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lizard-on-a-window-pane · 1 month

Text

When the Levee Breaks

pairing: Remus Lupin x reader

tags / warnings: friends to lovers fluff then smut, mutual pining, smoking weed (be responsible irl), high sex, explicit descriptions of oral (f receiving), fem!reader

NSFW notes: A LARGE PORTION OF THIS FIC IS NOT SUITABLE FOR MINORS; DO NOT READ IT IF IT ISN'T APPROPRIATE FOR YOU! HOWEVER, because such a long portion (like 2/3) has no sexual material (except for the implication at the very beginning), i have clearly marked where it becomes NSFW in case any age-appropriate readers want to read only up to that point (i know some people just want fluff not smut even if they're of age, and that's so chill); i will say there is drug use before then, so still adult material, but fluffy around that; please please be responsible for your content consumption

random notes: set in the late 70's / early 80's, following canon of when the marauders would've met but the rest of the world building (e.g. au) left ambiguous title inspired by a song on one of the albums mentioned idk why this turned out similar to The Prettiest Star with Sirius Black, but i guess my fantasy is just to listen to music intensely with someone then fuck lovingly lol

word count: 6.4k

hope you enjoy! thank you if you read it! 🫶

You watch as his long fingers, practiced and adept, roll the spliff. You liked this part. You could stare at his hands under the guise of watching the rolling. Remus didn’t have to know how far from pot your mind wandered when you did. He didn’t have to know it made you wonder every time what else he could do with this fingers. Imagine how they would feel on you. In you.

At the thought, you squirm where you’re seated on his settee next to him. He chuckles in a low tone.

“Antsy?”

“No.”

He can tell you’re lying. You can tell he can tell. But you don’t care. As long as he can’t tell why you’re lying, it doesn’t matter, and you can keep wriggling.

“Whatever you say, jitterbug.”

Your wringing hands catch his attention, and his eyes fix on them even as his hands continue their work.

“Next time, you’re rolling it,” he says through a smile. “There’d be nothing left to smoke by the time you finished shaking it everywhere,” he laughs, too amused with himself, giggling as if he were already high.

“Remus?” you start, and he shakes his head and chuckles, loving how you get when he teases you.

“What?” he smiles, eyebrows shooting up at you, both a welcome and a challenge for you to say whatever you’re about to.

“Can you remind me who provided this wonderful gift on this wonderful afternoon?” You shake the baggy you brought to his flat not 15 minutes ago.

He laughs, now nodding, and concedes, “You’re right, sunshine. I should be so grateful.”

Remus brings the spliff to his mouth to lick the edge of the paper, and your retort gets caught in your throat as you fixate on his tongue.

A bit too late, a bit too quiet for your usual banter, you say, “You should be, Moons. I can still take it home and smoke by myself.”

“Oh now I’ve rolled it for you, yeah? Didn’t realize you were just here for my services. Should’ve known you were just pretending to love me till you got what you wanted.” He holds up his finished work — a beauty really — in front of you as he finishes his joke. You hum affirmatively, taking it from him and looking it over.

You inspect it exaggeratedly and with a theatrical sense of casual satisfaction tell him, “Hm, not bad. I was starting to regret the long con, but I think this was worth it.”

He’s giggling as he gets up, bumping his body against yours before he does, going toward his record collection. He walks over lazily, unhurriedly, his bare feet quiet on the floor, his hand coming up to mess with his hair. His loose, comfy clothes do a lot to hide the muscles you know are lean but strong underneath.

“Come help me choose,” he says over his shoulder as he falls to one knee to scan a lower shelf. Almost a whole wall of his small apartment is covered in shelves, boxes, stacks of records. It looks a mess, but it’s actually meticulously organized by release date.

You follow him, come up just behind him. You crouch, too, not all the way down like him. You lean on him, resting your head atop his, bringing your arms around his shoulders and neck.

He moans casually, seeming happy, and grabs your arms where they fall across his chest.

“Oh, Rem. You should know…”

“Hm?” he asks, looking up at you. You look down at him, seeing his warm smile upside down.

“This is the real reason I’ve pretended to be your friend all these years,” you fake seriousness as you nod toward the records. Remus rolls his eyes, but his smile stretches further across his lovely face. It pulls on a long scar that runs down his cheek.

“And may I ask how you knew when we were eleven that one day I would own such an epic collection?”

“Easy. You wore a Led Zeppelin t-shirt one of the first days we knew each other.”

He’s taken aback by your giving an actual answer.

“Did I really?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, smiling down at him. The warmth of reminiscing about those childhood years softening you.

“I think I remember that shirt,” he smiles nostalgically. “How do you remember that?” He twists in your embrace, coming to sit on the floor and pulling you with him. You’re sitting close to each other, and he’s watching you, rapt.

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “I remember being so nervous and lonely at the beginning. Wanting to make friends. And you seemed nice, so I noticed you.” You shrug again, look down for a moment, not wanting to express embarrassment at a more honest recollection: you had a crush on him immediately, even back then, even before you were really sure what it was you were feeling — that came with the years that followed. “The day you wore that shirt, it was like something familiar I could latch onto. Someone who liked something I liked.” Remus is smiling adoringly at you. Listening as intently as he is, looking as giddy, he looks like a child at the greatest story time ever from his seat on the floor.

“I even tried to talk to you about it,” you confess, cringing teasingly at yourself.

“Yeah?” He sits up straighter like a puppy hearing someone at the door.

“Yeah,” you exhale.

“I don’t remember that happening.”

“That’s because it didn’t,” you laugh. “I said tried to talk to you. I got too nervous and ran to hide before I could get the words out.”

He’s shaking his head in disbelief, his smile still plastered on his face.

“I can’t believe I hadn’t noticed you yet.” Remus looks especially contemplative for a moment then hums, biting his lower lip. “It’s crazy. Trying to think of my life before you is like remembering a blank canvas.”

Your cheeks warm and so does your heart.

You’re smiling a beaming smile at him but say, “There wasn’t much to notice. I was pretty quiet. And besides, your attention probably couldn’t handle a single thing more given you were getting to know Sirius and James.” He laughs lightly at the good memories but shakes his head at you a little more pronouncedly.

“I’m sure there was a lot to notice. I was just an idiot. And quiet, too. By comparison to that lot anyway. They spoke enough for the three of us. I probably would’ve wimped out if I’d tried to talk to a pretty girl like you back then.” The edges of his entrancing brown eyes crinkled from his smile. “I mean… to be honest… I’d get nervous for a while, talking to you at first.”

“You didn’t,” you tease but secretly really want to hear more.

“I did, yeah. Of course I did,” he laughs at himself. “I had a big crush on you. James and Sirius wouldn’t let me live it down for ages.”

You’re shocked at this news. And maybe your face shows it. What it doesn’t show is how desperately your mind is racing, questioning: “Wait, could things have been otherwise? Did he actually like me as more than a friend at some point? Did I ruin it somehow?”

Remus tenses slightly, his smile no longer reaching his eyes, which are attentive at your reaction.

“That was a long time ago,” he jokes to fill the silence that is beginning to stretch too long, his tone awkward.

“What happened?” you whisper, unable to help it.

He takes a second to answer, like he doesn’t know what to say. He’s searching your face, and you’re not sure how much he can read there.

He shrugs. His face gives an “I don’t know” scowl. He’s trying to escape answering, but you don’t let him.

“Remus,” you laugh and shove him playfully.

“I don’t know,” he giggles. “I don’t know. Then I got to know you I guess. And we became friends.”

You give a scoffy laugh. You know he probably didn’t mean it that way, but your stomach sinks at the idea that getting to know you would remedy him of his crush. You’re staring at the floor when his voice breaks you out of your thoughts.

“Hey, you okay?” He’s trying to keep the playful atmosphere, but you hear true concern in his tone. “Did I say something I shouldn’t’ve?”

You want to say “yes,” but you wouldn’t be able to tell him which part. So, you don’t say anything.

“I didn’t think you’d mind, after all these years,” he says more softly.

“No, Rem. Of course I don’t mind.” You shake your head as if dismissing the idea, attempting a laugh that still comes out strained. “I was just surprised is all.”

He’s watching you, nodding subtlety, worrying his lower lip between his teeth.

“Let’s choose something, yeah?” you nod next to you toward the wall, desperate to redirect attention.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘course.” Remus turns toward the records, skimming across his stacks. A thought catches him, and he moves purposefully toward a different shelf.

“What are you thinking?” you notice, your interest piqued.

“1971,” he says as if it’s an answer. It is to you.

1971: the year you met.

He pulls out a well-worn record, and the strain on your smile finally dissipates to easy delight. You come stand next to him, and he hands it to you.

“Do you remember how much we listened to that then?” he asks.

“How could I forget,” you smile, your fingers tracing the cover of Led Zeppelin IV.

It came out November 1971, but neither of you could get it till at least a month later, during Christmas break from school. When you finally did, the two of you listened to it nonstop. You absolutely loved the album, but you knew you listened to it that much because it was an easy excuse to hang out with Remus. You’d been listening to music together, often just the two of you, ever since.

“Fuck, I remember we’d listen to it in my room,” Remus reminisces. “And even Sirius, the biggest Zeppelin fan of us all, couldn’t take it anymore,” he laughs. “He’d turn it off when he found us listening to it, scolding us for ‘abusing a sacred thing.’”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Oh, look at this,” Remus startles you, excited. He pulls another record off the same shelf.

“This is too perfect,” he giggles. “I didn’t remember this came out then,” he muses, looking it over. “Probably didn’t get my hands on it till much later, I guess. But it’s like it was made for us. For you.” He hands you Just As I Am by Bill Withers, but you still don’t get what he’s saying. He sees your confused look and chuckles. “Second track,” he hints. Your eyes land on “Ain’t No Sunshine.”

“Sunshine”: Remus’s nickname for you for years. You had Sirius to thank for it actually. He’d said you and Remus were like yin and yang. And since you all already called him “Moony,” you had to be “Sunny.” The other three of you cringed at the sound of that, so he tried “sunshine” instead, conceding it was close enough, and it stuck. Over the years, Sirius and James used it less and less, Remus more and more.

“It’s your song,” Remus urges, knocking his shoulder against yours. “There literally can’t be sunshine when you’re gone because you are sunshine.” He sounds too excited, and it’s adorable.

“You sound like Sirius saying he’s serious,” you tease. He just laughs and takes the record back.

“Whatever, grumpy. It’s an epic song, and you know it, and now it’s yours, and I don’t care if that’s cheesy.”

“I love it,” escapes you, teasing tone gone. His eyes snap to yours, and he looks at you warmly.

“Alright, sunshine,” he whispers. A beat. “Wanna listen to it?” he asks, voice almost normal again. You nod gladly then go back to the sofa as he sets it up.

Remus soon comes back and joins you. He grabs the spliff from between stacks of snacks you’d prepared for the afternoon then looks over at you.

“Ready, sunshine?”

“Mhhm.”

“You do the honours.” He hands it to you and grabs the lighter. Rather than handing that to you too, he lights it for you as it dangles from your parted lips.

You take a long drag, feeling it enter you and welcoming it. You cough lightly as you exhale slowly. You are no novice but are still always a cougher. Remus still always giggles when you do, but it’s never mocking. He has a glass of water ready for you, knowing you well, always looking after you. You trade him the water for the spliff, which he proceeds to hit with equal enthusiasm and less wheezing.

You pass it back and forth for a little while. It’s strong stuff and just three hits in, you feel it engulfing you. The settee feels softer; the music sounds better.

“Ain’t No Sunshine” is playing, and in your dazed state, you’re sure this is going to be the peak of the album even if it doesn’t coincide with the peak of your high. You close your eyes, and you can feel the music on your skin.

Remus chuckles next to you, and your face turns to him.

“You look so stoned right now,” he explains, giddy.

“That’s because I am,” you laugh. Once you start laughing it’s hard to stop; once Remus joins, it’s almost impossible.

You chat easily, observations and jokes from both of you greatly benefitting from the induced assistance. Remus has a revelation about your listening to HI-fi while high. Your mind is blown multiple times at how deep the lyrics are.

“They’re all talkin’ at him, but he doesn’t hear a word they’re sayin’, Moons! Not a word! I should do that,” you tell him as if it’s the most urgent thing in the world. He cracks up. “He’s so right, you know? Gotta keep the sun shining through the pouring rain, you know?”

“Uh-huh, I know, sunshine, I know,” he just laughs at you.

“You have such a nice smile, Moony,” you observe, dazed just as much from the feelings perambulating through your system than the pot doing the same.

“Yeah?” he asks, exaggerating it till he’s all teeth and squinty eyes.

“Yeah,” you laugh. “It looked funny upside down over there,” you remember. “Watch!”

You flip over on the sofa till your feet are up where your neck should rest and your head is dangling off the edge where your knees would normally be. You smile up at him. Remus doubles over laughing with you, bringing his face much closer to yours as he leans into it.

“You’re right. Looks funny,” he tells you much more softly than you expected after his cackling. He watches you intently then brings a hand to your upside down face. He traces your features lightly, and it’s warm and tingly. His long finger travels down your nose, across your eyebrows.

“C’mere,” you whisper to him.

“Where?” he whispers back, his voice a gruff chuckle again.

“Down here!” you whisper-yell.

You pull his shoulder down and start kicking his legs up as he contorts until you get him in the same position as you. You end up side by side, upside-down on the sofa.

Each of you giggles at the other as you steal side glances. Your faces, pulled the wrong way by gravity, softened more than normal by the smoking, look even goofier through your incessant giggles and pointless efforts at holding those back.

You listen, and laugh, to at least a whole song like this. You kick each other’s feet throughout. As one of your kicks brings you closer to Remus, he rolls over to tickle you. You laugh so loud you can’t even hear the record over it.

“Stop, Rem! Stop!” you plead. “I’m already too dizzy.”

He keeps it up a moment but soon takes pity on you and helps move your body the right way around, his strong hands manipulating you easily.

“Alright, dizzy. Enough upside-down,” he says as he fixes your now crazy hair.

You just nod and shift closer to him. You rest your head on his shoulder, and he shuffles to a comfortable height for you, laying his own head on yours.

A primary reason you enjoy getting high with Remus: you both get snuggly. You’re touchy normally, even more than most best friends you’ve seen, but not overly so. When you’re high, it’s overly so. But it somehow doesn’t feel weird. In fact, it feels wonderful.

So, it feels wonderful, not weird, when you absentmindedly reach over for his hand. He gives it to you easily, and you begin caressing it.

“Your skin is so soft, Rem.” You pull his hand closer to you, bringing it close to your face, looking it at like you’ve never seen a hand before. Remus takes the opportunity and quickly grabs at your nose playfully. You giggle at this as he responds to your initial comment.

“In between all the scars maybe.” He sounds matter of fact. There’s a lot less pain in his voice now when he talks about them than when he did in your younger years. You look forward to the day when you hear no pain there at all.

“No, the scars too,” you correct him gently, and you bring your thumb to a scar that runs from the top of his hand up to his forearm. You trace it with reverence, and he shivers at your touch. You know for a fact you’re the only person in the world he allows to touch them. You’re so grateful for his trust, and in this moment, your emotions heightened, your inhibitions lowered, the vibrations of the music moving through you, you feel the need to tell him so.

“Thank you for letting me touch you, Moony.”

Remus has been watching where your hands are connected until now, but at your words, he looks into your eyes. He just looks at you for a long moment. You can’t tell how long, time elongated and indeterminable in your current state, but you’re completely comfortable to sit in it through its entirety, looking straight back at him.

Eventually, the softest grin blossoms on his face. You mirror it.

“Thank you for not being afraid to,” he whispers. You genuinely don’t understand.

“Why would I be?”

“You know what I mean,” he tries to explain. He looks down in shyness but back at you before continuing, “Maybe ‘afraid’ isn’t the right word. Maybe it’s ‘disgusted’ or something…”

His voice is fading to a low whisper by the end, like the louder the words are the truer they’ll be.

Without hesitating, you tell him the truth: “Remus, you’re the least disgusting person in the world. You’re beautiful.” He grimaces like he can’t believe you, so you go on. “You are.”

You turn your body even more toward him, bringing your connected hands to your almost shared lap and bringing your other hand to caress his cheek.

“Silly Moony. You’re so sickeningly beautiful,” you chuckle. Your hand runs up through his hair. “This hair is ridiculous,” you inform him, tousling it. He leans into your touch like a content puppy. “These eyes.” You trace circles around each of them, first skimming his eyebrows then looping around. “They’re the easiest thing in the world to melt into, no pot needed.” You feel them crinkle as they smile into your compliments. “This nose.” You trace it slowly. “These lips,” you say more softly. You feel his gasp when you touch them then feel nothing, his breath held as you trace them. “And your scars,” you say with some finality. You trace a prominent one across his face. He closes his eyes while you do, opens them again when you reach its end. “You beauty isn’t one to be ruined by scars, Remus Lupin. Your beauty is the kind that incorporates the scar and makes that beautiful too.”

Remus squeezes your interlaced hands. Your faces are so close to each other that you could see his eyes moisten as you tell him all this. He closes them before full tears form and moves his face that tiny bit closer till his forehead rests on yours. You nuzzle his nose, and he nuzzles yours back.

“It’s so quiet,” you whisper, breaking the silence — noticing the silence. You didn’t notice when the album ended. Remus just hums in response.

The silence is loaded but peaceful. You don’t want to pressure him into having to say something back after you let yourself get so intense with him. It wasn’t about what he said back; it was about his understanding how you saw him, how you hoped he would see himself.

So, with his eyes still closed, you give the scar that runs across his nose a light kiss, do the same to another larger one across his jaw. Then you bring your head back to his shoulder, snuggling into him to mark the end of the moment, no further pressure necessary.

Remus shifts his body closer, as close to you as possible. He brings his arm around your shoulders without letting go of your hand. He’s holding you close, and your arm crosses your chest to keep your hands intertwined. He kisses the top of your head — new, sweet — then rests his own there again — familiar, warm. Your thumb absentmindedly strokes the back of his hand.

You sit together in the quiet a long while. You close your eyes, breathe Remus in, let his body, his presence envelop you then just bask in it. Everything feels pleasantly heavy — the air, his body where it touches yours.

You settle into him, and without your noticing you’re doing it, your hand on his stills.

“Don’t stop,” he whispers.

“Hm?” you need to ask, unsure what he means. You look up, and he looks down, and your faces are a breadth away from each other.

“I liked how you were touching me,” he whispers. “I always like how you touch me,” he adds like a secret.

He brings his hand that’s not holding yours up to your face. First, the backs of his fingers brush lightly over your cheekbone then he rests his hand there. His fingers hold your jaw; his thumb caresses your cheek. Like you tend to do, you lean into his touch.

His gentle, soothing touch flutters your eyes closed. Your inability to see his face makes it less scary to respond, “I always like how you touch me too.”

“Yeah?” he sighs, his hand holding you a bit more tightly, his thumb coming down to graze your bottom lip. You nod slowly, his hand moving with your head.

“Do you ever think about other ways we could touch each other?” he whispers. Your eyes fly open at this and land on his: lidded, dilated, gazing into your own.

“Do you?”

“I asked you first,” he giggles. “And I’ve already told you a secret today. It’s your turn.”

“What secret?” Your voices are still soft, whispering even though there’s no need for quiet other than your intimacy demanding it.

“About my crush.”

“I had a crush on you too,” you tell him. “So now we’re even.”

“That’s not fair, sunshine,” he smiles. You smile back.

Then, after a moment, like he can’t help it, “You did?”

“Of course I did.”

“What happened?” he echoes.

“Nothing,” you confess.

His eyebrows furrow, unsure how to interpret this. His eyes hold hope and trepidation at once.

“I got to know you… And we became friends…” you continue. His expression falls, and you’re pretty sure you recognize this look as disappointment. But you go on, “And it made me love you all the more.”

You’re ready to read his expression closely this time, but you don’t get the chance before he’s kissing you, before you’re kissing back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ NSFW beyond this point ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s slow. Deliberate. His lips push on yours; his arms bring you closer. His tongue teases your lips, and though they part in response, his tongue traces them rather than push in. You whimper at the feeling of it, and he moans at your reaction. He breathes you in, covers your whole mouth with his, devouring the sound, devouring you.

Now his tongue enters your mouth, exploring, playing with yours. You’re not sure whether his movements are slow or whether they just feel slow because you’re still high. You are sure you have no desire to speed any of it up.

You bring your hands to either side of his face, holding him gently but pulling him to you. He follows easily, and when your chests are almost flush, you trace your hands down to his shirt and pull him on top of you as you lean back, lying down on the sofa.

You keep kissing a deliciously long while then Remus goes beyond your lips, kissing along your jaw leisurely. He mouths at your skin, licking, nipping his way unhurriedly down to your neck. Here he languidly runs his tongue along the length of your neck, kissing your pulse point, nipping behind your ear.

Everywhere he touches is buzzing, and you shiver at the sensation. When his breath blows cold air on your now wet skin, you shiver even harder, your body shuddering against his above you. He chuckles into the crook of your neck and continues.

After another while of his working his way down, he has to pull the neck of your shirt down to reach further. You bare your neck to him, loving his exploratory path.

When his mouth leaves your skin for the first time in several minutes, your impulse is to immediately pull him back to you.

“Let’s take this off,” he whispers sedately, gruffly, tugging at your top.

You pull it off and don’t waste time unclasping and sliding your bra off as well. Remus looks at you, dopey and delighted, but without further ado, pushes your chest so that you lie back again. His hand stays on you and begins lazily kneading your breast as he brings his mouth back to you.

He kisses the base of your neck and continues his previous ministrations across your collarbones. He seems to be on a mission to trace the entire surface area of your skin with his wandering mouth, and you have every intention of letting him and enjoying every long second of it.

As he makes his languorous way down your sternum, you arch your back, pushing up into him, and bring your hands to his messy hair, holding him close. You scratch and tug, needing somewhere to release some energy, every part of you he’s touched left humming warm and electric. He groans into your chest, and you’re certain you feel the vibrations move through your skin, across your chest cavity, and into your heart, where they ricochet within it, making it beat faster.

“Remus,” you whine adoringly. He hums into your skin again in response and speeds up his southward trajectory just the slightest bit.

His face comes between your breasts, and he runs his teeth down the valley, then licks his tongue up the same path. You shake a little, and his hand squeezes your breast tighter. The other one he mouths across until his tongue traces a slow, wet circle around your nipple. This shoots a hot, jolting current straight from where his mouth is connected to you down to between your legs.

He’s gentle for a while, moving back and forth between your tits, often agonizingly slowly, his hands kneading at your chest all the while. Without your expecting it, though, he bites one of your hard, sensitive nipples and tugs lightly. You squeal and push your chest into his mouth. He keeps going, switching as he fancies between rough and tender.

At a bite of the side of your breast, you rut up into him, and the movement has you feeling how wet you are. You’ve never been this wet before before direct stimulation.

Remus holds your hips down to the sofa but moves from your chest to your stomach. His roaming mouth proceeds at its perfect, maddening pace. It meanders to your ribs, down your sides, not following a straight path down.

Once he eventually reaches the threshold of your pants, he looks up at you.

Remus looks higher than you’ve ever seen him before. He looks elated, in awe.

“I want to spend hours and hours on your body like this,” he tells you, nuzzling his face into your lower stomach, kissing it as he detaches from you.

“Remus,” you whimper, running your hand into his hair and inadvertently thrusting your hips up. He chuckles, still sounding high, but his voice is as low as you’ve ever heard it.

He takes your trousers and underwear off in one efficient but slow tug. He pulls his shirt off much faster, and you touch all his skin you can reach before he’s repositioning himself.

Your thighs feel cold now uncovered, but it’s nothing compared to the sensation of fresh air on your soaking cunt. As you adjust your body, you feel a thick wetness drip from your entrance down to where your arse meets the sofa. You feel the coldness of that wetness even more as Remus pushes your legs further apart to position himself between them.

You’re completely sure you’re wetter than you’ve ever been before, but you’re not sure if you could possibly be as wet as you feel, thinking the high could be heightening your sensation of it. You’re worried it’s too much, worried you’ll put Remus off.

“I can clean up a little if —“ you start, but you’re cut off by Remus diving in, running his flat tongue slowly, firmly up from the base of your puddle up to your pubic bone. A strangled, prolonged gasp functions as the end of your sentence.

When Remus licks you again, your thighs shake on either side of his head. You feel him laugh into your cunt, and this time you imagine the vibrations shooting all the way up your body, following the chaotic roadmap his mouth left lingering across it.

Remus pulls back from you and rests his chin on your pubic bone, looking up at you.

He informs you simply, “You taste delicious, darling.” He looks drunk on it.

“Everything tastes better when you’re high,” you tease.

“Then I’m really going to enjoy this,” he smiles. “But I’m pretty sure you’ll get me high just by letting me do this other times.”

“Other times?”

“Well, yeah…” he giggles. His eyes bore into yours even though he’s the length of your torso away. “I though this was a first, not an only…”

“Good.” You sound giddy. “Just checking.”

“Silly,” he shakes his head at you. You thrust your hips up and laugh at the expression he makes when you bump his face, like he’s dazed. He squeezes your thigh harshly where he’s holding you.

“Behave, sunshine. It’s feeling dangerous down here.”

“I thought you were enjoying it.”

“I am.” A bite at your hip. “And I’m seriously getting the munchies, so just…” You don’t understand the end of his sentence, the words muffled against your skin as he starts eating you out.

It’s heavenly. High as you are, in love as you are, you think you’re on cloud nine. This gets you wondering where such an odd expression even comes from. It seems so random.

“Moony?”

“Hmm?” is grunted into your cunt.

“Why do you think it’s called being on cloud nine?”

He pulls back. The whole lower half of his face shines in your slick.

“Why are you thinking about that right now? Am I that bad at this?”

“Bad? It’s amazing.” You ruffle his hair in your groping hands. “Which is why I’m on cloud nine, which is why I’m thinking about that right now. Your hair is as soft as clouds, Moons.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Am not,” you giggle.

“Are,” he teases.

“Can you keep going now? It felt so good. Your mouth is ridiculous.” You thrust your hips up at him again.

“Ridiculous and bossy,” he complains, but he’s smiling hard, and before you can even think of a retort, he does as you bid.

His mouth takes its time between your legs. He spends eternities teasing you: mouthing at the tops of your thighs, licking up your bikini line, nipping at your clit without giving it the attention he knows you want from how loud you whine every time he gives it the slightest graze. He loves all over your vulva, not leaving any part untouched, unworshipped. His tongue fucks into your entrance languidly; it swirls there. He licks your labia, sucks on it, gives the same attention to your clit when you moan loud enough. He travels back and forth, seemingly enjoying all of it too much to stick to any one attention too long. The next time he lands on your clit, he prolongs it.

Your legs shake; your back arches; your whines grow loud before turning strangled, and Remus takes his cue to reserve the relaxed approach for later. He picks up his pace, gripping your thighs tightly and shakes his whole face into you, alternating between licking and sucking rhythmically at your clit. You cum hard, and it feels like it goes on for minutes.

With your eyes closed, you truly feel like you’re floating, your only anchor to the world Remus Lupin where you feel his body attached to yours.

You’re laughing in pleasure, and the laughs turn to pants as you slowly, slowly come down. You love coming down to an already high baseline, and you giggle at the sensation of relaxing into a still heightened state.

It suddenly strikes you it feels like it’s been years since you talked to Remus, heard his mellifluous voice, and you startle your eyes open searching for him.

You see him immediately. He’s gazing at you with equal parts ardor and adoration, but when he sees your expression, his shifts to concern.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong, my love?” He rushes to hover just above you. His face is close to yours again, though it’s scanning all over your body. His hand holds your face gently, his other arm holding him up. “Did something feel bad? Does something hurt?”

“No, no, I’m fine, Moons, I’m fine,” you rush to reassure. “I just missed you,” you explain.

“Missed me?” His eyes shoot to yours. “I’m right here, love; what do you mean you missed me?” He can’t help a subtle giggle, and his adoring expression takes back its rightful place on his beautiful face.

“I just thought I hadn’t seen you in too long.” Your hands caress his face, thread through his hair. “Or heard your voice…”

“Hmm,” he hums, leaning into your touch. “I’m right here. What do you want me to say?”

“Anything,” you smile.

“I love you.”

You’ve heard them before, but never like this, and they’re the best words in the world, in the universe.

“Remus,” you sigh, leaning up to kiss him. He tastes intensely of you, and you laugh into the kiss. “I’m sorry I got you so… so slicky.”

“I don’t mind,” he chuckles. “Means it was good, right?”

“Beyond. ‘Good’ is like… like one colour out of a whole rainbow for how that just felt.”

He’s beaming down at you and kisses you again, lingering there.

When he finally separates from you, his caressing thumb comes to wipe some slick at the corner of your lip. You grab his hand and kiss each of his fingers lightly. Then you lick down his long index finger, your tongue finding and following a scar up his hand to his wrist.

You look into his eyes, and he’s staring at you, transfixed.

“I was thinking about your fingers when you were rolling the spliff.”

“Yeah?” His voice is a desperate sigh.

“Yeah.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“How beautiful your hands are. How they’d feel touching me… How your fingers would feel inside me…”

“Fuck,” he whispers. “You wanna find out?”

“Yes,” you moan.

“Get them nice and wet for me, and I’ll show you.” They’re already lingering at your lips, but he slowly pushes them in. You welcome them enthusiastically and lazily suck on them, swirl your tongue around them.

“Fuck.” His voice is low. “Fuck, I want to feel everything there is to feel with you.”

“Mmm,” you nod, your mouth still full.

Remus takes his fingers out, kisses you, and lets his mouth stay on yours as his fingers trace down your chin, your chest, your stomach steadily, leaving a wet path. When they reach between your legs, you squirm in anticipation.

He rubs a couple of tight, slow circles on your clit. You’re so sensitive, and it feels amazing. You mewl into his mouth where it still hovers just above yours.

“Ready, my sunshine?”

“Mmhhmm.”

Remus pushes two fingers into you ever so slowly. You release a low, slow whine the whole time he takes to press in. He gives you gentle kisses, eating it up. When his fingers are in to the hilt, you wonder how you didn’t feel devastatingly empty every moment of your life before this one. When he adds a third, you’re sure you will every moment after.

You clench purposefully around him, and he moans into your mouth. Closing your eyes again, it’s the easiest thing to let yourself be consumed by the sensations, by Remus.

When he curls his fingers inside you, you clench again, this time automatically. You grip his hair and clutch his back, your arms pulling his body close to yours.

The spot he starts massaging feels like it’s a blazing fire, but everywhere else you’re connected, your chests, your mouths, is scattered scalding embers.

You’re savouring every second, every sensation, already feeling another high building but relishing in the time it’ll take to get there.

You run your hands down Remus’s back, feeling the bumps of his scars, the grooves of his defined muscles. For the first time all afternoon, you feel a desire to hurry…

You start moving your hips to meet his rhythm, eager, even more than for your own climax, for your turn to take your time on him.

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus x reader #remus x you #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin smut #marauder x reader #marauders fanfic #sirius black #james potter #marauders fluff #marauders smut #remus lupin oneshot #friends to lovers

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inherdaze · 2 months

Text

jungle — kiyoomi sakusa

kiyoomi x f reader

18+ content, pining, slow burn, sakusa wears dog tags mmm, smut, acquaintances to lovers. kind of a historical au? (think 1930s) idk bro it's like all made up. mentions of pregnancy

summary: kiyoomi seeks serenity after coming home from war.

There’s lots of commotion outside. Hollering, cheering, squeals and shouts paired with the sight of lovers reuniting, families coming together, men picking up their children and spinning them around in the air. You watch from the kitchen window as you wipe down the dishes, see some people carelessly pick the flowers from your yard to bunch up and give to wives, children, husbands, the like. Normally, you’d scold them for being so careless and probably offer a pair of garden trimmers so that they wouldn't crush the surrounding flowers, but you let it pass. Everyone is happy. The war is over.

Your mother watches as she stands next to you, handing you over the dishes to dry once she’s finished washing them clean. She looks at you from the corner of her eye, gouging out your reaction before clearing her throat.

“Do you remember Kiyoomi?”

You freeze for a second, plate and rag in hand as you try to think. “Mm. No?”

“The Sakusa family?”

“Oh,” And then you start again, rubbing the plate dry. You don’t really remember the boy, only that your mother was friends with his mother and that apparently the two of you played around as young children. You don't remember the last time you saw him. Probably couldn’t even point him out in a crowd.

“He’s coming home.”

“From the war?”

“Yes.”

“Would you like me to gather some flowers for him? There’s plenty in the backyard, too. None of the crushed ones.”

She sighs before placing the plate she held back into the sink, turning to face you entirely.

She says your name softly. “He’s coming home. Here.”

“Why? For dinner?”

“No– well, yes– but he’ll be staying here. With us.”

You slowly put out the plate face down on the long countertop cloth to let it air dry. “Since when?”

“We’ve been exchanging letters.”

Ah. You had been wondering what that was about. Each time the mail came in, your mother would scurry to get it before you could, holding it to her chest protectively before gently slicing it open in the study, purposely keeping it from you. You thought she had been exchanging letters with some sort of admirer, so to speak. You thought she’d be afraid to tell you she’s moving on after years of your father’s death.

She continues, “His parents passed a while back– they both fell ill while he was away. He just needs somewhere to stay in the meantime so he can get back up on his feet. I'm sure there are plenty of other families that would be more than happy to host a soldier, but I suppose he would feel more comfortable here. I mentioned the garden and the chickens and he said he’d help you out with those. Don’t let him, though.”

“Huh? Why not?”

Your mother lightly swats your arm and gives a quiet scold of your name, “He isn't here to work. He’s here to rest. He’s been through a lot, you know. Just let him be while he’s here.”

You roll your eyes. Your mother can tell that you're not really annoyed.

“He seems very reserved in the letters we exchanged. If he’s formal with you, insist that he don’t be. We are friends of his. Make him feel comfortable, okay?”

You hum and nod. “Okay.”

There’s a pause.

“When will he be here?”

Your mother nearly answers before you've even finished asking.

“Tomorrow.”

You’re an early bird. Even when you don’t want to be, you must. You have to tend to the chickens in the morning, tidy up and make breakfast for your mother before she goes out to the market to sell the eggs.

The morning dew that sits atop the grass kisses at your shins as you trudge towards the coop, face lit by the oncoming sunrise. The sky shifts from deep blue to a lighter blue to purples and pinks until the sun finally reaches the top of the sky.

As you get closer to the coop, you hear the familiar and pesky repetitive clucks, appreciative that the coop is farther out into the yard and not by your window.

You slide the coop door open, stepping to the side as they rush out with curiosity.

“Mornin’ kids,” You start before emptying out their dirty water, tossing it into the grass before turning on the hose to fill up the bin.

You replace the water, give them more food, collect the eggs that are deemed ready, and hang out with them for a good thirty minutes to make sure they’re healthy and roaming around like normal. You sit on the grass, knees to your chest as you absentmindedly say hi to them when they pass by or stare at you.

Once the sun has almost fully risen, you grab the basket of eggs and make your way back into the house, slipping out of your boots before stepping inside.

The morning goes as always; Your mother wakes up, thanks you for handling the chickens, thanks you as you place her breakfast on the table, gathers all the eggs she needs to sell, and kisses your cheek before she heads out to the market.

“Kiyoomi should be here later, once I’m already home. Please make sure the spare bedroom is clean, with fresh sheets. If he happens to arrive early, be nice.”

“God, don’t act like I’m insufferable! I won’t drive him out.”

She smiles knowingly. “I know, my dear.”

She looks like she wants to say more, but swiftly turns on her heel and takes her leave.

The rest of the day is spent cleaning up the spare bedroom to make sure it’s nice and welcoming for when your new guest arrives. You smooth out all the bed linen and wipe down the dressers, making all photo frames and little trinkets look presentable. It doesn't take long for you to set it all up– the bedroom has always been very empty. You wonder how it'll look like when it’s more lived-in, with boots and coats and whatever else he may carry laying around.

You slip into the kitchen and wash your hands, preparing to make lunch. With the curtains on the kitchen window drawn shut, you fail to see the man that climbs up your porch steps, eyes downcast as he raps his knuckles on the door a few times.

You freeze in your spot almost violently. It’s much too early for him to be here, and when you glance at the clock on the wall, you’re convinced that it has to be someone else– perhaps the neighbor?

Drying your hands on the apron tied to your dress, you draw back the kitchen curtain to get a little peep.

You almost squeal as you back away from the window, covering your face with your hands like you’ve just seen something you weren't supposed to– but you had just seen him. He was… big. That’s all you could think.

When you open the front door, the two of you stare at each other, silent.

Yes, he’s big. Broad shoulders, gifted with height, and his chest seems…. inviting in the military uniform he wears. You finally make eye contact with him, scanning over his handsome features, the two little beauty marks that rest atop his eyebrow, the pretty curve of his lips—

“Hello,” He says with an air of formality, and you clutch at the skirt of your dress.

“Hi… hi.”

He stares at you blankly.

“I, ah— come in, Kiyoomi,” You start, standing to the side as he takes off his boots and leaves them by the door, following diligently as you lead him to his room. He doesn’t even spare a glance to look around the house, eyes trained on your back.

“Here,” You say, opening the door to his room. “The bathroom is down the hall, my room is right there– right across, and my mother’s room is the farthest one down the hallway. There’s a, um, study if you'd ever like to read or spend some time in there. Do as you like,” You explain gently, a warm smile on your features. “I was just making lunch. Are you hungry? Would you like some?”

“No thank you,” He says immediately, looking down at you. “Thank you for letting me stay here.”

“Of course! My mother should be here in a few hours. For now, the house is all yours– er, ours, but– well, yeah, yours…” You trail off with embarrassment, looking into his eyes for help, hoping he’ll finish your sentence or laugh it off with you.

He doesn't.

As soon as you back away and start walking back to the kitchen, he shuts the door softly and coupes himself up in there.

You frown to yourself, remembering your mother’s words. He seems very reserved, let him be, he’s been through a lot.

You do just that, careful to not make any noise as you prepare lunch, then sit by yourself at the table to eat. There’s a light clink and clatter of the dishes as you wash them, but you can only hope he doesn’t mind.

Noon turns into night and you’re still alone. You haven’t heard Kiyoomi leave the room or rummage around at all. It’s like he never even arrived.

You’re not surprised when your mother comes home and deems the house empty (besides you being there) and exclaims that the both of you must rush and start working on dinner because Kiyoomi deserves nothing but the best. You feel your skin prickle hot for some reason. She wasn’t wrong, but if Kiyoomi had heard her say it, it sounded like she was one of those old ladies who desperately fawn over younger men. You didn’t want him to get the wrong idea.

You laughed nervously and bumped her hip with yours, quietly telling her that he had already arrived.

She gasps dramatically, hand flying to her heart as she scolds you.

“Why didn’t you invite him out here to sit with you? Has he eaten lunch? Did you offer him lunch? Goodness, my dear, this is no way to host someone. Ask him to step out! Did you show him around the house, at least? Oh, heavens– did you change the sheets?”

Your ears feel terrifyingly warm, knowing very well that your mother was loud enough for Kiyoomi to hear her through closed doors. Just thinking of him overhearing you get scolded made you want to scuffle away and complain in embarrassment to the chickens.

“My apologies, miss.”

The both of you whirl around to see Kiyoomi, who looks absolutely delightful, you think.

His curls are mussed as if he had been sleeping, uniform ditched for a skimpy white undershirt tucked into some slacks, the planes of his chest peeking out and greeting you handsomely. The dog tags that are strung along the chain around his neck glint in the kitchen light, almost like they’re saying Hi. “It’s not her fault, I assure you– I had turned down her offer for lunch, and I just wanted some time to myself after arriving. No hard feelings at all.”

He speaks in such a collected and calm manner, and his face and eyes look empty. He’s good at containing all his emotions.

“Oh,” Your mother breathes out, a wistful smile creeping onto her face. “Oh, my lovely Kiyoomi!” She rushes towards him and cups his face, smushing his cheeks in her hands, beaming up at him. The action makes his eyes widen, hands immediately flying up to push hers away, but he stops himself just in time and lets them fall back to his sides.

“How you’ve grown! My goodness, it’s been ages, my love, please– please sit down, we’ll make some soup, okay? Just rest. Tell us, how have you been? Any good stories?”

She greets him like a mother would, and for a second, you think you see his features relax. Not wanting to get caught ogling at him, you turn and face the cutting board, lining up all the vegetables needed for the soup.

The two talk the entire time, your mother silently leaving the task of cooking up to you. You don’t mind at all, keeping your back to the both of them to hide the look of shyness on your face. Every time Kiyoomi speaks, you feel your hands stutter.

The conversation is mostly your mother gushing over him and how much he’s grown, telling him he’s such a handsome young man, asking him how his trip over here went, and then she asks him if there is a woman in his life. You know that it would be normal for him to feel a little flabbergasted from such a question, but you don’t know why you feel so embarrassed as well.

You figure it’s because if he says he does have a special someone in his life, your mother would turn around and berate you (in front of him) for not being ‘out there’ enough and for not seeing someone already.

To your surprise, he weakly mentions that no, he doesn’t have anyone like that in his life. He quickly excuses it by saying that he had been too busy during the war to worry about such things.

Your mother laughs good-naturedly, flailing her hand around, “Oh, of course. Silly me!”

By the time your mother opens her mouth to tell him that there are plenty of riveting people around town that he may like, you announce with your back still facing them, “Soup’s ready.”

You serve your mother and Kiyoomi, keeping your head down as you approach him and place his bowl on the table. He thanks you in a quiet, rumbly voice that makes you go completely still for a split second.

Conversation dies down as the three of you eat. Your mother has pulled out as much as she can from Kiyoomi. He avoided a lot of questions about the war, about his experiences, about what he saw. You can’t help but wonder.

Your mother interrupts the silence as she subtly turns to face you.

“How are the vegetables doing?”

“Growing,” Is all you respond as you stuff another spoonful of soup into your mouth. She’s grasping at straws to not let the atmosphere turn awkward.

You figure that if Kiyoomi is going to be staying here, may as well be casual, treat him like anyone else (despite the fact that he looks like he came down straight from Heaven).

You shift in your chair, the wood creaking. “Tomorrow, could you buy some more flower seeds from the market? You can pick which. I need to fill in the spaces that were crushed yesterday from all the people.”

Her eyes light up, “Of course, dearie. Thank you for reminding me.”

The two of you talk about mundane things for the rest of dinner, topics you usually discuss. Kiyoomi finds it comforting. Makes him feel more at home.

The next morning, you rise before the sun kisses the sky, as always.

You pull on the short linen clothing you use for working, old stains of mud and grass forever tainting the articles. As quietly as you can, you pad around the house before reaching the back porch, tugging on your work boots before stepping into the fresh morning grass.

Unbeknownst to you, Kiyoomi is also an early riser, a habit that he has cultivated over years of training. He watches you from the backyard’s dutch door, the top half open. He rests his elbows on the bottom half and leans forward, watching and listening as you greet and coo at the chickens like they’re your children. His eyebrows twitch up when he hears you reprimand one– Stop putting grass in the water, Harold!

After you dump out the water, you pick up the water bucket and take it over to the pump, working the water into it. With your back turned to Kiyoomi, you don’t hear as he steps through the grass towards you.

“Good morning,” He greets politely, and you yelp.

Whirling around with the half-full bucket in hand, the water flies out and crashes right into him, soaking his torso and the entirety of his pants.

You drop the bucket.

“Oh my gosh– oh, Kiyoomi— I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry, oh my goodness– I didn’t– I’m so sorry—”

You're petting his torso worriedly, as if your hands will soak up all the water that has been spilled. He knows you have good intentions and are just trying to help somehow get the water to dry, but your touch makes him stiffen.

You’re repeating that you're sorry, and the more that you ramble on, the more he can hear the tremor in your voice as you squeak and swallow and try to push this upcoming embarrassment down. Kiyoomi lifts his hands and places them right on your arms, completely stilling you. “It's fine.”

It comes out clipped, like it's not really fine, but you can’t tell if he's annoyed. His face remains stoic.

“I’m so sorry,” You whisper.

“It's okay. You weren't aware that I was here. I understand.”

You look over him again, the bottom half of his cotton shirt soaked and his pants clinging onto his legs like paint. You’re so embarrassed and ashamed that you can't even find it in yourself to admire him.

“You’ll– you’ll get sick. Let’s go inside,” You plead, stepping away from his touch and gathering your skirt in your hands to run back into the house, hastily kicking off your boots before prying the bottom half of the door open.

He watches you scurry around the house to make him some tea, pouring water into the kettle and sorrowfully letting him know it’s gonna take a few minutes. You advise that he changes but don’t push it on him too much, not wanting to be over controlling.

He disappears into the room and shuts the door, and you plop onto the dining table chair. Resting your head in your hands, you mentally chastise yourself for messing up like this, and on the first day that he's been here, too.

The kettle whistles. You pick yourself up to see Kiyoomi already looking at you, in a pair of clean clothes. Embarrassment crawls up your spine.

“I’m sorry.” You say again, turning to silence the kettle and pour the water into a mug before adding a few loose tea leaves.

“I’ve already forgiven you.”

“I know, I know but– I’m really sorry.”

He only sighs. You take that as a sign he’s frustrated.

“I’m stepping back outside,” You say, “Still have to get stuff done.”

He nods stiffly. You walk with your tail between your legs to the backyard porch, putting on your boots and this time shutting both halves of the dutch door.

You confide and whine to the chickens as you clean up and spread out their food.

Despite the incident, Kiyoomi insists that he help you out in the mornings. He follows you out to the back porch and manages to slip past the threshold before you can shut the bottom half of the dutch door to trap him inside (he can always just open the door and walk by, but you tell him it’s the prospect of trapping him inside that matters the most. His eyebrow twitches at that).

He lingers as you talk to the chickens, which you do quietly now that you know that he’s there. He pretends to look away when you tell Harold good morning.

When you finish saying your greetings to the birds, you tell him to go back inside. This is your job only and he should take this time to rest or get some extra hours of sleep– but he insists. He tells you he can’t sleep for any longer, he’s spent years rising early and getting straight to work and if he were to lay in bed he’d just lay restless.

You know your mother will scold you later, but you offer him some work to do anyway. You tell him to replace the water while you give them fresh food. And he does so gladly, falling into a rhythm with you that, if a stranger looked at the scene, would convince them that he belongs here and always has.

There’s this sort of look of serenity on his face, like he’s content to be doing something rather than staying in the house (which is what your mother has been pressuring him to do).

The rising sun kisses his face, reminding you of his beauty. His skin practically glows and you can’t help but let your eyes linger on the moles on his forehead.

In this kind of lighting, you see faded scars on his hands and arms, earned from hardwork and fighting and war and other things you cannot even imagine. They make him seem gruff (more than he already is) and in a way, scary. But the way he handles the chickens and the land and the water with such a tender touch tells you otherwise. For a brief second, you wonder if he would hold you with such care as well. You shoo the thought away.

Kiyoomi stays with you while you watch over the chickens. He stands while you sit on the grass.

“Talk to them,” You encourage.

He lifts an eyebrow. “And what should I say?”

“Ask them how they are.”

Kiyoomi clears his throat and looks at one of the chickens, “My… My dear Harold,” He starts, “I hope you are in good health.”

You laugh, “So formal, Sakusa.”

He finds himself humming. Humming. Humming in amusement.

When you're done with the chickens, you tell him he can go back inside and relax while you check up on all the vegetables, but he tells you he wants to help with that too.

You untie your apron and start checking on and picking the ripe vegetables, bundling them in the cloth. Kiyoomi, truthfully, seems a little lost as he handles pulling out the vegetables and leafy greens with a sort of hesitance as if he’s afraid to hurt them. You scoot over closer to him and offer some help.

“They won’t cry in agony, Kiyoomi.”

“I–” He starts, embarrassed. “You mistake me.”

“How so?”

He doesn’t answer, runs out of excuses. Suddenly Kiyoomi thinks the sun feels warmer when your hands brush over his own to guide him, encouraging him to pluck at the vegetables. He gets the hang of it, bundling up all the produce in your apron before the two of you make your way back inside.

When your mother sees the both of you step in, kicking off your boots and hands stained with dirt, she tsks at you.

“I specifically told you not to ask for any help.”

Embarrassment blooms in the depths of your chest. Getting scolded in front of Kiyoomi will be the death of you. You want to defend yourself but you don’t want to throw him under the bus, either. You hold the bundle of vegetables and greens closer to your chest, almost protectively.

“She did no such thing,” Kiyoomi interjects before your mother can continue. He stands tall, seems bigger, voice collected but strong enough to cause the both of you to jump. It’s been ages since you and your mother have been in the presence of someone as powerful as Kiyoomi.

He visibly slackens, clears his throat. “She didn’t ask for my help– told me to go inside, actually. I took it upon myself to help her.”

“Oh,” Your mother breathes out, tone suddenly sweet and forgiving. “I see.”

The silence that rests between the three of you could pierce your ears. You skitter into the kitchen to wash all that you’ve collected and leave your mom and Kiyoomi alone. In a matter of seconds, she’s already cooing at him and telling him that there’s no need for him to be working, it’s fine if he wants to rest inside, there’s plenty of time for him to spend his days off. He’s silent in response.

After you make breakfast and your mother leaves for the market, you gather all the dishes and make a beeline for the sink, pouring hot water over the dishes to scrub them clean.

Kiyoomi follows up behind you, rolling up the sleeves of his cotton shirt, bunching it up right above his elbows. You watch as he leans forward to grab a washcloth, swallowing when you see his dog tags swing low as he dips down. They clink back onto his chest when he stands upright.

“Thank you,” He says suddenly, eyes focused on the plate in his hands as he wipes it in a circular motion.

“What for? I should be the one thanking you, Kiyoomi. You defended me in front of my mother.”

He takes a second to formulate what he wants to say. “I must thank you for letting me work with you. I know your mother has good intentions, and I appreciate that she insists I rest.”

You tilt your head up at him, silently asking if he will continue.

Kiyoomi, unbeknownst to you, is facing an internal battle with himself. Years of being in war and surrounded by men who believe vulnerability is weakness often leaves him staying quiet in moments where he wishes to speak. He mulls over what he wants to say again, wondering if you’d laugh him off and tell him to not be silly. But he knows that you sense something is up, your eyes taking on a glimmer of understanding and kindness before you look down at your plate. “I won’t force it out of you, Kiyoomi.”

He looks at you affectionately, but you miss it as you stack the plate on the counter.

“Well, since you’re practically pleading me to share my thoughts, I’ll tell you.”

That makes you laugh. You laugh a gentle little laugh, and Kiyoomi has to turn back and face the dishes so that he doesn’t lose his thoughts.

“Your mother, I… I know she means no harm. I know that she may believe that I need rest and time and some sort of recuperation period. I don’t mean to be rude, but she… it feels as if she is doing worse than good, for me.”

You nearly freeze on the spot, worried about what he’ll say next. You’re scared that you and your mother have ruined his whole stay.

Kiyoomi breathes out your name, “I assure you that I am not a wounded dog that must be left alone to rest and sleep the pain away. I want to live a normal life, now. I’ve faced enough estrangement in the war. Please, allow me to work and live with you just as anyone else would.”

It’s a simple, simple request. A simple request that would have anyone cheering and clapping and showing him to the damaged flowers in the front yard and putting him right to work. It’s a simple request that makes your heart clench and twist in the caverns of your chest, knowing that he wants to live a life of normality and serenity. Knowing that he has opened up to you about being shunned away. It makes you feel trusted, and in a way, sought out.

You’re silent for a beat too long and Kiyoomi looks like he wants to scrub away all the words he just said with the way he resumes at washing his plate. As you set another one to dry, you tell him calmly, to prevent the feeling of pity arising in the air, “Of course, Kiyoomi.”

The corners of his lips twitch up when you tell him the bushes out front need to be trimmed.

You tell your mother of Kiyoomi’s request that same night, and she scoffs and frowns and throws a little fit before she caves. She initially insists that you only give him light work, but eats up her words at the glower you throw her way.

He helps you trim the bushes, the weeds, helps you with the vegetables and the chickens and watches eagerly as you prepare food so that he can take on that task later on.

You stir the soup around in the pot, sprinkling in some herbs and seasonings to add some more flavor. He asks you how much you use, you tell him you just know in your heart when to stop. When the kitchen falls quiet, you pick on him and teasingly ask, And how should you cook? And he answers, suppressing a laugh and an eye roll, With love.

You peer down into the pot.

“Okay. Kiyoomi, I am trusting you to deem it ready. Have a taste. The fate of this dinner falls on you.”

He bites his cheek at your dramatics.

You bring the ladle up to his lips and Kiyoomi has to lean forward a little to meet you halfway. You press the spoon to his lips and he lets the liquid in, his eyes locked on yours as he takes a sip. You feel small in some invigorating, exciting way.

He pulls away to think about the taste. “A little more rosemary.”

You eye him carefully but take his word, dipping the ladle back into the pot and sprinkling in a few more leaves. After a few stirs, you scoop the liquid back into the spoon and hold it up to him again.

He leans forward without being told, almost eager to have you press it to his mouth. Again, he keeps his eyes trained on your face as he has a taste.

When you pull the ladle away, he remains close to you, face inches away from your own.

Your fingers twitch.

“Yes,” He breathes out, your lashes flutter. “It’s ready. Made with love.”

You can’t tell if your mind is playing tricks on you, but he seems to be inching closer and closer, your grip tightening on the end of the ladle as you start freezing up, debating whether or not to shut your eyes.

You watch as his pretty eyes close, and with your heart leaping and palms sweating around the ladle from nervousness and the heat that remains in the small space between you two, you let your eyes slip shut.

You know it– you know it, it’s coming, his lips right against yours, you think you can already taste him—

“I’ve arrived early!”

The both of you jump backwards and the ladle collides with the floor.

“S-Sorry,” You whisper to Kiyoomi, picking up the ladle and tossing it in the sink before grabbing a different one off the kitchen rack. His shoulders sag and you think you hear him sigh, but he composes himself quickly as your mother makes her way into the kitchen.

She sees the two of you in front of the soup pot and beams, missing how stiff the both of you look and how you’re wiping your sweaty hands on your apron.

“Teaching Kiyoomi how to cook? Good! Good good, more men should partake in household chores. I cannot wait to taste how Kiyoomi’s soup comes out, should he cook for us soon.”

He nods curtly, watching as you dip the new ladle into the liquid. You look shaken up, movements jagged and nervous, and he fears he’s done something terribly wrong.

“Did you teach him the most fundamental lesson in cooking, dearie?”

At that, a smile slips onto your face.

“Yes. Cook with love.”

When the three of you eat dinner together, Kiyoomi mulls over the fact that it was made with love. Your love. He wants to eat so much that he feels full of your affections. He wants so much of it that he cannot help but decline anyone else who offers food, because he’ll be full of your love.

You two never bring up the almost-kiss. Kiyoomi is scared that he’s pushed a boundary and you’re scared that you misread the situation– so the two of you remain silent and try to fall back into the familiar pattern of days, the rhythm you two share.

The tension is nearly unbearable when the two of you are less than two feet apart. It almost hurts. It hurts Kiyoomi to look at you so longingly and you never notice. It hurts you when you try to scoot a little closer and all he does is move away. You think it's because he's disgusted with you. He just wants you to feel comfortable.

Days pass and the both of you pack the incident up and back away into the furthest crevice in your minds. Everything seems alright again– you both talk to the chickens, trim the flowers and cook dinner by each other's side.

You’re preparing to cook and pull your apron off the hook rack that’s nailed right by the kitchen entrance. Kiyoomi watches as you slip it on and watches when you huff in frustration as you try to reach behind yourself and tie it off. Your arms start getting sore from the awkward position they've been in, the apron straps unraveling again and again in protest. You’re about to let the damn thing flail loose until you hear Kiyoomi clear his throat behind you.

“Let me help.”

Your cheeks burn.

He delicately takes the straps into his hands, making the base knot against your back and pulling it. “Is that good?”

It’s a little loose.

“Tighter, please.”

He pulls. It’s almost like you’re drawn backward, nearly knocking into his chest. He starts tying up a little bow and you feel the brush of his fingers against the small of your back, shivers running up your spine and shoulders. You have to hold yourself back from twitching.

“There,” He says, taking a step back and admiring his handiwork. He keeps his eyes trained on the bow, tries to hold himself back from drinking in your entire figure.

It’s oddly domestic, intimate. It has you drifting off in thought, has you confirming all your wonders about his touch that had crowded your mind ever since that day when you saw him pull out the vegetables. He is gentle. You can only hope that the softness of his touch is a testament to his feelings (more specifically, his feelings about you).

You cough. You make it awkward. You thank him in a quiet, choked up voice before gathering all the pots needed for dinner before scrambling away to start on the food. Kiyoomi thinks he made you uneasy and this time, stands farther away from you when you show him how to prepare the food. Your heart aches at the same time as his. Both of you are back to square one.

The following days are painfully repetitive. It’s a cycle of the two of you falling back into place, and then your hands brush his, or you catch him staring, or you lean in too close to him, and then the both of you are creating more distance and relapsing into silence and copious amounts of space.

On this particular night, the two of you are sitting far apart, him on the rocking chair with an open book, and you on the other side of the living room, pressed into the far corner of the couch, embroidery hoop in hand.

You could trick yourself into thinking that there’s a sense of peace that blankets the two of you, a scene of quiet comfort and domesticity before there’s a dull knock on the door.

You both freeze. You’re the first one to get up to go check, and Kiyoomi is a little too late in his reaction as he tries to tell you that he’ll get it, a weird sense of protectiveness overcoming him.

The door is already open and the air is knocked out of your lungs.

Before you stands a tall, handsome man, brown hair slightly disheveled, a smile growing as he looks down at you. He is very attractive. But not as charming as Kiyoomi, a voice in your head whispers.

“Well, well, well,” He starts, leaning onto the door frame. “Didn’t know Omi was staying with a pretty little lady.”

“Miya,” You hear from behind you, nearly jumping as your skin burns hot knowing there are two striking men trapping you.

“Ah! My old friend!” The man cheers, his eyes searching yours for approval to step inside. Without any hesitation, you grant him access, slowly backpedaling into Kiyoomi’s chest with a squeak before he moves out of the way, the two of you letting the man inside (much to Kiyoomi’s dismay).

“Miya,” Kiyoomi starts again, gaze hardened. “What are you doing here?”

“Don’t be like that, my good friend,” The man, Miya, repeats. “Hurts when you address me by last name.”

Kiyomi doesn’t retort. He won’t play into the man’s tricks of beating around the bush.

Finally, he fesses up.

“Bo and Shoyo and I are going to meet up at the pub in a bit, thought you’d like to come along.”

You see Kiyoomi make a face.

“I have suffered enough from your presence over the last few years. Please do not try to rope me back into your antics.”

“Omi!” The grown man whines, face falling before he remembers that you’re standing there. Slowly, his face shifts into a wicked smile, and Kiyoomi’s frown deepens.

“Ah ah ah,” He starts, dipping down and leaning in closer as if he’s examining you. “I know why you’re so adamant about staying. Find yourself a pretty little wife?”

The both of you choke.

You’re about to protest, but Kiyoomi is pushing Miya out the door, effectively letting you hide behind the broad expanse of his back, but you peek out from behind him to see what’s happening.

“If I– If I go with you this time, will you swear to not come back?”

“Don’t be like that, Omi.”

“Miya.”

“Just say Atsumu! And fine! I won’t visit after this. Won’t steal your pretty lady away.”

“You are unbearable.”

Your cheeks feel hot as Kiyoomi turns around to face you, face irritated.

“I’ll be on my way. I should be back before it gets too dark out. Please stay safe.”

You give him a meek goodbye as you watch him pull his coat from the rack next to the door and slide it on, watch closely as he threads his arms through the sleeves, watch as the article fits snugly against his form, watch as he again proves that he is a sight for sore eyes.

After you shut and lock the door, you rush to the kitchen window to get a peek at the both of them descending the porch stairs, watch as Atsumu laughs and hangs close to Kiyoomi as the latter tries again and again to maintain the space between them and throws unimpressed looks his way.

When your mother comes home, you tell her Kiyoomi went out with his friends. She smiles and thanks the heavens, happy that he’s finally getting out there. She tells you she hopes he finds someone he may like while he’s out.

You only hum in response.

Hours pass and Kiyoomi is still out. You and your mother have already eaten dinner and she’s already fast asleep. You’re already in your nightgown and tired of waiting around.

You step outside and stand by the chicken coop. You watch them sleep and some of them scatter around and you talk to them as if you’re sending wishes to the universe. Tell them you hope Kiyoomi is okay. Tell them you hope he gets home safe.

As soon as you’re stepping back inside the house, there are drunken laughs and weak knocks at the front door. Not wanting to seem too excited, you take a few deep breaths to pass time before you hear that Miya boy holler out a muffled Pretty lady, come and get him! Which is nearly cut off by a familiar groan. Kiyoomi throws some swear words around.

You open the door and find that the two of them were using it as support as they nearly fall into you. Atsumu catches you before you can trip on your own feet and fall backward.

“Hi,” He breathes out into your face, and you have to hold back from scrunching your nose. He smells of liquor but his steady arms keep you rooted in place, his physique nearly swallowing you whole.

“Hello,” You start, hyper aware of how you look and if you have any blemishes on your face and how close the two of you are, but before you can think of anything else to find a flaw in, Atsumu is pulled back by Kiyoomi.

“Stop terrorizing my host,” Kiyoomi hiccups out, trying his hardest to remain stern and imposing, but his friend only laughs brightly.

Atsumu slurs out your name, “You must know,” He starts, leaning his arm on the door frame, trying to pose coolly. “Omi mentioned you an awful lot tonight. Think he might have taken a—”

“Miya.”

“Yes, my most beloved Omi,” Atsumu professes, cheeks pink and dewy from all the alcohol. “I’ll leave you two be.”

He clumsily spins on his heel, trips on his way down the steps, and crushes another flower bush.

Your eyes flash with pain and Kiyoomi shuts the door before you can see Atsumu trip into anything else. He’s rather good at composing himself, straightening his face and posture as he looks at you.

“Would you like some dinner?”

“Yes, please.”

You find out soon that Kiyoomi is mouthy when he’s drunk. After you reheat what was left over from dinner and slide the plate towards him, he asks that you sit down with him. His face flashes with disappointment when you sit across from him instead of right by his side.

In his drunken state, he spills all that he’s kept inside without you even needing to probe. Tells you he plans to get going soon, has his eye on a place, tells you he's ready to move on and start life from scratch. He tells you he's tired of you avoiding him like the plague, but there's no malice behind his voice– only pure disappointment, like he’s sulking. At that, you perk up and lean forward, guiltily trying to fish some more out of him.

“Hate that you stay so far away,” He grumbles before stuffing his fork in his mouth. “Always jumping and skittering around me like I’m, I’m– frightening. Hate that you think I’m scary.”

He hates that you keep your distance, hates that you've deemed him untouchable, hates that you see him as some warlord man who will crush you beneath the soles of his shoes if you utter something incorrectly.

“Miya,” He suddenly blurts, and for a second you think he thinks you’re the man that just left.

“Miya told me to confess to you.”

Your blood runs cold. Confess…?

Kiyoomi is quiet after that, finishing up his food with sad eyes. He wants more and more and more, any drop of your love that he can get, he will take it.

You don't ask if he means confessing by telling you all that he hates or if he means confessing something else. Something else that has your stomach stirring, heart doing odd twists as your fist the skirt of your dress. It's hard to think about it when he's right in front of you and slurring his words and clumsily pushing his plate away. It's something you must think about later, in the solace of your own room.

When he’s done, you help him shrug off his coat, watch as the expanse of his back reveals himself to you. You guide him to his room, expecting him to close the door as soon as he steps in again, but this time, he turns to face you and leans on the frame. He swallows as he looks over you, eyes droopy and tired, and he looks so vulnerable in this light. He’s loosened up, mouth parted only slightly as he lets his eyes wander where he usually doesn't when sober, lets his mind think what he usually holds back on any other day.

He breathes out your name. You look up at him curiously.

“I wish you could come with me.”

You stiffen. You gently place your hands on his chest and push him back into his room slowly– your touch makes him smile.

“Goodnight, Kiyoomi,” is all you say.

“Goodnight, angel.”

Just like the almost-kiss, neither of you bring up what Kiyoomi said that night. It's an elephant in the room– at least, to you. You’re not sure if Kiyoomi even remembers what he said. (He does).

The two of you delve into another game of dancing around each other in circles, putting on a show that makes it seem like everything's alright and that your hearts don’t ache. Neither of you are aware that when night falls and you're in your respective rooms, the both of you dwell and worry about what you've said and done.

As of late, Kiyoomi hasn't been around. He still helps you with his morning tasks, but after breakfast, he slips out of the house and tells you he will be searching around town for work with his friend Miya. You know that he doesn't owe you any explanations, but some part of you appreciates it.

(Kiyoomi knows this, too. He wants you to know he isn't seeking anyone else out there).

Day in and day out, he's around less and less. You start to think that Kiyoomi is now trying to get rid of his feelings ever since you didn't exactly reciprocate what he said that night, when he was drunk.

One heartbreaking evening, Kiyoomi announces that he’ll be leaving soon over dinner. Your mother has a big smile on her face as she congratulates him and cups his face and cries on and on about how proud she is and that he deserves all the best. You nod along to everything that she says, but your vision blurs and all the twines of your fork blend together and it’s hard to see what you’re eating. It's even harder to hold back your sniffles as she starts asking him where he’ll move and where he’ll be working and if he's met anyone. She's always on his back about that last one. It makes your heart feel bitter and heavy.

The next morning, your mother insists that she go out to the market and get Kiyoomi some farewell gifts. He reassures her that she doesn't really have to, tries to convince her to stay as she's already putting on her coat, and then she's walking out the door.

Kiyoomi asks if you could help him tidy up before he leaves. It’s more of a statement than a question, so you oblige.

You help him take off his sheets and load them into a basket to wash later. You wipe down the dresser and the desk, help sweep the floors, help him fold his clothing neatly so that his suitcase shuts securely.

When everything's done, you wipe your hands nervously on your apron and give him a curt nod, turning to leave the room.

“Stay,” He suddenly blurts, fists clenching at his sides. “I have to tell you something before I go.”

And so you turn and face him, letting your hands fall to your sides. He steps closer to you.

“Before I go,” He starts, eyes scanning your face for any emotion, but he gets nothing. You look numb.

“I don’t expect anything from you in return, but I must tell you, or else I don’t think I can live with myself. You,” He hesitates, feeling like he instead wants to turn away and save it for another day.

The curious glimmer in your eye pulls him back in.

“You have captured my heart,” Kiyoomi says breathlessly, “The entirety of my soul. I have no regrets in opening myself up to you, in letting you in, and I can say that you have made me a better man. I want to be vulnerable with you as I am now, time and time again. I want us to be one, but to be our own all at once.”

His eyes search yours frantically, “I love you.”

Your mouth drops open.

Hands shaky, you try smoothing out your dress and formulating a response, the right response, one that tells him you feel the same.

Kiyoomi begins to lean away, taking a step back, face calm. “As I’ve said, I don’t expect anything from you in return. You can leave, if you wish.”

You stay rooted still.

“Kiyoomi,” You finally squeak, voice cracking like you're on the verge of tears. The tone of it makes him stand up a little straighter, like he's worried about what he's done, but then you're beckoning him forward with your hand.

He comes in closer, approaching you like you’re injured- gentle and calm like he mustn't startle you any further. You try to lean into him, try to pull him closer, hands wrapping around his shirt and bringing him towards yourself, voice shaky as you manage to get out, “And I you.”

It’s all he needs. It’s all he needs before he’s dipping down, lips slotting against your own as you sigh out wantonly. Days and weeks and months of pent up feelings and unspoken words all pour out in one kiss, a kiss that has you stumbling backward and grasping at his shirt, his hands roaming down your back and pulling you into him, closer and closer and closer, like he is going to fuse the two of you together.

(He wants to).

It isn’t long until you find yourself pressed into his bed, both of your clothes thrown into some corner of the room, underwear torn off as he hovers above you, licking into your mouth and grinding against your cunt.

“Kiyoomi,” You whimper once he pulls away. “Please.”

He dips down again to kiss and nip at your chest, the metal of his tags stinging your skin and giving you shivers. Kiyoomi hums into your shoulder, licks a stripe up your neck before lifting himself off the bed, planting his hands on your hips. He drags you closer to him, lifting you up as he drags his cock over your warmth.

“Such a pretty little cunt,” he groans as he slips in, eyes falling shut when you immediately flutter around him. Kiyoomi almost falters, almost curls in on himself and leans atop of you again before he collects himself and starts dragging his cock in and out, hissing at the way you clamp down on him.

It’s a build up, Kiyoomi starting gentle and slow until you’re bucking up your hips and whining at him to go faster, till the only thing you can get out is a weak string of please please please.

Kiyoomi cages you beneath him again as he starts drilling into you, broken cries slipping past your lips as your hands race up and down his back, leaving light scratches that make him moan so prettily right by your ear.

He brings his hands to your thighs, pushing them up and trapping them against your chest and your eyes roll back, body falling pliant to him. He’s so close, all up in your face and humming about how wet you are for him, how fucking good you feel, how you’re made for me, doll, all for me.

His breath fans your face as he thrusts into you desperately, making the bed shake. The tags on his chain bump into your chin, clinking softly like little chimes and bringing you back time and time again as your mind spirals under the feeling of him pounding into you. Kiyoomi grunts and lifts himself up for the fastest second, taking the tags in hand and ripping the chain off his neck, metal grazing the wood floor as it slides away. His irritation with it makes you want to laugh, but the sound gets caught in your throat as his cock hits the sweetest spot in you, making your toes curl as you cry out his name.

He watches you as your hands sneak down, nimble fingers spreading apart your folds to try and get a good look at his length sliding in and out of you. Kiyoomi looks down, watches the spot where the two of you meet, watches as his dick comes out covered in slick before pushing himself back in.

“Fuck, fuck, angel, you’re so– so good, such a good girl for me.”

Your head bobbles up and down in a nod, weakly whimpering out his name, “I want to cum, please let me– let me cum all over you, Kiyoomi!”

He shudders, hand coming up to grab at your jaw. “Look at me. Look at me when you cum.”

You sob out pathetically, legs shaking and twitching as you tighten around him, gushing for what seems like hours until you fall limp, tears invading your vision. Kiyoomi murmurs praises into your cheek before planting both hands on your hips again, using you to reach his high, and you let him, let yourself be his little doll.

You feel his warm seed trickle into you, stomach fluttering at the sensation before he collapses on top of you.

Kiyoomi nestles his face into your chest for a few minutes before rolling onto his side, cupping your cheek with his big hand. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

You nodded, trying to scoot in closer to him, albeit weakly.

“I love you, Kiyoomi.”

He smiles. He’s beautiful, you think. He opens his mouth to return the affection, your hand coming up to brush his curls away, but there’s a telltale sound at the door that alarms the both of you.

In an instant, you two are up, laughing and tripping over your own feet, Kiyoomi hustling into his slacks as you awkwardly slide your dress back on, thumping into the footboard of the bed as your mother chirps out like a bird, “I’m home!”

“Your mother,” Kiyoomi says in a hushed tone, leaning close to you as he buttons up his shirt, “Always has to go and interrupt us.”

You smile up at him cheekily, and he catches the mischievousness in your eyes.

“Just means that you must take me with you, I presume?”

You step out into the grass of the backyard, the sun already hanging in the sky since you’re a little bit late to your task. Nonetheless, you head straight towards the chicken coop and unfasten the doors, the chickens pouring out and clucking around obnoxiously, as they always have. The rest is muscle memory– throw out the old water, replace it, add in fresh food, sit with the chickens. The familiarity of it all soothes you– not that you need soothing. You simply feel in touch with your roots again.

“Good morning, Harold.” You jeer at one particular chicken, who eyes you warily. You laugh. “Now don’t be jealous, I’ll always come back to check on you.”

He gives an approving cluck.

You gather yourself and get back up, slipping off your boots on the back porch. As you approach the dutch door, you see someone already leaning onto the bottom half of it, a little bouquet in hand.

“He told me to give this to you,” Your mother swoons, holding out the bundle of flowers to you. A laugh bubbles at your lips as you observe the flowers, holding the stems together, “Aren’t these from the front yard? Such a romantic,” You joke, rolling your eyes as you make your way inside. You tuck the flowers into one of your mother’s vases to keep them safe.

“I’ll get started on breakfast,” You call out, despite it already being later in the day and, technically, lunch time would be rolling around.

“Oh no no,” You mother gasps, a sound that you had become all too familiar with when Kiyoomi was around, when she’d clutch her chest in shock.

“You rest, my dear, I’ll start working on the food.”

“Mother,” You press, “You need to go rest. That’s the exact reason why we came over here!”

“Nonsense!” She chimes, pushing you down to sit at the dining table as she pads over to the kitchen. You remain still for a few moments to appease her, but then the front door creaks open and you’re on your feet immediately.

“Hi lover,” You say almost bashfully as Kiyoomi approaches you, wiping the sweat off his forehead as he sinks down to kiss your forehead, your chin, your lips.

“Hi, my little doll,” he mutters against you before pulling away. “Did you like the flowers I got you?”

You laugh, observing the green and brown stains on his white undershirt, evidence of his hard work in the front yard. “I shouldn’t be praising a thief, seeing as you took my mother’s flowers right from her yard.”

“Oh?” He suddenly challenges, “I think this thief deserves a little praise, seeing as I successfully made your heart mine.”

You can’t help but scoff, tongue poking at your cheek with how embarrassing he is, how corny he’s become now that he’s in love.

Your mother scurries back in with two plates in hand, telling you both to Sit, sit! like dogs, and Kiyoomi looks at you with a knowing smile on his face. Always interrupting things.

As the three of you start eating, your mother points her fork accusingly at you.

“And you, my sweet girl, better eat up. You need more nutrients for when a baby is on the way.”

You choke. Kiyoomi smiles into his cup as he takes a sip.

“We’re not expecting,” You scold, stabbing your fork into your food. “You can’t just say things like that, mother—”

“How come? You never know! With the two of you in that new big home, you’ll surely want to fill in some space. You’re young! There’s no shame!”

“You’re the one who may as well fill up the space, visiting nearly every day!”

“Oh honey, I’m just excited for you—”

The bickering is all in good fun, Kiyoomi knows. He takes your hand into his underneath the table, finger brushing against the golden band that encompasses your own.

Yes, he thinks to himself, heart swelling. Perhaps it’s time to start filling up the space.

#sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #kiyoomi x reader #sakusa smut #sakusa kiyoomi smut #hq x reader #hq smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #sakusa fluff

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landitolover · 5 months

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𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍𝒔 𝒐𝒏 𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒎 in which pierre is dating everyone’s favorite singer! ౨ৎ pierre x female!singer!reader

Liked by ynswife, pierregasly, xoxoyn, and 43,789 others

ynupdates Y/n, her first night and her first time playing in paris!! She preformed amazing and gave us a sneak peak of her new song, “dance with me” 🥹 who could this song be about ? 🧐🧐

view all 678 comments..

user why did paris do to deserve this..😐😐 Like wdym they got a sneak peak of her new song????? 😭😭

→ user RIGHT like stop it oui oui bitches.

user she made dance with me for me wdym

user i’d kill to see her live 😭

user what’s happening to me?? 🧍‍♀️-🧎‍♀️-🎸

user PARIS GO SUCK A DICK

user i lost a song i didnt even know i could Lose.

→ user LITERALLY.

user PIERRE SIR WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE

user her outfit is so cute 😭❤️

→ user rightt, shes always eating

Liked by yourbestie, charles_leclerc, and 998,788 others

yourusername thank u france 🥖🥖🇫🇷🇫🇷 love u ❤️❤️🙈🙈

view all 3,479 comments..

yourbestie who is this french man mrs ……. ?!?!?!!!!

→ yourusername Idk i was just kissing a random baguette man i found on the street :///

→ yourbestie ur gonna get a disease from kissing a random french man………

→ yourusername ouch. -french man

user we lost her to a french man ☹️

→ yourusername dw he will never compete with u guys

user IS THIS THE MAN SHES WRITING A SONG FOR?????

→ yourusername thank u to my maaan 🫡

user i can tell pierres hair, and thats his hair in the 3rd pic.

→ user yeah cause that bitch is balding

→ user LMFAO THATS FOUL 😭😭

user the last picture is literally PIERRE.. ARE THEY TRYING TO BE OBVIOUS

→ user right they’re not even hiding it

Liked by yourbestie, yukitsunoda0511, and 345,971 others

pierregasly Over the break 💕

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yukitsunoda0511 I really like your photographer 😂

→ pierregasly Thanks yuki, I love her too 😂

charles_leclerc Seems like you’ve been having some fun over the break 🫣

→ pierregasly 🤔🤔

user AAAHSOXOSAOS YN YN YN

→ user who is yn and why do people think she’s with pierre??

→ user she’s an artist! you should search her up/ listen to her!!

user pierres soft launch era!! get rid of it. I NEED TO KNOW WHO SHE IS

user i love how yuki is still in these photo dumps ❤️

Liked by pierregasly, yourbestie, and 134,889 others

yourusername hellloooo everybody!!!!!!!! new single out in a few days (yay) it’s called “dance with you” 💌

View all 589 comments

user WE’RE FINALLY GETTING FEED

user EVERYONE SAY THANK YOU TO HER MAN, HE GAVE OUR GIRL INSPO

→ user thank you kind sir we don’t know of

→ user thank you for making our mother write love songs x

→ user THANK 😭 U 😭 YN’S 😭 MAN 😭😭😭😭😭😭

user my prayers have been answered 😭🙏🏼

user CANT WAIT OH MU GOD

user I’m so ready to stream this song everyday and cry.

→ yourusername don’t cry babes 😞❤️ ILY

user LETS GO LESTS GOO WE WON

user cancelling all my plans just in case she calls !!

→ yourusername BACK WHEN I WAS LIVIN FOR THE HOPE OF IT ALL

user GIRL I CANT WAIT U NEED TO RELEASE IT RIGHT THIS SECOND

user this is so AUAAGDUWOQDFC

pierregasly added to their story

seen by ynupdates charles_leclerc 252,676 others

YN 💕

PIERRE OH MY GOD

WHY WOULD U …

BAEB 🙊🤍

I MEANT TO PUT IT ON MY CLOSE FRIENDS I SWEAR

i mean ITS NOT LIKE PEOPLE DIDNT ALREADY KNOW..??

YN 💕

well YEAH.. but I wanted to tell my fans myself 😒

BAEB 🙊🤍

i’m sorry 😞

at least your single comes out in a few days .. ??

YN 💕

😒😒

ok wait

i forgive u 🤍🤍🥖🥖

BAEB 🙊🤍

❤️❤️❤️

Liked by yukitsunoda0511, pierregasly, and 88,992 others

yourusername a very wise man once told me it wouldn’t b a photo dump if yuki weren’t in it … so i kidnapped him so he could be in my photo dump, thanks yuki ❤️🙊🐈‍⬛🥖

tagged yukitsunoda0511 pierregasly

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user YUKI WHAT ARE U DOIN HERE

→ user more like what is PIERRE doing here …

user i hope yk how to fight pierre fucking gasly

user plot twist what if shes dating yuki

→ user its time to take ur meds babe! all these soft launch pictures we’ve gotten have BROWN HAIR !! does yuki have brown hair ? no!!

→ user jesus girl i was joking .. maybe YOU should take ur meds, insane ass…

user the last photo 😭😭

→ user shes so real fo that though cause what is up with these sassy men

→ yourusername sassy men apocalypse 🧟

user this is by far my favorite post ever cause YUKI LOOKS SO ADORABLE 😞❤️

user i am so SICK. HUST POST YOU AND PIERRE KISSING OR SOMETHING 😭😭😭 PLEASE I CANNOT KEEP WAITING FOR YOU GUYS TO CONFIRM IT YOURSELF. PLEASE YOU GUYS ARE SO SICK AND FUCKIGN TWISTED 😭😭😭😭

→ user preach 🗣️🗣️🗣️💯💯💯

user poor yuki he had to third wheel

→ user wdym yn was third wheeling

yukitsunoda0511 I have a family please let me go

→ yourusername never 😹🙊

pierregasly my little photographer

→ yourusername i should start charging u..

→ pierregasly no … you can’t, I’m broke

→ yourusername you make more money than I do ????

Liked by pierregasly, yourbestie, and 99,192 others

yourusername heeyyoo! “dance with me” out noow…!!! and by the way, I DO really like you pierregasly 🤍🤍🥖🥖⭐️⭐️

View 1,230 comments

user SHUT UP OH MY GOD

user no…. NO….. I LOST MY WIFE……

user yn does this mean we’ll get more love songs 🎀

→ yourusername oui ☺️☺️🫰🏼🫰🏼⭐️⭐️

user i just fell to my knees in a walmart parking lot

user what if i just 🪦

user you’re so silly bae 😂😂 you and ur a.i boyfriend 😂😂

→ yourusername sorry x

→ user excuse me where can i get a french a.i boyfriend like u

→ yourusername uhm ask yukitsunoda0511 he got it for me!!!!

user DANCE WITH ME STAYS ON REPEAT

user im throwing up

charles_leclerc Does this mean I can’t take him on dates anymore ?

→ yourusername can i take your girlfriend out? cause then the answer is yes charlie 🦎🦎

→ charles_leclerc 🧐🧐 Maybe….

pierregasly dance with me is the best song in existence ❤️❤️

→ yourusername thank u babe 🤍🤍😊😊🫰🏼🫰🏼

pierregasly I’m glad that I can finally post you

→ yourusername I love you 🥹🤍🤍

user AUATAAHH FINALLY

→ user I WON I WON I WON

→ user MY PARENTS

→ user SCREAMING AND SOBBING SO HARD RIGHT NOW

user they’re so ☺️☺️

user I ALWAYS KNEW U WERE MEANT FOR THAT WAG LIFE QUEEN

→ user wait PLS tell me you’ll be at the races 😭🙏🏼

→ yourusername of course! definitely not all of them but i’ll try my hardest to come 💕😊

Liked by yourusername, yukitsunoda0511, and 87,778 others

pierregasly Je t'aime my red panda 🤍

tagged yourusername

View all 767 comments

user HE CAN’T KEEP GETTING AWAY WITH THIS 😭😭

user seeing this makes me feel . DISGUSTED

user if you look closely you can see me violently sobbing in the corner.

user you guys are so cute!!!!!!!!! 😂 (i literally just kms)

user always these damn white men

user my parents 4eva

user yourusername when does the love album for pierre come out babes x

→ yourusername feb 7th 🦎

user the 😭 caption 😭. my 😭 red 😭 panda 😭

user pierre how do u feel after pulling the baddest girl ever

pierregasly amazing cause i ❤️ my gf

user yn bae how long has this been going on !!

→ yourusername 50 years

landonorris LET ME GO TO YOUR CONCERTS YN

→ yourusername of course landobum x

charles_leclerc so cute (yuck)

yukitsnoda0511 you’re welcome for setting you up with her 🙄

→ yourusername THANK YOU SO SO SO MUCH FOR THE MOST WONDERFUL BF EVER YUKI ⭐️⭐️🫰🏼🫰🏼

→ pierregasly THANK YOU YUKI!! I’LL BUY YOU ALL THE FOOD YOU WANT🫡❤️

౨ৎ helloooo ! i hope u like this 😁😁 idk what to say tbh cause this is just a re upload …. I WILL TRY TO POST FOR DULCE HOTLINE SOON 🤓 i’ve been kinda busy tho, sorry ☹️😞

#𓇼 landitolover #꩜ my writings #f1 #f1 fanfic #formula one #f1 x reader #female reader #smau #pierre gasly #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly x you #alpine #beabadoobee #motorsports #f1 x female reader

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starlostseungmin · 21 days

Text

stray kids ─── as one direction songs.

✰ pairing : non-idol!skz x afab!reader

✰ genre : fluff, angst, maybe suggestive?

✰ warnings : subtle mentions of sex and drugs, kissing, mentions of food and profanity. lmk if i missed smth.

✰ notes : uhm i really don't know what i wrote. this has been sitting on my drafts since november and thank god anon reminded me about it (i actually went on hiatus after minho's birthday last year so yeah) the songs i associated with skz members are just strongly my opinion mehehe i hope you guys like it, idk if you agree with me in regards with the songs but DO NOT FORGET TO REBLOG, COMMENT AND LEAVE TAGS after it! thank you so much <33

✰ tags : @notastraykid , @ameliesaysshoo , @l3visbby , @reignessance , @lix-ables , @skzfelixlove , @rachabreathing , @hyunverse , @minluvly

masterlist | taglist.

chan ─── perfect

honorable mention: little things

you already know how fucked up your life is but ever since he came, those days became different. it is always the small gestures that one fails to notice in the blink of an eye. you are just going to be surprised by the time it is done or how you managed to get out of a small inconvenience. he loves you so much that he would put you first before anything else.

chan is different from everyone else. maybe because he is labeled to be kind and so above average of doing the bare minimum which people seek from their partners. he’s perfect but he doesn’t think of it the same way.

you tried to convince him a hundred times but all you got in response is him being a blushing mess and his giggle that makes your heart warm every time you hear it. a smile would tug on your lips that would make him stare at you, he’d bounce back on the things you said to him and you think about what did you do in your past life to deserve someone as perfect as him.

“baby, you’re perfect,” you said for the nth time, “no, i’m not, but i’m perfect for you,” he winked. “that was smooth, chan,”

lee know ─── night changes

he might be the type to not show his feelings immediately but he’s the one who subtly shows them. it started slowly, he reassured you that everything would fall into place once you both could figure out what was going on with this relationship.

but as long as you’re together, the love you and him shared will never change. although the process of this love story has made things go in different directions, the thought of having to stick together is essential.

your parents didn’t like him at first, they had someone in mind and that wasn’t him and yet, you didn’t care even if your first date was a disaster and the next one after that, but that didn’t stop you. it took a while for your parents to finally accept him after tons of convincing them that he’s a great guy, but it succeeded later on.

you had a place on your own and welcomed his cats to live with you when some of them were wild, that’s what you think. minho was a mess when you met him, but thanks to you, it’s not that bad anymore.

changbin ─── temporary fix

honorable mention: i want to write you a song

changbin is the type to offer himself as someone you can lean on but it’s not always because of this friendship you have, but as a lover who wanted to make you feel better and forget about shit.

temporary fix is not always meant to be a cover-up of something you’d open up again to allow another train of bullshits in your life. it felt like he was being sent from the heavens to look out for you, an angel whose sole mission is to make you happy, the same feeling like something that keeps you high.

there’s this thing on changbin’s vibe that you don’t want to share with anybody else and he makes you feel things when you’re with him. even though this relationship sounds like a fling and a guy who sneaks into your dorm late at night to make out with you, well, it used to be. but you know changbin is so much more than that after a while.

the phrase, “you can call me when you need me, you know?” whenever he sleeps with you is now in the trashbin the moment you settle to be someone to each other.

hyunjin ─── last first kiss

remember the time when he said that he chose to be the last love instead of the first? exactly. being the last person to love is basically spending the rest of your life with him, even if he’s not your first kiss, not your first love, not your first in everything, it’s fine as long as he’ll be the one you’ll remember as your eternal love.

hyunjin being fitted into this song is like a message that he wanted to convey to his love, a sentiment that would indicate how much he’d spend time and effort to stay by your side until the end of time. indeed, a hopeless romantic man he is.

last first kiss is the very first song that reminds you of him, it is part of those memories you made with him. it was that time when he decided to take this relationship to the next level, yes, he did mention that he wanted to be your last, and by what he meant, an everlasting love.

“let me be your last,” and when you heard him say that, you knew he was the man who fits perfectly into your broken puzzle that would mend the wound forever.

han ─── rock me

honorable mention: midnight memories

rock me suits him as well as midnight memories. but midnight memories have their effects on han, giving him the vibes of being a musician specializing in the rock genre. and as someone who loves to listen to almost every genre in the world, you fell in love with him after watching him busking by the streets.

you were amazed by how talented he is. his fingers strummed that guitar well, and his voice? like an angel. one could say that he is a free-spirited human being who does whatever he wants and writes songs about some things that piqued his interest.

then there’s you, a broken melody who longed for him to come back, the same goes for him who let you go. both of you thought that you were too young to be in love and jisung was better off alone but his songs were dedicated to your break up. you rocked his world when you came and left broken notes when it ended.

but he always believed that what you had back then, was real and that you’d always remember the love you had.

felix ─── why don’t we go there

honorable mention: kiss you

felix is someone who gets hyped easily whenever you’re with him. his bright smile, his funny reactions, and the unidentified sounds that came out of his mouth made him a fun guy to be with. it started with a fling that turned out to be something you didn’t want to rush but it is slowly beginning to have a label.

having a relationship with him offered different dynamics. it is the way he grabs your hand when you both start to get caught by the waves crashing by the shore or how he felt when you kissed him for the first time. he is someone who can get dragged with you to whatever your plan is, a great ball of sunshine to your rainy days, someone that you don’t want to be the one that got away.

he does think the same, especially the fact that he treasures you so much and it became an opportunity to love you more when you spend that one night together somewhere, alone. it was an invitation actually and it made you realize a lot of things.

it is the way he looked at those stars with those dazzling eyes of his. the constellation plastered on his cheeks glowed along with them, it is what they call freckles, you love them as much as how felix felt for you. having him as a getaway made you don’t want to come back, ever again.

seungmin ─── no control

night changes was the first choice but then no control became the one for him, no control, because he is, a menace. he believed that being in love was something that gullible people would do and get hurt, maybe a few of them proved it to be valid and worth it, yet he isn’t convinced because it is just a waste of time.

and yet, you came out of nowhere. it is the way he looks at you with those dazzling puppy eyes, the way he obeys the things you wanted him to do, and it gets worse when you share intimate affections. from a gentle puppy to a wild wolf. there’s something about you that drives him crazy every time.

nothing matters to him when you’re around and he never felt this way before. he’d kiss you out of nowhere when you reached home with your back against the wall as your hands played with his hair. he gets weak and powerless, but gets hyped and rough which you get caught off guard every time.

and he is very loyal, he always makes sure that no other will ever meet his interest. you don’t want to share, anyway and you got him down bad.

jeongin ─── summer love

honorable mention: fool's gold.

loving jeongin is like a breath of fresh air, the freedom that he finally held in his hands, and the time he can make up for himself to be with you. it was a reckless summer that you spent in your grandma’s place, away from the bustling city and this boy showed up on your doorsteps.

it didn’t take a while that you immediately had this puppy love type of interest in each other. you started sneaking out in the middle of the night when your grandma was in her deep sleep, swimming together by the river across the small town on a random afternoon, sharing a kiss under an oak tree that tasted like your grandma’s apple pie, it was great. you didn’t want it to end.

and just like any other summer, it did. you didn’t know if you would still have this continuous conversation when the school year starts since jeongin is miles away from where you live.

you saw him sitting on one of those branches of the oak tree where you kissed for the first time, and there you promised not to lose each other even if the summer ended. you couldn’t believe that what you did for less than two months was this serious. it was hard to say goodbye, yet you hoped nothing would change after the last summer’s sunset.

©️ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐌𝐈𝐍 , 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒.

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sincerelyneo · 27 days

Text

hickeys | z.cl

❯ summary: Your boyfriend, Chenle, is competitive. And even though the comment about you giving better hickeys than him was a joke — he’s always up for the chance to prove you wrong. Yes, he loves you, but that doesn’t mean he’d let you get away with thinking he was bad at something — especially not something you claim you’re better at than him — so he settles it.

❯ pairings: chenle x fem!reader

❯ genre: established relationship, very suggestive, fluffish, very slight minor angst, reader is slightly inexperienced.

❯ words: 2.9k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, marking/hickeys, a lot of kissing, light petting, chenle is sulky, brief mentions of jealousy, chenle and reader have a hickey competition idk????

“Can you believe the nerve of that guy?” your boyfriend huffs, shaking off his coat as the two of you usher through your shared apartment.

He’s pissed — scrap that — he’s beyond fuming. He’s angry that the guy at the coffee shop you frequent every morning thought he could ask you for your number the moment he slipped away to the bathroom.

He just can’t seem to quite understand it. It’s not like you were alone — you and Chenle had walked in together. And Chenle knew the guy on the counter knew who he was because, for the last three months of your relationship, the two of you had made it a habit to get coffee at that same cafe on your street corner every morning.

“He probably just didn’t realise we were together. Don’t think too hard about it babe,” you say wrapping your hands around his waist as he hangs up his stuff on the coat rack.

Chenle rolls his eyes before turning around. He’s upset you’re trying to brush this off, but he knows it’s not your fault so he still places a gentle kiss on the top of your head. Then, he unwraps your hands from him and walks to sink into the soft black couch, pulling out his phone and scrolling through it.

You know he’s still pissed but is pretending not to be. You see the harsh way he’s gripping his phone case, and the way his eyebrows keep knitting together, and the frustrated sighs he keeps letting pass through his nose.

But the whole thing is silly really — but you know he doesn’t see it that way. And honestly, if the shoe was on the other foot, you’d be beyond pissed too.

“He didn’t realise we were together my ass,” he mumbles.

You cross your arms over your chest as you stand in front of him, “are you seriously jealous right now?”

He sees the way you’re smirking at him, teasing him, and he hates it.

“Being jealous would mean he has something I want-” he puts his phone down on the spot next to him and leans forward on his knees, eyes fixed on you “-I already have you. He should be jealous of me.”

You let that comment slide with a roll of your eyes.

“He might just be new, LeLe, and he might not have seen us walk in together.”

Chenle knows that’s not possible. He knows the barista was not some new recruit — he was the same guy he’s clocked eyeing you every time he seemed to be on shift. Your boyfriend hated the way the man's eyes would flick to your lips as you ordered; and the way he’d let his hand linger for too long when passing you your change.

At first, he didn’t mind it. He was proud to have such a beautiful girlfriend that was so unaware of the effect she had on other people. What bothered him was when he made a point to wrap his hand around your waist, tight, and the man didn’t care, still making advances at you.

Yeah, that’s what pissed him off.

“It doesn’t matter, he should have seen that hickey on your neck and minded his own fucking business,” he growls.

Your eyes widen, remembering the way your boyfriend lightly feathered kisses down your neck before sucking down, only hard enough to leave a light bruise as replacement when he pulled off with a pop, last night.

It’s then you realise he’d made sure to do that to you every single night for the last three months — even if you weren’t having sex that night. And even though the mark would be slightly faded come the morning, you still reprimand him for it.

In fact, your boyfriend had never expressed an interest in marking you until you had started your morning coffee ritual. And then it clicks.

“Zhong Chenle, have you been marking me on purpose?!”

Your sulky boyfriend sheepishly sinks back into the couch, lips pursing into a line. Your hands go to your hips, and so do his eyes, as you wait for a response from him.

“It’s not like that, Y/N, I swear, it’s just…he…ugh…I don’t know,” he’s starting to get flustered and you can’t help but giggle at him.

You take the seat beside him, holding his hands in yours.

“You’ve been giving me hickeys every single night to prove that I’m yours?” you ask, a smirk twitching at the corner of your lips. Chenle nods, making you smile. “Well, you’re not doing a very good job at it if guys are still hitting on me.”

You’re joking, trying to lighten the mood and add a smile to his face, but he doesn’t find you funny. The minute the words leave your lips, Chenle’s eyes darken, and the hold you have on each other’s hands tightens.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He drops your hands immediately and turns his body to face away from you. You realise you’re making the situation worse and can’t believe your boyfriend’s being so sulky about something you thought was a none issue.

“Oh come on, Chenle. I’m just playing around,” you bring your hand to his cheek to turn him back to look at you. He brushes your hand away, but stays facing you — you’re thankful for that at least.

“Sounds like your saying I give bad hickeys,” he mumbles. You have to laugh at him, he’s being ridiculous. “It’s not funny.”

You roll your eyes, “No, I’m saying maybe I should give you the hickeys from now on to clear up everyone’s confusion.”

“You think you give better hickeys than I do?” His eyes have narrowed on you.

You knew of your boyfriend’s competitive nature, and now he’s giving you a look he only ever really gives to Haechan when the two of them play video games; or Jisung when they’re playing basketball. But now, he’s directing that look at you, tense jaw, tight fist, slit eyes.

He looks so hot like this, all riled up, confronted and pissed off at you. You can’t help but swallow the lump in your throat and clench your thighs together as your pussy flutters at the sight.

“Chenle, I’m playing with you-”

“You’re challenging me,” he corrects, leaning in to brush against your skin. He whispers discreetly in your ear.

You don’t dare to make a sound, feeling the pit in your stomach rise. He takes his middle and pointer fingers and taps them against last night’s purple mark. He pokes his tongue out of his mouth then you feel his wet lips brush the spot. Your breath hitches and Chenle laughs, the throaty sound vibrating on your neck so good you almost moan.

“This isn’t good enough for you, huh?” he pulls back to examine his work. His fingers are rough as he rubs up and down against the mark, cooing as he soothes the soft spot of your skin. Once he stops, you gasp as his hand grips your jaw so that your eyes meet his. “Think you can do better?”

“C-Chenle,” you breathe out as his grip keeps you in place. You love the dominance the gesture exerts.

His other hand grazes up your thigh, his thumb caressing the inner part of your skin. The touch is small, but it doesn’t stop your body from going on fire.

“I think we should put this to the test, don’t you think?”

“W-W-What do you mean?” You can’t think straight, not with his hand inching closer and closer to your panties. And you know the minute he reaches them, he’ll tease you about the wetness already pooling there.

“I suck your neck, you suck mine,” he nuzzles back into your neck now, his breath fanning over you as he whispers low. “See which one of us is really better.”

You shove him back because you can’t believe what he’s saying. Chenle never lets you mark him, not with his job, so you’re in a state of disbelief. That and you just couldn’t take any more of him acting like this without jumping his bones right there on the couch.

"That’s not fair, you know you have more experience than I do,” you object.

Chenle huffs, “You’re the one who started this by saying I give bad hickeys.”

“I never said that.”

“Might as well of.”

He’s impossible.

"And besides baby, have you ever heard of quality over quantity, you could prove me wrong-” his touch comes back as he nuzzles in closer. “I don’t think you will, but I’d love to go see you try.”

Now it was your turn to feel challenged. If this was how he wants to play, then fine. You were gonna do this, and you were gonna give it your all proving him wrong. You narrow your eyes and lick your lips.

"Alright, fine. But I’m going first,” you turn your body a fraction to meet his direction.

Chenle tilts his head back upright and looks at you with shock. You glimmer a grin, knowing he wasn’t expecting you to agree so soon.

“Bold for someone who was just complaining about having a lack of experience,” he teases and you scowl.

"Ever heard of quality over quantity?" You mimic him.

Then, you're tilting his head and leaning into the crook of his neck. You start off gently, easing in very calm and slow. His lips gently part at the plush feeling of your lips. You’re taking your time with it — and it’s killing him. You don’t suck or bite just yet, only gently kissing him in very calming spots.

You begin to pick up speed starting to suck but keeping a gradual build. You moan into his skin causing vibrations to ripple through him making him grunt. When you pop off and look at the red mark starting to bruise on the side of his neck, you smile. You look down to see his cock straining against his jeans — and that does wonders for your ego.

“Don’t get too smug-” he pulls your hips closer to him. “It’s my turn now.”

Your stomach starts to turn in your nerves as you straighten your back so you’re closer to his head level. Your chest gently rises up and down as his hands start gripping your thighs. He’s so close you notice just how good he smells.

You felt a brief exhale from him, humid air gliding down the arch of your neck. You gently shallow out your breathing, and that’s when he leans in to make contact with you.

You force your eyes to stay open, wanting to bask in the feeling of his warm contact on your sensitive skin. Your boyfriend was also one cocky motherfucker, so you refuse to let a sound slip from your mouth or allow your eyes to shutter in ecstasy.

His first initial touch is wet and warm. And when he starts moving, he begins slowly with very tender kisses. He does that thing you love when he moves up closer to your ear knowing that’s the spot that gives you the most pleasure.

You know this isn’t a fair battlefield. Chenle knows all the right things to do that have you squirming and writhing underneath him — and God did he know it. You’d never given him a hickey before, so you were already at a disadvantage.

His kisses keep getting heavier, parting his lips with a subtle suck between his teeth, sending sharp shocks through your body. He notices you jolt and starts soothing the skin with a lapse of his tongue after.

Then he starts integrating suction, right below your ear. He sucks with a roughness he knew you enjoyed, breathing heavily in an almost pant. You couldn't help but allow your eyes to feather shut against your will. You bite the inside of your cheek, refusing to make a sound and feed his already large ego.

His hand grasps your side, gripping you firmly right below your rib cage. The touch applies heat to your stomach, the pleasure of his fingers digging into your sides. He sucks on different places until he’s back up to lace under your ear. You bite your cheek harder as his hands start gripping your bare thighs more aggressively.

Those hands start creeping further up your skirt until his left-hand rests above your panties. He takes your earlobe between his teeth, and at the same time, his hot breath huffed right into your ear. You uncontrollably shiver and tilt your head back a bit, making him smile against you sadistically.

"Aren’t you fidgety?" He whispers, as his hands start teasing the material. He loved to gravel a choppy exhale against your ear, knowing the sound and feeling always made you shiver.

“Because you’re not playing fair, Chenle,” you grip his hand, stopping him.

He knows he’s not — but he doesn’t care. The only thing he cares about right now is winning and hoping you swallow your words.

“Really?” He asks, “I don’t remember us having any rules.”

His face is flush flat right against your cheek, his deep breath exhales on your skin as he loves every minute of you squirming.

“W-We didn’t, but this is c-cheating,” you finally let out a whimper and want to curse yourself after trying so hard to fight it.

“What’s cheating?” He asks innocently, his hand moving back to the wet material between your legs.

“This,” you grab hold of his wrist, but you're not strong enough to stop the way he teases your waistband and glides his rough digit above your pubic bone.

“What’s ‘this’?”

“You’re not allowed to touch me like this. It’s cheating!”

Chenle laughs but doesn't remove his hand. And deep down you didn’t want him to — despite your protests. Instead, he greedily makes you take your own hand, which was white-knuckling your other thigh, so he could have full access to spread your legs open. Your chest was rising now, eyes looking down at the large ring-covered hand brushing between your thighs. Chenle’s eyes flicker with lust, and you’re certain yours do too.

He curls his lips into your neck, satisfied. The gentle noise of euphoria he had gotten out of you was enough to fuel his fire, because from there he started going harder. He continues grunting against your ear, lacing down just below it to leave what you assume to be violent marks.

His large hand curls into your underwear rather than just sitting on top of it. You cussed under your breath, stomach jumping.

He doesn’t touch you, leaving his hand to just linger before your folds. It causes a burning heat between your legs so much that you couldn’t help but shift in your seat. Your body was screaming to be touched at this point.

"Are you sure you want to consider this cheating?" Chenle coaxes in your now sensitive ear. “Wouldn’t want to break the rules now, would I?”

You know he’s lying. He’s never given a fuck about rules. Ever.

You shake your head, trying to shift and cause any kind of friction you could get, but Chenle snaps his hand from out of your panties.

You’re so overwhelmed at this point but in the best way possible. His lips continue to massage your neck in rough-tempered ways, his hand only rubbing the skin of your thigh but they’re almost quivering.

“Please Chenle,” you whine.

The game had completely left your mind by now. His hand eventually moves to your core, and he cups you over your panties. You uncontrollably let out a struggled moan, being too turned on to handle anything right now. He delicately grazes his fingers up and down your covered pussy.

"Still think I’m bad at this?” He talks into your neck.

"I-I never—”

Chenle’s fingers suddenly — but finally — slip into your underwear, making you gasp when you feel him graze your naked folds. Your body flexes in startle, but even the lightest touch from him felt so good.

"You’re wet.." He whispers, pulling his hand back out.

You hated the way he kept doing that.

You pull your head away from his lips, making him lock eyes with you. When he did, his face dropped a bit when he picked up your lustful expression. His eyes flick to your chest, rising up and down.

His hand stills on your thigh, "Still think you’re better at this than me?”

Fuck no.

You shake your head violently making him grin. There’s more amusement in his eyes than you would have liked but right now you don’t care — you just needed him.

He takes the fingers that have toyed with you and taps them against the wet spot on your neck. He coos, rubbing over the stinging skin.

"Think this should be enough to keep him away from you.”

You bite your lip and nod. You can’t see the damage just yet — but the way he’s just been ravaging your neck — you're sure he’s done a number on you.

Your chest is still rising up and down. Core aching and body screaming at you to beg for him.

"Say it, baby," He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Say I won, and I’ll touch you…”

You don’t waste a second more, your body on fire with need.

“Of course, you won, Chenle! Now hurry up and fuck me!”

#chenle smut #nct smut #nct dream smut #chenle x reader #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #kpop smut #nct scenarios #chenle scenarios #nct hard hours

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minustwofingers · 1 year

Text

exoplanet p.3

pairing: ellie williams x fem! reader (ur a girly girl in this one!!) (she/her pronouns)

summary: you’ve won the life lottery as one of the few people on earth with parents who gained admittance to the most prestigous safezone in the world after the outbreak. but after a lab accident sends you out to jackson, wyoming, real life hits you fast. it’s a good thing that a hot lesbian finds u. (lol). mean ellie at first, slowburn, enemies to friends to lovers, fem reader asf

warnings: (PLEASE READ!) explicit language, violence, description of a medical procedure sans anesthesia, recreational drug use (idk how else to put it ellie gets absolutely zonked in the beginning), reader overthinks asf and is a little neurotic but that's why we love her x

a/n: hey guys! thank you so much for the wait! it's been genuinely insane how sweet and incredible all of you are. i've never felt so appreciated for my writing!! also, some notes: this chapter is heavily inspired by my last relationship. sorry if it's not as immersive bc of it! and also i don't have ANY medical knowledge so...cast a blind eye when u get to that scene

part 1

part 2

tags: @prettyplant0 @666findgod @sawaagyapong @rystarkov @buzzybuzzsposts @addisonnie @galacticstxrdust @parkersmyth @pinkazelma

wc: 6.6k

enjoy x

“One more time.”

You gave Ellie a withering look from where you were sitting at the end of her bed.

“Please,” she said, drawing out the s. “Just once more. I promise.”

“Fine.” You rolled your eyes—a habit of hers that you were quickly picking up—and took in a deep breath. “Fuck.”

Ellie lost it, peals of laughter bouncing off the walls. “Another one. Say something else.”

“I don’t understand why you think this is so funny,” you said.

“You say it so weird.”

“I enunciate,” you clarified. “I don’t ‘sound weird’. It’s called pronouncing every letter in the word and not having a lazy mouth.”

“Please,” she gasped. “At least say bitch. You haven’t said that one yet.”

You looked her dead in the eye. “Bitch.”

If you weren’t already certain that Ellie was high out of her mind by the smell of her room and the general haze in the air, the way she howled with laughter and fell back on her bed would’ve made you entirely positive.

This was new. You’d begun to hang out with her in her room after dinner—that was normal—but when she’d knocked on your door smelling heavily of weed once you’d said goodnight to Joel, you were nothing less than shocked. Of course, she had none left for you. Which was probably good, because only a sober mind could navigate a night sitting on Ellie’s bed without doing something really, really stupid.

“I can’t believe you call me weird,” you said, tucking your feet under her and giving her a pointed look.

“You’re so lucky you didn’t grow up where I did,” Ellie said, wiping a tear away from her cheek as she tried (unsuccessfully) to rein in her giggles. “You would’ve been eaten alive, good lord.”

“What were you like as a kid?” you asked, resting your chin on your knees.

She considered for a moment, growing more somber. “Um…I don’t know if you would’ve liked me very much.”

“What do you mean? Of course I would’ve liked you.”

“No,” she said, swiping at her face so she pushed a strand of hair away. “I don’t think you would have.”

“Why not?”

“I was…” She paused, picking at her cuticles. “Back then I didn’t have anyone. I was an orphan, you know. My parents were never in the picture, so I was the only one I could count on. I was really rough around the edges and could be nasty. But I probably would’ve ignored you like I did everyone else. “

“Everyone? You didn’t have anyone? No friends at all?”

Ellie blinked, and her gaze remained fixed on her hands. “Basically, yeah. I mean, there was one girl, but that’s…I don’t want to talk about that right now, actually.”

“That’s okay,” you said, reaching forward to touch her knee. She flinched at the contact but didn’t brush you away. The image of a young, scared Ellie living somewhere alone made your chest ache. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“What were you like?” she asked, tilting her head and meeting your eyes.

“Hmmm…” Mirth crept into your tone. “What do you think?”

“What do I think?” Ellie echoed, her eyes cloudy as she thought. Then a small smirk formed on her face. “Oh god, were you one of those spoiled brats? Were you a mean girl?”

“God, no,” you said, raising your eyebrows. “Not mean.”

“Then what?”

You paused. “I was really shy, I guess. And quiet, too. I didn’t do much but read for a good 10 years of my life. I used to have awful pronunciation because I would spend more time reading than talking to anyone. But I think I would’ve liked you.”

Ellie shook her head.

“Yes,” you said. “Maybe I would’ve been a little scared of you. I probably would’ve never had the courage to talk to you. But I would’ve liked you, I think.”

“Scared of me?”

“Yeah.”

“Why? I was a kid.”

“I was mostly going off of how I felt when I actually first met you,” you said, shrugging.

She gasped theatrically. “You’re scared of me?”

“No!” you said, smacking her knee. “That’s not what I mean. You’re just really intimidating.”

“Intimidating?” She looked at you incredulously.

“You’re so tough,” you explained, feeling heat grow in your cheeks. “You seem just—I don’t know, just so capable. There’s nothing you’re too afraid to face, nothing you’re too afraid to say.”

“That’s not true,” she said lightly.

“Well, of course I’m sure there are things that you’re afraid of,” you amended. “But you hide it so well. You just seem so…fearless.”

“Hm,” Ellie said, letting her head rest against the headboard. “I think you would’ve made me a nervous wreck. If we’d met when we were kids, I mean.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “I’ve never met anyone quite like you before. You’re just so untouched.” She winced. “God, no. That sounds gross. I just mean…I dunno. I wouldn’t have known how to act around you. You haven’t had to harden up like everyone else I know.”

“Are you saying I should develop trust issues or something?” you asked, your voice a teasing lilt.

“You know,” she said, nodding seriously, “That is part of it. It was really off-putting how quickly you trusted me. But I guess that’s just a product of where you grew up.”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “I wonder how I would’ve turned out if I’d grown up like you.”

“Can I be honest?” Ellie asked.

“Sure.”

“I don’t think you’d still be here if you were me,” she said, her eyes crinkling. “No offense. You just have zero survival skills. I swear that shit has to be genetic. I’ve never met someone more averse to violence in my life.”

You sighed, pressed your hands deep into Ellie’s comforter as a thought hit you. “I think if you’d been born in my position, you would’ve been greater than anything either of us could ever dream of. Much greater than me.”

“Definitely not,” said Ellie. “There’s no fucking way I’m studying the way you apparently do. I honestly think I’d take being an orphan over the study schedule I saw in your bag.”

She was of course referencing the time table you’d roughly sketched up the morning before you’d ended up in Jackson. It was blocked to the minute, citing the study content and the location of said study session. She’d been beyond horrified to see it.

You laughed, nudging her socked food with yours.

“Is there music? In Terranova?”

“Oh,” you said, startled at the abrupt change of subject. “Uh, yeah. Of course. I listened to it all the time.”

“I used to have a Walkman,” she said, leaning back as she reminisced. She was lying flat on her back now. “It ended up breaking a while ago, but it was like my child.”

“Have you ever seen a movie before?” you asked, sitting up rigid straight as the thought occurred to you.

“Duh,” she said, giving you a weird look. “Do you think I live under a rock?”

“How many?”

“Hm.” Ellie began counting, ending on her second hand. “I think 6?”

“You’ve seen a total of 6 movies in your life?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to see more?”

She shrugged. “I mean, I guess. It’s just tough to find CDs that are still functional after so long.”

“Hold that thought,” you said, holding a finger in her direction as you stood up.

“Hey!” she called as you bolted out the door. “Where are you going?”

You came bounding back to her room in a matter of seconds, your laptop in your hands.

“What the fuck?” she said. “Isn’t that your homework thing?”

“Yes,” you said, feeling around for an outlet, “But I also have a ridiculous amount of movies downloaded on this. Our dorm wi-fi is shit and I have way too much storage on this thing, so I just download, like, every movie I’ve ever wanted to watch.”

“Your dorm what?”

You waved your hand. The last thing you wanted to do was explain to her how the 802.11 standard allowed wireless connections a few years after the outbreak. “Not important. Here, come look at this.”

Your laptop roared to light with the help of your charging cord. Quickly, you typed your password in and opened your downloads. Ellie hovered over your shoulder, squinting at the screen with confusion.

“Here,” you said, opening up the album that had everything you had seen for your entire university career and passing the laptop to Ellie. “Use the touchpad—there, yeah—to navigate. Press to click. These are all movie files that I’ve seen. We can watch them on my laptop. Some of them were filmed in Terranova, too, so they’re post-apocalypse.”

She perused the selection you had for quite some time, the glow of the screen lighting up her face against the dim room. “Okay. This one.”

And thus began a tradition. Each night after you’d finished showering and Joel retired to his room, Ellie would come knock on your door and ask if you wanted to come over. You’d talk for a while, then open your laptop and pick something out to watch. Ellie was never high after the first time, which was unsurprising considering that there definitely wasn’t a way to get any in Jackson. Where she found any the first time was still a mystery to you.

A week or so after your first patrol with Ellie, Joel had taken it upon himself to teach you how to shoot. You were surprisingly not as bad as you’d expected, but the rebound was tough to get used to, and you were still hung up over the whole “killing living things” part.

Your first patrol—first real one—came quickly, and before you knew it, Ellie was handing you the same gun you’d dropped the first time with a suspicious look.

“Don’t kill one of us with that thing,” she warned. “Be smart, okay?”

“Sure thing, boss,” you said to her, mock saluting as best you could while you were leading Japan to the mounting block.

She rolled her eyes. “Please act normal or I’ll make you carry around that glorified pocket knife instead again.”

The patrol began as usual, Ellie leading you down the same path you went last time. It was a beautiful day out, with the early spring sun filtering through the evergreen trees that populated the woods and birdsong filling the air.

Though conversations with Ellie were getting easier (given that it actually seemed like she wanted to talk to you now), you were still starstruck. Nothing that you did and nothing that you thought could get you to stop seeing her the way you did. You were routinely distracted by everything about her. It was a wonder that you could even function as a normal person around her, much less handle a weapon and a horse.

You two had nearly made the full rotation when your surroundings exploded in action.

“Fuck,” Ellie hissed as someone behind you two fired a shot that narrowly missed Shimmer.

You whipped around, gun in hand, to see two men—two normal men who weren’t infected. One held a bow, the other a gun.

The one who had fired the first shot never even stood a chance. He was down on the ground seconds after you’d seen him, Ellie’s aim taking him out before you could even ready your gun.

The second man notched an arrow and managed to draw it back and release into the air right as Ellie’s bullet struck him, sending him falling back.

“I don’t think there’s any more,” said Ellie, slightly breathless as she scanned the forest. “Sometimes outsiders pull this shit—try to kill us for our supplies. I’ve never seen them this close to the wall, though. I’ll have to tell Maria and Tommy.”

Normally, you would’ve felt up to making some sort of sarcastic comment about how that was a really unconcerning thing for her to tell you and that you actually felt so much more comfortable going on patrol knowing that there were also just run-of-the-mill people trying to kill you, but a twinge in your lower body distracted you.

Slowly, nervously, you looked down. Air immediately left your lungs.

“At least we’re done,” Ellie was saying, wiping her hands off on her thighs and slinging the gun over her shoulder. “What a crazy end for your first actual patrol, huh?”

When you didn’t answer, she turned to you and saw the arrow sticking out of your side,

“Shit,” said Ellie, jumping off Shimmer and reaching you in seconds. “Shit, shit, shit. Oh god.”

“Am I going to die?” you asked, staring starstruck at the blood escaping the outline of the arrowhead. You couldn’t feel anything anymore. Were you in shock?

“No,” said Ellie firmly. “Absolutely not. Do you need help getting off?”

Before you could answer, she was already helping you down, carefully avoiding the protruding arrow.

“Listen,” she said, back to being her unwavering self, “We’re right by the wall. I’m going to help you walk in, and then I’ll grab some supplies, okay? Don’t try to pull the arrow out. You hear me? Don’t.”

Swallowing hard, you nodded. She helped you walk the few steps to be carefully concealed by the wall, then grabbed the two horses and darted past you, making a break for Maria and Tommy’s cabin.

In a haze of confusion, you could see Maria running out, holding a box out to Ellie in exchange for the reins of the horses. Ellie said something that made Maria point towards you. She nodded, then ran back to you.

By the time that she’d reached you, the shock had begun to wear off, replaced by the stinging pain from the object that had impaled you. It was worse than anything you’d ever felt before in your life, and it took all you had not to keel over.

“Hey,” she said, reaching out to grab your face so you had to look at her. “Don’t be afraid. I’ve done this before, okay? I’m, like, the master. It’s going to be alright.”

“Done what before?” you managed to grind out.

Ellie let go of your face to dig through the box Maria had given her, producing a needle, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and what looked like a spool of thin thread.

Horror slowly trickled through you as you realized what was about to happen.

“It doesn’t look all that deep,” Ellie was saying as she examined the arrow. “So I don’t think it’s hit anything. It’s just going to be a nasty hole. I’m going to pull it out now, okay?”

You let out a strangled scream as she grasped the arrow’s end and yanked it out without warning.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Ellie repeated. She threw the arrow over her shoulder and knelt so she was hovering over you. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you gasped. You were most certainly not. You couldn’t quite get your eyes to focus, and your heart was beating out of your chest.

“Alright,” she said firmly, grasping your shoulders and pulling you up so you were slumped against the wall. “Sit up straight, alright? Also, this is going to hurt.”

At first there were just snipping sounds as she cut part of your shirt away—then something cool and wet pressed to your wound. You cried out again as a fresh white hot pain bloomed in your middle.

“I know, I know.” Ellie’s voice was consoling as she reached up to brush away the sweaty strands of hair stuck to your forehead. “Just a few more seconds.”

“Fuck—off—” you gritted out from your teeth.

Ellie’s eyebrows shot up. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. Just this once.”

She released the alcohol-saturated cotton pad, throwing it aside and fussing with the thread and needle until she was satisfied.

By the time her fingers were ghosting over your abdomen again, you couldn’t pull your eyes away from the puncture wound and the needle she was wielding.

“Don’t look,” said Ellie. “Pick something else. You don’t need to watch.”

“I hate needles,” you whispered, choosing the air over her shoulder to be your focal point.

There was a prodding at the top of your wound, and you hissed.

“I can’t say I’m a fan myself.”

Something pierced through your skin, and your midriff exploded in pain.

The edges of your sight went fuzzy, stars forming in the corners of your vision. Someone that sounded suspiciously like you cried out. Your cheek rammed up against something solid and warm.

Once the initial sting had faded, you realized that you’d slumped into Ellie, your face buried into her neck. She didn’t make any move to push you off, instead just taking one hand to brush up and down your arm with a feather light touch.

“You're fine," she said firmly. "Everything's going to be fine."

Your fingers curled around the hem of her shirt as the needle exited through the other end of your wound, pulling another whine from your throat. It was easier to not feel like you were about to pass out when you were crushed into Ellie, clinging onto her and just focusing on the way she felt against you.

“Hang on, I'm almost there,” she muttered a few stitches later. You’d quieted down, only letting out the occasional gasp as she pulled the thread through. “You're doing so well. Just one more.”

Now that you were more conscious, you had no idea how she was managing to stitch your side while you were nearly on her lap, but she continued to weave her needle through your skin, pulling it taut.

“And done,” said Ellie. You felt her take another cotton square to swipe against your skin.

You laid against her for a few more moments, panting as the shock slowly began to fade. She shifted, and for a moment you were sure that she was going to shove you away, but then the hand she’d lifted hesitantly rested on your head, her fingers parting to card through your hair.

“How did you learn how to do that?” you asked, your voice muffled from where you were pressed against her.

“Trial and error.”

Her joke was enough for you to finally let go, sitting back against the wall. Her hand slithered out of your hair, resting back in her lap.

“Shut up,” you said. “That’s awful.”

Ellie shrugged.

“I’m sorry,” you said, feeling the bumpiness of the stony wall press into your back. “I have a really low pain tolerance.”

“So I’ve noticed,” said Ellie, the side of her mouth quirking.

“I’ve never been hurt before,” you heard yourself saying. “Like, beyond the occasional splinter or bee sting or accidental scrape or ankle sprain. It’s just not something that happens.”

“Must be nice.”

You smiled sadly. “Yeah. It’s not nice being weak, though.”

Ellie looked away from you then, silent as she packed up the first-aid kit. Then: “I don’t think that’s true.”

She’d said it lightly, like it was meant to be an offhand comment, a throwaway addition that wouldn’t be remembered by either of you. But the sentiment still struck you, twisting your heart.

You were less capable because your survival had never required anything more. You were weak because you could be.

Her voice from the night she’d been high floated back to you. You haven't had to harden up like everyone else I know.

Out here, weakness was a luxury few could afford.

“Not so untouched anymore, huh?” you said, since you didn’t know how else to respond.

“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t,” quipped Ellie. “But if I were you, I wouldn’t lose sleep over it. I still consider needing to be held to get 4 stitches as being soft. You haven’t changed a bit. No offense.”

Your cheeks burned bright red. “I—”

“I’m teasing,” she said before you could defend yourself. “Arrow wounds suck. I get it.”

“Right.” You turned away, keeping your gaze fixed firmly on the ground beside you. With feeling more yourself came the inevitable shame at what you’d just done. What had you been thinking, touching her like that? Grabbing onto her like that?

This was going to haunt you for the rest of your life.

“Don’t make that face,” said Ellie. “I’m sorry for saying that. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. It really is fine.”

It was not fine. It would never be fine. You wanted the thugs to come back to life and finish you off, and then have the earth open up and swallow you for good measure.

Ellie probably thought of you as an overgrown child. You doubted that there was ever a point where she could see you as anything equal. If she ever knew how often she appeared in your imagination, she’d probably be disgusted.

She called you pretty a contrarian voice in your head reminded you. Don't you remember?

But maybe she hadn’t meant it. She hadn’t said it explicitly: “Y/N, I think you’re pretty.” She just hadn’t argued when you’d pointed it out. Maybe because she was being nice, or maybe because she was actually being sarcastic.

“You were really brave, okay?” said Ellie. “Your first armed confrontation and you did well.”

“I didn’t shoot anyone.”

“It could have gone worse,” said Ellie. “You could’ve accidentally shot me. Or died. And neither of those things happened, so that’s successful in my book.”

“That’s very glass half-full of you.”

“That’s me. Ever the optimist.”

You snorted.

That night, Ellie knocked on your door and asked you if you were up for another movie. You found yourself sitting on her comforter, plugging in your computer and booting it up minutes later.

Physically speaking, it had always been a little awkward to fit two people on her twin bed if they weren’t right next to each other, given that your laptop screen was a very unimpressive size. When you’d first started watching with her, Ellie would rest against the headboard, her legs stretched out in front of you while you would sit with your legs crossed, positioned sideways so you weren’t accidentally pushing her legs off.

But after the day you had had, your back was sore and your whole body ached. Sitting on something soft without any back support as you angled yourself to look at the screen was quickly proving unsustainable.

“Pause,” said Ellie about ten minutes in. You’d been watching an older sci-fi flick—Ellie’s choice.

You complied, leaning forward and pressing the spacebar. “What’s up?”

“Are you even comfortable sitting like that?”

“Yeah,” you said.

“Liar,” accused Ellie, crossing her arms over her chest. “Don’t think I don’t see you ‘discreetly’ cracking your back every 2 minutes. It’s ruining the movie.”

“Sorry,” you said, shaking your head and smiling in exasperation. “It’s from all the years I spent hunched over a textbook.”

“You know, you can sit up here,” she said, patting the space beside her. “I don’t bite.”

“Jury’s still out on that,” you said, though by the time Ellie let out a laugh you were already unfolding your legs and moving so you were next to her.

She leaned forward, grabbing the bottom half of the laptop and lifting it. “Hey, do you want a blanket?”

“Sure.”

Ellie’s other hand grabbed the edge of her comforter and held it up.

Hesitantly, you slid your legs under and watched as Ellie did the same, awkwardly holding the laptop in the air before you were both settled enough to rest it on your covered right thigh and her left. “Better?”

When you nodded, she reached her tattooed arm out and pressed play. The audio picked back up, but you couldn’t for the life of you focus on the movie.

When Ellie had asked if you’d wanted a blanket, you were expecting her to toss the throw blanket that would really only fit one person at you, not invite you to get under the blankets with her. That was significantly more intimate.

You two were sitting close enough that your sides were touching, from shoulder to thigh. You could feel her chest lift with each breath, feel the heat coming off of her.

After a while, Ellie properly laid down, taking the laptop and hoisting it up so it rested on her lower abdomen as she settled into her pillow.

You gulped, your eyes flickering between her face and the screen. Ellie’s gaze was fixed intently on the screen, her eyes half lidded with exhaustion.

You could be tired too. You weren’t, of course—your heart was racing a thousand miles an hour. But she didn’t know that. It was normal to lay down next to her, right? You’d done that with Irena more times than you could count, and it was never weird. Yeah, you could do that.

Also, if you were totally horizontal, you would stop getting distracted by the sliver of her skin that her crooked shirt showed of her chest.

In a moment of blind courage, you scooted down so your head was lying right next to Ellie’s. She didn’t seem to react, just extending her hand from under the covers to steady the laptop as it wobbled from the movement.

Her sheets smelled like the soap that you used to wash your hair—a cottony freshness that had the slightest hint of lavender.

“Are you going to fall asleep on me?” asked Ellie after a while, her voice nothing more than a whisper.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you responded, equally quiet. Then, because you hadn’t made enough rash decisions for the night, you angled your head so it rested in the space right above her shoulder.

She inhaled sharply but didn’t move. On her next exhale a piece of her auburn hair tickled your forehead.

“How’re your stitches?” she asked suddenly, like she'd just remembered.

“They’re okay. I think. As stitches go.”

“After this is over, I’ll check on them,” she said. “Don’t let me forget, okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered, suddenly feeling shy. It was one thing for her to cut off your shirt and see your skin when she was trying to save your life while you were mentally gone. It was another thing altogether to pull up your shirt without adrenaline coursing through you.

You didn’t pay any attention to the rest of the movie, instead hyperfocused on the rhythm of Ellie’s breathing and the fact that if you moved just a little your chin would be on her shoulder.

Her mention of the stitches wasn’t helping at all, either. Now all you could think about was the embarrassing way you’d basically tried to crawl under her skin, burying your face into her and clutching at her clothes like you were a child.

A part of you was disappointed that you hadn’t been more lucid at the time. If you had, you would’ve been able to clearly remember the softness of her skin against yours. You would’ve been able to enjoy it for what it was—the only time you’d be able to touch her like that.

Because you couldn’t go around just grabbing onto her shirt and getting into her lap. That was a one-off, the only time that the rules were waived. You couldn’t touch her like that now, now that you didn’t have any excuse. It wasn’t allowed.

But sometimes you wanted to so badly that it hurt.

The movie ended abruptly, wrenching you out of your thoughts.

“Hey,” whispered Ellie. “Sit up so I can see.”

Reluctantly, you pressed yourself up from your back and began rolling up the hem of your shirt. Ellie twisted to face backwards, her thin top riding up and showing part of her back as she reached for the lamp.

Once golden light returned to the room, Ellie turned back and bumped your hands away. She bent over, tilting her head so that she was looking at the stitches straight on.

They didn’t look bad, you had to admit. Though you wouldn’t consider the actual experience of getting the stitches a 5-star experience, Ellie had clearly known what she was doing. The surrounding flesh didn’t look angry or irritated, and she’d pulled the stitches just tight enough without it puckering.

She prodded at the side, then gave a satisfied nod. “Looks good. What did I tell you? I’m really good at this sort of stuff.”

“I think you would’ve made a really good doctor,” you said once she’d sat up straight again. “Under different circumstances.”

“Is this you telling me that you don’t think I’m a good doctor now?” she teased.

“Your bedside manner could use some work,” you offered.

Ellie laughed then, shaking her head and crossing her arms over her chest. “Yeah, yeah. You lived. You'll get over it.”

“Did you go to school?” you found yourself asking, hung up on the thought of Ellie as a potential medical student. If she’d been in one of your intro biology classes, you never would’ve been able to pay attention. That was a fantasy you could shelve away for later.

“Sort of,” said Ellie, looking down at her arms. “I went to a military prep school run by FEDRA. I didn’t graduate though—obviously. I was long gone by then.”

“Right,” you said, remembering that she’d mentioned that she’d been 14 when she’d left Boston. “And what was it like?”

She paused, opening her mouth before closing it. “It was—unkind. Joel's told me about schools before the outbreak. It was nothing like that. There were some normal classes, but most of it was meant to prepare us to be soldiers.”

“Is that where you learned how to do sutures?”

“Among other things.”

Terranova had no military academies, given that there was hardly any military presence. The founder of Terranova had bodyguards and there was a police force that controlled the borders, but it was nothing like Ellie described. With invisible borders and a social order that valued peace and tranquility over all else, there was no real danger posed to any of the citizens.

But from what you had learned from movies and books and comments from older people, you had gathered a very dim picture of what a military academy looked like—harsh, strict, and cruel.

“I’m sorry you had to grow up like that,” you said.

“It’s okay.”

“Is there anything you would want to study? If you could?”

Ellie’s eyes closed. “Yeah. There are a couple things.”

She did not elaborate.

It didn’t take long for you two to settle back into your routine of meeting in her room each evening and watching one of your downloaded movies. Following the night after you’d gotten your stitches, you wouldn’t even have to ask—Ellie would pull up her comforter and let you slide in next to her without giving you a second glance.

You’d also gotten over the fear of touching her. Now, when you flopped back so your head was on her pillow, you’d adjust until you were nestled into the crook of her neck. She never once reacted to it, remaining perfectly still unless she was adjusting the laptop or messing with the sound.

Because it was normal, of course. You and Irena would rest your head on each other’s shoulders sometimes. That was something that friends did.

One night a week or so into April, you and Ellie made a harrowing discovery: there was only one movie left in your collection that you two hadn’t seen together.

“Damn,” said Ellie, furrowing her brow. “And there’s no way to get more on here?”

“I’m afraid not,” you said, frowning. “To download more or stream one, I’d need either an Ethernet cable or a wi-fi connection. Neither of which function out here anymore without cell towers and maintained cables.”

“Right,” said Ellie, though her face told you that she didn’t understand a word that had come out of your mouth. “So—this is it?”

“Yeah.” Your finger hovered over the play button. “Savor it, I guess.”

When you settled back and into her side, the heavy weight of dread settled into your stomach. Now that you’d finished showing her your entire collection, it’s not like she’d have a reason to invite you over every night. And there was especially no reason for you two to lie so closely together unless you were both trying to watch something on a small screen.

Once again, your excuse to touch her was gone.

You pressed closer to her as your mind raced. There was no way that Ellie didn’t see what you were doing as platonic, right? Was it possible that she was creeped out by how touchy you were but just tolerated it to be nice?

Maybe. You swallowed hard, keeping your eyes fixed on the screen. Ellie didn’t see you like…like that. She spoke to you like you were an obligation, a burden. Because you always had been. You’d been a responsibility thrust on her by a father figure who felt like he was indebted to you from that stupid bag of coffee you were lucky enough to bring.

Oh, god. Had Joel told her to befriend you? Had he asked for Ellie to pretend like she enjoyed spending time with you and to put up with your privileged, soft-hearted nonsense?

The knowledge that you were spiraling wasn’t enough to stop you. You did the best that you could—tried to remind yourself that it’d been a while since she’d looked disgusted with you, recall that she was outspoken enough to tell you to fuck off if you did something she didn’t like—but it was to no avail.

Ellie reached forward and hit pause on the movie, thrusting you both into silence.

“Is everything okay?” she asked after a moment.

“Yeah, why?”

“I can feel your heart going, like, crazy fast.”

You froze. “Oh. Uh, yeah. I was just thinking.”

Ellie pushed the laptop off of her, sitting up to give you an odd look. “About a near death experience or something? You running a marathon up there? That shit’s not normal.”

You laughed nervously. “It’s really nothing. Just an, uh, suspenseful movie.”

Which was actually really stupid of you to say, because you were watching some obscure Tarkovsky film that did nothing but pan over burning buildings and pensive men. For the past 5 minutes, there had been nothing on screen but the back of a car driving through traffic with minimal sound. Also, it was in Russian, and the English subtitles made zero sense.

There was a reason why this was the last movie you chose.

“This is the most boring fucking movie I’ve ever watched in my life, so you’re a dirty fucking liar,” said Ellie. Then her face pinched in worry. “Wait. Have you taken a look at your stitches lately?”

Before you could answer, she was grabbing a flashlight off her nightstand and yanking the comforter off you. She was pulling your shirt up when you finally found your voice.

“Wait!” you said, grabbing the bottom of your shirt and yanking it back in place. “It’s not—I don’t have an infection, okay? There’s nothing wrong with me. I really was just thinking, okay?”

“About what?” She reached back to place her flashlight back on the stand without taking her eyes off you.

“It’s nothing important.”

“If you say so.��

She picked the laptop up and placed it back on her thighs, lying back down. You followed suit, but this time you didn’t touch her, opting to keep as much distance as you could so she wouldn’t hear the stuttering of your heart.

Not even 5 minutes had passed before Ellie sat up to pause the video again.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“No. Why?”

“You’re acting weird,” she accused, but there wasn’t much conviction behind her voice.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you’re acting weird,” she repeated, shutting your laptop off and moving it to the bottom of her bed, despite the protests that left your lips.

“I don’t understand,” you said. “I’m just watching the movie. I’m not doing anything. “

“You’re not watching the movie,” she said. “You weren’t even looking at the screen. What’s got you so bothered? Did I do something?”

“Of course not.” You pulled your legs under you so your legs were crossed and your back was against the wall. “You don’t need to worry. It’s honestly fine. I’m sorry if I’ve done something to imply otherwise.”

Ellie rubbed the bridge of her nose, sighing. “You stress me out. You can just tell me, you know? No need to be so cagey. I promise I’ve heard worse.”

“Don’t be so quick to say that.”

“Okay, now you have to tell me,” she said. “I’m never going to know peace again with a hook like that.”

You were about to open your mouth to tell her that it was stupid and that it didn’t matter, but something stopped you.

That was the coward’s way out. That’s what you’d always done—hid your feelings and concealed your emotions. That’s how you’d been raised. That’s how you thought everyone was. But now that you’d spent 2 months in Jackson, you’d realized that some people actually just said what they thought. And that, in the grand scheme of things, it was a better system than the Terranovian culture of superficiality.

Just because the you 2 months ago would have shook her head and changed the subject didn’t mean the you now had to.

Maybe this you could be different. Maybe, for once, this you could be brave.

“I really—” You stopped yourself. Saying I really like you didn’t even begin to encompass what you felt for the girl sitting across from you. To distill the sheer magnitude of your feelings down to four words felt criminal. The swell in your chest that never went away whenever you were near her could never and would never be adequately represented in the puny offerings of the Latin alphabet and the English language, and if you were going to do this, you were going to do it right.

You dared to look up at her for a moment. She was completely still, her green eyes reflecting the dim moonlight from outside. Once you met her gaze, you couldn’t bring yourself to pull it away.

“I’m really sorry that I’m putting you in an uncomfortable position for saying this,” you began (because old habits ran deep, and you would rather die than be impolite), “And I totally understand if you don’t want to talk to me after this. And I’m sorry for not telling you earlier.”

“As much as I’m sure that this is some sort of cultural cornerstone for you, please spare me the 6 foot long disclaimer script,” Ellie drawled.

“Right.” You gulped. “Anyway. As I was saying.”

“Any day now.”

At that moment, she had never looked more perfect. Your eyes had adjusted to the dark lighting, so the weak moonlight that spilled in from the window above her created a halo around her head.

“It’s you.” Your voice came out tiny. “You’re all that I can think about, and I don’t know what to do.”

There. It was off your chest.

For a moment, it was as if you’d suspended time, stopping Earth on its axis as you both held your breaths. There was nothing but silence and the occasional wooden creak of the old house’s foundation in the wind.

Ellie’s face betrayed nothing, save for something in her eyes and the disappearance of the smirk that had been on her lips moments before.

Then she spoke, her response whispered.

“Come here, then.”

final a/n: NOW HOLD ON before you show up outside my dorm with pitchforks and torches 🗣️🗣️🗣️ i'm so sorry but this was a necessary evil as this was going to a massive scene without the chapter break. also a disproportionately massive chapter compared to the other ones coming out. i write very quickly and should get the following part out in a timeframe similar to the first 3 parts. thank u for reading ! tell me what you think abt this chapter while you wait x

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams self insert #ellie williams x oc #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams imagine

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desceros · 3 months

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me: [looks at calendar, gets a wicked idea, looks into the camera] happy springtime, turtle fam! who's ready to celebrate the season?

...mating season, that is. hehe. [dodges the tomatoes]

so! i had the idea that it would be super fun to have a community-wide event where we all have a prompt and then everyone fills it in their own way.

...i then decided all the prompts i came up with were too good not to use, but also none of them were Good Enough to use exclusively, so i changed my mind and the prompt is now just MATING SEASON. with a few suggestions at the bottom of this post if you're looking for some.

since spring is coming upon us, i hereby invite everyone to join in the vernal festivities... which in turtle parlance, of course, means only one thing: write, draw, whatever your version of "mating season", then join me on march 1 to post it with the tag #TMNTSpringShellebration. we then shall browse the fine selection of our mutual artistic efforts, and basically just have a good time as a community.

here are the prompts i came up with as starters-slash-things-to-include if you're looking for a place to get started. feel free to use these at will, or use them to come up with something of your own:

“Please don’t make me explain this. It’s humiliating as is.”

Oops, Looks Like Mating Season Came A Week Early This Year

“…In all of my mating seasons, this has never happened before.”

“I told you not to come by! It’s mating season!”

Probably should have expected it to be different now that he’s not going through it alone.

Because of Shenanigans, you have to wait. Wait… Wait… ok now.

They’re not the right person for mating season… but they’re the one who’s here, so…

“Show me where it hurts."

so yeah! see you all on march 1 for the, uh, spring shellebration. party popper emoji

questions i imagine will be popping up and i hope will clear up here before my askbox swells beyond capacity under the cut to keep this post from being Way Too Long. also it's really not that serious it's just an excuse to write slash draw for everyone Please Don't Take This Thing Too Seriously It's Not That Serious:

"can i participate?" yes! it's literally just an invitation to do something. nothing fancier than that. no need to be following me or in my friend group or whatever.

"can i write (insert fic idea here)?" yep! so long as it's related to the idea of mating seasons, it flies. reader insert? hell yea. oc? hell yeah. solo turtle and his favorite pillow? go for it.

"can i draw (insert art idea here)?" yep! uh. i know tumblr has the cops watching for sin bin material, but you art people know how to deal with that. and if you don't, uh, ask the other art people. im just a feral cat in a trench coat

"how do i participate?" write/draw/collect songs for/whatever. then, on march 1, post it and tag it #TMNTSpringShellebration. also, for funsies, keep it hush hush what you're working on so we can all be super shocked when the day comes! except, y'know, that you're planning on joining in. totally do that.

"when do i post it?" march 1. whenever on that day. waves hands around in a vague gesture at time zones not mattering. seriously don't take this so seriously it's just me wanting to create cool shit with my friends with a little more structure to it

"does it have to be horny?" i mean. it's an event about mating season. so by definition it's going to be at least a little horny. but however you interpret it is cool. even if it's just. idk. leo sitting sweatily in a chair looking longingly at a glass of water bc he's thirstier than usual. be smart about things, people. i'm not your dad.

"which tmnt verse is this for?" whichever one you want it to be for!! rise! bayverse! 2007! your fan iteration! your friend's fan iteration! your mortal enemy's fan iteration! yes!

"will you be reblogging everything?" absolutely not, but this isn't an event About Me. i am incidental to the thing. it's about Us. coming together as a community. for horny turtles. puts my hands on your shoulders. do it for you. for your friends. for the community.

#text tag #feel free to reblog this around. it started out as a thing for turtle fam but we all agreed that it would be fun for The Community #anyway yeehaw let's spend all of february thinking about what to do and then the night of feb 29 doing it RAH #tmntspringshellebration

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sh1-n0bu · 1 year

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I, 🦝, see a lot of people write about Venti in a way that I'm not sure I find appealing. Don't get me wrong I prefer dom reader (with anyone but Beidou she can do whatever the fuck she wants to me I don't care) but for some reason I feel like many Venti fics are kinda.... predatory.

In many of them the reader treats him unkindly in a very under-negotiated-kink-with-no-aftercare- way.

BUT I WANNA DO THE AFTERCARE BRO. I WANT TO.

I fucking live for that shit.

I want to take a bath with him, wash his hair for him, maybe give him a scalp massage because no one can tell me braids don't get uncomfortable long term. I want to cuddle him. I mean have you seen him he's so skrunkly. And then fall asleep together like a plain boring old married couple.

Aftercare is good. Aftercare is friend. Intimacy is a scrumptious thing whether sexual or not but especially with someone who's that pretty. I mean have you seen him? I have. I am looking. I am looking intensely.

♡︎ 𝙬𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙗𝙤𝙧𝙣 𝙗𝙖𝙧𝙙 ♡︎

characters: sub!venti x gn!dom!reader

warnings: overstimulation, praise, edging, fluff, feminization

notes: decided to try a headcannon format with this since my brain just can’t come up with a good sex scene lmao. i’m sorry my most loyal 🦝 anon. also dedicated to @junerixi aka the biggest venti simp that i know.

i haven’t exactly seen any sub venti fics tbh, since i don’t follow that tag, so idk what kinds of fics are lurking there

but i’ve seen quite dark types of sub character fics at some points and oh dear, as a soft dom it just doesn’t feel right to me

for reasons i really can’t see venti being a sub. maybe a power bottom???? the gremlin in his just excludes that aura

will definitely tease you out in public

will hold eye contact with you at the bar while pulling his already short shorts upwards with a shit eating grin on his face

i can also see him liking all different kinds of lingeries

the soft satin dress ones, the two piece lace ones with stockings, the cute frilly sleeping dress ones etc etc

definitely wears his favorite satin dress with nothing underneath as a gift for you, whenever you come back from work or a long commission late and tired

put on the brightest lipstick so he can leave marks all over your face and body

likes to put on make up because he knows you likes it when it runs down his face while you absolutely fucks him silly

the type of power bottom who would push you down on the bed and ride your cock/strap until he’s satisfied

but beware he gets too into the pleasure and forgets to say thank you

so just cover the slit of his cock and tell him to keep riding you. it will get him begging in no time

“aaangh.. you’re so mean [name]~”

“p-please? please let me GYAAH! please let m-me cum! i-i’ll be.. i’ll be good nyaagh”

praise him for being a good boy for asking. call him your good boy, your precious bard, your sweet prince. he lives for those praises

as someone who used to braid her hair all the time when they were long, yes wearing braids for a long time can cause headaches

have a nice warm bath with him in your aftercare. massage his head while scrubbing soap on it

“giggle thank you windblume. feels really nice..”

might doze off during the aftercare but it’s alright. your sweet bard will get the best rest of his life in your arms with the biggest, dorky smile on his face

#nobu.writes #sub!genshin impact #sub genshin impact #sub!genshin #sub genshin #sub!venti #sub venti #venti smut #genshin smut #sub!character #sub character #x dom reader #dom!reader #dom reader #venti x reader #venti x you #🦝 anon

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liasadventuretime · 1 year

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˗ˏˋyou jealous ? :) ´ˎ˗ - neteyam x reader pt. 3

⁀➷ part three : CONGRATULATIONS, FUCKER.

notes : so um… hi ! since y’all really enjoyed pt. 2 i decided i might as well write a pt. 3… i have to say that it was kind of hard writing this part because i genuinely didn’t think people would’ve liked it that much and had no idea of what to say anymore ☠️ but anygays … i had a BIG ASS fight with my parents so they took my phone, and they’re probably going to take my mac away too so idk when i’ll upload pt. 4 ( if y’all want one ), so i tried to write a bit more this time, i hope it’s sufficient.

tags : @xoxobabe @marcswife21 @arminsgfloll @rubysworld96 @klarolinefanatic @giftfromthemoon @k4tsukiis @rainehatepage @neteyamsbbgfr @miapanticc @iixyia-deactivated20230123 @famousbagelhandspurse @astablacksword @ghoulfac3 @buttercake2234 @potseluymenya @mashiromochi @avatarslut0 @chanyeolsbeloved @regulus-black-223048 @isabelcor3 @grierpilots @neteyamsmate4life @beyoenisbalfart @severenswife @lady-in-gold @bealone-prm @hafutoru @jyoungmom @soxfix @thatgoodvibescloud @aalyara @abbersreads @neteyamsw @strawberryys-stuff @ilovestargirl @rubysworld96 @meivap @neteyamsullyswife @erenjaegerwifee @cherry-blossom34 @slutforavatar @hey-girl-hey @athenachu @laaalox @ghostjoohoney @tsamiaxo @arminsgfloll

warnings : a bit of angst, insecurity, overthinking neteyam lmao, detailed masturbation, this man is lusting waaaaaayyy too much over you lmao, a lil makeout session with someone 🤭, and i think that’s it lol.

everything was okay now. no really, everything’s okay.

after your talk with neteyam, he left you with more questions than answers once again.

your brain felt like a beehive, never stopping, so you tried to distract yourself with anything.

you trained, you read, you helped around, but not even spending time with ao’nung could help. you don’t think he noticed the way you pretended it was neteyam holding you, kissing you, spoiling you. but you gotta be careful.

you just had one single thought in your mind.

flashback

“you know we could argue right now, and no one would hear or see us ?”

“we could do anything right now, and nobody would see us. anything.”

your thoughts were interrupted by someone speaking.

you opened the tent only to see someone’s chest right in front of you, you tilted your head up and you saw him. neteyam.

your heart dropped to your stomach for a second, making you almost gasp. what was he doing here ? his hair was still in the same hairstyle you saw him in at the beach. he looked almost unreal.

face framed by a few braids, jaw locked making him look so nervous for some reason, his high cheekbones sharp as always, and even though you never told him, you wanted to feel his cheekbones so much, all the time. pointy nose with a little bump which you recognised immediately, it was jake’s. that bump was only on his nose, because all the other sons and daughters didn’t have it. he really is his father’s son. eyes still soulless, empty that almost looked dead. they were pointy, but not too much. he has that “sharp” look from neytiri, her stare could send you to heaven and above. his shoulders broad, not too muscly which is something you liked. his arms veiny and biceps always flexed, not even having to force it. his abs well sculpted, he was still wet, droplets of water running down his face and chest, he was probably swimming with lo’ak. or someone else.

you shook your head a bit, to get that thought off your head. it doesn’t matter, it really doesn’t. his v-line almost looks like it got highlighted and sharpened, which was the only thing you hated about the way your people dress.

his everything was for everyone to see. everyone.

you sometimes tend to forget he’s not offlimits, and to say you had nightmares, about someone else getting neteyam before you, was too little.

his voice snapping you out of your trance again, hoping he didn’t catch you quite literally analyzing his whole body, but the proud smile on his face immediately cleared all your doubts.

“your cigarettes.” he said getting in your face making fun of you. he handed you your pack of cigarettes. he didn’t give you the lighter but it didn’t matter, that’s the last thing you cared about right now.

that’s quite weird though. this isn’t the first time you forgot your cigarettes, he usually just keeps them since you smoke them together anyways. you better not think about it too much before you get delusional.

“oh, thank you.” you lightly smiled at him, looking at him in the eyes while taking the packet off your hands. but before you could get them, he pulled your hand to him and placed the pack on the top of your palm, his hand still holding yours. stop, stop, stop.

if you could only know what he was thinking about, he thought to himself.

if you could only know what he did later that night thinking about you.

flashback

“i fucking knew it.” he said, walking to his tent, his fists tight, his jaw locked.

he fucking knew you just couldn’t take that further step. he was only a game to you.

you enjoyed teasing him, playing with his mind acting like he was your dirty little toy, cared about only when you’re horny, or ao’nung couldn’t satisfy you enough.

how could he at the end of the day ? ao’nung wasn’t him and will never be.

he knows he’s better, but fuck do your choices fuck his mind up.

he though he could at least get one night with you, one single night. he could be near you, stay with you, inside you. he could see you. but you didn’t want to. hell, you didn’t even want to look at him.

the constant thoughts of you, torturing his mind. he hoped he could at least live one night of pure love, caring and affection, thinking you wanted too, so he could then go on with his life, mate with a person he didn’t love or care about only to satisfy his father, since the only thing he has always wanted was you.

he wanted you to look at him, but you were too busy staring and smiling at ao’nung.

he felt tears glossing his eyes, you could never be with him, because you simply didn’t want to.

as soon as he got into his tent, he immediately threw your shit away, that you forgot on the beach, with your other stuff. yes, he had a chest with a bunch of stuff you always forgot when you were around him. even looking at it, could make his heart wrench, feeling actual pain.

your blanket, you were nine years old and you had forgotten it when you slept that night with his parents, you had a nightmare. he didn’t sleep that night, so that if you had a nightmare again he could be the one to comfort you. not his parents, him.

your emerald braid accessory, you were eleven, he said he liked it, that it suited your face, so you took it off your braid and placed it in his hand, saying “take it, it’ll look better on you anyway”. it would’ve never looked better on anyone, that wasn’t you. so he just decided to keep it.

your spoon, the one that you used to eat your meals with, and that one time you happened to really like the meal his mom cooked for you. you took a spoonful of it, and positioned it in front of neteyam’s mouth. he was confused for a second, not getting if you actually wanted him to eat out of your spoon. you said “open your mouth, it’s really good, i promise”. not like you had to prove anything, he would’ve eaten a spoonful of poison if your hand was the one holding it. he hesitantly opened his mouth and you fed him. you smiled, and went back to eating your meal, with the same spoon you had just fed him with. it was something probably superficial for you, but it really did mean the world to him.

nostalgia was the sharpest blades of all.

if he only knew you thought the same exact thing.

his mask slipped for a second, letting a tear cut though his face, leaving behind a cold scar. he aggressively wiped it away. he hated you, so so so much. he couldn’t bear the sight of you.

he hated you.

he hated your beautiful hair, your sharp sparkly eyes, your soft cheekbones, your so damn kissable nose, your pouty lips that always fucking curl and smile at everyone’s jokes but his, the soft hill of your breast, the curve that separated your ribcage from the lowest part of your waist.

he couldn’t avoid getting hard every single fucking time. thinking about the way of your body moves when you play beach volley with your group, the way you felt on top of him, or well right on top of his dick, every single time you fought. he couldn’t avoid thinking about the way you were on top of him, fitting oh so well on his dick, while he was holding your wrists with one hand, but since you were way too angry, you didn’t even notice that his other free hand was placed on your waist with a brutal grip. to say he almost whimpered seeing stars, because of how well his big hand fitted on your strong curvy waist, was way too little.

there weren’t words to explain how much he wanted you. he could’ve collected every single thing he wrote about you, and still wouldn’t be enough to explain how hard his heart throbbed every time you were with him. well, maybe something else throbbed too.

neteyam couldn’t take it anymore. if he had to rub out every single thought he had about you, he would’ve became infertile a long time ago.

he placed his head on the pillow, trying to get to sleep in a fetal position. he turned and turned, trying to think of something else, but not the even aliyah, who he tried so hard to act like she was better than you, could lock his thought of you out of his mind.

he sighed in frustration, aggressively getting up when he noticed that.

his incredible massive boner, his dick’s timing was just great.

he got up, turned on the shower, making sure there was still some hot water, and took his clothes off.

“oh c’mon, now.” he silently said after taking off his underwear, noticing pre-cum on them. his dick spurted up, hitting him in the stomach. he rolled his eyes, and got in the shower.

the hot water hugged him, feeling like all of his problems were going down the drain.

he watched his dick gently throb, brought his hand to the base and slid it all the way up, circling his the tip, trying to let out of all the built up sexual tensione he had.

he tried to think about anything that wasn’t you. but how could he ?

how could he not think about the way your sex humped on his clothes, feeling your folds hug his shaft so perfectly. how could he not think of the way that you thought he didn’t notice you throb on him ? how could he not think of the way his hand from your waist slid down to your ass, before his dad separated the both of you ? how could he not think of the way that ao’nung’s hand was in your inner thigh, but you were looking at him ?

his pace got faster, making him heavy pant with his eyes closed, your figure tattooed on his eyelids. he came, seeing some of his seed on his hand and what was left of it going down the drain with the water and his problems.

he sighed, staying there, back held by the wall behind him, leaving him thinking. but he was way too tired of thinking. his temples were throbbing with pain, from how hard his headache was. he just finished washing himself, put some clothes on, and just went to sleep.

you woke up the next morning, head basically feeling like someone stomped on it.

you barely could even sleep last night, too many problems flowing in your thoughts.

you sighed, almost whimpering, brutishly throwing your head back on the pillow. why did everything have to be soooo complicated. you definitely had to talk to him, because all of this had to stop. you were tired, sexually frustrated and sleep deprived. this combo could easily make you kill anyone who even tries to disturb your peace.

you hated the way he was trying to hard to act like “he’s protecting his peace”, motherfucker your disturbing everyone else’s. you got up sloppily, waiting for lo’ak to come by your tent like he did every single morning.

but well, weird. time has passed and you didn’t even see lo’ak’s shadow, where could he be ?

you got out of your tent, walking to his parents’ one since the poor lil boo boo had nightmares basically every single night. you almost wanted to feel bad for him, but how the fuck could you ?

at the beginning you thought that after hearing all the crazy stories about the war his dad, the former Toruk Makto, fought, he just was scared and was having nightmares about that.

but after hearing that he had a nightmare about you fucking tsireya, you were done caring about this man. out of all things in the world, THAT ? since you said you could definitely fall in love with a girl, he went on flight or fight mode. saying this guy could literally sweat jealousy, was too little.

“father ? are you here ?” you said while keeping the tone of your voice low and calm, so you didn’t scare anyone off. but the scene in front of you could be the least thing you expected.

neytiri and jake seated in a circle with everyone, and when you say everyone, you meant EVERYONE. in front of jake there was neteyam, who looked like he almost killed someone by the way he had his head down, legs crossed and… was that a slap mark ??

on neteyam’s left, kiri and spider were seated. which is weird, why were they so quiet ? on neteyam’s right there were lo’ak and tuk. even tuk ? you felt a wave of goosebumps traveling their way up your back. this is way much more serious than you thought.

jake looked at you with the harshest expression you have ever seen on his face. “oh great, (y/n) sit down and join us.” you didn’t sit down, still trying to process what he was saying while walking in the tent, getting behind neteyam.

“FUCKING SIT. NOW.” he screamed at you, as you felt a wave of shock wash over you. you immediately sat down, accidentally bumping neteyam’s shoulder. that’s the first time jake has ever yelled at you. never, in his whole life has he ever screamed at you. yes, he sometimes could be mad at you, but has never screamed that way. neytiri looked at you with heartbroken eyes, mouthing ‘i’m so sorry.’. why would she apologise, it’s not like it’s her fault. right ?

jake huffed, keeping the palms of his hands on his crossed legs, almost looking like he was trying to find the words to explain what was on his mind. this man is going to get a heart attack if you and the others don’t stop stressing him. you felt ashamed, of the way you childishly fighted with neteyam over stupid stuff, not even realising your father couldn’t handle it anymore.

the shame, always comes at the worst time.

“this is the last fucking time i’m saying this. why THE FUCK-” he stopped for a second, trying to calm down for a second. tuk was with us, he probably didn’t want to swear or yell in front of her. you saw him take a deep breath and finish his sentence.

“why, THE FUCK, did you treat her like that ? what has she done to you ? it’s not like your skxawng ass has a mate to be loyal to.” he said, finishing his sentence.

your heart dropped, you were almost capable of hearing the echo of its fall. wait.

she ?

who are we talking about ?

interrupting you from your thoughts, jake stood up scaring everyone, and furiously walked to then kneel in front of neteyam. he harshly grabbed his face, making you gasp out loud, almost like he grabbed your face.

what happened ? you were so confused. she ? who is she ? how did he treat her for jake to be this mad ?

neteyam looked at him, his head tilt up with absent eyes, lips pressed together and jaw locked.

“you have absolutely no idea of what you’ve done, do you ?” jake almost whispered, which was probably even scarier than him screaming.

“this sweet sweet girl, who is literally the clan leader’s daughter, came up to you, asking you whatever the fuck she asked you, and what did you do ?” oh. so it’s tsireya’s sister we’re talking about, aliyah.

“’ oh leave me alone, i don’t want anything to do with you’” he said mocking neteyam’s words. he chuckled, and continued.

“your skxawng ass better be grateful if the leader doesn’t tell us to pack our staff and go the fuck away, after the way she ran away crying.” he stood up from his position, stopping the grasp on neteyam’s face, making him leave his head to the side. he lifted up his gaze, only to be met with yours.

you were genuinely so worried, in part because you couldn’t understand what in the actual fuck was happening. what did aliyah want ? why did neteyam make her cry ?

“is it my fault that i don’t want to mate with a person i don’t like ?” he silently said, making everyone turn their heads to him, no one expected him to talk. this is so bad.

jake stopped for a second with his back towards him. he slowly turned around with furrowed eyebrows and a slightly parted mouth. “what the fuck did you just say ?” he said, the vein on his temple was quite literally about to pop.

“I SAID, i don’t want to mate with her ! i don’t want her ! she was throwing herself all over me, like the fucking slag she is, and when i told her no, BECAUSE I HAVE EVERY FUCKING RIGHT TO SAY NO, she started crying.” he stopped for a second, catching his breath while looking at his dad. he couldn’t recognise him, why was he suddenly so pressed and stressed about neteyam finding a mate ? did it have to do with you ?

jake crossed his arms, and with an ironic smirk on his face he said “then who the fuck do you like, huh ? is every other girl so repellent to you ? have you suddenly became picky or what ?”

neteyam was about to let a tear cut through his face but he didn’t even though his eyes still remained glossed with tears. “i like someone else, but they don’t want to have anything to do with me. that’s it. it’s not the end of the world.” neteyam finished, with a slightly cracked but most importantly low voice.

jake stared at him for a couple of seconds. his face was now suddenly calm, while neytiri’s was absolutely devastated.

there was no denying it, neteyam’s a mommas boy. thank god, neytiri never tried to emotionally incest him, indeed she was happy when he talked to her about this someone he liked. that was the first time neytiri saw her sweet son be so wrapped around someone’s finger. she said that he should at least try, not jump to conclusions. but if he did jump to conclusions earlier, he wouldn’t have to feel his heart wrench and blood boil every single time he thought about what happened that night with you at the beach. he should’ve jumped to conclusion, and probably taken a fucking hint. you didn’t want him. that’s it, it’s as simple as it gets. move on, neteyam.

move on.

jake looked at you for a second, like the answer to all his problems was somewhere inside of you. in that exact moment he thought.

“is it better to speak or to die ?”

should he speak ? should he let you know that all of this, was because neteyam couldn’t move past you ? he couldn’t even count on his hands how many other omatikaya women have came up and asked to be neteyam’s mate. and he refused to even look at them. one after the other.

or should he die ? let his son stare at you with dreamy eyes, trying everyday to kill whatever he felt for you ? see him mate with another person he probably didn’t love, or even want to be near to ? should he kill his son ? a body is nothing without its soul. you were half of him, even though you were probably complete on your own. that’s the thing.

you could live without neteyam, neteyam couldn’t live without you.

neteyam stood up, catching everyone’s attention, leaving the tent and distracting jake from his thoughts.

“reunion finished, get out” he said opening the tent’s entrance for everyone.

neteyam had been waiting for you. on the beach, with a new lighter, because he wanted to keep yours. only waiting for you to come here, smile at him, sit next to him and smoke together.

but after an hour, he was worried. had something happened to you ? where did you go after the family reunion ?

he just decided to get up, and look for you. to finally try and not jump to conclusions again.

to finally say those damn three words.

“i see you.”

yes, that was the day, or maybe he could at least try and hint his intentions. letting you know he wanted more than a hookup, and that he finally was fucking ready to treat you like he should have been all this time.

ok no, maybe it’s a little too early for that.

he had no idea that that same day, ao’nung came by your tent.

“hey, how are you ?” ao’nung asked, face poking from the side of your tents entrance. you were surprised he came by your tent. he wasn’t used to do this, but it’s not like you don’t appreciate it.

“hey” you said back. he got in the tent, looking around for a bit. this was probably the first time he came here after you decided to basically move here.

“so, what have you been up you?” you tried to keep a conversation going, you couldn’t bare the silence it was way too awkward.

“i’ve been missing you.” he said, in a serious tone. silence dropped for a second, but it was immediately interrupted by your laughs. thank god.

“and what have you been up to ?” he smiled looking at you while leaning his back on the wall. maybe you could fall in love with him. or maybe you’re just delusional.

“nothing special, if i have be to be honest, but… “ you left your sentence incomplete, walking to him with his gaze glued on you. same smirk on his face.

“… i’ve been missing you too.” you finished your sentence, placing a kiss on his lips.

you were such a little dirty liar. you didn’t miss him one bit.

you place another kiss on his lips, and another one. and another one.

until he placed a hand behind your neck, smashing your lips together, deepening your kiss. his tongue lightly parted your lips, as if he was asking for your consent. you hugged his tongue with yours, tasting him. but ao’nung’s lips couldn’t even come near netayam’s lips. soft, on your skin, jaw and neck. his hand tracing circles on your waist as usual, your arms thrown to circle his neck.

you silently moaned against his lips, catching his attention, making him heavy breathe. your lips still attached to his, you lightly jumped, his big hands covering your ass, making you hug his waist with your legs.

you were so deep already, into all of this story. are situationships supposed to act like this ? was it normal ? are you falling in love ? or are you falling in love with the person you’re pretending is holding you right now ?

are you in love with ao’nung or the guy that could make you fall to your knees with only a kiss ? or make you whimper with a single touch ? or make you doubt everything you know with a simple phrase ? that someone had such a special effect on you, you don’t think there’s any language in this world that is capable of explaining what he did to you. how he makes you feel.

you were so so so tired. of fighting. of pretending. of replacing.

shouldn’t things be easier ?

your thoughts interrupted by ao’nung’s lips kiss and biting on your neck, but neteyam did it so much better. you lifted your face, giving him more space to work on. ao’nung suddenly stopped, face still in the crook of your neck . and you suddenly had this bad bad feeling in your gut.

something bad about to happen to you. you don’t what it is, but you feel it coming.

you waited for ao’nung to say something, hands still on your back to hold you, like you weighted as much as a feather. he could give you anything you wanted, but how could ask him to give you another person ? that unfortunately wasn’t him.

“i know who you pretend i am.” your heart dropped the moment ao’nung spoke those words, with his voice low and cracked. he knew and still came by your tent. the guilt was chocking you.

he knows, and i know he knows. what could you even say ? that it wasn’t true ? that he was worried for nothing ? you couldn’t, because not only you would be lying to him, but you would also be lying to yourself.

as if your night couldn’t get better, someone entered the tent.

but as soon as you felt your heart stinging, you knew damn well you were in so much trouble.

so so so so much trouble. you were absolutely fucked.

you didn’t even have to look at him, to realise that the person who just entered your tent was neteyam. you immediately fell back to your feet, distancing yourself from ao’nung.

who did you even have to be loyal to ?

but maybe, it just was the fact that you couldn’t betray your heart.

you suddenly felt naked, in front of him. his gaze confused, eyes glossed once again with tears.

you just wanted to disappear, you just wanted to die.

he scoffed, crossing his arms and looking at you with a smirk on his face. this was so bad.

ao’nung kept trying to keep track on what was happening, why were you so suddenly acting like this. but he might have realised something, that the two of you have been trying to hide so hard. his eyes flashed, mouth slightly opened. heart completely shattered. he immediately ran out of the tent, purposely bumping his shoulder against neteyams. not even daring to look back. you felt a tear leave your eye. what have you done ?

the silence was suddenly interrupted by neteyams voice, making you tilt your head up.

“congratulations, fucker.”

he stopped for a second. trying to get the words.

“if you only knew how many words i have wasted on you, and how many other words i was willing to waste. even tonight, but you didn’t even come by.”

that’s all he said, before leaving once again, following ao’nung’s traces.

leaving you alone.

alone, again.

final notes : damn um, so how did y’all like it ? i hope u enjoyed it ! if y’all want a part four remember to like the post and if you want to be tagged and you’re not already on the tag list, message me privately or comment it ! for some reason i can’t tag everyone, so i’ll just directly send it ! sorry for the wait, AND PLS LET ME KNOW WHERE YALL ARE FROM BECAUSE IM EUROPEAN AND I POST AT COMPLETELY RANDOM TIMES 😭

sneak peak : so the time has come ! someone noticed a song reference i put in my story ! if y’all didn’t already notice it, in all my posts i put some song references which, if you can tell me from which song or band it is, you get a sneak peak of the next part before everyone else ! the first winner was… @grierpilots !, the reference was from a neighbourhood song, one of my favs which is crybaby ! the reference was : “i always get this anxious feeling, but it goes away when i’m with you breathing.” which neteyam said to you in pt. 2 of the fic ! the quote isn’t exact but it’s always recognisable :)

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sebuckyverse · 1 year

Text

for a good time, call

modern!rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

Eddie Munson is a burnt out rockstar, touring the country. When he finds a phone number written on a bathroom wall, he strikes an unusual friendship with a coffee shop barista who has no idea who he is.

warnings: 18+ cussing, eventual smut if i'm horny, steve harrington, none yet, strangers to friends to lovers <3 word count: 3,4k

an: Y'ALL idk what this is but i had this idea when i woke up from a bomb ass nap! tagging my bestie @hellfirewhore because she helped me so much with this, love u bub. also @ceriseheaven because she's obsessed with me. also i apologize for the Steve Harrington girlies

chapter two ♫ masterlist

chapter one ♫♪♩·..·

With a heavy sigh, Eddie slips into the bathroom of a restaurant, the name of which he cannot even remember. It’s barely 6pm and he’s already two drinks in, cursing himself for agreeing to this meeting at all when he could’ve just been a dick and said no, but like someone once close to him used to say, he is a people pleaser. He closes his eyes for a minute before pushing off the door and heading to the furthest stall, locking himself in and sitting down without taking his pants off. He didn’t really need to go, this was just an excuse to escape giving the answers his shitty manager is waiting for him to give.

It’s nearing the end of Corroded Coffin’s summer tour “Live from the Upside Down”. With only 7 shows left, it’s safe to say the tour was a massive success. Tickets were sold out, fans were lining the streets and Eddie couldn’t blink without a camera going off somewhere. It’s what he wanted, dreamed of ever since he was in middle school and he was proud of himself for realizing his dream, specially when in high school, he thought about quitting. The fans are already asking about a new tour or a new album - they aren’t the only ones. Management is also on board, hoarding Eddie about new songs or if they could extend the tour, it’s good business after all. That’s all it seems to be about recently - money, publicity, instagram likes. It didn’t use to be like this, it was good when they blew up and signed with their record label but thinking back, it was too good to be true.

Eddie doesn’t have an answer to anybody. He hasn’t written anything new in weeks and his relationship with the band is strained, he doesn’t remember the last time he actually enjoyed being on stage. So as he sits on the toilet rubbing his eyes, the bags under his eyes blue and purple, he’s trying to find another excuse to his manager waiting by the table to why they definitely shouldn’t jump right into another album. Once he has stretched out the minutes to a quick bathroom run as far as he could, he stands back up and stretches his legs. Eddie does a double take when before stepping out, he notices some text written on the stall door, followed by numbers.

“For lousy head, call Y/N.”

.•♫•♬•

For what felt like the hundredth time today, your phone buzzed in your back pocket. Ignoring it, like you have done for the past two days, you continued packing blueberry muffins into a perfectly folded cardboard box, slapping a thank you sticker on top and pushing it to the side next to a few other to-go boxes. The clock was pushing 7pm and you were counting down the minutes until your shift was over, thankful that you had the next two days off to relax and turn off your fucking phone.

You don’t know what happened, but yesterday afternoon you started getting incredibly weird and vulgar messages and phone calls from unknown numbers. After consulting with your best friend last night, you didn’t reply to a single text and ignored the phone calls after you already answered one, where a guy asked for a blowjob.

“How did this happen?” Your best friend and co-barista Robin asked.

“You’re asking me! I have no idea!” you shrieked back at your phone, looking at her through the Facetime app.

“Have you signed up for anything weird lately?”

“Like what? You’re making it seem like I leaked my own number.”

“Well, someone clearly did.”

You chewed on your thumb as you rewinded the event of the last week. One thing did pop up, something that made your stomach churn. “You don’t think Steve would do this?”

“Uh, yeah! That guy is an asshole and the only thing bigger than his head is his ego. Didn’t you say he blocked you?”

“Yeah,” you sighed and massaged your temples where a headache was already forming “He got mad at me when I didn’t want to sleep with him on the second date.”

“Pfft- what?! Why didn’t you tell me?” Robin gawked at you, only her eyes and forehead visible now.

“It’s embarrassing! Sorry!”

“Well anyway, I bet it was him. You were too good for him anyway, by the way.”

You smiled and stuck your tongue out, “Stupid! But what am I going to do? Am I going to have to change my number now?”

“Seems so, unless you can find out how Steve leaked your number.”

After you promised to look into getting a new number the next day, you finished your call with Robin and turned off your phone. Today was super busy and you were too tired to worry about changing your number. You walked a short mile home and immediately flopped onto your bed, kicking off your shoes.

You had ignored your phone most of the day, but decided it was time to take a peek as you may have missed something important. You scrolled through numerous new text messages and deleted every single one, only sending back a quick text to Robin who had asked for any updates as she was off work today. Just as you were about to turn the device off again, a new message popped up that made you jump up the bed.

7:28pm Hello, I hope this message reaches you. I’m sorry to bother you, just wanted to let you know someone has written your number on a bathroom stall with a pretty nasty message. I scrubbed it off as much as I could. Have a good night.

.•♫•♬•

It's been a few days since Eddie shot that text off and the almost instant reply he received back was still sitting unanswered at the top of his messages.

7.31pm, three days ago Hi. Thank you so much for letting me know, my phone has been going off like crazy. I appreciate what you did. If there's anything I can do to repay you, please let me know!

Eddie had no intention of asking for anything in return, that would be absurd. He was only doing what was right, it's what any decent person would have done. He's been hesitant to respond, he still remembers that one time he was a bit tipsy and made the irrational decision to give out his real number to a girl after a show. It only took three hours before his number was blasted all over the internet and he smashed his phone against a wall just to make it stop ringing.

Eddie was never this reclusive, not before all of this anyway. In high school, he had a handful of friends who he cared for and loved messing with. He was loud at times and he didn't care what anybody else thought of him, they all hated him anyway. In high school, he still had Wayne, too. Now he only has himself.

He was currently sitting on a hotel bed, after a show, his hair still dripping with water from his shower. He's scrolling Instagram, checking out the bands latest post, reading various fan comments who all appeared to love the show - which was good in theory, but it makes him feel sick. Can't they see that he's miserable? He's burned the fuck out but everybody seems blind to it. Before he can close the app though, a new text comes through, from the same number he still hasn't answered to.

02.59am ''ROb where re you- steve is here and i slapped him!! Cme find me quick''

His brows bunch together in a frown and before he can help himself, he snorts. This was clearly a text someone would send not-sober, which he has done too many times. He decides to write back, just to be.. polite.

03.00am ''Not Rob, but if Steve is the one who wrote that shit on the wall, good for you 🙂''

03.02am ''oh fuckk im so sorry'' 03.02am ''this is so embarrass sing pls ignore me'' 03.03am ''and it was steve!! he said t was him'' 03.04am ''hes such a dick im sorry i'm bothering you'' 03.04am ''ignore me, m so sorry again''

Eddie is staring at his phone with the most comical look on his face, if he felt tired before it's all gone now. He doesn't remember the last time he had a genuine laugh, but your texts are very amusing.

03.05am ''It's very hard to ignore you when you keep bombing my phone.''

It takes a couple of minutes before a new reply comes in and for some reason that he doesn't want to think about right now, it's making him anxious waiting for your reply. That's not creepy at all, he thinks.

03.08am ''IM SORRY have a kiwi on me🥝🥝''

.•♫•♬•

The fresh September breeze has sneaked in through your open window, a gush of wind petting your forehead. You peel one eye open and do a quick scan of the room, noting that you're thankfully in your own apartment. With a delicious groan, you stretch your limbs and turn to your other side. The subtle thumping in your head is a stark reminder that you should've stayed home last night, but Robin refused to take no for an answer, as usual, and you two ended up at a bar downtown.

While downing a few fruity drinks might have been in your bingo cards, seeing Steve Harrington wasn't. Your eye twitched as soon as you saw the back of his head and that stupid hair of his, his arm flung around a girl you had never seen before. Robin had disappeared to the bathroom a while ago and you were left alone at the counter sipping your Cosmopolitan. Blessed with liquid courage, you set your unfinished glass on the counter and stomped your way over to him and his group of friends.

When you were in earshot, you heard one of them shout ''All hail King Steve!''. You rolled your eyes, pretty sure there was steam coming from your ears.

''Pff, King Steve? More like bitch Steve!''

The girl on his arm sputtered out her mojito and looked between you two, her wide eyes moving back and forth like she was observing a tennis match. Steve turned as well and scoffed at you, ''You need somethin'?''

You crossed your arms, needing to shield yourself and popped your hip. ''Yeah, why'd you do it?''

''Do what?''

''Don't play dumb, Steven. I know you wrote my number on some random bathroom wall. The fuck is wrong with you?''

Steve unhooked himself from his date and took a step closer to you, but you took a step back as well. Someone bumped into you from behind and spilled liquid onto your open toed shoes, but you didn't turn away, instead staring Steve right in the eyes, hoping your looks could kill.

''Aw, I thought I was doing you a favor, babe. Thought you might use the experience.''

''Fuck you,'' you spat. ''All this because I wouldn't have sex with you?''

''Nobody turns down the King, sweetheart. It's your loss anyway.''

You scoffed and broke eye contact to dig through your purse for your phone. Robin would abolish him, but she was still not back yet. ''You're such an asshole!''

Steve raised his hands and run his knuckles up and down your arm, which you jolted away immediately. ''We could still hook up if you want, you know. I'll even do you first.''

You gasped at his crummy words and before you knew it, you raised your hand and slapped his cheek. Steve's head flew to the side and your palm stinging from the harsh contact. Your chest heaved as you turned to leave, looking back at the girl and seeing honest confusion in her eyes. ''Don't bother with him babe, I heard he's only 4 inches.''

You pushed past people back to the bar and ordered yourself 3 shots of tequila, your fingers still trembling as you handed over bills. The shots were gone in the blink of an eye. You needed to find Robin and tell her what happened. You don't condone your actions but you knew she would high five you once she hears about this. You used the restroom, hoping to find her there, but she was nowhere in sight. Sighing in defeat, you pulled your phone up and swiped until you found Robin's text chain and sent off an emergency text. Your vision was already doubling, no doubt the work of 2 Cosmos and 3 shots of tequila, being the lightweight that you were.

Back in bed, you raked your hand through the bedsheets, trying to locate your phone, finding it under your ass. The clock showed 2.13pm. How the hell did I get home last night? you thought and swiftly found Robin's number and put the phone on speaker and placed it next to you on your pillow. The ringing went unanswered and you went to send her a quick text.

2.14pm - to Robin ''Hey, you ok? call me when you get this.''

Looking at your text messages, you were confused when you didn't find texts from last night. You specifically remember texting her and she even replied! Didn't she? Nausea started forming at the pit of your stomach as your fingers made quick work to look through any other messages you might have sent last night and your heart almost stopped beating when you realized who you actually messaged last night.

''Oh, dear God.''

.•♫•♬•

Eddie was on the other side of the country, in the middle of soundcheck when he felt left pocket vibrate. As there were only two songs left, he ignored it until he had a few minutes to spare. He didn't want to jump to conclusions, but he was maybe hoping it was you. Not in a romantic way, of course, he was just wondering what happened to you last night, if you got home safe.

They finished soundcheck and headed back to the dressing room, where they would spend the rest of the day waiting for the show to start, fitting in a few interviews where he put on his best act. Eddie fished his phone from his bucket and felt a cold shiver run down his back as he stared at the screen. It wasn't who he was expecting, it was from Wayne.

Eddie and Wayne used to be close. Wayne was like a father to him and during high school days, were people accused Eddie of being the devil himself, always had his back and looked out for him. It's how Wayne also noticed that Eddie was unhappy, even before Eddie realized it himself. Eddie would reassure Wayne that he was fine and that this was what he wanted, but Wayne could see through the bullshit. He never let Eddie stomp on him either, calling him out for lying and telling him to come home, or at least take a break. But how could he take a break when he is at the height of his career? He couldn't.

Being manipulated by his manager as well, Eddie slowly started pulling away from Wayne. He wouldn't call as often or would leave certain texts unanswered. It's at a point where they aren't really speaking anymore, only the occasional text Wayne sends to let him know he's doing good, everything is fine. Eddie can't admit it, but he needs those texts more than ever. He's thought about calling Wayne every day, now that things have gotten so bad for him. He needs his uncle, the only person he's ever looked up to, to put him straight. But like always, he is a coward and instead of replying, Eddie just locks his phone.

.•♫•♬•

''Where the hell have you been?'' you scold as you hold your door open for Robin, graciously accepting the entire bag of junk food she brought. Chips, cookies, various types of candy and four cans of Coke Zero.

After you hauled up from bed and straightened yourself up, Robin called you and told you she would be coming over with hangover medicine, hence the junk food. You emptied the bag on your coffee table and popped open one of the Cokes. Robin toed off her shoes and joined you on the couch, reaching for the chips. ''I think I found the love of my life.''

''Oh great heavens, again?''

Throwing a chip at you, you pick it up and snack on it. ''Hey, she's the one who got us all home last night. I found you slumped against the wall next to the bathroom.''

''Oh, well, make sure to thank her for me then. What's she like?''

Robin proceeded to fill you in on her activities last night and you told her about your encounter with Steve, receiving a very expected high five. ''Fuck yeah! He deserved it, I hope that girl dumped his ass, too. He's a stupid idiot.''

Fidgeting in your seat, you pulled your legs closer to your chest. ''Speaking of idiots, I may have done something dumb last night, too. You remember that number that texted me about the whole thing? Who told me my number was on that stall and shit?''

''Yeaaah?'' Robin asked cautiously.

''I.. might have drunk texted him last night, thinking it was you.''

''Oh my God, what did you say? Show me your phone!''

You grabbed your phone from the coffee table and handed it to her, watching her facial expressions as she kept reading. ''Oh my GOD, this is like, sexy.''

''Sexy?! What part of this is sexy? I humiliated myself to this stranger. He could be the president for all I know.''

''Really doubt the president is allowed to text. But this is cool! You have a mysterious pen pal, or a text pal. He hasn't texted anything yet?''

''Nope,'' you say and is that disappointment you detect in your own voice? This is stupid.

''You do it then! Text him something right now.'' Robin claps her hands and scooches closer to you so she could see your screen.

''No, what the hell. And say what?''

''Anything!''

.•♫•♬•

Tonight's show was the hardest so far. The band changed the setlist a little bit and Eddie was off his game, forgetting some words to their last song. The night ended in a screaming match with his manager when Eddie spoke up about wanting a bigger break before they do another tour. Jake, his manager, accused Eddie of being lazy and not willing to work for it, whilst Eddie accused him of being a phony and only caring about money. At one point, the band had to separate the two of them so fists wouldn't go flying.

So, as he nurses his beer at another hotel room, laying on silk sheets and dried streams of tears running down his cheeks, he feels the need to talk to someone. He can't call Wayne, although subconsciously he know that should be the first option, he thinks of that stranger, somewhere out there, who has no idea how he is. He bends down to rummage through his pants until he finds what he's looking for. He's surprised when he sees that you have written to him first, the nickname he gave you staring back at him.

5.56pm - Kiwi ''Hi. I would once again like to apologize for my antics last night. Please know that I'm so humiliated!''

Without thinking much about it, Eddie quickly types a reply, hoping you still might be up.

01.13am “Don’t worry about it. You’re entertaining.”

01.15am - Kiwi “Oh, is my despair entertaining you?”

01.15am ''Yes.''

01.16am “I hope I didn't wake you.”

01.17am - Kiwi ''You didn't.'' ''What's your name, by the way?''

Eddies fingers hovered over the keyboard, seconds ticking by. He couldn't give his real name, he'd already made a similar mistake once. He didn't want to lie to you, but seeing as you didn't know who he was anyway, it made feel a little bit less guilty when he offered you a fake name.

01.20am ''It's Kirk.''

01.21am - Kiwi ''Are you from Metallica?''

Eddie smiled - he was outsmarted. Bonus points for liking, or at least knowing Metallica.

01.21am ''What would you do if I say yes?''

01.21am - Kiwi ''Nothing, probably ask you what James Hetfield smells like 😜''

01.22am ''It was nice knowing you, Kiwi girl.'

01.22 am - Kiwi ''KIWI girl?? Wait come back, Kirk's my second favorite!''

01.22am ''I'm here.''

01.23am - Kiwi ''Are we friends now?''

01.24am ''Sure. If you want to be.''

01.24am - Kiwi ''I think so.''

01.25am ''Good, me too.''

01.27am - Kiwi ''Good night, Kirk.''

01.27am ''Good night, Kiwi girl.''

#eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #rockstar!eddie #eddie munson fanfic #rockstar!eddie munson #modern!eddie munson

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pupcuck · 6 days

Text

SUBSTITUTE LOVER !

ft. jack krauser x fem!reader, jack krauser x leon s. kennedy

tags. p in v, daddy-daughter incest, internalised homophobia, referenced domestic abuse, use of the f slur im so sorry, some kreon, smut, a little voyeurism, blood at the end

note. commission for @d10nyx !!!! feeding people what they want :3 nyxie wyxie i hope this is good n i hope u enjoy it!!!!’ LUV U MWAH.. ignore any mistakes… my editing sucks 😓 goes back n forth between krauser n reader pov pretty fast n the smut is a little boring 😓 pretend bootcamp is like not super top secret !!! also idk how american military works so ignore my attempt at that

As a young girl, you understand love to be an unconditional, non-negotiable and non-refundable thing. It’s human nature to love, it is your god given right to love and for your father to deny you of the only thing your heart knows to do—It’s downright cruel.

He’s a military man and that comes with perks. You get to visit his platoon and get an eyeful of bulging quads and strong jaws and sweaty abs— That is the only perk now that you think about it. Oh, and that cute blond dude who still has all his hair. Duh. Otherwise he wouldn’t be blond. He’s a total babe and when he smiles, blinking at you with feline eyes as he watches quietly from behind his bangs, you find yourself keeling over to support the weight of your aching heart.

(Pussyache, heartache, it’s all the same to you.)

Whenever you ask your dad what’s so special about him, why’s he got such shiny hair? What shampoo does he use? Is it a medical condition, does he have to keep the hair? Does his head get cold or something? He goes all stiff like you’ve asked too much of him, which you never have, you ask for nothing but love.

Ever since your mother left—Well, no it’s not even that. He didn’t change when she left. Dad is the same ol’ dad you’ve had for years. Jack is Jack and your mother isn’t going to change that, she didn’t change that, so she left and never looked back. She left you ‘cause you’re Jack’s girl and nothing is going to change that. You carry a part of your father wherever you go and that would be unwelcome in her house. She told you over the phone that she no longer needed all that medication - it was just your father.

Oh, he’s not so bad. Jack keeps you fed and clothed and what else are you meant to expect from a dad? No dads love is adequate to the way you love them. Never has and never will be.

Still, he’s changed and that you’re sure of.

His temper is short, you’re well aware. You live with the guy, of course you know all about it. He flips out when the toilet lid isn’t closed, and when you give him a gentle reminder that you don’t carry the same junk he does down there, Jack gives you the cold shoulder. It’s all about gentle parenting with your dad, but the sulking has escalated into full blown temper tantrums and you don’t know where you’ve gone wrong.

Dad’s never gotten physical. Until he does. And now you don’t remember a time where he was ever kind. You’re beaten into a pulp by the hand that feeds you and you’re not quite sure where it all went wrong, what you’ve done to be on the receiving end of such intense resentment.

All you’ve ever known is a man devoted to anger, but he’s not violent. Your dad is not violent. He’s the one who picked you up when you toppled over, he taught you how to ride a bike and he put you on his shoulders to see the world from his point of view— And that is it really. Nothing more, nothing less.

You don’t have daddy issues so to say, more so it’s your father that has issues in general, and those issues are untouched by any flame, they burn brighter than tiger eyes. It seems that they’ve started to fracture, and now the only thing that brings him relief is his fist on your supple skin, a cathartic end to a hard fucking day.

Let’s get one thing straight - Jack Krauser is not a faggot. Jack had a wife and he fucked that wife in the marriage bed once and they never fucked again. You were conceived on the first try.

A faggot couldn’t do that.

It starts with Leon S. Kennedy. He’s wet behind the ears and wet in his pink mouth and pink hole. He stares at Jack like he’s seen something nice, then he looks away a moment later, unable to hold his gaze.

Jack Krauser isn’t gay. It just gets lonely out here. It gets hard to keep his men in line and nothing scares them more than dick. Jack Krauser is not gay—And when Kennedy’s tight little hole cranks him in like a wine cork, it means nothing. This is how you get through to insolent brats, it’s the only way, no other method has worked as well as this.

If Jack Krauser was gay he would lounge in the bunk with Kennedy, he would tenderly wipe the sweat from his blond brows and kiss him stupid. But he does none of that. Kennedy is sent to shower, limping as he goes.

(Not before Jack gives him a nice hard smack on his backside and tells him to Pack it up, Boy Scout. Not before Leon presses his nose into the hollows of his neck, his boyish beam is that of a cat that got the cream, sweat gleaming to highlight the shape of his collarbones.)

So yeah. Jack is straight, and he can prove it. He would be able to prove it but the only bitch for miles left him. There’s you. But that’s fucked up. Jack wouldn’t go there.

Then you start to ask questions about Kennedy. And of course it’s him, with the petal lips and tawny lashes that remind Jack of toffee drizzled on coffee cake, of course he caught your attention— Of course he did.

(Like father, like daughter.)

You prod and he snaps, icy eyes a frigid landscape as his gaze pierces you with bone-chilling intensity. You shift from foot to foot, toying with loose threads at the hemline of your frayed nightdress.

“Sorry, dad.” You look down at your feet, wiggle your toes against the kitchen tiles and get sent into the edge of the counter when Jack lands a solid hit on your cheek.

Why, he oughta use some of that military training on you. Not the dick. Not ‘cause he’s gay, but because you’re his daughter. Obviously.

Definitely not ‘cause he’s gay.

Jack could fuck you if he really wanted. You have some, uh, assets. Yeah, you have tits, those are interesting. You have an ass, that’s nice. Got a pussy, an extra bonus. All of those are things that Jack loves. Really, he does, and he doesn’t need to prove it to anyone.

Jack takes your chin in his crushing grip, tilts your head to the left and then to the right, you tremble and make yourself small, clutching at the counter behind like you intend to saw yourself in half so your top half can make a quick escape.

“Dad…” Your little hand wraps around his wrist, fingers barely touching as you try to get him off, shaken up by his sudden burst of violence. “I’m sorry.”

He grunts, releasing you from his hold and watching your body crumple in on itself. You cup your cheek to check for damage, pressing the pads of your fingers into your jaw with a groan.

It throbs with each pulse of Jack’s heart.

You think your dad has a crush on the rookie. It might be a stretch, but he never looked at your mom that way. It transcends love and turns into hatred and heat ‘cause your dad is incapable of producing any positive feelings towards anyone ever. You would know that better than anyone, you know him better than anyone, better than he knows himself.

His tongue runs along his white canines as he watches Kennedy hold a plank and man, he’s got it bad for the rookie. You don’t blame him - look at that form, at that ass. Dad has good taste, he gets it! Now that the two of you have found some common ground, maybe he’ll stop backhanding you into next year.

Kennedy’s given mercy by your oh-so gracious father and his body caves in, hitting the mud with a soft thump—He gets up ass first and you suck in a breath at the same time your dad lets one out. His hips raise and his hands find grip in the ground before he plants his feet, lifting his body despite the discomfort that tinges his muscles. Kennedy hobbles away and you love watching him leave. Dad must think the same ‘cause he reaches down to adjust his cargos. Gross.

You catch them in the showers a week later.

You got bored waiting around for him, okay? The showers were your main priority—Not to see this, but to catch some hunks mid scrub down and turn the place into a porn set. Life has a funny way of taking all your wants and twisting them into half-wants. Seeing Leon naked? Great, amazing, no notes. Seeing your father naked? Dear fucking lord, you need a bullet put through your brain stat.

They're giving each other a muscle massage or whatever. Code for the most tender groping you have ever seen in your life. Dad cradles the back of Leon’s head sweetly. Jesus, you don’t think you’ve ever used that word to describe him. Their lips brush and Kennedy is the one that pulls back, Jack’s head moves forward to chase them, settling with ghosting kisses along the soft skin of Leon’s neck, dotted in cocoa dust moles and a protruding Adam’s apple that gets the same delicate treatment. Along with a quick lick that draws a moan from the base of Leon’s throat.

You think you might be intruding on something more personal than sex. Holy fuck, you didn’t know your dad could do personal, you didn’t know he had the ability to love so ardently. To love at all. What a dick. You don’t know whether to look away or not.

Like, Leon is—He’s cute. You like when his feathery lashes dust his cheeks each time he closes his eyes, you like how his body, soft with baby fat, gives away to the roughness of your father’s touch. The flesh of his hips divots when Jack grips them. Your father presses his back to the cool shower wall, the buttery flesh of Leon’s ass moulds to the shape of his fingers when he tugs him close to his broad chest— Cute, he has back dimples. Jack slots his thumbs in them, and then he makes the mistake of lifting his eyes from Leon’s angel face.

The running water is not enough to stop him from spotting you, head poked into the shower room as you gape. For your sake, you dip out the door to make your exit and head back to the car, not sure on whether you should be traumatised or enlightened by the possibly harrowing image that’s burned into your retinas like the worst form of LASIK.

The ride home is silent. Dad is silent most of the time, he talks but not to you. There’s one thing to talk about, but you doubt either of you want to touch on that.

Jack lets you in first. The door clicks shut behind him and you’re both alone. He’s always alone with you. He’s never missed his wife until this very moment. Not out of love for her, but out of pure convenience. She would break up the silence, she would remind him that he is in fact attracted to women and what you saw back there was nothing. Hell, he could give you another sibling if you asked—He could do that.

In one try, like a real man.

He could get it up, he can get it up, he only gets it up for women. Kennedy is the closest thing to a girl, alright? That’s all there is. Wait till you find out about what they do in prison. Every guy at camp has had a turn with Kennedy—That’s just how it works. It’s not about being gay, it’s not— It’s just tradition, isn’t it? Picking on pretty boys like that, it’s the only way to get rid of all that pent up testosterone or whatever it is that swelters within Jack.

When you turn on your heels to leave for your bedroom, Jack calls your name. You freeze so fast it’s almost comical. Like you’re playing musical chairs.

“Yes, dad?” Your gaze is stuck to your white socks, the print of the floorboards is mighty interesting.

His brow dips and his scowl morphs into a pained smile that brings you more fear than comfort, his hand is heavy on your shoulder and Jack thinks this expression suits you well.

“You think you're smart?” Barging in like that, making assumptions that only women would make—You don’t get it. You’ll never get it.

“No, sir.” The chill that runs down your spine straightens it.

“On your knees, girl.” The way you’re looking at him—He hates it. You think you got him all figured out, putting him together like a puzzle, but you’re missing one piece—He’s not gay.

“No,” you say while doing as he says.

(Kennedy does that, cries out No! as the plush of his ass meets Jack’s thighs, as he fucks himself like a faggot on a dick that belongs to a man who once had a wife, a man with a daughter.)

“Dad, no—Daddy, I’m sorry, I didn’t even see anything.” You hang your head, pleading with the ground as Jack fishes his soft cock from his cargos, refusing to meet the tip with your eyes.

Your apology is lost to the softness of his dick, hanging huge and limp against his thigh like a deflated balloon. Fuck—No, no, it’s not because Jack is gay, it’s the daughter thing. You’re his daughter, and to get hard at the sight of your daughter would only ever elicit a prison sentence.

“Daddy,” you try again, cradling what you have with him close to your chest, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—Please, daddy, I don’t—Dad.” You fail to plead your case, you fail to garner any interest from his cock. “If it’s about—I don’t like him, I don’t like Leon, dad, you can have him, he’s all yours I swear—Just don’t do this to me, daddy, please.”

Jack’s cock twitches at the mere mention of his name.

“What did I tell you ‘bout running that stupid mouth of yours, girl? Where are your fuckin’ manners?” He rubs the ruddy tip along the crease of your jutting lips, the bottom one trembles. “Thought I taught you well.”

“No… No, don’t do that, dad—God, no.” Your complaints are snuffed out by the fat dick that stuffs itself down your throat, half-hard and thick enough to be a choking hazard.

(It poses a threat to you, but not to Kennedy. Man can that kid suck cock, with a face like that he’s lucky he’s not begging for his life.)

You gag and Jack pinches your nose. If he had a son, he would’ve taught him to play ball. But he’s stuck with a daughter, and the most you can do is dig your nails into his thighs, mucusy spit hanging from your chin in stringy strands.

“You’re made for this,” Jack tells you, and he’s right. Biologically, those lips of yours have evolved to maximum pout to suck cock. They bear resemblance to Leon’s—The vein on the underside of his dick throbs. Jack’s jaw is offset as his teeth grind together, splintering into thin shards of bone. Not the fucking time to be thinking of the rookie and his floppy hair, softer than cotton beneath Jack’s fingers, the rookie who is shaven clean save the shadow that lines his lips, the rookie that sports hardened lines on his otherwise plush abdomen, pink skin leading to an even pinker dick—Holy shit, what’s wrong with him?

At this pace, Jack’s going to contact a fucking therapist—Have it out with his bitch wife. That’s exactly what it is. Sexual frustration he's not been able to take out on your mother.

His cock slips from your mouth, it rests heavy on your face, casts a shadow as you cower at the sheer size. “Dad…” You cough wetly, hacking up bile that you push back down with a pained gulp. “Daddy… Don’t do it to me, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to look, dad, I’m not—I’m not mad at you.”

He scoffs, lifting you by the Peter Pan collar of your floral blouse—You look like a fucking Mormon. That pisses him off. Jack’s not a Mormon or a faggot, there are so many accusations in the air and it all rises to crescendo. You’re bent over the dining table, the fullness of your skirt is hoisted up to ruche around your waist in makeshift pleats and your white cotton panties are dangling around your ankles.

The lips of your puffy cunt cushion his dick and Jack starts to feel a little queasy. Not because—Not ‘cause of the pussy. It’s not that. It’s the daughter thing. Seriously—There’s no time to waste, Jack forces himself into your pussy before his dick folds in on itself. As he pistons himself in and out of your only partially wet cunt, it feels like nothing. Jack is numb.

Feels nothing, hears nothing—Sees nothing but him. The anger inside of him rises like a devastating wave, ready to engulf every skyscraper in its path. You end up being on the receiving end as you have been for as long as you’ve been alive—His very own punching bag. What else are kids for, huh?

Your stubborn pussy pushes him out, you dig your nails into the glazed wood of the table, clawing like they might find purchase in the grooves. Dad, dad, daddy, dad—It doesn’t work on him, you do nothing for him. When you cry, he doesn’t feel sad, and when your cunt clamps down on him, it brings him no pleasure.

A hand comes to rest on your back, forcing you into a sharp arch as Jack’s hips smack into yours at a bruising pace. Somewhere along the line, a very thin line that Jack snorts, it blurs—Your salty tears become the tang of Leon’s sweat, your hips become buttercream smooth in his grip, and your pussy—Your hole milks Jack for all he’s worth. The shroud has lifted from his shoulders and Jack feels weightless.

You lift your head, blood leaking from your nose, it congeals in fat lumps on your skin. “Daddy…” You sniffle, having had your head held down, grinding your bloody nose to a pulp against the smooth of the dinner table.

“Clean yourself up, girl.” Jack rolls his shoulders back, fists tightly balled by his side as he has proved nothing. Nothing at all. He’ll have to try again. No father of yours is a faggot. Can’t do that to his little girl.

(Excuse after fucking excuse.)

#jack krauser x reader #jack krauser smut #krauser smut #resident evil angst #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #jack krauser x you #krauser x reader #dead dove do not eat

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