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monzabee · 1 year

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eight words when i think about us – lh44 (+18)

masterlist

Summary: The one where Coachella has both you and Lewis high on each other.

Pairing: lewis hamilton x reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: smut!, spanking, oral (m receiving), slight choking, unprotected sex (better wear that latex if you don’t want that i’m late text), slight manhandling?, minors dni!!

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! taking a small break from writing requests, this was VERY fun to write. i don’t listen to drake, but this song and lewis??? i had to do something with it, and the fits from coachella were just too good to ignore. i hope you guys enjoy reading this one! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.

It all starts with a look shared between the two of you, it always has. Not at all an innocent one in its nature, no, it’s a look shared between the two of you which is filled with fire and unresolved feelings. You knew it from the first time you saw his eyes that the situation, whatever it might be, would end in your heart being broken; unfortunately, you’ve never been good at exactly practicing what you preach. You don’t know how the two of you end up dancing next to each other in your crowded group, or how he positions himself right behind you which gives him a great opportunity to wrap his arms around your waist to pull you towards him. Although the two of you are in a EDM set, all your ears can focus on is the dirty words he huskily whispers in your ear over the loud music.

“Let me take you back to the hotel,” he murmurs into your ear, his voice is hoarse because of all the yelling he’s been doing in his attempt to sing along to the songs.

“No, Lewis,” you whine, hands quickly moving to rest on his on your hips. “We said the last time we’d stop for good.”

“We did so the time before that as well,” he is quick to remind you, “and the time before that, remember that one time in Barcelona? You loved doing it against the window, darling.”

You feel your breath hitch when he presses his lips to the column of your neck, his kiss is as familiar to you as the morning sun. Your voice comes out needier than you expect, “Lewis, please.” You seem to beg him, even though you remind yourself to be stronger and keep your ground when it comes to him. “We said we’d stop,” you remind him.

“Please, baby, I’ve missed you.” His lips continue their journey across your skin which is breaking your resolve with every passing moment. “Haven’t you missed me, Y/N?”

His whisper against your ear, combined with his voice and his breath on your skin makes you shiver against his hold, making him smirk as he nudges your jaw with his nose and presses kisses against your skin there. “I did, I missed you so much.” You confess, letting one of your hands stroke his jaw. “But we can’t–”

“If you want me to stop, then just tell me to stop.” He grumbles, his kisses becoming more aggressive as he lightly begins to suck and nip at your skin. His lips turn up in a smirk when you let out a silent moan, which he can tell by the movement of your throat rather than the sound because of the loud music in the premise.

“Lewis.” You let out his name in a breath, which causes him to let out an acknowledging hum, but he doesn’t stop the ministrations of his lips. “P-please.”

His voice is filled with mockery when he teases you after sucking a particular spot on the base of your neck. “Please, what, darling?”

There is a pout on your lips as you push him off of you slowly, turning towards him with a defiant look in your eyes. “What’s the point? You’ll just end up running away again, Lewis.”

“Don’t be like this,” Lewis warns, “You know why I had to leave, so stop acting like a brat.”

The challenging look in your eyes makes him stand his ground instead of reaching for you, which is what he normally would have done. “What will you do, spank me?” You snap, rolling your eyes when he says your name in a warning tone.

“You know it wouldn’t be a sufficient enough punishment, you would enjoy it too much.” The condescending tone of his words making you roll your eyes. “Where are you going?” He calls out to you when you start walking away from him, and thus the group.

“I’m going back to the hotel.” You answer him, shooting him a pointed look over your shoulder. “Alone.”

You don’t end up going back to the hotel, alone, after all. Lewis insists that you cannot take an Uber back on your own, no matter how much you remind him that you are more than capable of doing so. He doesn’t bother arguing with you, but instead waits for your Uber with you – and consequently shocking you when he gets into the car after making sure you’re inside safely. He doesn’t say a word the entire ride, even when you ask him why he’s coming with you. Instead, he keeps a firm hand on your thigh, which is exposed because of your skirt riding up. He’s even quiet when you are in the elevator, going up to your room, and you can’t help but sneak a look at his face; all serious without any hint of playfulness.

So that’s how you end up bent over the arm of the couch in your hotel room, the way Lewis letting his hand come down on your ass every once in a while making you let out whines which get louder as he continues. “Look at you, darling, you’re such a sight for sore eyes.” He caresses your reddened skin, his hands lingering around the waistband of your thong – which he takes off promptly and lets out a loud groan at the sight which beholds him. “Fuck, Y/N, this is really doing it for you, isn’t it? You like being spanked?”

Your voice comes off muffled because of the way hide your face in the pillow you’re hugging at his words. “You know I do.”

“Such a bad girl.” Lewis tsks, delivering a few more hits to your already sore skin. “I was going to eat your pretty pussy out the way I know you like, darling, but you just had to go and say things that weren’t even true.” He lets his hand massage your skin to relieve some of the stinging feeling lingering there.

“I’m sorry,” You mumble through your whines, trying to appear as genuine as possible, but both Lewis and you know that you only acted that way because you were trying to get a rise out of him – which clearly worked.

“Oh, baby, you’re sorry?” He coos, pressing kisses to your reddened skin while he keeps on speaking. “Why would you say something like that in the first place, hm?” He nip at your skin, sucking a certain spot, until he’s satisfied enough that it will leave a mark, before speaking again. “You didn’t want to make me mad on purpose by saying no, did you?”

You pause as you contemplate what to say, your throat suddenly feeling very dry, you gulp down a snappy answer. "I-I’m–” You stammer, moaning when he bites down on your skin. “I did. I wanted you to fuck me.”

Lewis smiles at your honesty, knowing he’s got you where he wanted. His hands roam around the skin of your back, and eventually, he lets one of his hands to slide down to the junction of your thighs to press his thumb against your opening. “You like it when I’m rough with you, darling? You like being fucked, when I’m not soft with you?”

You nod your head the best you can while your face is buried against the pillow you have underneath you, but you’re reminded to speak out loud when Lewis uses his free hand to deliver another, albeit lighter, slap on your bum. “I like it when you fuck me hard.”

“Is that so?” He muses, stopping his actions to take a look at his handiwork. He lets out a hum which shows that he is satisfied with it, then he straightens up, pulling you up with him and making you wince when he makes you lean against the arm of the couch and consequently making your bare skin come in contact with the fabric. “Maybe I shouldn’t fuck you at all tonight, you’ve been very rude to me.” You shake your head, hands scrambling with anxiety to take his shirt off as you look at him with a pout on your lips. He watches you with an amused smile while also assisting you in your goal. “What are you doing?” He asks when you start pulling him towards the couch to make him sit down.

“You took something off me, it’s only fair.” You shrug, sinking down on your knees between his parted legs. “Is it okay if I suck you off? To apologise?” You busy yourself with undoing his pants, and his confirmation puts a sweet smile on your face. “Thank you.”

He watches your hurried movements, lifting his hips up to help you get his trousers and underwear off, but he stops you by gently grabbing your chin and making you look at him. “Slow down, darling.” He smiles when you let out a frustrated whine, your lower lip pushing out to make you pout. “We have all night.” He leans forward to get you out of your top which leaves you with your bra and your skirt on, a look from Lewis has you scrambling to take the former article off. You watch him lean back against the couch, radiating nothing but power. Instead of saying anything you nod and move to wrap your fingers around his cock, but he stops you as he catches your wrist and spits on your palm without breaking his eye contact with you.

He lets out a hiss when you finally do wrap your hand around his cock and use your thumb to spread the precum which has accumulated on his tip. You let your hand move up and down a few times before taking the tip into your mouth and lightly sucking on it. You gradually take more of him as you open your mouth to accommodate his size, using your hands where your mouth is not able to reach. A sense of pride washes over you when you feel him getting under your touch and he shows his appreciation by sliding his fingers through your hair. You hear a low groan that comes between his lips when you start bobbing your head up and down, which makes you tighten your lips around him. You don’t cut off your eye contact with him for the sole purpose of making him lose control, Lewis always makes a point of telling you how much he loves having your eyes on him at all times – it is a side effect of his job, you think, always in front of the camera, always being watched by the world. But you on your knees on him with his cock between your lips, looking him with huge eyes? It doesn’t take too long for him to take over all the control you held; he starts moving your head on his cock by the fingers he has tangled in your hair. Not that you mind, you’re more than happy to let him move you however he likes.

He eventually takes himself out of your mouth, before you make him cum, making you whine because of the loss of contact as a result, but there is a grin playing on his lips as he pulls you to his lap, his hand quick to go under your skirt. You let out a gasp when you feel his finger sliding through your slit, he only laughs at your reaction. “Did sucking my dick made you wet, darling?”

You nod your head with urgency, needing him to do something about the sweet ache you feel between your thighs. “Yes, Lewis.” You try to move your hips closer to his fingers to get some kind of friction, but left unsatisfied when he pulls them away with the tilt of one of his eyebrows.

He sucks on his finger as you watch him with parted lips, which makes him smirks as he shrugs. “You got to have a taste, it’s only fair.” He taps your thigh twice as he instructs, “Hang on to me with one of your hands, and lift your skirt with the other.”

You look at him with widened eyes, rising on your knees when you feel him pinch the skin on your ass. “You’re not going to fuck me?”

He smiles wickedly at your whining tone, lining himself with your entrance as he replies to your question in a nonchalant manner. “No, love, you’re going to fuck me.” Your breath hitches at the emphasis which only makes him smirk wider as he uses his hand on your hip to lower you onto his cock.

Your lips part in a silent scream as you feel the burn of the stretch he provides as he draws you closer to his hips. “Oh my god, Lewis.”

“Are you okay?” He asks, worried eyes meeting yours as he stills his hands.

“Yes, just- Give me a second,” you swallow down a breath, using your hand on his shoulder as leverage to push yourself down on him on your own pace. You head is thrown back and your eyes are closed once your hips come to a halt. The stretch being full to the brim after months apart is delicious, you decide.

Lewis’ hand squeezes your hip as he lets a loud groan as he bows his head. “Tell me what’s wrong, darling.”

A loud moan comes from you once you feel Lewis taking one of your hardened nipples between his lips and starts to suck, his forehead is flushed against your clavicle and you let go of your skirt to push him against in chest. “It’s just- it’s been a while,” you breath out; your hips start moving once the overwhelming feeling slowly fades away and leaves its place to pleasure.

He lets go of your nipple, “Start off slow, we have all night,” he reminds you and moves on to your other nipple, sucking and tugging against the puckered skin.

You let out a noncommittal hum, choosing to focus on the movement of your hips at the moment instead of his instructions. You gradually lift your hips higher, and let them drop harder, causing his tip to be burrowed deeper and deeper inside you. “It feels so good,” you praise him, “so deep.”

“Yeah?” Lewis asks breathlessly. “Look at me, pretty girl.” You force yourself to roll your head sideways, the tilt of your head allowing you to look into his eyes as the movement of your hips become sharper as you get used to the feeling of him within you. You realise just how much his eyes have changed over the course of few minutes when you lock gazes with him, his are a darker shade of brown and filled with lust. Both of you let out a hiss when you start rolling your hips against his and the friction on your clit sends shivers down your spine. You almost roll your head back again, but Lewis is quick as he grips your chin with his thumb and pointer finger, forcing you to keep your eyes on him.

Your legs tighten around his on almost an instinct and you place your hands on his chest to keep holding your balance. “Lewis.” You voice comes out more as a moan, your hips getting faster as you try to chase the high. You unintentionally bit down on your lip, causing him to use his thumb to pry your lip free and slides his thumb in your mouth.

You groan around his digit as you close your lips around it and start sucking on it as you did with his cock a few moments ago. He watches you with pure fascination. “Good girl, Y/N, such a good girl for me.”

You ignore the burning feeling emanating from your inner thighs, pushing yourself to roll and move your hips up and down in a faster rhythm. You moan loudly as you feel a similar burn starting to form as your stomach coils. You incline your head to take a look at where the two of you are connected, watching him disappear between your folds, and Lewis follows your line of vision which causes him to moan as well. “So deep, Lewis, it feels so good,” you whimper, your hands automatically move to grasp the chains hanging around his bare chest when he makes you look back at him by gently grabbing you by your neck.

“Move faster,” he orders you, drawing you closer to himself as he simultaneously rises up to meet you in the middle and rests his forehead against yours.

You attempt to move even faster despite the burn in your thighs becoming more and more apparent. You nails rake down his chest as your breathing becomes erratic. “I-I can’t– Lewis!”

He causes you to scream out his name as he delivers a slap down on your ass as he announces, “You can.”

“Please,” you gasp, somehow it becomes tangled with a broken moan, “please, help me.”

“You want me to help, baby?” He asks in a strangled voice, the hand he has around your throat slightly tightening to add to all the sensations you are feeling at that moment. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you.”

Although his voice is as sweet as it can be given the circumstances, he grasps both sides of your hips in a bruising grip as he lifts you off; just enough to keep his tip inside you still. You scream his name over and over again as he slams you down on his cock, and repeats the action until it leaves you as a sobbing mess. You try to keep your eyes open as tears of pleasure start falling out, not wanting to risk Lewis stopping because you’re not following his instructions. “I’m going to cum.” You manage to get out in a voice thick with pleasure.

“It’s okay,” he assures you, “I’ve got you; you can let go.” He keeps moving you on his cock before deciding to change your roles, holding you up while he fucks into you. You buck your hips down on his as best as you can, your vision blurring as your orgasm washes over you.

The moans and squeals leaving your lips only makes him move faster with conviction. While he guides you through your release, your body moulding against his as your legs start shaking, you feel his hips starting to stutter their movements. You cup his cheek as your breathy whisper hits his lips, “I want you to cum in me,” you shush him when he’s about object, “please, Lewis, just this once.” He lets out a groan mixed with a moan when he hears the desperation in your voice, his hands grip you tighter as he finally comes with a hiss leaving between his lips.

You let yourself fall against his chest, both of you heaving as you try to catch your breaths and come off your highs. Lewis’ arms wrap around your waist as he lets out a chuckle, “We’re definitely doing that again.”

The corners of your lips lift up in a grin against the side of his neck, your head nestled against his shoulder. “Does this mean I should be snappy with you more often?”

“I’ll answer that question after a bath, darling.” You see him smile from the corner of your eye. “And breakfast, possibly a round after breakfast.”

“Good,” you mumble sleepily, pressing a kiss against the column of his throat. “Stay, and please just get me out of this damn skirt.”

#monzabee #requests open #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #formula 1 #fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #imagine #fluff #angst #smut #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton fluff

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daisynik7 · 1 year

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Dirty Thirty

Pairing: Kishibe x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

cw: thigh riding, cunnilingus, fingering, spanking, spit play, vaginal sex (doggy, cowgirl), cockwarming, use of pet names (princess and Master)

Word Count: ~5.6k

Summary: An alluring stranger gives you a special treat on the night of your 30th birthday.

Notes: Kishibe is in his mid 40s. Also, apparently he is 6’4”, so reader is shorter, below 6’. This is very self-indulgent considering my own 30th is in a few days (shout out to all my fellow Pisces babes)! Also, I started this after finishing Chainsaw Man a few weeks ago, so this is a result of heavy Kishibe brainrot.

Additional Note: Check out Part 2 here: After Last Night! Reblogs, likes, and/or comments are appreciated. Thank you for reading!

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The bass of EDM music reverberates through the speakers at the DJ’s booth. This particular bar you frequent turns into a club at 11 PM. College kids from the university down the street congregate in this establishment on the weekends, like today. You and your friends have been here since an hour ago, drinking and chatting in a booth hidden away to the side of the dancefloor. After dinner, you stopped by for a quick drink. With the booze and vibes just right, you ended up staying.

Tonight, you celebrate your birthday. It’s the end of an era, really. You’re officially thirty. You’ve been dreading this day for the past few months, sad to bid farewell to your twenties, which wasn’t all that anyways. The number of times your friends reassure you that your thirties are the new twenties only brings you mild comfort. Glancing at the crowd tearing up the dancefloor, you can’t help being envious of their youth.

Maybe it’s your buzz talking. You’re not one to feel sorry for yourself, especially about something as inevitable as aging. Thirty is young. Who cares if you’re the only one in your inner circle who’s single, unmarried, or childless? There’s no shame in it. You’re sick of women being scrutinized each year they get older for not doing what society tells them they should do. Who the fuck cares if you don’t have a ring on your finger or haven’t popped a baby out your vagina yet? It isn’t on your radar, and that’s perfectly fine. Men don’t get this much shit for remaining bachelors well into their forties or fifties, why should you?

You fidget with the glittery Dirty 30! sash you wear over your little black dress. A shimmering tiara sparkles on top of your head to complete your ensemble. Your friend’s voice in your ear snaps you out of your thoughts. “Hey birthday girl, how’s it going?”

Smiling, you hold your half empty glass up towards the middle. “Good. Thanks so much for coming out to celebrate tonight!” You’re ready to chug the rest of your liquor so you can head to the dancefloor. The other three women in your group cheers, clinking their drinks with yours.

You’re about to suggest dancing when your friend says, “Shall we call it a night?”

It catches you off guard. The music just started and it’s not even midnight yet. You’re not ready to go back to the real world; it’s your special day until you fall asleep, which you don’t plan to do for a few more hours. You’re silent though, listening as the other girls repeat a similar sentiment.

“My husband is waiting for me at home, so yes.”

“And my babies have an early morning play date tomorrow!”

Your friend beside you turns to you and asks, “Ready to go?”

Contemplating for a moment, you respond, “I think I might stay, actually. Have another drink or two.”

They stare at you bewildered, surprised you want to be here alone, which is unusual for you. “Are you sure?” they clarify.

“Yeah! Go ahead, I’ll be fine! I’m a big girl now,” you joke, standing up to hug them. They kiss you on the cheek, greeting you one last happy birthday before leaving together to go home to their husbands and children.

Craving another drink, you abandon your booth to approach the bar. You order your favorite: a vodka cranberry, your comfort cocktail throughout your 20s. A reminder that you’re still the same you despite moving up a decade.

You close your tab, promising yourself this is your last, and go back to your table. It’s now occupied by an older man in a black coat, sipping on amber liquor. Annoyed, and slightly intrigued, you sit opposite of him in the same booth. He lifts his head up slowly, noticing you.

“Hi there,” you greet him. Even in the dim light, the stitched scar on his left cheek stands out. The metal piercings on his ears glisten, the strobe lights reflecting off them from the dancefloor.

“Can I help you?” His voice is low and raspy, either naturally or from the alcohol.

“I was sitting here earlier. The other tables are all occupied, and I really don’t want to stand around on the dancefloor by myself. Can I sit here until I finish my drink? There’s plenty of room for the both of us.” You put on your most charming smile.

“Where are your friends? I’m sure you’d rather sit with them instead of with an old man like me.”

“They ditched me to go home. Besides, it looks like you could use the company.” You tip your cocktail into your mouth, keeping your gaze on him.

He watches you, skeptical. “How old are you?”

You glance down at your sash, which is now twisted so that the answer to his question is on your back where he can’t see. You grin at him. “Don’t you know it’s rude to ask a woman her age?”

He hums, unamused. “I’m not keen on hanging out with girls in their 20s. Not really my style. Not tonight, anyways.”

“How old do you think I am?”

Narrowing his eyes at your tiara, he responds, “You’re wearing a crown, drinking a cranberry vodka at a bar that plays this shit music. I’d say you’re 23.”

This amuses you, like getting asked for your ID does, which is becoming rarer nowadays. It’s flattering.

“Hey, you’re here too. The only difference is that you’re drinking a whiskey,” you tease him, pointing at his glass.

“In my defense, I finished work nearby and this shitty cesspool was the closest bar I could find.” He takes a swig of his alcohol. “So, am I right?”

Sliding the sash to face him, you answer, “Nope. You’re wrong. Lucky for you, today is my birthday. And I just turned thirty.”

He cracks a smile at this, giving you a flutter below your belly. You’re not typically into older men; however, this guy has piqued your interest. There’s something about him that is alluring. Exciting.

“Happy birthday,” he says, swallowing the rest of his whiskey. “Get anything good?”

“No. But the night’s not over yet.” You’re full-on flirting now, not at all ashamed of how brazen you’re acting. Fuck it. You only turn thirty once, right?

There’s distance between you, but the tension is so thick, you could smell the bold scent of liquor coating his lips. He leans closer, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Well, I guess it’s my responsibility now to give you something good.”

~~~

Minutes later, you’re in the back of the cab, riding towards an address he mutters to the driver. He holds you, interlocking his fingers with yours, peering out his window in silence. You focus on your entwined hands resting on the middle seat, the intimacy of it all distracting you from the fact that you’re about to hook up with this attractive stranger.

The driver arrives to a swanky apartment complex. Once inside, Kishibe doesn’t give you enough time to marvel at the beautiful interior of the room. In an instant, his lips are on yours, both palms cupping your cheeks assertively. Breath hot and chalky from the mint you saw him savor earlier in the car. It barely masks the lingering taste of that cigarette you witnessed him drag waiting for your ride. He didn’t have the same type of smoker’s breath that you’re sick of from your coworkers. With him, you don’t mind it at all.

His hand trails down your neck, thumb carefully brushing over a pulse point right below your chin. His skin is rough and calloused compared to yours. The scraggly facial hair scattered along his jaw is scratchy on your cheeks.

He breaks the kiss, gazing at you while he removes his overcoat, hanging it on the rack in the corner, kicking his shoes off in the process. There’s a small bar cart in the kitchen, where he pours himself a whiskey. At the freezer, he reaches for the ice, dropping three cubes into the dark liquor with a plop. You stand still, observing him, nervous and thrilled about what this mysterious man will do to you tonight.

At the couch, he takes a seat, thighs spread wide, his wrist hanging low between them, gripping the top of the glass with his fingertips. “Come here,” he beckons.

Removing your heels quickly and abandoning your purse, you step towards him, ready to sit beside him until he demands, “No. Not there.” He pats his thigh with his free hand. “Here.”

Your body trembles with lust as you straddle him, pussy pulsing against his muscular thigh. He studies you, from your hazy stare down to him between your legs, savoring his cold liquor all the while. You gulp loudly, obediently waiting for his next command.

Gently removing the crown atop your head and tossing it aside, he asks, “What do you want from me, princess? It’s your birthday after all.” Hearing him call you princess gives you a rush you can no longer contain. You start moving on his thigh, riding it to feel the glorious sensations on your clit.

His chuckle vibrates through his chest as you grasp at his collar to hold you steady. “This is what you want? Okay. Take what you need. Come on my thigh. I’ll watch.” His gravelly voice in your ear makes you ride him harder, grinding against him until your creamy mess is soaking through the thin fabric of your panties. You clench his tie, loosening it around his neck. He continues to watch you, sipping on his booze, enjoying his own private show.

Once the glass is empty except for the melting ice, he sets it down on the coffee table, pulling you in closer, his hand behind your neck. Lightly blowing cool, whiskey breath along your lips. You lean forward to kiss him, his tongue slipping past to explore your needy mouth. The longing for his touch on every inch of your body grows stronger by the second as you moan into the kiss, bouncing on his leg.

“Can you come by yourself? Or do you need my tongue on it? I can lick it up real good if you’ll let me.” His obscene suggestion surprises you, as if you weren’t already performing lewd acts on his lap. You tug at his tie to pull him into another fierce kiss before sitting next to him on the couch, lifting the hem of your dress up to reveal your wet undergarments.

“I’ll let you do whatever you want to me. But I’m not calling you Daddy,” you tease, spreading wide for him.

His voice is low in his throat, kneeling on the carpet, face positioned between your thighs. “Good, because I prefer to be called Master.”

You roll your eyes at him, to which he responds, “What? You don’t like that? I bet I’ll have you screaming it all night long.”

This has you speechless as he drifts towards you, staring at the wet spot soaking through your lingerie. “Look how fucking wet you are for me.” He hooks his fingers around the fabric, stretching it to the side to expose your sopping cunt. Leaning in closer, he flicks his tongue gently onto your clit, causing you to squirm above him.

He’s testing the waters, starting slow to gauge your limit. It’s gentle at first, toying with your bud until it’s plump and sensitive. Until your wanton moans are bouncing off the walls of his big, fancy apartment. There’s no doubt that he knows exactly what he’s doing. It’s obvious this man has years of experience beyond you. Having this stranger swirl his tongue on the most intimate parts of your body makes you weak in the knees. This is the first time all night that you’re thankful to be turning thirty. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be in this apartment, getting wrecked and torn apart by him.

“I’ve always wanted a plaything I can ruin,” he breathes out, finally wrapping his lips around you. “Will you be my pretty plaything tonight?” He surrounds your clit, drawing an erotic whimper from your mouth.

“Fuck, Kishibe. Yes. Use me as your plaything, fuck.”

He eats you out noisily, emphasizing every wet sound his mouth makes on your swollen bud. Several times, he spits on it, spreading his saliva up and down your pussy, plunging his tongue into your entrance to get it lubricated with his own drool.

“You’re fucking drenched down here. When’s the last time you let a grown man eat you out like this? I bet you’ve never been with someone like me, huh?”

You shake your head, swiping through his hair, spreading yourself wider for him. “Never.”

“I can tell,” he says, slipping his middle and ring finger into your entrance. “So fucking wet for me. I love it.” He pumps into you, curling his digits just right, resonating all the way down to your toes. His lips latch onto your clit, drinking you up to quench his insatiable thirst.

“Hold these for me,” he says, guiding your fingers to your panties. “Want to stroke my cock while I eat this gorgeous pussy out.” You hear the unbuckling of his belt, the sound of him shoving his fist into his slacks to jerk off. The vibrations from his moans tickle your skin as he nuzzles himself deeper into your arousal, practically drowning in it, flattening his tongue to smear his warm saliva all over. You whine in ecstasy, heedless of attracting any neighboring attention to your explicit blubbering.

“Come on my face,” he muffles, too busy lapping up your clit to pull away, fingers pumping in and out of you, shiny and sleek with your slick.

It doesn’t take much longer for you to reach your orgasm, pleasure jolting through your body while he works you until you’re overstimulated, twitching from the euphoria. He laughs softly, face glistening with your essence, taking a seat beside you. You watch him in a daze as he sticks his cum-coated fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean. “You want a taste, too?”

You nod, disoriented from your intense climax. He drags your bottom lip down using the pad of his thumb, mumbling, “Open.”

Obediently, you stick your tongue out for him, knowing fully well what he’s about to do. Your pussy throbs again, ready to be fucked for real by this provocative stranger you were so fortunate to meet tonight.

He grazes your open tongue, then spits in your mouth. “Swallow,” he demands, voice husky with desire. You do, making sure to gulp loudly, incredibly aroused and needy for his cock.

“Show me,” he whispers, opening his own mouth to mimic you. “Ah.”

You show him your tongue again, a dumb expression on your face while he inspects. Satisfied, he grunts, “Fuck, you’re bad. You’re a bad girl, aren’t you?” He reaches down to your soaked panties clinging to you. “Take these off.”

He slides out of his trousers, revealing briefs that barely conceal his obvious bulge. As you slip out of your underwear, he removes his, displaying his impressive cock. “You going to ride this cock now?”

Without a word, you nod. You’re already anticipating how fucking amazing he’s going to feel inside you. Your brain is jumbled with naughty thoughts of him taking you in all positions in every room of his apartment.

There’s a hungry gleam in his eyes as he watches you mount him. You hoist your dress up, stripping it from your body. He unclasps your bra, baring your breasts to him while he still wears his dress shirt and tie. For some reason, you want him to keep it on. Get it nice and dirty with slick and sweat.

You reach behind you to position him at your entrance. Once aligned, you slowly sink onto his cock, allowing yourself a few seconds to adjust to his size. Given his stature, it’s not surprising how big he is, both in length and girth. When you bottom out, he lets out a raspy fuck, holding your ass to squeeze your plush cheeks. “I’m ready whenever you are, princess. Like I said, take what you need from me. Milk me dry. I know you want to.”

Spurred by his provocative encouragement, you ride him, rocking your hips back and forth onto his lap, gripping his cock tight with your wet cunt. Forehead pressed to his, lids closed, jaw hanging open, experiencing the best fuck of your life. With a brief glance, you catch him watching you, a similar dazed expression on his face. You bounce on him faster, his dick pounding into you over and over again, determined to feel every inch you possibly can.

“Fuck, Kishibe, feels so fucking good,” you moan, directing his fingers down to your clit. “I want to come all over this cock. Make me come, Master.”

Bingo. His eyes widen as soon as it slips from your mouth. It’s the magic word. The trigger.

Without hesitation, he brushes his thumb ruthlessly onto your swollen bud. “Say it again,” he demands, pressing it hard as he massages it, eyes wild with lust.

“Fuck, make me come, Master. Make me come.” You’re riding him so fucking good, couch creaking, clutching his shoulders tight, his carnal stare locked on your every movement.

“Tell me when you’re close,” he growls.

“I’m close, I’m close!”

Suddenly, he pulls out, cock covered in your arousal, wet and stiff against his abdomen. Strings of slick cling to the hem of his dress shirt. You’re about ready to yell at him for teasing you. Before you can, he stands up, grabbing your wrist to lead you into the bedroom. His breathing is heavy as he points to the bed, hastily removing his clothes. “On your knees, ass up. I’m going to fuck you so good. Make you squirt all over my fucking sheets.”

The anger immediately subsides and you’re back to being eager again, knowing damn well that he means every fucking word he says. You do as he commands, wiggling your ass to entice him. He chuckles behind you. “I’m sorry for denying you earlier. I just really want to see this ass bounce on my cock like this.” He teases you with his tip, tapping your clit, sliding it along your pussy lips.

“You’re not forgiven,” you pout, growing impatient.

Placing a soft kiss on your lower back, he laughs again. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about this stranger you met mere hours ago, it’s that he is a man of his word.

He guides his cock into you slowly, stretching you little by little until you’re squeezing him, his entire length inside you. “Look at you, sucking me in again like you were made for me.” He starts thrusting, holding you steady to penetrate you deeper.

“So fucking good!” you cry out, fists bunched on his silky sheets, drool leaking from the corner of your mouth.

“I know, princess. It’s amazing for me too.” His heavy balls slap your damp skin with every brutal thrust of his hips, fucking you hard, dipping into your sweet spot until you’re woozy with pleasure. “You take it so good. So fucking sexy.” He tightens his grip on you, increasing his pace. “So fucking beautiful.”

You throw your ass back, arching your spine to get the perfect angle. With your cheeks bouncing obscenely against his thighs, you beg, “Spank me, Master. Spank me like a bad girl.”

Not wasting a second, his rough palm connects with your ass, the loud smack ringing in your ears. He spanks you again and again, your pussy clenching him tighter while you continue to thrust back onto his cock. You’re about ready to burst, desperate to reach your second orgasm after being denied earlier. You play with your puffy clit, electricity rippling through your body upon contact. Whimpering, you rub your bud faster as he pounds into you, cursing under his breath.

“Fuck,” he moans, staring at your ass jiggle after each fresh slap he delivers. “Come on my cock, princess. That’s it. Get it creamy. Just like that, fuck.”

Waves of pleasure sweep over you, the intensity of it causing you to tremble before him. In the midst of your climax, you plead for him to finish inside you, greedy for his cum. It doesn’t take long for him to fill you up, staying nestled deep in you as he releases his warm load, letting out a husky fuck.

He pulls out, his warm release leaking from your pussy, dripping onto his sheets. He ogles at the pornographic sight in front of him, pleased with himself.

“Like what you see?” you tease, lowering your torso and relaxing on the bed.

“You are a naughty, naughty girl,” he says, collapsing beside you. “Can’t believe I let you seduce me.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault? You were the one who offered to give me something good for my birthday.”

He raises a brow at you. “Did I succeed?”

You gaze at him, properly examining his appearance. Scruffy facial hair, eyes that are perpetually tired, the striking scar aligned with his frown. You find yourself wondering what his story is; someone this fetching must have a story.

“Considering the mess we made, I would say you exceeded my expectations.” You lay your palm on his firm chest, his now steady heartbeat lightly thumping against your fingertips.

“I’m glad to hear I wasn’t a disappointment.” He doesn’t take his gaze off you. Normally, you’d be intimidated by such intense eye contact. With him, it’s different. You feel safe. He places his hand on top of yours, rugged thumb gently caressing the skin of your knuckles. The two of you stay like this, enjoying each other’s presence in an easy silence.

“We can’t do this again,” he mutters, finally looking away from you. He turns onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, your hand still snug under his.

“Why not?” The shift in energy surprises you. This is not the typical pillow talk you’re accustomed too.

“I’ll keep wanting to see you if we keep this up,” he admits. Although it’s a sweet sentiment, he’s deciding to end it here and now, not even waiting until the morning like in a typical one-night-stand.

Matching his candid demeanor, you ask, “What’s wrong with wanting to see me again?” A strange feeling of unease swells in your chest, anxious for whatever truth he’s about to reveal.

He takes a breath before explaining, “I’m a Devil Hunter. The best in the world. My job is very dangerous. A young woman like yourself shouldn’t get attached to me. My life is expendable.” He avoids you while he speaks, eyes laser focused on the ceiling, barely blinking. It’s as if he doesn’t want to say it; rather, it’s part of a script, forced to recite the lines like it’s standard procedure. How often has he had to deliver this sober spiel to his ex-lovers? You start to pity him, speculating how detached he must remain to the outside world strictly because of his risky profession.

You continue to stare at him, letting the information sink it. The air is thick with a serious tension. It’s a sudden switch from the wild romp you just experienced. Choosing not to pester him further, you decide to lighten the mood. You scoot towards him, mouth skimming his ear, muttering, “Well, l didn’t really like you anyways.” The cold metal of his piercings contrast the soft warmth of your lips.

He turns to you again, the tension in his brows easing slowly as he gives you a small smirk. “Oh yeah?”

You nuzzle your nose against his. “Yeah.”

“Good. It’s better this way,” he says, planting a kiss on the forehead.

Sighing, you ask, “Can I at least spend the night?”

“Of course. I’ll even cook you breakfast tomorrow morning.”

“I hope that doesn’t mean a cup of coffee with a splash of whiskey and a couple cigarettes,” you joke.

He chuckles. “I’ll throw in some eggs for protein, does that work?”

“Sure. I’ll take whatever I can get, since this is the last time we’ll be seeing each other.”

There’s a small smile on his lips as he gazes at you. A minute passes and he reaches for you, grazing your cheek delicately. You feel comfortable in bed with him. Protected. You snuggle into his chest, his arms wrapping you into a bear hug. Cozy in his embrace, you listen to his rhythmic breathing, lulling you to sleep.

~~~

In the morning, you wake up alone, tucked under the covers, clothed only in a dress shirt, barely buttoned. The bedroom door is wide open, the sound of a pan scraping on iron ringing in your ears and the inviting smell of food cooking wafting from the kitchen.

You spot a pack of baby wipes on the drawer next to you, noticing that your body is fresh and clean, opposite the sticky mess you fell asleep to. Next to it is a brand-new toothbrush and toothpaste. With these items in hand, you tip-toe into the bathroom, appreciating his thoughtfulness.

When you’re done, you study his bedroom for the first time, and probably last. There are no pictures hung anywhere, no personal touch to anything. Only small traces of a man whose entire existence is his job. Several ties scattered on his dresser next to a metal flask. A mini calendar on his nightstand with random scribblings of future work commitments. Hamper in the corner of the room, filled to the brim with white dress shirts, black slacks, and a couple of mismatched argyle socks. You’re slightly tempted to investigate some drawers to see the type of weapons a Devil Hunter of his caliber carries, but you don’t.

You lean against the doorframe, watching him in the kitchen. He’s in a plain white t-shirt with navy-blue pajama pants. As promised, he is cooking a batch of scrambled eggs over the stove, a steaming mug of coffee in one hand, spatula in the other. Looking domestic and sexy as hell. His words replay in your mind. You shouldn’t get attached to someone like me. You almost regret sleeping with him, knowing you’ll miss him after you leave.

Quietly, you stroll towards him until he notices you. When he does, he takes a sip of coffee and mutters, “Morning, princess.”

Positioned behind him, you wrap your arms around his waist, raising your heels to place a gentle kiss on the back of his neck. It’s only now that you realize how much taller he is than you. “Good morning, handsome. This is a pleasant surprise.”

“I told you I’d cook you breakfast, didn’t I?” He cranes his neck to face you, smirking.

“You did. I’m pleased to see you keep your promise,” you tell him, resting your cheek on his back. “You’re truly a man of your word. I think that deserves a reward.” You slide your thumbs under the waistband of his pajama bottoms, teasing him.

“If you tempt me, you won’t be able to taste this delicious meal I prepared for you,” he comments, setting his coffee mug down the counter and turning off the burner. His hand covers yours, maneuvering it over the growing bulge in his pants.

“Maybe I’m craving something else for breakfast.” You start palming his erection, suddenly hungry for him rather than the food.

He turns to face you, looking at you up and down in his dress shirt, your legs clenched together to hide your arousal. Still smirking, he says, “You’re making this much harder than it needs to be.” He slowly pushes you against the counter, running his fingers up your inner thigh, spreading your legs to expose your wet cunt.

You moan, anticipating another round of intense fucking, this time in his kitchen. It makes you want to christen every part of his apartment.

“How are you this fucking wet for me already?” He whispers, rubbing his thumb on your throbbing clit. “You’re so sexy, it’s driving me insane.”

“Kishibe,” you breath out, struggling to steady yourself. “Fuck.”

“I got you. Get on the counter for me, princess. Spread those legs so I can lick that pussy clean.”

With his hands on your waist guiding you, you hop up, opening wide for him. Knees bent and body folded forward, he starts licking your clit, palming his erection through his pants. You come within minutes, gushing over his tongue as it glides along your slit, nose digging firmly onto your swollen bud.

“Fuck me, Kishibe. Want that big cock inside me. Want you to fill me up again with your cum.” You hop back down, turning around and lifting the hem of the dress shirt past your ass, ready to get railed right there on the countertop.

“Not like this,” he murmurs, kissing you on the cheek. “Wait for me in my room. We’re going to have breakfast in bed together.”

Minutes later, a tray with a plate full of eggs, toast, and bacon set on top is temporarily forgotten as the two of you fuck on the other side of the bed. Him sitting up, back pressed to the headboard, you riding him until he spills inside you, causing you to orgasm again all over him.

You slump forward, resting your head on his shoulder, tired and satiated from another amazing fuck. Attempting to slide off him, he kisses you on the lips, his grip firm on your waist, unyielding. “Keep my cock inside you. Can you do that for me?”

In your blissful state, all you can do is nod, getting comfortable on his lap. He reaches for a slice of bacon on the tray, letting you take the first bites before he finishes it, doing the same for a piece of buttered toast. He feeds you forkfuls of scrambled eggs, using the same utensil for himself. It’s pleasantly intimate for two people who just met. Playing the role of a long-term couple, indulging in simple delights together, like breakfast in bed.

Plate cleared, both your bellies full of nourishment, you stay in this position, kissing each other leisurely, no rush to separate. He whispers your name, fondling your breasts through the fabric of his dress shirt that you’ve made yours. He repeats it a few more times, relishing how it feels on his lips before he never has to utter it again.

It’s bittersweet, knowing it’s ending as soon as it begun. You have no reason to be so smitten with him. You’re two people who hardly know each other. Still, you find yourself not wanting to say goodbye yet. Something’s there. A tiny spark flickering in the distance. Maybe you’re one of many women he’s done this with before. Maybe you’re nothing special. But in this fleeting moment, you let yourself believe it’s real.

The two of you reluctantly part after an especially long, passionate kiss. You dismount him, grabbing the wipes to clean up the mess that was made earlier. He gives you a smooch on the forehead before getting out of bed to exit the room, returning in less than a minute to hand you your outfit from last night. You briefly recall carelessly discarding it all over his living room floor right before you pounced on him. Is it too soon to consider that a fond memory? It hasn’t even been 24 hours and you’re reminiscing about him already.

He leaves you alone in the bedroom to change. Before you undress, you bring the sleeves of the shirt to your nose and inhale deeply, memorizing his scent. You almost want to keep this shirt as proof that this happened. That Kishibe is real.

Back in your black dress, you sit at the edge of the bed, waiting for his return. When he walks in, he points at the sash and tiara next to you on the bed. “You’re not going to wear that?”

Shrugging, you respond, “It’s no longer my birthday, so it feels silly wearing it. Just toss it.”

You check your phone, estimating the time of arrival for the ride you requested. Any minute now, they’ll be here, ending your short-lived tryst. He offers to drop you off, but you refuse, not bothering to explain that doing that will result in you dragging him into your own apartment and keeping him a willing hostage for another few hours. It’ll only make it more difficult to not get attached. He doesn’t question it, probably understanding this himself.

The ping from the app chimes through your phone. You stand up, smiling at him, swinging your purse over your shoulder. “That’s my ride.”

He walks you to the door, waiting for you to strap on your heels. Once they’re on, you smile. “I guess this is it. Thank you for a fun night.”

“Thank you too. This was fun.” It could be wishful thinking, but you hear a waver in his voice. Is he a little bit sad too?

You face the door, ready to turn the knob, when you feel his grip on your wrist. He spins you towards him, kissing you feverishly, his hand caressing your cheek, the other behind your neck. Yearning for one more moment of intimacy with you. He breaks away, resting his forehead against yours, eyes shut as he says goodbye with one last whisper of your name. You avoid his gaze as you exit, walking out of his life.

It’s better this way.

#kishibe #kishibe csm #chainsaw man #kishibe smut #kishibe x reader #kishibe x you #kishibe x y/n #chainsaw man smut #csm smut #csm kishibe #kishibe brainrot #chainsaw man kishibe #dirty thirty

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pop-punklouis · 6 months

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I feel it's not fair at all, poppunk is not my type, On the other hand, I love Louis's voice in 1d songs, and back to you , and couple songs from walls album. And that's it, I don't have anything new to listen to from him. I know this is my problem and my musical taste and it's not Louis's fault. But come on do something like back to you that more people loved it, what's wrong with that? If we want to be logical pop punk has its own fans but they are in the minority.

I know his prejudice fans always says, that's fine, he'll be fine, don't worry about him, let Louis be for us, we don't want to share him, becoming number one is not his goal, but isn't it? Wasn't he happy when he was number one in the UK? I know the fans made it , but it's not like Louis said I'd be upset if I became number one and I don't want it and I refuse to accept it.

He says he doesn't care about commercial success, but who wouldn't want that. When you have the ability and talent, what's wrong with using it and singing a song that will bring everyone's attention to you? I really don't understand why Louis doesn't want to sing something that is popular with the majority of society?

1) this is such a weirdly self-serving ask of an artist like: “create music i want to listen to. if not, i cant listen to it and you’re not going to be successful.” perhaps, louis isn’t making music for you but for himself and if that isn’t for you, that’s fine. but that doesn’t mean he isn’t successful…..?

2) louis made mainstream pop music with one direction for five years. and tried his own hand at it for the first half of his solo career. he’d been in that world for a decade. and for his solo career, it wasn’t really that successful. and most importantly he wasn’t happy??

3) louis has made it abundantly clear that he didn’t want to make pop music. that his heart belonged in the indie rock/pop-punk scene. and always has. there’s been remnants of that in his style, his interests, and some of his music for years. he’s given countless interviews and talked himself about the pressure that was put on him to dress up as someone he wasn’t with these major record labels. to hide his accent. to create radio friendly music. to be a puppet on a string for them. he wasted years of his career dealing with that pressure and those contracts.

4) FITF, an album that was created as the most authentic body of work he’s released yet, is what got him the number one. it wasn’t walls. it wasn’t any of the strictly EDM work he released. it was FITF. it was an album that featured the sound that he loves and wants to strive towards going forward. it was louis clear vision babe.

5) louis has seen a growth in his career and his venue sizes that is exponential in just one year. and this isn’t because he’s releasing mainstream pop music. it’s because he’s being authentically him. his music is better. his tour is bigger. his presence is brighter. it’s gravitating so much good his way because of the content he’s creating and how it’s translating to his crowds and him as an artist. he’s a much more confident person than he was just a couple years ago. he’s a much more self-assured person.

6) FITF is part of the reason he’s being booked for these festivals now. it allowed him the growth in his fanbase and live shows to attract fests. if he was still creating music like Walls, i’m not sure if it would be shaking out the same way. and with how his music sounds now, it is open to attracting new fans especially in these big festival settings. most of the songs from walls don’t have the capacity to do that. and that’s just the reality.

7) there isnt just one metric of success. success has many different forms. numbers and charts aren’t the only way to succeed. and louis has lived in that world of success. he’s done all of those things. he’s hit those milestones. they feel good, but they aren’t a driving force behind why he does what he does. he does what he’s doing now because he’s finally being able to show who he is sonically. who he is as a lyricist. who he wants to continue growing into going forward in his career. he’s succeeding through his own journey in the industry. and he’s doing a damn good job controlling that for himself.

8) there’s nothing wrong with pop music. i love pop music. there’s a reason why pop music is popular. but asking your favorite artist to reshape who they’ve steadily been building themselves to be all because you don’t like the sound and you think they need to follow a one-dimensional version of success is….. sad lmao he has worked so hard to be where he is. to feel authentic in the music he’s putting out. and for someone to be like “um anyways i don’t like this. go back to what you were trying so hard to not be. i liked your music better that way” is just ????

9) indie-rock isn’t unsuccessful. it isn’t dead. it’s very alive and successful. genres don’t have to be pop or mainstream to be successful. give music much more credit than that, please.

#grey #i had time today i guess djdkdk #but this ask just. frustrated me

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tobbotobbs · 1 year

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Hiii!! I saw your post with the cod boys + Alejandro for a reader who likes Ayesha erotica and etc but I was wondering how would they react to music like: Narcissistic personality disorder, Stare don’t touch and like artists like: Odetari, Cade Clair, 9lives, Lumi Athena and Iluvvern?

Hey! Thank you for the request! I rarely listen to them myself, tried my best but this was still fun to write!

Now this man isn't really the person that listens to music a lot. Sure, he knows the regular typical chart songs because a specific scotsman always listens to radio when they drive somewhere, but really he doesn't know shit about music and he doesn't really care about it either. That is, until he found out what kind of music you enjoy and listen to!

He was a little confused as why you were so fond of this...chaos of high pitched noises and yelling. Questioning you why a sane normal person would in general enjoy getting their ears torn apart when they wanted to listen to something that's called and considered an art form? You decided to give the poor man a little break in into the world of edm and phonk genre. You explained the emotions that went with these type of songs and how it just makes your spine tingle when you listen to something like NARCISSISTIC PERSONALITY DISORDER or other songs of these kind. He tried to listen to a few himself, but it's really not his. He doesn't mind you listening to it though.

He does however looks after you. He knows how you can sometimes forget to take breaks when listening to music with your headphones and afterwards get headaches from it. He will remind you to keep the volume on a lower healthier level rather than fully turned up. Whatever makes you happy, makes him feel content as well. As long as his love is happy and doesn't get hurt that is.

Johnny is a little menace. He likes music. Mostly Scottish stuff or dirty songs like Ayesha Erotica but when he heard you listen to Red Eyes Black Dragon on full volume in your room he got curious. He's never heard of this kind of music, hyperpop and dance/electronic wasn't really his until now. He started easily with something that was pretty popular on TikTok to see if he should try out listening to more.

He did find two favourite songs after a while. Sure, they are pretty popular at the moment but he didn't chose them because of that. He just...really feels them when they come on his playlist. Kerosene Sped up and Murder In My Mind are his go to's when asked what his favourite songs are at the moment. He also really lives to explain why he suddenly started liking this kind of music. His answer always the same: ,,Y/n listens to it. It's their favourite music genre and I feel so close to them when listening to this music!". Ghost thinks Soap is head over heels for you and should finally tell you everytime he sees you guys smiling at each other longingly while one of you puts this music on. It's like a secret conversation between you two.

When you finally got together (after he proposed you listen to music together in his room to calm down after a long mission and he put on the song if it ain't me by whatsaheart and afterwards kissed you) weekly music sessions are a must. You invite Gaz sometimes because he really wants to explore more music genres meanwhile on other days you have discussions about your all time favorite songs in the car and Johnny always hypes you up when Kyle tries to make his music genre the dominating part of the discussion. If you are close to losing the discussion Soap will just straight up pull his phone out, start his playlist and play your guys genre as loud in the car as comfortable for your ears.

Visiting raves together is also very important. Soaps first rave was with you and Gaz. He got so overwhelmed by all the nlise and lights that you had to leave earlier to cuddle with him and listen to his calming scottish songs in a very very low volume, barely hearable in your guys room. It was still fun for him and after that he got used to the clubs noise and lights!

Poor Gaz really loves music. He does. But he is unsure of exploring new music genres. Way more comfortable with staying with what he knows and learned to like. Though when invited over to you and Soaps weekly music session he couldn't decline. A good time listening to music with his best friends? Hell yeah! That was, until he heard what kind of music it was you guys listened to. First being really opposed to it, he left very early saying he still had papers to sign. He actually just needed time in a quiet room because his ears had started to hurt sadly.

Next time he listened to this music was when he and you shared a room on a mission. You put it on to fall asleep, god knows how you could sleep to it but you seemed to do just fine. Kyle layed awake on his makeshift bed and tried to listen to the text and after a while he also fell asleep. It was a miracle how but he did. He asked what song played when you guys fell asleep the next day, trying to recreate the melody so you knew which one he was looking for and soon he got the name from you. Metamorphosis. It's become his favourite song, one of the more softer sounding ones he really enjoyed.

Cuddle sessions when you guys are together os a must. In the background there is always your playlist playing on a low volume to not hurt Gaz and his poor sensitive ears. Though once in a while he can be seen in a rave with you, where he wears sweet green earplugs you got him for his birthday, to reduce the noise a little and still be able to enjoy the event.

Man has no idea what in the seven hells you got there going. Was it an exorcism? He wasn't sure. He also couldn't understand a single thing. But you seemed to be doing just fine. Singing your lungs out to Sex Obsession by cade clair and Lumi Athena. Watches you bouncing around the training field while shooting and stabbing dummys left and right without a single miss. Today was your turn to choose the music on the little makeshift training field John had at his own home, you guys had a week long off from work but still spend it training because you didn't know what else to do. When you started your playlist he knew the "enemies" were done for. It seemed with this kind of music you just felt more powerful and legendary or something of that kind. At least that's what you have told him.

He is impressed by how you can work so good with that shit on full speakers, but he doesn't allow you to listen to it while on a mission or on base on the training field because it could distract yourself and the other soldiers. Internally he also says that because he himself isn't really a fan of that music and finds it even a little annoying. But he doesn't tell you that. For that he adores your happy face while the music plays too much. Gaz and Soap asked him and Ghost once to join you guys on a rave night. Old man didn't even knew what it was and only said yes because you had the next day off. Simon just stayed back and laughed his ass off at John's obliviousness.

When you guys came back the poor old man had to take some ibuprofen to make his headache go down a little.

So you like raves and all this weird interesting sounding music? Nice! Alejandro does know a few things, of course he does. His and Rudys teenager lifestyle was going to parties and being active all day and night. But the music style did change a little over the years. Electronic/Dance is still a beautiful sounding chaos but a little more...Gen Z like, how Soap and Gaz would put it. Alejandro is listening to it with you, now and then. But he won't allow you to play it while training or on operations. Even if he loved you and you were his everything, he likes his workspace to be concentrated and ready for anything so no music or anything allowed.

Well you and Rudy did prank him once in a while with that sudden loud music in his office or while training the new Los Vaqueros members. It was fun to watch him get scared and then calm down just to be annoyed be the laughter of the new recruits or when he kicks his pencil holder off his table because there was a sudden loud melody right behind him on his desk and while turning around the poor cup holding his pencils got a visual flying lesson around the room.

Raves tho, are a yes. When you guys have free time and there is one nearby, he likes to take you on a date to visit them. On the occasion he loves to get a little risky on those raves, taking you somewhere more hidden and pounds you to the beat. He once invited Rudy, after talking to you, and when Alejandro started walking away with you hot on his trail Rudy started to follow as well in the dark neon lighted room full of people. In a dark corner they fucked you, a pleasant surprise for Rudy which ended with you and your boyfriend grinning successful and enjoying the outcome of the night.

So sorry this took me so long. My mental health is a little down right now and I got a few other things going on rn sooo yeah! Hope you enjoyed this one, till next time (:

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boosoonhao · 7 months

Text

buzzes and butterflies

vernon x reader 5k words non idol au swearing, mentions of drug use, drinking, explicit sexual content

vernon spots you the moment you walk into the living room of soonyoung’s frat. it’s a hot summer, temperatures climbing every day, so it’s not really a surprise that you’ve opted for short shorts and a simple, white tee. that doesn’t stop the sort of strange wallop in his chest when you twist your head around to make eye contact with him.

“hey, vernon,” seungkwan calls from his left, nudges his elbow against vernon’s side. a blue-green bong appears in vernon’s peripheral vision. “are you even listening?”

“don’t bother,” seungcheol chuckles from his own chair on the other side of the table, a roll of his eyes and a half full beer bottled nestled between his thighs. “his girlfriend just arrived.”

vernon glances down the expanse of your legs, pleasantly surprised to see a red-ish purple mark right where the hem of your denim shorts ends. he wonders if you even know it’s there, this blatant reminder of where you spent the night two days earlier. he wonders if everyone knows who put that mark there.

“she’s not my girlfriend,” he mutters, takes the bong from seungkwan’s impatient arms.

vernon has known you since the two of you were kids; long before you started wearing bottoms that show off your thighs. he remembers play-dates and first days of school; learning how to ride a bike, graduation parties, proms. somehow you’ve been part of every milestone of his life so far; he even lost his virginity to you. he knows you like the back of his hand; all your ticklish spots and strange erogenous zones; every scar and mark that makes your body unique. sure, he loves you, but not like that. not like a girlfriend.

“not your girlfriend,” seungkwan mutters, as if the statement is absurd. his voice cracks, and the shorter man coughs, takes a sip of his red solo cup filled with vodka and cranberry juice. “then stop telling me about your sex life,” he pauses to return the wave you send their way, air blowing out of his nose as you start making your way over. “please.”

vernon hums, feels his head go tingly as he exhales smoke and hands the bong over to seungcheol’s waiting hands. “she’s ace, she lets me do her in the ass,” he says, part-brag, part-to-annoy-seungkwan. when the blond next to him levels him with a scandalized facial expression, vernon grins, feels a sort of childish glee tug at his chest. he shrugs, “anyways, it’s just sex.”

“whatever you say,” seungkwan returns, drags a hand through his hair, leans back on the couch. he shifts his gaze as you come up to stand by the end of the table, almost directly behind seungcheol. opens his mouth to greet you, only to be cut off by seungcheol, who takes a deep hit of the bong and turns his head in your direction.

“anal,” he says by way of greeting, lifts his hand up expectantly in the universal sign of ‘smack your palm against mine to express agreement’. “classy!”

it takes you half of a second to comply, the sound of your palm hitting seungcheol’s crisp and audible even with the constant hum of some semi-decent edm track oozing out from the speakers littered around the room.

“hello seungcheol,” you greet, patting the man on the head. “vernon, seungkwan,” you let your eyes drift over to the end of the couch, where soonyoung is drooling against his own shoulder. “soonyoung falling asleep at his own party before ten pm, nice to see you again, too.” a sort of knowing, collective sigh follows the statement. at least the poor dance major hasn’t gotten any dicks drawn on his face this time. yet. “are we talking about the time i–”

“nope!” seungkwan cuts you off, gets up from his position on the couch so fast it makes the furniture creak. “none of this,” he wriggles himself between the table and vernon’s legs. “i can’t take the two of you tonight.” he pushes past you with a squeeze to your shoulder. “have a nice night, freaks.”

you look in the direction seungkwan bolts off to for a moment, before moving to steal the man’s now empty spot next vernon. your arm is hot against his own, and vernon has to clench his fist to resist the urge, the impulse to reach for your hand. vernon isn’t, by any stretch of the imagination, a touchy guy. he doesn’t feel a need for hugs and lingering touches. but your closeness is so known, so comfortable, that he feels a sort of pull regardless.

but then, that might be the weed. or the alcohol. or both.

he turns his head instead, takes in the details of your face. “hey,” he murmurs, watches as your mouth quirks upwards.

“hi,” you return. and everything is as it should be.

it’s not that vernon doesn’t like you. for all intents and purposes, he thinks that this thing that the two of you have is perfect. vernon doesn’t care about dating, doesn’t long for a relationship. with you, he doesn’t have to worry about forgetting anniversaries (though, he does remember, to the day, the first time you sucked his cock), or knowing what kind of flowers you like (you’re allergic to pollen anyways), or introduce you to his parents (you’ve already known them for most of your life).

vernon likes when you stay over an entire weekend and only get out of bed to take shared showers or to get takeaway. he likes waking up to the feel of your mouth around his cock, to the taste of weed when he sucks your tongue into his own mouth. he likes spending entire sunday afternoons just lazily exploring each others bodies; intermissions of blazing and eating pizza naked and talking shit. he likes that you have no reservations about parading around his apartment wearing only panties and nothing else and that you’re never opposed to ducking out of a party for a quickie and that you’ll indulge him in his more off-brand fantasies.

but in love? nah. vernon doesn’t do that.

he turns around in the bed, his thin duvet twisting around his body. you’re doing something on your phone, face scrunched and brows furrowed. he gets the distinct feeling that you’re playing some sort of rhythm game, the kind of high intensity game where you’d be annoyed if he interrupted you. so, vernon clears his throat, lies fully on his back, and he asks;

“if i asked you to piss in my mouth, would you?”

it’s not the first time he’s brought up some sort of strange, outlandish ‘what if’ like that, but your facial expression is still as open, as surprised as if he’d never asked for anything raunchier than a kiss on the cheek before. you lock your phone with an audible click, put the device down in favor of staring him down with arched eyebrows and an amused sort of slant to your mouth.

“didn’t know you were into water sports,” you tell him, a husky, teasing sort of quality to your voice. vernon’s own mouth curls into a grin and he turns onto his side, reaches over to brush a lock of hair away from your face.

“it’s just a hypothetical,” he says, like he always does. like he did the time he wanted to try wearing your panties, the time he was curious about fucking your tits and the time he tried to shock you by jokingly proposing you try pony play. you roll your eyes, already too aware of this game of his.

“well, i guess i’d need some water bottles,” you reply with a casual shrug, the nonchalance of your tone making vernon laugh. he hooks his fingers behind your ear, keeps them there as if he needs to anchor himself.

“what? you’d actually do it?”

“sure,” you deadpan. “we’ve done weirder stuff.”

vernon hums, scoots closer. he tugs at your ear, nips at your bottom lip before he lets his hand wander; down the side of your face, curled around your neck, tracing the shapes of your breast before settling at your hip.

“you’re gross,” he tells you, voice filled with a sort of affection he reserves for these moments; for these lazy, casual conversations he could not have with anyone else. you reach out and wrap an arm around his neck, your nose squished against his.

“i’m gross? you just asked me to piss in your mouth!”

vernon laughs, a booming sound that starts at the pit of his stomach and rips out of his mouth as if he would burst had it not been allowed exit. he presses a sloppy, wet kiss to your mouth, teeth clinking together and his leg moving to hook over yours, pull you closer to his body. your own mouth is curled, a clever kind of grin decorating your features. he rolls over until he’s on top of you, fingertips ghosting over your breasts, uncontrollable giggles pressed into the nape of your neck.

you squeal, writhe underneath him and grab at his hands. he evades you, keeps your lower body trapped between his legs; fingers pressing teasing tickles against the skin of your sides. you squirm, half-laughs spilling from between your lips and echoing around the room. vernon leans down and you make a grab for his coppery curls, tug his face the last few inches to meet your own. you gasp into his mouth when he circles his finger over a particularly ticklish spot of yours, and when he’s finally lazily pressing his cock into you; slow, unhurried movements that feel more like a reflex than anything else, vernon can’t even remember what what so funny in the first place.

(he wakes up from a post-sex nap hours later, drowsy and sticky with sweat. you’re lying a bit away from him, sleeping on your stomach with your head turned away. he hears your quiet, easy breaths, watches your back fall and rise in tune with your inhales and exhales. your duvet has crept down to the dip of your back; the barest, most tasteful side boob visible from underneath you. a warm sort of feeling seeps into vernon’s body, and he wriggles closer, carefully lifts your arm to slide underneath it. he snuggles close, buries his face in your hair, smells the familiar scent of his own shampoo.

he falls back asleep, feeling safe.)

vernon feels the soft fabric of your panties, slick with wetness already, against his cock. the position – back of the car seat pushed as far back as possible, your knees against his sides – is not particularly comfortable, by any stretch of the imagination, but there’s no denying that car sex always manages to turn him on something fierce. there’s something about your mouth; open and wide against his own, and about the way you clutch at his curls and coil your arms around his head that just makes his head spin. you grind against him, let his hands guide your hips.

“vernon,” you mumble, voice too low, too close to his ear. a shiver runs down his spine, his hands bunching up your sundress to climb up your body. you’re not wearing a bra. you whine when he pinches your nipple playfully, ground your lower body against him. “we don’t have time for this.”

he hides his face in the nook of your neck, bites down on your most sensitive spot, keeps you steady as you squirm in his lap. “you should sit on my cock, then, baby.”

he tries to sound seductive, but that flies right out the window when you reach your hand down to stroke his cock, smearing his pre-cum down along his length. his voice cracks embarrassingly. you hum, thumb teasing the head of his dick. “i should, huh?”

vernon groans. “you should.” you lift yourself up, one hand on vernon’s cock and the other pulling your panties to the side. vernon presses his nose against your skin, growls into your shoulder when you slide yourself down his length. you feel so good around him, the perfect mix of tight and hot. his arms wind around your middle, pulling you close.

“fucking car sex,” you mutter, fingers threading back into his locks as you wiggle slightly to adjust. vernon pretends not to hear the stutter-y exhale of air as his cock moves inside you with the movements. “so goddamn uncomfortable.” vernon bucks up, relishes in the feel of your fingers tightening at his hair, pulling until it almost hurts.

“it’s hot though,” he giggles at your neck, teeth grazing skin. you set the pace; slow, languid movements on top of him. vernon likes that, feels a cloud of fluttery butterflies on the inside of his stomach at the way you grind against him. he presses a sloppy kiss to the side of your neck, leaves a trail of chaste pecks along your jaw, nibbles on your ear. “someone could walk by any moment.”

“hurry up, then,” you mutter, guiding one of his hands down, pressing it against you. he takes the hint, circles your clit with two fingers. the sound that tumbles out of your mouth sounds like wind chimes, like bells and symphonies. he repeats the motion, juts up against you and grabs onto your ass with his free hand, his face hovering a hair’s breadth away from your own. “i have to get back soon.”

he stops. “get back?” he repeats. “aren’t you going to the party?”

you exhale through your nose, air hitting vernon’s face in a cool, welcome breeze. “no,” you tell him, hesitate. “i have a date.”

“a date,” vernon feels like a parrot, leans back. “you’ve got a date.” you try gyrating against him, your insides throbbing with the sudden lack of friction. his fingers are still slippery against the inside of your thigh.

“yes,” you mutter. and here one of your best and your worst qualities come out on full display; your stubbornness. you hands are at his shoulders, your gaze unblinking as you stare him down. even as a drop of sweat slides down the side of your face, even as vernon’s cock is buried deep inside you, you manage to look completely in control. it turns vernon on as much as it scares him. “is that a problem?”

but here’s the thing. vernon has a reputation of being lazy, aloof. of being too stoned to care most of the time and too casual to be opinionated. he thrusts up against you with all the force he can muster, presses you down with one hand and massages your clit with deft, quick fingers. his teeth sink into the skin of your neck and you muffle a cry with the back of your hand.

vernon can be stubborn, too.

“of course not,” he growls against your neck, laps at the reddening spot where his teeth has bruised your skin. his voice is barely audible over the sound of flesh smacking together as he pounds into you, a sort of inexplicable frustration tugging at vernon’s neck. “are you gonna go on the date like this? fucked out and with my cum still leaking out of you?”

you tilt your head back, neck exposed. “i was gonna shower.” vernon licks at your jaw, feels the way you clamp around him, erratic ruts against his cock and fingers growing desperate.

“don’t,” he says, tries not to notice how possessive his own voice sounds. he hopes you’re too distracted by his dick to take note.

“that’s unhygienic, vernon,” you reply, his name turning into a moan as he bites down on your earlobe. “i can’t walk around with cum in my panties.” and granted, he’ll give you that. that doesn’t mean the mental image doesn’t make his cock throb inside you, pushes him closer to the edge.

“fuck,” he groans, pauses his movements all while still fingering your clit to keep himself from coming too soon. “fine, change panties, then,” he amends, as if he’s got any say in the situation at all.

you stare at him, eyes hooded and dark. there’s a sort of furrow to your brow that vernon doesn’t want to think about. “fine,” you relent, and vernon’s shoulders sag with something akin to relief. “i swear vernon, your kinks are getting stranger by the minute.” and vernon doesn’t argue with that, because of course; that’s all it is. a fetish, a kink. another peculiarity of his.

he snickers, but the sound feels hollow.

“damn vernon,” joshua marvels, three hours and fifteen minutes into the party. vernon has his head leaning back against the couch, a pleasant mixture of weed and alcohol mingling in his body. he has to squint to really manage to focus on the older man, tilting his head to face the new arrival. “who pissed in your drink tonight?”

his brows furrow. joshua’s a pretty boy, he muses; a clean sort of look, neat haircut. always wears clean shirts. vernon wonders if the boy you’re on a date with is like that; if he’s got his license and all the buttons on his ironed shirts. “what are you talking about?” he barks, the sound a tad more aggressive than intended. joshua’s own, perfectly shaped eyebrows rise until they’re almost completely hidden underneath his bangs. a teasing sort of smile takes his mouth.

“you’re in a bad mood,” he says, and it’s not a statement; it’s an observation. vernon frowns.

“he’s just mad his not-girlfriend ditched him,” seungcheol offers as an explanation. vernon feels as if he should argue, but his mouth is full of syrup.

“ah,” joshua muses, an airy sound full of understanding that vernon find completely unwarranted. it’s almost annoying, how quick the other boy is to take this explanation at face value. “where is she tonight?”

vernon huffs out a laugh; a sound that tastes as bitterly as it sounds. “she’s on a date.”

a collective, soft ‘aah’ falls over the small crowd of boys in the living room, and vernon’s head jolts up so fast it makes his brain hurt. he stares at the group, a deep frown pulling at his lips. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“come on, dude,” seungcheol rolls his eyes, takes a long sip of his drink, presumably for dramatic effect. “you’re jealous.” vernon sputters, scandalized by the accusation, but seungkwan cuts in before he can object.

“seriously,” the blond huffs from his own corner of the couch. “how long have you guys been doing this? you had to know she’d want to start dating at some point.” seungkwan, bless his heart, takes on his most lecturing tone of voice, the one he dons when he wants to remind vernon that he’s not the only one who’s known you for years. that vernon’s not the only one you talk to.

“if you really don’t have feelings for her at all you have to prepare yourself to let her go,” he continues, watches you with something between suspicion and curiosity in his eyes. “she’s not gonna want to be your fuckbuddy forever.”

and realistically, vernon knows that. he knows that at some point you’re going to want more than sex – even if the sex is amazing – and that you’ll start looking elsewhere for the things vernon isn’t giving you. he just thought he could avoid it for a bit longer. something cold rests at the pit of his stomach.

“oh,” joshua pipes up, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. somehow, he looks sort of like a lemur. “i guess the date didn’t pan out.” vernon whips his head around, scans the crowd that’s accumulated by the pool table right outside the nook of a living room the group of boys have gathered in.

and sure enough, there you are; fingers sweeping your hair out of your face and sundress reminding vernon of the things that transpired mere hours earlier. you haven’t spotted him yet, it looks like; too busy leaning close to allow hoseok, a man vernon only knows by name and face and dance major, half-yell something into your ear.

vernon gets up. you notice him a moment before he manages to wriggle past the crowd to reach you, and you lean over to say something to hoseok, who nods and claps you on the shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.

“hey,” vernon half-yells into your ear, a hand automatically coming to rest at the small of your back. “what happened to your date?” he pretends that he doesn’t say the word ‘date’ with visible distaste. you shrug, hands crossed over your chest.

“eh, i wasn’t feeling it,” you tell him, face so close he feels your breath against his face with each word. “he kept asking me to call him daddy,” you roll your eyes, a sort of lopsided grin curling your mouth. “it’s 2018, who even does that anymore?”

vernon snorts, curls his fingers into the fabric of your dress. “i do. literally all the time.” the edges of your mouth twitch.

“it’s just funny when you do it.”

warmth spreads from somewhere in vernon’s chest and through the rest of his body. damn right it is, he thinks, a sense of superiority tugging at his stomach. “you always do it, though,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear, tugs at your dress to pull you closer. you size him up, a small smile on your face. it looks fragile, somehow, as if your face can’t quite keep up with your mouth.

“yeah, well,” you reply with a slow roll of your shoulder. vernon can’t help noticing your defensive, passive stance. “i guess there’s only room for one daddy in my life right now.”

silence follows. well, not really, of course; a sub-par dubstep track is booming from the speakers and around you people are hollering, laughing. but somehow, there’s only a muted sort of quiet surrounding the two of you. vernon blinks, a sort of weight to your joke that feels misplaced, too heavy. you clear your throat.

“i only came by to drop off some weed,” you explain, clearing up instantly, then, why you were talking to hoseok – possibly the only one with a bigger stoner reputation than vernon himself – instead of seeking out your usual group. “i’m gonna take off. early shift tomorrow.”

usually, you’d offer to drive vernon home. it’d just be an excuse, of course, a flimsy, indirect invitation for him to come over and spend the night between your legs. he waits, but it doesn’t come. you shift, vernon’s hand slipping away from your back, and you pat him on the chest, gaze not completely on him.

“i’ll see you later, daddy.”

vernon watches you leave, seungkwan’s words echoing in his head. his heart is beating against his ribcage so hard he feels like his whole body is vibrating.

time passes. a week. two weeks. vernon barely sees you at all, barely even has the chance to speak to you. you’re taking extra shifts, you tell him; you have homework to catch up on and tests to study for. it’s bullshit, of course, so transparent and blatant it leaves a bad taste in vernon’s mouth. he knows what you’re doing.

you’re avoiding him.

so he does what he always does; he talks to seungkwan. you’re an idiot, seungkwan says. i told you this would happen. if you don’t want to lose her you gotta put a ring on it. seungkwan might have taken a back seat in your trio once vernon and you started sleeping together, but that does not mean he’s not an important part of it. he probably knew, long before vernon realized, that vernon is in love with you.

so vernon does the only thing he can think to do. he goes to walmart.

he knows you’re home, because seungkwan – as the top notch best friend he is – has done some recon. vernon knows you’re studying, that you’re sitting somewhere in the apartment on the other side of the door. still, he’s reluctant.

vernon has never been a relationship sort of guy. has never needed to be. he fell into the rhythm of whatever the two of you have been doing for the past few years before he even had the time to consider anything else. why would he need a relationship, when you’re there to lean your head against his shoulder during movie nights and slip your hand into the waistband of his pants when the movie gets boring. why would he need a girlfriend when you already know and love his parents, let him eat you out in empty parking lots and make out with him in bathrooms at parties?

he’s an idiot, of course, because it took seungkwan literally beating him over the head for vernon to realize that the only thing that separates your ‘no-strings-attached’ relationship and an actual, official relationship was the names you call each other.

vernon inhales. he never thought he’d be nervous to see you. he might know how he feels, now, but he has no idea how you feel. only one way to find out, he supposes.

vernon knocks.

he hears a thud, a low curse followed by footsteps.

you rip the door open as if you’re expecting someone, pausing only when you come eye to eye with vernon. “oh,” you mutter. “vernon.” he takes a moment to take in your appearance; face free of makeup an attire decidedly comfy. he’s pretty sure the hoodie you’re wearing used to be his at some point. you arch a brow, eyes on the bouquet of plastic sunflowers in vernon’s hand. his palms feel clammy.

“you here to murder me, bro?” you ask, and the ‘bro’ feels sort of like a distance, a line being drawn. vernon cringes.

“plastic,” he explains. “for your allergies. lasts longer, too.” it’s not much of an explanation, really, doesn’t at all clear up the awkward tension that rests between you. you hum, cross your arms and lean against the door frame. vernon tries not to feel self-conscious at the fact that you don’t invite him in.

“what’s the occasion?”

vernon clears his throat. “we need to talk, i guess,” he tries. these conversations look so easy in romantic comedies. “about us.”

you exhale through your nose, mutter a low ‘oh boy’ under your breath. “what brought this on?”

“i miss you,” he mutters, feels like he’s on display.

“you miss sex.”

vernon’s brow furrows. “fuck off,” he huffs, before he can stop himself. “i miss you. i miss that you drool on my chest when you’re sleeping,” he twists his hands around the stems of the plastic flowers in his hands, needs something concrete to ground himself. he feels like he’s going to disintegrate, like he’s being pulled apart at the seams. “i miss smoking with you and just eating chips in bed. i miss holding your hands.”

“where is all of this even coming from?” you ask, something unsteady to your voice. your fingertips dig into the flesh of your arms. “you’re always going on and on about not wanting a relationship. flowers and anniversaries and all that.” you wave a hand towards the sunflowers.

“i’m an idiot,” vernon says, earnestly. “i didn’t even realize until seungkwan told me that the reason i didn’t want a girlfriend was because that meant we’d have to end.” he sees the subtle, slight change in your expression, feels a hopeful thud against his ribcage. “i just don’t even know who i am without you.”

“you’ll have to spell it out for me, vernon,” you murmur, shoulders high and tense, teeth gnawing into your bottom lip. vernon inhales, is all too happy to comply. he takes a step forward, presses the plastic bouquet of sunflower into your hands.

“i’m in love with you. looking back who the fuck even knows how long i’ve been in love with you,” he says, runs his thumbs along the back of your hands. “and it’ll break my mom’s heart if i have to tell her we’re not actually dating.” you snort at that, you lip twitching. vernon takes it as encouragement, leans his forehead against yours. “please be my girlfriend.”

your arms wind around his neck, and vernon can’t quite help his relieved sigh at the contact. the more pathetic part of him feels like crying. “you can’t take it back,” you tell him, and despite your best attempts you can’t quite hide the fragile quality of your voice. “if you do this now you have to commit to it.”

vernon circles his nose around yours, hands sliding along your back. “just be my fucking girlfriend,” he murmurs, and then he closes the gap.

it feels like he hasn’t kissed you forever. it feels like he’s kissing you for the first time. there’s something different about it, about the way your tongue slides along his bottom lip and about the moan when he sucks it into his mouth. he pushes you against the door frame, presses his body as closely against yours as he can. his lungs are burning, desperate for air, but he perseveres, groans as you pull at his hair.

“fuck, i missed you,” he whispers, voice raspy as he moves to nip at your neck. his hands are at your ass, squeezing and pushing and pressing fingers into your flesh. there’s a crack in his voice that he can’t find it in him to be embarrassed about. “i missed you so much.”

“i missed you, too,” you tell him, as if it’s an admission, as if the words are thick in your throat and reluctant to be spoken.

“are you busy?” vernon asks, his lips against your throat. he feels your hum against his mouth, the vibrations like a jolt of lightning through his body. “we have two weeks of sex to make up for.” you laugh, nails scratching at his scalp in a way that sends shivers down his spine.

“luckily for you,” you tell him, press a light kiss to his lips, pull him into your apartment. “i’ve had a shit ton of water today.” vernon smiles against your mouth, bites your bottom lip.

“you’re such a freak,” he murmurs, guides you towards the couch. you open your mouth, to object or to take the joke further, he doesn’t know; he steals the words right out of your mouth, takes your face between his hands. “luckily for you i love freaks.”

as it turns out, girlfriends suck dick even better than fuck friends.

#svt fanfic #seventeen fanfic #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #vernon x reader #svt imagines #svt scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios

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