The first one will have come not long after he got off stage, because they always do. There’s a script—unspoken and unacknowledged, but a script nonetheless—and Mingyu follows it religiously.

You sigh. Leave your phone on your nightstand as you change into pajamas, back into the bathroom to wash your face. Roll your eyes as you hear the texts roll in, the sound grating and ominous as it vibrates against the wood.

All part of the script.

Kim Mingyu: just got back to the hotel Kim Mingyu: you up

Also part of the script: this is the only way it goes. Maybe Mingyu wants to text you, but adrenaline’s the only reason he ever goes through with it. That post-concert high, nothing else to do with all that energy but invest it into you, and the thing about scripts is that they get old, grow stale. Always the same thing, and you can only have that conversation so many times before you get tired and rip it up.

We all have roles to play. Mingyu is the one who refuses to define what it is the two of you have, put a label on it. He’s the one who calls from countries away and speaks in that low, hushed tone. He’s the tempter, the one who holds all the cards but refuses to lay them down.

A royal flush, every single time.

And you—you’re not helpless. Not some poor creature fighting for its life in a spun-silk web. Mingyu’s capable of devouring you in more ways than one, but it’s not like that. Not really. As laissez-faire as he is, you come and go as you please, too. Perhaps it’s as mutually beneficial as it is destructive, but that’s the nature of the production; the result of the roles you two of you play.

Kim Mingyu: you ignoring me? Kim Mingyu: i saw your ig story Kim Mingyu: knock it off baby

You smile, private and sardonic, because you aren’t helpless. Sometimes it’s your web, and it’s all Mingyu can do to keep his head above water. Another role you’d borrowed from someplace else but still have memorized. Still remember all the lines, the mannerisms.

On your story: a video of you, bare skin glittering beneath the golden-fluorescent light of your bathroom; you, with your dress unzipped, the straps slipping down your arms; your hand pressed to your chest to keep yourself covered. Your back turned to the camera, visible only in the mirror, as the silk dropped to the floor.

In the settings: only two accounts given permission to see, both belonging to the same person.

In your DMs: Mingyu, on his private account with the username that looks more like a keysmash than any legible thing, reacting with the fire emoji.

Related: the image hovering just above Mingyu’s texts. The one he’d repaid you with not long after seeing your story. A mirror selfie of his own: grey sweatpants hung low on his hips, a soaked-through white t-shirt stuck to his stomach, the lines of his abs visible.

That, and everything below it—all left unanswered.

The thing about Mingyu is he’ll give chase. Doesn’t shy away from all the things he wants; isn’t shy about giving voice to them.

But he’ll never, ever beg.

(Not like this, at least. When he’s in your bed it’s always a different story. He’s a kept man, there, and kept men have no qualms about things like that. Begging for your mouth, your pussy. Begging you to let him come.)

Normally you’d let it go. Let him talk to himself in your texts, because he’s got a lot of nerve if nothing else, but you’d gone out earlier. Grabbed a few drinks with your girlfriends, let the alcohol thrum through you like a livewire. Watched as they danced with men whose names they didn’t know and never learned and thought about what it’d be like to be able to do something like that in public.

Got home, felt a little scorned, just on the edge of bitter. Made a show of taking your dress off in the bathroom mirror and posted it someplace you knew he’d look.

You: did you like it?

Rhetorical. Mingyu may not want to put a label on this thing, might not want to be caged-in and suffocated, but you know what you do to him. All the ways you affect him.

i could tell you, comes the immediate reply, and your eyes are halfway rolled when—

Kim Mingyu: or i could show you

It takes a second to come through, but once it does your breath hitches in your throat. Far from the most obscene image he’s ever sent you, but just as effective. An expanse of tanned, soft skin, lean muscle; still in those same grey sweats, bunched up a little on the thigh as he lays in his plush hotel bed with his legs spread.

At the center of it all, the outline of his hard, thick cock, so fucking big as it stretches the fabric taut.

All you can do is stare.

Mingyu is not of this earth. This thought is nothing new: he has always existed outside the realm of possibility, in more ways than one, so this is merely a fact. Grass is green, the sky is blue, sometimes you can love someone in a way that’s so overwhelming and still be no good for them.

Another fact: it’s primal, the way you need him. Always has been.

You: what am i looking at? You: new sweatpants?

On the other end of the line, it’s easy to imagine his reaction. A quick snort of laughter, tongue pressed into the fat of his cheek before he clenches his jaw. If he were here, he’d haul you into his lap, kiss you deep and messy. Trail his fingers along your skin until they settled in the hollow of your throat.

Pull away just for a second. Just long enough to say, “Watch your mouth,” before he’s licking into it.

Kim Mingyu: don’t be like that 🙄

This time your eyes fully roll. Spitefully, you snap a picture of what’s in front of you: your bedroom wall, some drama playing on the TV, a sliver of amber light from the lamp next to you.

You send it.

You: while we’re sending pictures of irrelevant shit

Truth be told, you’re not like this often, but you get a streak of it every now and then. Only ever at times like this, when the two of you haven’t seen one another in a while and the distance between you is still so ambiguous, untitled.

Usually Mingyu will come by your place. Get you stripped down to almost nothing, have you writhing on his fingers. Then, in between satisfied groans, he’ll slap at your thighs, tell you to stop being a brat.

Kim Mingyu: then send me something worthwhile You: you first

Another beat of silence. Long enough to flick through the channels, plug in your phone, let some of that heat dissipate.

Your phone chimes, and when you look down—

Those grey sweats are long gone, replaced with a pair of black briefs barely containing his cock, still hard and curved toward his stomach. You swallow. Let your eyes linger on the corded muscle of his thighs, all that soft skin. Let your mind remind you, just for a second, how it feels beneath your fingertips, your hands, your mouth.

All the sounds he makes.

Kim Mingyu: is that better Kim Mingyu: is that what you wanted

Unbidden, the corners of your mouth lift. hm… close but no, you type out. Let it sit for a few seconds before you delete it. If Mingyu wants to be a tease, you can do the same.

You situate yourself against the pillows. Angle your phone so the length of your body is visible: your bare legs twisted in the sheets, the bruise Mingyu had sucked into the inside of your thigh before he left just barely making it into the frame. What’s fully visible, though: his shirt that’s draped over your frame, how much it engulfs you, the way you’re drowning in it. In him.

You send it.

You: depends... is this what you wanted?

The response is immediate:

Kim Mingyu: absolutely not. take it off baby.

You’ve starred in this production before, knew where it was headed the second you saw the missed calls, so you’d put on his favorite of your underwear. Skimpy red lace, part of a set he’d had sent to your apartment. Used to tell you in desperate whispers how ruined he was seeing you in them; used to have to rein himself in so he didn’t rip them off.

So you snap another photo. Spread your legs a little further, pull the hem of Mingyu’s shirt between your teeth. Know seeing that sliver of your stomach will drive him crazy, too, but it’ll pale in comparison to the underwear.

You consider video calling him. Want to see his face when you send this photo—the pinch of his brows, the slight drop of his jaw. The way he’ll whimper a little, say baby in that tone that floods you with heat: a little desperate, all hushed awe, bordering on a whine.

The same kind of heat that starts to creep back in again. There’s power in desire, in being desired, and even though you’re here and Mingyu’s in a hotel room in Japan, you can still feel it. Subconscious, like some kind of red string shit. Anticipatory.

Kim Mingyu: goddamn Kim Mingyu: you wear those for me? Kim Mingyu: fuck, i wish i was there to take them off of you

You suck in a breath. and if you were? you send back.

Kim Mingyu: you know that pair is my favorite Kim Mingyu: drives me crazy every time you wear that set Kim Mingyu: but i’ve changed my mind. i want you to keep them on Kim Mingyu: want you to keep my shirt on too You: yeah? you want me to wear your shirt while you fuck me? pull my panties to the side? Kim Mingyu: slow down baby, i’m taking my time with you

In your bed, you snort to yourself. Mingyu has never been patient with anything, but especially not with you. Most of the time he’s so keyed up, wound so tight, that it’s all the two of you can do to make it to your bed—and sometimes you don’t. Sometimes Mingyu puts all that body to use, presses your back to the wall and throws your legs over his shoulders as he eats you out. Wraps your legs around him as he fucks you right there, the slide so, so easy with how wet and messy he gets you.

You remind him of as much. Type out, you? taking your time? i’ve got a couple walls in my entryway that would say differently, and laugh when the reply comes through—can’t help myself sometimes—and promptly stop laughing at the next one: never can, with you.

Kim Mingyu: have i ever told you what i love the most? Kim Mingyu: just kissing you. you always taste so good, baby Kim Mingyu: the way you get so worked up and start grabbing at me when i’m doing it. the way you try to get me to touch you. the way you start grinding your pussy on me like you can’t go another second without me inside you

You feel like you’re on fire. Gets worse with every word you read and re-read, try to commit to memory. You know it all too well, what he’s talking about. Know how warm his skin is, how firm he feels under your touch. Know what he tastes like. How soft his lips are. The way he sounds when you start to writhe, the way he groans when he presses tighter against you, presses you into the mattress, hard cock rutting against you, enough to take the edge off but nowhere near what he needs.

You: love that too You: love when you’re inside me even more

Kim Mingyu: me too baby Kim Mingyu: love the way you feel around me Kim Mingyu: always so fucking tight Kim Mingyu: ffuck

Your stomach drops at his last message. are you touching yourself? you type, even though you already know the answer. Another sight you’re blessed to know: Mingyu’s hand wrapped around himself, how the size of his cock makes it look small in comparison. Head tilted back, abs flexing under the weight of the pleasure.

You get a singular character in reply: 응.

show me.

He doesn’t respond right away. The pause is enough to have anticipation thrumming through your veins, make you a little shaky. Your hand trembles as you trace patterns into your warm, soft skin, pretending it’s Mingyu’s touch and not your own. Pretend it’s Mingyu’s hand that grabs at your breast beneath his shirt, thumbs over your nipple; Mingyu’s touch that has soft gasps escaping you. Pretend it’s Mingyu’s hand that dips beneath the hem of your panties.

Kim Mingyu Attachment: 1 Movie

On the screen: Mingyu’s face greets you first, eyes half-lidded and hazy, the corners of his mouth lifted in a smirk. He tilts his head back, lets you see the sweat-slick skin of his neck, the column of his throat; pans the camera down over his collar bones, his bare chest, before he flips the screen. Can barely fit the entirety of his frame in the shot, and it strikes you someplace deep, how big he is. How overwhelming.

You suck in a breath as your eyes focus—as you take in the way he’s stroking himself. His cock glistens with whatever lube he’d indulged in, but you can’t help but pretend it’s from you and your mouth. Wish you could see the way he’d touch himself as you sucked him nearly to orgasm and told him to finish himself off. The way he’d whine, beg a little, get a little shitty with you.

“Fuck,” you say out loud. You can feel your pupils blow at the thought.

“Jagiya,” comes Mingyu’s voice, intertwined with the sounds of the tv, a city so far away from you, “fuck, I’m so fu-fucking hard.”

If you’d thought you were on fire before, it’s nothing compared to now. Hearing the need in his voice, watching the way he’s touching himself. The way his hips stutter as his body seeks out more, more, more, always more, and the way he squeezes the base of his cock so he doesn’t come too soon.

“Wish it was you. Wish it was you touching me like this. I—fuck, need you so bad.”

You watch as Mingyu strokes over the head of his cock, as each subsequent pass gets more tacky and wet. Lick your lips at the sight of it. Want, more than anything, to get your mouth on him and taste the salt of his skin, the precome he’s jerking himself off with.

Before he even needs to ask, you start recording a video of your own. Leave your panties on because you know he’d want you to. Record the first pass of your fingers through your slick, let out a disbelieving little laugh at how wet you are, how you can hear it. Moan as you dip a finger into your cunt, just to the first knuckle. Say, “I’m so wet, Gyu, oh my god,” all breathy.

Not all that different from how you sound when he’s here. When he’s flesh and blood and right beside you, on top of you.

You use the wetness you’ve gathered and move your hand to your clit. It’s throbbing beneath your touch, your body already wound too tight, and you nearly hiss in oversensitivity and relief when you finally touch yourself the way you’ve wanted to. “Fuck.”

You force yourself to take your time. Slow, small circles, when everything in your body is screaming to be selfish, begging for release the same way Mingyu’s had.

“Should I finger myself?” you ask. A sharp inhale as your next pass has your toes curling. “Wo-won’t feel as good as you, but I need—need more.”

Before you cut the video, you zoom in a little. Make sure Mingyu will be able to see the way you’re touching yourself, be able to hear the sound of your arousal, the same sounds that have warmth blooming in your cheeks.

Kim Mingyu: jesusf fuck Kim Mingyu: god baby youre so hto Kim Mingyu: wanna see you finger yourself Kim Mingyu: please

It’s a little embarrassing, how incapable you are of denying him anything. You trust him implicitly, love him even more, so it’s second nature to give in, to adjust your phone so you don’t have to hold it. Second nature to press record, pull your panties to the side just like you’d proposed earlier; second nature to make a show of sticking two fingers in your mouth, sucking on them, before bringing them to your entrance and easing them inside.

Nothing compared to the stretch of Mingyu, both his fingers and his cock, but it’s still good. Enough to have you sighing softly, barely audible over the sound of everything else: the rustling of your sheets, the low thrum of your own television, you in general.

A rhythmic song and dance. Practiced. You grow wetter with each push and pull; know Mingyu will be able to see it, the way you work yourself open. That, too, has you a little dizzy. Breathless. You wonder what he sees when he looks at you. Not only like this, but all the time. Does he see an expiration date? Something good while it lasted? Is there just this—something carnal and superficial?

Or does he just see you?

It drives you crazy. Inspires something within you: not just the desire to please him, make it worth his while, but to be something else, something more than this. Has your fingers moving a little faster, has you grinding your clit against the palm of your hand. Has you a whining, writhing mess; has sounds spilling out that you aren’t sure you’ve ever heard come out of you.

You send it before you can overthink it. Whatever Mingyu sees in you, at least these are the images that’ll play in his mind whenever he thinks of you. At least you’ve sunk your claws into him.

Seconds pass in a blur. You’re still on the brink of a mind-numbing orgasm, stuck in this liminal space simply because Mingyu isn’t here, and you know, too, how this goes. Know you aren’t supposed to come without his say-so in the same way he edges himself until he gets yours.

Kim Mingyu: shit shit shit Kim Mingyu: i wish that was me. wanna take you apart like that. wanna finger you while i eat you out, make you squirt all over me again Kim Mingyu: fuck i thin k about that all the time Kim Mingyu: im gonna cum

I think about that all the time.

So do you. You, on your hands and knees, Mingyu eating you out from behind. Bracing yourself against the headboard with one arm, the other one reaching behind you to pull at his hair. You remember how relentless he’d been that night. A man possessed. Disregarded all your breathless pleas, every Mingyu, Gyu, fuck, fuck, Mingyu, baby— that left your mouth. His tongue left your pussy only long enough to say, you can take it, baby before he was right back at it. Before he worked in two fingers alongside his mouth. Before his free hand came down hard on your ass, the sting startling you, making you jerk, forcing you closer to his mouth.

You remember coming with a scream. You remember coming to with Mingyu’s lips to your neck, the sweet way he was speaking to you. You remember the knee-jerk embarrassment you felt when you saw the giant wet spot you’d left on the bed and how quickly it dissipated when Mingyu pressed a kiss to your temple, called you his good girl.

You: you can come, but you know the rule

You move your fingers back to your clit, feel all that pleasure flood back, start in your toes. It’s not long before you’re pulling a blistering orgasm from your body—one that feels like it belongs to Mingyu, wasn’t yours for the taking.

thank you, he replies, right beneath a photo of his abs streaked with cum.

The comedown is jarring. You feel both too big for your body and completely out of sorts now that you’ve fulfilled your role. Now that there’s nothing to do but sit in the stillness of your bedroom, that same drama playing on television, some girl getting her heart broken.

You wonder if Mingyu’s thinking the same. If his body also sags with relief, if the absence of all that tension feels crushing. If the first thought he has in this newfound clarity is also I love you and if he also swallows it down every single time. You wonder if he thinks about his role, if it’s becoming stale and tired.

Because you know what comes next:

Kim Mingyu: i’ll be home soon Kim Mingyu: can i see you

And you also know what you’ll say. After all, you’ve played this role before.

if you've made it this far thank you so much for reading! this is prob not my best work since it's a lil rushed but i needed something to get me out of my slump.

i would love to hear your thoughts! <3

#mingyu x reader #mingyu smut #mingyu imagines #mingyu scenarios #mingyu x you #mingyu x y/n #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #seventeen scenarios #seventeen smut #jewel writes

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st4rfckerz · 3 months

Text

Hitchhiker | Modern!Anakin Skywalker x Reader

word count: 4.7k

warnings: fingering, very brief titty sucking, fingering, unprotected sex, cum eating, slow build up (SORRY)

summary: After your friends ditch you at a festival, you find yourself stranded on the highway and a kind stranger picks you up.

Fresh from the festival, the sun beats down on your skin as you squint against the glare. You're a bit disheveled from the wild concert, but you've still got a smile on your face. The highway offered a lonely walk, but the memories of the music still ringing in your ears. Staggering on, the lonesome highway seems to stretch on endlessly, with no escape from the scorching sun. As you continue, you decide it might be wiser to hitch a ride. You stick your thumb out, hoping to catch the attention of any passing cars, although glare from the sun probably isn't helping. After a few cars speed past you, ignoring your plea for a ride, a sleek, red mustang pulls up to the side of the road. It reverses slowly, coming to a stop next to you.

“You need a lift?” The man grins, the words rumble along with the car engine.

“You offering?” you say with a laugh. He's handsome, with a scruffy jaw and light blue eyes that hold an amused glint.

“Maybe.” He speaks again, his eyes searching your face. You approach the car, the gravel crunching under your feet. As you open the door, the scent of leather and clean air wafts over you. You slide into the seat, feeling a bit relieved that someone finally stopped for you. You shift in your seat, feeling the warmth of the day slowly dissipating. The car interior is cool and comfortable, the wind from the air conditioning brushing against your skin. Anakin starts the engine, the car rumbling beneath you.

There's a small awkward silence as the car begins to move, the sound of the tires against the pavement filling the space.

The man breaks the silence, his voice smooth and deep, “You didn't tell me your name.” The question is casual, friendly, and shot through with a sly charm. He steals a glimpse at you, a wry smile playing at the corner of his lips. You tell him your name with a friendly smile, glad that the awkwardness has been lifted.

“And you are…” You let your sentence trail off, gesturing towards him with a tilt of your head.

“Anakin.” he replies, his eyes never leaving the road. As you look at Anakin, the sun casting a warm glow on his fair skin, you can't help but admire his features. His light blue eyes seem to glisten in the fading light, his dark, honey-colored hair tousled softly on his forehead. His strong hands grip the steering wheel with a sense of confidence, his broad yet lean physique and stubble making him all the more ruggedly attractive. As the car smoothly moves along the highway, you can't help but feel a little thrill at being in his company.

You lean back into the seat, feeling the leather comfortably hug your body. “So, Anakin,” you ask with a playful note in your voice. “Where are you heading?” Anakin shoots you a sly grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Just a little town off the highway. Nothing too fancy, but it's home.” He asks, glancing at you again. “What about yourself, where are you off to?”

“I was supposed to go back into town with some friends but they all decided to leave me the show early, so I just left.” you explain in a dull tone. Anakin's brows furrow slightly, a hint of concern etched onto his face.

“Well, that's not very nice of them, is it?” He says disapprovingly. You can see that he was a bit bothered by your situation. “But at least you got a better ride than you bargained for.” He adds with a chuckle.

“You know I really do appreciate the ride.” you say sincerely. Anakin smirks, his eyes still on the road.

“Well it’d be a shame to leave a pretty little thing like yourself out in this heat, wouldn’t it?” He says as he steals another quick glance at you, giving you a short look over before returning his gaze to the road.

You look at Anakin, your eyes lingering on his features for a moment before you look back out of the window, your cheeks flushed. “You can drop me off at the gas station coming up.” You say, trying to change the subject and regain your composure. As much as you’d love to stay in the vintage vehicle and chat with the man you met just a short while ago, you had to get your hands on some food.

“Are you sure?” He asks, a hint of disappointment in his voice. The approaching gas station signals the end of your impromptu road trip, a bittersweet feeling washing over you as you prepare to say your goodbyes.

“Yeah it’s okay, I’ll figure out somethin’.” You respond. You weren’t exactly sure what you’d do after leaving the gas station, but you were sure you’d figure it out.

“I might as well get some gas while I'm here," Anakin says, his tone lighter as he tries to make the best of the situation. “Thanks for the company.” he speaks with a smile, parking his car next to a gas tank in the process. You step out of the car, the gravel crunching beneath your feet once more.

“I’ll see you around Anakin.” With a final smile, you close the door behind you, the metal clanging softly. You move towards the small gas station, the glow from its windows beckoning you. The humidity smacks you in the face once again, the warm air heavy against your skin. Inside the little store, you can't help but steal glances out of the window towards Anakin. He's pumping gas, his broad shoulders and strong hands in full view. You turn your attention to the shelves, filled with a variety of snacks and drinks. You select a few items, the crinkling of the wrappers filling the quiet store, accompanied by the low hum of the shitty air conditioner.

You make your way to the register after grabbing a coke, the cold air from the fridge tickling your back as the door zips shut. The clerk smiles at you as you place your items on the counter, but you can't help but be a bit distracted, still thinking about Anakin.

You reach into your pocket to pull out your wallet, but are met with nothing. Dread prompts your eyebrows to furrow and your heart to miss a beat. You must've lost it back at the concert or maybe left it with a friend. You had to come up with something, and fast.

“$6.66.” The clerk's smile never falters as she informs you of your total. You offer her a weak smile, unsure of what to do about the missing wallet.

“Unlucky number.” you say with a nervous chuckle, gesturing towards the total. You felt stuck like there was absolutely nothing you could do.

The clerk chuckles, perhaps sensing your unease. “Some people believe in that kind of thing. But I think it's just a number. Besides, maybe it'll bring you some good luck instead.” She says, her tone friendly and reassuring. You smile, grateful for her lighthearted demeanor.

“I hope so.” You murmur to yourself, your eyes still locked on Anakin. Just as he finishes pumping gas, you turn and rush out of the store without thinking. The bell above the door jingles as you exit, your heart pounding in your chest. You make your way towards Anakin, the bit of a grin on your face conflicting with the guilt from leaving without paying.

You yell for Anakin while waving your unoccupied hand frantically. “Anakin! Go go go!” You call out, your cheeks flushed. Without waiting for an answer, you jump into his passenger seat, the door slamming shut behind you. Your eyes dart around, realizing the predicament you've just put yourself in. Anakin starts the engine, the car rumbling to life beneath you. You can see the surprise in his eyes when you jump in, but he recovers quickly, shifting the car into gear and speeding off from the gas station.

“Well that was dumb,” Anakin says with a wry smile, his eyes never leaving the road ahead, “What do you plan on doing now.” His tone is lighthearted, the corner of his mouth curling into a grin.

You let out a shaky breath, your hands gripping the edge of your seat. “I don't know,” you reply honestly, your cheeks still flushed. “Hopefully nothing bad will come of it.” You can't help but feel a bit nervous about the consequences of your actions.

Anakin chuckles, his grin widening. He reaches over with his large, calloused hand and gives your thigh a consoling rub. “It was practically nothing. Just a few snacks.” He says. His confidence in you is comforting, easing some of the tension that had been building within you.

You look over at Anakin, your curiosity piqued by the events of the night. “So, you always pick up random strangers off the side of the road?” You ask, leaning back in your seat. You're intrigued by the man who's been nothing but kind and charming, making you wonder what drives him to be so generous.

“No, not always,” Anakin shakes his head. “But when I do, I'm glad I did.” As the car continues along the long road, you can't help but feel allured by Anakin. The way he carries himself, the charm in his wit, and the kindness he's shown you have created an indelible impression. His rugged exterior and the way he seems to effortlessly command the road make you feel safe and protected, despite only knowing him for less than a day.

Anakin peeks up at the sky, a hint of melancholy in his voice. “Looks like the sun's startin’ to set,” He muses, his eyes lingering on the horizon for a moment. The sky shimmers in shades of pink and orange as the sun dips below the horizon.

“So,” Anakin begins, his voice soft and curious. “Do your parents know where you are?” He asks, his eyes flicking over to you for a brief moment before returning to the road. The question, while seemingly innocent, carries with it a hint of concern. You can't help but appreciate the thoughtfulness beneath it.

“Kinda,” You hesitate for a moment, contemplating how much to share. “My parents didn't want me going to the show, but I went anyway.” A tinge of guilt lacing your words. The thought of the potential consequences of your actions weighs heavily on your mind.

“You know, they might be worried about you. Maybe you should call them when we stop for a bit. Let them know you're safe.” He suggests. You nod in agreement, knowing he’s right.

After a while, Anakin slows the car and pulls into the parking lot of a vacant auto repair shop. There, next to a broken-down Coke machine, stands an old-fashioned payphone. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handful of quarters before passing them to you, his eyes meeting yours. “Here, use these,” He says, the kindness in his voice as evident as the kindness in his eyes.

You take the quarters from him, the small gesture filling you with gratitude. You walk over to the old-fashioned payphone, the silver buttons shining in the dingy overhead light. You dial your parents' number, your heart beats faster as the phone rings.

“Whatever.” You mumble to yourself. After slamming the phone back on its cradle, you turn back towards the car. Anakin's eyes meet yours, concern etched into his features. “They didn't answer. Maybe they're asleep.” Anakin nods, recognizing your disappointed tone.

“Well, I'm sure they're just fine. Maybe they'll wake up and find your missed calls,” He says reassuringly. You offer him a weak smile, grateful for his attempt to lighten the mood “Do you have a place to stay tonight?”

You take a moment to gather your thoughts. “No, not really,” You admit, your voice soft. The truth is, you hadn't thought that far ahead, caught up in the excitement of the concert and the thrill of the unexpected journey. But now, the prospect of finding somewhere to stay in the middle of the night seems daunting.

Anakin considers this for a moment, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel. “Well, if you'd like, you can spend the night at my place. It's not far from here.” He offers, his voice even, unrattled by the potential implications of his words. The proposition is unexpected, yet comforting in its simplicity.

“I could just get a motel room,” You say, feeling a pang of hesitation. The idea of spending the night at a stranger's house, however well-intentioned, is a bit unnerving. But Anakin shakes his head, his expression unwavering.

“The motels nearby aren't the safest, I'd feel better about you staying with me.” Anakin insists firmly. There's a sense of finality to his tone, as if he's made up his mind and won't be dissuaded.

You chew on your lower lip, contemplating the offer. The thought of navigating a potentially shady motel in the middle of the night is enough to make you reconsider. The trust and care Anakin has shown you throughout the night reassures you somewhat, making it easier to see the good intentions behind his words.

You nod, a small smile playing at the corners of your mouth. “Alright then.” You say, grateful for the kindness and the offer of shelter. Anakin puts the car back into gear, the engine purring to life. You lean your head against the cool glass of the window and out at the darkness that surrounds you. Your mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, the events of the night tumbling through your mind in a haphazard rhythm.

As the car hums along, you find yourself dozing off, the motion of the vehicle lulling you into a light, restless sleep. The world outside blurs as your eyes flutter shut.

“Hey sleepy girl,” The sound of Anakin's voice snaps you back to consciousness, your head jerking up from the window. “We’re pulling up now.”

Anakin pulls into a driveway and parks the car and you catch your first glimpse of his home. It's an old little house, nestled within a grove of trees, their branches reaching out like arms, enveloping the house in a natural embrace. The porch light flickers on, casting a warm glow that seems to beckon you.

The house has a charm to it, its weathered wood and stone, layered with a history that speaks of comfort and solace. A hammock swings gently from two trees, the scene reminiscent of quiet afternoons and relaxation. The porch is lined with potted plants, their greenery breathing life into the otherwise still night.

The two of you step out of the car and make your way up the porch steps, the creak of the weathered, wooden planks adding to the tranquil atmosphere. Anakin unlocks the door, the brass handle yielding with a soft turn. He holds it open for you, gesturing for you to enter. The aroma of wood and spice wafts from within, a faint hint of tobacco lingering just beneath the surface.

You step inside, the door closing gently behind you. Anakin follows, the door's latch securing you both in this refuge for the night. The room is cozy, with a worn-in couch and a large armchair by the un-lit fireplace. A wooden table sits in the center, a lamp on its surface casting a warm glow.

“The bathroom's down there,” Anakin gestures to the hall, his voice a soft rumble. “Take your time. I'll bring you some clothes when you’re done.” He informs you, his eyes briefly meeting yours once more.

You smile gratefully, the offer of a shower after your long day feeling like a true blessing. “Thank you.” You say softly. You nod your gratitude and head down the hall, the wooden floor creaking beneath your feet.

The bathroom is clean and simple, with a shower stall and a tub. You turn on the water, the steam rising as the heat envelops you. The sound of the water washes away the residue of the day, the tension slowly draining from your body.

After a while, you turn off the shower, the sound of running water replaced by the gentle drip of water from the tap. You wrap a towel around yourself, your hair hanging in damp ringlets about your face.

You hear a soft knock on the door, followed by Anakin's voice. “I got you some clothes for tonight. I'll just be outside when you’re done.” He says, his tone gentle.

You open the door a crack, revealing just your face behind the barrier of wood. Your hands brush against Anakin's as he gently hands you a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. His fingers linger on yours for a moment, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

The pants Anakin left were a little too big for you, so you decide to just wear the shirt. It's a comfortable fit, the fabric soft against your skin. You tuck your hair behind your ears, gathering your things, before making your way down the hall. You make your way through the dark house, your footsteps light on the wooden floor. There, you find Anakin, seated in a long, outstretched lounging chair, a cigarette dangling from his lips. The faint glow from the tip illuminates his face, casting shadows that play across his features.

He looks up as you approach, his eyes meeting yours before returning to the night. The silence between you is comfortable, the hum of the night insects and the crackle of the fire serving as a soothing soundtrack. You join him on the porch, the chair creaking softly as you settle onto it. The stars above are brilliant, their light casting a dream-like veil over this unexpected sojourn.

The cool night air is punctuated by the sound of his inhale, the smoke curling upward like tendrils of fog.

Anakin glances over at you, his eyes lingering on your bare legs for a moment before he speaks. “The pants didn't fit, did they?” He asks with a smile.

You shake your head, feeling a blush creeping up your neck. “No, they were a bit too big for me,” You reply, your voice light, attempting to brush off the awkwardness. “You’ve got a nice place here,” You say, your words soft, as if to break the ice. You're not sure what else to say, the unfamiliarity of the situation making you feel a bit exposed.

Anakin nods, taking a slow drag from his cigarette before exhaling a plume of smoke. “It was my grandma's house. She moved to a nursing home a few years ago,” He responds, his voice filled with a hint of nostalgia. “I decided to keep it. It's been a good place for me.”

The revelation adds another layer to the enigmatic stranger before you. The house, with its charm and history, now seems like the perfect vessel for his stories. You can't help but feel a bit envious of the heritage and the connection it must provide.

“You got a girlfriend?” You ask. You're not quite sure why you want to know, but the question tumbles from your lips, the night seeming to demand answers.

Anakin pauses for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Not at the moment,” He replies, his voice even. His eyes meet yours, holding your gaze for a brief moment before flicking back to the night. “If I did I don’t think she’d like the thought of me picking up pretty girls from the side of the road.” He says with a lopsided grin.

You reach your hand over, your fingers brushing against his as you take the cigarette. He passes it to you without hesitation, the warmth of his skin lingering on your fingertips. You take a drag, the smoke burning your throat, your eyes watering slightly. You cough, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as you pass the cigarette back to him. “I guess I should thank you for that then.” You say, your voice light and teasing.

The two of you lock eyes, the silence between you thick with unspoken thoughts. Anakin's gaze is intense, filled with a desire that is, for the moment, unspoken. He slowly leans in towards you, his nose brushing against yours softly. Your heart races as his lips meet yours, the kiss tender and hesitant at first. But as your lips part, the kiss deepens, the sudden intimacy of the moment overwhelming. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you onto his lap, the warmth of his body enveloping you.

Anakin's hand glide along your thighs, the other coming up to brush across you now hardened nipple, his touch a trail of fire that leaves you shivering. The air between you crackles with electricity, the tension thick as you both surrender to the magnetic pull that has brought you together. As Anakin continues to brush his hands against your body, your hips shift, accidentally grinding down against his. The sudden contact sends a jolt through both of you, the heat between you reaching a fever pitch. Anakin's breath hitches, his eyes widening for a brief moment before he recovers, his hand coming to rest on your hip.

“Fuck- not here.”Anakin stands up from the chair, lifting you into his arms. You wrap your legs around his waist, feeling the solid strength of his body beneath yours. He makes his way inside, the creaking of the floorboards echoing softly as he carries you through the house. His room is cozy, with a large bed dominating the center. He sets you down gently on the mattress, the fabric cool against your skin.

Anakin hovers above you, his body poised over yours as he continues to kiss you, his lips exploring yours with a steadfast passion. His hand reaches between your legs and begins to rub his thumb against your panties, the warmth of his touch making your cunt clench pathetically around nothing. You arch your back, your hands gripping his shirt, the fabric straining under your fingers.

“Please do something.” You whisper, the plea barely audible as your body writhes under his touch.

“Be patient,” He says, his lips barely leaving yours. He slips his hand beneath your panties, his fingers teasing your entrance before slowly sliding inside, his thumb still working against your clit. “You’re so wet.” Anakin groans at the slick warmth that envelops his fingers, his own desire evident in the sound.

Anakin begins to pump his fingers inside you, the steady rhythm of his thrusts sending waves of pleasure through your body. Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps, your hips rising to meet his hand, the hunger for release growing with each passing second. He leans down, his lips trailing kisses down your neck. The sensation of his lips against your skin combined with the rhythm of his hand is almost too much to bear. His other hand cups your soft skin, his thumb brushing over your nipple, the sensation sending shivers down your spine. He slides your shirt up, revealing your breast to his eager gaze. Anakin takes your nipple into his mouth, the sensation of his lips and teeth sending a jet of pleasure through you.

“I'm s-so close, ‘m gonna cum.” You gasp, the words barely audible over your racing heart.

Anakin responds to your plea with unbridled fervor, his fingers digging into you, his mouth working furiously on your nipple.

“Cum on my fingers baby, you got it.” He growls, the command laced with a need that mirrors your own. Your voice rings out in a cry as your orgasm swallows you whole, Anakin's fingers soaked with your wetness.

Anakin pulls his fingers from your pulsating cunt, bringing them to his mouth. He sucks on them hungrily, his eyes never leaving yours. He leans in forward and kisses you again, the taste of you on his lips and tongue as he deepens the kiss.

You reach out, your hand finding the hard bulge in Anakin's pants as you kiss him. He groans into your mouth, the sensation of your touch sending waves of desire through him. Anakin breaks the kiss, his eyes filled with a raw hunger as he unbuckles his belt and pulls down his pants. His erection springs free, standing tall and proud, the evidence of his intense attraction to you on full display.

He positions himself between your legs, the head of his cock brushing against your entrance. With a slow, deliberate motion, Anakin pushes himself inside you, the sensation of his length filling you causing a gasp to escape your lips. He pauses for a moment, the two of you locked in a heated embrace, the weight of the moment hanging between you.

“Hold on just…give me a second.” Anakin's breath hitches, his head drops to your shoulder as he gathers himself, the intensity of the moment almost overwhelming.

After a second or two, Anakin starts to roll his hips into yours, his rhythm slow and deliberate at first, the sensations building as he moves within you. His voice is heavy with yearning, the words spoken from a place of raw need.

“You’re so tight, clenching around me so good angel.” He murmurs into your ear, his hot breath causing a shiver to race down your spine. Anakin increases the pace of his movements, the new pace causing you to moan louder, the feeling of him inside you becoming more and more intense. Your nails latch onto his shoulder blades, your body arching up to meet his thrusts.

“Need more Anakin, please.” You breathe out between moans. Responding to your plea, Anakin leans back, his arms tightly gripping your waist as he tilts your hips up, driving himself deeper inside you. The new angle sends jolts of pleasure through your body, the intensity building with each subsequent thrust.

“You like that? ‘S that better?” He speaks breathlessly. Words babble from your lips, the coherency of your speech lost to the bliss that courses through you.

“Such a sweet girl getting fucked by a stranger.” Anakin teases you with a grin, aware of the circumstances that have led you here. You haven’t even known him for twenty four hours and you’re already dumb for his cock.

“I’m gettin’ close angel.” he growls, his breathing harsh and erratic as he continues to jackhammer himself into you.

You gasp as the sensation of him within you reaches a fever pitch. “Me too,” You manage to get out between breaths, your eyes locked onto his as you feel the hot coil in your stomach getting tighter and tighter with each thrust.

Anakin eggs you on, his voice a guttural growl as he feels the moment drawing near. “Cum on my cock baby, give it to me.” He demands, the need in his voice only serving to fuel your own. The intensity of the moment becomes almost unbearable, your body convulsing your orgasm washes over you once more. Anakin doesn't hold back, following in your wake as he releases inside you, his body shuddering with the intensity of his orgasm.

Anakin takes a moment before slowly pulling out of your worn pussy, the heady scent of sex hanging heavy in the air. Anakin kneels in front of you, his gaze locked on your throbbing core, savoring its abused form. His tongue darts out, cleaning the swirl of your shared fluids, his tongue lapping gently at your folds.

“T-too sensitive, I can’t-” His thumb rubbing your inner thigh offers a soothing balance to the sensations, the gentle pressure providing a comforting contrast to the lingering pleasure.

“ ‘M almost done.” He says, his tone calm as his tongue continues its delicate motions.

Anakin finishes cleaning you, his tongue retreating, leaving you slick and satisfied. His eyes meet yours as he crawls back up the bed, his lips claiming yours in a tender kiss. The two of you fall into a contented silence, your bodies tangled together. The weight of the day’s wild events fades as exhaustion claims you both, the warmth of the shared intimacy enveloping you as you drift off to sleep. Though the future remains uncertain, the intimacy of the moment lingers.

#nai writes ୨୧ #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker blurb #anakin skywalker drabble #anakin x you #anakin x reader #anakin smut #hayden christensen #hayden christensen blurb #hayden christensen drabble #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen smut #st4rfckerz

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lowkeyhollland · 1 month

Text

best of both worlds

peter park x stark!reader 4.2k words mix it all together & you know you get the best of both worlds

“I just don’t understand why I can’t know who Spider-Man is,” you grabbed yesterday’s unfinished iced coffee from the fridge and closed it. “I know everyone else’s identity, Dad. Why not this one?

“Y/n, I love you, but–” Your dad started but was rudely interrupted.

“You’re a yapper!” Sam yelled from across the kitchen and Bucky started laughing with him as you shot them a glare.

“Okay, who taught them that?” You crossed your arms as the two kept laughing.

“I’m sorry, princess. But it’s true,” your dad laughed with them while you rolled my eyes. He messed with your hair and kissed the top of your head. “You can’t keep a secret to yourself.”

“You told the whole world you’re Iron Man,” You rebutted, and ‘oohs’ erupted from the small crowd. “Plus, the only person I tell is Peter.”

“What about when you told Ned you were going with us to Germany,” Bucky said.

“I had to tell my teachers I would be gone and he was curious,” You shrugged and took a sip from your coffee.

“Hi, Mr. Stark.” Just then, the man of the hour, Spider-Man swung into the kitchen. Well, he walked into the kitchen. “I might be gone–” he stopped mid-sentence when he saw you. “Y/n! Hi!”

“Hello, Spider-Man,” You narrowed your eyes at him and he spun his head around.

“Did I do something?” His voice squeaked and you narrowed my eyes even more.

“She’s just upset that we won’t tell her your identity,” Tony informed him.

“If I just keep guessing who you are, will you tell me if I’m right?” You batted your eyelashes at the masked hero as you put on the sweetest smile. You could tell he was smirking as he let out a soft chuckle while shaking his head.

“I doubt you’ll guess correctly, sweetheart.” He crossed his arms and Tony’s flickered between the two of you, a faint smirk forming on his lips. A small blush crept onto your cheeks at the nickname.

“All I’m saying is everyone in the Hannah Montana universe was stupid because they couldn’t put two and two together,” you mumbled as you grabbed a granola bar from the pantry.

“But how were they stupid if they never heard Miley sing? They had nothing to compare her to.” Spider-Man started the counter-argument and you raised your eyebrows, turning to face him and straightening out your back.

“At every concert, the artist speaks to the audience. How did they not notice that Miley and Hannah sounded the same when speaking? Or even her mannerisms.” You eyed Spider-man cautiously as he grabbed an apple.

“Alright, one of you can’t be in here if you are going to remove your mask.” Your dad pointed to the both of you and you rolled my eyes.

“It’s fine, I’m leaving for school anyway.” You slung your backpack on and grabbed your car keys. “Bye Dad, love you. Bye, guys! See you later.”

“Wait, are you picking up Parker?” Your dad yelled and your eyes widened.

“Shit! I’m late!” You yelled and ran out the door to the car.

“Drive safe!” You heard your dad’s voice in the distance while seeing a flash of red leaving the tower. Interesting.

– – –

You frantically knocked on Peter’s apartment door. It swung open and Peter smiled and was breathing heavily. “Hi,” he sighed and smiled.

“Hi,” You smiled back at him. “You ready?”

“Yeah! Let’s go.” He walked out and locked the door and the two of you hurried to your car.

You were speeding down the road, not trying to be late for the second day. “Y/n/n! Slow down!” Peter grabbed the car handle and sat straight back in his seat.

“Oh please, I’m only ten over. I cannot be late again. Mrs. Smith threatened to give me a week’s worth of detention if I was late to her class… again. ” You stopped at the red light and took a sip from your coffee and Peter scoffed.

“As if they’d ever give Tony Stark’s daughter detention.”

“You’d be surprised,” you said under your breath. “Hey, weird question.”

“What’s up?” Peter looked over giving you, his chocolate brown eyes full of wonder and ready to tackle whatever question you had to say.

“Did you watch Hannah Montana as a kid?” And just like that, all the wonder was drained from his eyes and his mouth formed a line.

He knew he had to be careful of what he would say in this conversation in case it reminded you of Spider-Man this morning. It wasn’t that Peter didn’t trust you. No, not at all, he trusted you with his entire life. You were his best friend, but Tony had advised him to keep his secret identity to a limited number of people in case it spread like wildfire.

“Not really, why?”

“Nothing, I just got into an argument with Spider-Man today.” You grumbled, looking in your blindspot to switch lanes, seeing Midtown was coming up on the left.

“It won’t ever shock me how easily you can just casually mention superheroes.” Peter took your coffee and took a sip from it. His face scrunched up and he immediately gagged. “How much sugar did you put in this?!”

“It’s from Dunkin’! You know I always get three packs of sugar with my Dunkin’ coffee.” Peter shook his head as he handed it back to you before you both got out of the car.

“And every time, I forget how disgustingly sugary your Dunkin’ order is.”

“It's not my fault you like your coffee black. You know, you have to be some psychopath to like straight-up black coffee.”

“Sorry, you have the palette of a five-year-old.” You gasped at the comment and lightly pushed Peter away as you walked through the school doors.

“Whatever, I’ll see you later.” You playfully rolled your eyes with a small smile on your face before walking away to your first period.

“See you!” Peter exclaimed, a smile forming on his face as he admired you from afar.

– – –

“I was team Jake because I had a thing for blondes, but then when he cheated on Miley, I was so heartbroken my dad had to watch me to make sure I didn’t throw up from crying so hard.” Ned and Peter listened to you intently as you rambled on about your favorite childhood show. MJ would look up from her book now and then to nod at you to show she was listening.

“How were you not team Jesse right away? I mean, even I was head over heels for him,” Ned argued with you about the teen heartthrobs.

“I don’t know, Jake was so charming to six-year-old me. I just couldn’t not fall in love with him. He was always so smooth with everything.”

“So, the opposite of Peter?” MJ raised an eyebrow and smirked while you let out a giggle.

“Exactly.” You agreed with her while Peter’s mouth hung open.

“Okay well, Miley didn’t even have to tell Jesse she was Hannah. He figured it out himself because he was so in love with her while Miley had to put the wig on in front of Jake.” Peter smugly said. You stared at him as he proudly smiled at himself.

“I thought you didn’t watch the show,” you mumbled and Peter’s cheeks flushed pink.

“I mean, not really, but– okay fine,” Peter sighed knowing you had caught him in a lie. “I was the biggest Hannah Montana fan out there. I used to perform just like her in our living room.” The whole table burst into laughter and his entire face went red.

“Please tell me May has videos!” You said in between laughs and you heard your best friend grumble something.

“Is that why there were purple Hannah Montana sheets in your linen closet?” Ned asked, wiping away tears.

“It’s okay, Pete. My go-to karaoke song is ‘Best of Both Worlds.’” You smiled in an attempt to make him feel better. He gave you a tight lip smile, knowing no one would let him forget about this. “But, back to this Jake and Jesse discourse,” you circled the conversation back on track. “Would you say Jesse only found out because he was so insanely in love with her?” You watched as Peter thought about the question for a while. You couldn’t help but smile as you admired the way his brown curls fell on his head perfectly or how he bit his lower lip a little as he concentrated.

“Yes, I believe so.” And that was all the information you needed.

– – –

Peter walked into the living room of the compound, following the echoes of your laughter. He furrowed his eyebrows together when he saw you throwing a laughing fit over something on your phone.

“Are you… okay?” Peter cautiously asked. You motioned for him to sit next to you on the couch, still laughing.

“Look– look at what May sent me,” you managed to get out. Peter looked at your phone and saw a video of six-year-old him singing ‘I Got Nerve’ into a remote, dancing around the living room like he was a pop star.

“Oh my god,” he mumbled under his breath, horrified. He quickly grabbed your phone away and held it up as you protested against it.

“No! Peter give it back!” You exclaimed climbing over him to take back your phone.

“Nu-uh!” A playful smile formed on his lips when he switched which hand held the phone. You were both laughing and messing around until you lost your balance and he caught you under his arm, pulling you close to him so you wouldn’t fall off the couch. Your faces were inches apart and you were praying your face wasn’t as red as it felt.

“Hi,” you whispered to him, staring into his big brown eyes.

“Hi,” he mumbled back, his eyes flickering down to your lips. His action didn’t go as unnoticed as he had hoped when you smirked back at him. It wasn’t uncommon for you two to be so close to each other, but the position you were in was definitely different than most times. You know, being quite literally on top of him and everything.

“Can I have my phone back, please?” You batted your eyelashes at him. Peter gulped and nodded, not trusting anything that might come out of his mouth. You slowly got off on top of him and sat at the end of the couch and Peter tossed you your phone as you threw your legs over his lap.

“Now delete the video,” Peter demanded. You were taken aback by his tone and couldn’t help but laugh.

“I top him once and I don’t even get a thank you,” you jokingly said and he rolled his eyes.

“Y/n, seriously.”

“Fine,” you grumbled and deleted the video against your will.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He smiled at you but the nickname took you by surprise. You furrowed your eyebrows together and looked at your best friend.

“Wait, why are you even here? I didn’t invite you over.” You realize Peter just appeared out of nowhere.

“She tops me once and thinks she’s in control of me,” he jokes around and you lightly kick his leg.

“You fucking wish, Parker.” You laughed at how red his face had turned while his eyes widened.

“I- uh, I have that internship with your dad, remember?” He answered your question, ignoring the comment you made. You silently mouthed an ‘oh,’ completely forgetting about the internship.

“What do you even do for the internship? I’ve never seen you here doing anything else but hanging out with me.” You eyed your best friend suspiciously as he squirmed around avoiding your eye contact.

“I– uh, you know, I do… stuff.” He scratched the back of his neck, his eyebrows furrowing together once more.

“What kind of… stuff?” You raised an eyebrow at him and could’ve sworn you heard him gulp.

“I… repair their suits! Yeah, I do that,” Peter said almost like he was trying to convince himself.

“So why are you here today? No one has been on a mission in like a month.” Your suspicions were rapidly going up by the minute. Why would your best friend lie about what he does for your dad? Unless… No, that's crazy, you thought.

“I was upgrading Spider-Man’s suit,” Peter’s face fell. Shit. Alarms were going off in his head, hoping you wouldn’t catch onto anything. But another part of him was hoping you would. He thought maybe he should just come clean. Right here, right now. He watched as you eyed him up and down, biting your lower lip.

“Fun.” He sat there shocked. Fun? That was all you had to say?

“Yeah, super fun.” He let out a sigh as he sat further back on the couch. You looked at him curiously, opening and closing your mouth like you had something to say. He looked at you, questioning your movements, but you just shook your head. “I should… probably get back to your dad.” He lifted your legs off his lap and you just nodded.

“Yeah, don’t want to upset Tony Stark,” you scoffed and he smiled.

“Maybe tomorrow after I’m done, we can watch a movie?” Peter suggested, but you had other plans.

“Tomorrow’s Bachelor night,” you smirked and you could have sworn you saw Peter’s face light up.

“Oh, I don’t want to miss the girls fighting. Save me a seat next to you,” he winked and you felt your cheeks start to blush. “I’ll see you later.” Peter messed with your hair and kissed the top of it. You sat there in shock while he walked away, eyes wide and face red once he realized what he had done.

– – –

“Mr. Stark, I don’t think I can keep it a secret from her any longer.” Peter stood next to his mentor as they worked on his suit together, the memory of him kissing your head replaying over and over again. Tony sighed and looked at Peter.

“If you want to tell her, kid, you can. No one’s stopping you.” He tilted his head to the side as he sighed again. His answer took Peter aback.

“But you told me I shouldn’t tell her.” His mouth hung open, still shocked at Tony’s response.

“I only said that in hopes of keeping my daughter safe.”

“But she’s constantly surrounded by other superheroes. And, no offense, but she’s your daughter.” Peter bluntly said and Tony let out a dry chuckle.

“I know.”

“So, why did you tell me to keep it from her in the first place?” Peter looked around confused.

“Because she’s already surrounded by enough heroes as it is.” Tony made it seem like it made total sense, but Peter just stood there stunned.

“So?” He felt bad giving his mentor attitude, but he was so confused and lost at what to do and the responses he was receiving.

“So,” Tony exaggerated. “If she’s seen with Spider-Man, she can, you know, attract danger.”

“But she’s already seen with– I’m so confused, Mr. Stark.” Peter’s eyes pleaded for a clear response and Tony groaned.

“Again, if she’s seen with Spider-Man, she can get hurt. I just want my precious daughter to be safe, is that too much to ask for?”

“But she’s always seen with you guys. I don’t understand.” Peter was so confused he thought his head was going to explode for feeling so dumb.

“If she is seen with Spider-Man–” Tony tried to emphasize.

“Yes, I get it, but–”

“Oh my God, do I have to spell it out for you? Kid, we all know you’ve been in love with Y/n ever since you met the girl!” Peter stood there dumbfounded.

“What? I– no I am not– I mean no offense, but–” Peter’s words were all jumbled together as his cheeks flushed pink.

“What’s Parker rambling on about now?” Steve asked as he walked through the doors of the lab.

“Trying to convince me he’s not in love with my daughter,” Tony bluntly said, turning back to work on the suit. Steve burst into laughter and Peter’s face fell.

“Oh, Parker, anyone can see that you’re head over heels for her from miles away.” Peter’s entire face had turned red from embarrassment.

“Okay, so maybe I am—“

“And you are,” Tony mumbled. Peter shot him a look before continuing.

“Why does that have to interfere with me being Spider-Man? She’s my best friend, I’m tired of lying to her all the time when she’s already a part of this sort of lifestyle!” Peter threw his hands up in frustration.

“It’s up to you, Parker. But if Spider-Man is seen with any sort of love interest, criminals can take advantage of that. And it’s your responsibility to make sure my daughter gets home safe.” Tony pointed his finger into Peter’s chest. The kid gulped and nodded before returning their attention to his suit.

— — —

“I’m home!” You yelled through the compound. Walking into the kitchen, you saw a familiar red suit rummaging through the fridge. “Hello, Spider-Man.” You announced. He whipped his head around, causing him to almost hit it on the door.

“H-Hey, Y/n!” He scratched the back of his neck and you eyed him suspiciously. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much. It’s Bachelor night, are you gonna watch with us?” You swirled your iced coffee in your hand before taking a sip.

“Yeah!” Spider-Man responded. “I mean, uh, well. I will be watching it just not… here.” Peter looked around nervously under the mask, debating if he should just tell you his secret right now. But Tony’s words rang in his head about the danger it could put you in. He watched as you used the straw to mix your coffee even more and nodded to his words.

“You should watch with us,” you suggested. “You can finally meet my best friend, Peter.”

Peter almost collapsed when you suggested that his alter ego should stay for ‘family night.’ You had never hung out with Spider-Man that often, always running around to see other people outside of the compound. The fact that you were inviting him was almost out of character.

“Only if I get to sit next to you, pretty girl,” Peter smirked under the mask getting caught up in the moment, watching you almost spit out your coffee.

“Woah there, Spidey. You’re getting bold over there.”

“Can’t help myself when you’re probably the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen.” You couldn’t help but smile because you assumed who might be under the mask. Getting up from your seat, you walked over to the masked hero and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Maybe I can say the same about you if you just, I don’t know, take this little thing off.” You wrapped your fingers around the edge of the mask and could feel his heartbeat going crazy. Peter gulped as you continued to mess with the mask. It was harmless flirting, right? If he told you he was Spider-Man, it wouldn’t put you in too much danger because you two were just… friends. Right?

“Is that coffee good?” Peter tried to change the topic, now feeling very strange watching you flirt with his alter ego instead of his true self. You removed your arms from him and grabbed your coffee, handing it to him.

“Do you wanna try it? It’s good. Trust.” You reassured him. He grabbed the coffee from your hands and lifted his mask just right under his nose.

As he swirled the straw around to mix the coffee around more, you couldn’t help but notice Spider-Man’s thin lips. How familiar they looked. He brought the straw up to his mouth and took a sip but immediately gagged.

“Is this from Dunkin’?” He asked and you smirked. That was all the information you needed.

— — —

You knocked on Peter’s door. He had texted you earlier, saying he had something important to tell you and it couldn’t be over text or call. You had a feeling that he was finally going to tell you his secret. Peter swung the door open and smiled, cheeks turning pink.

“Hi,” he breathlessly said. You weren’t quite sure why he was out of breath, but you just assumed it was nerves.

“Hi,” you responded back. He let you into his apartment and you followed him to his room. You took in his room, smiling at his dorky Star Wars posters. Walking over to his desk, you noticed a picture of you and him. It was blurry and you were both laughing, your arms wrapped around his neck while his arms were around your waist. “This is new,” you told him, picking the picture up.

“Oh! Yeah,” Peter’s face turned red but he walked up behind you to look at the picture, placing a hand loosely over your hip. “MJ took that picture from a few weeks ago. It’s my favorite.” He smiled down at you, taking in your features as you continued to stare at the frame.

“It’s cute,” you turned around, your breath hitched seeing his face just inches from yours. Your eyes flickered down to his lips, those lips, and it reminded you of why you were here. You set the picture back down and walked away from Peter, already missing the warmth he brought you. Sitting down on his bed, you brought your legs up and he sat down next to you.

“So, I did have something to tell you,” his voice trailed off toward the end and you gave him your undivided attention. “God, this is sorta hard to say.” His hands messed with the end of his covers, shuffling something.

“You’re Spider-Man!” You blurted out. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped as you smacked your hand over your mouth, not expecting to say it so bluntly.

“How did you–”

“Peter, I’m not stupid. You don’t have to recreate the scene where Miley is holding up the Hannah wig to Jesse with your Spider-Man mask,” you gestured your hand to his that was still under the covers. He slowly lifted his hand to reveal the mask from the bed.

“Well, yes I am Spider-Man.” You smiled to yourself, proud that you figured it out by yourself. “But,”

“But?!” You interrupted him. He let out a dry chuckle and shook his head.

“But,” he continued. “That isn’t why I invited you over. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I am so insanely happy you figured out this secret and I feel a weight lifted off my chest. You’re my best friend and–”

“Peter.”

“Yes?”

“You’re rambling.”

“Oh, right, sorry.” He sheepishly smiled and looked at you. How your hair fell perfectly over your shoulder as you ran your hands through it, an anxious tic Peter found you do often.

“I wanted to tell you that…” he spoke slowly as you hung onto every word that came out of his mouth, your heart about to explode from your chest. “I am in love with you.”

The room was silent. You could hear a pin drop. You stared at Peter in disbelief, your brain running a thousand miles an hour.

“Y/n, please say something,” his voice was low, barely coming out as a whisper.

“I…” you started, “I’m in love with you too.” His face broke out into the biggest smile you have ever seen and you mimicked him.

“Really?”

“I mean, you said it yourself. Jesse was so in love with Miley that he knew he was Hannah before she even told him,” you smirked as Peter rolled his eyes.

“Only you would bring up Hannah Montana in the middle of a moment like this,” his hand cupped the side of your face and you smiled sheepishly.

“Only with you,” you closed the gap between the two of you. When you kissed, it truly was like fireworks were going off behind you. You smiled into the kiss, but the fireworks seemed to be getting louder– wait what?! “Do you hear that?” You pulled away from Peter, his eyes half closed.

“Mm, no,” he leaned in again to kiss you, but you pushed him away.

“Peter, my dad is blasting someone a few blocks away.” You saw out his window and he immediately jumped up.

“I’m so sorry to leave right now but–”

“Go get ‘em, Spidey.” You winked at him and he smiled. He put on his mask and took off his hoodie to reveal the suit.

“Will you be here when I get back?” He asked, his eyes pleading for an answer.

“Is Hannah Montana one of the best Disney Channel shows?” Peter rolled his eyes.

“On second thought, you can go home,” he was about to climb out the window before you pulled him back.

“Yes, I will be here. You,” you poked his chest, “be safe.” You lifted his mask and kissed him one more time and Peter melted into the kiss.

“I could get used to this,” he mumbled against your lips, but you pulled away making him frown.

“Peter.” You said sternly.

“Yes, sweetheart?” “Go help my dad, idiot."

“On it!” And with that, Peter swung away. This really was the life and he just had to hold on tight.

#peter parker #spiderman #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #spiderman x reader #tom holland

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flowershines · 4 months

Text

closer cat fight

summary: Being the 8th member of Enhypen means that you get to spend time with people that actually make you feel special but little does everyone know that during most of those times your on your knees in front of them as you pleasuring them everyday.

warnings: smut, mentions of sex

< masterlist >

“Well it doesn’t help that your clumsy ass kept falling over my foot every five seconds.” Jay exclaimed loudly to the man who you had been walking next to since the concert ended, “It’s not my fault you can tell your rights from your lefts, use your brain.” the man next to you barked back. “Say that shit to my face again.” Jay stopped in his tracks to face the man while walking closer to him, almost to the point he could feel Jay’s breath on the tip of his nose. “Use. Your. Bra-” Not letting the man finish his sentence, Jay pounced himself on the man swinging at his face leaving a dark bruise on his eye right next to the mole on his nose. You started to run to the dressing room where the other members were laying on the couches; relaxing, slamming the door open you caught everyone’s attention. “Jay and Sunghoon are fighting.” You exclaimed out of breath just as you heard grunting and yelling in the background, the members wasted no time and started to run to the two. “Shit.” You had heard Heeseung mumble under his breath as the punches from the other hall had gotten louder, “Break it up, break it up.” he said as he tried to pull them away from each other. Jake had moved behind you to grab onto Jay to try and pull him away as Heeseung and Jungwon tried to pull Sunghoon away from Jay, meanwhile you, Sunoo, and Ni-ki just stared at the two. Blood ran along the side of Jay’s face as some of the blood traveled down to his lip; resting on it, Sunghoon had his hair messily laid over his eyes as the left one started to swell while his knuckles were beaming bright red from the sudden change of pressure on them. “The hell is wrong with you two?!” Heeseung scolded the two of them pushing his hands out; preventing them from hurting each other even more, “Jake and Y/n take Jay into that room, we will take care of Sunghoon. Sunoo and Ni-ki, go get first aid kits for each of us.” everyone nodded.

Walking in front of them you held the door open for the both of them as Jake helped Jay sit on the chair, “I got it.” Jay said full of anger causing Jake to back up shaking his head back and forth. “Just trying to help, man.” He simply stated sitting on the chair opposite to his friend as you stood against the wall in between the two, waiting for Sunoo or Ni-ki to hurry up with the first aid kits. Sighing to yourself you looked at how beat up your friend had gotten and started to feel bad about everything even though there was really nothing you could have done to prevent the situation from happening, the sound of your phone going off from your back pocket pulled everyone’s attention away from their thoughts and now on you. Pulling out your phone you saw the contact photo of Heeseung as well as a text saying ‘what happened?’ followed by another text saying ‘Sunghoon hasn’t been saying anything except to ask you’, “Who is it?” Jake asked, tilting his head towards the side looking at you with concern. “It was just Heeseung asking what happened, nothing to worry about.” Finishing your sentence Jay looked up at you with shimmering eyes; his tears made his under eyes and the tip of his nose turn a light pink color, by the way his eyes tried to contain his tears you could tell he was trying to act all tough but on the inside he wanted to break down and start sobbing. “Jake, I can take care of Jay for right now, can you go see where Ni-ki and Sunoo are with the first aid kits?” After nodding his head you finally texted Heeseung back ‘they were just arguing about their placements on stage, then things got physical.’ walking over to Jay, you sat down next to him opening your arms. He turned to you and let his head nuzzle into your neck the longer he rested his head on your neck you started to hear a faint cry while rubbing his back the door opened with Jake holding the first aid kit, Jay had heard the door open causing him to lift his head up and quickly wipe his tears away. “Ni-ki and Sunoo both went to the dorms with Jungwon, how are you holding up?” He asked, walking closer to Jay while opening the small container filled with bandaids and other assentails, “As best as I can be right now.” a small smile tried to appear from the corner of his mouth but failed to reappear a few seconds later. Taking out the alcohol pad; Jake placed his arm out to you waiting for you to take it as well as a couple of band aids to stop the bleeding, grabbing the items from his hands. You placed the band aids on your thighs as you opened up the packaging of the alcohol pad while handing Jake the trash, so that way he can throw it away when he gets up because you would still be taking care of Jay.

Slowly placing the thin cloth on the side of his face he hissed from the sudden sharp pain coming from his open cut, “I know, I’m sorry. But it is going to clean it.” you said while rubbing his shoulder. You could tell that he didn’t like the feeling; who would, his eyebrows were knitted together, eyes squeezed shut, and his nose was all scrunched up. Finishing up cleaning his cut you passed the trash to Jake once more and opened the package to the band aids while softly trying to place them on the cut trying not to be too harsh that it would hurt, “That’s good for now, when we get back to the dorms we can check on it again. Clean it better than just what the first aid had.” you explained pulling out your phone to check in on Heeseung and Sunghoon in the room across from you. ‘How is it going over there?’ Not even a few seconds pass by and your phone already dings ‘We are just finishing up, about to head back to the dorms. What about you guys?’ ‘We are all done, just about to leave. Make sure to stay there for a minute while we get Jay to the car, don’t want another outbreak to happen.’ Putting your phone back in your pocket you started talking to both of them, “Heeseung is going to be heading back to the dorms with Sunghoon soon, so we are going to leave right now. That way we won’t run into them.” They both nodded their heads, Jay stood up and walked over to you while Jake started to walk over to the trash cans placing the empty wrappers in the trash. Walking to the car you figured the guilt started to get a hold of Jay because the whole ride he didn’t say a word and hung his head low while his eyes scanned the woods outside the windows meanwhile Jake was talking your ear off, talking about anything that came to his mind even at one point he started to trace the veins on his hands with his index finger. Pulling into the parking lot you noticed how Jay’s hands laid loose on his lap as his fingers started fidgeting with his nails even occasionally biting them as well, walking into the dorms you noticed how the band aid you placed on the cut started to leak through and started dripping down his face once more.

“I’m gonna head to the bathroom with Jay, to clean up his cut again. I got it from here.” Jake nodded as he walked past the two of you and headed towards his room, ushering Jay into the bathroom he placed down the lid of the toilet seat and sat down on top of it as his head still hung low staring at his hands. Placing your thumb under his chin you pushed his head up to look you in the eyes, “Don’t beat yourself up about it, I know you are. You both are best friends. I know you and I know him, you both will come around and apologize. Maybe not now but it will definitely happen.” “It’s my fault, I know it is. I need to apologize to him when he gets here-” cutting him off you held onto his shoulders to stop him from ranting on further. “No. Not now at least, do it tomorrow. Gives you both time to cool off.” He nodded as you released your finger from his chin as you grabbed a cloth from under the sink, running it under the cold water. Taking off the band aid it looked like it had gotten worse, he stood up and stood next to you in the mirror as he looked at his bleeding cut but as he turned his head you noticed a bruise that formed on his chest. Making sure your eyes didn’t deceive you, you pulled his shirt down a little more only to notice that the bruising had gotten worse as well as other cuts along his body, “Geez, Jay. Why don’t you just hop in the shower while I get all the medicine and other essentials out.” you turned around before you could even see him nodding his head but the sound of the water running behind you made you know that he had heard you. Grabbing some items from under the sink you placed them on the ground next to where you were kneeling, filling up both of you hands you went to turn around still kneeling to tell him the you were going to get an ice pack and dry clothes for when he gets out but was only met face to face with his dick through the glass slide in door. Quickly turning around you softly apologized “I-i’m sorry, I was going to get you clean clothes as w-well as an ice pack for when you get out.” you told him quickly while rushing out of the bathroom fast enough so he wouldn’t see your embarrassed state.

Walking into the kitchen you saw Sunghoon resting up against the island rubbing his temple, “You okay? How bad did you get hurt?” you walked over to him immediately rushing towards his tired figure. Placing your finger along the band aid on his arm he just watched the way you would touch him, his fingers came down to your hands holding them for reassurance, “I’m fine, if anything I more likely hurt Jay more than he hurt me. Speaking of how is he?” he asked looking anywhere but your eyes as shame filled his aura. “He’s doing okay, cleaning the cuts in the shower. ‘Cause of your long ass nails.” You giggled at your own comment as a smile started to appear on his lips, walking over to the freezer he followed closely behind you. “Whatcha doing?” He asked getting closer to you, “Getting an ice pack and clothes for Jay once he gets out of the shower.” nodding his head he whined “How come Heeseung didn’t give me any of this treatment? He gave me a band aid and said I was good.” a pout appeared on his face resting you hand on his back you started to move your hand in circular motions giving him immediate relaxation. “Oh, you poor baby. I’ll help you too, don’t worry. Why don’t you get in the shower with Jay then.” You stated jokingly as you headed to Jay’s bedroom, turning around and he wasn't by your side. Figuring he had still been in the kitchen waiting for you there was talking a room away from you, Heeseung had probably come out to check on him as you were still picking out clothes for Jay you had grabbed a loose black t-shirt, white and black shorts, and boxers. Walking to the bathroom you had noticed no one was in the kitchen just then instant laughter filled the bathroom; no way he took your joke literally, knocking on the door you hear Sunghoon’s voice say a soft “come in'' covering your eyes you placed your hand over you eyes; shielding you from any possible thing you could’ve possible seen. Opening the door slightly you slid in not opening the door fully for their privacy as your back turned against them you placed Jay’s clothes on top of the toilet seat as placed all the medical items you placed before on the sinks outer shelf, “What about my clothes, Y/nie?” Sunghoon asked from behind you “R-right.” walking out of the bathroom once more you shut the door behind you and took a deep breath. Walking into Sunghoon’s room Jake was laying on his bed waiting for Sunghoon, “Sung- wait Y/n what are you doing in here?” he asked, looking at you sitting up from his spot on the bed leaving wrinkling sheets underneath him. “He’s in the shower and needs clothes.” “Wait but I thought Jay was in the shower.” grabbing the clothes he needed you answered his question as you left shutting the door behind you. “He is.”

Walking back into the bathroom this time you placed Sunghoon’s clothes on top of the ledge on the toilet, as your back still faced them you asked “Anything else?” “Yeah, can you check my cuts I want to make sure that they are looking fine.” you heard Jay say from behind you “But-” “Please, Y/n.” he begged causing you to take in a deep breath mentally preparing yourself for the situation you are about to face. Slowly turning around you faced Jay who had his wet hair sticking to his forehead on top of his cut, moving your eyes down his body to scan across for any more cuts you couldn’t help but notice how his abs shimmered due to the water. Sunghoon had watched as your eyes traveled further down, “I think his cuts stopped at his chest, Y/nie. Looking further down, for what?” “N-nothing. I wasn’t looking down. I was just looking at his injuries thank you very much.” you swiftly finished “Mhm, i don’t think there are any injuries on his dick.” a smirk appeared on his lips as Jay’s cock twitched from the thought of you staring at his dick. “But good thing you’re not the only one that enjoys it.” Your eyes traveled down as you saw his cock becoming hard with every second that passed by, “Y/nie, you keep giving Jay a special treatment today. What about me?” your eyes looked at him up and down to your surprise he was already rock hard while staring at you. You would be lying if you said that you weren’t wet because having two hot men staring at you both dripping wet and naked; sounds like a dream, “Why don’t you come in Y/n, clean up yourself too.” thinking about it Jay interrupted your thoughts. “Yeah Y/n, please come in. You took care of me, let me help you.” Nodding back at the man you started to take off your shirt leaving you in your bra as the two men stared in awe, “If I get in no funny business though.” you demanded causing them both to nod. Before any more movements you questioned them, “I thought you two weren’t good with each other?” you asked “We’ll solve or argue more about the problem later.” Sunghoon commented as you started to strip off your pants, you were feeling a bit nervous since you had never been close in this way with the two of them before, “Can you both turn around?” you asked fiddling with your hands “Yeah.” one said “For sure.” the other said picking up your head you were faced with two muscular backs facing you. Finally stripping off your bra and underwater you slid past the glass door to the bathroom, while scotching past the two of them to go right underneath the hot water. Instant relief fell from your head to the bottom of your toes “Okay.” you said as both of their figures turned towards you as Sunghoon’s eyes immediately started to scan your body from head to toe, “You’re gorgeous Y/n.” Jay said walking closer to your figure his eyes never leaving yours. His hand traveled up past your face to brush your wet hair behind your ear while sliding his hand down to your shoulder slowly rubbing his finger back and forth in a southing manner, “Hoon if you have never seen a girl this way just say that, your actions give it away.” he snickered to himself as he stood by your side. “I have.” Was his short and simple answer as Jay’s hand moved down to your back rubbing circles on your back, meanwhile Sunghoon was constantly glancing from your eyes to your tits to your cunt. You couldn’t blame him though because you were staring at his aching cock, as you had felt Jay’s cock laying on the side of your upper thigh. Before you got the chance to move over a hand started to wrap around you waist turning your body towards him, eventually turning around face to face with him his fingers ran through his wet hair that would stay in their spot due to the water. Leaning down closer to you he placed his lips together; kissing your temple as he trailed down to your lips then neck then further down, the kisses he left on your neck felt desperate for more that later on; would surely leave marks.

His kisses feather all over your body as another pair of hands appeared on your back, the amount of pleasure you were receiving from his tender kisses made you make small moans. Placing your hand over your mouth trying to contain them a hand wrapped around your wrist pulling your hand away from your wet and desperate lips, “Don’t hide those beautiful noises from us, princess.” a husky voice said from behind your ear; the figure was so close you that you could feel the breath of his every word and it comforted you oddly enough that you never wanted this moment to ever end. Jay started mumbling small praises on your skin as he kneeled down to start kissing your thighs as your pussy clenched around nothing but desperation, pleas fell from your lips as Sunghoon started to move your hair to one side of your neck while attacking the other side with kisses. “Doing so good for us pretty girl.” Jay praised as his lips found their way up to your cunt “Please.” you begged them for more as a breathy moan echoed through the room, the kissing on your neck suddenly stopped only to be replaced by a hand pulling your head back to face the figure behind you. “So pretty.” He said giving you a spider-man kiss as the feeling of ache and desperation filled through your body the feeling of him twitching against your ass pulled you out of your thoughts while he whispered a whine “Can’t help it, you do this to me.” his grip on your throat and waist tightened as he felt embarrassed due to his erect cock. “Can I?” A voice down by your legs asked looking up at you in your eyes, as you gave him instant approval he wasted no time by moving directly down to suck on your clit while lifting up one of your legs placing it over his shoulder to give him more access. “Taste so fucking good.” He mumbled on your cunt sending vibrations through your whole body, the man behind you started to feel jealousy fill through him cause of your praises to the other man. Feeling the sudden pain on your ass made your head instantly turn around to the man standing behind you “This. Body. Is. Fucking. Mine.” he demanded smacking your ass with every word, “Like to see you try.” Jay cockily replied to the man only adding more fuel to the fire. Pulling you away from the man he pushed your helpless desperate body against the wet cold shower wall while leaning down to your ear whispering “Can I?” whispering back a small broken, “Yes.” he wrapped his hand around his red and aching cock giving it a few strokes just before shoving his heat inside yours. A breath of relief was heard as another breath was heard from the opposite side of you but the sound of the noise was not one from relief but rather a sigh of jealously, turning towards the sound Jay was standing there with his aching cock in his hand as his hair messily laid over his eyes and forehead. His eyebrows knitted together from discomfort while his eyes were tranced on the way his best friend was pleasuring you, “So fucking tight, just couldn’t wait to be fucked; couldn’t you?” Sunghoon asked as a smirk grew from one side of his face to the other eventually being placed between his teeth. You tried to tell him how good he was doing and praise him about it but the only thing that came out of your helpless mouth was a small whine only heard by him, leaning closer to you his cock was pushed deeper into your cunt “Make such pretty noises, love.” he whispered while placed his head in the crevice of your neck. “Princess.” Jay whined moving closer to you while his lips brushed against your as he brought you into a passionate kiss, moaning from the man behind you; fucking you only made Jay want to fuck you better than his friend ever could. Moans filled the small room while the glass wall and mirrors were no longer clear but instead filled with condensation from the heat of the shower as well as the heat from having sex, you turned to look at the water dripping down on the slide door and couldn’t help the way your fingers traced the water all the way down till you could no longer reach it from your current standing position.

His cock pulsated inside of you while your eyes were slightly open watching the way Jay played with the buds of your nipples, small swears and an occasional praise would be said from the man behind you. Jay was the complete opposite of Sunghoon; Sunghoon fucked rough and fast while occasionally praising you but not in a good or bad way ‘Just like that you fucking slut’, meanwhile Jay fucked you gentle and caring sometimes he wouldn’t even cum but would stop because you did, he puts your pleasure before his as he praises you for everything you would do ‘Yes princess, keep going. You look so gorgeous right now.’ Of course they both treated you like you were the only girl in the world for them but you couldn’t have yourself thinking about them every day like this or else the way you feel towards them would change; maybe it’s to late for that though, “So fucking beautiful.” Sunghoon grunted while squeezing each side of your face with one hand. His words helped you get out of your head; they always did, his hand snaked around your waist as he held you tighter than before while fucking up into your tiny cunt like a touch starved man. Your hand snaked down along Jay’s abs while looking into his eyes as your eyes stared into his you noticed how his pupils grew bigger than normal, he whispered a small ‘thank you’ as your fingers grazed his aching cock while his lips fell in between his teeth biting hard till his lips turned a light pink. He tried hard to control his noises to the best he can so that way the other members wouldn’t hear anything but on the other hand Sunghoon was louder than you; maybe he wanted them to hear at this point, “Yes love, keep clenching around me like a little bitch in heat.” his hand slithered up to your hair grabbing it and pulling it back till you face him and not Jay. “That’s right, look me in the fucking eyes while I breed this tight cunt.” His grunts and Jay’s moans made you drenched and helping your climax reach closer and closer to you, Jay was fisting his dick like there was no tomorrow; he imagined that he was the one fucking you and not his best friend. The way he would’ve taken care of you making sure you came multiple times before he even would think about his own pleasure, the way he would- “Fuck i’m gonna fucking cum.” his thoughts were cut off by Sunghoon grunting while fucking into you faster than he was before as a moan would be let out as he released inside of you. Not long after you and Jay came at the same time while looking at each other; finishing off, “I’m gonna head to my room gorgeous girl, if you need me just come in.” Sunghoon said while getting out of the shower with his hair still drenched and just simply wrapping a towel around his waist and grabbing his clothes as he exits the door leaving wet footprints on the ground. Turning towards Jay you felt cum start to drip down the back of your thighs causing a small gasp to fall from your lips, Jay smirked “Let’s get you cleaned up princess.” he smiled bringing you in closer till you could feel his chest on your back. He wrapped his arms around your bare chest as he whispered in your ear “Thank you so much.” while kissing your cheek, you turned to the side barely being able to see him “I’m sorry, I didn’t really acknowledge you as much I wanted to trust me I d-” he cut you off by placing a passionate kiss on your lips. “Don’t apologize, I am thankful enough that you even looked at me in that way. Plus I still came, didn’t I?” He asked already knowing the answer while you nodded your head at his question, “See then we are all good but next time I’ll fuck you better than he ever could.” he cockily said causing a shade of pink to appear across your face. “Shouldn’t we be getting out?” You asked changing the topic “Not yet, wanna stay here with you for a bit longer. Can I?” You nodded as he hugged your warm body tighter causing a smile to spread cross your lips.

tags list:

@luvyev @honestimage @siria000023 @tooshyshaa @heeseungshim @juliesblogs @wonpoem @weyukinluv @cha0thicpisces @jungwonloveer @zouzie008 @wooziswife @jwonistic @wonniesdoll @wonki-luv @en-gene2 @deobitifull @cupidhee @namdeyuoi @hanienie @gfjydhufvh @nyfwyeonjun @sangzhi4 @peonywon @caravm @heeseungsbabyy @sunoosets @anwonie @jungwonnieee @certified-niki-lover @aprilsssinterest

#smut #fluff #enha x reader #enhypen smut #heeseung smut #jake smut #jay smut #jungwon smut #sunghoon smut #sunoo smut

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stuck-writing-sickos · 3 months

Text

In Poor Taste [P4]

[Series Link]

(Yandere × F! Reader)

[Warning: misogyny, explicit language, violence, harrassment, bodily harm]

(A/N: i see some of yall find Lukas so offputting 🎯yall not rocking with him? Why❤️What for✨️ is it his personality 💕is he vile and disgusting 🥹? do u hate him💋? Do u wanna beat his ass 🫶? )

You were never crazy about spoiled rich men. They were nothing but troubles.

He didn't expect to see a familiar face in the tight, dim, sweaty corner of Tokyo. He regretted going to this silly punk rock concert in the first place, but he did say this morning that he would go to one so he could talk to you about it. Mostly he was set on going because he wanted to try out something new, something to talk about - his peers wouldn't set foot near this underground coffee. It was unfortunate that he had no genuine interest in the music - it was loud and complicated. Unpredictable. The guitar might sound cool, but there wasn't a groove to which he could chill and bob his head or trip balls on mushroom while making out with a stranger. No trippy backdrops here - just the dim, anxiety-inducing colored stage light.

So he was there at a standing table way back, watching the crowd dance and scream. He found it strange - the hair, the makeup, the eccentric clothes. The only thing he would safely get behind was the fishnet and leather skirts that some girl really rocked. Sometimes, the girls over at the States would wear that to bars or theme nights. He liked that. He didn't like the way he feel here - half aroused, half judgemental. He would rather the tight sportwears on tanned blond surfers or yoga instructors. The ones who earned nods and hums and vile comments from his frat brothers were he to kiss and tell. Being attracted to them made him feel normal. Accepted. Approved. He wouldn't be caught dead eyeing these women.

But his friends weren't here, so he got to look. Never tell, though. Or if he did, he would say "oh, they dressed crazy", or "their eyeliner were scary", or "their piercings freak me out".

Deciding that it was time for another beer, Lukas begrudgingly went to the bar again. He felt anxious and alone, sticking out like a sore thumb. He earned quite some looks from women, but he couldn't be so sure if they liked what they see or if they could tell he was a poser who only came just to say he did it. He couldn't read their expressions, partly since he was drunk, partly because he was now considering the cultural differences, even if only for a morcel. He was made aware of it most pointedly this morning: the couple faux-pas he made with Sakamoto might have been intentional, but the guy's lack of reaction made him question how big of an insult he had put out there.

Sakamoto made him feel defensive, though Lukas decided not to dwell on it. He wasn't one to feel insecure, especially with guys like that - soft faced and soft-spoken. His big round eyes and sickly skin made him look like a woman, too. At least, Lukas would acknowledge that he was tall. But that was his only saving grace.

He wasn't explicitly aware that he was feeling more territorial over you. It wasn't about you anyway, it was by default. Even in the past, he had done these things - putting down other men to get to women. They were his wingmen, he would justify, they weren't supposed to outshine him. When it was his turn to wingman, he definitely let his brothers dog on him for days. It was common and understandable. If anything, Sakamoto should make ways for him. A girl like you wouldn't suit that guy - he was too uptight and serious. What would two high-strung people do together? You should be with someone who know what a good time is. Also, he saw something Sakamoto didn't - a glimpse of your tattoo. Those family-man wouldn't know how to deal with that. How would he take bring that up to his family? They would freak. Even his sister's "31:25" tattoo freaked his parents out, and they were already the most liberal rich family in his neighborhood.

Yeah, Sakamoto should leave you to him.

Settling in on a barstool, he ordered another beer, then repeat himself when the bartender couldn't quite make out what he was trying to say.

Lukas let his eyes scan the people sitting near him. Only a few, he noticed. It wasn't a crazy crowd to begin with.

After this beer, he'd go home.

As the bartender come back with his bottle, Lukas noticed something he didn't expect. From the crowd, you emerged, making your way toward the bar. He blinked, trying to see if he was mistaken.

No... that was definitely you.

All black from head to toes, you treaded silently like a death omen, your sleek heels clicking. Your short sleeved turtle neck and your tight pants started a heat within his chest. Your face wasn't any different, though - just the usual look. No crazy eyeliner, no bold dark lipstick. Seemed like you did not come here to impress the crowd.

You didn't notice him. Hopping onto a stool at the other end with your back facing him, you ordered something. You knew Japanese, or just enough to get by. A lot of expats got to that point eventually.

Lukas debated on confronting you about your lies - you said you would be at dinner with a friend. Or maybe he could do that tomorrow.

He didn't peg you for such a casual liar.

Lukas hatched another plan: he could observe you, and see how deep your lies could go. Sipping on his beer, he followed your movement. You adjusted in your chair, still with that calm manner you carried yourself. Then, his eyes rested on your skin left bare by the bold backless top. You looked good, but clueless. Would you know the implications of such a shirt? The way your body moved in it... men would think you were asking for troubles. Bad men. Asshole men who didn't know they were pigs. At least he had the decency to admit that he was a pig, but he was an honest pig who respected women. He was a pig who knew to ask once, then if rejected a couple more time just to make sure, then he would leave it alone. Most pigs wouldn't know to even ask.

You sipped on your pink cocktail. That was cute. Your right now style reminded him of those ravebabes he met during spring break, but you were more subtle and quiet. Your movement were less urgent, and your clothes were less exposing. It was a nice feminine touch.

Your moment of rest didn't seem to last long. A man had chosen to sit down right next to you. This man was lanky, dressed in a very unbuttoned black button-down. He started to chatter, first in Japanese, then in English. Another sleazeball trying to test out his games. Lukas wondered when would be appropriate to interfere.

Your body language made it clear you weren't interested, but not afraid. Immediately covering your drink, you tried to turn your body away. The man seemed not to mind. If anything, his speech seemed more excited, his hands moving around like a stupid puppet. Desperate, Lukas thought, that was not a good look.

Deciding your half-finished drink wasn't safe anymore, you laid it on the bar and stepped down, trying to leave. Upon this, the man caught your wrist, forcing you to turn his way. Lukas' stomach twisted - here it was, the moment where he step it and scare off this asshole.

A loud, off-tune note shred through the music. Lukas looked at the stage. The band played on, but it seemed there was a technical issues with the guitarist.

The momentary distraction cost him his chance to intervene. When he turned his eyes back to you, he was hit with a strange scene - in a swift movement you twisted your arms around the man's and grabbed onto his forearm, forcing it down so hard he stumbled. Your face, now turned sideway during the commotion, was eerily calm when you talked. Lukas heard "Sir... I said no."

The man said something in Japanese, something that sounded bitter. Probably a curse word. Lukas jumped off his seat just as the stranger swung with his free arm to slap you across the face. The bartender seemed to have decided that whatever was going on was enough, and she rushed to you. Before she could, you clenched your idle fist and landed an uppercut so hard the harrasser let out a cartoonish "oof", his limp fingers releasing you as he stumbled backward, hitting right against the bouncer who appeared as if from the shadow.

Something in Lukas awakened in that moment. Your stone cold feature and your bruised knuckle left him slack-jawed. He stepped closer, intending to ask if you were okay. Once again, he was interrupted.

"Sir and ma'am, please explain what happened", the burly bouncer commanded. The pathetic guy excitedly tried to speak, but you only crossed your arms and watched. Your eyes was set on the sad attempt at vidication, but you were patient to let him finish his spiel.

"Is it true that you attacked this gentleman unprovoked, ma'am?"

"I apologize for the commotion, sir", your bowed, hands now hanging right atop your knees. Pulling yourself back up, you continued, "this young man seemed to have taken my rejection poorly, and he had slapped me across my face. I understand that my punch was unseemly, but I did that in an attempt to protect myself. He had gotten ahold of my arms and hit me, so I was fearing for the worst."

The bouncer's scowled, but he decided that he had heard it all. His big hand grabbed onto the stranger's wrist, and together they exited out the backdoor.

The fight definitely grabbed some attention. Lukas stood watching you look around, soaking in the side eyes. Taking in a breath, you dusted yourself off and hopped back onto a barstool. The thick, moist, cigarette-dense air fell heavy in Lukas' lungs. He felt his heart drumming, his body hot from an excitement he couldn't surpress. Something about the way you fought hit him like ecstasy.

He wondered if your punch hurts.

Lost in the unprecedented euphoria, he could only gaze at you as some women came up and asked if you were okay. You reassurred them with a familiar smile, one he had seen you wore at work. Your voice was soft again as you thanked the chirpy crowd for their concerns.

Lukas didn't say anything to you that night. He went home and let the image of you and your victorious knuckle bruises lull him to sleep.

___

"Do you need me to find out who he is?"

Yuki wasn't happy when he asked that. The sight of your bandaged hand and the medical patch on your face stirred his stomach with guilt.

"No, of course not", you shook your head, "I'm fine! Really, it was nothing."

Yuki pursed his lips. The lunch he packed himself suddenly tasted like cardboard.

He tried to make it easier by reminding himself that at least Lukas didn't push to have lunch with you today. In fact, the guy had been stoic for the entire morning. Even though you weren't around, Lukas had somehow been working on his computer silently instead of sprawling on his chair like a slacker. Perhaps you had reminded him about his attitudes at work?

If you did, Yuki was impressed that the newbie knew to listen. He didn't think that kid would be the type to do so.

"Sakamoto, please don't worry. I had fun, and your set was great."

He looked down. He knew he wasn't directly to blame, though the guilt never went away- he was well-acquainted with this sort of harrassment. Right in his childhood home he had witnessed worse. What grated him the most was the silence afterward. The way his mother's frail form would hunch, casting a bent shadow on the shoji, her hands cupping her face. He was too young and small to do anything but stand in the hallway and watch as she eventually moved, mute and rigid. He heard the folds of her clothes creasing against one another and the floorboard barely creaking under her feet.

She couldn't have fought back. She was sickly. When he grew into his middle school uniform, Yuki tried to fight on her behalf but his teenage body bounced off his father's sturdy chest. His father was a merciless man, strong like the grey stone wall surrounding their mansion. Yuki remembered the disappointment in the old man's voice as he lamented "my only son is emotional like a woman, and weak like one, too."

"I see...", he said to you, his voice weary. He didn't know what else to say. He didn't want to bring up the fact that when he saw your tug of war, he let his hand slip across the strings, messing up the song. He had planned to jump off the stage, but his lead singer had tugged on his sleeve and eyed the bouncer who was already coming your way. What was there to tell you? He couldn't say that he had almost done something. Either he did something or he did nothing. In this case, he did nothing. Yuki tried to find solace in the fact that you held your own, but he couldn't. You shouldn't have to, not right in front of a friend.

Another wave of bitterness hit him when he remembered Lukas standing there watching, hesitant to interfere, tall and awkward like an useless telephone pole. Yuki wondered if he should bring Lukas up, but he decides against it. He didn't want you to feel worse - a friend and a junior watching you getting hit, that would not brighten anyone's day. He felt sorry for you to have to deal with two cowards.

Well, if he couldn't feel better, the least he could do was to keep you from feeling worse. He had been of no help with his stupid sad face. After all, this should not be about him. Yuki shamefully put his feelings in the corner as he tried to think of something that would cheer your up.

"Hey, would you like to check out a cat cafe this weekend with me?"

Your eyes lit up.

"Really?"

"Yeah. It's right down the street from where I live. I have been meaning to visit, but it would be awkward to go alone."

Yuki already visited. He liked their cakes and tea. Still, he saw no harm in a little white lie to make his invitation seem more natural. He would hate for you to get the idea that he felt obliged to make up for what happened. That would be a transactional spin on what was supposed to be a gesture of friendship.

"That would be so nice! I also was hoping to relax a little lately..."

The knot in his chest unraveled at that.

___

You were intimidated by Lukas' switch-up. Since morning, he was quiet. Upon seeing your bruises, he asked what happened, to which you gave a vague respond about tripping on the sidewalk. No more inappropriate attempts of flirting nor small talks - he appeared to be engrossed in the tasks you handed to him. You found it simultaneously nice and unnerving, so a part of you were glad that you were scheduled to teach until lunch. You were worried that if you were near him for too long, you wouldn't be able to resist asking him what triggered this change.

You thought of asking him to join you and Sakamoto for lunch, remembering the agreement you had made the day prior. Though, by the time you reached the lounge, he was getting ready to leave. "Please don't mind me", he said with an oddly soft smile, "I need to pick up something at the convenient store nearby. I hope you and Mr. Sakamoto have a good meal". His out of character veneered grin hit you like a brick.

By the time afternoon rolled by, Lukas occupied only a corner of your mind. You were mowing through the last days of school, teaching, writing, planning the end of year school festival. When you landed from the whirlwind and came back to the lounge for your last hour, you barely noticed the junior colleague who was still hunched over his laptop. Brushing past him, you got settled. Your tense body completely dropped its guards as you melted in your chair.

Your gaze met with a bottle of cold green tea in your cubicle. From the thin condensation, you figured it hadn't been around for long.

"Afternoon", Lukas' voice echoed from the other side of your corner, "you seemed tired. It's not much, but I hope you feel a little more refreshed drinking that."

"Mr. Lukas... it's so nice of you. I'm embarrassed to not have anything in return."

He didn't move to look at you.

"Don't mind it! You had a long day."

His tone was cool and distant, a long shot from the flirtatiousness you had to suffer so far.

"Really, thank you, Mr. Lukas. I do like this brand a lot, so this definitely made me feel better."

There was a quick pause before he spoke again: "I'm glad."

He moved at last, turning to you. You missed his gaze as you twisted open the cap and took a sip.

"If you don't mind, I would love your opinion on the powerpoints I made so far."

"Of course", you nodded, rolling your chair his way. He arched back, giving you the space to take a look

Your attention was on the mistakes he had made. You had a flaw: you were a perfectionist. Despite your lack of vocal reaction, you knew you could be critical when you saw someone take over your work incorrectly. It comes with expertise. Still, you had trained yourself to manage the uneasiness and maintain an encouraging attitude - something your close friends called "softening the blow".

You often forget, though, that your face could betray you.

"Okay, you did great so far", you said, neglecting to meet his eyes, "but I want to make some notes here. Would you mind?"

"Not at all."

For someone so surprisingly tough, you lacked an eye for details. You didn't see the look on him as he watched your hardening face and bandaged knuckle as if he was starving.

#yandere #yandere imagines #yandere male #yandere oc #yandere reader insert #yandere x reader #masochistic #idk #we rocking with this vibe or no?

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fgumi · 17 days

Text

ꕥ best friends; — jake drabble, wc: 1.1k, genre: fluff, humor, romance

it all started with the casual mentions.

at first, it was during lives—small, offhand comments jake would throw out while chatting with fans.

“yeah, i hung out with them yesterday,” he’d say with a soft smile, “we went to the park and grabbed coffee. it was a lot of fun.”

fans would ask, “who’s them? are they another idol?” but jake would just chuckle and say, “nah, just a friend. but they’re really cool. you’d like them.”

it became a regular occurrence. no live was complete without jake mentioning this mysterious friend. the fans were curious, sure, but the way he talked about you—his face lighting up every time your name came up—made it impossible to dislike you. even though no one had seen you, it was clear you made him happy.

then came the interviews.

during one, the host asked, “jake, what do you do in your free time? any hobbies?”

jake smiled that signature smile, and you could see the spark in his eyes before he even answered. “i usually hang out with my best friend. we’ve known each other for a while, and we always find something fun to do. honestly, they’re the funniest person i know.”

the rest of the group exchanged knowing glances, with sunghoon trying—and failing—to hide his laugh behind his hand. fans had already started to pick up on jake’s constant mentions of you, and the curiosity only grew.

in another interview, when asked about the most important people in his life, jake answered without missing a beat: “my family, my members, and my best friend. they’ve been with me through everything.”

at concerts, too, it became a thing.

mid-ment, while catching his breath between songs, jake would always find a way to bring you up. it was almost like second nature to him.

“so, my friend—y’all know who i’m talking about by now,” he’d say with a laugh. the crowd would cheer, and jake’s grin would widen. “they said i should stop making funny faces on stage because it ‘ruins my cool image.’ what do you think, engenes? should i stop?”

the crowd would erupt in a chorus of “no!” and jake would laugh, shaking his head. “see? i told them no one cares.”

the fans had mixed reactions at first. some were disgruntled, wondering why jake was always talking about this one friend. but over time, it became obvious that talking about you made him light up in a way nothing else did. the more he mentioned you, the more fans fell in love with you too, despite never having seen your face. you made jake happy, and that was enough.

and then came the everland vlog.

when jake told you he had finally gotten permission from management to bring you along for a vlog at everland, you were excited. after all, you’d been best friends for years, and the idea of spending the day at a theme park together sounded perfect.

“alright, let’s go to everland!” jake said into the camera, his voice filled with enthusiasm as he stood next to you at the park’s entrance. he held your hand as you both stood outside the gates, and you didn’t think much of it—it was just jake being his usual affectionate self.

“this is gonna be the best day ever, right?” he asked, turning to you with that bright grin that could light up a room.

you laughed, nodding. “yeah, can’t wait to eat all the food.”

as the day went on, you were having the time of your life. you went on roller coasters, ate cotton candy, and laughed when jake screamed on the drop tower. but what you didn’t notice—what literally everyone else did—was how jake couldn’t stop staring at you. every time you laughed, his eyes softened. every time you smiled, he smiled too. and the camera caught it all.

“you’re not even scared of these rides?” jake asked after you both got off the roller coaster, his voice incredulous.

“nah,” you said, shrugging. “i love them.”

jake shook his head, smiling. “you’re crazy. but i guess that’s why i like you.”

you thought he was just being playful, so you nudged him with your shoulder. “and you’re just a big scaredy-cat.”

“hey! i wasn’t that bad,” jake defended, but the smile never left his face.

when the vlog was uploaded, it didn’t take long for the comments to flood in.

“jake is so obvious… he’s totally in love with them.”

“free jake from the best friend zone! it’s painful to watch!”

“they’re so cute together, omg. i can’t even be mad.”

you were scrolling through the comments that night, confused by the sheer number of people pointing out things you hadn’t even noticed. jake? in love with you? that didn’t make sense… did it?

you couldn’t shake the thought, so you texted him, asking if he could come over.

when he arrived, his usual bright energy filled the room. “what’s up?” he asked, flopping down on the couch next to you.

you hesitated for a moment, still processing everything you’d seen online. finally, you took a deep breath and asked, “jake… do you like me?”

jake blinked, caught off guard, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. then, with a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair, looking at you with fond exasperation. “yeah,” he admitted, “i’ve been dropping hints for ages, but you’re kinda oblivious, you know that?”

your eyes widened in surprise. “wait—so the everland vlog… was that supposed to be a date?”

a small smile tugged at jake’s lips. “well, yeah,” he said softly. “i thought it was pretty obvious.”

you sat in silence for a moment, processing everything. jake waited, watching you carefully, wondering what you would say next.

and then, out of nowhere, you blurted, “yes.”

jake blinked, confused. “wait… yes to what?”

“yes to being your partner,” you said, a shy smile spreading across your face.

his expression went from confused to overjoyed in an instant. his face split into the widest grin you’d ever seen, and before you could even react, he tackled you, pulling you into a tight hug and peppering kisses all over your face.

“oh my god, finally!” jake exclaimed, laughing between kisses. “i thought i’d be stuck in the best friend zone forever.”

you giggled, wrapping your arms around him. “i’m sorry i didn’t notice sooner.”

“it’s okay,” he said, resting his forehead against yours, his voice soft and full of affection. “you notice now, and that’s all that matters.”

as you both sat there, wrapped up in each other, you couldn’t help but laugh at how clueless you’d been. but one thing was certain now: jake had been more than just a best friend for a while—and you were more than ready to take that next step together.

disclaimer: this, in no way, reflects the idol. this is purely fiction. ✧ comments are appreciated! ✧ !nanamlist

#enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fluff #jake sim #sim jaeyun #jake x reader #jake fluff #jaeyun fluff #jaeyun x reader #!nanawrites

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cowboymcflurry · 4 days

Text

To Be Alone With You | Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: After you had spent an entire rainy Saturday afternoon playing video games on your new Nintendo with your best friend Eddie, he wants to head back home to spend some time practicing the guitar, when the rain turns into a violent storm. He agrees to stay a little while longer when a power outage suddenly plunges the room into darkness…

word count: 1,7k words

includes: first kiss, fluff, making out, friends to lovers, no description of reader, no use of y/n, Eddie is a shy cutie, reader is oblivious, reader’s gender is not mentioned, Eddie gets a boner whoopsie

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“You are the worst person to play Gyromite with, Munson!” you laughed.

“It’s not my fault you can’t communicate!”

“I can’t communicate?” you gasped dramatically. “At least I don’t confuse the buttons - there are TWO!”

Eddie rolled his eyes, laughing out loud while nudging you with his elbow.

“Anyways, I gotta get going. I have to practice some more for our show next week. You’re coming right?” he asked.

“Of course I’m coming.” you laughed. “How could I miss that?”

“Good. If I don’t see you there holding up a sign saying ‘Eddie, I want to bear your children’ don’t even bother coming, okay?”

You broke out laughing. “Alright.”

Eddie would say these things sometimes, things that sounded flirty but you knew he didn’t mean them. It was simply his sense of humor.

“Are you guys like going out?” Robin had asked a couple of weeks ago, after school. Your face had immediately gotten hot and red.

“Uh, no, we’re just friends. Good friends, that’s all.” you’d said, while simultaneously imagining what it would be like if you weren’t just ‘good friends’. What it would feel like if he picked you up in his van, and you would go see a movie or get a pizza or do whatever it was that other people your age did, going on dates and stuff. But you knew that Eddie didn’t think of you that way. And you hoped he didn’t know that you in turn did feel about him that way.

Ever since he’d borrowed a piece of paper and a pen from you in Mrs. Marshall’s class you had been under the spell of his dark intoxicating eyes. Then you had run into each other at a concert in Indianapolis, making him realize that you were one of ‘his kind’ as he’d put it. He’d quickly ‘adopted’ you, inviting you to join the Hellfire Club, where you met Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Gareth and Jeff. You never really saw him talking to any girls at school but you knew that a bunch of them had a secret crush on him, whispering about what a great head of hair he had.

Suddenly you heard the rumble of thunder and when you looked out of the window you saw lightning striking in the distance. The storm had gotten worse, the rain violently pounding against your window.

“You sure you don’t want to stay until the storm is over?” you asked, worriedly looking outside. Eddie pulled a goofy grimace.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get home safe. But it’s cute, that you’re worried about me,” he said, winking at you when a loud crash of thunder made him flinch. “Yeah, okay, maybe I’ll wait until it’s over.”

You sat down on your bed, watching the raindrops dripping down your window, when Eddie joined you, sitting at the other end of the bed. Immediately you felt your heart beating faster and when you looked at him, you saw his mouth open, as if he was about to say something, when a lightning bolt illuminated your room for a second, immediately followed by another crash of thunder.

There was a clicking sound and suddenly Eddie and you sat in pitch-black darkness.

“Shit.” you hissed, feeling the hair on your neck stand up.

You heard him rummage through his pockets, when there was another clicking sound, only this time coming from his lighter.

“You have candles or something?” he asked, the flame illuminating his face.

“Uh… Yeah, sure…” you said, watching the flickering light dance off his face for a second too long.

“What?”

“Nothing.” you quickly said, before getting up and stumbling to your desk, on which you’d placed a small candle a couple of months ago. It smelled of fresh laundry and relaxed your busy mind when you were studying for school late into the night. Picking it up you handed it to Eddie, who lit it and then placed it on the window sill right next to you.

“So romantic.” you joked, hoping it would come across the same way it did when Eddie said things like that. But he didn’t laugh. Instead, you saw him looking at the flame, his lips pulling into something that you could best describe as a sad smile.

“Yeah, right?”

“What’s wrong?” you whispered, trying to get him to look at you.

“I don’t know… It’s just…” he slowly began, rubbing his neck.

“What?”

He paused for a moment until he finally met your gaze. His lips slightly parted, as if he wanted to say something only to press them together again. Slowly you reached out for his hand that was loosely placed on his knee, to which he flinched.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to-” you began, but then you felt him clasping your hand with both of his. You felt his thumb drawing circles on the back of your hand, giving you goosebumps which you hoped he didn’t see in the candle-lit room. You’ve never touched his skin before, never deliberately. It was always an accidental brush, that made your face turn hot. But now he held your hand in both of his.

His gaze shot up to your eyes, his thumb continuously stroking the back of your hand.

“I always thought you’d figure it out at some point,” he said softly, his eyes shifting between yours. “But you never did.”

You felt your stomach drop.

“Figure out what?” you whispered.

Another crash of thunder made both of you flinch. After the rumble slowly settled, Eddie bent down over your bed, rummaging through his backpack.

“Here,” he said, placing his headphones on your ears, before he opened his Walkman, turning over the cassette that had been inside and hitting play.

Some keyboard. A guitar riff.

“Lie down,” he whispered, catching you off guard.

“What?”

“Come on, lie down,” he repeated, before blowing out the candle and lying down on your bed, motioning for you to do the same. Reluctantly you did as you were told, lying down next to your best friend you were secretly in love with, while there was a storm raging outside and rain pounding against your window.

You turned your head to the side and caught Eddie watching you listening to the song he had put on, when you realized that he was still holding your hand.

To be something, to be with you Don’t say that you’ll never know

He mouthed the words along, making the back of your head tingle.

Half the time it could seem funny The other half is just too sad This west bound moon’s They rise and fall Lost you and I want you today

Slowly he brought up his other hand to your face, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb, before he gulped and anxiously looked from one of your eyes to the other.

Love to love to love you

You felt your stomach doing a flip. Too many thoughts were racing through your head, but when Eddie propped himself up on his elbows, his face hovering above yours, your mind went blank.

His gaze fell from your lips back to your eyes, his expression nervous, as if he was waiting for some sign, for your permission. Without wasting another second you pulled him down to your face by his collar, planting a short and soft kiss on his lips. When you opened your eyes, you loosened your grip, seeing the surprise in his eyes. For a second you thought you misread things when his lips pulled into a smile.

Slowly he bent down, lifting your chin with both his thumb and his index finger to his mouth. Your noses brushed against each other when he carefully kissed your upper lip, before turning to the lower. Softly you parted his lips with yours, a muffled moan escaping his mouth. Carefully you slid one of your hands up his neck into his hair, while the other was still grasping his collar. You never wanted to let him go and you didn’t know if you ever could. Your kisses slowly grew more passionate, more urgent, as the tip of his tongue slowly found its way to yours, gently brushing it, while his thumb was firmly running along your jawline.

Another crash of thunder made both of you flinch, causing you to break apart from each other, both of you gasping for air.

Eddie’s dark eyes darted from your eyes to your lips, looking both intoxicated and hungry, like an animal that has been starving and finally had gotten to eat. You probably had the same look on your face.

You took off his headphones, slowly propping yourself up on your knees, being less than an inch away from his face. You felt his hand cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing over your lips before pulling you in another passionate kiss. Eddie’s chest pressed against yours and as you felt something hard brush against your thigh another moan escaped his mouth, making him gasp for air and immediately pull away from you.

Red-faced he cleared his throat, trying to avoid your intoxicated gaze. You took a deep breath and looked out the window, realizing that the thunderstorm had moved on. Dizzily you fell back on your back, faintly hearing the beginning of the next song of Eddie’s mixtape playing while staring up at your ceiling.

When you closed your eyes you felt Eddie lying back down beside you.

“I’m in love with you,” he whispered. Your eyes fluttered back open and when you turned to look at him you now found him to be the one looking up at the ceiling.

“I have been for some time now.” he said softly, before clearing his throat, “And I didn’t want to tell you because I was scared it might mess up our friendship.”

You were silent for a few seconds, taking in what he’d just said.

“I’m in love with you too, Eddie.”

His face abruptly turned towards you. Softly, you let your fingers trace his features, his eyebrows, his nose, and his cupid's bow before carefully tracing the curve of his jawline.

“I’m madly in love with you,” you whispered, to which his lips pulled into a wide smile, pulling you closer to him. Your noses brushed against each other, as you looked into each other’s eyes, softly planting kisses on each other’s faces, while the rain continued to pound against your window and the thunder rumbled further in the distance…

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction

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musicforastylesrestaurant · 1 year

Text

The Bath Tub.

my masterlist || ask me anything <3

my blurb masterlist is here.

authors note - this photo is making me go feral and please be aware that this is my first time writing something like this so please be gentle with me :)

word count - 2k

in which, your looking for your husband backstage at his concert, and get directed by a crew member that he’s in his dressing room. things get heated the second you walk into the room, and there’s nothing like a quick quickie in the bathtub.

As you stand backstage at Wembley, the excitement and anticipation in the air are palpable. Your heart flutters with both nerves and pride, knowing that your fiancé, is about to grace the stage and captivate thousands of adoring fans. You can't help but feel a sense of overwhelming love for him, the man who stole your heart and filled your life with joy.

As you wander through the backstage area, you spot Harry's manager, Jeff, bustling about, coordinating last-minute details. With a warm smile, you approach him and ask, "Hey, Jeff, have you seen Harry? I wanted to wish him luck before the show."

Jeff looks up from his clipboard and smiles back, "Oh, hey! Haz in his dressing room. He's just getting ready."

Thanking him, you make your way to Harry's dressing room, the excitement building with each step. As you reach the door, you hesitate for a moment, not wanting to intrude on his pre-show routine. But the thought of seeing him before his big moment is too tempting to resist.

You knock lightly on the door and then slowly push it open. Inside, you hear the faint sound of murmuring. Your heart skips a beat, wondering if you should come back later. But then, you realise it's Harry's voice, and he must be talking to himself or rehearsing.

As you step further inside, you notice that the bathroom door is closed, and the sound of running water fills the room. Curiosity gets the best of you, and you approach the bathroom door quietly, not wanting to disturb him.

The murmuring gets louder as you approach, and you can't help but feel a mix of concern and intrigue. You gently push open the bathroom door, revealing a sight that takes your breath away. There, in the bathtub, sits Harry, his head hung low as he runs his fingers through his wet hair, preparing for his performance.

You stand in the doorway, feeling a mix of excitement and affection as you watch him, sitting in the bathtub. The soft, warm glow of the bathroom room lights highlights the contours of his face and the tattoos that adorn his skin. Your heart flutters at the sight, and an overwhelming sense of love washes over you.

Water trickles down his bare skin, creating rivulets that trace the lines of his muscles. The tattoos, usually captivating, now seem even more prominent against his wet, glistening skin. Each design tells a story, a piece of him permanently etched into his body, and you find yourself admiring each one with renewed fascination.

Butterflies erupt in your stomach, fluttering with excitement and anticipation. You can't help but be drawn to him, his presence magnetic and captivating. As he moves, washing the water over himself, you catch glimpses of his muscles flexing, and your breath catches in your throat. The way he cares for himself with such ease and grace only deepens your admiration for him.

The sound of water fills the air, mixing with the soft murmurs of his voice as he unconsciously talks to himself, preparing for the show ahead. It's a private moment, one that makes you feel privileged to witness. You realise just how lucky you are to have him in your life, to be able to share these intimate moments with him.

His eyes, the colour of emerald green, flicker up, catching you observing him. There's a hint of surprise, but it's quickly replaced by a warm and affectionate smile that tugs at your heartstrings. You offer a shy smile in return, feeling like a fluttering butterfly yourself, captured by his gaze.

As your eyes meet his, you quickly realise that Harry has caught you staring at him. A playful glint dances in his emerald green eyes, and a mischievous smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

He knows he has your attention, and he's clearly enjoying the moment.

"What’re ymlooking at, m’love?" he teases, his voice low and smoky, sending shivers down your spine. You feel a light blush creeping up your cheeks, but you can't look away.

You remain speechless, the words caught in your throat. Instead, you see him raise his hand, gesturing for you to come closer. A mix of nerves and excitement courses through you, but you can't resist his playful invitation.

Slowly, you step forward until you're standing beside the bathtub.

His eyes never leave yours, and he leans forward, his face now mere inches from yours. You can feel the warmth radiating off his skin, and you're tempted to close the gap between your lips, but he beats you to it. He plants a soft, lingering kiss on your lips, making your heart skip a beat.

With a flirty smirk, he pulls back slightly and asks, "Are y’just going t’stand there, or are y’going t’join me?"

You let out a nervous chuckle, feeling the butterflies in your stomach intensify. "H, I don't have any spare clothes to change into."

He raises an eyebrow, a playful glimmer still in his eyes.

"Who said y’need clothes?" he teases, running his fingers gently along your arm.

Your heart races, and you can't help but give in to the temptation. You slip off your shoes and start to unbutton your shirt, feeling a mixture of excitement and vulnerability. Harry's eyes never leave you, and he bites his lower lip, clearly enjoying the show.

You climb into the bath, sitting in front of him, facing each other. The water envelops you both, creating a soothing and intimate atmosphere. Harry can't help but smile as he watches you playfully accept his invitation.

With a sparkle in his eyes, he leans forward and pulls you gently onto his lap, your bodies close but still leaving room for comfort. Your heart races with anticipation as you feel his warm embrace, and you can't resist leaning in closer to him.

The moment your lips meet, a spark ignites between you. The make-out session becomes a dance of passion and affection, each kiss more fervent than the last. Your hands find their way to his hair, running through his damp curls, while his hands gently caress your back, sending shivers down your spine.

“Wanna have some pre-show fun?”he pulls away from the kiss, slightly breathless, your lips plump due to smacking against his ones, and you nod your head, as an answer to his question.

You felt his lips fall to your neck, peppering kisses against the skin there and making sure to leave a mark there. “Harry…we’re in…we’re in a bathtub.”

“And?”

“And?”you turned to look over your shoulder to the bathroom door, making sure that it was shut. “Someone could walk in.”

“I can be quiet,” he nips at your jaw, making you inhale a small breath at the action. “Can you be quiet? Can you be quiet for me, baby?”

His words made all the heat rush to your core, that was close to his cock that was hard, brushing against the inside of your thigh from where you were sitting on his lap.

You nodded your head at his words and that was when he lowered his hand down into the water and tickled the inside of your thigh, his knuckles dragging increasingly close to your ache.

“Fuck m’life,” His gaze lowers slightly, racking his eyes over your naked torso, pupils blown. “Your heavenly, like a fucking angel.”

The next words that leave his lips have you whimpering out.

“Y’so wet f’me.” He mused, and your surprised you didn’t lose it right then and there, his fingers work and run along your clit in small circles, eyes closing slightly at the sensation radiating through your body.

“Please don’t tease me,” you whisper, chest rising and falling, even though he had barely touched you. “I don’t want your fingers, there’s no time.”

“Yeah?”His fingers continue to tease between your legs as his head tilts to the side. “Where do you want me? Tell me where and I’ll give it to you, give you anything y’ask for m’angel.”

“Inside me,” you open your eyes and lean forward, he can feel your breath on the top of his nose, “Please H…inside me.”

He retracted his hand, and lowered it even further so it was touching his aching cock. He shifted slightly so the tip of it could be seen atop of the water, it was pink, completely rock hard and if you squinted you could see it ouzing with pre-cum.

He fisted his length a few times, warming himself up a bit more, before he lifted up your hips and lined himself up with your entrance, running it up and down your folds a few times in a teasing manner before pushing inside of you with a gaped mouth.

“Shit,” Harry was trying to be quiet but he had no control when it came to you. “You feel so good, baby.”

“Always feel so good for me,” he rushed out, hips thrusting in and out of you, eager to get you both to reach your climax at the same time. “Can never get enough of you.”

Your breath is laboured as you lean your head forward and pepper kisses against the skin of his neck, where his tattoo dedicated to you was located.

“Y’gonna finish soon?”

“Uh-huh,” you nodded your head, feeling your legs starting to shake at the feeling of your impending orgasm. “Uh-huh.”

Your whimpers and moans are anything but quiet as you feel your fiancés thrusts becoming slightly sloppy. The water is splashing around the two of you, head thrown back.

He leaned his hand down and pressed it against your clit, making your eyes go wide.

“I’m close…”you told him, still bouncing up and down on his length. “I’m so close…so close.”

He pressed an open mouthed kiss to your lips that were becoming slightly chapped due to the humidity of the room. “C’mon lovie, come for me, give me what I want.”

And you didn’t need to be told twice.

You came quickly, eyes rolling to the back of your head as the beginning of your fiancés orgasmy started to brew. It wasn’t long after you that he came inside of you, seeing as you were on birth control.

Small whimpers emitted from his lips at the rush he felt, his forehead falling against your shoulder.

“I love you.”

“M’love you too.”

A soft knock echoes through the bathroom door, pulling you both back to reality after your intimate moment. It's Jeff, Harry's manager, reminding you that time is ticking, and the concert is just moments away.

"Hey, whatever the two of you are doing in there, hurry it up! You've got to be on stage in fifteen, you animals," Jeff's voice teases from the other side of the door.

You and Harry let out small laughs, your foreheads falling gently against each other as you catch your breath. The playfulness in Jeff's voice reminds you of the world waiting outside this private space—a world filled with thousands of eager fans, eagerly anticipating Harry's performance.

"Alright, alright, we're coming out," Harry calls out with a chuckle, not the least bit embarrassed by the interruption. He glances at you, a tender smile gracing his lips, and you can't help but feel a rush of affection for the man beside you.

As you untangle yourselves and get out of the bath, you quickly dry off and get dressed, Harry wearing a black jump suit, with pink love hearts designed on it, not shirt on underneath, leaving his tattoos on show, still feeling the warmth of the intimate moment shared. The excitement of the upcoming performance now mingles with the sense of closeness you experienced in the bathroom, creating a unique mix of emotions.

Harry opens the door to find Jeff waiting, a playful grin on his face.

"Took you two long enough," he teases.

You playfully roll your eyes and nudge Harry's shoulder. "Blame him. He started it with his flirty looks."

Harry raises an eyebrow in mock surprise. "Oh, so it's m’fault now, is it?" he retorts with a grin.

You can't help but giggle, feeling grateful for the light-heartedness that surrounds you both, even in the midst of the nerves and anticipation. With the clock ticking, you grab Harry's hand, intertwining your fingers, and make your way out of the dressing room.

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silent-stories · 7 days

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𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐓𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐍𝐎𝐀𝐇

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader

The low hum of the crowd filled the air, their excitement vibrating through the venue. You could feel it too, that rush of anticipation, knowing Sleep Token was about to take the stage. The dim lights overhead flickered, casting hues of deep purples and blues across the room, bathing everything in a soft, ethereal glow.

Noah stood behind you, his tall frame wrapping you in warmth. His hands gently rested on your hips, pulling you closer to him as the stage lights began to intensify, revealing the shadowy figures of the band preparing to play.

You leaned back into his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat through the layers of his jacket. The subtle scent of his cologne mixed with the air of the venue, creating a mix of comfort and security around you.

As the first haunting notes of the band's music rang out, Noah pressed his lips to your temple, barely grazing your skin, but it was enough to send shivers down your spine. His voice, calm and gentle, began to harmonize with the Vessel's one, whispering the lyrics softly into your ear.

You closed your eyes, letting his voice and the music carry you away. His breath was warm against your ear as he sang, his voice blending with the atmosphere, each word filled with a quiet tenderness. His arms tightened around you just a little, like he was pulling you deeper into the moment.

Give in again and let me lay

My arms belong around you

"Do you hear that?" he murmured during a soft instrumental break, his voice almost drowned by the music but still intimate enough that only you could hear him. "It's about us."

You nodded, unable to form a coherent response as the chorus swelled, a crescendo of emotion and sound filling the room. The colors around you deepened—rich purples, dark blues, and the occasional flash of crimson light that danced across the crowd.

It felt like a dream, surreal and yet so real with Noah’s arms around you. His fingers laced through yours, and every now and then, he would gently sway.

During the softer parts of the songs, his voice became even quieter, his lips brushing your ear as he sang in time with the masked man on stage, his voice blending effortlessly with the music.

Each time he sang, it felt like a confession of the love he could never quite put into words.

At one point, you tilted your head back slightly to meet his eyes, catching the way they glimmered in the concert’s glow. He smiled down at you, his eyes reflecting the dim light, his expression soft and full of adoration. You turned your body to him, and reaching up, you gently brushing his cheek with your hand, and he leaned into your touch, pressing a kiss to your palm.

The night unfolded in waves of emotion and music, each song drawing you closer together, the world outside fading until all that was left was the music, the glow of the lights, and Noah’s arms wrapped protectively around you.

As the final song began to play, the tempo slow and melancholy, you felt Noah lean down, his lips close to your ear again, his breath hot against your skin.

“I love you,” he whispered, the words so quiet you almost didn’t hear them over the music. But they were there, carried on the breath of the song. Your heart swelled as you turned your head slightly, brushing your lips against his in a soft, lingering kiss.

His hand slid up to cup your face, deepening the kiss for just a moment before pulling away, his forehead resting against yours. The final notes of the song echoed through the venue, the lights dimming to a soft violet glow, casting the world in shadows. The concert might have been over, but the moment with Noah lingered, the intimacy of the night wrapping you both in its embrace.

And as you stood there in Noah's arms, you thought that even though watching him perform on stage at his concerts was amazing every time, nothing could top the feeling of being held by him during one.

#bad omens #noah sebastian #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fluff #sleep token

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bones4thecats · 3 months

Text

Their S/O Assists Them With Their Hair

Characters: Cater Diamond, Leona Kingscholar, Jamil Viper, and Idia Shroud Inspired By: The multiple cards A/N: I have been laying this off to the side for such a long time so I decided to finally write this. Also, I've been having a hard time with the border around the images, so I changed it. Anyways, have fun reading this!! ⚠️ Spoilers/Trigger Warnings for: Nothing. Just pure fluff ⚠️

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╚═════ Cater Diamond ══════════════════════════╝

💎 Cater doesn't change his hair up very often, only making it different when he has special events such as performances for the music club

💎 One day, you received a text from Cater asking if you were going to their next concert the following week, in which you just smiled and replied with a happy yes

💎 You knew from Cater's many messages and calls from his club meetings that they were getting more and more excited and anxious for the day that it came and they would set up and play to their heart's content

💎 Over the passing week, everyone could see how happy the group was, and you had a front seat to it. Since Cater would send you photo and video after one and another of them having fun getting ready

💎 Then came the day

💎 Cater was beyond stressed out, scrolling through his feed to find the perfect hairstyle that he could use for that night, to which you sighed and laid back on his bed as he stressed

"Cater, Honey, are you sure you know what you don't want any help?"

"Yep! Just give me a minute. I'm sure I can find the perfect hairdo!"

💎 The sound of his shoes hitting the floor in a circular motion was giving you a headache, so after about four more minutes, you slapped your hands on the nearby table and told him to sit down

💎 Cater was shocked when you took his phone from his grip and secured it into your pants pocket before grabbing his shoulders and forcing him back on his butt

"Thankfully, Vil taught me enough during the time I spent helping with the VDC. Now, just sit down and relax, I'm sure I can figure something out quick."

💎 As you walked around the bathroom and grabbed multiple brushes and clips to hold his hair as your designed it, Cater watched memorized, you really were beautiful when helping others, weren't you?

💎 It took a mere ten extra minutes for you to decide and fix up his hair, making it into a shaggy-crop style. You smiled and kissed his forehead as he stood up and adjusted a couple light-up weave-like pieces and allowed rose his phone, which you gave back halfway through styling, and took a selfie of you and him

"Hashtag: 'Cay-Cay's S/O' , 'Cay-Cay Getting Ready' , and 'NRC Music Club BTS'. "

"Good luck, Cater."

"Thank you so much, Love Bug."

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╚═════ Leona Kingscholar ════════════════════════╝

🦁 He, unlike other beastman, doesn't enjoy having his hair touched. He does it a certain way and doesn't want it to be messed with like how his brother would do

🦁 This means that every time you would ask to style his hair, he would just open one eye, say no, and then lay down on you. Claiming you as his makeshift pillow for one of his many daytime naps

🦁 To actually get him to agree, you'd most likely have to either wait until a couple months into dating or marriage, and we all wanna know what his hair feels like, don't we?

🦁 Now, when you finally got to touch his hair, Leona had come back to his room drained from the long day. He had gone to all of his classes and then Magift practice. All without a single nap throughout the day

🦁 The guy had practically barreled onto the sheets of his bed after throwing his bag of dirty clothes on the ground. He groaned as you chuckled, opening your arms for him to lay down there

🦁 Thankfully, Leona had taken a shower already and was perfectly clean. Not a single drop of sweat on his body. Meaning he could be curled up on you without you trying to pull/push him to take a shower to get clean

"Leona?" You asked, your head moving from the book Leona gave you a couple weeks ago. He merely growled lowly before looking up and into your eyes and asking what you wanted.

"I was just wondering... if I could- y'know. Touch your hair? You don't have to let me, I understand if you wouldn't want me too!"

🦁 Leona smirked and reached up to take his hair out of the ponytail he lodged it into after showering earlier. His long brown locks dropping down, a slight amount of water there, he obviously was to tired to spend a ton of time drying it

"Have at it."

🦁 Smiling gently as you laid the book down, you began to move his hair around gently, using your fingers like a make-shift brush (did anyone else's mom/dad/guardian do that when they were young?) to get the small knocks out

🦁 After doing that, you began to rub his scalp, allowing him to relax and let out a very low purr, though it sounded more like a satisfied hum to you, and kissed your exposed thigh. He was thankful you were wearing shorts. (Though how could you NOT? It was like over 70 degrees in that dorm!)

"Do you feel better, Leo?" You asked, only to be met with the soft snores of your boyfriend.

🦁 His larger form was hugging you tightly as you chuckled and embraced him back, nudging a blanket on top of your both. He was a lot more than a mere second-born prince to you, he was your one and only prince, from now till the day you die

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╚═════ Jamil Viper ════════════════════════════╝

🐍 Jamil takes pride in his hair. It has always been one of the only things that he had full control over. Throughout his life he never got full control of anything, except for things like his hair (I know this is wordy, but you get the point)

🐍 Anyways. When you had asked him to do his hair, he was getting ready to cook for the remaining Scarabia members for the spring break. Some students volunteered to stay while others left, he and Kalim volunteered to stay, along with you

🐍 You noticed that he was having a hard time keeping it out of his face, so you excused yourself from the third year and walked into the kitchen

🐍 Jamil was getting more and more frustrated, he was so close to taking the scissors and snipping his ponytail off if it won't stop getting in his way. Thankfully, the sound of your chuckles made him look up and nervously look away, embarrassment was obvious in his expression

🐍 You smiled at him and told him to sit down as he began to put some ingredients away. You had been helping Jamil cook long enough to know that the food needed to simmer for a while, just long enough for you to help him out

"Jamil, would you like your hair completely out of your face? And not done by having it shaved... or cut by kitchen utensils?"

"...yeah."

🐍 Handing him your phone as your began to take his hair out of his ponytail, you told him to just hang out and let you do what you knew best: hair styling

🐍 As you meticulously placed his hair behind his head, Jamil felt relaxed, even more relaxed then ever before. You treated his hair with the amount of care that he did. It was admirable just how much you paid attention to his reactions as you worked

🐍 After maybe a couple minutes, you had patted his hair down and gave him a cheerful done before telling him to turn the camera on and put it in selfie-mode

🐍 He did as he said and was shocked. You did beyond amazing! His hair was completely out of his face, and he didn't look half bad. He had to admit, he needed to put his hair up like that more often when he worked

🐍 Jamil stood up and hugged you, his arms giving you a snug squeeze as you chuckled and kissed his jawline. He smiled and kissed your forehead before thanking you and handing you your phone back. Right before you left though, your boyfriend called your name and asked

"Would you like to help me cook?"

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╚═════ Idia Shroud ════════════════════════════╝

🎮 This guy. Ho this guy

🎮 When you guys first began dating, he was very off-handed. He was not, and still really isn't a big fan of physical touch. He just doesn't like it that much

🎮 That doesn't mean he hates it, he just prefers to simply spend time together and give you things. He sucks with his words (he overthinks like me), he has a hard time with acts of service (he doesn't go out often, so he can't do much outside of his dorm), and he has a massive issue when touched. He just freezes and stutters a lot more than before

🎮 Idia does like it when you're physically affectionate sometimes. Like when you would lean your head on his shoulder whenever he gets frustrated with a level in a game he has been working on for days to calm him down. He likes that kind of stuff

🎮 So, whenever you would ask to mess with his hair, it goes from a beautiful blue to a campfire-like orange and red, the tips being flushed with pink like his face as he stuttered and mumbled

🎮 After the first couple times, you decided to lay loose and allow him to come to you whenever he wanted you to mess with his hair. It was his choice and his consent and comfort was just as important as your own

🎮 It only took maybe a couple weeks for him to begin wondering why you weren't asking to mess with his fiery locks. But, in true Idia Shroud fashion, the male strayed away from questioning you until the thought was all he could wonder about

"Hey... Y/N?"

"Yeah, Idia?"

"D-do you think, you could maybe... y'know... mess with my hair a bit?"

"What? Please repeat louder, honey."

"Damn it... could you mess with my hair please?"

🎮 You smiled and laid your phone on Idia's desk before he moved away from his gaming chair and sat down in front of you on the bed, continuing to play his game and groan about how the 'noobs were releasing more time camping and not acting as aggro against the boss like he was'

🎮 It was funny how much gamer lingo Idia used when he was outside of class-related situations. But it was quite funny when he then began to speak of how 'op the boss was and how the rest of the players needed to get off their buts and act like true FPSs and help him defeat the bullet sponge of a boss'

(Yes I looked up gamer terms, I am dumb T^T)

🎮 You just chuckled as his face went from petrified as he ran from danger to reload his weaponry to coming up with the most determined expression you had ever seen on him. Playing these games really made him feel better than he was outside speaking to others

🎮 It lasted maybe a couple hours before Idia finally noticed you weren't playing with his long hair anymore. So, he looked up and saw you laying down asleep on his bed, one of his larger hoodies was around your top and he couldn't help but smile gently as you snoozed

🎮 He decided that he was going to lay down on the bed to, not to sleep, but to get a more comfortable angle to play in. So, he stood up and got on the bed, pulling the sheets down and over your arms and his legs before looking back at his phone, noticing it was in camera mode. He must've hit the button at the bottom as he secured his spot

🎮 Idia gasped quietly as he saw how you did his hair. It was like a mixture of multiple braids with a single thicker braid behind. The housewarden couldn't help but smile and laugh like the little dork he was

🎮 After the little giggly fit, Idia looked at you and shut off his phone before laying down next to you, holding your arm as you shuffled onto your back. He smiled and closed his eyes. If you did something so nice to him, he could at least get maybe a couple hours of sleep for you

(I have so much Idia brainrot right now it's insane)

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throwaway-yandere · 9 months

Text

𝗖𝗹𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 [Yandere!Dottore/Reader]

a/n: this fic is 100% dedicated to @leftdestiny-posts and they would know just how much they had inspired me in this fic once they finished reading it HAHAHAHAH. P.S.: the classical songs mentioned are actual songs. Yes, the title is half a joke. Here's the spotify playlist if you're curious.

Unreliable Synopsis: You cannot remember your past, but your doctor has been with you every step of the way— and he's more than willing to spend some time with you outside the hospital. Still... did you always have pure white hair?

CW: yandere themes, light body horror, manipulation, its dottore, c'mon LOL.

Concert II "Tristezza Di Fine Anno", performed by the Morespoke Philharmonic with their conductor, Lady Columbina, began nearly an hour ago. And you had the fortune of hearing their songs for yourself.

The well-dressed crowd filled the seats, behaving in what was appropriate for their high station. It was fully booked. The music overwhelmingly masked anyone's breaths, if they had one to start with. Her program can be felt deep in the audience's bones. Rattling them in each sforzando before it lulls down through the sound of her handpicked musicians— with Lady Columbina as the lonesome soloist when the moment calls for it.

"This piece, Symphony No. 5 in C-Sharp Minor, is not Columbina's own making, she had failed to mention that," your company hummed. "This was by another composer who hid behind the name Safed. They were a self-fulling prophecy. Do you wish to know what they said about this piece?"

You said nothing as Zandik— Lord Dottore— stroked your unnaturally "white" hair.

"They said that nobody understood the piece and that they wish they could conduct the first performance five centuries after their death."

Zandik smiled.

"What say you? Do you think those words are true?"

Your company was a tall and thin man with artificially pale-ish skin and wavy blue hair. His eyes were reportedly bloodshot crimson, although you had not received proof of that in this lifetime. But, you were drawn to his deep ocean-like colors, and that was enough to keep you mildly complacent to his strange remarks.

Zandik is surprisingly a considerate man, but he must've brought you with him for a reason. He told you himself that the reason he brought you out of your prison-like hospital room was a mere experiment on his behalf. Paradigm-shifting consequences of his strange social experiments with you are likely to occur, and he cares not for its ethical debates. He won't ask for rhetorics; these to him are tangible outcomes and no questions will be entertained.

All except his.

"I think… "

The composition had a serene, slightly asymmetrical feel to it. You were certain this was Lady Columbina's creative liberties at play. Something about it did not capture its true authenticities. The show purported to narrate three stories: the first concerned a judge who had to find a loved one guilty; the second concerned a prince who drove their beloved into despair; and the final was a tale of a knight who disregarded his obligation to defend a loved one.

But it felt incomplete. As if there was a missing piece— a secret fourth act hiding between the notes and stage.

"A person can't completely mourn for something they would never experience," you told him. "But even so, if I were Safed, I'd feel like my effort would've been a waste."

His eyes remained trained on your hair as you spoke. Zandik seems to dislike it. Unlike his cells mixed with engineered nanomaterials, yours are uniquely… "natural". His hair has a color intensity, whereas yours was the presence of every color— as physics explained it.

"Something they would never experience…" Zandik repeated, tasting the words on his tongue— a smirk etched on his face as though it tasted like bitter irony.

You continued.

"I have a hunch that Safed put everything they worked hard on all their pieces because Lady Columbina wouldn't have performed it otherwise. Since all the songs on the concert's program are marketed as underappreciated compositions, I would… um… infer that they also questioned their works and ultimately themselves if it all had worth in the end. Hopeless for the lack of attention, they probably thought there's more hope if they lived in another generation."

You wanted to say, though you're not sure where this negativity came from, that they probably despised how their well-crafted works were ignored and their sloppy yet significantly more popular compositions angered them.

But you're not Safed. You don't want to put words in their mouth.

".... Hmm, an acceptable hypothesis— a decent one, even," whatever monotonous response Zandik wished to convey, his voice betrayed his grand satisfaction. "Yet I won't give you any confirmation."

"I know."

Zandik laughed.

"The next piece is Norn's Adagio for Strings Op. 11, before the closing Symphony No. 6, better known as Pathétique Symphony, in B Minor Op. 74."

You tilted your head innocently. "Pathetic?"

"Another piece by Safed. It's a Fontaine-translated title. It's originally named pateticheskaya, which meant passionate or emotional, not at all pitiable."

He crossed his arms, insulted as though he was the one who came up with the original title.

"Roughly half a millennium past, the masses attributed Safed's demise to the strains of their final composition, the so-called Pathétique, a mere nine days preceding their exit from this mortal coil. The prevailing narrative spouts a tale of a tragic surrender to the clutches of undiagnosed clinical depression. I find such simplicity in analysis rather pedestrian, wouldn't you agree?"

You took a while to process his inquiry before hesitantly nodding.

"I… I think so."

Zandik smiled.

It's hard to tell if it's genuine, especially when such a protruding mask hides his eyes. Should its existence vanish, you aren't certain you'd see a soul within his pupils either.

"Safed hated this piece, believing it should be cast aside and forgotten. They were living in the woodlands when they wrote it— and when they decided to live with their benefactor, it was suddenly difficult to tear them away from their work."

You nodded to cue that you were still listening.

"They have an incredibly deep connection with their works. One might say they see in tunes rather than color."

You nodded again.

"Your inclination towards a perpetual affirmation of propositions, presumably to veil any potential lacunae in your cognitive purview, does not escape me. It is, if I may be so bold, your agreement that conceals your specter of unfamiliarity, right?"

You rarely understand a word he says when he is in this passionate state. You just nod as if you knew.

"Adorable," Zandik chuckled.

His voice was chillingly low yet… comforting.

"Your sincerity constitutes an enchanting facet of your comportment."

He had to be teasing you.

"Although…" Zandik grabbed a few locks of your hair as though it was slimy and unpleasant— quickly retracting them with a disapproving tilt. "You could stand to utilize more (h/c) hair dyes. How is it conceivable that it has returned to white yet again?"

You opened your mouth but Zandik raised a finger.

"No. I am the scholar here. Do not answer."

You giggled. "Understood, Doctor."

He grinned, inadvertently showing off his pointed canines.

"What a good test subject you are, my dear (Y/n)."

Whether good was a subjective or objective assessment or not was up to interpretation.

The mid-concert intermission began, allowing Lady Columbina's pressured musicians a 20-minute sigh of relief. Zandik ushered you to the back where the Lady Harbinger reposed on a white sofa, her cheek brushing a visibly soft and cloud-like pillow. The bright backstage lighting made her seem ethereal.

She looked like heaven, but Zandik would argue that "(Y/n)" is the true epitome of the word.

"Greetings. As expected, you'd initiate conversation at the earliest convenience." She cooed. "You look younger today, Doctor."

"You know very well that I do not take that as a compliment, Columbina." Zandik scoffed. "How many times will we rehearse this canned script until it is a learned lesson?"

"Perhaps it shall end on the day you refrain yourself from recreating… perspectives."

"Since my encounter with the Dendro Archon, I have not revisited that notion."

Columbina's gentle smile dropped coldly. "You know that your segments are not what I am referring to."

You looked back and forth between the two. Each of them was a distinctively unique person and it's a challenge to take your eyes away from the other.

Hence, when you felt Lady Columbina's eyes on you, you shook and straightened yourself before bowing stiffly.

"G-Greetings, Lady Columbina!!!"

Her gentle smile resurfaced.

"Greetings to you as well, dear Safed."

You blinked.

Dottore clicked his tongue, and Columbina laughed softly.

"Apologies, I meant to say (Y/n)— that is the name you go by in this era of humanity, right?"

You'd rightfully claim that between the three of you, you were the most human. Zandik has his clones, Columbina's origins are of strict secrecy, and you are a mere amnesiac patient. But the way she addressed you was sounding awful like stripping you away with that sense of humane identity.

"Yes? I guess?"

Columbina delightedly buzzed in your reply. "(Y/n)— truly a lovely name. That must mean that you're very healthy! It warms my heart to hear that name again. The other ones had terribly dull names, but if the Doctor had given you this title, then it must mean his research is finally drawing to a close."

Her remarks made little sense. You know little about yourself and trust only the Doctor's judgment. Should you trust her words, then it must mean (Y/n) isn't your real name…

But… that doesn't seem right either.

"Not quite, the name deserves no celebration," Dottore replied happily. "I merely ran out of translations. Bianco, Wit, Bái— what else is there? Ancient Natlan?"

"Scientists truly make for terrible poets— Why not try Inazuman?" Columbina offered.

Those words must have had a heavy weight to them because Zandik pondered for much longer than expected.

"Hmm. I'll keep that in mind," Zandik muttered. "Although it is preferable it does not have to reach that point."

"May I ask why did you bring them here?" Columbina asked.

"It's a bit of an unconventional experiment, but I've been exploring how to elicit positive associations with certain stimuli. Exposing them to music as I accompany them should cause them to associate the emotional response it elicits with being around me." Dottore hummed. "It would be asinine to put them in a chaotic yet controlled environment such as a theme park. While a racing heart may be effective, I shouldn't risk a (Y/n)'s well-being by subjecting them to roller coasters."

"Are you sure you're not the scared one?" You asked cheekily. Zandik rolled his eyes.

She shook her head.

"What a roundabout way of saying you're taking them out on a concert date…"

Columbina looked at you once more.

"Oh, but (Y/n), you appear unwell, my dear…" she pointed at stage left. "Why don't you fix yourself up in the nearest restroom?"

Dottore raised an eyebrow, which made you want to decline Columbina.

"I'm r-really okay, Lady Colum—"

"I insist."

Columbina smiled wider. Her laced mask cast a gloomy shade on her visage.

You had no other choice.

"O… Okay."

The halls that led to the restroom were mostly empty. Perhaps it was due to Lady Columbina's performance that made them patiently await the next song.

But there was one young man you encountered along the way. He had blonde half-way braided hair and purple-ish eyes. You paid him no mind as he circled a small rectangular paper, likely the concert's ticket, between his fingers. However, within a second, that paper vanished.

You stopped in your tracks and looked at him curiously, wondering if your eyes played tricks. He laughed, noting your attention.

"Ah! Sorry," he cheerfully gestured a small wave. "Didn't mean to practice in public."

The blonde man approached you with a smile.

"You're #9805, right?"

Immediately, you both got on the wrong foot.

Your nose scrunched, "I prefer (Y/n)."

The man flinched. "Oh, yikes! I'm not making the best first impression— nice to meet you (Y/n)! I have something for you."

You thought he was handing you his concert ticket for a moment but when you took a good look, it was a grayscale brochure.

And a white tulip…

"Um…"

"Needless to say, I'm something of a—"

"Trickster?"

"Magician, but an astute guess nonetheless!" He laughed sheepishly. "I was waiting for you, I thought you wouldn't go to the restroom."

So, did Lady Columbina plan this?

You caressed the binding and skimmed through the pages. "What's this for?"

"Father said you might be interested in its contents," the young man said. "That's all."

You blinked.

"... Are you saying you missed out most of the concert just to hand me this?"

He laughed awkwardly again. "My dear sister says I have a habit of missing a hint of romanticism when it counts, so I guess today's just one of those moments."

"Did you not like the music?" You scoffed, temper rising.

"Did you hate the composition? Did you not understand the e-emotion behind the chords? Don't you understand just how d-disrespectful that was?!"

"Woah, woah, I didn't say any of that." His eyes widened.

He didn't expect your voice to crack.

"I'm so sorry if you're offended— are you one of the original composers?"

…

You took a deep breath.

… Why were you mad?

… Why did it feel like those songs mean more to you than meets the eye?

"Sorry, I just…" You shook your head. "I guess I'm not feeling well. Oh, no, I'm so SO sorry…"

An unknown part of you thrived to hear him praise the music. That same part pitied the composer who worked day and night to perfect their piece. It's an ugly voice, but it was sincere.

… What was wrong with you? Why did you suddenly lash out? What was going on?

"Oh, well there's no need to be sorry then." The blonde man took his hat off and bowed.

"Farewell, Mx. (Y/n)!" He grinned. "The greatest magician in all Teyvat will take his leave. Thank you for your time!"

With the sway of his dark cape, he disappeared.

You entered the restroom to wash your face. It didn't do much to soothe your nerves. The lingering dread for your strange emotional mood swing remained.

To distract yourself, you read through the article.

The Enigmatic Legacy of Composer Safed

In the annals of musical history, few figures emerge as enigmatic and hauntingly captivating as the orchestral composer, Safed. Born five centuries ago amidst the ancient woodlands of Sumeru, this ethereal musician seemingly materialized from Vanarama with no familial relations.

Huh… So it's about the one who wrote the previous compositions earlier.

No wonder that blonde man asked if you were one of the composers. He was being a smartass.

A Fiery Finale: The Pathétique Symphony

Legend has it that in their final act of emotional expression, Safed penned the "Pathétique Symphony," a composition so emotionally charged that, overwhelmed with disdain for their creation, they purportedly set ablaze their woodland home. Seeking solace and escape, Safed accepted the benevolent offer of a city-dwelling benefactor.

…

Safed… burned down their house?

No…

No, that's not how you remembered that.

No.

No. No. No. No. No.

That's not what happened. "Safed" didn't burn their house down.

Suddenly, you stilled. Your thoughts ran wild, but your inner rationale tried to force them to a halt. This peak in anxiety did not make sense.

… Why would an amnesiac like you know what happened?

A Swansong: Il Dottore's Beneficence

Their benefactor, now celebrated as our Lord Harbinger, Il Dottore, welcomed Safed into the city's heart. It was here that the truth unfolded: Safed had been grappling with hearing loss for years, an affliction that fueled their artistic brilliance yet cloaked them in a muffled world. They were unaware of their disability, yet thrived in their field.

…

Wait…

Before you began to read the final paragraph in Safed's brochure, you hurriedly went back to Dottore and the composer's vintage photographed portraits.

After seeing their face, you dropped the brochure in the restroom's sink.

You saw their face.

You saw YOUR face and Zandik's.

But not quite. That was you, but at the same time, it wasn't. Zandik looked stiff in those photos with "you", likely a product of the time since Kamera photography was used only in rare formalities that required a bit of dress up. But the "you" you saw was sickly way beyond the formal costumes. They had (e/c) eyes and (h/c) hair, but yours were all white.

White…

Safed… That's the Sumeru translation for white, isn't it?

Bianco, Wit, Bái— they're all translations for "white", aren't they? And if Dottore and Columbina's earlier conversations were to go by, the one after you would be named Shiro.

…

The one… after you?

"Tut tut."

You trembled at the familiar sound.

You slowly turned your head around and there he was, leaning against the restroom door.

"You were in the restroom for too long. It appears my suspicions were not unfounded."

Without waiting for a response, he approached with large strides. His gloved hands seized your stressed shoulders. The grip tightened harshly as he forced you to meet his intense gaze. Blood trailed from the corner of your mouth, and your anxiety heightened. He angrily bared his sharp teeth as he watched it stain his gloves.

And yet Zandik looks…

Sad.

And distressed.

He pressed his earpiece.

"Test Subject #9805 exhibits troubling symptoms. Hematemesis suggests a severe physiological response. Persistent manifestations of albinism in ocular and follicular pigmentation indicate underlying deformities. Immediate isolation is warranted for the researcher and subject's well-being."

His hand was cold. Skin imbued with silver nanomaterials after several operations, reminiscent of the age-old philosophical question: "Is it still the same ship if you gradually replace all of its parts?"

Then Zandik did something unexpected.

He dropped his hold and you prepared yourself by shutting your eyes as he swung his arm.

To hug you.

"I'm sorry, I have failed you again, (Y/n)," Zandik muttered. "I should not have raised my expectations."

"W… What? Why are you putting me in isolation?" You asked, rattled. "What have I done?! I just— I didn't do anything wrong! What did I—"

He shifted, dragging your arm to hug him back as though you were a little girl's doll. Zandik rested his head on your shoulder, shaking slightly.

"In your innocence, no fault lies. I thought I had accomplished what I had set out to do, and met unfulfilled expectations" Zandik gritted his teeth, voice somber. "Despite centuries of refinement, it appears that I still have room for improvement in perfecting the process… I was right. This deserves no celebration."

The doctor laughed sadly.

"When will I ever be proven wrong?" He asked himself as he wiped the blood off the corner of your lips.

He pulled away, pecking your forehead.

"I'm sorry."

Those were not the words you expected from his mouth, and yet you heard it more than once. I'm sorry. It does not fit his character, nor does the tender yet cold hug he had given prior.

You're scared. You're terrified. You know what was bound to come. You know what awaits you. White walls. Silence. Separation.

Solitary.

Far from a choice. Far from negotiable.

There's no amnesty.

And yet, the words flowed from you naturally.

"... I forgive you."

You have no idea why you said what you said. There's no certainty that you believed your own words. Zandik's lip twitched downward.

"You should not," Zandik croaked. "Why? Why must you always forgive and accept my selfishness? Do you derive satisfaction in seeing me in this state?!"

You opened your mouth to answer but were stopped abruptly as he grabbed your hair.

Zandik had always favored you compared to other patients. You know this very well. He's an evil man and the list of actions he had done that had harmed you in the name of science is at least two pages long upon your awakening. Yet, you were sure he liked you enough for he told you of his new exciting experiments. He scolded you when you left his research institute for fresh air. And he would hold your hand whenever you dreaded those thick injections.

You just didn't know he had it in him to fold from his intimidating facade just to kiss you like a desperate man.

Breathless under his control, he softly pressed his lips against yours. His lips were chapped and cold, and he took you in gently as though he'd break you. Zandik, as strange as it was, still seemed to prioritize your comfort over his needs. Normally, this tension would've made him so short-tempered. But this will be your last interaction. The doctor tasted your blood in his mouth, and he was nauseous at the thought of hurting you more. But he stopped. Even though he wishes to force all his pent-up desires onto you. Even though he wanted to love you thoroughly that you'd forget your name again.

Zandik whimpered quietly as he pulled away— sounding like a dog that would not sleep that night. What was left in between was a thin disappearing line of saliva and blood that quickly broke off.

The doctor should be happy he finally got to have a proper date with you after 9805 failed attempts.

But he's not content.

He was about to lean in for the second time but stopped himself. Selfish. To think he nearly saw you two finally walking down the aisle. Why was he always so selfish when it came to you? But those rhetorics mattered not in your head.

You were silenced. You were held.

You were loved.

"No." Zandik breathed in, laughing humorlessly. "No— I am the scholar here. Don't answer."

And you will be disposed of.

"Take them away." He spoke to his men calmly. They had entered long enough to witness what he had done. The men did not hesitate to grab you, thinking Dottore thought you no more than a mere toy.

But calm was deceptive. It does not convey the distress that chokes him.

Maybe…

Maybe in the 9806's trial… he'll have you as he always wanted.

The Fatuus that escorted you in was gentle. A silent guide. The expression on her face was clear that she wanted to extend her apologies as well but mustn't.

You already have a white tulip in hand.

Arlecchino already sended her regards in advance.

When she opened the door by tapping a card against the lock, she bowed her head. You let yourself enter without a fight. The room was pure white with the rest of the furniture matching the drapes. But Dottore didn't just provide the necessities. There were books, sketch pads, and other recreational materials.

As you were about to approach the center, something was off on both sides.

You looked to your left.

Two clear mirrors divided your room from the others. There's a sign on the left wall. Code #4135.

You stood, shocked, grieving at the sight of your predecessor. They were a mirror of you but with a different name— and an even worse state.

One had made a slight sound coming off their skin— rotting slightly. There's a tube connected to their mouth and you could see yourself— you could see them dripping. They had your face. Their hair and eyes were white. The nose was gone, leaving a gaping hole. Their neck was cricked back at an unnatural angle. You don't know if they're still breathing. They're still bleeding. They must've bitten off their tongue.

There's a lone white blanket that covers the rest of them.

You think they might be dead.

You think "you" might've died more than once.

THUD!

You jolted at the sound coming from the wall behind you. Upon seeing their body, you froze.

Code #032.

They were but a head. You wish you could only focus on that aspect, but you looked lower and your hair raised. They cannot feel the same, for they were almost only a spine left. The rest of them were their skeletal frame, guided by thin lines one can barely call flesh.

Their head banged against the mirror. The thought that the sound was what made you flinch earlier made you unwell.

They seem to be telling you something. Their breath fogged up the glass and their thinned white hair splayed across your view. Their mouth said something urgently you couldn't comprehend because their tongue was paper-like in size.

#032 was shaking. Their pain grew vivid in every movement that the room was starting to spin. You sensed their turmoil.

They looked like death.

You all looked like death itself, both the pretty and ugly ends of it.

"Don't." You whispered, begging as you knelt to their level. "You don't have to speak."

You laughed deprecatingly.

"We're not the scholar here. He is."

In every syllable, you saw the outline of their esophagus strain. The nerves were blueish purple. The little skin they have left on their cheeks is sunken. Their lips were gnawed, likely as a response to the pain they'd gone through previously. Fists of bone tapped against the glass, and you quivered, imagining their pain.

You were not afraid of them. You only mourned their anguish. In fact, you feel at ease to be in the presence of yourself from the past.

It reminded you of what "Safed" had allegedly spoken years ago.

Nobody understood the pieces you made and you wished you could conduct the first performance five centuries after your first death.

And now, here you are.

Seeing two "people" who do understand you.

And they share your face.

"Pathetically", the only one that can understand you is yourself.

You're all flies trapped in a web that the predator refuses to wrap and consume out of pity. Compared to the others, you looked fine.

But your lungs were blistering.

Despite their deathly ill and mutilated bodies, you were the one bound to die soon enough.

His experiments worked.

You love him.

You love Zandik.

And how tragic it was that the person who learned how to love him was doomed to perish.

In your last minutes, you recalled something vital:

As an outsider, your body was not meant for this world, but after encountering the woodland creatures and Zandik, it became tremendously difficult to part ways with it.

You coughed up yet again with a gentle smile on your face. Maybe you're not dying…

Maybe you're just returning home, for every atom in your multiple bodies was once part of the galaxy.

You are (Y/n) (L/n).

And you were not from Teyvat.

Much like the rest of the descenders, you have a quirk about you that sets you apart from the norm. For the travelers the world reveres today, it was their distinct determination and questionable age that was remarkable. Yours slightly titters to an inhuman level.

You can "clone" yourself.

Zandik and the "original" you wouldn't phrase it in that manner, but it's the easiest way to describe your talents.

"So, it is cloning." Zandik paused. "Mind letting me in on the science behind the process?"

He was an ordinary student when you both met. Far from a doctor, but at least he was a registered scholar in the Akademiya. Zandik didn't have an eloquent tongue as he does in the present, yet his curiosity burned all the same.

Which is why, back then, you thought his questions were cute.

Not dangerous.

"It's not that I can make copies of myself without consequences," you humored with a grin. "I'm just making… fragments of myself. Segments, if you prefer to call it that. It's a common ability for the people back in my world. None of us do it excessively— especially since we're kind of an invasive species."

Zandik raised an eyebrow, "is that a commendable trait?"

"My kind says so. Whether good is a subjective or objective assessment or not is up to interpretation." You answered noncommittedly. "I don't think that's right. Our soul splits apart until we're just… empty. We lose some memories in the process."

"But functioning?"

"In a sense, yeah, but we lose a part of ourselves like memories and well, hair color, I guess." You nodded. "Why are you so curious?"

"Since you have rejected my confession, I want to try my hand at seducing a copy of yours instead," Zandik said. You couldn't tell whether he was joking with his naturally piercing red eyes. "Until then, you are not allowed to asexually reproduce without my authorization. Understood?"

You laughed. Unaware of his arsonist crimes, you willingly indulged his words.

"I owe you my ears, so it's only right that I'll listen to your commands, Zandik."

"Good." Zandik grinned, shark-like.

"What a good test subject you are, (Y/n)."

Centuries later, that closing sentence will continue to remain true.

Since then, his life has changed. Multiplied, even. Upon studying your genetic makeup, he found ways to duplicate himself as well. Despite his feats in science, Zandik remained unhappy.

Deep down, all the Harbingers pity the Doctor who cannot save his most loved one. That includes both Columbina and Arlecchino.

No one protests even when harmful orders are given; everything appears fine until the symptoms are felt. Because the organism— the astral descender— has no nerves or voice, he continues to assume that the patient is not in pain.

The patient needs peace but because they are not to speak, they remain silent, and the need persists.

The patient wants to eat and breathe fresh air, but because such desires might hurt the feelings of the doctor who thinks he has done everything needed, the patient remains quiet, contemplating desires out of fear of reprimand.

The original (Y/n) (L/n) suffers in silence. In a white room only accessible by a man who continues to nurse his unrequited love: Zandik.

No one else can enter this room.

He won't allow it. Only he can be obsessed with you.

The thought of you haunts him like a smiling reflection upon window panes— like a gift of a Trojan horse with nothing but your echoing laughter and hospital monitor beeps inside. Your thin limbs were marching clock hands with rusted gears that miraculously function till the end of time.

What is immortality for if every day was a death loop?

It is such a lonely concept…

You ought to be thankful that he's willing to be your eternal company.

"I endeavored to elicit a reciprocation of my sentiments from the latest subject. Regrettably, their discovery of my antecedent experiments transpired prematurely. Nevertheless, as asserted several times, it remains but a temporal inevitability until an iteration of yourself succumbs to having an interest towards me." Dottore hummed.

He held your feet.

He held Test Subject #01's feet.

If you spoke up, he would've bragged about how he was right. How people do love your songs. But no one knows if you can't or won't answer him. This one-sided conversation is the punishment for his hubris.

He took out a sharp knife and cut off one of your toes. You no longer feel any pain as you bleed into his hands. What a kind man the doctor is, for he blocked all your pain receptors years ago. It's a good thing you regenerate quickly.

That's what he loved and hated about you.

You only gave and gave.

But you never ran out of soul. You never ran your heart fully dry— and that left you ill. Zandik could never let you go.

You're already a part of him.

Hence, he must not make clones of exaggerated memories. He wanted your perfect yet healthy replica.

Praise be the white corpuscles extracted from your veins which had brought him new life. You were the reason for his research. You were the breath that gave his segments life. You were his muse, much like he was yours.

"Fear not, (Y/n)," he reassured with a measured tone. "Upon my mastery of the arts, I intend to reinstate your autonomy and awareness. Perhaps then, you shall find the organic inclination to reciprocate affection toward me by the 9806's trial. Until then…"

In other words, give him more time and he'll reinvent love.

He leaned his forehead against yours.

"I'm so, so sorry."

And ultimately, he'll reinvent YOU.

"Can I have another piece of your scalp?"

"No."

"Do you not understand the weight of this research or must I expound on it further in another three-hour presentation?"

"Alternatively, you could start by saying that you're sorry," you raised an eyebrow. "I'm still not over the fact you randomly cut a piece of my ear when I was asleep, doctor. You know, I heard from the aranaras that white tulips are given to someone when they ask for forgiveness."

Zandik smirked.

"Regrettably, it seems that such an occurrence is unlikely to transpire. Do not expect such words and gifts from me."

You smiled.

"We'll see, we'll see."

Taglist (pls notify if you wish to be on the taglist for the last two): @average-yandere-enjoyer @pix-stuff @sagekun @vennnnn-diagram @dilucragnidvr @tnsophiaonly @lsleepysimpl

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wispyxjae · 29 days

Text

going to a rave or concert with bf!p1harmony member

genre: fluff, nsfw/suggestive below the cut (mdni)

cw: established relationship, female reader, mentions of substance/alcohol use (aged up seobsoul), pda, kissing/making out, groping, possessive piwon, non idol au

a/n: i wrote this at 4am while still intoxicated post-first rave so i hope you enjoy my drunk thoughts. i’ve also been wanting to write this ever since those pictures of intak, keeho, and jongseob in the crowd at gov ball were released.

imagine going to a rave or concert with your boyfriend and he’s just holding you close, hugging you from behind and dancing with you.

you turn around to face him and stare lovingly at him as you both feel the music coursing through your veins. his hands go to cup your face as he presses kisses all over, pulling away to smile at you as he spins you around so you can enjoy the light show the artist puts on for the crowd.

he loooves having you in his arms so close to him and being able to show other guys around you that you’re his and no one else’s to lay hands on or even look at. is definitely possessive in public, especially if either or both of you are under the influence; the pda is coming out and there’s nothing anyone else can do about it. for the most part, keeps it simple and classy with just skinship and kisses. it’s enough to make you feel safe and him feel like the luckiest man on earth.

absolutely makes sure you’re hydrated before, during, and after the outing so you can have a good time. will even take off your makeup and do your skincare routine for you at the end of the night if you’re too gone or tired to do it yourself. loves to take care of you and nurture you because you’re his loving partner who deserves nothing but the best (which is what he is to you).

nsfw/suggestive below the cut! mdni at this point

if he had to be completely honest, your outfit had his head spinning even more than the substances or alcohol. he knew you were planning this outfit for a few weeks now, constantly drooling at the idea of you in less clothing than usual. the moment you got dressed, pulling on the last few accessories to tie the look together, all it took was one look at you for him to drink you in and get drunk on you alone. he admired the bold and sparkly makeup you decided to do, fingers lightly touching the jewels on your face every now and then.

it was nights like this when he couldn’t believe you were his girl. he was obsessed with you (which is nothing new) and couldn’t keep his hands off you the entire night. he tried his hardest to limit the pda to kissing and holding you in front of him, not wanting to ruin your high/trip if he got too handsy. but the moment you turn to look at him with those big doe eyes he’s a goner.

his hands travel from your waist down to your ass, the lack of clothing giving him easy access to squeeze and grope at the flesh. your arms snake up around his neck as he leans down to kiss you, slowly and passionately. time stopped down when the two of you were together, especially intoxicated and in the middle of a huge crowd; it felt like you two were the only ones that existed.

the longer you two kiss, the more handsy he gets, causing you to gasp and allow his tongue to slip into your mouth. you can taste the remnants of alcohol on his tongue, but his touch is even more intoxicating. the thrumming bass drowns out any noises you may make to those around you, but he knows you so well and knows exactly what sounds you’re making just by how desperately you’re kissing him back, panting and scratching at the hair at the nape of his neck.

when you finally pull away after what feels like an eternity, he’s still holding you close to him, one hand around your waist and the other giving your each of your cheeks a light squeeze. you’re both breathless and can’t help but smile at each other as you rest your foreheads against one another. “you make me crazy, y/n,” he shouts over the blaring music, pressing another kiss to your smiling lips. “i love you too,” you nearly scream back, laughing before he turns back around to enjoy the show, but now pulling you even closer than before, with his chin on your shoulder, just so you can feel the affect you have on him digging into your ass.

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eevees-hobbies · 3 months

Text

Nasty Girl (Fem!Reader x Ren Kaji) - NSFW

Author’s Note: I was sitting in traffic, and Lick or Sum by GloRilla started playing, and I thought, “this would make Kaji blush if it blasted through his headphones.” Anyway, GloRilla and Tinashe songs are referenced below, but you don’t have to know those songs to enjoy the story 🙂

Synopsis: New Fear has been Unlocked: not disconnecting your music from your boyfriend's headphones. Now, he just has to match your freak.

Content Warning: Fem!Reader x Ren Kaji. Sensory Deprivation (hearing), lyrics are explicit, Kaji imagines you giving him a lap dance, mention of Kaji smelling your sex, cunnilingus, p in v, dom behavior, dirty talk, use of the words slut and brat, ass smacking, talk of worshipping that ass, and technically a cumshot/creampie combo. Tis smut. Minors Do Not Interact.

Word Count: 2.4K

Divider by @strangergraphics. Story banner by me.

If you and Kaji could add music sharing to the official list of love languages, it would be underlined, bolded, and highlighted as it serves as an integral part of your relationship.

You appreciate Kaji’s favorite genres. Some of your dates with him include attending concerts—hard-hitting drums and thunderous electric rifts from bands like Metallica, Slipknot, and Megadeth make up some of your fondest memories with him.

Kaji enjoys listening to you express your musical taste, too. You are most certainly not a monolith; your taste in music varies, drifting through the ebbs and flows of enjoying different beats and sounds as you float between different genres depending on your mood.

While some of the songs you like may not resonate with him personally, he’ll always nod along as you gush about your favorite artists. He adores how your face lights up, whether you’re talking about rock, metal, hip-hop, or everything else in between. So when you apologize because you’re "talking his ear off," he’ll shake his head and encourage you to keep going. “Please tell me more about Megan Thee Stallion’s new album.”

Not only do you two exchange opinions on music, but it also isn’t unusual for you to borrow his headphones to listen to your playlist.

One day, you were preparing to make dinner, so you reached for your cell phone to put on some motivational tunes to get you through the monotony of dicing vegetables.

As you pushed play on your phone, you tilted your head to the side. You didn’t hear lyrical prose coming from the speakers. Instead, you heard the distinct sound of deafening silence. You pushed the play button again, considering that maybe you hadn’t pressed the correct area on the screen.

Still, nothing.

As you pick up your device to investigate whether the volume is on, Kaji, seated on the couch in the other room, scrunches his nose.

The music from the band In Flames suddenly stopped and was replaced by what he assumed to be something you were attempting to listen to.

His eyebrows furrow as he genuinely listens to the lyrics.

Lick on my clit, make this pussy cream. Do this motherfucker how you do them Russian creams.

Yeah, there’s no doubt that this is from your playlist, and it was certainly…graphic.

Kaji rises from the couch and approaches the kitchen doorway, pausing under the doorframe to admire you. His eyes wander over your shape, your ass jutting out a bit as you lean your elbows on the counter.

The lyrics are still drilling into his ear, raunchier and more explicit than the first few lines he heard, but he can’t help but wonder if you’d be willing to sing these lyrics to him. He imagines your pretty lips mouthing filthy shit into his ear.

His cock twitches, thinking about you dancing to the song, flirting your hips and ass in his lap as you tease him, letting his hands explore your body as you dip low and bend over, letting him see the way your ass eats up the fabric of shorts. Before he knows it, he’s rock hard, the outline of his dick protruding through his black skinny jeans.

You still haven’t identified the problem, and right as you consider force-closing the application, you feel Kaji press his body against your back. You jump a little at his sudden presence and open your mouth to tell him to give you a warning next time, but before you can, he places one shell of the headphones over your ear, leaving the one closest to his mouth uncovered.

“Interesting taste you have. What did she say? ‘All over his breath like pussy flavored gum’”

Well, damn, then.

Your knees suddenly feel as though they may not be able to keep you upright, trembling and unstable, as if you’re a new babe learning how to walk again. You feel the warmth of his breath, sweet and cherry-flavored, on the back of your neck.

Your boyfriend never talks like this. Kaji isn’t vanilla by any means, but he definitely doesn’t say things like GloRilla does in her song.

You laugh nervously. Suddenly, you’re very aware of how hard he’s pressing your body into the edge of the counter.

“I didn’t realize that I hadn’t disconnected Bluetooth.”

“No, looks like you didn’t.”

Kaji reaches up and places the other headphone shell over your ear—music drowns out any of the sounds in the kitchen, like the ticking of the clock on the wall or Kaji’s breathing in your ear. Instead, it’s replaced with the beginning of Tinashe’s Nasty.

I've been a nasty girl, nasty.

As she asks if anyone’s going to match her freak, you can feel Kaji’s hands tracing down your body, squeezing your breasts through the thin fabric of your dress, fingers lingering over your nipples despite the presence of your bra. He knows your body so well that he can locate them simply from memory.

As he glides his hands down your stomach, you prepare for him to touch you where you need him the most. The drooling, twitching mess that she is needs him.

But Kaji’s hands move behind you instead of touching you where you ache. You let out an audible whine that earns you an unseen smirk. Yeah, he knows what you think you need, but he knows better.

Need somebody with a good technique Is somebody gonna match my nasty?

He crouches down, hands lifting your dress; you don’t need a verbal command to know to kick up your feet so he can pull your panties down and toss them to the side.

If you keep up with me I'll keep on comin' back

With his strong hands placed firmly on your ass, his fingers grip and fondle the plush flesh, earning a strangled moan from your throat. You wiggle your ass in an attempt to get him to stop toying with you and touch you. But all you earn is a searing smack to your ass cheek and Kaji’s eyes appreciating the way you jiggle for him.

If you do it too good I'm gonna get attached

You yelp, your skin feeling a brief sting from his palm. You pout, but honestly, you only have yourself to blame, and you should absolutely know better. Kaji prefers it when you behave yourself, but when you are fervent about acting up? Fine, either a firm smack to your ass or clit, or a hand wrapped around your throat is quick to put you in your place.

But he’s not cruel. Punishments are his last resort, and as he presses his lips to the tender spot where he smacked your ass, offering you a gentle peace treaty, you’re reminded of that.

You once again jerk from his touch, feeling like something is pricking at your ass, but the kitchen counter and the way he’s keeping you held against it leave you with limited escape routes.

Kaji licks the indentations his teeth made on your cheek, a low growl erupting from his throat.

Fuck, he wouldn’t call himself an ass worshipper, but he’d be willing to drop to his knees and press his forehead against the filthy ground on the street to pay homage to yours.

Cause it feels like heaven when it hurts so bad Baby, put it on me I like it just like that

“Kaji, that hurt!”

The benefit of you being unable to hear is that Kaji doesn’t have to answer you. If he did, you’d probably hate the answer. A monotone “Good” from him would probably warrant an attitude from you. And he doesn’t want attitude—at least not at this moment—he just wants a well-intentioned taste.

You gasp as he presses his face into your sex, nose nudging against your folds, inhaling all of you. His mouth is watering as his tongue licks up and down your already wet slit, your slick sticking to your folds in the way fresh honey sticks to a honeycomb. His fingers spread your cunt open, eyeing the way you already dribble like a slut for him.

Your eyes roll back as he delivers a peck to your pussy, then a longer kiss until his mouth forms in an opened-mouth make-out session with her, not being liberal with the use of his tongue. You begin to press yourself back onto his mouth, daring his tongue to be even deeper. And Kaji doesn’t fight you; you give a silent thanks that he’s allowing you to fuck his tongue.

He brings his hand between your thighs, allowing the palm of his hand to rub against your clit as you bounce back on his face.

“You’re so messy,” he growls into your cunt as your slick drips down his chin and drenches his palm. And it’s the god-honest truth; your cunt is dripping, hot, wet, thick, and languid, coating his tongue and throat with your essence. You’re his favorite indulgence. When he has a sweet tooth, he doesn’t think of or crave candy; he thinks of you.

As your cum cascades into his mouth, his tongue cleans up every inch of you, tongue sliding between your folds, over your clit, your clitoral hood, and even your inner thighs. By the time he considers it a job well done, you’re glistening in his saliva more so than your cum.

Wiping his mouth against the back of his hand, he rises again to take his place pressed against your back.

“K-Kaji,” your moan is desperate as you press your ass against his crotch. “Need you so bad, baby!”

Kaji can’t help but keep his eyes on you as your head falls back to rest on his shoulder. You don’t realize how loud you’re being with the music playing in your ears, but he desperately hopes the neighbors can hear every single thing you yell.

Each gasp and moan leaving your lips has him throbbing, his heart pounding in his chest as his eyes travel down to your neck, watching you swallow so thickly, eyes pooling with desperation and pleading to have him, him, him.

He hikes one of your legs onto the counter, forcing you to knock over some of the produce you were planning to use for dinner.

He’s not very patient, even in moments where he wants to savor you; he’s his own worst enemy and too eager to feel you around him. He’s already stretching your cunt apart with the head of his dick, and you lean over to give him a better angle.

Kaji, ever the appreciative one, bottoms out immediately, stretching your hole to the thickest part of him.

With each jerk of his hips, the headphones shift until they clatter onto the counter in front of you. The sounds you were unable to hear before overwhelm your senses immediately. You catch the end of Kaji sputtering your name so loudly that you’re surprised you didn’t hear him over the music.

“Fuck, why are you so messy?” He rasps out, breath shakey and labored not from exertion but from simply being so consumed by his desire for you he can’t help but suck in too much oxygen.

“M-maybe it’s the way you just slobbered on my pussy?”

“Oh, god. There’s that fucking mouth. Headphones must be off.” You earn another smack to your ass and the quickening of his ruts into your sopping cunt. “Like you better when you’re too busy moaning like a slut to be a brat.”

You practically mewl in appreciation of being called a slut and a brat in the same sentence.

“Yeah, look at ya squeezing me tight, brat. Jerkin’ me off with your needy pussy.”

You bury your face into the crook of your elbow, moaning and face heating up because he’s fucking right; your pussy is wringing him, hoping to coax every last drop of his cum out of his balls.

Kaji hisses. Without warning, your cunt clamps down onto him, halting his rutting, “Fuck, pretty girl. Already?”

You whine because, really, what the fuck were you supposed to do? He should be praising you for holding on this long.

As your clenching stops, he has a bit more clearance to continue his thrusts, bottoming out into your tight, orgasming sex. The wet, squelching sound your pussy makes as Kaji hilts you are loud, filthy, lewd, practically sounding of nothing but sin. He can’t help but think, “like those songs she likes,” as he whimpers at the thought.

“Fuck, well, I’m glad you’re feeling good. Gonna let me cum now?” He’s teasing you because, of course, he can cum. You aren’t stopping him—the more the fucking merrier. You try to utter precisely that, but he juts his hips sharply, knowing you were going to say something with that smart-ass mouth of yours, the tip of his dick drilling against your g-spot.

Your nails scrape against the counter, trying to grip and claw at something. “K-kaji, I’m…!”

You bite your lip, that all-too-familiar tightening overtaking you until it bursts, and another orgasm rips through you.

Kaji groans and pulls out with urgency because there’s something he has to do. Call it a compulsion or whatever label you want to assign to it, but it’s something he’s compelled to do to you when the urge to cum inside doesn’t sway him.

He spreads your labia with his thumb, butterflying your pretty pussy for him. He’s giving himself solid pumps with his free hand, eyes never leaving your ass, loving the way it looks sticking out like this for him. He gasps, his moan raspy but so deliciously loud. “Fuck, fuck, fuck here it c-comes!”

His cum shoots out, splattering all over your waiting hole until it’s so covered by his thick, white seed that he can’t see your opening anymore. And the final part of the ritual? Smearing it all over your folds, the fleshy pink of you, and pushing it back in with the tip of his dick for good measure.

“What even is that fetish called?” you mumble.

“I don’t have a fetish. I just like doing…this.” He can’t tear his eyes away at how pretty she looks, covered in white.

He finally places a kiss on the back of your neck, his hand reaching around your fucked out and bent over form to grasp his headphones. “Forget cooking. Let’s order in.”

And maybe after this romp in the kitchen, you both had inadvertently conditioned yourselves to use certain songs to initiate sex. His dick automatically hardening when you play songs that bring him back to the moment in the kitchen, and him placing the headphones over your ears as he fucks you to the same music that celebrates getting your back blown out.

#wind breaker #windbreaker smut #ren kaji smut #ren kaji #ren kaji x reader #kaji x reader #kaji ren x reader

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