#and i haven’t got the chance to flesh things out | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hentyehottie · 1 year

Note

i am so upset. we’ve been moots for like a month now and i haven’t come to throw some filth in your ask box yet 😩 buT it’s not too late!

alsO hI miya it’s nice to officially greet you 👉🏾👈🏾 i’m glad you enjoyed reading warm bodies! how are ya?

clears throat this is so long and i’m sorry but i like to ramble when i have ideas

So, I was lowkey just scrolling through your blog (i need to read more of your tasty ass work fr fr) and I noticed you reblogged a short fic about villian Kiribaku… A concept that has been untouched by my brain and was probably for good reason because now all I can think about is Red Riot the hardening villain who uses unbreakable to strike fear into civilians, heroes, and villains who dare to threaten his authority. Red Riot the villain is fucking huge and bulky and still has a smile of sunshine but a heart darkened by a selfish society. He honestly gives me Pain vibes, and idk if you’ve ever watched The Boys but I think he’d fit in perfectly with them, he definitely wants to kill heroes who don’t deserve to be called heroes.

Red Riot is very meticulous about the crimes he commits but there is one thing for sure— he loves a good fight. Doesn’t matter where the fight is or when it is, if there’s a fight brewin’ he’ll be there to find it. Also, random fact, he likes rocks soooo… he robs a lot of jewelry stores when he wants to add to his collection or he goes “shopping” at museums.

For example, big boy Riot has left the headquarters in search of a way to get his knuckles bloody, cruising around, looking for a hero to pick a fight with. Listen, even he’s got standards. He’s murdered a couple of people but never innocent ones, only heroes that don’t deserve their titles. And for that, he’s wanted by the Japanese government… Why’s he still walkin’ around like he’s some regular civilian though? I don’t even know. But… oh! Look at that, a hero.

The name of this hero doesn’t matter, he’ll scrapbook it later. A grin spreads across the villains face, a set of razor sharp teeth reveal themselves as he begins to approach the unsuspecting hero, following them to a more secluded part of the city to minimize witnesses as well as collateral damage.

This particular hero has quite a destructive quirk, so it’s truly no surprise that as soon as Red Riot attacks him, the hero begins to lay in blows that aren’t held back in the least. Indiscriminate waves of the disastrous quirk, that Red Riot easily dodges or blocks, cause nearly irreversible damage to nearby buildings, which no-doubt is putting civilians in even more danger than Red Riot’s presence alone. This is exactly /why/ he does the things that he does. With just one stupid fucking test, anyone could become a hero, even psychopaths like this.

As the hero is attempting to knock Red Riot down, the redhead villian doesn’t halter in anyway, getting closer and closer to the hero that looks like their about to shit their pants right in the alley. He’s nearly a foot away from the hero when he hears a blood-curdling scream that appears to be coming from above. He takes a moment to glance up and sees a woman plummeting to her death from the destroyed building that was just beside the alley. Then he looked back at the hero to see if he would do anything.

No. He was far too busy trying to keep his own ass safe. And for some reason, that pissed him off beyond comparison. He’d been holding back since the fight began, giving the hero a chance to defend himself, but it appeared time was running out. Hardening his fist, he aimed a blow directly to the hero’s face, satisfied with the sickening sound of flesh and bone breaking from the heavy punch, and watched the hero fly back into a pile of garbage bags, deserved.

With the screaming come closer and closer to where he was, Red Riot used the debris of the crumbling building to propel himself upwards and easily captured the woman who’d been falling, only then taking note of the bundle of life that she had protectively curled over. As they approached the ground, he hardened his legs and landed with ease, causing quite an indent in the earth.

While she’d been falling, hero eyes remained shut the entire time, but when she stopped falling, suddenly becoming hyper aware of her surroundings and the big strong arms that were wrapped around her rather protectively, she slowly opened one eye to take a peek at her savior.

In all his glory stood the infamous new Hero Killer, staring down at her with an arched brow on his handsome yet rugged face. The childhood scar on his eyelid had somewhat faded but fresh scars had been added to his face, a few nicks on his chin, cheek, and forehead, but they didn’t take away from his handsome appearance. He’d been wearing a red sleeveless hoodie, that showed off his muscular arms and a sleeve of ink that started from his right wrist, up the entirety of his arm, and disappeared under the hoodie no-doubt covering his right pec with a decorative tattoo, along with some plain black cargo shorts. His hair was spiked in the front and the rest flowed down his back in a mullet of sorts. She hadn’t realized she bad been silently staring at him in awe until he cleared his throat, asking if she was alright. Weirdly enough, she felt comfortable enough to answer him honestly, along with thanking him for saving her life. Unexpectedly, a cocky grin spread across his face and an idea came to mind.

“I’ve got other ways you can thank me, lil’ diamond.”

Next thing she knows, Red Riot aka Hero Killer 2.0 is mumbling some name that starts with a ‘K’ and a portal of purple smoke suddenly forms beside them out of thin air. Poor girl is basically kidnapped right then and there, but who woulda thunk Red Riot wanted a reward for taking down another hero and that reward just happened to be the lil’ milf who’d just dropped from the sky (or destroyed apartment building more specifically).

Don’t worry though, he may be a villain but he’s sweet and kind when he wants to be. And that includes taking care of you and your kid. Just like any normal abductee you question this motives and why’s he suddenly taken you from your home. He easily corrects you, saying that your home no longer existed and it was the manly thing to do to offer his surface to provide for you until you were able to get back on your feet.

(insert that one Soulja Boy audio where he says ‘HUH?!’ hella loud)

Why in the flying fuck would this man offer to take care of you? He had to have some kind of objective. But… to your surprise, he didn’t. In fact, you were free to leave whenever you wanted, and he made that clear.

Much to your surprise, Red Riot didn’t live in the LoV headquarters, he lived by himself in his own lil’ cabin in the woods that could easily fit a family or two. It was strange. You were thankful that he saved you and your baby’s life, but he was still a villain. A really, really handsome one at that. After his oh-so-caring suggestion, he mentioned if you wanted him to he would drive you back to the city and drop you off wherever you wanted to go. You dunno how it happened exactly but he’d been holding your baby while he was speaking to you, rocking the sleeping infant in his arms like he was their biological father. How was this man so fucking charismatic and sweet to you? He HAD to have some kind of ulterior motive.

Spoiler alert: yes, yes he did, but not the one you would expect from him.

Y’see… he’s always wanted a family. And here you were, dropped right into arms for the taking, and you didn’t seem to want to leave anytime soon, so he was going to use this opportunity.

A day turned into a week, a week turned into a month. And just as he promised, he took you out the house whenever you wanted and asked you each and every time if you wanted to be left in the city after your daily adventures (shopping and shit y’know, yes this man goes grocery shopping). But you always went back to his cabin with him, each and every time. Was this Stockholm Syndrome? No… couldn’t be, he openly told you to leave if you wanted to, then did that mean you were falling for the rugged mass-murdering villian? Looks that way.

As expected, the developing relationship between the three of you was not normal in the least, but it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. He’d even introduced you to some of his buddies from LoV, only the ones he trusted tbh, and after that— you now had some willing and ready babysitters on call whenever you two needed.

Who wouldn’t abuse this opportunity? After some time convincing you, Red Riot, who had disclosed to you his real name was Eijirou Kirishima, managed to get you to go on a real date with him with just the two of you. And soooooo, ya did.

Who knew a villain could be so romantic? Certainly not you. He’d wined and dined you like his life depended on it and you were now putty in his hands. Perfect. The real games could begin.

He’s called a driver to take you both home and before you know it, Eijirou’s carrying you over the threshold like the two of you had just said ‘I Do.’

cracks knuckles

Now, this is where the real fun begins.

Red Riot, the hero-killing, tall, muscular, BDE, long-haired, thick-thighed, scarred, tattooed, smiling, thieving, hardening villain… has a breeding kink. And not just that, he’s got a big fucking dick that’s usually impressively hidden behind his usual wardrobe of loose fitting pants. But, you’ve seen him adjust himself more than a few times when he thinks you’re not paying attention, but you’re sure he just does it subconsciously without even realizing.

So there’s no real surprise when he’s dropped you onto your shared bed after a date and you can see the imprint of it through the black slacks he chose to wear. You coulda swore you saw the fuckin’ thing throbbin’ through the fabric but maybe your mind was playing tricks on you.

He’s now staring you down, noticing how your eyes have stayed glued to his crotch, with a timid look with some worry hidden behind your eyes. He grins and decides to have a little show for you. You’re struck back into reality when he suddenly grabs it, giving it a lil’ squeeze and a tug, causing your thighs to rub together in anticipation.

“No need to be nervous. It ain’t gonna hurt ya, baby. Promise.”

He purred, stroking his cock a few for times for you through his pants before moving his hands to start unbuttoning his shirt.

“Think you could strip for me, mamas? I like that dress on ya… Think I’d rip it to shreds if I tried to take it off.”

Sweet fuck, when’d you become so obedient???

Before you know it, you’re both naked and on top of the bed, not even bothering to get under the comforter or the sheets. Seems you two were impatient.

Eijirou was splayed out on his back, cock on fully display as it rested against his stomach that wasn’t exactly chiseled with abs, it was a lil’ squishy but the muscles in his arms and chest were hard to ignore. And would ya look at that, you were right, he did have a nagasode and hikae style tattoo with a dragon, flowers, and other symbols. His monstrous cock was almost teasing you with its ridiculous width and length, how was that going to fit in you? With its thick tanned shaft, and its fat brink pink circumcised tip that was dribbling precum despite being only half erect. The happy trail that led to a trimmed bush of onyx hair made you think about the hyped mane of hair on his head.

He’d decided to leave the gel out of his hair this evening so the bright crimson locks flowed in waves under his head… what kinda conditioner did this man use? Them locks shiny as a muhh’fucka- No, no, no, don’t get distracted.

Where were you?

He’d had you sitting on his chest, beckoning you to straddle his face with your thighs, and when you hesitated he took matters into his own hands and grabbed you by the hips, pulling you right onto his face.

Maybe I should have mentioned earlier that he’d got a forked tongue…? Y’know, the kinda tongue a snake has… He kinda got into a bit of body modification after dropping out of U.A.

And the way he uses his forked tongue on you is heavenly. So heavenly, that you nearly hunch over and run away from his skilled tongue, whining and whimpering his name, pathetically asking him to calm down and give you some time to adjust. The iron grip on your hips forces you stay right where he wants you, thick digits easily sinking themselves into your plush hips like memory foam. He’s absolutely ravishing you with the rapid fire motions of his tongue, writing out every Hiragana symbol in the charts, observing how you react to every trace of ever symbol. And when he draws out that one symbol, his tongue acting as a brush drenched in ink and your pussy acting as the paper, he notices the way you shudder and let out a guttural moan, clenching at his hair hard enough to make his scalp burn just a fraction— he smirks, abusing this new power.

ki ki ki ki ki ki ki ki ki ki ki ki.

Ironically, the symbol that makes you shudder and silently scream sounds a bit like laughter, and laughter you shall receive. It is the best medicine after all.

Abusing this particular symbol, it is no surprise that the hardening villian soon rips an orgasm right out of your body, the searing heat that builds up inside you releasing into his mouth as you squeeze his head between your thick thighs.

Easily, Eijirou laps up your sweet nectar while groaning about how sweet and delectable you are, and gives you a moment to collect yourself, hearing the sweet pants and huffs that escape you as he rubs comforting circles onto your hips. That won’t last long, however.

“Think ya can cum on my tongue a few more times, lovely? Gotta make sure you’re slippery enough to bounce on my cock a lil’ later after all, hm? Be a good girl f’me, ya know ya can.”

my bad, my bad… went a lil’ crazy on this one 🧍 do with this as you please, aLsO i had an urge to draW hIm but i haven’t colored the lineart yet 😩 ill show ya when im doNe

You’ve been reduced to nothing but a whining, whimpering mess on the redhead’s tongue. He’s flipped and twisted your aching body so many times to get you in the perfect position, but nothing beats that good ole spread eagle.

Your hero turned villainous lover has both of those big hands holding you wide open for him, fingertips sunk into your plush flesh.

One knee is flush against the bed, the other is up against your chest, leaving nothing hidden from his fiery gaze. Your pretty pussy is his to abuse, at the mercy of that dexterous tongue and those razor sharp teeth.

Your moans and sounds are so cute to him, so pretty he wants nothing more than to keep fucking you on that long tongue.

You peer down at the beast between your thighs and the sight has you immediately tossing your head back, a breathy sigh passing through your lips.

Eijirou looks so precious—crimson eyes hooded and low, the thin sheen of your slick spread around his mouth while he licked and sucked you to another release.

‘Cu-cumming.’ Is how you’ll warn him before your pussy is creaming around that tongue again. You’re so sensitive, clit so swollen and red even the waft of his breath hurts.

But Eiji loves seeing you squirm, so much that he’s lathering your poor clit in spit, sucking the nub into his mouth just to hear you squeal as you claw at the sheets.

“Ei, p-please baby.” You’re begging, pleading for just an ounce of mercy from your lover’s tongue.

He raises his head to look up at you, or what’s left of you, granting a brief intermission as he flips you onto your belly.

He’s palming the fat of your ass, spreading you until he’s face to face with your delicious cunt and puckered asshole, his moistened lips curling up into a devilish smirk.

He loves this. He loves you and your perfect fucking pussy so much that tonight he plans on making you a mommy again. As soon as you cum for him one more time he plans to split you open and breed you.

“Just one more pretty girl, I promise.”

It’s nice to meet youuu, I love your work 🥺❤️Villian Kiri makes my pussy brain melt 🥹 I hate that it’s so short but I’m writing like 4 other one shots and my brain is a can of baked beans right now 😭

Hey bae, care to join us? @darkmajesty-xo

#kirishima smut #villain kirishima #kirishima x y/n #kirishima x you

788 notes · View notes

yoditopascal · 7 months

Text

one of the girls- suguru geto

❝ We don't gotta be in love, no. I don't gotta be the one, no. I just wanna be one of your girls tonight ❞

contents: college! au, black fem! reader, minors do not interact, slight gojo x reader, slightly mean satoru, unprotected sex, creampie, Geto is so in love with you, not proofread i could not be bothered sorry not sorry

a/n: inspired by the Geto edit going around in tiktok with the sped up song by the weeknd and this one Geto fic I can’t remember the name of 😭

thinking about…

Jealous Geto

Who gets all wound up when Gojo tells him he started stalking your insta cuz you went out and “got hot” after Jujutsu Tech

Jealous Geto who gets all pissy whenever he hears about one of yours and Gojo’s dates afterwards

Jealous Geto who’s ready to beat Gojo’s ass when he tells him you guys haven’t slept together yet but he’s getting close to “cracking you”

Jealous Geto who can’t stand that you would even give Gojo the time of day after how much he teased you when you all went to school together

In all honesty he feels like he’s got better things to do then worry about what you and Gojo are doing but he can’t help but find it all… wrong. It’s dehumanizing how Satoru was never interested in you like Suguru was, back when you had nothing but the smile on your face to offer him. Now you’ve grown up, he thinks you're worthy of his attention, he’s showering you with fake affection. It was like some sorta of sick game for Satoru like everything else in life was for him.

That’s how Suguru found himself outside your apartment.

It was during the darkest hours of the night that he found himself knocking on your door.

He wasn’t sure what possessed him to raise his hand to knock at your door but he did and when you answered in a thin bathroom that barely covered everything, hair still went from the shower you just took, he felt himself swallow thickly as the scent of your soap wafted through his nose and he called your name as you invited him inside.

“He’s no good for you.” He said as he stood in front of you sat on the couch.

“Who Gojo? I know.” You wave him off as you continued to finger through your newly washed hair.

“He’s just gonna- w-wait what?” He stuttered as stopped pacing the floor, it had taken him a good 15 minutes to final say what he wanted to say and you came at him like you already knew?

“I knew by the second date, that’s why I dumped his ass.” You chuckled as you scooted over patting the seat next to you for Geto to sit and he did.

“He said you guys were still seeing each other through!”

“He messing with you Suguru!”

“That fucking bastard.” He chuckled darkly as he placed a hand to his face. He felt you rub a hand along his back to try and smooth him as you laughed which was music to his ears.

“I’m sorry he’s such an ass.”

“Yeah me too.”

“Is that all you came over for?” You smiled sweetly as you scooted closer to him. “To defend my honor?”

“Well-“

The next thing Geto knew you were underneath him kissing and biting leaving marks in your wake along the flesh of his neck as he pulled open your robe. Your hands continued to roam until they got to the edge of his joggers, playfully pulling them down as his hard dick sprang up out of them.

“Please Suguru”

His chest vibrates with a chuckle against your own as you beg. He sits up and slots himself between your thighs. Littering your face with kisses as he goes. As he continues to assault you with his kisses against your skin, he presses his cock against your clit, rubbing himself up and down your pussy, coating himself with your arousal before finally slipping in.

“S-suguru! That feels so—!” you gasp, cutting yourself off when he finally bottoms out, Your gummy walls hugging him to your warmth.

You barely had time to tell him to move before he started to thrust into you. The louder you got the harder he went as he gripped the pillow behind your head so hard his knuckles turned white. He was finally getting the chance to do everything he wanted to do for years, not exactly everything he wanted to do with you, but it was a start, and god damn was it start.

“Mhm,” he moans into your mouth, grabbing your hand with his as his uses his other to grip the globe of your ass cheek, forcing you to meet his thrusts

Suguru loved you like this, when you were so needy that there were no thoughts in your pretty little head and all you could do was nod and babble out ‘yes’s and ’please’

The next thing you know Suguru groans above you, his body going limp as he cums forcefully, his hot cum painting your walls leaving a translucent ring as he continues to thrust into your clenching hole. You whimper as you come too, spasming around him.

He pulls out, dragging his tip slowly against your wet folds, before littering kisses against your face again as you run your hand through his loose soft locks. He pulls the throw blanket from the back of the couch covering you both with it as he pulls you to his chest for the night.

The next day, Suguru made no attempt to hide the hickies and red marks that littered the skin of his neck as he tiredly walked up to Gojo after class in the same clothes he wore the day before.

“Two days in a row huh? You must really like that sweater” Satoru teased as he pulled at a loose thread.

“Shut-up” Suguru shrugged as he swatted his hand away.

“What’s that on your neck man?” Satoru squinted over his glasses as he leaned in to examine the dark red blotches.

“Nothing” Suguru leaned away as he tried to cover them with his large hand but failed.

“Is-Is THAT A HICKEY?”

“…”

Satoru pats him on the back excitedly “You went to see her last night huh?” A huge shit eating grin spreads across his face “Finally man, it’s about time!”

“You gonna tell me how it was?”

“Never.”

#geto suguru x reader #getou suguru x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #jjk smut #geto suguru

164 notes · View notes

majorblinks · 2 years

Text

we could call it even (twice nayeon)

(smut, idol Nayeon, car sex [oral], semi-public sex, choking, fluff, angst [kind of], 12k words)

For the record, it’s been seven years since you last saw Im Nayeon in the flesh.

You don’t really like to think about it: about being sixteen and getting the news that your best friend in the whole world - the person who’d been by your side as long as you could remember, the person who’d been there for every single significant event in your life, who you’d been with through tears and failed tests and shitty high school relationships and nights spent at the beach in your hometown, running right into the waves the moment school let out - was heading off to chase her dream, to become wildly, unimaginably famous, which meant that you probably wouldn’t see her again for a very, very long time.

“It might not even go anywhere,” Nayeon told you, wrapped up in a towel, the two of you huddled together on the beach, stars glimmering overhead. “I might - I mean, it’s totally possible that I’m going to fail miserably.”

“You won’t,” you said, wistful, because you were acutely aware that Im Nayeon - gorgeous and charismatic and talented beyond belief, even then - was meant for so much more than anything she could get in your town. “There’s no chance you’re going to fail.”

Nayeon glanced over at you, bottom lip caught between her teeth, eyes glassy, and you already both knew that things would never be the same.

So - that’s where it ends, really, or at least where it should. She left, and got famous, and you stayed, and went to college. She didn’t keep in touch, because she couldn’t, and you didn’t expect her to. You stayed and you loved her and you understood.

It’s not like you haven’t been keeping up with her, though.

See, she’s everywhere: magazines, social media, on the radio, playing over the speakers in every store - there’s that voice, that perfect face, that body in form-fitting gowns and slinky designer dresses, caught by paparazzi in jeans and crop tops - now she’s all grown up, and a superstar, and so breathtakingly beautiful you do a double take every time you see her. Snapshots of her on red carpets, music videos; Nayeon’s present all the time, even when she’s not with you. You’ll be okay with it, you think. Not everything’s meant to last forever. Sometimes, it’s just a moment, but it’s enough.

Your childhood best friend, taking the world by storm; you, behind the scenes, always cheering her on. Like you said, that’s where it all should end. Call it there - give it a clean break. It’s what you both deserve.

It’s all over, except you’re in grad school, and it’s winter break, and by some miracle, you’re both in your hometown at the same time.

You don’t know it right away. You’re too caught up in the stunning nostalgia of your childhood bedroom, which is so deeply saturated with Nayeon’s presence that it’s almost like she’s still there - almost like she never left. It’s the pictures, it’s the candle on your nightstand that she bought for you, graphic t-shirts in your dresser that she used to steal; being here is like cracking open a time capsule, playing a supercut of the two of you, a short film cutting off right before the end. It’s more than a little bit suffocating, this kind of history spread out right in front of you, but you’ll deal. You always have.

You’ve been here for a day, and you’re still settling in. It’s a sleepy afternoon, chilly in mid-winter, but the sun’s out, and the sky’s clear and cloudless. You step outside with your keys in your hand, about to go for a drive - there are ways to seek out nostalgia without drowning in it; you’re thinking old streets, movie theaters, coffee shops-

You stop short, confused.

You don’t actually make the connections, at first. Look, you were never close with Nayeon’s family: for all you know, they could’ve moved away years ago; you wouldn’t be surprised. And there’s no reason for her to be here - so it’s a fleeting thought, flickering out like a light.

Plus, the girl you see right now, loitering by the car parked in the driveway of the house across the street, has long, silky blonde hair, catching in the sun like a halo. So - there’s no chance, you’re thinking, no way: it’s some new neighbor, or, like, a criminal - well, she’s tiny, she’s unassuming, so probably not that, but still-

The girl keeps leaning in, mumbling to herself, checking the back left tire.

“Oh, shit,” she says, suddenly, and then lands a very ill-placed kick to the tire with her shoe.

It’s a bad choice. It must hurt, because she gasps, tips to balance herself on the car - you notice her nails, which are these ridiculous acrylics, talon-sharp and with swirly white patterns - and you can’t see her expression, but her head ducks, swivels fast, glancing from her shoe to the tire, and then-

“Shit,” she says, again, and she bursts out laughing - and that's when you realize it.

Even from all the way across the street where you can’t see her face, even though this girl is blonde and there’s zero fucking chance she should be here right now, kicking her parents’ car with one of her beat-up leather boots - it’s all in that laugh, ringing brilliantly in the air like the music she makes. It's been seven years, and it’s still her.

“Nayeon,” you call. It’s not a question. You've never been more sure of yourself.

She turns, and - God - it’s like everything kicks into sudden slow motion, blurs, sharpens; you see her like you're seeing her for the first time, and in an instant, it's all in perfect clarity.

There’s that face: the one across billboards, album covers, the one in every photograph you have from high school, pressed close to yours - and abruptly it’s like you can’t even breathe, looking at her. Oh, none of the pictures do her justice, but you already knew that: she’s unbelievable, and right in front of you, and so, so real.

It’s something straight out of a movie, out of some fantasy, a far-off dream. Nayeon stands, straightens, stares, stares-

Then, casual to the point of comedy, she says, “Hey.”

And it’s all so easy: like it hasn’t been years since you two have spoken, like you might be sixteen again and preparing to corral her to your side so you two can go to the beach - so natural, like nothing has changed at all. Nayeon props a hand on her hip, gestures to the car, asks, “Does this tire look flat to you?”

You'll play along. Hey, you always did. “Um,” you say, from the sidewalk, grinning like an idiot. “I’m not an expert or anything, but - yeah, it does look kind of fucked up, huh?”

“Kind of,” agrees Nayeon.

“Yeah.”

Nayeon doesn’t even look at the tire; doesn’t take her eyes off of you for even a second. She’s so insanely, impossibly beautiful - and then her full lips crack to a smile, flashing her teeth at you, radiant enough to rival the sun.

“Hey,” she says, again, except now her voice is thick with emotion.

“Hey,” you echo, and wait.

It takes one beat, then two, and then Nayeon’s running at you, her laugh carrying on the wind. Her leather boots clap on the asphalt, her blonde hair streaming behind her, giving up every act, every attempt at playing it cool. It's just like her, around you again: you'll click right back into place like it's the only thing you were ever meant to do, and-

“Oh my god,” Nayeon exhales, and then she’s launching herself right into your arms.

For those few moments - those moments when you catch her around the waist, and her hands loop around your neck, and you hug her body close to you, half-drunk on the smell of her hair - she’s not Im Nayeon, global phenomenon; she’s your Nayeon, your best friend, your girl, yours. Yours, and she’s laughing that wonderful, infectious laugh, giddy like she knows it.

It’s been seven years - and then Nayeon pulls back, palms slipping to cup your cheeks, and it’s like it’s been no time at all.

“Oh my god,” she whispers again, reverent. “You…”

Her thumbs find the sides of your face, the dimples bracketing your mouth that she used to obsess over, and her words slip away into nothing. “Me?” you ask, teasing her. “You. That hair, Nayeon-”

“It fits me, right?” Nayeon’s tongue pokes out between her teeth, eyes sparkling. There’s something about her name on your lips: it makes her shiver, and you press your fingers into her hips, needing her closer - her chin’s tilted up at you, expression open, like she needs the exact same thing. “It’s for my new comeback. No one’s seen it yet.”

“Saving it for me?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

You laugh out loud - the vulgarity. You can’t imagine she’s been able to be so profane in her day-to-day life, not in her line of work: she’s had to be pristine, this whole time, holding back with a camera-ready smile and a script. It’s something else, seeing her instead of her image. There’s something you’ll test later - what rules she’s ready to break, after all this time. You’ll get back to it.

Nayeon’s beaming, sunlight threading through her hair. She’s still got your face in her hands, and you’ve got your hands on her waist, and there are no boundaries like you’ve never spent any time apart. “You look so…”

She trails off, flushing prettily.

“I look so what?” you prompt, entertained.

“No,” says Nayeon, accusatorily. She pats your cheek with one hand, and there’s that charming glint of her front teeth in her grin - that’s a smile people’d pay just to see, and they have. “I’m not saying it.”

“You don’t have to,” you say, and pat her hip in retaliation. It gets another laugh from her, bright and pleased. “I know what you meant.” You grin, pull her closer, add, “Right back at you.”

You could kiss her and you don’t. Instead, you draw her into your arms, hug her body tight to yours, feel all the new, firm muscle where youthful softness used to be; everything seems so different, on the surface, and you’re both older and busier and there’s her blonde hair, her nails, how every part of her seems planned and curated, a trademark of the celebrity life - she’s in a cream-colored sweater and jeans and no makeup, and still looks permanently silver-screen perfect. It’s been years, and she’s grown into herself elegantly, beautifully. It’s been years, and she’s in your arms again, and she’s become everything she wanted to be and more.

Nayeon buries her face in your neck, and takes a few deep, shuddering breaths, trying to keep it together - and you realize that maybe some things never change.

See - against all fucking odds, really - you and Nayeon are never anything more than just friends.

There’s all this pretense, at first. You’ve spent basically all your lives glued to each other’s sides, right on the edge of codependence, but it’s high school, and it’s the status quo, so you both try dating other people. It’s not that it’s totally disastrous, or anything - it’s just that none of the relationships last, and none of them are as important as the two of you together.

“They’re so boring,” Nayeon complained to you one day, both of you in your living room, watching some movie, her feet kicked up in your lap. “Well - okay, maybe that’s not totally accurate. It’s just - every date I go on, I just think of how much more fun it would be if you were there.”

“Yeah,” you said, pinching her knee, earning a squeal from her. “You, me, and your boy toy of the week. It’d be a laugh riot.”

“Fuck off,” said Nayeon, nose wrinkling, staving off a smile. “No, I mean - if you were there instead of him.”

So - sure, it’s really obvious, and everyone who knows you two sees it too. It’s you, and it’s her, and no one else is ever really going to be able to compete.

The reason why you never say it out loud is because of the only thing bigger than how you feel about her: Nayeon’s ambitions, her goals, her passion and drive. She doesn’t belong in this town, with you. She’s got stars in those gorgeous eyes, dreams of glitz and glamour and fame - and if there’s one thing you know about Im Nayeon, it’s that she knows exactly what she wants and just how to get it. You sort of always know that one day she’s going to end up leaving you behind. You know that the thought of tying her down, shackling her to the streets of this town, to you - it makes you nauseous. Holding a girl like that back would be a mortal sin: the universe would never forgive you for it.

(You know it all the way up until the night before she leaves for good, when she kisses you at your front door, her suitcases already packed - it’s not the first time you’ve kissed her, and it certainly doesn’t feel like the last, but you know it’s all you’ve got for now.

Don’t forget about me, alright? Nayeon said, then, tears in her eyes, tears in yours.

Never, you said. I could never.

You didn’t tell her you loved her, because you wanted to have something to give her when she came back, no matter how long it took.)

You and Nayeon never actually date in high school, but somehow - as delightfully easy as breathing, as inevitable as the stars slipping right into alignment - you two end up falling in love anyway.

It’s seven years later, and your heart is hers, just the same way as it always has been.

“No one knows I’m here,” Nayeon tells you now, from the passenger seat of your car; turns out her tire actually is flat, so now you’re chauffeuring her around, basically - not like you’re complaining. “I’ve done a pretty decent job at keeping my childhood private - the general public cares a lot more about my present than my past.”

Plus, no one knows she’s blonde yet, you point out, not even her fans. “Because you were saving that for me,” you insist. “You wanted to get my opinion first.”

“Shut up,” says Nayeon, then softens, goes serious. “I wasn’t… I wasn’t sure if you’d even be here, you know.”

The truth is you haven’t been, for the most part. Your university’s around an hour and a half away, and you don’t visit as much as you should. But now you’re here, and she’s here, and you’ve been driving in circles for the past hour - going past your old school, the church, all the rich neighborhoods. It’d be too risky to actually go anywhere, so this is what you’ve got, and neither of you seem to mind.

“Hey,” you tell her, flick your blinker, hook a left. “I’m always going to be here.”

You’re not talking about the town. When you glance over at Nayeon, she’s got this tilt to her mouth, a telltale sign: she understands exactly what you mean.

You’re falling back into old rhythms, patterns. You go through a drive-through, and Nayeon studiously stares out the window the whole time, trying to cover her face with her hair - it’s an admirable attempt at staying incognito, considering anyone who takes a single look at those eyes and that dazzling smile is going to know exactly who she is.

“Smooth,” you say when it’s over, pulling into the parking lot. You’re splitting a giant coffee and it’s like you’re back in high school. “Were you just planning on holing up in your house the whole time you’re back? You can’t exactly go anywhere without being recognized.”

You both click your seatbelts off, and now Nayeon’s got her legs tucked to her chest, her cheek resting on the tops of her knees. “Honestly?” She waves her hand at you, glittering acrylics flashing - you tip the coffee towards her, let her sip from the straw. “I didn’t really plan any of this. I had time off for once, so I took it. It’s the holidays, so it was just…” She shrugs. “The most reasonable plan of action, I guess.”

“You could’ve gone anywhere,” you say; you’re fishing for something, and she knows it. “Like, way more fun places than this shitty town. Los Angeles. The Bahamas. Paris.”

“Sure.”

“So?” You set the coffee in one of the cup holders. “Why didn’t you?”

You and Nayeon were best friends for so long that you basically grew to share a brain, thoughts, opinions - there were those times you’d look at her and know exactly what she was thinking, those times where just a lift of her eyebrows or a curl to her lips could communicate whole sentences, sentiments - things with her have always been so natural, so instinctual. It should be awkward, after seven years, after her rise to fame and your lack thereof. There should be oceans between you, whole worlds. There should be stumbling, time to find footing, missteps and whatever thread always tied you two together at least frayed, if not snapped entirely.

There should be, but there isn’t. Nayeon’s always been able to read your mind just like you can read hers, and that’s not about to stop now.

“You don’t need me to answer that,” she says, gaze stuck on your eyes, your teeth, your throat. The two of you are just as inevitable as you always were, and she’ll prove it. “I think you already know.”

Like you said, you’ve kissed Nayeon before: too many times to count.

You don’t really have a logical explanation, for all of that. It’s just that when you were younger you two spent every waking moment together, and you two were deliberately, unusually touchy: you can’t even begin to fathom the amount of times your classmates ran into you and Nayeon in the halls, or at parties, and pointedly backed off like they thought they were interrupting something.

(Well, they kind of were - it’d be her with a grip on your forearm, her with her legs in your lap, you with an arm slung around her shoulders, her waist, caught up in some conversation that was only comprehensible to you two. It’d have killed you to be apart, back then, even though you always knew it was coming. You knew you’d be ripped apart, eventually. You took all the time you could get.)

The kissing - you can’t even blame that on alcohol, can’t fall back on cop-outs or excuses. It wasn’t like you two ever truly planned for it to go down like it did. Just - sometimes, you’d be looking at her, so filled with unbridled, uncontained affection, something you couldn’t even begin to put into words - you’d see her eyes, and the soft way she’d look at you, and it was like everything you’d wanted had already happened.

So that’s where it starts, really: you’d kiss her just to make a point, tilt her face towards yours, slot your lips together. If it were anyone else, they’d have freaked, called you insane; Nayeon just smiled afterwards, eyes shutting, content and understanding, the kind of knowing that comes with whatever cosmic connection that was obviously keeping you two tangled up together beyond repair - intertwined at the hands, at the heart.

You didn’t talk about it, because she was always leaving, even while she was right there with you. You could feel it, more than anything. You’ve always sort of been running out of time.

The point is - well, you’ve kissed her plenty of times, just to tell her how you felt without saying it out loud. Careful, and gentle, and with all the clear intention in the world.

(The point is, it’s all these years later, and you know exactly how it feels to watch Nayeon leave. The point is that you have nothing left to lose, so-)

You’ve driven around so long that it’s dark outside. You’ve talked for hours, recapping the past seven years as best you can, hanging on each other’s every word: going through friends and careers and drama and conflict in excruciating, meticulous detail, and you’re still not even close to being done. It’s pouring outside, raindrops coating the windshield, and Nayeon says, abruptly, “I’m leaving in a week.”

“Okay,” you say, and pull your car into the driveway.

It’s not a question, and it’s the opposite of tension. You park the car and step out, and she’s right there at the passenger side, rain soaking her blonde hair, dripping down her neck, staring at you. It’s pitch-black outside, but there are those eyes: luminescent, longing personified. She’s the most famous woman in the country - you’ve seen those eyes everywhere. It’s nothing compared to having her in front of you now.

“A week,” Nayeon says, again, shutting the car door. “That’s all we’ve got.”

It’s not a question, so you don’t answer it.

It all gets away from you, in a split second - time, and your mind, and all your inhibitions - you’re rounding the car, and then you’ve got your hands in her drenched hair. Your mouth’s inches from hers, and her lips are already parted - you think of deja vu, you think this has already happened, or it was already meant to - you think of crazy, impossible things, and then you kiss her.

Nayeon melts underneath you, like succumbing to a wound - no, it’s too soft to be that, too safe - like slipping between sheets, like finding rest and relief after months on your feet - it’s a thunderstorm after a drought, an oasis, a second chance - and she’s so small when you press her against the car, as her mouth opens, spine curving, hands finding the nape of your neck.

The energy between you is electric, a shock to a system: it’ll be an overload, if you don’t fuck her right now - it’s been too long, it’ll blow all the breakers. You need her and it’ll kill you if you don’t have her. “Nayeon,” you murmur, fingers tangling in her hair, hips trapping her to the car door-

Nayeon makes this otherworldly noise into your mouth, high and keening and needy, and for a beat you actually think you’re going to die.

“Your house,” gasps Nayeon, panting when she pulls back, the pressure from what feels like eons wanting you and being denied finally dropping to the pavement, washing away with the rain. “Is it - please tell me no one’s home.”

It’s the two of you, and every single star aligns, for once in seven years: call it a comet, an eclipse, something to capture and study and scrutinize. “No one’s home.”

There’s that moonlight, gleaming overhead, breaking through the clouds. It bathes Nayeon like it’s blessing her, like it sees the extraordinary life she’s led so far and deems her deserving of it - like it looks at you, and by some million-in-one chance, by some surreal string of fate, it deems you deserving of her.

(Maybe you are, then. Maybe you always were.)

“Okay,” says Nayeon, and her hand takes yours - for a moment, you swear she’d run away with you, leave it all behind. “Then let’s go.”

Somehow, in the dark, you still know her.

You stumble up to your bedroom and you never even make it to the light switch - the moon’s coming in through slats in your blinds, the rain’s a drum line, a soundtrack - and Nayeon’s peeling off your shirt, fumbling with her ridiculous nails at the button of your jeans.

“Don’t strain yourself,” you say, grinning, your hands finding the hem of her top. “Your company will crucify you if you fuck up that manicure.”

“Fuck you,” says Nayeon, and suddenly she’s laughing, a harmony to the growing storm outside. She pops the button, drags the zipper, slow like she knows she’s unraveling you in the process. “Fuck you. Fuck me.”

The rain’s got her soaked to the skin - you get her sweater off, and then her jeans, and she’s in this scarlet-red bra, matching panties - it’s an image straight out of all your wet dreams, and you can’t help but stare, mouth agape, fingers lingering at her hips. Nayeon’s too flawless to be real; she’s smirking at you like she knows it. She’s used to be ogled, stared at, lusted after: she’s used to people wanting to rip her apart, and she’ll act like it.

“Jesus christ,” you say, unable to tear your eyes off her body - there’s her collarbone, her tits, her smooth, toned midriff - her wet hair, her creamy thighs - it’s all there, just for you. No one else gets to see her like this, no eager fan or follower - just you.

“Right?” says Nayeon, breathless and amused, high on how you’re looking at her. “Red really is my color.”

Somehow the arrogance only heightens the mood, the overwhelming arousal steeping the room. Something about making a god learn manners, respect; something about taking a deity and putting her in her place. “That ego,” you consider, skating your nails up her back, stopping at the clasp of her bra.

“What about it?”

“No, nothing.” You unhook it, grin at the shaky breath it gets from her. “I just think you might need to get it fucked out of you.”

Nayeon’s used to being mythologized, idolized, painted so perfect that everyone arounds her considers her something more than human, more than magic: she’s got hundreds of thousands of people ready to kneel at her feet, give her the world on a silver platter. She’s been spoiled, you think, tracing her body with your fingertips. She’s been treated like carved marble, behind glass and roped off, invulnerable, untouchable.

(But here you are, anyway: the one person on the planet who truly knew her before all that - before fame took hold of a girl and made her a legend. Before fame took the love of your life and let everyone else fall in love with her, too. Well, you’re not about to blame them; you never could.)

Nayeon’s staring at you, a challenge in her eyes, a sharp, secret violence in her smile.

“I don’t know about all that,” she says, “but you can try.”

It’s a dare, it’s a taunt - after all this time, and you’re still the only one who can match her beat for beat, touch for touch: there’s her bra, slipping to the floor, there’s your thumb over her nipples, hardening them to points, your teeth on her chest and leaving marks. She’s on your bed, her damp hair tumbling over one shoulder, the intoxicating ring of her irises like a shot in the dark.

“You don’t even know,” pants Nayeon, voice thick with heat, as you stroke her pussy through her panties. “You don’t even fucking know how long I’ve wanted this.”

“Oh,” you say, and pull her underwear to the side roughly - there’s that cunt, just for you, glistening and sopping wet and so, so ready - and a smirk finds your mouth, just off the brink of cruel. “I think I’ve got an idea.”

Nayeon’s so greedy, and you get it - she’s gotten everything she’s ever wanted for years and years, without question or hesitation - and she’s reaching for your hand, your fingers, needing you inside her in any way she can get you. She’s beyond wet; you already know she’s going to ruin your sheets, she’s gonna ruin something-

“Watch it,” you snap, grabbing her wrist so hard she yelps. “If you wanna get fucked, Nayeon, you need to behave.”

“Please,” Nayeon shoots back. The words tremble - she’s so turned on, she can’t hide it - but she’ll never back down from a fight. “I could get anybody to fuck me. I could walk out of here right now and have someone else’s dick in me in ten minutes.”

She’s rambling. You’re gonna bruise her wrist. Her tits heave as she tries to catch her breath, and when you brush against her pussy with your other hand, she lets out this gorgeous, weakened whimper - you’ve got her, you’ll make an example of a higher power, take an idol and make her human again.

“Sure.” Your fingers find her clit, teasing; Nayeon’s eyes snap to yours, ferocious, murderous. “But you don’t want just anybody.” Your dick throbs - there’s something primal, animalistic; if you wait any longer she’s gonna jump you, take what she wants and fuck you stupid. It’d be a threat if you didn’t want the exact same thing. “You want me.”

“Fucking asshole,” says Nayeon, hoarsely, but then you’ve got two fingers in her, her pussy clenching around you, and there’s a waning edge in the hostility: you know her too well. She’s not into being patient, ever. There’s never been a line between you two that she hasn’t been willing to toe. “You know - you know I never wanted anyone but you.”

That’s the blow, the bomb that’ll implode the two of you - or it would, but there’s never been a single secret between you and Nayeon, and that’s not about to change now.

“I know,” you manage, stunned, mesmerized by her, your palm falling from her wrist to her flat stomach, your fingers sliding out of her with an obscene, slick sound. “I know.”

“Please,” she begs. “Please fuck me.”

It’s filthy, it’s feelings, it’s years in the making. The head of your cock is at her needy, drooling cunt, and you can see it in her eyes, in the bruising marks you left scattered across her tits, her throat. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been. No one’s ever going to know her how you know her - no one’s ever even going to come close.

Your bury your dick inside of her, and it’s like there’s an ache you’ve waited lifetimes to relieve - and then, finally, ultimately, you’ve got her perfect pussy just for you, and you relieve it.

“God,” you hiss; Nayeon’s already whining, squirming under your hand firmly at her middle, holding her down - you think of going for her neck and you will, you think of flipping her over and watching her ass bounce back on your cock, and it’ll happen - but working your dick inside her impossibly tight pussy is more than enough for the time being; you’ve got your hands full, figuratively, literally. “This fucking pussy, Nayeon-”

You say her name, and it wrecks her - her fingers find yours where they’re balanced on her midriff, curling around you - and her jaw is slack, expletives falling from between her pretty, pouty lips like she’s never been advised to keep up a clean image. She’s with you, and she’s nothing like she is on camera. “Fuck me,” she’s babbling, “fuck me, fuck - your cock is so - fucking big, fucking me so good-”

She’s nothing like she is on camera, wrapped around your cock and crying out, but she’s everything that Im Nayeon has always been, otherwise: beautiful, irresistible, the most incomparable thing this town’s ever seen, and ever would. There’s all that bite to her, but she’s giving it up. You’re fucking her and for once she’s not gonna fight you on that.

“Just like I thought,” you murmur, and your thumb skates over her clit, gets a squeal, gets several. “You were fucking made to take my cock, weren’t you?”

You’re back in your time capsule of a room, and your veins are on fire, skin up in flames - you knew you wouldn’t be able to fuck her without dragging emotions into it, dragging your heart along as you pound Nayeon’s cunt, jerk your hips and get her screaming - you know that when you say it, you’re really saying something else, too. We were always going to end up this way, weren’t we?

“Yes,” Nayeon moans, voice ripping at the seams - it’s all the pleasure, all the anticipation, consuming, devouring. “Yes, yes, yes-”

You’re captivated by every single sound out of her mouth, every minute expression of that face, every gut-wrenching squeeze of her pussy, tight around your cock - call it a vice, the way she clamps down around you, the way you indulge in her perfect body like it’s a drug you’re using. Nayeon’s features crumple, fold: you’ve seen her onstage with all that bravado, all that confidence, showing off for a crowd - you’ve seen her hips and her tits and her tiny waist in form-fitting, skimpy outfits, practically painted to every curve - but now, she’s all for you.

(Hey, maybe her ego’s contagious; maybe you’ve got the girl everybody wants, and you get why they all treat her like a god.)

You’ll mind all your breaking points. “Cum for me, baby,” you order, and Nayeon screams.

There’s no air in the room, anymore, none in your lungs - it’s a fire without oxygen, nowhere to stay or go or feed on - and as she’s still shaking from her orgasm, jaw slack, you’re pulling out of her just to shoot your load all over the flawless, flat plane of her stomach, covering her skin in your cum - there’s everyone’s god, now, underneath you, slutty and sloppy and so thoroughly fucked-

“Oh, god,” Nayeon chokes out, strangled, the moment your cum soaks her. “Oh my god-”

It’s all in the air, with the two of you: the sex, the intimacy, the history. You take her stunning face in her hands and you dip to kiss her, fully aware of how responsive she is, the very second your lips meets hers. There’s a moan, there’s the arch of her back, there’s her tongue licking desperately into your mouth - “Nayeon,” you murmur, and tip your forehead to hers. Her breath’s uneven, eyelids fluttered shut. “Nayeon.”

Her eyes are closed, but a smile finds her lips, lights up her whole face; it’s a smile you’ve seen forever, in photos, across billboards, in all your best memories.

“You don’t even understand what you do to me,” she says, serenely, faintly. “When you say my name like that.”

There’s all that desire, and then the quiet honesty, and you swear a moment like this could last a lifetime. “Hey,” you say, and kiss her face - her nose, her forehead, both cheeks. You’ll take her as long as she’ll have you. “I think we’ve established by now that I know all about what I do to you.”

Nayeon’s a little hypnotized by how much you came across her stomach, a little stuck on it - you get up to get her some tissues, and when you turn around, she’s got cum-covered nails in her mouth, sucking on them shamelessly. The noises she’s making are fucked, and you stare.

“Fucking hell,” you say, dropping at her side on the bed.

“What?” asks Nayeon sweetly, licking her bottom lip. “You’re the one who came all over me. What did you want me to do?”

She’s trying to go for your usual banter, but it’s too soft, her smile too knowing and familiar, her body too open and comfortable. You can’t call this a one-night stand, can’t call it a fluke - she’s so safe in your bed that it looks like she’d stay there forever, if she could, you and her and these four walls.

Nayeon’s clothes are all over your floor, and you clean up all that silky skin. Her hair’s a mess, and the moon’s still coming through your window, glossing her body, her gorgeous eyes. You watch her face, and you can read her as well as you always have: every thought, every single intent.

(She’ll have to let this go, but she’s got a week to feel it first. It’s torture, the ticking clock, but it’s nothing the two of you haven’t had to feel already.)

“I can’t believe we haven’t done that before,” muses Nayeon, as you brush her hair off her forehead - she’ll have to take a shower, and you’ll have to join her, naturally. “Well, what’s the verdict?”

You eye her, sensing the jab like she’s already said it. “Sorry?”

“Fucking someone famous.” Nayeon tilts her head, smile sparkling like the stage lights she spends all her time under. “Was it everything you thought it would be?”

“Shut up.” You grab her at the hips, and she laughs, a mess of giggles, filling the space - she’s a celebrity, she’s larger than life - you’re the only one who can ground her like this. “You’re such a fucking idiot.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah,” you say, touching your lips to the top of her head. “That’s the only reason I wanted to fuck you, Nayeon. Because you’re famous. That’s all this is, obviously. Thanks for the bragging rights.”

The sarcasm drenches each syllable, and Nayeon laughs louder - she can read your every thought, but this one’s a lie that’s too clear to call out: you loved her long before all the superstardom, all the money, all the recognition. She knows exactly how you feel about her, and she won’t pretend otherwise. You know just how she feels about you, and it’s the most certain you’ve ever been about anything.

“Oh,” she says coyly, and leans in to kiss you. “You’re so welcome.”

The next morning, you’re taking inventory, staring at the girl in your bed and wondering how you’re going to explain this to your parents. She’s dressed by now, in one of your t-shirts and a pair of your pajama pants, drawstring pulled tight around her small waist and so oversized they cover her feet - that’s already bad enough, but then there’s her neck, pale skin marred with hickeys - okay, it’s worse.

“How do you feel about sneaking out the window?” you ask.

Nayeon tries to kick you and almost slides off the bed. “You think your parents will care that we had sex?” Her hair’s freshly washed, tied up and out of her face. “They’ve wanted you to marry me since the first time I came over.”

You gape at her, but her nose crinkles up with her grin, and, well - it’s not like she’s wrong.

True to her word, your parents are thrilled that she’s here - they’ve never really grasped the scope of exactly what a big deal Nayeon is, now, so they treat her just like they did when she was younger, spending breakfasts and family dinners with you, fitting in so smoothly it was like she’d always been there. To your parents, you think they’ll kind of always see Nayeon as that bright-eyed, eternally charming girl that stuck by your side like you’d both collapse if you had to be apart. There’s that same smile, that effervescent laugh - you can’t really fault them for it.

“How long are you here?” your mom asks her, as she’s making breakfast, and Nayeon’s at the kitchen table, nonchalantly recounting stories of all her famous friends. “Just for the holidays?”

“A week,” says Nayeon, glancing at you, mouth twisting ruefully.

Your mom makes a sympathetic noise. “Oh, that’s not very long, huh.”

Compare it to the seven years you spent apart - and no, it’s not. It’s a blip, a snag in time. In the grand scheme of things, it’d probably be nothing.

“No,” agrees Nayeon; it’s never nothing, when it’s the two of you. Her hand finds yours under the table, and it’s everything that matters, wrapped up in an hourglass, sand slipping through your fingers. “But we’ll make it count.”

“We’ll make it count?” you berate her, later, in the car as you’re driving up to the mansions on the hill, testing codes for gated communities, pointing out gaudy architecture like you’re real estate snobs - it’s an old game, a remnant from high school shenanigans. Nayeon could buy this whole neighborhood, and it’s somehow become hilarious, all these years later. “Way to tell my mom that you and I are going to be fucking nonstop the whole time you’re here-”

“Like she didn’t already know,” says Nayeon, unapologetic, and points to her neck. She’s still in your clothes: no point in getting dressed when she can’t exactly leave the car without getting recognized, but you think she’d stay in your t-shirts all week, regardless.

It’s an old story, between the two of you. “You’re such a slut.”

“Yeah, and you’re directly benefiting from it, so I don’t know why you’re complaining.”

She says it like a proposition, and - hey, that’s an opportunity you’re never going to pass up. You’ll cash your checks, reap your benefits. You’ll pull off to the side of the road and throw the car in park, bury your hand in her hair as she leans over the console, tugs down your pants, gets her pouty lips wrapped around your dick in record time-

“What would your fans say?” you tell her, lowly, hypnotized by how she gags around you. “Seeing their angelic little idol with a cock shoved down her throat.”

Nayeon pulls back just to laugh, raspy and shot, spit dripping from the corners of her mouth. “They’d fucking love it and you know it.”

You’re up in the hills, in the midst of construction sites, all danger and risk and safety hazards waiting to happen; you can’t get enough of how Nayeon slobbers around your cock, how she’s everything you’ve ever wanted wrapped up in one - the slickness of her tongue, the tightness of her throat, her blonde ponytail in your fist as her head bobs, fast, faster-

When you cum in Nayeon’s mouth, she chokes on it, can’t even swallow it all down. “Jesus fucking christ,” she gets out, and she’s giggling, so pleased with herself, wiping the cum dribbling from her lips, down her chin. “You - wow.” She taps the head of your cock with the ridged back of one of her nails, works her jaw like she’s trying to memorize the feeling of your dick filling her mouth. “Your cock is so sensitive.”

“Gloating?” you ask, struggling to catch your breath. “That’s - like - that’s such a turn-off, Nayeon.”

It’d be slightly more convincing if she didn’t still have your cum staining her lips. “Liar.”

You hook your fingers in the collar of the shirt she’s wearing, tug her closer to nip at her neck - she gives this noise that’s somewhere between an affronted squeal and an aroused, needy exhale. She’s so easy, but so are you. She’s so transparent, but with this little time there’s nothing else to be.

You’ll make it work; you’ll catch up. “Fine,” you admit, pressing down on hickeys you’ll only darken, aggravate - she’s got you wrapped around her finger, but at least it’s mutual. “I guess your narcissism is kind of sexy, or whatever.”

“I hate your fucking guts,” says Nayeon, but she’s smiling.

There’s all this ease to it, something you’ve never found with anyone else; something you don’t think you’ll ever find again. You two have always been a little obsessed with each other.

“More than a little,” Nayeon revises, considering it; you’re three days in, walking back all your history. You can’t keep your hands off of each other, can’t keep your mouths closed, can’t keep from falling for the millionth time. “I just remember thinking that I could tell you about every embarrassing shitty thing I’d ever done, and you’d just listen, and not make fun of me for it. You knew what I could handle, you know?”

You get what she means: teenage boys like to tease, to insult - you weren’t exempt from that, but you looked at Nayeon and you always seemed to know what lines never to cross. How to be gentle with her, when you knew she needed it.

“You too,” you point out; Nayeon was perceptive when it counted, reading rooms, boundaries. She’d defend you to the death without hesitation. “Whenever I was with you, I knew I could trust you. Like I felt safe with you.”

You can think of situations where you’d feel emasculated, admitting it - but there’s Nayeon with her eyes, her genuine, generous smile, sitting at your desk chair, jeans and a gauzy white top. She gets you, and you never have to explain, never have to bother with defenses. You’re with her and vulnerability spills like it’s never had a reason not to.

“All this past tense,” pegs Nayeon, charmed more than concerned.

“Right,” you say, realizing. “Hey, it all still applies. I feel safe with you.”

There’s your past: teachers knowing you two were a matching set, classmates calling her your other half, texting any second you were apart, touching the moment you were together again. Shifting from jokes to sincerity so easily, ride-or-die in all senses of the phrase. Well, here’s your present: there’s the sex, now, and that’s another angle to it. You’d think it’d ruin a friendship this intense; you’d assume it’d only complicate things - you’d be wrong. There’s never been anything simpler, between you and Nayeon.

Nayeon softens, and rises from your chair just to fit herself into your arms. There’s that smile: no one gets me like you get me, she’s saying. You’ve got only days left; you’re picking your battles. You’ll remember everything that made you two exactly who you are now.

(Oh - it’s not like you ever really forgot. Nayeon’s got all the love and attention she could ever need, and she’s still here, with you.)

“Flattery,” Nayeon says, finally, arching an eyebrow at you, her face too adorable for the suggestive tilt to her voice, “will get you everywhere.”

Her palm slips to your chest, finds your heart. “I’m not even trying to flatter you,” you say, amused. “And if I was, I can do better than that.”

“Then do better,” replies Nayeon, rapid-fire. “What, you need some incentive?”

It’s just like the two of you: teasing, to truth, to seconds away from ripping each other’s clothes off, taking sexual tension and bending it entirely to your will. There’s so many routes to intimacy - you loop your fingers in the waistband of her jeans, and this is the one you’re choosing tonight. She’s leaving, either way. You’ll fuck her like you’ve got all the time you could ever need.

You’re all about old habits, the two of you: your jaw drops when you get her out of her clothes, and then you laugh so hard you almost topple over.

“I’m sorry,” you say, enamored, fascinated, “you packed lingerie for a holiday break in your hometown? So - you aren’t even pretending that your plan wasn’t to get fucked, now.”

Nayeon sticks out her bottom lip, furrows her brows. She’s playing at irritated, but she’s too proud of herself, how your eyes are glued to her body even though the laughter - she plants her hands on her waist, and that’s only one place to look. Her lingerie’s all lacy and black and ribboned, panties so tiny you could snap them between your fingers, the cups of her bra with scalloped edges, fit to every curve like it was custom-made for her. It’s Im Nayeon, anyway: you wouldn’t be surprised if it was.

“What can I say?” She shifts, tosses her pale curtain of hair over a slender shoulder. All those cracks about her ego - well, you won’t lie here: it’s so fucking hot. “I like to be prepared.”

You hook your fingers in the sides of her panties, tangling your grip in what virtually amounts to nothing but flimsy strings, biting into the creamy skin of her hips. “Was this expensive?”

“Very.” Nayeon’s dark eyes flash at you, already following where you’re going. Perks of fucking someone who basically shares half your brain. “Which means if you rip any of it in any way, you’re paying for the damage.”

“You’d foot the bill for me,” you say, one hand already going to cup her pussy.

Nayeon’s knees tremble, glare slipping down a few watts - she attempts to recover, to double back with twice the venom. It’s a valiant effort, or it would be, if she weren’t so visibly, undeniably desperate. “Uh, the fuck I would.”

“Hm.” She’s already soaked, and the whine you get from her when you slip a finger inside her cunt is music all her fans would bankrupt themselves just to hear. “I think I could probably find a way to convince you.”

You rip the panties, because you know what lines to never cross, and which ones Nayeon’s just begging you to run right through. “See?” you say, gratified, as you make her cum, and cum, and cum. “Told you: I can be very convincing."

You think she’d probably try to put up a fight, on this one, but she’s too busy clamping down tight around your cock, her gorgeous eyes rolling back into her head, lips dropping moan after moan. She shudders when you slide out of her, your cum dripping from her pussy, and curls up right to your side - okay, so maybe there’s no fighting anything. Nayeon presses her lips to your jaw, and smiles like her own satisfaction is a secret she’s hiding.

“I’ll let it slide,” she whispers, soft against your neck. “Only just this once. Only for you.”

Here’s the thing: you’re running out of time, but you always were. You could ask her to stay with you, give it all up, but you won’t; you’d never. She fills you in on every minute detail of her life, and she’s so happy - you’ve never seen her so happy.

“Fame suits me,” says Nayeon, unashamed. “It’s exhausting and fucked and anxiety-inducing - and it’s so much fun. It’s exhilarating. It’s like - it’s a non-stop adrenaline rush.” She laughs, free, talking the dream she’s living into reality - like you’d ever be able to wrap your head around it. “I think I’m kind of good at it, too.”

Her lips quirk at a corner, a deliberate understatement; she never needs to act humble with you.

Nayeon doesn’t even have an agenda, with this. She loves talking about her life, all the opportunity: the events, the fans, the attention, the way she can sing anything and people will listen. You talk about your own life, your major and your mentors and the friends you’ve made, and it’s then that you realize it-

“We really did make it,” you tell her, a little wondrously. “Without each other.”

Nayeon’s curled up to your side, on your couch. Something’s playing on the TV that she keeps laughing at, her whole face scrunching with delight. She looks at you sideways, says, “You didn’t think we would.”

It’s not a question, and you know because now she’s playing with the cuff of your shirt, bottom lip tucked into her mouth thoughtfully. Codependent - everyone said you were. You had a lot of skeptics, looking at the two of you, people disbelieving that either of you would even survive after Nayeon left.

“I wasn’t sure if we would, either,” she says, quietly.

Her life’s all in lights, in every magazine, spread across all the websites; yours is the opposite, but she listens to all your stories anyway - she gets the gist. You’re happy, too. You’ve worked hard to get where you are and it’s all you could’ve ever asked for. You and Nayeon have got success in completely different places, but you’ve got it anyway: you’ve found it all on your own.

“But we did,” says Nayeon, after a beat. There’s a joke on the television that she grins at, wrapped up in your arms. She’s leaving in a few days, a bomb waiting to go off. There’s an implication in this, something she’s not telling you but you understand anyway. “We did make it.”

We did make it, she’s saying. We can make it again, you and me. You with me, even if we’re worlds apart.

Your thumb skims her cheek, slips into her hair. Nayeon looks over at you, then says, “Give me your phone.”

You twist so she can slip it out of your back pocket - she knows your passcode, knows every facet of your life down to the letter. “Nayeon?” you ask, a little puzzled, as her nails click across your screen, the top of her head bumping your chin. “Are you…”

“Shh,” she says, mildly, then without warning, she’s on the camera, flipping the phone to take a picture of the two of you. You raise your eyebrows, intrigued; she’s falling back on her idol training, a peace sign and her tongue poking out from the corner of her mouth. “There,” she says, after, tapping once and then handing the phone back, a new, decisive set to her lips. “That’s my number. My real number.”

Your gaze drops to the phone screen - there it is, her number and her name and the picture she’d taken sitting as the contact photo - and when you glance back, Nayeon’s observing your face, checking for your reaction: if you’re in this just as much as she is. If you’re serious - if you’re really going to do this. If you get what’s going to come next and if you’re ready for it.

“I can call you on this?” you ask, slightly struck.

Nayeon scoffs, eyes sparkling, shoulder pressed to yours. “Uh - yeah, genius, that’s kind of the point.”

You’re smiling too wide. “So…”

“So if you leak my phone number, my company’s gonna sue you for everything you’re worth,” Nayeon says, haughtily, rapping her knuckles against your thigh. She’s severing the sentimentality of the moment, covering it up with humor. You get it - it’s a way out, an exit route. You know what she means by this even if she’s not saying it out loud.

“Okay,” you murmur, and kiss her temple. Nayeon’s nose scrunches up, pleased. There’s another one-liner on the show you’re watching, and this time it makes you both laugh, Nayeon hiding her giggles in the back of her hand. You’d think it’d be the point where the moment snaps shut, but instead it’s spreading, encompassing - like in a few days, she’ll be on the next flight back to the place she calls home, and you’ll still be able to feel her next to you, music in her laugh, forever wound in the curve of her smile.

She’s leaving, already. Her number’s in your phone, her heart’s in your hands. She’s leaving, but for once, maybe it doesn’t mean that anything has to end.

There are two days left, so you’re taking all the chances you can get. Sure, there’s catching up on shows, gossip; there’s her in your room, telling you things that probably break NDAs - from the outside looking in, you’d never guess that she’s at this ungodly level of fame and that you two haven’t talked in seven years. It’s all so normal, so relaxed, so cute.

Well - okay, most of it is cute. As long as you’re overlooking all the-

“You know, if you get any louder, we’re gonna get caught.”

Your week’s almost up, and you’ve got all your extended family filling your house, so you’ve found your escape the only way you can: in the backyard, your cock tapping against Nayeon’s pouty lips, the both of you drenched in shadow. And - true to form - she’s being a fucking menace about the blowjob that she’s barely giving you.

Everything’s pared down to the tactile, the physical; her hair’s back in two braids that you’ll tug, she’s testing your patience. You glare down at her - her fingers wrap around your cock just to release it. “And who’s fault would that be?”

Nayeon’s tongue darts out to lap at the head of your cock, flicking fast, eyes trained on you, watching as you struggle to keep it together, struggle not to wrap your hand in her hair and bury your dick inside her throat. She’s a tease like it’s her job - because if you think about it, it kind of is. There’s that intoxicating, cunning glint in her eye: she could do this all day.

“You’re fucking evil,” you manage, voice strained.

Like you said, Nayeon’s always had that ego - all the fame’s only stoked the fire. “Sorry?” she murmurs, blinking pointedly up at you, breath hot on your cock, torturous. “I can leave right now, if you wanted to take care of this all by yourself.”

“Fuck you.”

“You’re not gonna get to if you keep talking to me like that.”

Oh, that’s a threat with absolutely zero weight behind it, but you already know it. A split second after you cum in her mouth - she’s still wiping semen off her chin, cheeks puffing out trying to swallow it all - you’ve got her up against you, your hand down the front of her sweatpants, her pussy already dripping wet, getting her right to the edge of her orgasm like it’s nothing.

“Look at you,” you say, vicious like a risk just begging to be taken; you know exactly what she wants and how to give it to her. “Now who’s being loud?”

Nayeon tries to roll her eyes only to get caught on a climax, instead. Ah, well: it’s one way for you to call it even.

“I’d kiss you,” she tells you, after, “but some guy just came in my mouth five minutes ago.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you say, unnecessarily - you’ll make her, instead.

Your time’s almost up. She wakes up in your bed on the very last day, hickeys spanning her neck, her tits, her thighs. You run your fingers along them and wonder how the two of you are ever going to get away with this. “What’s your company going to say about this?”

Nayeon laughs, soft in the morning, sun-soaked and ethereal. “Contrary to popular belief,” she says - she’s built her living around playing coy, showing just enough to tantalize, baring what’ll draw allure and nothing more - “it’s not my company’s job to keep me out of trouble.”

“No?”

“Nope.” There’s that gorgeous face, those eyes trapping stars, captivating anyone who even comes close. “It’s to keep everyone from finding out about it.”

“Oh," you say, grinning. "Is that right?”

“Yep.” When Nayeon kisses you, it’s like a promise she’s making, an oath she’ll make and swear on. “Believe me,” she says, and smiles just to sign on the dotted line. “I can get into all the trouble that I want.”

You stay in for old times’ sake, enjoy no one’s company but each other’s - wrapped in your duvet, Nayeon half in your lap - except instead of talking about shitty classes and dramas and movies you’re planning on watching together, Nayeon’s tilting her phone towards you, letting you flick through unreleased photos for her new comeback. “Perks of fucking me,” she tells you crassly, conversationally, like that’s all it is - the fond curl of her mouth betrays her. “You get all the sneak peeks.”

“I’m getting more than a peek,” you say, struck dumb by a series of photos of Nayeon in this sinfully tight, abominably short pink bodysuit, monogrammed with red. It’s fucked up, so you’ll say it out loud. “Jesus, this outfit.”

Nayeon taps the screen excitedly, nails clicking; it’s beyond adorable how excited she gets about it all, about the music and the aesthetics and the clothes and the choreography - it’s one thing to see her on-screen, and it’s another entirely to see all the passion in person, all the effort. It’s times like this where you understand it all perfectly: if there’s anything in the world she was made for, it’s this. “Right? It was made from this Louis Vuitton towel just for me to wear it - insane, no?”

“Yeah,” you say, gawking at the photos of her with those mouthwatering thighs all on display, the buttons popped at the collar. She’d said red was her color - and it is, but it’s Nayeon, and every color looks like it was created for her. “It’s fucked up.”

“That it’s made out of a towel? I actually thought it was ingenious.”

You take a look at her expression - there’s that mischief in her eyes, a dead giveaway. “Obviously not that,” you say, then amend, humoring her, “well, that’s cool, too. You’re right. A towel - ingenious.”

“Totally.”

You clip her on the hip, making Nayeon gasp, go to pinch you on the shoulder. “No,” you correct, dodging, “the fucked up thing is how hot you are.”

Nayeon’s in one of your t-shirts and her own underwear and nothing else, her neck so marked up that anyone would think she’d gotten mauled, her blonde hair disheveled from sleep and tumbling over her shoulders. You’ve never once had a filter around each other - never had any room for embarrassment or shame, between the two of you.

“You and that flattery,” says Nayeon, her teeth gleaming in her grin.

“Uh-huh.” You press the phone back in her hand, lift your eyebrows in a provocation. “Where’s it getting me?”

Nayeon clicks it off, tilts her head like she’s studying you. You’ll take all your last risks before you wrap it up. “Where do you wanna go?”

You bring it back to the start. You end up on the beach, the two of you curled up on a towel, another one around both your shoulders, staring out at the waves: there's the moonlight overhead, everything hazy like you’re living in a dream.

It’s freezing, so you won’t touch the water. Nayeon’s head is on your shoulder, and neither of you want to snap the silence, but you will, anyway. It’s a night for confessions - there’s the moon, listening; the waves, all salt and seafoam, thinning out to reach the sand. Nayeon whispers, like she’s afraid someone will hear her, “I’m gonna miss this.”

Your hand is slipped under her cardigan, thumb notched under the strap of her tank top - sometimes it’s like you’d just die if you weren’t touching her. Her fist’s at the hem of your shirt, nails brushing your abdomen; you know she’s always felt the same way.

“I know,” you say, and there’s no one else to hear it, but for once Nayeon’s right here, and it’s enough, and she doesn’t need an audience to prove it. “Me too.”

There’s a presence to this kind of intimacy, how it blooms, how it settles. It’s freezing, so you’ll pull her body into yours - there’s the wind, there’s the risk of being caught, nipping at all her smooth skin - and there’s never been any sex like this, for either of you. It’s more than just feral, more than just fucking: Nayeon moans your name, lets her back arch like she has no control over her body, lets her cunt clench tight around your cock like the only thing she has control over is you.

“Please,” she whimpers, the swirling winter air stealing the words right out from her lungs. “Please - please fuck me, please cum in me, I need to feel your cum - filling me up, wanna feel it leaking out of me - please.”

The beach is empty, but you’d fuck her the same way in front of rooms full of people, of watchful, prying eyes. It's all meant to be secret, something between the two of you and no one else - you'll keep it as long as you have her, safe somewhere in your chest, spread between your fingers. When she falls back to flashing cameras and adoring fans, she’ll play like she’s up for grabs, but she isn’t: she’s yours, in every way. She’s yours, always.

“I’m yours,” Nayeon breathes into your neck, pliable and needy underneath you, every part of her body reaching for you as if you’re her first and only instinct. “Yours, yours.”

Please don’t forget, her eyes beg you. Please love me like this forever.

Your fingers wrap around the pale column of her throat - you’ll steal her words this time around, make her eyelids shutter and her eyebrows draw together, panting; she’s slicker than the ocean around you, thighs salty with sweat, cum - and when you squeeze, Nayeon falls apart.

She’ll be gone tomorrow. She’ll be gone, and there’s no telling when she’s coming back.

“Baby,” you exhale, dipping to kiss her, shuddering as your orgasm builds like it’s something to break. You can’t even fuck her without throwing your feelings right at her feet; can’t have her neck in your hand without having her heart, too. There’s no separating the sex and the sentiment. She’s your best friend, she’s the love of your life; you’ll never have one without the other. “Always.”

Forever, you tell her, in your lips on hers, in her nails scoring welts down your back. Years in the making, and it all culminates here. I’ll love you forever.

Nayeon’s whining and writhing and gasping for air by the time you cum inside her, and the moment you let up on her throat she’s rising to kiss you again. There’s so much, between the two of you - there’s the ocean, threatening to drown, consume; there’s fame, alive in every shimmering skyline - and then there’s her number sitting in your phone, a years-long yearning waiting to become something more. The stars are overhead, aligning. The moon’s winking at you, turning all the tides.

You kiss her one more time, and say, “Let’s go home.”

It’s the middle of the night, and you’re back in your bed together, thumbing her ribs like you’re counting lifelines, following the curve of her waist like you’re cartographing all the places you’ve already been. You’ll be back, someday. You’ll trace her bare wrist, follow the pathways of her veins right on home.

“You know I always loved you, right?” Nayeon asks, voice soft, close.

It’s not the time for insecurity, for mincing words, for purposeful ignorance. “Yeah.”

“You know I still do, then.” Nayeon lifts her head, irises glinting with unshed tears, her blonde hair a mess over her forehead. Fame turned a girl into a god, and she came back to you anyway. She’ll do it again, in time. “Don’t you?”

“Nayeon.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” you say, heart high in your throat. “I know. I always knew. I love you, too.”

There’s too much emotion in the room for words, and Nayeon finds your mouth in the dark like she’s been doing it her whole life. You’ve said so much already. You’ll crack open every window, let the air in; you’ll crack your chest apart, and let your love breathe.

The morning comes, and it’s time for a return to form - you’ve got lives to live, both of you. Responsibilities, obligations. There’s something in the sunrise, like it’s calling her back; the limelight won’t know how to survive without Im Nayeon sparkling under it. She can’t stay. She never could.

“It’s been fun, I guess,” says Nayeon flippantly, defaulting to stupid humor; if she doesn’t make you both laugh, then you’ll both crumble.

“Shut up,” you say, thickly, as she takes your hand, drags you out of bed. Her eyes are glassy, her fingers laced with yours like she’s scared to let go. “You’re such a dumbass.”

You lean in to kiss the crown of her head. There’s a twist to Nayeon’s mouth, tender - and you know that even when she does let your hand go, you’re still going to be hers and hers alone.

Well, you know what they say about distance, absence: it’ll all make the heart grow fonder. It’d been true, before. Maybe it can be true again.

“What an optimistic take,” says Nayeon, dryly, and her bottom lip’s already trembling, breathing already uneven as she tries to choke back tears. You’re out on the sidewalk again, and it’s all circling back, cyclical; she’s in your arms, and you’re both right where you started. “I agree completely. Seven years wasn’t enough. I need to get away from you, stat.”

It’s so her, making dumb jokes just so she doesn’t sob herself to pieces. Her hair’s spilling over her shoulders, golden; her stunning eyes are locked on yours, one hand pressed to the side of your neck, thumb finding your jaw. There’s a car waiting, her luggage packed up and put away; it’s gonna hurt, and you already know it. Nayeon’s shoulders are high like she’s preparing herself for some physical ache, the moment she steps away - she’s putting up her fronts, but they’re all slipping. She’s putting up a good fight and it’s already lost.

“I love you,” you say, emotion twining up your throat, and it’s enough to cleave her façade in two.

“Fuck,” Nayeon manages, and lifts her wrist over her mouth, expression collapsing in on itself. “I know. I love you. I’m - I’m so sorry-”

“Hey, hey-”

You go to everything you’ve ever learned, all the ways to ground Nayeon again before she floats away: there’s her face in your hands, and you’re looking right at her, firm so she can see how serious you are. “Hey,” you say, trying to soothe her even as your own heart threatens to constrict, shut off; she’s more important. She always has been. “You don’t need to be sorry, okay? You didn’t do anything wrong. This is just - it’s just how it is. We both know that.”

It’s been seven years: you and Nayeon, and it’s the oldest story ever told. It’s no one’s fault - not hers, for everything she’s accomplished; not yours, for not begging her to stay.

(See, she’s got the whole world waiting with bated breath, clamoring to get a glimpse of her. She’s got her whole life at her fingertips, ready for her to reclaim her titles. You’d never, ever hold her back.)

“Yeah,” chokes out Nayeon, visibly distraught, eyes wide and watery, “but, like - it still fucking sucks.”

It’s not the place, or the time - you’re both fracturing at every place that’s already been broken, over and over - but she says this, and it’s such a crass, blunt, stupid way to sum it all up. You can’t help it. She says it, and before you know it, you’re both dying laughing.

Nayeon’s leaning into you, breaths caught on giggles, on sobs - laughing like it’s all okay, laughing like she’s not leaving - and her fingers are gripping your elbows, her face crinkling up, that brilliant grin even through her tears. “Nayeon,” you get out, and your adoration strikes a match through your bloodstream, forest-fire flames licking, demolishing. That’s your girl: so gorgeous no one else exists. “Nayeon.”

She’s laughing, and free, and wonderful, and in that one stunning moment, you feel it: you know you're both going to be okay.

“Like, this is stupid.” Nayeon’s still on her tirade, her palm slapping your forearm vigorously, pitch picking up. You can’t stop smiling, can’t stop the tears building; you’ve never loved anyone more, and never will. “We’re in love and all that shit. We’ve always been in love. Why - I just - I feel like we never have enough time.”

“Nayeon,” you say, for the third time, and finally her focus tunnels completely and only on you.

“What?”

“We’ll be alright,” you say, and press your lips to her forehead so she knows you mean it. “We have all the time in the world.”

She kisses you, one last time. It’s a prospect, or that oath she’ll swear to keep, coming back around. She’s in your arms, chin tipped up at you, and there are doors you’ll throw wide open, hurdles to get over. It’s not going to be easy, this kind of love, this kind of distance, but you’ll make it work. You’ll love each other, and it’ll work.

Nayeon’s smiling up at you, heavy-hearted, hopeful, eyes glittering like constellations. “Promise me something.”

Anything, you think of saying. Anything you want and I’ll do it. “Okay.”

“Call me.” Her hands are in yours - there’s the sun, overhead, and it can’t even hope to compete with her. “If I can’t answer, leave me voicemails. Text me. Tell me everything, even the dumb shit.” There’s that pain building in her voice, half-strangling her - you tap the inside of her wrist, mind her pulse points. You’ll listen like everyone does. “I’m going to miss so much of your life, but - make me feel like I won’t, okay? Make me feel like I’m there.”

“I promise,” you say, softly.

Nayeon sinks into your arms, breath catching, stumbling. You bury your face in her hair and wonder if you can memorialize a second in time like this one, weave it into your soul, lock it up in your ribcage; if there’s a way to take this feeling and make it physical - if there's a way to cup it between your palms and make it forever.

“One more,” whispers Nayeon, into your neck. “Make me one more promise.”

“Anything,” you tell her, out loud - there’s not a thing you’d ever hide from her.

“Promise you’ll remember that I’ll come back to you.”

It's an exhale, a pause to take a breath. It’s not even a question. Your pinky finds hers, coils them together. “I promise,” you say, and you feel her smile against your skin.

Whatever thread’s always been between you two knots, and tightens, encased in steel - you’ll feel it even miles away, whatever’s tying her to you, tugging at your heart, linking your fingers. You’ll feel her, even if it takes years; oh, it’s Nayeon, and there’s nothing you won’t do. You’ll have faith. You’ll keep your arms open, ready for her to come running home. She’ll love you from worlds away, and you know she always will.

(I promise, you say, and you know you’re gonna make it.)

Her car leaves, peeling off the asphalt, taking her back to a universe that adores her, worships her, would do anything to possess her and make her theirs. You could stand on the sidewalk forever, unmoving. You could let your own life disintegrate into nothing. You could cry, and scream, and curse out every deity you can think of, damn everything pulling you two apart down to hell.

Instead, you call her.

"Oh, shit," Nayeon says, on the other line, forgoing any greeting. "I just left three seconds ago. If you can't even handle that, this relationship is totally fucked."

You can still hear the remnants of tears in her voice, the ghost of watery laughter. A phone call can't hide a thing - not from you. "I love you."

A sigh, a huff, a put-upon irritation that's seconds from cracking wide open. "You're so clingy. How are you gonna survive on just phone sex until you see me again?"

"Nayeon," you say, grinning.

"I love you," she says, with all the unabashed endearment in the world, and just like all her songs, you swear it's a melody sweet enough to break records. "I'll see you soon."

You smile up at the open sky, and you know that you will.

stream IM NAYEON <3

#kpop smut #kpop fanfic #idol x male reader #idol x reader #twice smut #nayeon smut #reader insert #male reader #im nayeon

2K notes · View notes

holylulusworld · 3 months

Text

Jerk next door (6) - Two new players

Summary: You move in next door to a jerk after a bad breakup.

Pairing: Andy Barber x fem!Reader

Characters: Destroyer!Chris, Captain Syverson

Warnings: angst, mentions of past domestic violence (implied), mentions of divorce, mentions of past physical abuse, scared reader, mentions of past alcohol abuse, rueful Andy, mentions of murder

A/N: It's been a while, huh.

Jerk next door masterlist

<< Jerk next door (5)

“No,” you violently shake your head. “I won’t set foot into his house. Let Quentin come and kill me. It’s better than being under the care of this man.”

“Miss,” Chris sighs. He’s fucking tired of taking care of other people’s problems. “I’m tired, my head hurts like hell and I haven’t slept for a week. Please give me a break.”

“Oh,” considering his words you look at the stranger in your house again. He looks tired and sick. “Wait, have a seat. Do you want some water? I got not much food left, but I can make you a sandwich.”

“I came here for a reason, miss.”

“Y/N,” you offer a weak smile. “I’m sorry for barking at you. It’s his fault, not yours. You only try to help me.”

“It’s fine,” he shrugs and takes the offered seat in your kitchen. “I get that you are mad at Barber. He’s a handful.”

“So, uh-Mr…” you furrow your brow. “Sorry, I don’t know your name.”

“Just Chris,” he takes the glass of water you placed on the table and chugs it down. “I’m sorry too. It was a rough month…or rather year.”

Chris closes his eyes for a moment and sighs deeply.

“Maybe you should stay out of this shitshow. I already packed the most important things. I’ll try to start anew somewhere else.”

“He will follow you everywhere you go, miss,” Chris opens his eyes. His blue eyes hold your gaze as you try to find a way to keep him out of your problems. “Quentin Beck is the kind of bastard not letting go. He doesn’t love you but won’t let you live your life without him.”

“He will kill me,” you whisper. “Quentin told me so when I finally found the strength to file for divorce. I embarrassed him by revealing what he did to me. Though, no one was there to help me. They all turned a blind eye to my injuries and his behavior.”

“No man should put their hands on a woman,” Chris sneers. “I will make sure he’ll never get close to you, Y/N.”

“Quentin won’t give up.”

“Let him come,” Chris gets up from his chair because you’re rubbing your arms and your teeth chatter. “You’re freezing.”

“I-I’m scared, is all,” you reply.

“No. You’re cold,” he shrugs his jacket off and puts it around your shoulders. “You need to calm down. I know Andy was a jerk, but he’s our only chance to keep you safe.”

“I don’t want to hide at his place,” you sniffle. “He’s as bad as my ex-husband.”

“Andy would never hurt a woman,” Chris softly speaks to you. “Laurie got him good. She broke something inside of him. Jerk or not, he will do anything to keep you safe.”

“Promised?” You look up at Chris.

“Promised.”

“Bedroom, bathroom,” Andy nervously points at the bed in his bedroom. “I’ll take the guestroom. This one is bigger.”

“This is ridiculous,” you huff and cross your arms over your chest. “If only you left me alone. I didn’t do anything wrong to make you hate me.��

“I don’t hate you, sweets,” he sighs and runs one hand down his face. Andy is fucking tired too. “Please let me at least try to make things up to you.”

“You put me in harm's line!” You throw your hands up. “I finally found a peaceful place and you had to ruin it for me. Even if he believes I left town, Beck will come back. If he sinks his teeth in your flesh, you are his next meal.”

Andy smirks. “Let him come. I’m not the tame and friendly lawyer if you fuck with me.” He cocks his head and watches you sit on his bed. Andy clears his throat and softens his voice. “I changed the sheets, and in the bathroom are fresh towels. I brought all your clothes into the walk-in wardrobe. It’s right through that door.”

Andy points at the door next to the bathroom.

“You can put them on the left side. It’s…empty,” he shrugs when you watch him with curiosity. “A habit.” He adds. “My ex-wife used to occupy the left side. I kinda never changed that. It’s empty since I moved in here.”

“I did the opposite,” you admit. “Quentin used the left side, and I put the silliest things on his side.” You grin. “He would so hate it.”

“Hmm…” Andy nods thoughtfully. “We removed any trace you lived at your house. A friend of mine will take your place. I had an emergency meeting with all the neighbors. They know about you, and Beck. Doris and Peter offered to have an eye on the house.”

“You make it sound so easily,” you wipe your wet eyes. “I used my real name, Andy. Sooner than later Quentin will find my employer, and I’m done for. He will come when I least expect it and…”

You look away.

“He won’t,” Andy suddenly stands in front of the bed. “I don’t give a shit that he’s a cop. I’m an attorney lawyer, Chris is an ex-cop, and—”

“And I was the leader of a special forces unit,” another man casually walks inside Andy’s bedroom. “Hello, sugar. Andy told me so much about you.”

“Hi,” you choke the word out, unable to think while crowded by the two of them.

The man holds out his hand. “Oh, she’s shy,” he hums and steps closer to look down at you. He looks even bigger than Andy and Chris. His blue eyes are soft, but his large hand promises more than a friendly handshake if you mess with him. “Captain Syverson, or Sy to you.“

„Hi,“ you squeak as he grabs your hand to shake it. His grip is firm, but you know, this is only a fraction of his strength. “I’m Y/N.”

“A pleasure to finally meet you,” he smirks, still holding your hand. “Andy told me so much about you, but forgot to tell me that you are the sweetest dame I ever laid eyes on.”

“Sy, can you just not?” Chris joins the party. He immediately glares at Syverson, not liking said man is still holding your hand. “We have a lot on our plate. Quentin Beck is sniffing around town. We got to stop him.”

“Let me break his neck then,” Sy grumbles. “Problem solved.”

“We are talking about murder in that case,” Andy ever the lawyer retorts. “We can’t just kill him, okay. All we have to do is convince him that Y/N left town.”

“All we gotta do is rip him a new one,” Chris bites back. “That piece of shit deserves to be punished for the crimes he committed. He’s hiding behind his badge.”

“I did a background check of Mr. Wonderful,” Syverson draws your attention back toward him, and away from Chris. “Y/N wasn’t the first woman he has hurt. Three of his former girlfriends reported him to the police.”

“Let me guess, the reports disappeared,” Chris makes a face. “I told you, he’s a piece of shit and had it coming for a long time.”

“Chris, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but we can’t run around and kill random people. Bastard or not,” Andy stops the two men from conspiring. Both are skilled and undoubtedly able to take Quentin down. “We need to do this the right way.”

“Well, no shit Sherlock,” Syverson grunts. “The other women tried to do it the right way. No one helped them. The reports disappeared, and his colleagues made sure that they didn’t try to file another report.”

Andy scowls at Syverson. “I get it. He’s not a sweetheart and we are on our own. Let’s make sure he’ll never hurt a woman without killing him then.”

You rock back and forth while the men decide on your ex-husband’s fate.

Whatever is going to happen, you are too weak to stop them or Quentin…

Tags in reblog.

#andy barber #captain syverson #andy barber x reader #destroyer!chris #andy barber x you #andy barber x female reader #andy barber x y/n #destroyer chris #captain syverson x reader #destoyer!chris x reader #Jerk next door (6) - Two new players

111 notes · View notes

sorchathered · 2 months

Text

Don’t take the girl

Pairing- Rhett Abbott x reader

Summary- the after effects of Perry and Royal killing the Tillerson boys brings more trouble and heartache into Rhett’s life, can he keep what he holds most dear or will he lose it all?

Warnings- language, violence, mentions of death, smut.

A/N- I meant to put this out months ago but never did, hopefully y’all like it! It’s a rewrite of one of my first fics and I still don’t know if I like it but I’m putting it out into the tumblr-verse anyway lol.

————————————————————————

“I called my firm in Cheyenne, and they said they could get my position back for me by the end of next week, I-I think it’s the best option right now.”

Rhett reels back from you like he’s been slapped, furiously shaking his head eyes full of venom.

“Don’t you get tired of it? Constantly running from your problems?”

You give him an incredulous look, clearly he’s not going to let this go quietly like you’d (foolishly) hoped.

“I’m not running! It’s self preservation Rhett! For both of us! We can’t just dilute ourselves into thinking we could weld ourselves back together, we’re completely different people now and I love you- God I love you more than anything and always will-“

“Don’t, you don’t get to use that on me when clearly you and I have different ideas of what love is.” He looks absolutely disgusted now, you can barely stand to look at him, it brings tears to your eyes to even think you’re hurting him again.

“That’s not fair and you know it-“

“Not fair?! You wanna know how many girls I’ve slept with since you?”

“Don’t” you reply weakly

“At least a hundred, maybe more I don’t even see their faces anymore Y/N. I haven’t had a single relationship that lasted more than a month since you left, I can’t even try to make it work. I got with Maria trying to feel something, anything but I couldn’t get serious, she knew I’d never be over you and I hate that she was right. Because when I’m fucking some buckle bunny or one night stand you’re the only face I see. You came home and it was like a sign, I could get my second chance and get my shit together, be the man you deserved. But there’s something broken in you, you can’t just let me love you.” He looks into your teary eyes and shakes his head, “I refuse to be the reason we fell apart. You turn your back on me now and that’s it darlin’ don’t ever think I’ll let you in again.”

He turns on his heel and slams your front door, rattling the windows with the force of it. You want more than anything to run after him, beg him to listen but you know he’s right. You are scared; Perry and Amy were missing, Trevor and Billy were dead and Rhett had barely made it out unscathed. The Tillerson’s were still circling like vultures, Perry had admitted to murdering Trevor before he disappeared but they wanted retribution and they’d take a pound of Abbott flesh to settle the score. Dropping to your knees in your family’s home you sobbed, you knew you’d fucked up again but you didn’t know any other way but to save yourself when things got tough.

You and Rhett had fallen in love overnight it seemed, your mother’s had been attached at the hip all your lives and to say the two of you tolerated each other was an overstatement. Junior prom seemed to change everything, he asked Maria and she turned him down cold, and your boyfriend dumped you the week before so of course your parents suggested you go together. Rhett couldn’t think of anything more painful in his life, but he knew better than to question Cece so off he trudged in his suit jacket, wranglers and best pair of boots to pick you up. When you crossed the threshold it was like he’d never seen you before in his life, you’d always been one of the boys to him but in your baby blue dress and hair all curled he swore you were the most beautiful girl he’d ever laid eyes on. You had been inseparable from that night on, always holding hands and stealing kisses; Perry attempting to take the piss out of you at every opportunity but it never phased you.

When you’d been accepted to college in another state Rhett felt like his whole world collapsed. You both promised you’d make it work and stay together but the distance became too much and before you knew it 6 years had passed between you. You’d seen each other in passing over holidays but he was jaded from the heartbreak and you knew better than to push him. Your mother had passed at the beginning of the year and you made the trek back to Wabang to settle her affairs, but ended up getting a job with the local law firm and before you knew it months had passed and you’d fully integrated yourself back into the community.

Stepping into the pit bar that summer night had changed everything, he’d been drinking with his buddies and you had let an old high school girlfriend convince you that drinks and line dancing were the cure for your melancholy. Some guy got a little too handsy, Rhett came out of nowhere and knocked him on his ass and just like that the two of you were making out like teenagers in the front of his old pickup. You’d picked right back up where you left off, and then everything went to shit that fateful fall night when Perry took Trevor’s life.

Rhett was seething as he drove back to the ranch, he felt like his skin was on fire and couldn’t stop the tears from spilling as he violently shook. How was he supposed to go without you again? He’d been patched up with tape and glue for years, just trying to make a name for himself in the pbr circuit and drowning his sorrows in beer and pussy. He’d become a shell of who he was without you, a version of himself he hated. You’d come back into his life and for once he had hope for a future outside of just surviving. He knew you were scared but damnit so was he! His family was unraveling at the seams and he couldn’t do anything to stop the onslaught of troubles that ravaged everything he held dear. He slammed the truck to a stop, tears blinding his eyes as he began to hyperventilate, sobs wracking his body and he let it all wash over him. Didn’t know how long he’d sat there until he was startled by his phone ringing, pulling himself together to see who the hell needed him this late at night.

“Rhett! Rhett please- I need you to listen-“

You sobbed into the phone, something was wrong; you hadn’t been the number on the screen when he answered, and he heard a thud and a scream from you on the line as someone else took over the call.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a dilemma Abbott, both my brothers are dead and there’s no one to pay the price for the sins your family committed. So it looks like your sweetheart will have to do.” Luke Tillerson laughs darkly as he drags you out to his truck by your hair, Rhett can hear your sobs through the phone and he nearly blacks out from the anger coursing through him.

“Luke if you hurt her-“

“Aht Aht let’s not make empty threats Rhett, you know I hold all the cards right now. You want to see her alive? Trade yourself for her, you’ve got twenty minutes.” The line goes dead and the phone lights up again with a text. With shaking hands Rhett opens the message, blood splattered across your beautiful face as you lay slumped in the bed of Luke’s truck. Coordinates for a location and a countdown pop up next, and Rhett has to wrench the door of the cab open to throw up. He unlocks his phone again and dials Sheriff Joy, he doesn’t know how to fix this but he’ll give himself up, let Luke torture him until his last breath if it means keeping you safe.

Against the sheriff and his father’s wishes Rhett is speeding down the highway, gps taking him towards the location Luke sent him. His shotgun that normally lay under the bench seat of his truck was in his lap now, knowing he would do what was needed if it meant keeping you alive; even if that meant Wayne Tillerson would bury all three sons in the span of a month.

Joy had begged him to wait for them to get there first, but he knew at the first sign of police presence Luke would do something drastic and he couldn’t take that risk. He shut off his headlights as he turned into the drive near the tiny shack the directions had led him to, putting the truck in park a couple hundred feet away. He still had a good ten minutes to spare maybe if he could get the upper hand he could subdue Luke and get you both out of this unscathed.

Creeping up towards the old building he could see a light and hear voices, as he peered into the window he found Luke pacing the floor with you tied to a chair. Bruises were blooming across your cheekbone and your nose was bloody, tears pouring from your eyes as you begged him to let you go. You catch movement in the window, his eyes meeting yours in that moment you know you need to create a diversion if you want to keep the both of you alive.

“Luke you don’t have to do this, you know Rhett isn’t responsible for what happened! You can still walk away from this, I won’t press charges and we can let this go.”

He cocks his head to the side, appraising you, something dark behind his eyes that causes a shiver to run down your spine. He shoves himself off the rickety table he was perched on, kneels down in front of you and places his hands on either side of your duct taped calves.

“Oh y/n you sweet little thing. I’m not blind you know, I’ve noticed you over the years; you grew up to be quite the woman. Accomplished lawyer, definitely more than just a pretty face and it kind of makes me wonder why the hell you’ve been wasting your time on Rhett. He’s small time darlin’, never gonna be anything more than a glorified ranch hand, constantly chasing after his daddy’s approval. Tsk tsk if your parents could see you now, all the time and money they wasted to get you out of this piece of shit town and here you are repeating your mistakes all over again.”

He’s taunting you, just looking for a fight; any excuse to take out some of the aggression that has sat under the surface as his whole world fell apart. You could give him what he wanted, go head to head and maybe keep him distracted while the clock runs out, but really you would just be prolonging the inevitable. He wanted someone to pay for what had been done to him, and you knew he’d get it. So you looked at him with the sweetest smile you could muster and spit directly into his face. While he was distracted you pushed your chair forward to land on top of him, hoping to disarm him as the gun slides across the floor. He lets out a shriek, hauling you back up by the hair just as Rhett quietly steps through the door behind him. Luke raises his open palm to strike you and as he does Rhett slams the butt of his shotgun against the back of Luke’s head, rendering him unconscious. He steps over his body as he rushes for you, your body shaking as he looks you over, making sure all your injuries are superficial.

“Baby girl look at me, you’re ok y/n. Don’t panic, this isn’t over yet.” He leans down to kiss you and you nod frantically, you know he needs to subdue Luke before he comes to and tries to attack again. Tucking the pistol Luke was carrying into his waistband he hauls his unconscious body off the floor and begins taping his arms and legs together. Flashing lights and sirens fill the quiet and you let out a sob, everything is going to be ok, you two are finally safe.

After nearly an hour of questioning and prodding from the paramedics you are finally free to go, gently placed in Rhett’s truck and tucked inside his arm as he drives you back home. Luke had been arrested, no bail was set and a protective order would be put in place to keep the two of you safe from what was left of the Tillerson family.

You’d let Rhett carry you inside and up the stairs to your room with no complaint, normally you’d fuss at him for babying you but after the events of the night you needed him close.

As he began to remove your shoes you were overcome with emotion, tangling your right hand in his hair and letting out a sob. He startled at the outburst, surging forward to pull you back into his arms, cradling you in his lap and he tried to calm your tears.

“It’s alright sug, just let it out baby I’m right here I got ya.” He was pressing kisses to the side of your head and you didn’t know what was coming over you as you quickly grasped his face and slotted your lips against his. You needed him to be closer, shivering in his arms as you began to yank at his clothes, trying to curl yourself in on him. He tried to pull back to make sure you were really up for what you were asking but you wouldn’t let him, rubbing your clothed core along his ridiculous gaudy belt buckle and sucking his tongue. Giving in to you was as easy as breathing, if he was honest he needed this as much as you the fear of losing you had shaken him to his foundation, if he could convince you to stay he’d make sure you got everything you dreamed of.

Finally stripped bare you lowered yourself onto him, tears still silently spilling from your eyes as you kissed him, the thought that you’d almost given this up mere hours ago was unimaginable. He let you take the lead, grinding down on him and letting his pubic bone catch your clit with each thrust, head thrown back in pleasure as he sucked marks all over your chest. It was pure need thrumming through you both as you cried out and reached your orgasm, whispered I love yous against each others skin while he let you ride it out. Flipping you on to your back he began to chase his own release, wrapping his rough hand around your throat and pulling you into a passionate kiss, he groaned deep into your mouth and came inside you, the heat flooding your abdomen bringing another climax of your own as you both collapsed to the floor a tangle of sweaty limbs.

You must’ve fallen asleep like that because you woke to the sun peering through your window still tangled up in Rhett’s warm embrace on the bedroom rug. You nuzzled into his neck and pressed kisses to his jaw as you felt him stir beside you.

“Wake up sleepy head, need to get us both cleaned up and fed” you cooed at him and he grinned underneath his arm, laugh rumbling through his chest and against yours at the realization that you two hadn’t even made it to bed. He let you haul him up and drag him to the shower, what should have been an innocent soaping up of bodies became a heated affair with you pressed against the shower wall as he fucked you hard until you both were spent and starving.

He knew you still had a lot to talk about, what had happened before your abduction still wasn’t resolved but he didn’t press it, content to just spend the day wrapped up in you. Cece had called you both over a dozen times, full of worry after Royal had come home to tell her what happened. You rang her after breakfast and promised everyone was ok, agreeing to come have dinner later in the week after you’d rested. You knew you’d have to field questions from most everyone in town in the aftermath but you couldn’t bring yourself to reply to any texts or messages on social media; just the thought made you nauseous all over again, memory of the feeling of Luke’s hands brutalizing you making you drop the mug in your hands shattering on the ground and making you jump.

Rhett was there in an instant to help you clean it up, making sure you didn’t hurt yourself and tossing the remnants in the trash. You looked up at him letting out another sob, since when had you become such an emotional wreck?! You couldn’t seem to keep it together as you began to apologize over and over, Rhett scooping you up into his arms and placing you on the counter to hug you close.

“Hey, hey none of that ok? You didn’t do anything wrong, you knew this shit would happen and tried to make a clean break; goddamnit I should have let you then I could have kept you safe from all of this.” He felt wretched, he’d blown you off when you said the Tillerson’s would look for revenge and then been forced to watch as you were nearly taken from him as a result of his family’s sins. You shook your head violently now, trying to force the words out because if he blamed himself for one more minute you may explode.

“I shouldn’t have tried to leave Rhett! If I hadn’t run you off last night Luke would have never been able to take me, and we wouldn’t have gone through all this!” You wailed and stuttered as you tried to continue, needing him to understand what had been consuming your thoughts all day. “I don’t ever want to be without you again, I was so scared he’d hurt you or me and we’d never get a future together. You deserve everything baby, I promise I won’t ever leave again just please don’t blame yourself for this anymore.” He couldn’t stop the tears now, didn’t know where yours began and his ended but he pressed himself to you and poured all the love he had into kissing you.

————————————————————————

*1 year later*

Rhett was exhausted. He’d finished up last years circuit in first place, made the finals and won those as well, catching the eye of scouts who signed him immediately for a professional team. Since then he’d been touring and riding in competitions, in and out of hotels but always on the run to get back to you. The season was finally over and he was bone tired, but he drove all night to make it home to your little homestead in Cheyenne in the wee hours of the morning. Moving out of Wabang had been a breath of fresh air, the two of you were thriving in your careers and had bought a small farm on the outskirts of the capital city, a new start just what you both had needed. He trudged up the steps now, quietly trying to enter your house not wanting to wake you so early. But as he entered the living space he saw the bedroom light on and heard soft cries flowing down the hall. There in the warm glow of your shared bedroom was his beautiful wife and 1 month old baby girl, you were singing softly to her as you rocked her in your chair, attempting to soothe the little one back to sleep. His heart swelled at the view, drinking both of you in as he leaned in the doorway, completely enamored.

You looked up at him, sensing his presence from his gaze and cooed down at the baby in your arms. “Look what we have here my sweet little angel, daddy is finally home.”

He crossed the room to gather you both in his embrace, he’d gotten everything he ever wanted.

————————————————————————

Tagging- @attapullman @bobgasm @sebsxphia

#rhett outer range #rhett abbott x reader #rhett #rhett abbott smut #rhett abbott #outer range fanfiction #outer range

57 notes · View notes

jamminvroomvroom · 9 months

Note

Hi babes, my dream is a lewis angst from you. How about miscommunication causing troubles with Lewis and his gf, maybe he's too closed off about something or she doesn't want to burden him with her problems, but things get out of hands and they eventually talk it out

lewis is a new challenge for me, i’m so excited to give this a go!!! thank you for the request, lemme know what you think <3

angst, fluff

“so, did you talk to toto yet?”

“this, again? no.” lewis kept his hardened stare on the road, disappointed in himself by the way he’d spoken to you.

“i just don’t understand why you haven’t signed the papers yet.”

“let it go. i don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

you sighed, folding your hands in your lap, staring blankly out the window. you wanted to watch the way the setting sun hit his skin, how he glowed as you drove through the british countryside. you wanted to watch the way his eyelashes fluttered against his cheek every time he blinked. you wanted to watch his strong, tattooed fingers drum against the steering wheel as he manoeuvred the mercedes over the rolling hills, but you couldn’t even bring yourself to look at him.

he was looking at you, though, throwing a desperate glance your way at every chance he got. he hated that you had given up, despite his pleads for you to just drop it, already.

lewis hadn’t signed the contract extension yet. he couldn’t even bring himself to take the crisp, daunting papers out of the brown envelope. they taunted him, tested him, aggravated him in a way that a piece of paper shouldn’t have been able to.

what scared him the most about the contract was that nothing really scared him anymore, onions and the piquet family aside. what scared the greatest athlete formula 1 had ever seen? not a lot. he needed that eighth title, legitimately this time. he needed it more than he needed anything, apart from you.

it kept him awake late at night and woke him from his slumber early in the mornings. he thought about it when he ran and when he drove and when he ate. he thought about it in monaco, london, new york city. it was inescapable and haunting, humiliating and terrifying.

he questioned whether it would it ever come. more importantly, he questioned whether mercedes would be the one to give it to him. and that’s why he couldn’t sign the godforsaken contract, why he couldn’t even go into his office in monaco, where it sat on his desk.

lewis snapped out of it, the faint buzz of the window rolling down bringing him back to reality. you inhaled the fresh air deeply, the stale, cold air between you suddenly refreshed.

he reached over the centre console, his left hand grazing your thigh. he gripped your soft flesh, a silent request for you to look at him, smile. if you looked at him and smiled, he knew he’d be okay.

you didn’t even flinch, didn’t even turn your head. you just watched the hills roll away until they were lost to the ugly, stony motorway he had merged onto.

“talk to me.” lewis’s tone was even, he wanted to be as optimistic as ever going into this conversation, but it was hard when your eyes burned holes into the wall instead of him.

“about what?” you sounded bored, disinterested.

“please don’t be like that.” he begged.

“like what?” you murmured.

“like… that!” cold. cold was the word.

“so you want to talk to me now? or do you just feel guilty?” you interrogated him, and he hated it. he felt like a child.

“fine, be that way.” he muttered, pushing off of the sofa in your living room to retreat angrily back to your bedroom, from where he’d just emerged.

“no, lewis, i just find it interesting that when i want to talk to you, and when i am begging you to tell me what’s wrong, when i’m worried sick about you, you don’t want to talk. so, please fucking forgive me if i don’t feel like having a chat!” you snarled.

“what do you want me to say?” he was defensive, cagey. it was never like this, in all your years together, it was never like this.

“i want you to tell me why you can’t sleep, why you leave me in bed at the crack of dawn, why you will not breathe a word of that fucking contract!” you shouted, months of frustration tearing through your surface.

“because i’m scared. is that what you want to hear? i’m scared.” lewis’s voice boomed in the echoey space, trailing off into a whisper.

“of what? of me?” you could have wept, barely holding it together.

“of everything except you.”

“lewis-“

“i don’t know what to do. i don’t know what’s right for me. i have never felt so out of control in my career.” the way his voice shook broke you into a million tiny little fragments.

“why didn’t you tell me?”

“because of all the things i can’t wrap my head around, you are not one of them. you are the only certain thing in my life, and i just… i don’t want that to change.”

“lewis, there is nothing you could do, nothing you would ever do, to drive me away. you are everything to me.” you had closed the gap by now, stood toe to toe with him, your breaths mingling as your fingers interlaced with his.

“i’m sorry.”

“don’t apologise, just… there’s one thing you need to do for me.” you searched his eyes, thankful for the way his body had relaxed at your touch.

“anything.”

“get your phone, call toto, and sign.”

“but i-“

“you know what is right. you have always known. you know that they will win this for you. you always rise, and you will again this time.”

“i’ll do it for you.” he whispered into your ear as you pulled him into a tight embrace.

“you’ll do it for everything you stand for.” you replied carefully, tracing the tattoo on his back that you knew all too well by now.

still i rise.

#lewis hamilton #request #anon #lewis hamilton blurb #lewis hamilton fic

116 notes · View notes

the-s1lly-corner · 3 months

Note

I wanna try something different this time around.

I’ve started to grow an interest to Eyeless Jack, I mean I haven’t read the story but the character has intrigued me.

What’s some fluffy headcanons you can think of for him with a partner in general?

General hcs for Eyeless Jack x Reader !

ehehehehe welcome to the ej fan club!! evil laughs >:) gotta admit my take on ej is only loosely based around the original story (guy waking up to find one of his kidneys missing is the TLDR version) but a lot of my hcs are based around a fic (?) reimagine (?) of ej that i remember seeing floating around yeeeeears ago back in middle school and im unsure how many people follow the "jack used to be a human but got dragged into a cult/human sacrifice unwillingly" idea since i admittedly dont interact much with the fandom outside of writing these lil hcs and making fanart TToTT

after everything that happened to him jack ran off to the woods to be away from prying human eyes, and as far as he knew he was viewed as (albeit unwilling and you could argue it was in self defense) murderer.... kind of puts a stop into your plans of finishing school and going into your dream career.. oh and also the teeny tiny detail that you now rely on human flesh as sustenance with no hope for being able to physically accept alternatives and as more time goes on you start to resemble something.. not human... theres that, too

if you want to see him during the day you're likely going to have to visit him in the woods, but fear not hes not homeless, hes found refuge in an old cabin; slowly hes been patching it up

dont expect him to make you do any work on the cabin, he views it solely as his responsibility and he'll likely deny any actual work helping rebuild it... though i dont think he would be against any tools and decoration (ex. stuff for a generator so he can have power, means to wash his clothes, basic supplies that arent food ectect)

i think overtime he would even get a little mini fridge for you so you can store snacks and drinks at his place, since he doesnt. have food

sometimes visits you at your place, but he only does this during the night so he doesnt get caught wandering the streets by other people... usually enters through the backdoor, to avoid anyone seeming coming from the front

very quiet and reserved, not very high energy... so most nights hanging out with him are calm... usually him asking you how you've been doing... you /could/ ask him the same, but he can only talk about patrolling his area in the woods for hikers straying too close so many times, and he doesnt want to bore you

thats actually another thing, he has traps set up around; mix of a means for hunting without having to go out and pick someone, and to make sure no one gets too close to the cabin

so i think, in the beginning he would ban you from coming to him without him guiding you, at least not until youve had ample time to get used to the traps and how to look for them and remember the general locations of them

teaches you how to forage, him being alone for so long has forced him to pick up new hobbies to keep him from going insane, so you now know how to do that sort of thing as well as identifying plants and fungi... fun!

on the very rare occasion you can convince jack to walk around town with you at night when everyone else is asleep.... its nice, i think.. kind of gives him a chance to just sink back into what his old life used to be and feel like hes normal again; though he tends to be quieter than usual on these walks

i dont think hes particularly possessive, dont get me wrong he cares about you and he does have the passing thought of you just up and leaving him one day (and he doesnt blame you, he holds a lot of self loathing for himself nowadays) but hes not going to be breathing down your neck and watching your every movement... he has enough trust in you not to get hurt or stuck in any situation

blunt, he doesnt beat around the bush and sometimes he doesnt sugarcoat things when the blow needs to be softened... mix of jack just being a little insensitive to others but also because hes gotten so used to thinking so logically and straight forward and numbing his own emotions over... who knows how long, probably even before he got all messed up..

can be a little sarcastic at times, so he might come off as an asshole every now and then, especially when you mix in the bluntness

i dont think he would actively try to be mean to others though, he'd try to understand and fix something if his habits upset you because he doesnt want to lose you

very cold, physically, so be sure to bring blankets and stuff when you want to cuddle into him

very careful with you, he has claws and teeth... and sometimes shedding blood around him can be really dangerous (he feeds on human material, he tends to push off eating for as long as he can since the fact hes eating people meat messes with him.. argument between survival of himself and survival of others; but due to his curse he can go into 'frenzies' and momentarily lose himself to his hunger. think how in finding nemo the sharks went nuts when dory cut her fin on accident, its like that but he doesnt go nuts all the time) so hes very very gentle even when he has a strong hold on himself

speaking of his forced diet, he doesnt eat often.. only really needing to do so every now and then, but i like to think he would still sit at the table with you to keep you company while you ate dinner

though he wouldnt want you to do the same when he DOES eat, might prefer you not come at all on those days actually

him and reader remind me of the "its rotten work"/"not to me, not if its you" audio

#creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x you #creepypasta imagine #eyeless jack x reader #eyeless jack x you #eyeless jack headcanon #eyeless jack imagine

43 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 11 months

Text

Fresh Pain

Epilogue for Sweet Treats AU: by character | chronological | epilogues

Warnings: these drabbles will include dark elements such as noncon, control, intimidation, and other stuff that may not be specified. Take this as you chance to scroll by.

Please let me know what you think <3

🍭🍭🍭

Hot pain shoots down your arm. You groan as you wiggle your fingers and give up. It hurts too much. You gnash your teeth and whimper. You puff through your nose as agony courses through your muscles.

The gunshot echoes in your mind. Birdy. You should’ve known she’d blab. You really didn’t think she was that stupid. Why couldn’t she just keep her mouth shut?

You sigh. What can you do now? Stay angry? She might deserve it but not as much as they fuckwads who took you.

“You’re not helping yourself,” the man says as he rouses in the chair. He sits up and stretches his neck. “You tense up like that and it’s only gonna get worse.”

“Like you give a shit,” you growl. “Easier to trade us like cattle if we can’t fight back.”

He snickers, “well, I did tell him not to fire into the goddamn car but I think he did us all a favour clipping your wing.”

Your eyes roll back and you curl your lip. His arrogance reminds you of Sam in a way, but there’s less humour there. He’s king shit among the shitlords.

“So, how much am I worth? Is it a bundle deal?”

He pokes his tongue out, gliding it over his lower lip as he runs his index down the cleft in his chin. He’s amused. You’re not.

“You know, I don’t think there’s a price worthy of you. As much as I could use the pocket change.”

“Bullshit. You’re working for them. I know a goddamn pig when I see one.”

“Ex-pig. Fed.” He explains, “pays a lot more to work for myself.”

“Oh, yeah,” you wince and hiss as another pang coils in your arm, “and what about the other two?”

“Business partners.”

“Oh, if you asked me, I would’ve thought the other one with the shit stache was the leader. You fall in line right behind his greasy ass, don’t you?”

He rumbles, half a growl, half a chuckle. He leans forward, hands clutched together, “you’re trying to provoke me.”

“If this is a job to you, you should finish it,” you sneer, “arm hurts so bad, you’d be doing me a favour.”

“And what about your friends? You don’t care about them? You haven’t even asked.”

“I don’t gotta ask,” you suck in a breath and shake a hand in front of your arm, not daring to touch your wrapped wound, “goddamn it. God… urgh.”

“I told you to relax,” he chides.

“Hard to fucking relax with a jackass sitting in the corner like a goddamn Bond villain.”

“August,” he stands, “if you’re wondering. And you’re Candy. Fitting, you are a sweet thing, aren’t you?”

Your eyes list away and you drop your head back weakly. He’s irritating, almost as much as Sam. This is why you sold a dream to mean and not the real thing.

“I got some painkillers,” he lowers himself onto the edge of the bed, “if you ask nicely, I could slip you a few. Strong stuff, too.”

You glare at him. You’re not stupid. A bullet wound isn’t going to save you. It’s just another disadvantage.

“I’m good,” you snip.

“Strong, I like it. Stubborn, don’t like that so much,” he traces his fingers along your shoulder, “but that face balances the tables, don’t it?”

“You’re fucking disgusting.”

“Hmph, aren’t you a picky bitch?” He scoffs and grips your arm, squeezing until you shriek. You kick as lightning shoots up to the joint and ripples through your flesh. “I’m tryna be a nice guy here and you’re not helping, are you?”

“Fucker–”

He rips his hand away from your arm and taps your cheek. Not a full slap but enough to sting. He frames your chin and forces your head straight.

“Enough of that. I don’t like girls with ugly mouths,” he seethes as he leans in.

“Talk about an ugly mouth,” you retort.

He shoves you back, slipping his hand down to your neck. He squeezes and pins you to the pillows. You cough, arm thrumming until you squeak. As if this couldn’t be worse. A new set of psychos to deal with.

“You got two choices, cupcake. I can feed you some pills or something else. All I’m asking is for a little gratitude. Just… be nice.”

You furrow your nose defiantly. A scream curdles in the air and permeates through the wall. Birdy. As much as you hate her, you don’t want her to be hurt. Your eyes flit to the door and you try to sit up without thinking. He keeps you down without effort.

“She’ll be fine,” he bends over you, close enough that his breath wraps around you, “as long as you behave.”

#august walker #dark august walker #dark!august walker #august walker x reader #august walker x candy #au #sweet treats #mission impossible: fallout #series #dark!fic #drabble #drabble series

125 notes · View notes

missmaywemeetagain · 9 months

Text

Read Need Your Love Tonight ✈️💙🔥...

It's 1961 and we're headed to Hawaii for the U.S.S. Arizona Benefit Concert! ✈️ This one is an older woman and Elvis, so buckle up, babies! All the pics are from the day/night of the concert, just cuz I know a little visual stimulation never hurts...😏

TW: SEXX, age gap (f > m), period appropriate ageist nonsense, fluff, Elvis in that gold jacket, a little sub!e for funsies

FYI: Gold Scarf ✨🧣✨comes out tomorrow for Sweethearts💕 & above tiers over on Patreon! Don't want to miss out? Join HERE ✨

March 25th, 1961

“Are you sure about this, y/n?” Margie asks you, yet again. She looks at the sign in your hand that you’ve got tucked in by your feet with doubt in her ever-practical brown eyes. “I mean, it’s not too late to just chuck it.”

You laugh, unwilling to let her change your mind. “Oh, come on, Margie! Have a little fun, will ya? It’s not like it really matters. He probably won’t even see it, anyway, so why not?”

“But it’s a little desperate, don’t you think? And it announces to the world that you’re practically a spinster at your age!” she laughs, poking you in your side.

You roll your eyes. “A divorcee is not a spinster, honey. Plus, it gives me character,” you say, fluffing your chic new bob. “Plus, lord knows Elvis Presley has plenty of young admirers. Some of these girls are just babies. They wouldn’t even know what to do with a man like him.” You wink at Margie salaciously.

“Oh, how in the world did I let you talk me into this?” she groans, teasing and giving you a smile that only a best friend could.

It’s not that her words don’t sting just a little though. You certainly hadn’t planned to be 35 years old and recently divorced, or for your husband—ex-husband—to be a giant cliché and leave you for his (much) younger secretary.

That’s why you treated yourself on this trip to Hawaii, using his money and dragged Margie, your life-long best friend, along for the ride. It was a huge bonus when you found out Elvis was going to be performing for the first time since the 50’s and for charity no less. You didn’t mind one bit when springing for the $100 ringside seats for you and Margie. It was a win-win-win situation.

Even though you’d been older than him and his target audience, Elvis intrigued and attracted you from the beginning. The young man with the sleek hair, cutting edge style, and wiggling hips set your heart aflutter even though you were married and, according to your mother, should be “beyond such things.”

Hey, there isn’t any harm in looking, was your thought.

You wiggle your feet under your chair to try and alleviate the numbness in your toes. Perhaps heels hadn’t been the most practical choice for this particular venture, but really all you care about (despite what you told Margie) is Elvis noticing you, even just a little bit. God knows you need this after all you’ve been through. And if that takes wearing a sexy outfit and making a ridiculous sign asking, “Am I too old for you?” in giant, bold letters to get his attention, so be it.

You may be in your mid-thirties and divorced, but you still look decent. And you don’t plan on being single forever. Something in you feels like if you can at least catch the eye of the most famous man on earth, you have a chance at catching another man sooner rather than later.

Your stubborn, fiery nature will come in handy tonight, you just know it will. Even as that too-grown-up shred of doubt telling you this is silly winds through your mind, you still have a good feeling about this.

Sitting through the opening acts, you find yourself wiggling in your seat, filled with an excitement you haven’t felt about anything in a while. The other acts are good—you particularly enjoy that the opening comedienne was a woman—but you are itching to see Elvis. In the flesh.

Finally, after what seems like forever, the main event begins. Your eardrums are blasted out by what must be at least two full minutes of young girls shrieking at the top of their lungs. Rightly so, you think as you watch the tall drink of water that is Elvis Presley strut onto the stage. You are blessing your lucky stars above for the divorce settlement because you are so close, you can see just how deliciously handsome the man is in person.

And, boy, is he.

Even having seen his perfect visage in movies on the big screen truly did not hold a candle to the broad-shouldered man in the glittering gold jacket standing on the stage before you. There is almost an innocence and perhaps even a nervousness in his deep-set dreamy blues. His dark hair is coiffed just perfectly and you watch his leg jiggle as he takes the microphone. A wave of heat rolls over you, flushing you from head to toe, and it has nothing whatsoever to do with the temperature in the arena.

There is a boyish playfulness to him you do not expect of the seasoned 26-year-old entertainer. He is indelibly charming and likable, not afraid to laugh at himself or the insanity of the crowd around him, but it’s not in a disparaging way. It’s more like he still can’t quite believe it’s all for him.

The reason he’s always fascinated you becomes obvious now that he’s right in front of you. He is a walking contradiction—delicate feminine features in a sharp masculine package, a deep low drawl coupled with a light warbling tenor. Singing lyrics that make you think the dirtiest things and then he turns around and does a spiritual. You have whiplash in the very best way.

You’re so distracted by his essence and the hypnotizing way he’s working the crowd that you almost forget about your sign. When One Night croons out of him with the promise of his “sweet helping hand,” a fire lights under you and you fumble around at your feet and flip the sign up for him to see.

Come on, come on, come on, you think, tapping your foot. Look over here.

At this point you will accept anything from the singer—a wink would suffice. Anything to let you know that you’re not just a washed-up divorcee who’s too old or ugly to find happiness with anyone else. Even if that happiness is just for one night because of one small moment, it’ll be worth it.

He’s so consumed by the song, his eyes closing and the rhythm pumping through his whole body, that you’re not sure he’ll see you. Your fingers grip the sign anxiously. You’d rather not have to hold it up for the rest of the concert, and you are kicking yourself for not remembering earlier, but you’ll do what you’ll have to do.

The end of the song comes, to which he adds a toe-curling groan, and when he opens his eyes, they land on you. A bolt of lightning strikes inside you, filling your veins with a scorching desire at the way those pretty eyes fall on your sign. You wait with bated breath as he reads each word silently, “Am I too old for you?” He gives you a quick cursory glance and then starts to walk away.

“Thank you,” he says to the crowd as screams fill the arena. The opening chords of Are You Lonesome Tonight start to play.

Fitting song choice, you think a little bitterly. Well, at least he saw me.

You find yourself fighting back tears, the split-second moment feeling anticlimactic and dissatisfying. A bit of a punch to the gut, really. It’s the dismissal that really stings, though your logical brain tells you he’s concentrating on his work and your sign is likely no more than a short distraction.

Suddenly, Elvis stops. He turns back towards you and steps in your direction. Your breath catches in your throat when he points at you. It is as if his finger is connected to you by an invisible string, and you find yourself sitting up taller and leaning forward on the edge of your seat. Then, he tilts the microphone away for a moment, his infamous lip curling up into a delicious boyish smile.

“Never,” he says, looking you straight in the eyes.

There’s about a hundred horses galloping in your chest and you feel like you might melt into the chair or start shrieking like one of the thousands of teenagers behind you. Your mouth hangs open in disbelief. Margie elbows you in the ribs and you blink, and realizing he’s staring, waiting, you smile the biggest smile you’ve ever smiled.

He winks in response and then turns back to the band. You let out a shuddering breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding, dropping the sign on the floor.

“Oh, my god, y/n! He spoke to you! He pointed you out!” Margie whispers excitedly in your ear, bouncing up and down as if she too had been possessed by a teenage girl.

For once in your life, you are speechless and can only nod in her direction, your eyes never leaving Elvis. It’s like you are in his thrall and unable to do anything but focus on his voice and his beautiful face.

Ever the consummate performer, he uses his space well, walking from one end of the stage to the other as he brings the entire arena to quiet with the lullaby-esque ballad. Your frustrated tears from earlier have morphed into tears of overwhelm, of being moved by his voice and the melody. Combined with the lyrics of this particular tune, it feels like he’s somehow seen into your soul and is singing straight to you.

He's in front of you now, and you barely register the fact that he’s bending down, throwing his long legs over the edge of the stage to sit there, as if he weren’t performing for a crowd of 4,000. The girls shriek with even more fervor.

As he begins the spoken part, his legs dangling right there in front of you, he says, “I wonder if you’re lonesome tonight,” staring straight at you once again.

Every nerve in your body is at attention and you know you’ve flushed a shade of cherry red because he smiles knowingly at the effect he’s had on you. He looks away, continuing the rest of the spoken part, and you shiver despite the humid warmth.

Only Margie’s hand clamping over yours reminds you that you are still on earth and that this is indeed all real. And when he looks back at you and says, “I loved you at first glance,” the blood drains from your head straight into your belly and you think you might actually pass out, right there in front of him.

A choked noise escapes your throat and luckily Margie, knowing you as well as she does, starts squeezing your hand with a grip strength you didn’t know was possible from the tiny woman. The pain brings you out of your daze, and you breathe again as he looks away and finishes the song.

It was truly more than you ever could have hoped for and the last three songs of the set fly by. You don’t want it to end, but at least you accomplished what you’d set out to do, which honestly was a little bit of a surprise, despite all your talk at the beginning. For the first time in a long while, you feel a tad bit hopeful about the future. You know it’s probably stupid, this idea that a morsel of attention from Elvis Presley could make you feel valued again, but you feel it all the same. After all, if Elvis thinks your worthy of note, then you must be.

Take that, Mike. You and your secretary can shove it. The thought brings a little smile to your face.

A boisterous version of Hound Dog starts playing and you find yourself grinning from ear to ear, bopping back and forth with Margie. You can’t help but stare at those famous hips as he shakes them oh so perfectly in your direction and are quite mesmerized by them when Margie very pointedly bumps your knee with hers. Looking over, you see a short man in front of you bending towards your ear.

“Hi, Miss, I’m Joe. I work for Elvis, and he would like to see you after the show,” Joe says kindly, presenting it as more of a statement than a question. Your eyebrows shoot up to the sky and you look at him disbelievingly. “You and your friend, of course,” he adds quickly, with a disarming smile.

You shoot Margie a look that you hope conveys the appropriate amount of giddy excitement under the strategically calm look you plaster across your face. It’s one thing to be a mooning schoolgirl with your friend in the audience, but completely different once a very real and unfamiliar young man invites you to meet Elvis Presley.

You give the guy a once over and see the lanyard hanging from his neck that shows that he is indeed working as part of the show, lending some credibility to his request. Margie looks at you with keen eyes, then gives you a shrug of approval before you nod and agree.

“Come with me, ladies, or we’ll be caught in the crowd,” Joe says, ushering you two out of the area before the last song is over. Head spinning, you feel a little regretful that you are missing it, and you are almost out of sight before you realize you’ve left the sign on the floor.

The song and the sign should be the last thing on your mind, but you find your disbelief of the situation feels a little too much to handle as Joe brings you to a black door with a guard standing in front of it. If you had any doubt before, the nod of the guard and the way he instantly opens the door for Joe tells you that this might be real after all.

Margie loops her arm in yours as you step into the dark hallway and Joe leads you away from the stage and the shrieking applause of the arena. By the sound of the immense applause, Elvis’ set is finished and he must be taking his bows.

The butterflies in your stomach make you glad you had only a light dinner as Joe finally opens a door to what you assume is a dressing room. You blink against the light.

“Make yourselves comfortable, ladies. Elvis will be with you shortly,” Joe says before leaving and closing the door behind him.

You break away from Margie, who starts tittering around the room. You are so dazed you barely hear her.

“Are you listening to me, y/n? I cannot believe your silly sign worked! Elvis Presley—the Elvis Presley—wants to see us? I mean, you, really, but hey, I’m glad to be along for the ride! He is awfully handsome, isn’t he?” Margie rambles on.

All you can do is nod while your mind whirls a million miles an hour. Suddenly, all your confidence from before the show disappears and you feel incredibly silly. You’re almost an old woman, for god’s sake. What are you even doing here? What if Elvis comes back, sees how old you really are, and realizes his mistake? Oh, this might be one of the stupidest things you’ve ever done, and that’s saying something.

“Oh, no you don’t, missy. Don’t you give up on me now, not when you’re so close to the finish line!” Margie scolds, then puts her arm around you, leading you to the couch. She sits you down and turns your face to hers.

“He’s gonna take one look at me and run for the hills, Marg,” you whimper.

“Stop it—he will do no such thing. And keep your expectations manageable. We’re just meeting him, that’s all. It’s not like you are going to sleep with the man!” she laughs and shakes her head.

You don’t laugh and Margie stops abruptly. “Oh, my lord above, do you want to sleep with him? Do you think he wants to sleep with you?” she asks, lowering her voice to a whisper, her eyes widening.

This time you can’t help but laugh at her. “Okay, first of all, who doesn’t want to sleep with him? Secondly, I have no idea if he wants that. He’s the biggest star in the world, Marg! I don’t know what his expectations are of the women he brings backstage!” you whisper back, looking around as though there might be lackies lurking about listening to you two chirp away.

Margie now looks as nervous as you feel. She starts playing with her wedding ring in a self-soothing motion and you can’t help but fidget with the simple diamond necklace hanging around your neck.

“Look, it’s probably nothing, right? You just caught his eye and he wants to say hi,” she says, trying to be reassuring but it feels anything but.

“Yes, of course…you don’t think he’ll laugh at me, do you? Like he didn’t just bring us back to make fun of me, right?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. He doesn’t seem the sort to do that,” she replies, as if she knows the man personally.

Before you can respond, you hear people in the hallway, coming closer by the second. You don’t even have time to look in the mirror because the door opens and the room floods with a loud group of men.

You quickly slide your best confident and nonchalant air over your features, a skill well-practiced from your days going to Mike’s work parties with his insufferable partners and their equally insufferable wives.

The moment Elvis enters the room, the air shifts, as though his essence somehow defies physics and the atoms that make him up are different than the rest of yours. He is glowing, both with sweat and the high of his performance, his gold jacket abandoned to one of his followers along the way. His white ruffled shirt is soaked through with sweat and the sight has you beginning to sweat yourself. It’s as if his pheromones have already sent your hormones into overdrive, and you have the sudden urge to rip that sweaty shirt right off his body.

Instead, you dig your nails into your palm and wait for him to notice you. It takes a moment, what with all the hullabaloo around him. He’s still breathing hard from his performance and laughing with the men. You watch carefully as he pulls off his blue string tie and begins unbuttoning his shirt and rolling his sleeves up his forearms. The scene is so natural and intimately masculine in its way that it sends a shiver down your spine and reminds you that it’s been too long since you’ve had a man if this is all it takes to get you going.

The room suddenly feels very hot and it’s in that moment that Elvis sees you. He gives a low whistle. “Well, if it isn’t the pretty lady with the sign,” he says in his lilting Southern drawl, his eyes never leaving you as he makes his way across the room. Your heart flutters as though a hummingbird is caught in your chest. You stand to greet him.

“Mr. Presley,” you say demurely as he comes to a stop before you and takes your hand in his. The heat from it is blistering on your skin in the best possible way, and when he presses his lips into your fingers without taking those gorgeous blue eyes off you, the zing goes straight into your core.

“Please call me Elvis,” he says in a way that is sweet as pie but with an undercurrent of heat that causes you to blush. “And you are?”

It takes a second for you to remember your own name, and in that short break, Margie jumps up beside you. “She’s y/n, and I’m Margie,” she says, and you hold yourself back from shooting her a scathing look when his eyes shift to her with a kind smile.

A kind smile, but without the same heat, you can’t help but notice.

When he turns back to you and guides you back to the couch, Margie gives you a knowing glance and bites her lips in a smile, obviously trying to hold back a girlish grin.

It doesn’t take long for Elvis to cozy up to you. His arm ends up around the back of the couch and then your shoulders rather quickly, his long fingers drawing soothing circles on your dress. If you were younger and less experienced, this might have been salaciously forward. As it stands, however, sitting here so close to him that you can feel the heat radiate off his sweaty body, it is not even close to enough to satiate you.

Elvis keeps asking you questions, looking at you with endlessly deep blue bedroom eyes framed in long, dark lashes, smudged with remnants of what you assume is eye makeup. You answer his questions, nervous and coy at first, then with increasing candor, because all at once you come to a decision:

You want nothing more than to utterly ruin this boy, despite propriety, despite your reservations and low expectations from earlier. No, judging from the curiously passionate way he keeps looking at you and the increasing tightness in your lower belly, you very much know that you want to take him to bed.

Almost as if he can read your mind, he leans in towards your ear. “Would ya like to come back to my place, darlin’?” he whispers. The hushed, warm cadence of his voice sends tingles sparkling over your body. He’s surprisingly shy about the proposition considering how forward it is, and it’s all you can do to keep from straddling his spread legs right there and then.

Instead, you settle for a nod and a quiet, “I’d like that very much.”

With that, he wastes no time, popping up off the couch and announcing abruptly that it’s time to go. His entourage scrambles to attention, and Margie gives you a quizzical look as Elvis grabs your hand.

You smile at her in the way only a best friend can and her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline, as though she can’t quite believe your intentions. She’s nervous, you can tell by the way her brow furrows. She begins worrying her lip as the both of you are ushered out and down the dimly lit corridor.

Part of you thinks that perhaps you should be nervous, too. After all, you don’t know Elvis or his people. Yet there is something about him that is utterly disarming—a unique sort of charm perhaps, but it really is more than that. It’s a vulnerability you don’t expect from a man like him. A yearning to connect, maybe.

It’s something that makes him not so different from you.

Before you can really absorb what’s happening, you are whisked into a car with Elvis, Margie, and some of his people, and the lot of you are taken to the Hawaiian Village Hotel. Margie grips one hand while you splay the other on Elvis’ thigh. He lays his larger hand on top and threads his fingers through yours, suggesting a level of intimacy which surprises you. There is a neediness to it, and you have the distinct urge to take care of him in whatever way you can. A knot of warmth grows deep in your belly at the thought.

You feel calmer than you should because, despite his fame, every second you spend with Elvis he becomes less of an untouchable superstar and more of just a man. Even though in any other circumstance you might be afraid being in the company of so many strange men, this feels more like you were meant to be here all along. As if everything in your life has led you to this very night. You are excited, to be sure, but not afraid in the least. In fact, you are feeling more confident than you have in a while, an anticipatory excitement building in you with every passing minute.

Once you get to the hotel, Elvis does not want to let you out of his sight, or even his grasp, which makes it a little hard to convey to Margie all these thoughts of yours. It’s not until you abscond to the bathroom that you are able to get her alone, and even that gains you the cutest little boy pout from the young man who now seemingly has his sights set on only you. You escape only after telling him you must freshen up and give him a long kiss to the cheek, which you notice turns him a little pink.

Margie is beyond hesitant to leave here without you. “Don’t you think you are taking this a little too far, y/n?” she asks you with worry in her eyes.

“Marg, I know what I’m doing, and I’d be crazy not to take this chance. You know I’ll regret it for the rest of my life if I don’t. And it’s not like I’m some young, innocent thing he’s taking advantage of, am I?” you remind her, checking your makeup and hair in the mirror.

“I guess not. But promise me you’ll be careful! And that you’ll call me. I’ll worry if I don’t hear from you,” she tuts.

“I know and I will. You are the best friend a girl could ask for,” you smile, hugging her.

“I know I am,” she says, nodding, then whispers, “You better be ready to share all the details when you get back. A married woman can still be curious, you know.”

You laugh and say goodbye before Margie announces that she’d like to be taken back to your hotel. A few men hop to and she’s off before you know it.

Once she’s gone, Elvis grabs your hand and pulls you back into his suite of rooms, alone.

“You go on and make yourself comfortable, sweetheart. I just need to take a shower and get all this grime offa me,” he drawls, turning to the ensuite bathroom.

Emboldened by the quiet and the dark, you grab his hand and pull him back to you. Cupping his pretty face, you plant a long, lingering kiss full of promise on his lips. You can feel his surprise, at first, but he quickly relents and wraps his arms around you, deepening the kiss. Feeling him pressed against you sends your body into overdrive. Besides an angry and cliché tussle with the mailman after Mike had announced he was leaving, you hadn’t been with anyone in quite a while. That coupled with the raw, magnetic pull that had been growing all night between you and Elvis has your toes curling and your heart racing.

Elvis may be young, but he sure does know how to kiss, you think. His lips are incredibly soft and pliant and gentle, but you can feel his passion brewing just under the surface in the fevered way his hands dig into your back and his cock twitches in his slacks.

Even though you are loathe to do so, you break away first. “You’d better go shower,” you command, smoothing the ruffles on his shirt.

“Y-Yes, m-ma’am,” he manages to choke out, nodding voraciously. With one last peck to your cheek, he absconds quickly, and in his haste leaves the door open a crack. He undresses in what must be record breaking time, which you can hear from how quickly his clothes drop to the floor. Just thinking of him wet and naked mere feet away has slick gathering in your underwear. It takes everything in you to not follow him in.

Yes, you think you just might ruin him tonight, in the best possible way. Honestly, you’re not exactly sure where this self-assurance is coming from, other than the fact that he seems very taken with you and you have nothing to lose. You’re sure he’s quite experienced—there’s no way he wouldn’t be with his age and level of stardom, and while that should give you pause, you still have nearly a decade on the man. While your sex life had dwindled recently, there were plenty of better years when you and Mike went at it like rabbits.

You sit on the edge of the bed, opting not to take of your dress. There’s something about the fact that he will be naked (or nearly so) with you being fully clothed when he walks back in that entices you in such a way that it sends a shiver down your spine. Of course, it would’ve been prudent of you to wear sexier underwear, but you suppose your white lace set will have to do. Plus, you aren’t entirely certain you will be wearing them for long, anyway…

True to your prediction, the shower turns off in record time. You cross your legs and lean back on your hands, casually but expectantly. Elvis is breathless when he flings the door open, as though he just ran a sprint, droplets of water still glistening on his skin. He looks at you with hopeful, needy anticipation.

He's an absolute vision. Never has a man looked so good, you think. God surely spent extra time crafting this one, what with his high cheekbones and sparkling blue eyes and perfect lips. You make no secret of the way you take in his whole body, either, and his lips part and his eyes widen and you can’t tell if he’s maybe a little self-conscious by the way your gaze is raking over him.

You don’t care. The rapid rise and fall of his chest as he watches you tells you he’s enjoying it. His towel is slung low, wrapped and tucked in around his waist. There’s no hiding how his cock is hardening beneath it, the terrycloth twitching and tenting right before your eyes. Between that and the disheveled state of his wet hair, it makes you want to lick him dry in more ways than one.

You uncross your legs slowly and use one finger to beckon him forward in a come-hither action. You’d seen him do the same in one of his movies last year, but my oh my, how the tables have turned. He gulps visibly, his eyes drifting from your legs to your finger and back again, then pads towards you on the plush carpet until he’s standing right before you.

Looking up at him, you bite your lip coquettishly and see his eyes dilate. Your gaze drifts down his chest to his stomach, then follows the little trail of hair that goes from his belly button and disappears beneath the towel. You can’t help pressing your lips right above his navel and you feel him shudder against you, which you take as a sign to keep going. Kissing across his soft but lean stomach, then down that little trail, you open your legs and grab his hips, pulling him forward to you. He trips over his own feet to get there.

When your hands skirt the edge of the towel and begin to pull it open, his hand stops you. You look up at him to find him shaking his head bashfully.

“Y-y-you don’t h-hafta do that, m-ma’am,” he stammers out, belying his nervousness. You can’t seem to piece out why, exactly, because by the quite prominent erection he’s sporting right in front of your face, it’s evident that he’s excited by the notion. Perhaps he’s used to pretty, young things who don’t know what they are doing, or maybe the notorious 50’s rebel is a little old fashioned. But if there’s one thing you became quite skilled at in the last few years (in the failed hopes it might help your marriage), it was how to make a man fall apart in your mouth. You’d even developed quite the taste for it.

And something about the way he is calling you “ma’am” in his delightful and polite Southern accent has you licking your lips. “Oh, I know I don’t have to, baby,” you coo at him, “but I want to.” And with that, you unravel the towel and let it drop to the floor.

Elvis lets out a choked groan and his hands flail as though he wants to cover the magnificent member that springs forth before you, slapping up against his stomach. You swat his hands away, lips parting with a sigh as you take him in.

He’s intact, the red tip of him nestled under lighter foreskin. Perhaps that why his cheeks are as pink as they are. You’d heard women titter in whispers about uncircumcised men being “ugly” or “unclean,” and while you didn’t have any personal experience with it, it does not turn you off in the least. Quite the opposite, if fact, as you can feel your arousal soaking the fabric between your thighs. What is beyond evident is that God didn’t just give him a pretty voice and a pretty face—he’s got a cock to match.

“Perfect,” you sigh and smile up at him, rubbing encouraging little circles at his hipbone with your thumb.

He lets out a shaking breath and a look of relief passes quickly over his features, but there is still a vulnerable hesitance about him. It does something primal to you. You just want to eat him right up.

But before that, you think he’s due for a little teasing. It’s the least you can do after the show he put on for you earlier and how it had made you ruin your panties to watch him live on stage. Pressing your lips along the cut of his groin, you feel the tickle of the course thatch of hair he’s got curling around the base of him. He shivers violently with each kiss, holding back a strangled moan as you get closer and closer to the place he wants you the most. Not seeming to know what to do with his hands, they flounder a bit before resting lightly on your shoulders, the heat of them blazing through your dress.

Using just the tip of your pointer finger, you run it under and up his large ball sack, noticing the way they seem to draw in closer and the way he jumps when you do so. Your other hand reaches around to grab his perfectly round ass cheek to keep him near and steady. The cutest little yelp falls out of his mouth. You smile, finally dragging your finger up the silky soft flesh covering his rock-hard shaft.

He jolts, the long length of his cock bouncing toward you, knowing and eager for what you have in store for him. The tip of your finger circles the slit of him, already weepy with precum, and you see how sensitive he is around his foreskin when he sucks in a short breath as your finger circles that, too.

Without warning him, you run the tip of your tongue from base to head, savoring the clean but still musky scent of him as you go. You look up to see his eyes roll back and his lips part, a whisper of “Goddamn,” falling from his mouth like a prayer.

You kiss and lap your way back down then take him in your hand to tilt his cock down to you. The heavy feel of him in your palm coupled with the way his hands tighten and dig into the fabric of your dress has you knowing you are on the right track. You pump him once, twice, three times, your wrist twisting and changing pressure to see what makes him moan the most. When you find the right combination, you swirl your tongue around his leaking tip before closing your mouth around it.

The low keen that vibrates out of him is desperate and sensual. Your thighs tighten around his legs, boxing him in, and your pussy clenches around nothing, yearning for friction. Right now, you concentrate on taking him in your mouth, lathing your flattened tongue up and down his penis while you suck in, sealing yourself around him.

It’s then that his hands finally fly up to your hair, carting through it, and you can feel him holding back. It’s good that he knows you are in charge, and he fully submits to how you begin working his balls and the hilt of him with one hand as you inch his ample length further into your mouth.

Obscene moans are falling past his lips now, only getting louder when you match them with your own, the vibrations causing him to thrust a little down your throat.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he pants as you press him past your gag reflex, your throat tightening then relaxing around him. His legs tremble and you pull off him for a moment to catch your breath, a string of saliva connecting your mouth to him still.

Elvis whimpers and you smile up at him, using your hand to pump him fully. You reckon he’s not going to last long in this by the way he’s crumbling so beautifully in front of you. The urge to want to choke on his cock comes over you so strongly that you can’t wait any longer. You take him back down your throat quickly enough that his eyes pop open in surprise and his hand finally tightens in your hair the way you want it to.

He's bigger than Mike in every way, but you don’t let that deter you. No, you feel quite confident as you open your throat for him as best you can, all the while working him with your tongue and hand. For the first time in a long time, you feel like you could conquer the world, despite your age, despite being divorced, because you are going to make the king of rock and roll himself unravel at your feet. The thought has you soaking your panties as Elvis murmurs your praises.

“I-I-I’m not gonna…last…gonna blow if ya keep this up, mama,” he pants, trying to pull away as if not wanting to sully you. But you are far too experienced and far too aroused for such sentiment. Instead, you grab his ass in both hands and press him so far down that your nose hits his pelvis. Feeling him tense and shudder, you give him every trick at once, relishing his pleasure as it serves your own. His strangled cry fills the air as he pulses in your mouth, shooting his salty release straight down your throat as you swallow around him.

The pleasured run of expletives he’s moaning must be loud enough for others to hear, but that arouses you even more because you are causing it. His body shakes hard through his orgasm, and he bows over you, clutching your head in an effort to stay standing. When you finally pull off him, his saliva-covered dick is still heavy and hard.

Ah, youth, you think with a smile.

“Oh, oh mama,” he says breathlessly, “that w-was…oh lord...” Then he collapses next to you on the bed, staring up at the ceiling in a daze.

You shift your body sideways so you can look down at him in his fucked-out afterglow. Somehow, he’s even more beautiful now than he was before, both innocent and debauched all at once, his high cheekbones flushed and his eyes dark and sparkling with lust. You can’t help but run your hand down his heaving chest, just to prove that this vision is real.

The action focuses him and he looks over at you, concerned, his hand cupping your cheek. “You okay? Y-ya really din’t have ta do that, honey,” he says quietly, his dark brows furrowing together handsomely.

“Don’t you worry about a thing, baby. I loved it,” you say, smiling. “Can I show you how much?”

His eyes widen and he nods.

As bold as you’ve ever been, you take his other hand in yours, tucking it under your dress. Slowly, you run his fingers along the inside of your thigh. His callouses catch on your silky stockings and you hear him hum in approval when you reach the past where your garter belt holds them up and your soft, bare flesh is exposed to his touch. There is no stopping you now, and when you guide his fingers to the sopping fabric between your legs, you watch as his lips part in what can only be described as a reverent, aroused awe.

“Ohhhh,” is about all he’s able to get out, and your body yields to him, legs falling open of their own accord as a sigh tumbles from your lips. You dip his fingers under the band that separates you and press him into the slick, and that’s all it takes for the boy to snap to attention.

In a fast, fluid motion, his lips capture yours, and he reverses your positions so you are lying back on the bed. As his mouth explores above, his fingers mirror below, caressing through your slick folds before circling your clit. It only takes him a moment of experimentation to find what makes you quake and roll in his hand—he’s obviously skilled in the art of a woman’s body, you’ll give him that.

You moan into his mouth when he pushes two long fingers up into your wet heat. Your pussy clenches around him, tight and needy, reminding you it’s been neglected for far too long. Pumping wickedly slow, he uses his tongue in your mouth to mimic what he’s doing to your clit with his thumb. God, you want him to devour you whole, you think as your nails dig into the bare flesh of his back and he curves his fingers inside you just so.

“Elvis!” you gasp and that cheeky lip of his curls up into that famous smirk. It turns your stomach gooey and molten, and your cunt squeezes demandingly around his fingers.

Kissing down your neck, his descent is thwarted by your dress. You whine when his fingers leave you and he pulls you to sit up. In one fell swoop, he deftly unzips your dress and yanks it up over your head, discarding it unceremoniously on the floor. Hungrily, his eyes rake over your form, and the scrutiny would usually have you a tad self-conscious, but he’s on you so fast, nipping at your skin, that you couldn’t care less what you look like.

The boy is proving quite proficient in removing undergarments, unclasping your bra with such skill that you barely realize it’s off before it joins your dress in a heap on the floor. You can’t think about much of anything with how his lips pepper your breasts with kisses, and when he attaches softly to your nipple, suckling there, the zinging sensation shoots straight through you and into your aching pussy.

You want him everywhere, your soft sighs of, “yes, yes, yes” urging him on. Running his hands up your legs, he slowly pops each clasp that holds up your stockings, his thumbs massaging maddening circles on the sensitive inner flesh of your upper thighs. Shivers ripple through you when he starts rolling the silky fabric off each leg, kissing each new inch of skin he exposes as he goes.

“Look at these pretty yittle sooties,” he coos as he takes off your heels and stockings, his hands massaging your sore arches. Your body, already on high alert, nearly levitates off the bed at the delectable it-hurts-so-good feeling. His lips press into your ankles, slowly trailing their way back up to your sex.

Oh, he’s good. You didn’t expect this, though perhaps you should have. The closer he gets to the ruined gusset of your panties, the faster your chest swells. It’s been a long time since any one has been down there like this, and you almost stop him, but the feel of his mussed damp hair tickling your thighs has you in quite a state. You suppose turnabout is fair play when he lightly and quickly presses his tongue into your core over the fabric, teasing what you hope is to come.

He switches gears and makes surprisingly quick work of your garter belt. His eyes flash in the darkness as he takes your panties in his teeth, dragging them with a playful growl down your legs. Completely exposed for him, he yanks you to the edge of the bed and pushes gently on your knees, spreading you open with a delight you didn’t know was possible.

“All that for me, mama?” he asks quietly, running the tip of his finger through your dripping arousal before putting it in his mouth and licking it clean. It’s so wonderfully dirty, making your cunt throb for attention.

“Yes,” you breathe, nodding furiously. When he licks his lips, you think you might die from waiting, but then he’s on you, his tongue lathing wide and flat from your ass to your clit.

You don’t recognize the sounds coming out of your mouth, the sensation of his wet softness exploring your most intimate areas being so overwhelming that it is hard to focus. He kisses and swirls around your puffy little nub, and your fingers fly into his dark hair, clasping the wet strands. When he hums against you in response, the vibrations have you gasping.

He continues his work, his tongue pointedly lapping through your swollen folds to your entrance. You think you might be dreaming when he begins fucking you with his tongue, and the tightness in your belly clinches when he flicks his finger over your clit rapidly.

“Oh, god,” you groan, hips undulating against his face, needing more of him. You had set out to ruin this man tonight and now he is undoing you piece by piece instead. He is a responsive and intuitive lover, you realize, as he replaces his tongue with his much longer fingers, pressing up into your body with precision.

Gaping, you push up on your elbows as he pulls back, and you catch the stunning sight of his pretty face slick with your arousal, looking at your cunt with determined reverence. He finds that spongey spot up inside you and takes that moment to fix his mouth to your sensitive bud and your eyes roll back in your head as you arch off the mattress to be closer to the heaven he’s bringing you to.

Fire spreads from your belly into the rest of your body, and you feel your climax closing in on you rapidly, despite part of you wanting this to last forever. When you realize he’s moaning against you and rutting against the bed, it sends a whole new set of fireworks through your nerves.

He’s getting off on this, you think. My pleasure his getting him off.

And there’s nothing sexier than that.

Adding another finger, he fucks you faster, harder, all the while massaging your clit intentionally with his tongue. He is a man on a mission now, and the searing wave of heat crests inside of you. All it takes is the guttural moan he lets go against you and you break apart.

Your fingers dig into his scalp and you thrust into his face as you come. It hits you hard and you cry out as he fucks you through it, catapulting you from your sensitive body to somewhere in the stratosphere.

Your eyelids flutter as you float back down to earth. The feel of his tongue licking up your release has you shuddering against him.

“Oh. Oh,” is all you can seem to manage, and you stare up at the ceiling wondering what good deed you did in your life to deserve this.

You feel Elvis slide his body up yours to lay beside you. He kisses up your neck until he reaches your lips, and you taste the tang of yourself on him. It shouldn’t entice you, but it does. Lying there, his naked body pressed against your side, you feel the hot heaviness of his erection hard against your hip.

“Best poster I ever made,” you breathe out, your filter completely gone after your mind-blowing orgasm.

Elvis chuckles in your hair. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Don’t you know it’s rude to ask a woman’s age, young man?” you tease, poking into his side.

“Hey now! I jus’ wanna make sure I don’t hurt ya. Don’t wanna send you to the home quite yet,” he smirks, then bites your shoulder.

“Oh, one of us is going to the home alright, and it’s not me,” you retort, pushing him over and flipping on top of him. “I’ll show you.”

He grunts as you straddle his hips. “Yes, ma’am, you’d better show me,” he says coyly.

“Good boy.” You grind down on him.

Being in your 30s has never been so sweet.

TAGLIST

@liaaacantwrite @kittenlittle24 @kaitaesupremacy @butler-trouble @eliseinmemphis @russian-soft-bitch @tattywood

@sassanoe @thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle @carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23

@littlebitofgreen @paigevis @bugg06 @xhannahbananax03 @artlover8992

@18lkpeters @frozenhuntress67 @girlblogger2002 @kendralavon7 @misspresley

@be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @powerofelvis @from-memphis-with-love

@precious-little-scoundrel @stylespresleyhearted @prompted-wordsmith @crash-and-cure @elvisgf @lookingforrainbows @fic-over-cannon @godlypresley @ab4eva @whatstruthgottodowithit @elvisabutler @ amydarcimarie @idontwanttoputanything @callieselvisobsessed @captainamerica1235-blog @xenaspace3-blog

@simplyamberj @claire-elvisgirl @everythingelvispresley @louisejoy86

#need your love tonight #elvis #elvis presley #elvis smut #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #1961 was a goooooood year #sugar mama request #austin butler elvis #✈️💙🔥#if you’re looking for trouble #you came to the right place #elvis 1961 #u.s.s. arizona benefit concert #hawaii 1961 #madisyn may #missmaywemeetagain #older woman reader x elvis

129 notes · View notes

caesurah-tblr · 11 months

Text

EMETOPHOBIA TW!!! TW FOR GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS AND MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH!!!

This was inspired by this tweet:

I hope you enjoy :)

Someone is sobbing.

He’s sitting up- no, he’s leaning against something. Something cold and impersonal. It hurts. Everything hurts.

“You’re finally awake. I didn’t think I hit you that hard.”

It’s Hetch. He’s crouched in front of him, blocking the view of whatever is behind him. The sobs haven’t stopped.

“Hetch?” He rasps. “I thought you were-“

“Dead? You really thought I was dead?” Hetch shakes his head in mock disappointment. “You should know better, Ranboo. You should know that things aren’t always what they seem. I should thank you, though.”

“For what?” His head hurts so bad… He was almost free. He was almost free and if he were free it meant that all of those people- that Charlie- hadn’t died for nothing. But they had.

And it was his fault.

Hetch leans back enough to show him a bit of the scene behind him, and Ranboo feels his stomach turn.

There’s wires, and they’re going through the flesh of someone’s palm. The person’s hand shakes so badly it causes the wires to shake with it.

“You gave me a hell of a show.” Hetch is saying, but Ranboo can’t turn his eyes away from the gore. “And I think it’s time for the finale. You’ll give the people what they want, yeah?”

He stands and steps to the side, giving him a full view of the scene in front of him. It’s Charlie- wires through the palm of each of his hands, forcing him to hold them out like some mockery of the crucifixion of Jesus fucking Christ. His feet barely touch the floor, forcing him to stand on his tiptoes to keep gravity from ripping his hands in two.

“Charlie!” Ranboo lunges forward, but Hetch pushes him back with his hand. Charlie looks up at him, tears in his eyes. The sobs- it had been Charlie, crying out in pain. The only friend Ranboo had left and he had failed him.

“Ranboo.” Charlie tries to smile, but it falls flat. “You okay?”

“Am I-?” Tears fill Ranboo’s eyes. Fuck. Fuck this. Fuck Showfall.

“You know, this was supposed to be you.” Hetch gestures to Charlie absentmindedly, almost as if he were an afterthought. “But he begged for it to be him instead. Got on his hands and knees and begged me to spare you. Said it would make for a better ending. And I’ve always been a sucker for a good endings.”

Charlie whimpers from his place on the stand. Ranboo wishes it were him instead.

Hetch steps forward, rapping his knuckles on something Ranboo hadn’t noticed before that is locked firmly around Charlie’s neck. “See this?”

It’s a metal box, covered in rust and what is unmistakably dried blood. The hinges are open to show the inside- rows upon rows of metal spikes. No.

“Please! Don’t do this! I’ll do anything!” Ranboo begs, “I won’t tell anyone! I won’t do anything! I won’t leave- I’ll play as many times as you want. He’s the only thing I have left. Please.”

He ends his sentence with a sob. Charlie is his friend- he may not have memories from before, but they had been friends then too, right? There’s no way he would connect with anyone so quickly otherwise. There’s a part of Ranboo that knows that if he had left Charlie behind, he would’ve been able to escape. But given another chance, he’d pick to save his friend again.

Charlie didn’t deserve this. None of them did. Surely they all had people waiting for them to come home? Were they looking for them?

Hetch clicks his tongue. “Not a chance. I’ve put too much time and effort into this finale and I won’t let it go to waste. I’ll give you a proposition.”

“Charlie is going to die here, no matter what. If it were you, I’d let the people vote, but since it’s not, I get to decide. What matters is how you handle it.”

“Please!” Ranboo stands, this time without a fight. “Please don’t do this! Why can’t it be me?! Why can’t we just let Charlie go? It’s a trade, right? Me for him.”

“You’ll watch him die. You’ll see the whole thing happen.” Hetch continues, ignoring his pleas. “And I’ll give you two choices: let me turn the mask back on. If I turn it on, you’ll forget it ever happened. No skin off your back.”

“Or, you don’t let me turn it back on, you’re going to see his death in its full glory. As a bonus, I’ll give you your memories back and I’ll let you go.”

Ranboo barely hears the words. He’s watching Charlie- his friend’s face is full of anguish and pain. His arms and hands become slick with blood as he loses the strength to stand on his toes, and the sound of tearing flesh and Charlie’s screams fill the room for a moment, before he once again quiets except for the occasional sob.

“Charlie… Let me go?” His head snaps towards Hetch. “You’ll give me back my memories? You’ll let me go?”

“Sure thing. What’s another death on your hands if it means you get to go free?” Hetch waves his hand dismissively. “Should be no big deal for you, hero.”

“You gotta get out.” Charlie’s voice is hoarse from screaming, “You gotta get out. Everything will be okay. I forgive you- I forgive you for everything.”

Ranboo looks at his friend- Charlie is smiling. He’s smiling like it’s just another day, but the illusion is ruined by the blood on his face.

“Thank you.” He continues, “Thank you for caring enough to try to save me. You’re the best fucking friend a guy could ask for.”

“Thank you.” Ranboo wants to hug Charlie, wants to give his friend just a moment of comfort, but he knows he can’t so he just holds out his hand. Charlie smiles wider.

“Ranboo?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell my girlfriend I love her. And that I’m sorry.”

SNAP!

The trap snaps shut. Charlie’s body jerks for a few horrifying moments before going limp.

There’s blood on his face. Charlie’s blood. Ranboo raises a shaky hand and wipes it away.

“You gave him back his memories.” He says, horrified. Hetch laughs.

“Of course I gave him back his memories! What’s an ending without a twist?!” Hetch steps away to avoid the growing puddle of blood. He’s laughing like he’s just heard to funniest joke.

Ranboo falls to his knees, unable to care about his friend’s blood soaking into the denim of his jeans. Charlie remembered everything… He remembered everything and was still okay with dying.

The corpse on display is still twitching. It’s legs have buckled, but the trap snapped shut around it’s head keeps it half standing.

He keens, collapsing onto his hands before getting sick. He vomits into his mask and it drips down onto his hands, but he doesn’t care. Charlie is dead.

Another death by his hands.

Ranboo whimpers. “Charlie… I’m so sorry.”

Hands grab him, pulling him up and away from the gruesome site. There’s a tug at the back of his head and the soiled mask falls around his neck.

He breathes for what feels like the first time in years. He’s free, but at what cost?

“You did well.” Hetch steps around to in front of him again. He’s holding a Showfall mask in his hands. “So well, in fact, that I think we should do it again.”

“You promised.” Ranboo tugs at the hands holding him in place, but they don’t budge. He’s so weak. “You said if I watched, you’d let me go. You’d give me my memories and let me go.”

Hetch shrugs. “I lied.”

Just before the mask slides over his face, he catches one more glimpse of Charlie’s broken body.

I’m sorry.

#generation loss #genloss #gl!slimecicle #gl!charlie #gl!ranboo #caesurah writes #if I kill a character in a gruesome way it means I like them a lot #fun fact #Charlie’s death scene was actually written much more gruesome #but I was scared the Tumblr gods would strike me down so it’s not as bad

143 notes · View notes

sunwarmed-ash · 1 month

Text

🔥Sinful Sunday🔥

love me or hate me, I just don't care

Chapter 3: feel the love, I don't feel enough, I don't like to be alone

Ship: Pre-slash Steddiegrove

Fandom: Stranger Things

Rating: Explicit- Violence, language, eventual smut

TW: Child abusive, homophobic language, violence Tags: Billy Hargrove centered, numb Billy, fighting, unhealthy ways of dealing with stress, the homoeroticism of Billy Hargrove and Steve Harrington, enemies to friends to lovers, pre slash, Eddie Munson & Billy Hargrove, tags to be added

Preview:

It’s a relatively boring Tuesday night at Family Video and Robin and Steve are just about out of topics to gossip about. That's never happened before, but honestly, it's been weeks since anything remotely interesting has happened. Since their fight and awkward apology, Billy’s been avoiding Steve like the plague. For a while it was nice. It gave Steve a chance to process their last interaction. But now that he has, the lack of resolution is it's driving him nuts. They need to talk about it. Their fights. Because, in all actuality, now that Steve’s ‘gotten his revenge’ in so many words, he realizes, embarrassingly, he didn't have much reason to hate Billy Hargrove. After that night, Billy’s attitude towards all of them shifted. It was like a completely different person was running his flesh suit now. Nothing like the proud, boisterous, asshole they all met back in October. A part of Steve hates to admit it, but he kinda misses fighting with Billy. Not the bash-each-others-teeth-in kind of fight, the normal, totally not homoerotic way Billy used to tease him. Steve hasn’t seen that Billy in months. He wonders what happened to him.

That next moment, Eddie Munson comes flying through the front doors, eyes wild as he slaps the front counter with both palms.

“You are not going to BELIEVE who I just saw!” Eddie shouts, and Steve doesn’t think he’s ever seen Eddie smile this big before.

“Why are you yelling? We’re right here,” Robin scolds, but Steve is interested. This is the most entertained he’s been all day.

“Who?”

“Billy. Hargrove.” Eddie says, like the man had gone missing or something and not just rececedied into emotional unavailability.

“Like you saw him and talked to him, or saw him from a distance?” Robin asks, not nearly as excited for this news as the boys were.

“Well…okay, I saw him through the window. But! He’s working at Melvalds. After school. That’s why we haven’t seen him around.”

“Melvalds?” Steve repeats, curious why hasn’t Joyce mentioned anything yet? Or Max? “Since when?”

“I don’t know but dude, he looks hot.” Eddie pants, waving a hand in front of his face like a fan.

“What?” Steve laughs, face flushing red at the public mention of their shared, ever growing obsession with the blonde.

“I've never seen him wear his hair in a ponytail before but, phew, its doing it for me Steve.”

“Just about anybody would do it for you,” Robin mutters and Eddie throws a challenging grin her way.

“Says the girl who creamed herself when Chrissy got a new scrunchie.”

Robin flushed redder than Eddie’s nail polish before smacking his arm hard.

“Shut the FUCK UP!”

Steve and Eddie both explosde into laughter at Robin's expense before Steve changes to more important matters.

“Okay, so when are we going?”

23 notes · View notes

rat3ggs · 2 months

Text

Nighty night!

This will be the sixth fic I’ve ever written! Warning; Smut, sadistic Enmu, I guess kinda non con? (Enmu forces you into a dream), fem bodied reader, breath play, spanking, masochistic Enmu, talk of eating flesh and blood sucking (Just like a vampire not like genuine bites) scratching, biting, bad grammar and punctuation.

2.9k words

You won’t lie and say you miss your life as a human, perhaps every 5 months you miss the savoury taste of chicken but you forget about that when the taste of heavenly flesh washes over your tastebuds, or when you get reminded just how fun being a demon can be.

This is not one of those “fun times” you were sent out on a mission with quite possibly the most annoying man to ever walk this earth- he stands right beside uppermoon two on the scale of annoyance.

Enmu, the sadistic dacryphile, the man who takes any chance to get into your pants, he’s tried hypnosis, force, seduction, and things to spike arousal, Not a single one has worked.

You were lucky enough to not see him for almost an entire year until the lower moon meeting- unless you count some odd times when you got bored and dozed off during the day which lead to some awful stress dreams about him, all ending with his hand in your chest gripping your heart or him eating your intestines, even your subconscious knows to avoid him. Anyways, you two got sent off to track down some hashira that was seen boarding a train, you sincerely doubt that you two will have any luck, You two are the only lowermoons that were left alive! And that’s because instead of talking back you rode Muzans cock to escape the same fate the other lowermoons did! You just pray if you stroke his ego again he’ll call you to the infinity castle before Enmu manages to get himself killed.. and probably you as well.

You sat on the train, you haven’t seen Enmu since he climbed on top of the train, you sighed and looked around.. your one cart away from the flame hashira and three very loud boys, one of them has hanafuda earrings and is holding a very large box with demonic energy inside it. You grit your teeth in annoyance as you try to keep your eyes on the window ahead of you, you don’t know why but something about that hanafuda kid makes your blood boil, almost like you’ve met him before. You can hide your aura well enough to come off as human, but if one of those three brats gets any closer there’s no way they won’t be able to sniff you out.. you sit for a few minutes impatiently waiting for Enmu.

You look off to the side for a millisecond and accidentally meet eyes with one the boy wearing hanafuda earrings, his eyes widen and it’s painfully apparent that he’s trying to play off the fact he just made you out, he smiled sweetly and waved before turning to speak to the hashira, the visible chill going down his spine and his spiked heartbeat makes it evident that he’s noticed your a demon, how impressive!

You quickly stood up to go to the next cart, however as soon as you stood up you felt unbelievably dizzy.. your vision began darkening, you looked around and saw the humans in your train cart and the next train cart slumping over and falling on their faces- Enmu must be activating his blood art, but why's he affecting you? You looked around for his stupid hand to silence it, you saw it on a seat,it began running off as soon as you saw it, you followed behind it.. although slowly, you almost managed to grab it before you finally tripped over a sleeping man, falling asleep as soon as your head smacked against the ground.

You expected to just be forced into nightmares, but instead you wake up in the same spot you passed out on the train, you know it’s a dream because the people are gone and your bloodart just isn’t working. That itself is shocking, normally Enmu likes seeing you struggle to defend yourself. You stood up once more and begun walking through the train, you looked out the window and saw instead of the forest landscape that was out there before the train seemed to be floating through the night sky, it’d be pretty if you didn’t feel Enmu’s eyes on you- and didn’t know Enmu was looming around.

You groaned and sat down on the train seats, trying to count how long you’ve been stuck in here.. 30 seconds, who knows what’s actually happening in the real world? What if the hashira awoke and is about to behead you! You close your eyes and try to relax before you feel hands on your thighs, you open your eyes and see Enmus ugly rat face staring into your eyes with that weird smile on his face.

“Hello, Y/N!”

He said with a wide smile and slid his hands up your chest, suddenly your limbs felt very heavy.. you struggled to move them.

“My my, who knows what’s going on in the actual world? Maybe you’re dead! Who knows, you certainly won’t unless you do me a tiny favour.”

He said with a knowing grin, you already know where this is heading and you can’t help but shake your head in disgust.

“And what’s that?”

“Participate.”

Enmu said teasingly before putting his hands on your hips tightly, squeezing hard enough to cause a bruise- you aren’t shocked Enmu is trying to hurt you, he is sadistic. You try not to react but that only made him smile even more, he then softly gasped- although it sounds like a moan mixed with it.

“High pain tolerance?”

“You don’t get the pleasure of seeing or hearing me in pain.”

Enmu looks like he’s about to cum on the spot at your words, he’s panting and you feel his hands sliding up your sides, you thought he was about to grope your breasts but instead he began pushing down on your ribs, you were confused at first before he applied pressure very suddenly, knocking the wind out of you. His mouth fell into an open smile, before you could even blink his hands were wrapped tightly around your throat, he’s squeezing so hard his knuckles turned white, you gasped for air but nothing came out.. as a demon you aren’t often scared of death, but suffocation is different.

You feel like you're on death's door as your vision darkens, drool comes from your mouth and your eyes began pulsing out of their sockets, you feel your heart beating so fast it felt like it was about to burst, only desperate gasps and whines escaped your throat. The worst part shockingly isn’t the suffocation though, it’s the fact that he’s making your limbs feel like they’re being weighed down by thousand pound boulders and yet nothing visible is weighing them. Your eyes began watering, the only thing you could see through the fog of darkness was Enmu’s grin, he almost looks like he’s drooling. the sound of your heartbeat and his panting filled your ears. Before your vision could go completely black he released his hold on your neck, putting one of his hands on your shoulders and the other one held your jaw so he could watch life be sucked back into your lungs.

“Beautiful..”

He caressed your jaw and put his lips against yours, sliding his tongue into your mouth to entangle it with yours tongues, in return you bit down on his tongue so hard your teeth went through part of his tongue, blood filled your mouth and Enmu shivered in pleasure and moaned deeply against your mouth, as soon as your teeth released their hold on his tongue he went right back to making out with you, he put his knee between your open thighs and began to grind it against your pussy, The taste of his blood heavy on your taste buds, you can control yourself enough to not swallow it, normally you’d invite the taste of blood but the thought of him being inside you— through cells or through body parts make you want to claw your skin off.

He pulled away eventually, his mouth smeared in his own blood, he sticks his tongue out and the spot you bit a hole through is still very much there, the blood drips onto your chest as his tongue heals up, he wipes his mouth and stares down at your cleavage before leaning down and licking the droplets of blood off your breasts. Suddenly you feel the weights lift off your hands, your hands find their way into his hair, not out of pleasure but anger, you rip a chunk out of his scalp and his eyes roll up into the back of his head and a pleasured whine. It's so hard to fight a masochist.

The clump of hair you pulled out slipped through your fingers as the hair on his head regrew very quickly, you began trying to shove him away but it’s almost like he’s a ghost, your arms go straight through him when you try and push him away- and yet he can touch you, although you noticed he doesn’t stop you from hurting you, you deliver a hard slap across his face which makes his cheek redden and his eye water. Once more your body feels like it’s being weighed down.

He ripped apart your top and sat on his knees in front of you, he began licking and kissing your nipples, sucking harshly on them- making soft gasps escape your mouth, once more you try and pull him away by his hair but instead he ended up biting down on your nipple, Not hard enough to draw blood but enough to make you jolt, He continued sucking harshly on your breast before eventually moving to the skin around your nipple, sucking on the supple skin around it, leaving hickies where his mouth trailed.

He kissed up your neck and began nipping on the skin, then he bit down hard- you feel his canine teeth sunk into your skin and he began suckling on the broken skin, he hummed against your neck, you feel his smile on your neck- his eyes closed and his hands begun sliding up and down your bare sides.

He pulled his teeth out eventually and he began licking the exposed blood off your skin and pulling away with a smile.

“Normally demon blood doesn’t taste good, but the sounds you make are making me so excited!”

If you could ever hear what the embodiment of arousal sounded like, it was his voice currently. You didn’t understand what he meant until you stopped and listened to your breathing, every breath sounded like a pained whimper, You quickly put that to an end and stared at him- you looked visibly displeased, he just smiled and pinched your cheeks.

“Don’t look so bitter!”

“You are putting our lives at risk for sex and I’m supposed to be happy?”

“You’ll die satisfied?”

You sincerely doubt that, almost as if Enmu can sense your doubt he ripped your pants in two effortlessly, he ran his nails down your thighs- digging hard enough to leave deep cuts along your thighs, he began clawing your inner thighs to make blood soak into the train seat, he leans down and spread your folds with two fingers.

“I wonder, is it just biology that’s making you so wet? Or are you actually feeling aroused, Y/N?”

He asked with a smile before leaning down and began flicking his tongue against your clit, your legs trembling at the sensation, your limbs somehow feeling weaker. You wonder if your body is just telling you to enjoy this or if Enmu is deciding to weigh you down. He delved his tongue into your soaking wet pussy and began slurping at the sweet nectar.

Soft moans escaped your mouth, Enmus hands slid up your body, he began tweaking and pinching your nipples. You gasped in response and your entire body jolted when he bit down on your clit- not hard enough to cause genuine pain but hard enough to cause discomfort, he roughly squeezed your breasts roughly, his nails digging into your skin. He released his hold on your clit and stood up, your wetness smeared on his mouth.

He chuckled quietly and began rubbing his thumb over your clit, he kept his eyes down on your pussy as he played with your pearl. He hummed and began watching your legs twitch and jolt in response, you don’t know how you're getting such a reaction from his fingers until you look down at his hand, the backside is pressed against your pussy and the mouth that's on his hand is lapping away. His free hand began unzipping his pants and letting them fall to the ground- along with his coat and his dress shirt.

“Such a reaction from my hand!”

“N-not the same..”

“Of course it is, it is my hand after all?”

He mumbled with a small laugh and lifted you up, he maneuvered your body in an uncomfortable position over a middle seat, your slumped over so your ass is up and your face is almost pressed against the seat of the train seat behind it, you felt him sliding the head of his cock up and down your pussy- teasing you, occasionally going over your clit, his mouthed hand doesn’t stop its attack on your throbbing clit either, you feel a knot in your stomach that’s threatening to snap. He pushed his length into your pussy- you felt him angling his hips before pushing your ass up- his cock finally ends up where he wanted it, pushed harshly against your cervix before he almost pulls completely out before he pushed back in completely, he began pounding against your cervix at a fast pace, his hand still on your clit and his other hand trailing up your spine and up to your neck, he grabbed a handful of your hair and pulled it back harshly, you felt the skin of your face get pulled back.

“Such pretty sounds!”

He almost howled out, he laughed and the hand on your clit bit down softly- shockingly that was the thing that pushed you over the edge, the knot in your stomach snapped and your limbs tensed, the world looked like it was spinning and you felt white hot pleasure, a loud moan escaped your throat and you barely registered him taking his hand away, you get pulled out of your bliss very quickly when he spanks you hard, not hard enough to leave a red hand mark but hard enough to leave a purple bruise, your entire body jerked and you yelped, he continued thrusting into you despite.

“Your pussy is clenching around me! Do you like pain more than you let on?”

He teased and you felt tears filling up your eyes, maybe out of pain or embarrassment- either way you can tell the tears did something to Enmu as he began thrusting with renewed vigour- hard and uncomfortably fast, he slapped your ass once more- forcing another yelp out of your throat, and again and again and again until your ass was throbbing and you were trembling and sobbing. Enmu eventually released his grip on your hair and put both hands on your hips again, his nails digging into the flesh before a gasp escaped his throat and he finally spurted hot cum into your womb, you sighed in relief as he finally pulled out.

“I’m so sad you regenerated, I would’ve loved to see all the pretty blood..”

He said in a fake sad tone, he sighed dramatically and pulled your paralyzed body back up, he put you on his thigh- your pussy pressing against him and making cum pool out and lube up his thigh, he began rocking you back and forth, ensuring that your clit was stimulated with every move.

You felt that familiar knot coming back, much faster than last time.

Every time he moved you the knot grew tighter, sending shockwaves through your body- each wave a more painful pleasure stronger than the last until your legs were trembling. Soft gasps and pants escaped your mouth while your eyes squeezed shut, just as you were about to reach your peak Enmu pushed you off his thigh and you fell through the floor of the train, with a gasp you woke up right where you had fallen— awake this time, the experience you just had very much fake but the knot in your stomach that’s slowly fading away is still very much real.

“Fucking Enmu..”

You gritted your teeth and stood up, you look down at your clothes and notice some wet spots on the back of your thigh, you feel it and heat Enmu Giggle- the giggle echoes through the entire train, the wet spot is almost certainly cum.

You groan in annoyance and look at the four men in the next cart over, to your dismay you see the boy in hanafuda earrings gasp and jolt awake- you also see a small girl who seems to be cheering for him waking up beside him.. you sense she’s a demon as well, how interesting.

#Enmu #demon slayer #kny #demon slayer smut #kny smut #smut #demon slayer x y/n #reader insert #y/n #demon slayer enmu #kny enmu #kimetsu no yaiba enmu #enmu x reader #enmu smut #enmu x y/n

27 notes · View notes