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courtingchaos · 1 year

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Dangerous

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female!Reader

Summary: Ooo, aren't you the little viper at Rick's party. Eddie want's to see how hard you bite.

A/N: Look, I'll never write fuckboy!Eddie like @newlips or @carolmunson, and this isn't even truly fuck boy Eddie. This is like hand wavy, vaugly fboy!Eddie. Anyways, I got rip roaringly high last night and busted this out, honestly kind of proud of myself for getting it all out in one go? 3k and I was barely awake for it. Anyways, enjoy!

Warnings: Drug use, alcohol use, blow jobs, general douchbaggery from both reader and Eddie. (18+ NSFW)

The black Audi pulling around the front of Rick’s is thumping loudly, testing the limits of the bass in the trunk. There’s an ever so slight rattle of metal and Eddie hides his laugh behind his cigarette. The car stops with a jerk and the under lighting shifts from purple to white when the driver door opens, deep bass pouring out.

“Just get out of the fucking car then!” The woman who gets out yells and slaps the roof of her car. Eddie rolls his eyes at the jostling vehicle, the shadow of bodies inside shifting around until the back passenger door opens and two girls spill out laughing. They’re adjusting their dresses where they’ve hiked up high on their thighs and clutching their phones. The driver points at the house, party in full swing inside and makes a face at them. “Get the fuck inside!”

Eddie would know Lisa’s voice anywhere, the shrill yell a constant out of Rick’s girl. The two that fell out of the Audi keep giggling and flip her off. Lisa looks like murder but her passenger window rolls down and there you are giving the giggle twins a cold stare. It seems to sober them up a little when your long green claw points at them intently, gold rings glinting on your knuckles. “Get in the fucking house and find a fucking seat.”

“Okay red, damn.”

Eddie watches you slap a hand on the outside of the car door and the two girls scatter inside, rushing past him where he’s partially hidden behind a pillar on the porch. Lisa gets back in and starts to drive off but not before he catches your eye and you wiggle those talons at him. He refuses to admit he's interested.

Danger danger danger

It’s not the fullest Rick’s has ever been but there’s too many people for Eddie to be comfortable. He didn’t even want to come tonight but Steve had some girl here and Rick had asked him if he was coming which meant he was supposed to be there. And now you’ve shown up with Lisa and it’s just feeling like the night could go sideways fast.

Eddie has seen you around a few times but he’s not even sure what the fuck it is you do here most nights. You’re not one of Rick’s girls, you aren’t pushing and you don’t seem to be with any of the other guys. Watching you walk up the driveway, head buried in your phone while Lisa talks at the side of your head, he thinks you might just be here for moral support.

“-and they’re just gonna start fucking each other in my backseat? I just got that fucking thing cleaned I don’t want pussy all over my fucking leather!”

“They know to stay out of trouble.”

“They are trouble. Hey Eddie.” Lisa all but purrs at him and it makes his skin crawl. It’s not that she isn’t hot, but the idea of getting caught with her would mean a lot of bad, bad things for him. She’s also too god damn loud for his liking. “You hanging out in the shadows like a ghoul?”

“Waiting on Steve.” He doesn’t move from his post, leaned against the column. Smiles at Lisa and then slides his eyes over to you where you’re still typing furiously on your phone. “Busy night?” That gets you to look up at him, all long lashes and gold liner around big eyes. They look black in the dim light out here and he feels like he’s staring into a viper tank. Your all curvy lines under your tight black dress, gold accents glittering against your hands. Gold hanging from your ears. Gold around your neck. It all feels like a warning to him.

“You saw those two assholes. Gotta babysit.”

“Is that what you do around here?” He asks, hears Lisa laugh before she walks in, leaving you two in the doorway.

You shrug. “Not all I do.” You look him up and down, taking in his outfit. He’s tall, lean under his torn jeans and tight black shirt. It’s hot tonight and you can see where the fabric clings to his chest; all his rings and necklaces and bracelet glint under the porch light. His curls hang in the humidity, skin luminous under all the black ink on his arms and neck.

“What is it you do again?” A sarcastic tilt of your head and now you’re both smirking at each other. You know Eddie, you’ve heard about him, seen him around. You're about to make another jab when a loud commotion kicks off inside followed by the unmistakable sound of Steve’s laugh.

“Babysitting.”

Eddie pushes off his post to go find out if Steve is in trouble and leaves you to click away at your screen, watching him retreat into the deep thrum of the party inside.

Eddie was intending on convincing Steve to leave but he’s been too busy watching you move around the house. Never too far from Lisa and keeping an eye on Brittany and Becca, the troublemakers. One of them has already tried to get at him and he cut her off, doesn’t even look down at her. “Absolutely not.”

He watched you laugh from across the living room, dark red lips that match your dyed hair, cutting into a smile when you tapped Lisa’s shoulder to tell her. The short black dress you’ve got on clings tight and inches up your thigh when you lean to whisper in her ear. He follows the curve of your thigh up to your hip and over your chest, neckline low where your tits are pushed up and almost over. The thin gold chain hangs low and shimmers against your cleavage, skin glowing with a sheen of sweat in the humid house.

Eddie rolls his eyes and sighs at himself. His phone has been going off all night, Dani blowing up his notifications and he hasn’t cared. Doesn’t want to give you the time of day, knows you’re just gonna be another pain in his ass like Dani and Kim and Theresa and whoever the fuck else he has saved in his phone.

Busy trying to scroll through all the ‘wyd?’ texts he doesn’t notice you sneak up beside him until you’re leaning on the same wall, candied almonds and rose rushing up with you.

“Hey Nosferatu.” The ice in your drink clicks around the plastic cup. You smile at him like you’ve got a really good secret to tell him and he can’t help the little curl of his lip in your direction.

“You done babysitting?”

“Eh, they’re somewhere around here.” You chase the straw in your drink, pink tongue poking out to pull it between your lips. “I was waiting for a good time to come bother you anyways.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah! You’re all broody over here for most of the night. Steve fucked off and it looks like you don’t have any other friends to hang out with.” Another sip. “I can be your friend.” Sharp eyes under sharper eyeliner. He knows better. Should.

“I have plenty of friends.”

“Aww.” You pout, leaning into him, body pushed fully up against his side. “Who doesn’t need more friends?” Your hand rests on his bicep but you walk your fingers down his arm till you hit his hands holding his phone. Pinching the corner of it you tug once and he relents. You grin up at him quick and open his contacts to ‘add new’. Before you hand it back he watches you scroll through the names.

“Dani?” A gasp of mock disbelief. You lean closer to whisper, “she’s got a big ol’ boyfriend don’t you know?” He just raises his eyebrows at you. Before he puts his phone away he looks for your contact, ‘Red’ with fire emojis around it; flashes the screen at you.

“Clever.”

“Mhm.” You suck up the rest of your drink and shake the ice around for a second. “I’ve been told I have a very clever mouth. Lotta me is clever.” He knows better. He does but he still keeps his eyes on yours. Still reaches out and takes your cup to set on the table. Still matches his grin to yours when you ask if he wants to smoke. “Let’s go be friends somewhere quieter.”

The basement is quiet except where the music bleeds through the ceiling. You’d thrown yourself on the worn couch and unbuckled your heels from your ankle. Eddie had watched in rapt fascination while pulling out his pre roll and fishing around for his lighter.

“You gonna share?” A giggle that doesn’t belong to you, you’re not a giggling woman.

“You’re really good at this.” Eddie says around the joint. Lights it and gets a deep pull while you sit and have the audacity to look confused.

“Good at what?”

“Getting what you want.”

“Oh yeah.” You laugh for real then, pretense dropped for a moment. Holding your hand out for him to pass the joint over, he just takes another drag. Another pout and you sit up ready to snatch it out of his hand when he closes the short distance between the two of you. Grabs your face and squeezes your cheeks, leans down and blows the smoke over your painted lips. He can feel your face pulling into a smile under his fingers. Hears you breathe deep, watches your tongue poke out again to lick your lips and he spots the gold stud.

“You’re dangerous.”

“I don’t have to be.” An arch of your manicured eyebrow and honestly, fuck it. He’s gotten this far and you haven’t gutted him yet with those claws. In fact he can feel them creeping up into his hair, pulling it back away from his face so you can move up and kiss him hard. He’s stuck kneeling over you, holding out the joint over the back of the couch and balancing himself on the other hand while you hold on to the back of his neck. It’s all tongue and teeth until you bite his bottom lip too hard and he rears back. “What the fuck?”

“Sorry, just wanted a taste.”

“Seriously?”

“Oh come on Eddie.” You surge up into his space making him rock back on his heel. “You look like the type that likes a little pain.” You’re mocking him a bit, but your hands are trailing down the front of him to hook your fingers in his belt. He’s finding it a little hard to care about you being a bitch right now. Staring him down while you slide the buckle open slowly, watching him take another hit that he blows in your face again.

“Are we fucking or fighting I can’t tell.” His hand is up under your jaw quick. A tight hold that doesn’t quite hurt but he’s keeping you in place while he places the joint gingerly in the middle of your lips.

“Please shut the fuck up.” A real smile from him when you don’t reply and just suck on the smoke. You get the button on his jeans undone, pull the fly down and he shifts, pulls your face with him when he leans back against the couch. Guides you around and you get what he’s doing when you climb off the couch and kneel between his spread knees on the cold concrete. Eddie let’s go of your face to pluck the joint away and the last puff trails out of your lips after it. He sees you ready to say something and cuts you off.

“Don’t.” Turns his head away for a moment and you tuck your lips in to your teeth and grin to hold in a laugh.

He slouches down further when you run your hands up over his thighs and pull down on his open jeans, nails running over the black ink peeking out between his rucked up shirt and the band of his boxers. The weed is starting to settle in, feels it in the droop of his eyelids. He watches you through his lashes while you run your hands over him, squeezing his cock through his jeans. A hiss around a mouthful of smoke and you pull at his boxers so you can get your hands on him.

His cock springs free and hits his stomach and you’d almost say he’s pretty. Pale like the rest of him except the head, flushed dark pink like his lips. When you run the tip of a finger up the underside his head lolls back and you see his hand flex against his thigh.

“I’ve heard about your work from Kim.” He lifts his head to stare down his nose at you. “My work.” He says flatly.

You glance down at his dick. “I’m impressed so far.”

He huffs a laugh and brings his hand up to your hair that you slap away quick.

“Don’t fuck up my hair, it took me forever to get it all up.” You scowl at him and that and the slap sets him off. He doesn’t move for a second before reaching up and finding the hair tie in the mess of your bun and pulls it out. Flings it across the basement floor and buries his fingers in at the crown of your head to pull at your hair. There’s a fight in the back of your throat that’s taken over by a gasp. You reach your hand up, lick a long stripe up your palm before grabbing his cock and giving him a few lazy strokes. There’s a rumble in his chest and he pulls your head closer, can hear the wet of your mouth when you open to run your tongue over the flushed head. Your tongue is soft and when the bar catches on the underside ridge he bucks up into your hand. When he drops his head back again you finally wrap your lips around him fully, bobbing your head down to meet your fist. You know he isn’t going to give you the satisfaction of sound, but the flexing of his hand in your hair is enough to tell you everything.

“Fuck…” he whispers to the ceiling when you roll your tongue around him, sucking hard and pumping your hand. The scratch of your acrylics distracts him with goosebumps, enough he doesn’t hear you pop off of him, letting a line of spit fall onto your fist, wet sound louder than the party upstairs. When you lean down and suck one of his balls in your mouth his leg jumps and he feels the vibration of your laughter in your closed mouth. His hand pulls harder at your hair and you moan, rolling your tongue around his sack and pumping your hand faster along his length. He almost crushes the joint in his hand, moves it to clutch it between his lips, muttering around it while you work him over.

“If you wanted to suck my dick you just had to ask.” You hum around him before coming up for air, hand still stroking his cock. “Didn’t have to do that whole dance up there.” He lazily points up toward the living room.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Your mouth is wet, eyes watering slightly but none of your makeup has budged. He’s also impressed. Nudges you forward again and you open wide, sticking your tongue out to tap the fat head of his cock against it. Between the sound and the feeling of that little bearing hitting him the heat creeping up his abdomen moves faster. His hand tightens in your hair again and you speed up your hand, switching between running the pad of your thumb and the tip of your tongue over the sensitive spot just under the head.

“Don’t fucking move.” He mutters.

You settle down right up against his thighs, tits pushed up against the cushion under him, free arm thrown over his thigh hugging him close. You flutter your lashes at him and the last few strokes you squeeze him, running your tongue up the underside of his cock and the only warning you get is the impossibly tighter grip on your hair holding you in place. His eyes squeeze shut and he comes in long spurts, hitting the back of your throat, low groan breathed out from deep in his chest. You slow your hand down, pulling at him till he taps the back of your hand; wait until he opens his bleary eyes to close your mouth and run your thumb up along your chin where a dribble of his come leaked out. Eddie watches you suck on your thumb and make a show out of swallowing. You smile at him like a cat that got the canary.

Danger Danger Danger

“Well,” you stand up slowly and pull your dress down a little, “that was fun.” Lean forward and take the roach out of his mouth and kill it, stubbing whatever is left of the ember out on the side table. You pull his own move on him and the let the last hit trickle out from between your puffy lips across his own bitten ones.

“I really hope you text me Eddie.”

He’s quiet for a beat, watching your eyes flick between his own.

“Depends on when I’m free.”

“Who else is gonna suck your balls, huh?”

He laughs out loud, breaking the weird tension finally.

“Well then what did Dani do to get a new purse?”

“Not that.” Eddie says while tucking himself back into his underwear and buttoning his jeans. You’re putting your shoes back on and his eyes linger on your ankle where you do up the small buckle there. The search for your hair tie is fruitless and he almost feels bad until you start to shake your hair out and he gets to watch you flip it around, tits bouncing with the movement. You run your fingers through it and lean down to get your phone from between the couch cushions, shooting him a wink before heading back up the stairs to the party.

“I guess I’ll just have to try harder next time.”

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson x Reader #Eddie Munson fic #Eddie Munson smut #My work #my fic #yee fucking haw

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potatomountain · 7 months

Text

*739 Seonghwa

*739 Masterlist

Synopsis: with sex work legal, it was as readily available as texting *739, filling out the form sent, and setting a time and place with an easy charge to your credit card. Even the more hefty kinks could be fulfilled with a professionalism that was respected, and could be addicting.

Word count: 7k

AN: so a little late as well as this wa supposed to be for a happy 5 years with Ateez <3 I just overestimated myself whoops. So to be fair- Wooyoung's will be delayed until I get back [so sometime in November] but Hongjoong's will be released around Halloween ^^

Also I barely edited so sorry if there are mistakes!

Warnings below the cut! Taglist at the bottom!

Smut warnings: food play, dom Seonghwa, use of toys in public, masturbation, multiple orgasms, oral [fem recieving], praise, 'Mommy' kink, breeding kink, food kink- body worship, aftercare, lil angst, unprotected sex, paid sex, sex worker. Sexual depictions and use of food!

This couldn’t be right- you’re ‘date’ for the night couldn’t be him.

He was fucking gorgeous.

Blonde hair that was practically white with half of it styled back to expose his forehead and gorgeous features. The black suit he wore with golden accents trimmed to his tall and slender body; his waist alone had you biting down on your lip just to remember the red lipstick you wore. Despite the deep red and black dress hugging your body, the most elegant cocktail dress you had, he made you feel underdressed.

You wanted to assume he was someone else’s date, but that was the table the host had motioned you towards, informing you that the other party had arrived. He hadn’t noticed you just yet, fiddling with a small black box and a rose that was on the table, which gave you plenty of time to drink him in. You weren’t alone in that endeavor, plenty of other people in the elegant restaurant were staring because even in the dim lights he was ethereal

It took several moments to remind yourself that this wasn’t a date- this was an arrangement you were paying for. The reminder surged you forward, stepping up to the semi secluded table on the far side of the restaurant- while it was still in sight of half the tables nearby, it was meant to give a sense of privacy and kept you out of earshot- that was why you had reserved this particular table.

He looked up when you approached, moving to stand up with a gentlemanly smile and your name on his lips like a question.

“Yes, that’s me. You must be Seonghwa then?” When he nodded your lips lifted in a smile but internally you were screaming.

You had no idea how you were going to handle the things you were paying him to do to you, not when his mere gaze had you hot all over. You were so fucked, flushing as he moved to pull your chair out for you and motioned for you to sit. Smoothing out your dress you did, thanking him under your breath as he pushed it forward.

A second later he was sitting across from you, a small smile on his lips as his eyes ran over you. After a moment of small talk, the waiter approached. Unsure just what to eat, considering what was going to happen after, you had glanced over at the model-worthy man across from you, both surprised and not when he ordered for you based on your preferences. Once the waiter was gone he turned to you, his smile a bit sheepish. “I hope you are alright with what I picked.”

You nodded, reaching for the glass of wine he offered. “Is that why you asked for my food preferences?”

“One of them. We discussed a lot over text earlier today after all, and I take pride in my job; I want to make sure you are taken care of properly during our time together, and that means eating food you’ll enjoy that still can be used for the purposes we intended. Speaking of- I’d like to know what items you bought from the list I sent you.”

You thought back to the conversation you had over text this morning, mentally going over each message until you could visualize the list. “I’ve never done this before so I just bought the basics I guess? Whipped cream, chocolate syrup, meltable chocolate that’s… safe, and a few things of fruit: mostly strawberries. I, uh, also bought some of the gelatin you recommended.”

He nodded, seeming pleased with your answer. “That’s more than enough, I might not use it all.”

Heat flooded your cheeks as you thought about just how he would be using those items, wondering where as well. It had you shifting in your chair and rubbing your thighs together. “I did everything else you asked as well. My home is clean, the fruits are clean, I showered, shaved, and pampered my skin. I’m-” You broke off, nibbling on your bottom lip and gripped your skirt, unable to finish the thought out loud. But from the way his gaze darkened he knew what you were going to say, what you were about to point out, heat pooling in your core.

“You follow directions well then, and the dress looks beautiful- I can hardly tell you’re lacking undergarments.” His smile turned coy, now holding out the small box to you. “Let’s change that. Finish your glass of wine and then go open this in the bathroom. You’ll know what to do.”

Swallowing hard, you took the box from him with a nod, struggling to find words, his straightforwardness throwing you off. “Y-yes.” Forgetting the first part of his order you stood up and hurried off to the restroom, even more self conscious of your lack of underwear now. When you glanced back at him, the cocky look on his features sent another wave of heat through you and you wondered if you would make it through dinner without soaking your dress in your own arousal.

How fucking hot would it be if you did?

Once in the bathroom you locked the door, opening the box after a few deep breaths but it just knocked the wind out of your lungs all over. A small pair of black underwear lay neatly folding in the box with a small handwritten note that said: Wear me. Feeling the fabric in between your fingers a groan escaped you- they were vibrating underwear.

“Fucking hell how am I going to make it through dinner?” Muttering to yourself you still followed directions, cleaning up the bit of slick between your legs before putting on the panties, noting the absence of the remote. He probably had it, and you wondered when he was going to use it.

Attempting to shake the thought off you washed your hands, taking your lipstick out of your small handbag and reapplying where you believed it had messed up. It was matte, unlikely to come off easily, but it had you paranoid still. It certainly helped for a moment, taking your mind off the fact that with every step you could feel the part of the underwear that rubbed against your clit, knowing it was going to vibrate at some point; the anticipation alone had your heart rate picking up.

Exiting the bathroom you debated on taking more time, but as soon as you saw him sitting at the table the thought was banished. His grin widened as he curled his fingers as if to say come here. You were about halfway to the table when it started, the briefest second sending a jolt up your body, tensing up your muscles and your eyes going wide. You thanked the heavens you didn’t make a sound, but you were frozen in place as you waited, expecting the vibration to start again.

It didn’t need to, not with the dark look Seonghwa was watching you with as you approached the table and took your seat. “You really do follow directions so well, such a good girl.”

The praise hit you hard, knowing that these panties, and your dress, would certainly be ruined before dinner was over. “Is this normal for you? Toying with your clients in public?”

He shrugged, sitting so elegantly in his seat and bringing the wine to his lips. “My usual sessions are a bit more vanilla than this, so I have to admit my excitement got ahead of me. It is part of what you asked for though, what we discussed. What was it you said exactly? Oh right-” His grin turned sensual, lighting your nerves on fire, “- you want to be wined and dined and teased before you’re eaten like a meal yourself. Isn’t that right?”

When he said it you couldn't help but get flustered, your fantasy seeming much more sinful. There were aspects to it that most certainly were, but none as sinful as this man.

Attempting to leash in your thoughts you cleared your throat, nodding and ignoring your heated cheeks. "Y-yes, that's the gist of it." You knew it was much more than that, parts of your fantasy, of what you went over, that went deeper than food.

"Then be a good girl for Mommy and I'll treat you right, Sugar."

You weren't sure what was the cause of the soft noise you let out; what he said, how he said it, the title and pet name, or the sudden harsh vibrations against your clit- but you had been so startled you couldn't fight it back.

He seemed pleased with himself, the vibrations stopping as he motioned for the wine you still hadn't finished. After what he just said, how could you refuse?

Only as you brought the wine to your lips, the vibrations shot through you, this time not stopping until the glass was empty. Panting and setting the glass down with shaking hands only to be met with praise for him.

That was the start of a vicious cycle throughout dinner. He would give an order subtly, whether by motioning to your wine, water, or food once that arrived. While you carried out the order, he would turn the panties on, stopping the moment you did- whether it was because you were finished or were getting too lost in the pleasure to continue the task- following up with praise.

Teasing you, edging you, and he was enjoying every second of it. Whenever the waiter or staff came to the table he would hit the remote and turn it up, bringing a finger to his lips to tell you to be quiet. It was no easy feat, especially when they had dropped the food off and taken their time leaving; you had almost come, only for him to tell you that you weren't allowed to do so in the restaurant.

A sinful Angel was a perfect way to describe him; his beauty overall ethereal, both masculine and feminine and only matched by the teasing nature and subtle tones of domination he let out through playful smirks, smoldering gazes, and subtle commands.

For a moment, you were sure you didn't pay nearly enough for this- for him. He was all yours for tonight, for this fantasy, which was priceless to you. You certainly weren't going to complain though, and he wasn't giving you a moment to do so, leaving you too wrapped up in his fingers without even touching you.

The entire dinner he hadn't touched you once, the only sign of his enjoyment was the heat in his eyes and the occasional lip bite you would catch out of the corner of your eye when he didn't think you were paying attention.

How could you focus on anything but him? Other than what he was doing to you?

The underwear was soaked by the time you were done clearing your plate, hoping there would be no dessert, in desperate need to leave the restaurant just so you could cum- just so he would touch you. But despite the look of disappointment on your features, dessert was ordered.

An ice cream and cake dish- lava cake with a scoop of vanilla bean on top with chocolate shavings and drizzle. The table was cleared and it was brought out, but Seonghwa was no longer sitting across from you.

He had allowed you to go to the restroom, only for you to return with both of your seats side by side facing the rest of the restaurant. A bit apprehensive you sat down when he pulled the chair out for you, eyes on the dessert as he pushed you forward. Unlike before he didn't pull away, instead leaning in until you could feel his breath on your neck. The softest touch of his lips shook you to your core even more than the vibration of the panties as he clicked them on.

"You're shaking, Sugar, does it feel that good?"

This close you could tell his voice was laced with arousal, the realization dashing away the words on your tongue so you nodded instead.

His lips moved up to your ear, kissing the shell. "Fuck I can't wait to get a taste of you, can't stop thinking about how sweet you're going to taste. You make the most delicious expressions already, I've almost broken the rules a few times- now included."

His confession threw you through a loop, the ground feeling as shaky as your underwear. He had been so calm and collected through dinner you would have never guessed he wanted you so much.

The realization that he did warmed your body in entirely different ways than before but you chalked his desire up to the fantasy, to the scenario, not specifically you. If you let yourself get that delusional you weren't sure your heart could make it out of this in one piece.

Odd thought that, developing a school girl crush on the sex worker you were paying to fulfill your deepest sexual and intimate desires- and over the course of one dinner.

So lost in your own thoughts you hadn't realized he was sitting down next to you now, not until his knee bumped into yours, drawing your attention. "Come on, Sugar, don't space out yet. Focus on me."

Still in a bit of a lustfilled- among other things- date you turned to him slowly, eyes on the dessert that sat in front of you both. Ice cream… you wondered how that would feel on your body.

The slight jerk of your chin didn't let you wonder at eye, your eyes meeting warm brown depths under furrowed brows. "Focus on me." He repeated in a more commanding tone.

"O-okay, I'm focused."

"Focused on?"

Confused by his prompt, and distraction by his thumb nudging your bottom lip, it took a moment for the light bulb to light up, your cheeks burning at the realization.

Batting your eyelashes you tried to act a little cute, looking up at him while tilting your chin down in submission. "F-focused on you, Mommy."

The sly smile that spread across his gorgeous lips had your breath lodging in your throat, not that your shamelessness hadn't already affected your breathing already. "That's my good girl. Now, part those pretty red lips for me and say ah."

Without questioning it you did, gaze unwavering from his as he brought a bite of the ice cream to your mouth, taking it slow. This was the foreplay, just as the rest of dinner had been, yet this felt far more intimate.

With each bite you opened your mouth and shut it when he said, swallowing when he said, not once taking your eyes off him despite how much his constant praises were flustering you. You forgot entirely where you were, hands on your lap just itching to reach out and touch him, to beg to be touched. You were practically number to everything but him and what he wanted you to do.

Halfway through the dessert he dropped his hand from your jaw and started up the vibratory again. You gasped around the bite in your mouth, your throbbing clit already so sensitive you didn't think you could take much more.

It seemed like he knew that, biting down on his lip he glanced down at your lap with the softest groan you would have missed it if you weren't so attuned to him. But neither of you acknowledged it just yet as he fed you yet another bite. And then another.

When he tried to give you the last bite you shook your head, whining and squirming in your seat glad the table kept your lower half out of view from the other people in the restaurant. "Mommy- I can't- please I'm gonna come- '' Breathless you pleaded, for either sweet release or for it to stop but you just couldn't keep your orgasm at bay any longer.

"I know baby, take this last bite and hold my hand, squeeze it while you make a mess of those panties." He held the bite out to your lips again and you eagerly took it. He set the spoon aside and held his hand out on your thigh palm up, not at all surprised with the tight grip you latched onto him with.

You couldn't even register the taste or texture of the cake, just grateful for it's presence to muffle the moan that reverberated up your throat when your climax hit. We were still gushing into the fabric when Seonghwa turned it off, leaning in and running his tongue along the corner of your lips.

Still shaking from aftershocks of your orgasm you could only stare as he pulled away just enough for you to see how long his tongue was as he licked his own lips, staring you down. "I bet you're a pretty fucking mess down there, Sugar. Can't wait to lick you clean."

Heated energy sizzles between the two of you two for a moment before, as if a trance was broken, Seonghwa was standing with your hand still in his. "I already paid and you did take an uber here correct?"

You nodded, holding onto his hand like a lifeline, legs still shaking. You didn't think anyone would be able to see the mess you made of the dress, but if you didn't get your fucked out expression off, people would certainly question. Clearing your throat, taking a deep breath, you forced a shaky smile. "Yes, and I messaged you my address earlier?"

"Already saved in the GPS. It's a short drive but there is enough time for a little more foreplay."

Brimming with anticipation, you managed to school your expression as the two of you left. You were surprised by the nice black sedan he led you to, the cozy leather seat he helped you into, but really you shouldnt be that surprised considering how much you paid him. The term 'sugar daddy' came to mind at first, quickly replaced by 'sugar momma'. Once more you fought the ever growing crush, warning yourself nothing good would come of this.

He certainly didn't help, not when his idea of foreplay was telling you just how to fuck yourself to make the biggest mess you could on his leather seats. He had you face him, legs spread but keeping the panties on. He controlled the vibrations but he had you steadily pushing two fingers into your sobbing cunt, pushing yourself to the edge but not once did he let you come, just make a mess.

He had barely touched you, hadn't even kissed you, and he's driven you to such a messy fucked out state that it was almost surreal. He's pulled out a side of you past lovers couldn't manage, which just had you melting I'm his figurative hands more.

"M-mommy, please- wanna cum." You whined out again, hips gyrating against the underwear and your fingers, watching him shamelessly. When you heard the click of the remote you let out a cry of desperation, fingers stopping knuckle deep in your pulsating cunt as he had instructed your fingers to stop anytime the underwear did.

"Soon, Sugar." He hissed through clenched teeth, both hands gripping the wheel, knuckles white, you were surprised he hadn't snapped the remote in half. "This is it yes?" He pulled up to your modest home in a somewhat upscale neighborhood.

You nodded, sitting up a bit straighter as you stared at your house, the usual sense of dread.of coming home to an empty home was replaced with anticipation for what would happen once the two of you walked inside. "This is it."

While he pulled into the driveway you moved your fingers a few times unable to help yourself, but the soft squelching sounds gave you away rather fast, your disobedience stopping with your name as a warning.

You attempted a sheepish smile when he turned the car off, only to be thrown off as your hand was ripped from your cunt and fingers brought to his lips. With bugging eyes you watched him suck and lick your juices off your appendages, your pussy clenching around nothing at the sight and even more juices gushing out of you.

The near primal groan that left him as his eyes rolled back just turned you on even more. "Holy fuck you taste so sweet, Sugar. Mommy's favorite fucking treat." It was the first time he fully lost his cool, showing off the ways he could use his long tongue and driving you crazy. There was enough heat in his gaze you felt like you were going to melt.

He dropped your hand when it was clean, leaning over the armrest as if he was about to clean up the mess between your legs- he stopped close enough you could feel his breath on your clothed, soaked core, leaving you frozen with anticipation.

"Not here- not yet." He muttered more to himself as he straightened up and cleared his throat. He got out of the car while you were still trying to process what was happening, somehow managing to sit right in your seat before your door was flung open. "Come on Sugar, let's head inside before I completely derail the night."

He stepped aside and helped you out, shutting the door a bit roughly behind you once you had your bag. With his hand on the small of your back he led you up to your door, keeping a respectable distance despite what had happened moments ago.

You were eager to get inside, fumbling with your keys until you were pushing the door open and kicking off your heels as you stumbled into the entrance. You heard the door shut behind you as you made your way through your house, turning on lights and heading for the kitchen.

Seonghwa was right behind you, the soft pad of his feet giving him away. You made it to the island counter before you were swung around by your wrist, lips crashing down on yours. He was gentle but also desperate, like he was devouring you with each stroke of his lips. His tongue prodded for entrance and you happily gave it, moaning as he explored your mouth.

His hands busied themselves with pulling you out of the dress and letting it fall to the floor. Pushing your panties down to your knees he picked you up and set you down on the counter. "Where are the-"

"In the fridge, front and center." You answered immediately, kicking the underwear off completely and leaving yourselves bare to him. "H-how does this work exactly?"

Seonghwa, on his way to your fridge, glanced over his shoulder with a raised brow. "It's really simple: I cover all the parts of you I want to devour with sweet treats to make you sweeter and then… then I devour you." He turned back to the fridge and found the items immediately, smiling at the small bowl of cut strawberries next to everything else you mentioned. He pulled out the whipped cream and strawberries, searching for the melted chocolate.

Trying your best not to gush at his words, in more ways than one, you watched him place the edible items on the island. "The melted chocolate is in that bowl there." You motioned to a covered tupperware, as the instructions had said to leave it at room temp.

Chuckling he brought that over as well, taking a moment to drink you in with his gaze. "Lay back and spread your legs."

Obliging immediately, you kept yourself propped on your elbows just so you could watch him. First he pulled his jacket off, setting it on the counter before undoing his shirt. He folded first the jacket and then the shirt, taking his time while keeping his eyes on you- more so your pussy on display.

His pants went last, also folded up and set neatly aside leaving him in just the name brand boxer briefs that suited him well and did nothing to hide the bulge, or wet spot from his precum. He adjusted himself before stepping over, looking at his options. "The first part of a good meal would be presentation. So excuse me a moment Sugar, while I dress you up." He hummed out, hands running up your body from your knees, over your sides, up to your breasts where he gave a gentle squeeze, no doubt debating on just how he would do that.

You just let him have his way, eyes fixated on his every movement as he started with the whipped cream. Along the curve of your neck and the dips in your clavicle, around each nippled, a trail down your stomach and over your inner thighs which were still sticky with your own slick- he decorated you nicely with the cream alone.

Pleased, he tapped your jaw in a silent command to open, spilling some of the whipped cream into your mouth in a small mound. "Hold that there."

Next was the strawberries which he strategically placed. One on top of the mound in your mouth and several framing your cunt like a crown, with three in between your breasts like a trail. The melted chocolate however he kept aside, instead hovering above you as his eyes followed the path he had laid out with food. "You know… I actually love strawberries." He stated, lips diving down to pick up one from between your breasts with his teeth.

He brought his tongue to your breast next, puckering the peak with his teeth in between skillful licks of the cream. The sight of him was enough to full your stomach with liquid arousal, but with how messy it felt and good? You wondered if he was going to make you come without even touching your cunt.

After what he's shown you so far- you had full faith that he could.

He took his time devouring you, switching between eating one of the strawberries or licking up a section of the cream, keeping his focus on your torso. When he ran his tongue up the length of your neck, picking up the trail of cream there, you moaned, muffled by the cream still waiting to be taken from your mouth.

He wasted no time, shoving his tongue between your lips and scooping the small treat out in one fell swoop before kissing you deep and messy, huskily whispering your name against your lips.

When you had decided to pay for this fantasy, this was not how you pictured things going: it was better.

They way he used his lips and tongue to scoop up the cream and fruit on your body had the desired effect on you, while his supposed need with each touch just intensified it. It was sexual but intimate in a way that was almost loving.

Worshiping you.

You were in a daze when he pulled his lips away, your chin and lips as a mess of drool and spit and cream. Yet he stared down at you as if you looked even more beautiful this way, his tongue dipping out to lick his own lips. You couldn't wait to have his tongue elsewhere.

So you begged, reaching up and cupping his cheek, panting. "I want to feel your mouth on my pussy Mommy- please? I've been good right?"

He groaned, peppering your lips with quick kisses as he pushed your legs open. "Since my Sugar asked so nicely-" He moved down your body, turning his head to kiss the inside of your knees, humming deep in his throat as he licked and nipped his way up your inner thighs, taking in the cream that had settled on your flesh. He was messy with it, and you were beginning to think he liked it messy.

You would gladly be a mess for him, any day, any time, any where.

You loved what he was doing to you, especially when he found out you liked him biting you. He marked up your thighs until no cream was left, leaving just one last dessert.

His face was so close, breath fanning over your soaked lips, leaving your clit throbbing, but he took his time to admire the view. "Such a pretty sweet treat, Sugar. Mommy's going to enjoy this meal."

He dove in without hesitation, taking a swipe of cream before lapping up your slick around your lips. He moaned at the taste of you,n fingers digging into your flesh as he ate you out like you truly were the best meal of his life.

Boy did he know how to use his tongue and lips, driving you crazy. He alternated between sucking on your clit and shoving his tongue between your lips while his nose rubbed just right.

He didn't speak, too engrossed in fucking you with his tongue to do so, but he made plenty of sounds that showed his enjoyment. The moan he let out when you came on his tongue was positively sinful but he didn't stop.

He didn't stop until you were coming again and harder- soaking his face and chin. He didn't stop until you had cried so much you were incoherent. Only then did he start kissing his way up your trembling body. "That's it Sugar, making such a pretty mess for Mommy. Going to ruin you on my cock before I have one last fucking taste of you." He stopped to suck each of your nipples into a hard peak, biting on the areola.

"Mommy-" you gasped out as he pulled you roughly to the edge. Capturing your lips in a hungry kiss. "Please-!"

"Fuck Sugar, keep begging for me." He pushed his underwear down, his cock flopping against your cunt with a soft slap that had you whimpering. "My cock is just as hungry for this delicious pussy as I am- and I'm not stopping until it's had its fill."

"Oh fuck yes please Mommy. Want your cock so bad." You could feel his shaft rubbing between your pussy lips, soaking himself with your cum, your eagerness growing each time his cockhead hit your clit.

He seemed just as eager, biting down on his lip while he reached for the forgotten melted chocolate. Barely registering it in your lust filled daze, you were caught by surprise as he drizzled the chocolate over you: your chest, tits, and stomach then back up your throat to your lips. You help your tongue out for it, letting the little bit left drip down into your mouth despite still feeling full from dinner.

Purposely letting some slip out of your mouth you were rewarded by Seonghwa's guttural groan. "God damn- I don't even have to tell you. So fucking eager to be a mess for Mommy." Setting the bowl down, his eyes didn't move from your face as he pushed himself inside slowly.

With a strawberry he reached up and swiped your mixture of drool and chocolate off your lips then fed it to you. The second strawberry he fed you with his own lips, locking them in a kiss as his cock bottomed out inside. This kiss was slow and easy, savoring every taste and swipe of your lips without the desperation to devour you like before. He gave you both time to adjust, body flush against yours from hips to lips.

The sight of chocolate smeared on his chest when he stood up was almost as delicious as the first thrust of his cock. He was big, not monstrous, but you could feel him poking at your stomach. Pussy and stomach full, you bad to admit your heart felt full as well.

"Gorgeous. So damned gorgeous like this. You like it when Mommy takes care of you? Feeds you and pampers you? Then eat you?"

"Yes yes yes-"

"I do too Sugar. You take very good care of Mommy like this- the best fucking thing I've tasted. You like my cock too?" He accentuated the question with a harsh thrust, his hands moving over your body to rub the chocolate in.

You couldn't deny he was as into this as much as you were- that he loved this as much as you did- not with the way he looked at you or the raw emotion in his words. "L-love Mommy's cock. So good!"

Your arms hadn't been able to hold you up for some time now but with each thrust you had to grip the edge of the counter above you to hold on. It took everything in you to keep watching him; the twists of his expressions, the heat from his gaze making you feel as if this chocolate was freshly melted and hot against your skin- you wanted to see it all.

"And Mommy loves your sweet cunt. On my tongue, on my cock, on any part of me I want it."

There were only a few strawberries left but he used them to swipe up chocolate off of your neck and touch them to your lips, groaning each time you obediently ate the sweet treat. When he ran out of those, he used his tongue to clean off as much of it as he could, biting down on softer flesh as his thrusts became harsher and more erratic.

It was the way he sucked on your throat while his cock brushed against your sweet spot that had you creaming on his cock and crying out. His hips stuttered before he went harsher, purposely hitting the same spot with encouraging mutters to come undone again.

Scooping up some of the chocolate on two fingers he pushed them between your lips, holding them there and pressing your tongue down while he captured your gaze with his. Your head was buzzing still with orgasmic bliss, but you swore the way he looked at you was the exact way you always wanted someone to look at you for this.

Either he was a really good actor, or he found the mess you were so endearing you wouldn't be surprised if there were hearts in his eyes. You probably had some in yours, staring up at him as his praises stumbled into one another under your muffled moans. "That's it. Such a pretty fucking mess. The sweetest Sugar- so addicting- holy fuck I'm going to fill you up, make you an even sweeter cream pie. Fill you up with babies and breed you like a bakery oven. Fatten you up and devour you over and over- Fucking hell I'll be your God damn Mommy then, Sugar."

Breeding kink wasn't on your list but God damn when he said things like that to you- your head went blank and filled with so much cotton you saw white as he brought you to another core shattering climax that had you shaking and drooling.

He was too, burying his cock deep and filling you up as he promised, drool slipping down his chin and tongue out.

Time flowed both quickly and too slow then, the ringing in your ears left you feeling detached from your mind while your numb limbs left you feeling detached from your body. You barely registered when he pulled out of you, staring blankly up at his features when he sat you up in his arms and peppered your face with sweet, adoring kisses.

"You did so well."

Your only reply was a satisfied sound, head falling forward to rest on his shoulder as he picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. You were aware he was still inside you as he walked, only realizing where the moment you were sat down on your bathroom counter. "M-mommy?"

"Shhh, baby, I'm right here." Cupping your head he brought his face close for you to focus. "We're going to take a shower now alright? Mommy will wash you up and get you ready for bed. Do you think you can stand?"

You nodded, blushing at the obvious concern on his pretty face. "Yeah- I can."

He still helped you into the shower, standing in the way of the water as it warmed up before he guided you under the warm stream and was true to his word: he washed you up. Even got on his knee and had you lift your legs so he could wash every inch, including between your toes.

He was so focused and careful with your sensitive bits you felt your heart squeeze. "I'm sorry to ask but- what are your sexual preferences and kinks? Can you tell me that?"

He looked up at you, hand stilling on your thigh where he had been admiring a bite mark. "We usually don't discuss-"

"I want to know. I-I need to know." You interrupted him, suddenly filled with a desperation you believed was from nowhere. "Your honest answer… please."

Slowly he stood, brows pushed together as he eyed you critically. "Sugar…" With a sigh of resignation he tucked your hair behind your ears, placing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Go use the restroom and head to your room- I'm going to wash up and then I'll join you." Clearly about to protest, he rushed on- "I'll answer your questions then, but first I know you probably need to use the toilet so go first."

He wasn't wrong, but you reluctantly left the shower, letting him wrap you on a towel before you left him.

Only a few moments later, once you did as he said, did he join you in your room, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist and a smile that almost felt too bright. "You really listen so well."

You just nodded, sitting on the edge of the bed in the towel, eyes locked on his frame as he stepped closer. "Will you tell me now?"

"Of course." He busied himself immediately with drying your hair with the extra towel he brought, standing just before you. "My personal preferences were in play a lot tonight. I enjoy taking care of my partner, in all the ways I've taken care of you tonight and more. Food play isn't something that I'd want to do all the time, but I enjoyed it far more than I have before."

He dropped the towel around your shoulders, tilting your head back to look at him. "You wanted to make sure I really wanted you, right? That I enjoyed every bit of this, just as much as you did? Am I right?"

There had been a few times you had been positively sure he had, but he was right: you needed confirmation. "That's right."

"Hmmm-" He softened, bringing you to your feet so he could dry off the rest of your body. "First answer me something- why was this so important to you? This fantasy?"

Now that was a loaded question, one that would take far too long to answer and reveal far too many personal things that he didn't need to know.

Even if a part of you wanted him to know everything.

"Let's just talk it up to Mommy issues and a bad streak with relationships left me desperate to feel loved… is that good enough of an answer?"

He nodded, his frown deepening. "Yes. And to answer yours… I did. I wanted you every second tonight and enjoyed it all. It almost feels like a crime that you paid for this."

You weren't sure how to respond to that, not when your heart felt like it had started a marathon, so you just watched him meticulously dry off every inch of you.

You didn't know how to tell him that those words took care of a part of you that felt impossible to reach. You weren't sure you wanted to tell him. What would he think of you? As you two had been strangers before tonight.

So you kept quiet, watching as he scoured your room for pajamas before bringing over a cute pair back to you. The smile was back on his face as he dressed you, no commands needed as you just did what he wanted without a thought. It was easy following his lead, you didn't even need to hear the commands.

"Such a good girl for me, Sugar, but now it's time for bed." He picked you up with ease, carrying you around and laying you down before you could protest. "Do you want some water or something? Do you need anything for indigestion or pain?" He looked you over before pulling the blanket tight over you, but his jaw dropped when he looked at your face again. "Sugar? Why do you look so hurt?"

"Stay." You blurted out, fighting off tears as you reached out to grab his wrists. "Just for tonight, you don't have to be here in the morning… just please Seonghwa- I don't want to be alone after this."

He melted under your pleas, bringing your hand to his lips. "Of course Sugar, I'll take care of you any way you need tonight."

Despite knowing it was just for tonight, just as he said, relief flooded you. Your hand went lax in his grip as you relaxed into the pillows, nodded.

He didn't join you right away, instead leaving to fetch his clothes first. When he came back his underwear was back on but he set his folded suit on your corner chair, then thankfully slid into bed opposite you.

Hesitant at first, you watched him, only to squirm into his arms when he motioned you into them. He held you close, pressing kisses to your forehead and temple until you were putty in his arms.

Sleep didn't elude you for long, what a godsend a warm embrace could do for the tired soul.

"If I'm lucky enough to have you again, I hope I can prove to you how lovable you are, Sugar. In fact I might be a little desperate to do so."

You almost mistook his words for a dream in your half-asleep state, but the soft way he whispered your name against your brow and his warm hold were proof it wasn't.

You truly felt loved as sleep pulled you under.

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wafflesandkruge · 7 months

Text

the steep and thorny way to heaven (zoyalina)

Then she caught sight of someone across the room. Time seemed to freeze for one, perfect second and Alina’s vision tunneled. Zoya Nazyalensky was dressed in a shimmering white dress, her head tilted back in laughter as she lounged on a couch with her legs thrown over Nikolai’s lap. A crown of flowers rested on the dark waves of her hair. The flashing lights caught the glitter dusted on her cheekbones and bare shoulders until she seemed to glow. Alina’s fingers twitched as she imagined the way she’d paint Zoya. Phthalo blue for her eyes. Ivory black for her hair. Caput mortuum for her painted lips. She was a siren song in the dark, a perfect rock for Alina to dash her ship against. Or, a dark academia zoyalina au.

ao3

a/n: happy halloweekend! here's some dark academia zoyalina. if you've been wondering where i am, ya girl has two shiny new degrees and a job. i still write, but mostly just what @generalstarkov tells me to. CHECK OUT HER EDIT FOR THIS FIC HERE OR ELSE also, double release for lrpd for christmas if anyone's still waiting for that 🤞🏼

from what i can scrape together from my (beautifully hand scribbled) notes: alina and mal are new transfers to Morozova University after a scandal the previous year leads to the expansion of the scholarship program for underprivileged students to distract from it. zoya is also a scholarship recipient, though she normally hides it. the school's residence halls are all named after saints, and zoya, alina, genya, and tamar are all suitemates at Magda.

Heavy bass shook the floor in time with Alina’s splitting headache as her gaze slipped over lines of Keats. It was Halloween, and like any self-respecting elite university, that meant a party that would leave half the student body hungover for a week. Alina understood that part, she just didn’t get why the party had to be right under her. She had been planning on catching up while her suitemates were out and the place was finally quiet, but the universe seemed determined to make her fail her midterms. She flipped the page with more force than necessary and reached for the mug of coffee on her desk. It was empty. Damn.

As if on cue, her phone buzzed. Alina sighed and tossed her book onto the bed. Mal had been trying to convince her to go to the party for weeks and honestly, she was surprised he still hadn’t given up. She thumbed open the device.

Malt Shake: stop being a nerd

Malt Shake: u can study tmrw

Malt Shake: david’s here too u can stand awkwardly in the corner together

Alina snorted. A real selling point. Mal’s typing bubble appeared again.

Malt Shake: don’t take what ana kuya said too personally

As usual, he’d hit the nail on the head. Alina scowled as she switched her phone off. That was easy for Mal to say when everything was almost effortless for him. She had to work twice as hard just to keep up. Any less than that, and she could kiss her scholarship goodbye. She didn’t have a trust fund or family business to fall back on like most of the student body. All she had was herself and her wits. And Mal, when he wasn’t busy flirting with the entire student body of the university. Maybe his plan was to marry rich.

But still...she snuck a look at the clock mounted on the wall. It was nearing midnight, and she’d done nothing but catch up to her English readings all day. Maybe Mal was right. A little fun wouldn’t hurt.

A few moments later, she was creeping down the staircase that led to the common room on the ground floor. The music was deafening now, and mixed with the chatter and shouts of dozens of merrymakers, it was almost too much. Only the thought of the pleasant buzz of a drink kept her going as she pushed her way past a pair of zombies making out on the landing. The smell of cheap beer and sweat hung like a cloud over the crowded floor, the lights dimmed just enough that Alina had to squint to make out faces.

As if sensing her stare, Zoya turned her head and their eyes met. A smile curled on her lips, just a touch too sharp to be kind. Alina’s heart skipped a beat. Without looking away, Zoya leaned closer to Nikolai and whispered something into his ear, causing both of them to laugh. The tips of Alina’s ears burned. Even all the way by the staircase, she knew they were talking about her.

“Alina!” Alina tore her gaze away from the picture-perfect couple and the spell was broken. Whatever invisible force had been present released its hold and the clamor of the party came back in full force. She blinked and tried to find the source of the voice.

“Hey.” An arm wrapped around her shoulders as Mal materialized from the throng of moving bodies. He was dressed as a pirate with a low cut shirt that revealed much of his muscular chest and leather pants. A roguish grin completed the ensemble. Alina raised an eyebrow. Maybe he really was trying to marry rich.

“No costume?” Mal asked as began guiding her through the crowd. They parted for him like he was Moses. Alina looked down at her comfy sweater and jeans.

“Overworked scholarship student?” she suggested.

Mal chuckled. Alina snuck another look at her friend. A faint flush was visible on his cheeks, a sure sign he’d already had a few drinks.

“Give me a second,” Mal said as he deposited her by the drinks table in the kitchen. He disappeared into the common room again, and Alina retreated to a spot against the wall and tried not to think about how sticky the floor was. A few students milled around, pouring themselves drinks and chatting. Here, the music was muffled and she could finally hear herself think again.

Mal came back a moment later with a bear-ear headband which he slipped into her hair. He stepped back to admire his handiwork. “There. Clench your fist? Alina the aardvark.”

Alina rolled her eyes. “Not your best work, Malyen.”

“Forgive me, I’m drunk.” He poured some of what Alina recognized to be expensive gin into a plastic cup and pushed it into her hands. “For you, milady.”

“Thank you, kind sir.” Alina took a sip and made a face. “Is it just me, or does it taste worse the more expensive it is?”

“You can’t taste the notes of privilege and old money?” Mal teased as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders again. Alina let herself be dragged into the thick of the party. It had been this way since they were children—Mal was the one who made friends easily, Mal was the one who got invited to parties, Mal was the one who was loved by everyone. Alina was just his constant shadow. And she was fine with that. Happy, even.

But as they approached the cluster of couches where Zoya and Nikolai were still sitting, Alina wished she could have just an ounce of Mal’s charisma. Maybe then her suitemate wouldn’t treat her like she was unworthy of the air she breathed. She downed the rest of her drink in three big gulps for some liquid courage.

Mal pulled her down on a couch beside him, his arm lingering around her shoulder even as he started chatting animatedly to David seated on his other side. The chemistry major looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here, but Genya had probably personally invited him to the party she’d planned. Alina had never seen him say no to Genya for anything. Then again, not many people said no to Genya.

“Alina! We weren’t expecting you!” Genya exclaimed as she wandered over from a group of Elizaveta girls she’d been talking to. Alina mustered up a smile as the redhead slipped into the seat beside her. The wings of Genya’s fairy costume were digging into her arms, but she found herself not minding too much. Genya was by far the most tolerable of her suitemates.

“Best to keep your expectations of her low,” Zoya interjected, her tone bored. Their suitemate had moved closer to them and now only a few precious feet separated them, a distance that could have easily been bridged by a thrown drink. Alina contemplated it as she turned to Genya.

“How many drinks does it take for her to be pleasant?”

Genya gave a rueful smile. “More than we have on hand, I’m afraid. I’m glad you’re here, though! I was beginning to consider getting Tamar to haul a keg up to our suite so you could have some fun too…”

Alina nodded periodically to let Genya know she was listening, but let her eyes wander. Zoya had already lost interest in the two of them and had drifted back towards Nikolai. His hand was on her knee and her chin was on his shoulder as the two of them talked quietly. They really were a well balanced couple, Alina realized with a sharp pang in her chest. A study in contrasts. Two oppositely charged particles that couldn’t help but stick together.

“...Alina. Earth to Alina!” Genya snapped her fingers impatiently. Alina shook herself out of her thoughts and flashed her friend an apologetic smile.

“Sorry. You were saying?”

“I was saying, if Tamar and Nadia are—”

“Nikolai!” a booming voice interrupted. Dimitri, one of Nikolai’s rowing teammates approached. He wore nothing but a large white sheet twisted around his body in a sloppy toga. His gait was unsteady, a stupider than usual grin spread across his face. Alina shrunk back, wishing she could blend into the couch like a chameleon.

“Connors,” Nikolai greeted, though his smile looked forced. “What’s up?”

“Got something I need to ask you. Away from your little gold digger girlfriend, if you don’t mind.”

A silence fell across their group. Alina’s eyes darted towards her right. Nikolai’s smile had frozen across his face, but Zoya’s eyes were furious. She stood slowly, her heels almost putting her at Dimitri’s eye level. Alina was reminded of a snake coiling itself to strike. A sick feeling sprouted in Alina’s stomach like she was watching an impending car crash but she couldn’t look away.

“What did you say about me?” Zoya asked, her tone cold.

Dimitri laughed loudly, completely oblivious to Zoya’s anger. “It’s a joke, Nazyalensky. Come on, it’s funny.”

“You wouldn’t know funny if it bit you in the ass,” Zoya spat. “Then again, if you throw around some more of daddy’s money–”

Dimitri’s face darkened with rage, but Zoya continued, a familiar sneer curling her lips.

“–I’m sure everyone will find you hilarious.”

The music fell away and all Alina could see was Zoya’s cruel and beautiful face inches away from Dimitri’s, then he was raising his arm and Alina was surging out of her seat, Mal right behind her—

“That’s enough,” Nikolai said quietly, somehow already between the two of them, one hand around Zoya’s waist, the other holding Dimitri’s arm. “You’re drunk, Dimitri.”

There was a clarity to Dimitri’s eyes that suggested that wasn’t the entire truth. But still, he laughed, slapping Nikolai on the shoulder. “I’m wasted, bro. I’m gonna head back.”

As soon as Dimitri lumbered off, hopefully back to his dorm like he’d said, Zoya whirled on Nikolai.

“What the fuck was that?” she demanded.

It was obviously meant to be a private conversation. Alina fidgeted awkwardly, still half out of her seat. She was just glad the standoff had ended somewhat peacefully, though from the way Nikolai and Zoya were whisper-arguing, maybe the peace wouldn’t last long. Beside her, Mal settled back onto the couch, a breath leaving his lips as he began muttering about what an asshole Dimitri was.

“Leave it-”

“Don’t tell me-”

“Zo, please-”

“Just leave me alone,” Zoya hissed as she shoved his arm off of her and stormed off. Alina watched her crown of flowers disappear into the crowd, then turned back to Nikolai. He looked…disappointed. But not sad, and definitely not devastated that his girlfriend has just left him. How on earth could anyone be so casual about Zoya Nazyalensky?

Before she could think it through, Alina took off after Zoya.

---

“Ophelia.”

Zoya looked up sharply. Her eyes were rimmed in red, her makeup smudged. Her features were still drawn tightly in anger and Alina had to resist the urge to take a step back. Zoya was always beautiful, but now, she was devastating, a mosaic of broken glass and jagged edges that could cut just as much as it could mesmerize.

“What?”

“Ophelia. That’s your costume, right?” Alina took a step into the room, then froze expecting some kind of land mine to go off. Zoya’s room was off-limits. Zoya was off-limits. But the other girl only nodded slightly and took another swig from the bottle she was holding. Alina took that as an invitation to move further inside. Like its occupant, the room was meticulously put together. There wasn’t much in terms of personal effects, but everything else was neatly arranged in its place as if Zoya were expecting an inspection at any minute. Alina moved an open textbook from the bed and sat gingerly on the edge. Zoya was only an arms length away now, the unattainable brought close.

“I recognized it as soon as I saw you. I did a report on it before. The Heyser painting, that is.” Alina knew she was rambling at this point, but it was the only way she knew how to fill the yawning void between them. “Did you know—”

“There’s rue for you, and here’s some for me; we may call it herb of grace o’ Sundays,” Zoya recited with a sharp laugh. She lifted the bottle in a mock toast. “Here’s to an hour of rue.”

Alina was silent as she watched Zoya drink from the bottle again. She still didn’t know why she had decided to come in—did she think she could comfort Zoya? Zoya who seemed determined to ignore her existence when she wasn’t actively trying to get her to leave the school?

Zoya coughed, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Nikolai doesn’t get it, you know. That’s why he tried to stop me.”

Alina understood. More than anything, she understood. She folded her hands in her lap and nodded. Zoya took that as a sign to go on.

“He can afford to laugh off comments about himself, the rumors, no matter how bad. Because he has his money behind him. His family name. He’ll survive just about anything they can say about him. But me?” Zoya laughed again. “If I don’t respond, I’ll be a target. If I don’t respond, that makes what they say about me okay when it’s anything but.

“I fought tooth and nail to get here. I’m not going to let that bastard get away with saying stupid shit like that. And if Nikolai isn’t with me, then he’s part of the problem.”

Alina nodded slowly, the weight of Zoya’s words sinking in. “For all they make this place out to be, it’s full of idiots,” she said. “My first week here, one of my professors stopped class to ask me where I’m from because he said I ‘had an accent.’”

Zoya snorted. “You’re from Sacramento. You don’t have an accent.”

“That’s what I told him,” Alina said with a shrug. “He wouldn’t believe me.”

Zoya groaned and fell back against her pillows. “What an asshat.”

“Yeah.”

Zoya was silent, and for a moment, Alina thought she’d fallen asleep. Then she sprang up again, her blue eyes intense. And way too close. Alina’s eyes flicked down towards her lips. She wondered how it would feel to touch them, to lose herself in the feeling.

Bad Alina, she chastised herself. No drinking for you ever again.

“Girls like us....” Zoya began. She frowned and evidently decided to start over. “Girls like us have to stick together.”

Alina’s throat went dry. Zoya’s unfairly perfect face was still too close to hers, her breath ghosting across her lips. Her mind went blank.

“Uhh…” she very eloquently supplied. Zoya didn’t seem to mind though, not as she blinked and narrowed her eyes as if seeing Alina for the very first time. She placed a freezing palm against Alina’s cheek. Alina thought she was going to die.

“You’re kind of pretty this close,” Zoya muttered. “Did you know that?”

“Thanks?” Alina squeaked. What else was she supposed to say when she was pretty sure this had to be an alternate universe where her craziest fantasies came true? Her eyes flicked downwards again, and Zoya didn’t miss it this time. Her lips curled into a smirk.

“My eyes are up here, Starkov.”

“Are they—mmgh.” Alina was cut off as Zoya finally bridged those last few inches between them and crashed their lips together. Her lips were as soft as Alina had imagined, and slightly sticky from the last stubborn traces of lipstick. Her hand curled around the back of Zoya’s neck to pull her closer. Her other hand was braced on the bed as Zoya pressed against her.

Jesus christ, she was kissing Zoya Nazyalensky. And part of her never wanted to stop.

Zoya kissed like someone greedy for more. Alina barely had time to breathe, to think, as Zoya leaned in and deepened the kiss. She tasted like bitter vodka and citrus, but Alina didn’t mind as she opened her mouth and breathed her in. Her skin was fire under Alina’s fingers and she was burning, burning, all the oxygen in the room gone. Zoya’s hand slipped under her sweater.

And all too soon, Alina was cold again, blinking hazily as Zoya sprang back, a look of panic in her eyes.

“Sorry.” Alina had never heard Zoya apologize before. Zoya refused to meet her eyes. “You should go.”

I’m dying, Alina thought as she stumbled out of Zoya’s room without another word. That’s the only explanation. I’m dying and this is my brain hallucinating to bring me comfort in my last moments.

She fell face-down onto her bed and willed herself to never wake up again.

#visit the ao3 link and read the notes if you want more details from this au #tgt #sab #writing #zoya #alina #zoyalina #nikolai #mal #my writing #the grisha trilogy #shadow and bone

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killersfool · 7 months

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Irish Goodbye | RYAN MCMAHON

Naomi swirled around the contents of her cup, in an out-of-it corner of her mind. She couldn't concentrate on the croaky vocals thrumming from the two humongous speakers—karaoke—some Journey song, the name had slipped away, under some pile of dust lodged within her creaking skull. Pulp was climbing up the glass, a green gooey sediment had collected at the bottom on the cup where, on the glass, miniscule flowers had been painted. Maybe if she was more of an optimist, she'd be imagaining the cup was, in a way, similar to a field. The green liquid being the glass and the coloured shapes being the flowers blooming.

She was bored, as you can tell. Very, very bored.

Imagining herself upstairs, watching a few episodes of Father Ted, she smiled contently. She ate a few crips from the glass bowl left on the bar. One was cheese and onion, the next prawn cocktail and the final was a quaver. Her favourite. It melted upon her tongue and she rolled it around her mouth to devour any straw flavour.

"This party's far from grand, isn't it?" A distant voice alerted her senses. She turned like a barn owl, her head almost making a compleye 180 until she met black, monochromatic eyes. He was one of the first boys she'd encountered in that grimy pub who's clothes were not black-and-white, devoid of colour, like the life had been sucked out of them. They were all virtually just walking mummies or corpses or a mixture of both. The second thing she noticed was his accent, Irish, which rose and fell as if he was a poet trying to prove a point.

"You can say that again." She spun her bar seat around to get a proper look at him.

"I was just about to head out and get an icecream. I'd been craving it—might be because everything in this place tastes the same." She watched how his hands moved along as he spoke. She didn't know whether to focus on his eyes, or his hands, or his hair which was a mess. He awkwardly swiped a stray hair from his pale forehead. His fingers lingered there as he breathed in rapidly. "I thought you might want to come along. Going to get icecream on your own feels pretty pointless. I don't think Sarah will care anyhow. You're Naomi? The journalist?"

Naomi had never met such an odd man in her twenty-five years of living. He wasn't odd in the sense that you'd want to run away from him or hold your keys like a knife in case he tried anything. It was more of a—why would some random bloke want to leave a pub, party, carnage for... icecream? He seemed like the type to hang out with party animals. Sarah had told the group that he was a drummer for some band. They'd been friends since they were very young. He was always bringing excitement to the most boring festivities. Gradually, it was becoming a necessity to invite him.

Naomi blinked twice, gulped about half of the glass of her green drink then slid the glass across the counter. It halted just before reaching the edge. She decided that she was going to take his offer. Anything to get away from the overpowering aroma of sweat that was burning the insides of her nose. Anything to get away from Sarah's shrieks filling the air everytime a karaoke song came on that she recognised. Naomi should've invested in some earbuds to block out the sound.

"Are you coming then?" The guy tried again, this time with a questioning tilt of the head. He beared his teeth, loosened his tie, ruffled his hair. "I'm Ryan by the way. I don't think we've ever been properly introduced."

Naomi shook the dark-haired boy's hand with a nervous, barely noticeable smile. "Nice to meet you and yeah, sure. Icecream sounds great."

She removed her jacket from the bar stool, placed her arms through the holes, ate another handful of crips before tucking in the stool and following Ryan out of the pub. She felt like she was breaking the law by not telling Sarah that she was leaving. This was unusual. They were both clinging to the shadows, glued to the dim half of the pub where the lights weren't really working.

"Are we Irish goodbying this?" Naomi whispered as they passed the gambling machines and pool tables. Her stomach was in knots, adrenaline pumping through her veins, heart beating at a double tempo.

Ryan stopped in his tracks before he pushed open the backdoor. Two words 'fire exit' in green were painted upon it. "Irish goodbye? Is that a saying? Or are you making fun of my accent?"

"No, no. It's a saying. I like your accent. It's like leaving an event without telling anyone." Naomi clarified. She had heard her friend using the phrase before. She'd never encountered a way to describe such a specific thing.

"Let's Irish goodbye this shit."

The pair crashed through the back door. A tidal wave of wind prickled across Naomi's skin. Goosebumps appeared upon her bare arms, moonlight poured onto the rain-covered pavement, scent of cigarette smoke hung in the air. The sky was a darkened pink as the sun glided on the horizon.

Naomi's heels splashed water everywhere as she stepped down the stairs leading to the alleyway. Her hair was all in her face due to the constant flow of wind dancing across her frame. Somehow Ryan's hair was pretty much intact (although it had been very messy beforehand so Naomi couldn't really tell how much it had changed). The clothes he was wearing—a leather jacket, Bowie shirt, jeans—meant that there was not a single inch of skin for the wind to knife and torture. Naomi missed the warmth of the pub.

"I like your accent too." Ryan had let her words sink in. He'd brainstormed them out in his mind to find the deeper or hidden meaning. He was like that. Always searching for the truth between sentences, through the way they spoke—it was weird. Maybe it was because he liked her. He'd seen her at countless of these parties and festivities. She was funny. Loud. Today he found a chance to actually speak to her, after many failed attempts prior after becoming too fearful or self-conscious. A blend of the two was not good on his brain.

"Thank you," Naomi murmured in response.

"It's just across the road." Ryan pointed to a flashing blue sign with the words 'Sally's Sundaes'. He led the way for Naomi, jumping in puddles every few steps like he was Peppa Pig.

"Do you do this often then?" Naomi was finding it hard to catch up with Ryan's energy. He must've been drinking a lot, or eating a lot of sweets because his pace was inhuman.

"What? Escape Sarah's party to get icecream?"

"Yeah."

"Sometimes." He paused as they stopped at the road. He looked both ways before crossing with Naomi beside him. The street was narrow, packed with many cars. The icecream shop cast a blue, flourescent hue onto the pavement. There was no one inside the shop except for an elderly woman in an azure uniform; her hat with little ocean waves painted on it. She was just about to flip around the 'open' sign when she spotted Ryan through the windows. They stepped inside, hearing a faint bell clash above the entrance. The worker approached the pair, her badge with the name 'Sally' glistened. She grinned from ear to ear at the sight of them. At this hour, business was at an all time low. Ryan was a regular though.

This time, however, Sally noticed the girl that was with him. A pretty girl for that matter. Sally was already questioning what was going on between them just by the way Ryan was looking up at her—all nervous, fingers twiddling like he was drumming a beat against his thigh. Seeing Ryan nervous was a rarity-this girl must have some superpower.

"Hey Ryan! Who's this with you?" Sally's cheerful demeanour eased any tension in the air.

"I'm Naomi," she introduced herself.

There was an array of icecream flavours in the fridge. From bubblegum to lemon sorbet to tiramisu. Naomi's mouth watered all the more with every movement of her eyes. They offered an Icecream Sundae deal with two scoops, a topping and sauce of your choice.

"It's like your song," Naomi laughed as she glanced through the options. She hummed the melody under her breath.

"Very true," Ryan said with a smile.

Ryan and Naomi sat down at one of the window tables after choosing their Sundaes. Naomi had never tasted such a flavoursome icecream in her life. Ryan allowed her to try some of his—vanilla and pistachio—which she had told him was rather boring. He had pouted and scoffed when she chose mango sorbet and chocolate chip. He believed that they just didn't go together at all. He was proved wrong when he tried some.

"Thanks for bringing me here," Naomi said after another mouthful of her sorbet. Outside, the sky was dark and the moon was high. She felt knackered even after doing pretty much absolutely nothing. Most of the day, she'd just been sitting down but just seeing the stars floating beautifully made her eyelids droop.

"It's no problem. You didn't seem to be enjoying the party." Ryan licked off the final residue of icecream from his tiny transparent spoon. He thought back to Naomi sitting alone, watching everything unfold just metres away from her. He'd been watching her from one of the sofas, wondering what was going on through her mind as she stared at Sarah. Any of her thoughts had surely been negative. She had watched the group of friends with distaste.

"I just wasn't feeling it today," Naomi admitted.

"Sarah's parties really drain the life out of you."

"Honestly. I have no clue why I even go to these things anymore. I guess I've just known her for so long, I'd feel bad if I skipped it." Naomi remembered the one time she'd forgotten about a party. Sarah had bombarded her with countless messages asking for her whereabouts. Naomi knew that Sarah just wanted to be her friend. She was a nice person. Not the greatest karaoke singer though.

"I get that. I've been mates with her for donkey's years. I only come along when I'm in England—which isn't too often. But, she really is intense. Like very, very, very intense. I'm a bit overwhelmed each time that I see her."

Naomi nodded with each word he said. "How's touring going by the way? I've heard a lot about your band." She was reminded of the time that Sarah invited 'Inhaler' to play at her birthday. Naomi thought they were good. Really, really good. Each of her Spotify playlists had at least one of their songs in them. She'd been especially impressed by Ryan's drumming. Seeing someone play their instrument always fascinated her. It just looked so natural for him to be holding drumsticks and banging cymbals.

"Tiring. Nerveracking. I just love that feeling when you get off stage, the adrenaline rush. I can't explain it. It just feels amazing." Ryan's wrist rested against his cheek as he watched the cars passing like blurs through the window. Naomi traced her gaze over Ryan's features; curved nose, wavy hair that was tousled across his forehead due to the wind, sharp jaw, pretty smile. She understood why Sarah invited him to every party. There was just some way about him, a certain confidence always emanated from him and he could bring life to even the most quiet rooms. Even in this calm state, there was comfort in the simple commodity of his presence.

Ryan placed his spoon back into the cardboard cup before shifting to look at Naomi. It was true, he did feel nervous around her. He could barely attempt to formulate a word as he watched the gentle cadence of her chest raising then falling with every breath. It was something so normal, so straightforward but it was all he could focus on. Her very presence was intimidating. He tried to plan out what to say next, let some words come together within his mind but he was sure that whatever he'd say, he'd make a total fool of himself.

"Do you want to watch a film or something?" Naomi piped up. She nudged the icecream cup along the table gently. She couldn't look him in the eye. He was staring at her with raised eyebrows and a sly smirk.

"Where?" He watched as her fingers tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear. Her hooped earrings shuffled around as she moved.

She nervously looked forward to evade his eyes. "Mine."

The implications of that word rattled his mind. His boots clicked against hers under the table as a short, uncomfortable silence rippled between them. "Yeah, okay," he said, faintly, his accent hiding behind his words. "Sounds good." Wanting to act cool and actually coming across as cool was a very difficult thing. Naomi thought he was pretty cool.

They scuttled out of the shop after thanking Sally for their sundaes. Ryan offered to pay for Naomi as it was his idea to bring her there.

The streets were empty aside from the ocassional car that passed every few minutes. Streetlamps shone, making Ryan's skin glow with warmth and aliveness. Step after step, street after street. Her apartment appeared and Naomi opened the door, after struggling to find her key and letting out an irritable sigh. Ryan watched her with delight, snorting at how difficult she was finding this. Naomi resisted the urge to lock him outside and watch him shiver in the cold. Who knows how far his hotel was from here or whether the other boys in the band would even bother to pick him up. They were probably all asleep for all she knew.

Climbing up the stairs felt like climbing Mount Everest. She didn't know why she'd chosen them over the lift. Although the lift did scare the living daylights out of here. It was a square box that had malfunctioned too many times to count on her fingers. She'd been called by her neighbours after they got stuck inside or it started making some weird noises. If she ever had the chance to make a horror film, she'd film the entire thing in that creepy lift. She wouldn't even need a monster or a villian to take its place.

"Which one's yours?" Ryan was already on the third floor. He paced up and down the hallway, waiting for her response.

"Thirty-two. Third one on the right." Naomi reached the top of the stairs. She was panting. Her fingers clung onto the banister before she hoisted herself up to the door of her room. Ryan was leaning beside the dark oak, his shoulder squeezed against the white paint. He was making it hard for her to open the door again. Her hands were shaking as she turned the key. He was having this weird effect over her.

Ryan shrugged his Doc Martens off of his feet and dunked them to the side. Naomi offered to hang up his jacket and he passed it to her, revealing bracelets around wrists and strong drummer's arms with tattoos scattered along them. She glanced over them discreetly whilst putting his jacket on her coathanger. "You like Bowie?" She was first drawn to the tattoo of David Bowie's face that had caught her eye.

"Who doesn't?" He laughed to himself. He turned his arm forward to present the tattoo to her. She traced her fingers over the inked lines, his face warmed up at the subtle touch.

"I've got some of his records," she said as she pulled her hand away. His lips fell down at the sudden lack of touch.

He followed her along through the apartment, which perfectly encapsulated her. Plants were dotted around with shiny, perfect leaves. They were well looked-after. Posters of all kinds of films and musicians were pinned onto the walls. Bags of Quavers were on top of her kitchen table. She turned the kettle on as Ryan explored her apartment like he was discovering another country. He regarded all the intricacies, the typewriter in the living room, the disordered folders of her articles on the coffee table, colourful cushions on the sofa. The whole place smelt like flowers and freshly cut grass, when the trimmings float through the air and you can't help but breathe it all in. It was so homely compared to the hotel room he'd been trapped in with the band. It was nice to be somewhere different. Especially with good company.

He found her records stacked up in the living room and was also met with a pleasant surprise of the DVD box set of Father Ted. He had the exact same one in the tour bus. It was one of his favourite shows. He grinned as he flicked through her records; from Blur to Bowie to Taylor Swift—she had quite the collection. He picked out 'The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust', carefully pulled out the vinyl and placed it on the record player. The stylus glided downwards and the gentle drums of 'Five Years' emerged from the speakers

"Good choice." Naomi mused as she brought two cups of tea into the room. She'd taken off her blazer and was wearing fluffy socks. "I don't know how you like your tea so I've got some sugar and milk here." She placed his cup beside her sugar container and jar of milk.

"Thank you," he murmured as she settled down on the sofa, dipping her chocolate hobnob in the boiling drink. She hadn't had a guy in her apartment for ages and the sudden invasion of privacy was strange. The living room was a mess. Discarded headphones and magazines were amongst the clutter just left on the floor. Her bedroom was at least ten times worse. Journalism was a generally messy job. She had highlighters, folders, post-it notes, all kinds of random stuff thrown everywhere.

Ryan hadn't acknowledged any of clutter. He was too focused on trying to learn more about her through her music taste. He then picked up the Father Ted box set and held it up, looking at her with a small smile, "Didn't think you'd like this."

"Oh, I love it. I'm not usually a sitcom person but it changed me."

"Should we watch some?" He was already turning on her CD player and placing the first season disc in. She kicked up her feet onto the coffee table, resting her head on her armrest.

She didn't even need to respond because he'd already put on the first episode. He sat beside her, pouring some milk into his tea. "I've watched this show so many times. It's an addiction," Naomi muttered. "I sort of find Father Ted fit." She took in his expression then laughed, "I have no shame."

Ryan gulped a long drink of his tea, eyebrows furrowing with scepticism. "You're kidding."

"He's leng."

"I'm a bit scared of you."

"Why does no one agree me with me?" She pressed her face into the armrest. Ryan was laughing along with every joke whilst trying to figure out what Naomi saw in Father Ted. "I dunno if it's his face, the accent or the amount of times I've watched this show. It's probably altered my brain chemistry."

"I see it." Ryan tried to hold a straight face as he said those three words but he couldn't help the chuckle that left him.

"Bugger off. I shouldn't have told you that. Fuck's sake. You're going to tell Sarah and that lot, aren't you?" Naomi could already imagine him hosting a weird meeting, or making a groupchat with everyone. She'd be ruined. The thought of them making a joke everytime she entered a room sounded far from ideal. Having to spend hours with them was bad enough but this, this was dangerous. Ryan could possibly be the worst blabber on Earth.

"I'm not like that. My lips are sealed." He motioned his fingers across his mouth like he was tying a zip, circled them around at the corner then threw the made up key down into her plantpot. Naomi had been lost in a trance—gaze focused on his lips—they were thin, smooth and gently pressed together. He followed her shifting eyes until she snapped them away, back to the TV screen.

Dougal was now onscreen—Naomi wasn't particularly focused on any words leaving the priest's lips, or the laughing track almost breaking the sound barrier. She was now sat on the sofa properly: her legs crossed and her head on a cusion. Ryan was sat similarly, on the opposite end of the sofa, but instead with his legs hanging off the edge of the seat. He looked so calm with his cup of tea which had been specially selected by Naomi. It was a present her Dad bought her when she got her first job. The design was simple—sunglasses with a sparkle in the corner. She thought it was insanely cheesy when she first saw it but maybe it was given to her for a reason. All the months of dust collecting upon it, the times she'd left it in the back corner of cupboard to sit alone. Maybe Ryan was supposed to be the one to drink out of it. The holder perfectly complimented his slender, ringed fingers.

Overthinking. She was overthinking everything.

It was late, she was tired. This was the hour when her mind would reel like a projector in an empty cinema. Just her in the back row, watching all her thoughts roll across the screen.

"You alright there, Nao?" Ryan clicked his fingers a couple of times, waved a hand palm before her face.

Naomi pushed herself off of the sofa and turned the key on the window. Fresh air poured in. She sighed. "Sorry. It's just a bit stuffy in here."

"I can go if you'd like. It's getting late. I don't want to keep you up." Ryan stood up, fixing the cushion back into its original place.

"No, Ryan. You're the best company I've had in a long while. You're really cool and nice and a great drummer. I'm still buzzing after watching you play."

Naomi plopped down on the stool beside her keyboard, her head falling into her hands. She scraped her hands through her hair, raking through each strand. She jolted forwards when a light pressure was applied to her back. Ryan was standing beside her and said, "You're a lot fucking cooler than me. Your articles are mindblowing—they're funny, sad at times, just a general rollercoaster of emotion." He gently traipsed the length of her shoulders with his fingers.

"You read my articles?"Naomi now looked up at him, her eyes a little teary and lipstick smudged. "I'd write one about you." There was something so overwhelming about all of this. She then looked at the wall—a little flustered. "-I mean the band, of 'Inhaler', of all of you." Father Ted was still playing the background. Too many Irish accents for Naomi to cope. Although Ryan's was most definitely her favourite, no doubt about it. If he read her a bedtime story or even just the bloody shopping list, she'd be asleep in a matter of seconds.

His gentle touches were driving the oxygen out of her lungs. "That would be an honour." Ryan tucked her hair behind her ears, carefully wiped away the red smear of lipstick with his thumb. He was just about to pull his hand away when she grabbed it, held it. His fingers were a little clammy but so were hers—the heat of the room was immeasurable—the light draft of wind was barely making a difference. But now, Naomi felt more at peace. Especially as she traced along his knuckles, his fingernails, his cuticles. It was weirdly intimate. Ryan thought he might be glowing pink. It was like he was in a vacuum, completely detached from his body, unable to move or speak. She made him mental.

"Did you know that the guy who played father Ted—who sadly passed away—was actually from Dublin like you."

"Interesting."

"Right? Well, anyway, uh. He sounds a lot like you, almost the same. Now that I've been talking to you for a while—I can hear the similarities." She stammered on, still transfixed by his hands, now outlining the veins along his forearms and each tattoo that she passed. His other hand was still on her shoulder, drumming his digits to the beat he'd been playing when they went to get icecream.

"Is that a good thing...?" He paused, ran his tongue over his front teeth as he stopped in thought. "Didn't you say that one the reason you might find him fit is because of his accent?"He sucked his lip under his teeth as he hesitantly spoke. The room felt a lot smaller as if the walls were crushing in. He was challenging her, proving that he payed attention to every word that she said.

"I didn't — wait fuck yeah I did, didn't I? Well, I've dug my own grave." She shook her head, trying not to lose herself in Ryan's eyes. They were pools of comfort. "Yeah, I find your accent pretty hot. Is that bad?"

His entire vocabulary had vanished by the boldness of her statement, the smirking playing at her lips. "I don't know what to say," he babbled, accent somehow thicker with every word. His pushed his knuckles into his cheek, feeling how warm it was.

"Then don't say anything," she said, barely a whisper.

A newfound confidence surged within Naomi. Just his smile sent her into some haze, she could get drunk on it. He was kneeling before her. His jean-covered knees were resting on the carpet and he was anxiously scuttling. The air was getting thick was silence — silence on their part — Father Ted was still speaking. Ryan reached for the remote and turned the TV off, leaving David Bowie's 'starman' gently playing in the background, serenading them. If Naomi told Ryan to not talk, he would listen.

Her hands rested on either of his cheeks. They were rather pale in contrast to her skin, and cool compared to the room. He neared her. His breath swam across her lips, smelt of tea and a hint of vanilla — from the icecream. He whispered, "God, Naomi," no longer falling victim to the simplicity of silence, of wordlessness. The way their foreheads were together, like two jigsaw halves blending into one, it was too perfect. The way Ryan spoke her name — like it was his lifeline. He said it twice more and her heart strained, her eyes closed and his eyelashes scrubbed across her brows. His fluffy hair cascaded over her temple and she let her right hand feel though the curls.

David Bowie's voice, the echoes of cars passing in the distance, the rustle of clothes. Each sound added to the intimacy — the quietude. They stayed there for a while, just relishing in the moment. They both acknowledged the importance of this. They both needed it. Time away from any carnage, from anxious whispers, from parties, from life —they had found safety in one another. They were both hoping — a lingering thought bloomed between them, in the slight gap left between their touch, just like those flowers on Naomi's glass cup — maybe this could blossom into something good.

#ryan mcahon #inhaler band #inhaler dublin #inhaler fanfiction #inhaler imagines #inhaler fanfic #inhaler oneshots #bobby skeetz #robert keating #elijah hewson #eli hewson #fanfiction #fanfic

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funny-times-with-charlotte · 2 years

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Care To Dance~ curtisson

Burt sat at his desk overlooking paperwork. It had been a few weeks since the orbital launch, and the lack of government in space gave him plenty of free time. Most of the time all he had to do was announcements and-

He was broken from thoughts by a knock at his door.

“Come in” he half-shouted, in a monotone voice.

The door slid open, and on the other side stood his best friend, Sven.

“Oh, Hey Sven!” He said, perking up slightly.

“H-Hey Burt” Sven said, shuffling a bit.

“So I- uh wanted to ask you something.��

“yea?”

“Um- WILLYOUGOTOTHEMASQURADEBALLWITHME” Sven Blurted out, his face looked so red, it could rival that Piolet boy’s headphones, what was his name again? Not important.

He looked at Burt expectantly, Burt in response shrugged and said “sure I guess.”

Sven looked at him with the biggest grin on his face as he rushed out of the room squealing.

Later that day Burt was in his room deciding what to wear, he’d feel bad if he went to a formal event in a grey t-shirt and black sweatpants, so he decided to be a little more formal than usual. Soon he decided on a white button up with a grey vest, a pair of nice jeans, a black masquerade mask, and his iconic headphone and top hat combo.

Just as he finished changing, he heard a knock on his door.

“COMING” he shouted, as he rushed towards the door, shoving his phone into his pocket and preparing himself for the loud chaos of Toppat parties, he opened the door to see Sven looking a little nervous.

Sven looked stunning , he had his blue top hat on, with a matching blue over coat. Under that was a white button up paired with a golden tie, black jeans, a pair of dress shoes, white satin gloves, and it was all topped off with a sparkly blue and gold mask.

Burt felt his face heat up a little.

He held his arm out for Burt and asked “Are you ready to go?”

Burt nodded and took his hand, and together they walked to the cafeteria where the party was being held.

Burt was pleasantly surprised at how quiet the party was, quiet may be an over-statement, but it sure was calmer than most Toppat parties.

Burt and Sven separate, and Burt walks around to marvel at the outfits, the most notable being the Right Hand Lady’s. It was a pinkish color, with one side covered in purple ruffles that looked like roses. Another being Carol Cross’s, hers was a midnight black with white crystals sewn into it.

At some point Sven had found him again and they were making small talk by the chocolate fountain, when the lights had dimmed and a slower song came on. Sven reached his hand out to Burt. “Would you care for a dance?”

Burt accepted and let Sven lead him to the dance floor

They got into position, Sven with his hand on Burt’s back, and Burt holding Sven’s other hand. They started dancing.

Left step back

Side step

Right step forward

Side step

Left step back

Sven held his hand up and twirled Burt around, catching him when he fell back, in that moment he caught a glimpse of Sven’s sapphire eyes, they were shining in the light. In that moment Burt felt something fuzzy in his chest, it was strange, and definitely not something you felt around friends.

Sven and Burt danced the night away, they kept dancing until the party ended, and most people left.

That night Burt still didn’t get what happened at the party, he tossed and turned all night ‘what happened between me and Sven, why do i keep thinking of him?’ Until it hit him,

He just fell in love with his best friend.

#oneshot #the henry stickmin collection #burt curtis #Burt curtis x sven svensson #this is my first fic #can you tell?

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ihearthhj · 10 days

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if i could go back in time. -- (h.hj)

chapter one : a loop of fate

pairing : hyunjin x fem!reader

word count : 1.4k (lowercase intended)

a/n -- first chapter !! better chapters coming i promise

series masterlist | next

is there ever that one memory that your mind can't help but wander to occasionally?

mine constantly played like a broken record in my head, flickering like an undying candle in the crevices of my brain. an unwavering light in the blurry paraphernalia of memories.

i remember that day quite clearly. the day i lost one of the people i loved the most. the day my world came crashing down on me.

every day i throw myself into a whirlwind of grief, blood, and tears subconciously. i was locked in a cinema, forced to watch it over and over again in front of my eyes.

it physically hurt, but it was uncontrollable.

we were in the middle of the road.

drunk at a university party, the alcohol and endorphins in our system were going through the roof. we ended up stumbling outside the house for a breath of fresh air, and we were waltzing in the middle of an empty street.

what a stupid decision.

and i thought it was romantic.

it was, technically speaking — if you were drunk, that is. the dim street lights cast a warm glow over the street, showering our intertwined bodies moving in synchronized steps in a splash of illumination. if someone captured the scene with a camera, with the shadows of two figures dancing on the ground, you’d consider the view sentimental somehow. straight out of a cliché movie scene.

every once a while, through all the movement we'd step away from each other, and i would twirl under his arm with our hands still entwined. then smiles were exchanged when our gazes met, and his beautiful eyes would sparkle. i felt like i could continue on like this forever and not get tired at all.

but he suddenly stopped me and his hands rested on either sides of my waist, prompting me to face him. i stared up in his face, a smile resting on my own. a smile that was reserved for him, and only him.

then he kissed me.

it was slow and passionate. my eyes fluttered closed as he held me in his arms, time slowing down around us as there was no one except us.

and maybe it was the fact that we were drunk. maybe it was because we were so lost in the moment and so focused on love—

maybe it was both.

because we didn't hear the sound of a humming car motor until it was three feet away from us.

he heard it first.

i felt his body stiffen against mine, hands going rigid on my hips. my eyes opened, only to be looking up at a face filled with horror and shock, a strange light that i didn’t know from where it came brightening his side profile. confused, i opened my mouth to speak, but i was abruptly pushed away to the side of the road, my head hitting the cement before i could realize what was happening. my ears picked up on a crash, the deafening screech of brakes.

and a body falling to the cold, hard ground.

the last thing i saw was a familar silhouette through my half-closed eyes and a car just beside them.

then the world went black.

six years later

different people process breakups in different ways.

some people go on with their ordinary lives like it was just a speck of dust on the table. they pick it up, and throw it away.

other people, however, see it as a tablecloth, covering the entirety of the table. then they go get their best friend and cry to them about it. or if they’re unsociable, then they usually go to the club or the bar to cry with the accompaniment of alcohol.

that was you, frankly. unsociable and introverted.

were breakups always this depressing?

the atmosphere of the dimly lit bar was humid and damp. the air smelled of dried sweat and liquor. music sounded around the space, supposed to lift your spirits, but your face as wet with tears.

it was straightforward proof that unpleasant luck had landed upon yourself. your latest acquaintance, a guy named wooyoung you met at a club, was one another addition to the pile of failed relationships.

he was a perfect person, to be direct. he was sweet, bought you gifts, and cooked. a literal angel. not to mention, he was incredibly good in bed.

average boyfriend material, or so you thought.

it happened one night, when he was in the shower. he was over at your place, staying the night. you had hoped that tonight would be what you thought it’d look like.

then everything happened in a blur. a text tone, you getting curious, then accidentally finding out there was someone else.

another girl. it was almost funny how your suspicions were always right.

you confronted wooyoung about it, then he got mad and left after a very heated argument.

all the plans of an actual peaceful future were shattered in that one small moment.

you thought you had finally found someone who you loved, and loved you. someone who you thought could cover up all the pain that was buried deep in your heart, hidden by the bigger worries of your career and life.

thought, thought, thought.

all thoughts, never reality...

the hurt that your mind experienced when you thought of the cause of the pain could not be beared.

you couldn’t remember the last relationship that made you happy, truly happy. the only one that actually did ended devastatedly.

you also couldn’t remember the last time you got drunk like this.

usually you were nowhere near open to big amounts of alcohol.

the last time you’d downed more than five shots consecutively was back in university, at a party. but that was for a different reason than why you were drinking now. it was for fun, purely fun.

and that supposed fun had been cut off disastrously. it ended up in a pool of tears and blood.

but somehow every single thought in your brain always took a turn and led to thinking of it. the day that made your life become a turn of events.

it was a never-ending loop, and your thoughts constantly ran in circles, always leading to the same place. like a song on repeat on a broken cd player that couldn’t be turned off.

you took a swig of your shot glass, swallowing all the thoughts away.

you gestured to the bartender for more. your head felt light, and dizziness was seeping into your system by the second.

looking around the bar, you took in your surroundings. this bar was one of the popular ones in the city, the space larger than most others. the dance floor was bustled with people, but you never participated in the crowd activities, being too unsociable even under the influence of alcohol. you would’ve preferred to stay home and drink, but you forgot to purchase liquor after your last breakup.

the bartender placed another rack of tiny shot glasses on the table, promptly leaving to take another customer’s order. picking up the miniature cup, you stared at the brownish liquid before taking a big swig and finishing the whole thing in one go. your throat burned as you swallowed, but you didn’t care.

it felt good, strangely.

why was everything turning into something bad? something that you were scared of happening?

you felt like everything in life, supposed fate, was cornering you and forcing you to plunge in eternal darkness. the harder you tried to make things better, the worse they became.

fate was what ruined your life and was still ruining it. when would something good actually happen?

you picked up another glass from the rack as another customer sat down in the high seat next to you.

they were two guys, chatting and laughing loudly. you closed your eyes at the headache coming on at all the noise, adding on to the already bustling atmosphere of the club. you should leave soon and suffer your hangover.

“yeah, just back for some business,” one of them said with a laugh.

through the blur and ache in your mind, your eyes shot open. was it just your imagination? the glass of liquor stayed in your grasp as your gaze turned towards the guys.

you swore that you knew that voice, that laugh. it was one that you would never get tired of hearing.

but after what happened years ago, you thought you’d never hear it ever again.

the guy turned towards the bartender standing behind the counter to order his drink. your eyes scanned over his features, and you almost let out a cry.

it was the curve of his nose, the brightness of his eyes, and the pout of his lips that you knew so well. his hair, kept in the same length as it was six years ago, was now pitch black. you swallowed the bile that had risen up in your throat. it couldn’t be him.

hwang hyunjin.

taglist : @hildaortara @203sucks @iovecb97 -> it's open, join taglist here

#skz #stray kids #stray kids hyunjin #skz hyunjin #hyunjin stray kids #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #fanfic #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #skz x reader #skz x y/n #skz x you #hyunjin x you #hyunjin x y/n #hyunjin x reader #stray kids blog #stray kids x y/n #div cr to their respective creators !!

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magnumversum · 1 year

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La Vie De Fête Season 1 Episode 5: Put Our Hands Up

Title Of The Story Comes From: “Can’t Hold Us” By Macklemore

Tom Landarris was a shrewd man with many talents and a wonderful knowledge of glass elephants that impressed even the most thorough of trinket collectors, and a faint, timid, irresistible smile, and a taste for the arts. He perused his collection with a rifle against his shoulder, pointing down the halls, he swiveled around a corner, quickly glancing behind him to make sure nobody followed him, especially nobody from Francesci. He walked out of his small gray house, one of many in an expansive neighborhood, into the front lawn, then turned around. This was the house Francesci gave him, and now he was leaving it and his elephant trinkets behind for a new life working as a lighting consultant for a movie studio.

His entire body pivoted back around to look at the dim flames erupting from the infinitesimal soot house, a charred mess with one figure standing on the driveway, walking down towards him.

It was Luciana Francesci, standing in front of a glistening, burning Camry, with a confession and an apology. “Jesus,” said Tom Landarris. “Jesus, why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

Red, orange, and yellow blazes, blistering piles of heat fuming, propagating into the streets, overwhelming beams of warm luminescence, fiery, sizzling embers being vomited out from the core of the explosion, a whirling, torrid beast caused from a simple bomb hauled in a briefcase into a party, and out of the flames, a Camaro and a crimson motorcycle chased a ragged monster truck down the road. Bullets flew down the road, bouncing off windshields and smashing through bumpers, flying down into drains, splashing as they hit the water. A machine gun turret was mounted on the back of the monster truck shrieking, blazing fury being puked from the chambers.

Seven black Nissan Altimas chased the motorcycle and Camaro across the highway, a man firing a pistol on the sunroof. The chase swerved off the road, the cars filing into an empty alleyway of dumpster bins and newspapers with mustard stains and seafood take-out that had been out for too long. The Nissan Altimas scraped between muted gray leased out buildings, rented industrial warehouses that puffed out sooty gray smoke and had underpaid employees with tears of sweat rolling down their cheeks—the employees scattered when the Altimas crashed through the warehouses. Several more beacons of warmth consumed an empty warehouse, a shimmering, blazing landmark. Joran leapt at the men in the roaring monster truck, his swiftly accelerating Camaro kissing the flames before immediately halting.

The chase ended when the Altimas piled up against a barbed wire fence, a man standing behind it watching Rasheb and Joran make an escape. Before Joran dissipated into nothingness, becoming one with the never ending, gloomy smoke, Joran left a check of seventy thousand dollars addressed to the warehouse company and the man behind the fence. Then, Joran leapt onto the roof and followed Guy Red, scampering onto yellow street lamps, leaping from each one to the next as a monkey swings from vine to vine, his suit flying like a cape in the breeze, his suit pants quavering like an American flag on a flagpole.

Guy Red and Joran pounced through the air, a black and crimson panther capering through towers that scraped the tumbling gray tempests, rolling under the Sun’s smoldering stare and covering its bright gaze. Their movements were fluent like a slick, dashing tongue, until the swift transparency of time became muddled, and suddenly they were standing on either wall perpendicular to a spruce doorstep. When Luciana’s husband Alan-Roy opened up, Rasheb pushed him against the wall, and Joran stormed in, searching under sofa cushions, turning vases of flowers upside down, feeling the walls until he found a cell phone tucked behind a dial-up phone.

He stomped through the living room into a beige hallway, rifling through kitchen cabinets, digging through the refrigerator, throwing an old pickle jar against the sand wall and shattering it, finding another phone behind a smoothie maker, ans a phone stashed away in a pillow, and a phone in a junk drawer, and a few more in the walls. All of the phones were arranged in a single file before the husband, as Joran said, “We know you’re the one involved in all of this.”

“In all of what?” the husband cried, his eyes flinching, his lips pursed. “You aren’t telling me anything…” Suddenly, a smile came upon his wrinkly face, one not filled with kindness or incognizance or compassion, but with insidiousness that foreshadowed terror. “You aren’t powerful enough to stop me. I’ll slip away, and my wife takes the fall.”

“You manipulated her!” Guy Red pounced at Alan-Roy, his chair scraping against the floor until he was against the wall, his psychopathic demeanor trying as hard as it could to conceal itself, but a merciless smile still prevailed. “You’re manipulating Francesci, making her think she has no way out!”

“The date with Joran, the Amazon packages, the party, everything I schemed on. Discovering the truth was inevitable, but how will you make anybody believe the unbelievable?” The smell of benzene reeked everywhere, lingering in a small puddle at Guy Red’s scarlet sneakers, emanating from stains in Joran’s white shirt under his suit, coming from ovens and microwaves and the garage and everywhere but also nowhere at all, then Joran woke up in the police department, being spied on by the detectives behind a one way mirror, who later left the building whilst he sat there motionless, watching through the window a crimson Dodge Challenger pull into the parking lot, officers wearing blue uniforms, shiny golden badges and white shirts underneath darting out of the building, ready to greet it with a hail of gunfire, its engines humming to their footsteps, a cluttered mess of mops and buckets and boxes and translucent spray bottles spilling from the janitorial closet into the hallway, with silver needles of fury hailing from the skies onto the Challenger, a crimson car door swinging open and a pair of gray loafers stepping onto the sidewalk. Rasheb Nevim returned not in blazing scarlet glory, but shimmering in a dim gray light, his face muddled by the tinted car windows.

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mintmatcha · 3 years

Text

Couched- Goshiki Tsutomu

18+! Minors DNI!

Goshiki Tsutomu x cisfem!reader

Word Count: 6k

CW: NSFW!!! consumption of alcohol by both parties prior to sex, dubcon, enthusiastic consent, sex, cum eating. (if I missed anything please message me :) )

Part of Sloshfest ! Click to view the other great creators involved!!!!!!!!!

Tendou says something, but it's lost under the commotion. The whole house thrums with the low, rhythmic rumble of bass, muffled only by the shouts and jeers of ...whatever they were doing over there. The dimmed lights and lowered inhibitions make it hard to figure out what anyone was doing.

Tendou repeats himself. It doesn't matter- Goshiki isn't listening anyway. He's propped himself up against the back wall, phone in one hand, bottle of water in the other, pretending that Instagram is the most interesting thing he's ever seen. He's been ready to leave for the past two hours, but Tendou had made him promise to stay until at least eleven.

It's not that he doesn't like parties, he just… doesn't enjoy the awkward shuffle of being alone. Semi's shindigs were always a free-for-all of hormones and stupidity- (Come on, Bokuto, why were you spinning around a baseball bat?) and that was just too much for Goshiki to deal with.

He'll just make an excuse to leave sometime in the next twenty minutes. He'll just blame some early training session or dietary restrictions and dip out without a goodbye. Plus, there's the beginnings of a headache are creeping at his temples, so he could just-

"I said-" Tendou shouts into his ear just as the black haired man takes a sip from his bottle, "Is that Ushijima's ex?"

Goshiki practically inhales his water. Sputtering, bits of spittle land on a random girl in front of him, he's suddenly glad that it's so loud in here. The girl sneers as she tries to move away and he can only manage a wave as an apology. A slurry of emotions (shame? excitement? fear?) heats his cheeks as he scans the sea of bodies wildly, hoping to catch a glimpse of the person in question. Instead, he catches Semi's eye, who's been making rounds around the party. As he weaves between a couple, avoiding the groping hands, he scrunches his eyebrows in confusion at Goshiki's sudden meltdown. The younger boy just waves him off, hoping that no explanation was needed.

"Are you serious?" Goshiki asks incredulously as he gathers himself. Tendou laughs, patting his friend's back with steady thumps. Frantically, Goshiki paws at the wet spot at the front of his shirt, trying to dry it with just his hands. "The ex?"

"Is there another ex?" Tendou gestures towards the kitchen, bobbing on to his toes to see over the crowd. "Yes, it's her. God, she still looks great."

Fuck.

There's a bubble of excitement welling in Goshiki's chest, but it's being weighed down by his anxiety. Why are you here? Who invited you to this clusterfuck of a party? God, he should have left an hour ago.

There's another peek through the madness. Just a corner of your smile, flashing at someone for a moment before disappearing behind Bokuto's shoulder.

Every ounce of self confidence and self assurance he had worked for over the years immediately drains from his body, leaving him utterly dumbstruck. The giddiness of puppy love, that and energized spirit, is reborn and Goshiki can’t help but smile along with you. He runs a hand through his hair and fidgets with his outfit, suddenly very concerned with his appearance. He should have hit the gym earlier; he could have gotten a good pump in his biceps, given you something to squeeze-

Wait.

How dare you.

How long has it been? 3 years? Maybe 4? And you still make him feel like this? The absolute audacity for you to be so captivating that he just can’t move on from his childhood crush. Maybe he should leave, cut this thing off at the legs.

"You gotta talk to her." Tendou snaps him out of his thoughts with an elbow to the side.

“You think so?” Goshiki pretends like he hasn’t made his mind up already.

"Oh definitely."

"I'll say hi." he responds too quickly, "Just to catch up.”

“Sure. Just to ‘catch up.’”

Goshiki tucks his phone into his pocket, choosing to ignore the sarcasm. “How do I look?"

"Horrible- you're an adult with a bowl cut."

"Fuck you." Goshiki takes one step before the hollowness of his anxiety hits him. He feels so small in this group, so lost, so forgettable.

He can't do this- not sober.

The black haired man slams his bottle of water into Tendou's gut and snags the red solo cup out of his hands. Before his friend can even protest, Goshiki slams the drink back, fighting his body until he downs the whole thing. His gag reflex fights him, but he toughs it out, even when his body shivers with disgust. The intense burn in the back of his throat is unfamiliar, too strong and too smooth to be any sort of beer. "Argh, what the fuck was that?" he sputters once again.

"Fuck dude, that was like, half a cup of whiskey."

"Oh man, is that a lot?"

"Eh, you're big. You'll probably be fine." Tendou slaps his back. "Go get her, tiger."

Navigating the crowd is harder than Semi makes it look. Shouldering strangers and shouting apologies as he stumbles through, Goshiki can't tell if his cheeks are burning with embarrassment or from the alcohol. By the time he makes it to the kitchen, where the music and voices are much more subdued, he's sure it's the whiskey that's painting his skin red.

Drinking was never his thing, but as he catches you pouring yourself a drink from an oversized pitcher, shifting from foot to foot as you hum along to the music, he decides it might be his new thing.

"Hey," it feels desperate, trying to grab your attention. "Long time no see."

As you turn, he sees you fully for the first time since his first year of high school. The years have been kind to you, he decides, just like they have been to him. He wonders if you still laugh the same way you did in high school, if you sing the same songs on the way to class as you did back then-

"I'm sorry, do I know you?"

That guts him, just a little. He can't do this, even drunk.

"G-Goshiki Tsutomu. From high school?"

Your eyes light up. "GoGo?"

Fuck, he had forgotten about that nickname. "Goshiki." he corrects, but you aren't listening. You're already draped over his shoulders, pulling him in for a crushing hug. He wants to wrap his arms around you, pick you up and spin you, but he's frozen in place, savoring the warmth of your chest against his.

"Oh my god, Gogo! Is that really you?" you gasp as you let go, much too soon for his liking. Your eyes trace up his body and instinctively, he puffs his chest slightly. "You look great."

Double fuck. He forgot just how good it felt to be noticed by you.

"It's me." his throat feels insanely dry all of a sudden. He places his cup down on the counter, eyes never leaving you. Part of him is afraid he's going to look away and you'll disappear. It's hard to rip his eyes away from the curve of your waist, the hem of your skirt, but he manages to keep his gaze appropriate, just studying your face.

You, on the other hand, are clearly not. Tracing over the tightness of his shirt across his chest- it fans the flames of his ego. Maybe he can do this.

"Oh my god, it's been so long." you pour the pitcher into his cup, filling it to the brink with a suspicious red liquid. A couple splashes decorate the counter and you giggle an apology. He suspects you’re a little tipsy too. "What have you been up to?"

He waits until your own cup is full and clinks the glasses together with a soft, plastic tap. That mystery liquid splashes over both of your hands, painting your skin a sticky red. There's a pause before you both erupt into laughter. It's not funny, but the fuzzy, static feeling of the whiskey hitting his system tells him it is.

"I'm a professional now." he slowly lifts the overfilled cup to his lips and slurps just enough off of the top. It's sweet and way too delicious. Is there even alcohol in this? "A professional volleyball."

"A professional volleyball?" you snort, "Just the volleyball?"

A laugh bubbles in the back of his throat, but it's mostly rooted in his anxiety. "No, I'm a player!"

"Oh, so you're a player, huh?" you raise an eyebrow, “Should I warn all of the other girls here?”

An unfamiliar face ducks between you, grabbing an unmarked handle from the counter while snickering. Goshiki flounders, stumbling over his words uncontrollably.

"N-no! I'm a volleyball player! Not like, a girl player- I'm- I don't… like, girls- " he freezes, face flushing a deeper scarlet. Each sentence has a mind of its own, it seems."No, I like girls, I really like girls, I just don't like playing girls, well-" He takes a long breath and then takes an even longer drink.

"Gogo, relax!" you laugh, draping a hand of the bicep you've been ogling. As smoothly as he can, he crosses, his other arm across his chest and sandwiches his free hand under his muscle. It’s a bad attempt to make his arm look bigger, but you don’t seem to notice. "I'm just kidding."

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he didn’t know he was holding. “How have things been? How’s Ushijima?”

You snort into your cup, rolling your eyes wildly. “Are you kidding? I haven’t seen Toshi in years. We broke up right after graduation.”

“Ah, shit. I didn’t know that.”

He absolutely knew that. He still feels the swell of schadenfreude thinking about the breakup, but there’s an extra satisfaction seeing the distaste in your eyes when you say his name.

“It’s fine!” you shrug, “He was a huge stick-in-the-mud anyway. I’ve been better off without him. After graduation-”

As you talk, he listens. It’s hard not to hang on every word when he’s sober, but now that his inhibitions are gone, he’s enthralled. It doesn't take long before he props himself up on his elbows, holding his head in his hands as firmly as he can. The grip keeps him still, but he can still feel that gentle creep of his head rolling as the room starts to spin.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" you interrupt yourself.

"Hm?" he tilts his head the opposite way of his spins. "Like what?"

"Like that!" you point at his face, but miscalculate the distance. Instead of touching the air in front of him, you end up jabbing the smooth, hot skin of his cheek.

"I'm just looking!" he protests as he jabs you back, in your stomach instead of your face.

"Well, then stop it!"

"Well, then stop being so pretty!" the slips out before he can think about it.

You snort and roll your eyes as you take a rather large gulp of your drink, but the way you smirk into the rim of the cup makes him think you may actually like the attention.

"Look who's talking."

Goshiki smirks and opens his mouth to add something (he's not sure what- his mouth is moving faster than his noggin) when his phone rumbles to life in his pocket. He fishes it out, almost dropping it on the counter before he checks the notification.

>hey r u still here or…..?

Goshiki blinks, confused, then checks the time. It's 11:11; he can finally head home.

“Do you wanna dance?” you ask suddenly. He glances up, peeking at you through his bangs. You look… somewhere between eager and nervous. “I love this song, I really wanna-”

"Absolutely."

It's 11:12; he's tucking his phone back into his pocket as fast as he can.

Somewhere between the flashing lights, the continuous thrum of the music and the weight of your arms around his shoulders, Goshiki loses himself. He's holding your shoulders with stiff, straight arms, trying to hold you an appropriate distance away as the corners of his mind begin to fade. You just scrunch your brow.

"What are you doing?" you laugh.

"Dan-dancing?" he asks.

"No, you goof, not like that; what are we? Middle schoolers?" You take him by the biceps (he doesn't miss the little squeeze) and guide his hands down, down, down your body to your hips. You roll forward until you’re fully pressed into each other. "Like this."

He’s not sure how long you’re like this; time isn’t moving steadily in his head anymore. Every song bleeds into the next and the drinks never seem to empty; the only evidence of time passing to the soreness building in his thighs as you two move.

The smell of your hair is more intoxicating than anything else in his system. Terushima is shouting in the background, something about kumbaya or the lord, but he can’t focus on that. You're no longer an appropriate distance, instead nestled into his arms as you dip and swing to the beat. It’s hard to keep up with you; he’s always a second behind, grinding his hips into yours. At first, it was an accident, but as his hand ghosts lower and lower, coming to rest on the crease of your ass and thigh, he can't help but purposely roll against you. Someone's back keeps bumping up against his as you dance, but his senses are all consumed by you. Your head falls back as you laugh and your sweat glitters, even in the low light. All of the open skin of your neck calls for him, begs to be kissed. If he could just get a little closer, he could run his tongue-

“Goshiki!” a voice calls out.

No. He refuses to be interrupted. This moment, peeking through his drunken mind, belongs to you. He lets his head flop forward onto your shoulder, cheek against bare skin and nose against your throat. When he breathes, cool against the wet of your skin, goosebumps prickle across your chest.

“Yo, Gosh!”

No, no, no.

“Go-shi-ki!”

Begrudgingly, he lifts his head from you and glares across the room. Semi tilts his drink above the crowd in a faux toast, grinning ear from ear with approval. Goshiki knows he should feel kind of bad- maybe even grossed out- about being watched, but there's just the swell of pride as your hands wind back around his waist as you continue to groove. However, that feeling crumbles when Semi starts ducking between the people towards him. Reluctantly, he unravels himself from you. Your whine is cut short when the silverette claps your back.

“Hey, love birds!” he winks directly at Goshiki and that burn in his cheeks rages on. “I was just wondering if Gosh’k here was still planning to stay the night?”

That was never the plan. Hell, most people didn’t even think Goshiki was going to show up, let alone stay over. He just sneers at his upperclassmen in confusion.

“And you’re staying the night, right?” Semi turns to you.

“Yeah, definitely!” you reply, your arm falling from Goshiki's shoulders.

It finally clicks. Semi’s being his wingman.

“Oh, yeah! Staying the night!” It sounds so fake, “I’m still doing that!”

Semi rolls his eyes with a chuckle. “Good to hear. I have you two set up in the basement.” His eyes quickly flick to yours and Goshiki swears that there was a wink between you. Now that he thinks about it, you two were fairly close in school-

Maybe Semi wasn't being his wingman after all.

“Now, let’s do a shot.”

"I'm actually good." you admit. Your hip brushes against his, your fingers looping into his pant loops. "I think I might go downstairs."

“What? Are you kidding? It’s still early!”

“It’s like, midnight, Semi.” you roll your eyes, “Goshiki and I are going to sleep.”

Goshiki tries his best not to visibly perk up, hiding his excitement behind his hand. Semi boos, but doesn’t push it, instead turning to the rest of the room to find his next victims.

"Are you tired?" Goshiki asks, finding your hand.

You look over at him in the corner of your eye as you finish off the remnants of your drink. "Not at all."

He feels like a puppy, happily following you through the house as you drag him along, both of you aflutter. He's trying his best to keep his expectations low, but the way you've interlaced your fingers with his makes his heart race. No one turns to watch you two disappear into the basement, but the thrill of being seen still makes his head swim and fire pool in his core. At the door, he catches a face in the crowd- his forgotten friend, half asleep in the corner.

Oops. Maybe he should have texted him back.

As you pull him down the stairs, the humidity of the basement hits you both. There’s trash and sticky spots scattered around the floor, but all that he can focus on is that you now have complete, total privacy. Against the back wall, between miscellaneous band junk, is a rather large couch, complete like one flat pillow;

“Well, I think Semi forgot about blankets.” you flop down on to the couch with a giggle, resting against the corner and spreading your legs across the rest of the cushions with a stretch. Goshiki has no choice but to lift your calves and position himself under them. “Bummer, it’s going to be a cold night.”

“That’s okay," the alcohol is talking again, "I can keep you warm."

“Oh yeah?” your voice drops into a whisper and there’s something dangerous in your eyes. “How are you planning to do that?"

The hands on your ankles run upwards, gripping right above your knee. His tongue runs over his bottom lip before he continues ghosting his fingers up your thighs. When he pushes aside your skirt, all the way up to the meeting of your hip, he replies, "However you'll let me."

The way he watches your lips, dark and hungry, sends a chill down your spine. Before you can retort, Goshiki pounces, forcing you back into the rounded sofa arm, arching your back around it so you're halfway off the couch. As his arm loops behind you, your only protection from sliding fully off the seat, his other thumb digs into the hinge of your jaw, forcing it open. Tongue tracing over your bottom lip, practically begging for entrance, he kisses you with a wild desperation. The tingle of sweetness, remains of whatever you were drinking, makes him groan, hips bucking into your mindlessly as he slips his tongue into your mouth. Drunkenness has erased his shame, letting him explore you brazenly.

"Y'taste so good." he mumbles. His hands are already pulling up your shirt, forcing your bra up and over your chest in one rough push. Carefully, he admires you, propping himself up on to his knees. His chocolate gaze, dragging over every inch of your body hungrily, makes your blood run hot. This musty basement seems too cold, too lonesome to be without his touch. Wordlessly, you grip the bottom of his black shirt and gently guide it up over his toned body, stopping right above his chest- the same way he left your shirt. An appreciative curse falls from your lips and he groans, unable to hold back anymore. In one motion, he rips his shirt off and tugs you close, his bare chest pressed against yours.

His kisses are more rushed now, passion boiling just under the surface at every grip and grasp. Fingertips dip under the elastic band of his pants and he gasps into your mouth with a buck.

"I-I don't wanna presume…" he goes quiet as he circles his thumbs over your nipples. The way they pebble under his touch, hardening even further as he closes them between his forefinger and thumb, makes his hips buck into you. Even through his sweats, you can feel his cock pulse as he continues to explore with his calloused touch. “Are we…Can I?” He dips his head down to your shoulder and breathes you in, partially to settle his racing heart. “Can I fuck you?”

Your hands are tracing over his sculpted biceps. His eyelids flutter when you hook a leg over his hip and throw your head back. “Yes. Fuck, yes, please, yes.”

His teeth close over your throat and he sucks, your legs twitch reflexively from the surprise and pain.

“Go, be careful!” your voice comes out like a whine, but he doesn’t relent.

The only thing that separates him from you is when you pull your shirt up over your head. His skin is so soft against yours and surprisingly pale, completely unblemished by the sun. Even as you continue to complain, you run your hands over the smooth planes of muscles across his back, beckoning him closer.

“Say my name.” he mumbles as he leans back in, running his tongue over the sore spots.

“G-goshiki.” you gasp as he suddenly pulls fully away, leaving you cold.

“I said-” he drags you down the couch by the waist of your skirt with one hand. Your thighs are pinned onto the back of the couch, sandwiched by his weight and unable to escape his tracing touch. “Say my name.”

You were fully aware of how much he had grown, but here, pinned under him, you’re aware of how much he’s bulked up since high school. His torso is thick with muscle, shoulders barely able to fit on the couch. His thighs, pressing into your hip bones, are strong and wide from years of training.

“Tsutomu.” you breathe.

“Again.”

Tsutomu!” His hands are instantly under your skirt, tracing the hem of your panties with a gentle yet growing greed. The heat of your pussy through the thin fabric makes him shiver. He’s still flushed, shoulders and torso covered in red blotches, and the way he’s already panting doesn’t make it any better. As the man pushes aside the fabric with just his pointer finger, he lets out an incredulous laugh.

“Fuck, you’ve got the prettiest cunt.” He runs two fingers down past your clit, snaking a pattern through your folds. His dark eyes never leave your face, watching for every reaction as he explores. His fingertips run across your entrance, dipping in ever so slightly; your excitement offers no resistance, but he pulls out immediately.

“Oh, god, honey-” he chokes out, examining the slick on his fingers. Then, he ducks his head down and runs his tongue across his finger tips. "I can't believe how fucking wet you are."

You're fumbling with his belt, all fine motor skills gone.

"Pl-please, Tsu," you buck your hips against nothing, searching for any sort of release. "I need you."

He ducks his head down and kisses your cheek as his hand slips down to guide you. Together, the belt slides off and the buttons follow suit. The lime green boxers peek out through his fly as he wiggles down his jeans.

“I don’t have a condom.” he sounds apologetic even as he ruts into your hand. Through the denim you can feel how hard he’s gotten. “Shit, lemme go see if- god, f-uh-uck, that feels good.” he whines as your hand wraps around his clothed cock.

“It’s- it’s fine,” you insist, giving him another exploratory squeeze and watching how his eyes flutter in response. He’s thick- thick enough to make you worry slightly. “I’m on birth control.”

Wordlessly, you two separate and remove the last bits of your clothes. He's quick to lay down and pull you on top of him. Precum leaks down his cock, dripping down his pink head onto your thighs. It's almost impressive how wet his cock is, but you're too distracted with something else to focus on it.

"Oh, Tsutomu, you're… you're big." you whisper as he runs his cock through the petals of your pussy.

"Heh." he smiles wildly, "Sorry 'bout that."

He's clearly not.

"I don't have to put it if you don't want to-"

Your hand covers his, lining him up with your entrance. Your own wetness mixes with his, dripping down his length. "Just fuck me already."

You sink down slowly, letting yourself adjust to the squeeze. His hands clamber to your hips to pull you down faster, but his touch is too light to move you. Face stuck in an opened mouth smirk and eyes half closed, he tries to watch and savor at the same time. The stretch burns as you let gravity do the work; once his dick is fully seated in your pussy you can feel every twitch of his cock. He can feel everything too; the tight, velvet wetness inside you basically begging to be used. He tries to fuck up into you, but the way your ass is firmly planted into him makes that impossible.

"Pl-ea-se, move." he takes his pointer and middle finger and swirls your clit, borderline panicked; unlike you, he doesn't want to take his time.

You oblige, but not at the pace he wants. You slowly rise and fall, steady enough that he keeps his hand on your clit the whole time. His eyes never leave your tits, watching how they move and away with each thrust. You wedge your feet under you for better leverage and the change of angle, combined with his fingers, already has you seeing stars. The way he's building you up is too fast, too rough; your body almost hurt from how good it feels.

He swallows hard, but drool still catches in the corner of his mouth.

"I'm gonna cu-" as you start shaking, he shoots up and catches you in an unexpected kiss. You come undone in his arms, his mouth swallowing your whimpers and moans as he continues rolling against you.

It makes you feel boneless, cumming this hard, and your pace falters as you fall on to your knees.

"No, no, no." he whines, digging his hands into your ass so hard he’s sure it’ll leave marks. Your orgasm left you obscenely wet for him, cum dripping down his balls onto the couch cushions, but he still needs more. Every thrust, every push through your plush, soft walls leaves him reeling. Now that you’re still, he needs more, "No, don't stop."

"Can't." you sigh, giving a half hearted bounce, "Gimme… gimme a sec…"

In one fluid motion, he flips you, withdrawing from your tender pussy for only a second before plowing into you once again. With rough hands, he presses your thighs into your chest. His thumbs dig into the fat of your legs as he leverages himself, the head of his cock dragging against your abused walls.

“So close,” he whines. His rhythm is broken, staggering. Your body buzzes from overstimulation, legs twitching and kicking wildly as your orgasm starts building once again. His grip just tightens, holding you open for him. “Fuck, I’m so close. Why- “

His jaw hangs open, eyebrows knit together and eyes closed, as he focuses on fucking you right. His whole torso covered in your slick, his abs twitching with exertion as another orgasm hits you- hard. Your pussy clamps down on him, spasming as you come undone, but he doesn’t stop. The high plateaus. Nails rake down his back and you gasp and whine, too fucked out to say anything else as your mind goes blank.

“ ‘m so close.” He sobs before crumbling into you and tucking his head into your shoulder, his pace finally slowing, "I can’t fucking cum.”

You let out a breathy hiccup, something close to a laugh as you realize what’s going on. “I think… I think you have whiskey dick, baby.”

“Fuck, call me baby again.” his eyes are so dilated you can barely make out the brown. "That sounds so good, say it again."

"Baby." you sigh as he digs his nails into you, "My baby."

He starts again. Every nerve inside of you feels raw and electric as he ruts into you with short, sharp thrusts. The bulge of his bicep shakes as he presses you furter, spreading your legs into the back of the couch. Those muscles of his aren’t just for show; your arms around his neck are the only thing keeping you from being fucked up and off of the couch.He looks feral, covered in sweat, spit, and slick.

“One more,” he begs, “I just- I just gotta feel you cum one more time.”

Your orgasm is small, just enough to push you over that edge and leave you crumbling, but it leaves you drained. For a moment, you think he’s come too, but the insane, vibrating tension in his muscles doesn’t subside. A mangle sound escapes him as he yanks you down his cock once more. Teeth sink into your shoulder, muffling his growls, but that pain is diluted by the growing soreness in your core.

"Tsutomu, it hurts." you weakly push against his chest, barely grazing him, and he immediately relents, pulling out so fast it makes you wince. His cock hangs heavy, visibly throbbing and sore with the way it pulses, but he ignores it. He sits as far away from you as he can, hands in the arm. Control has returned to his eyes, even as he continues to pant.

"Shit, I'm sorry." he rambles, "I didn't mean- Do you need anything? Ice? Water? Hug? Alone time?”

He still hasn’t cum, but he’s fine with that; he’ll just deal with the building pain silently and hold this night in his memories forever.

"I’m okay- just sore." you crawl over, settling yourself between his legs. Goshiki watches you, worry knotted in his brow and eyes glazed over with unshed tears, but he doesn't touch you until your hands graze his forehead, brushing those black bangs out of his eyes. He's mesmerized, watching you trace nonsensical patterns down to his tight abdomen. A finger catches his weeping slit and his whole body clenches, cock bouncing against his stomach, brows furrowed, eyes rolling in the back of his head, his hand balling themselves into fists.

But then your hand grips his length, tracing over the veins of his length and he shudders uncontrollably.

“You don’t have to- argh, my god.” Ass in the air, you bend over and run your lips down the side of his cock, smearing the creamy remnants of you across your face.

“Shh, relax.” you coo as you cup his heavy balls, gently rolling them in your hands. All he can do is watch as you lick up his length. "Let me take care of you."

He thinks he might die, watching your tongue drag up his cock. His body reacts before his brain when your tongue runs across the crown of his cock, jerking forward into you. A hand cups his aching balls, pressing them up into his body slightly as he uncontrollably rocks. The musk of your own arousal coats your lips when you finally close your lips around his tips with a delicate suck and Goshiki honestly thinks he might die.

As he tries to calm his swirling head, you start moving, taking him into your mouth until your nose brushes against his trimmed pubic hair. He's so close, body too tight too actually cum, and he can't help the depraved sounds falling out of his mouth. He's scared he might always be on this edge, teetering right next to orgasm, but then you look up at him through your eyelashes with cheeks hollowed, and he loses it.

His large body trembles above you; muscles of his abdomen stretching taut. “Ngh, fuck, I’m gonna-”

His nails bite into your scalp, pulling you off of his cock just as he finally comes undone. It rocks his body first; he crumples over with a strangled gasp, all of the air gone from his lungs. It feels like an eternity before he cums. The first, thick pump falls on your awaiting tongue and down your chin. Hips buck uncontrollably as strand after sticky strand paints you, dripping all the way down to your tits.

You look up at him and swallow, showing him your clean tongue. Goshiki shudders, slamming his eyes closed as a final, little bead of cum dribbles down his length. His thumb caresses your cheek, then runs over your eye, wiping away a droplet caught in your eyelashes.

"You-" he can't catch his breath, "You look- so good."

He leans over and wraps a hand around the back of your neck to tug you closer. He kisses you, moaning as he tastes his cum on your breath. As he pulls away, he freezes, then returns to kiss you. It’s deep, unabashedly tasting himself on your breath, but that doesn’t deter him. Instead, he drags his tongue across your cheek and through his spend, humming at the taste.

"Lemme get you- lemme get you cleaned up." Exhaustion hits him hard. He grabs his crumbled shirt from the floor and swipes it across your face. It's surprisingly tender, the way he's so careful with you despite how tired he is, patting the cotton against your jaw and neck. He gives your chest a final squeeze through the fabric before tossing the shirt over soft electric equipment.

"Your shirt is ruined," you point out, but he just shrugs as he tosses it aside.

"Morning's problem." he rolls on to the couch and holds his arms out. You crawl into his grasp, resting your head on his bicep.

"You’re gonna be cold all night."

With the last ounce of strength, he kisses your hair. "Keep me warm."

#sharemsloshfest202 #sharemsloshfest2021 #goshiki x reader #goshiki smut #haikyuu!!#haikyū!!#haikyu #haikyu x reader #alcohol tw #goshiki tsutomu

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father-time-and-baby-new-year · 3 years

Note

M-more armin vs eren drabbles please

WC: 3.2k

Title: Melted Candles

Warnings: possessive behavior, cheating, armin x reader x eren, obsession, unhealthy relationships. manipulator armin & toxic eren.

You’re fidgeting with the hem of your short dress that your loving boyfriend bought you, nursing a drink, and half-heartedly scrolling through your phone.

Sitting on the olive couch alone as the musings of a party transpire, you eye the big and colorful banner sporting the words “Happy 20th Birthday Eren!”.

“It’s like Eren to be late to his own birthday party huh?”

A smooth, gentle voice breaks you out of your trance. You turn sideways to face Armin Arlert, a pretty boy with short-cropped blond hair and wide oceanic eyes. He’s all dressed up in a deep grey turtleneck, navy dress pants, and an expensive Omega watch on his wrist.

You must have looked frightened because he chuckles as he takes a seat next to you, a respectful distance away, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. Are you having fun?”

“Uh well it’s a surprise party, it’s not like Eren knows he’s supposed to be here.” You have an immediate desire to slap a hand over your mouth after the words spillover. You wince, not entirely in love with the fact that it was your first instinct to defend Eren.

If you had been more observant, you would have noticed the corners of his lips flick upwards in amusement. But Armin is observant enough for the both of you. He notes the color of embarrassment in your cheeks and continues the subject with ease.

“Ah, yeah. That’s right. Eren hates celebrating his birthday, but they're always a good excuse to get everyone together" He pauses before grinning so wide it doesn't look genuine, "-maybe this is more for us than him.”.

There’s an underlying tension in his words you can’t make heads and tails off. It reminds you of how truly little you knew of Eren's very own best friend.

You smile brightly, channeling all the optimism you could into changing the topic: “Everyone’s trying their best today! Sasha did all the catering and managed to leave the cake perfectly alone even though it’s her favorite flavor. She has the patience of a saint today.”

As if on cue, there’s a commotion in the background. Jean yells at Sasha, “Don’t finish all the lemon-pepper wings Potato Girl!”

Armin laughs and it's a pretty sound, a sound that reminds you of a bell chime. Unconsciously, he shifts closer to you, knees knocking into yours.

“Yeah, you’re right. Connie's even hosting it, and he let us decorate his man cave."

You look at the streamers and balloons, and Armin follows your eyes.

“You did a great job decorating.”

You blush, “It was honestly a team effort. Mikasa did way more, I promise.”

“So humble”, he teased. As he smooths his slacks, your eyes can’t help but fall on the shine of the silver band on his slender finger, an engagement ring.

“Annie couldn’t make it today?” There’s a flash of a grimace on his face but he schools his features right away.

“She doesn’t really like parties,” he laughs softly, “She’s like Eren in that way.”

“Oh,” you paused. He was clearly hiding something but it wasn’t in your place to pry. You didn’t know much about Annie. In fact, you were a little intimidated by her icy demeanor and arctic eyes. It amused you at first when you learned she was Armin’s partner.

Opposites must attract, because where Annie was the cold seeping into your bones, Armin was a furnace radiating warmth.

There wasn’t much more to say with the conversation heading to a peaceful silence, until his arms lightly touch yours, “I’m really glad you came.”

His fingertips graze the sleeve of your dress.

You flush, “Well, I wouldn’t be a very good girlfriend if I didn't come to his birthday party.”

The pretty blond clicks his tongue, “I suppose.” He inhales, thumbs swiping the rim of his glass, “You’re too good for him. Do you know that?”

To say you were surprised would be an understatement. You don’t have a response ready but Armin continues, “I love Eren of course. Been friends with him since we were children but-” Deep sigh, “I feel like I barely know him anymore. No one knows him anymore.”

In a small voice, you squeak “I do.” But the unsureness of your tone made your words seem like it was a question.

Armin smiles, one that’s filled with mirth.

Boldly, he squeezes your thigh, the flesh right below where your dress ends, “You deserve better.” His oceanic eyes seem darker under the dim lighting.

Why weren’t you moving away? Were you letting his hand itch closer to roaming the softness underneath silky fabric?

You swivel your head around, praying no one is seeing anything. Thankfully everyone was too swept up in their own conversations. As if to soothe you, his hands draw circles on the soft pliant skin, “Don’t worry, no one can see us.”

The ring glints harshly. Admittedly, Eren’s soft-spoken best friend is just a little attractive. You didn’t always think to see him this way, but Armin changed, and all the general anxiety he possessed matured into a quiet confidence.

He reminds you of Eren in that way. But still, you're at crossroads here. Is Armin making a move on you? Is he warning you? Should you even be here right n-

Your internal monologue is interrupted by Mikasa clapping her hands, and then putting a finger on her lips, “We’re going to turn off the lights, ok? They’ll be here in a few minutes. When Eren starts coming in, yell surprise.” Armin hand’s leave your legs, the warmth gone.

“Oy, oy, oy. Don’t we need a signal?” Connie asks, confusion apparent on his face.

“Jesus Connie, if you can’t even figure this out, what are we going to do with you?” quips Jean.

Mikasa shakes her head.

Sasha lightly punches her best friend, “It’s okay Coomer, just follow my lead.”

“How will that work since you’re stupider than me?” The hazel eyed boy asks, voice dripping in concern. “Eh?” Sasha replies with an equally concerned tone.

Mikasa pinches the bridge of her nose, “I’m going to turn the light off now.”

Eren would be here soon. You barely register Armin putting his arm around the couch, not around you per se, but the proximity was close enough to send your heart racing.

In the switch of a light, the room was engulfed in darkness and excited giggles that Mikasa promptly hushed. And then was just the sound of breathing. You could hear yours and you could hear Armin’s.

Softly, the blond uttered, “I’m going to do something I’ve always wanted to do.” You could feel featherlight fingers tilting your jaw, and capturing your pillowy lips.

The doorknob rattled. Soon after, light from the hallway trickled in. A still moment. As soon as the kiss started, it ended. A flash of light exploded before your eyes and a cacophony of people yelling Surprise! rang out.

At the center of attention was Eren Yeager, who...did not look surprised at all. His eyes were not even adjusting to the light the way yours was. A tall redhead accompanied him, someone who you vaguely recognize as Floch.

The birthday boy was clad in a white button-up, sleeves rolled to his elbows and the top button was unfastened. His dress pants were slim-fitting and black.

The green-eyed boy’s face was devoid of expression. In comparison to his stoic nature, you thought your heart was going to explode.

Wryly Armin says, “Oh look, your boyfriend has arrived.” As if on cue, Eren’s eyes locked with yours.

At that moment, there were too many things to process.

Luckily, Eren was surrounded by a small crowd of his closest friends. You could hear Jean cackle, “Come on! You’re not even surprised.”

You turned your head to face the boy who took advantage of the darkness, a scarlet blush staining your face, “Why did you-?!”

He gazed at you with shining eyes like he had found clarity, not even bothering to feign guilt. With agility only he had, he took your palm in his, “I know you used to like me.”

Blood rushing in your ears, you tear your hands “What are you doing? Eren’s right there. Don’t touch me.” You hissed, scooting away for good measure.

“You didn’t deny what I said.” The blond pointed out calmly, “Yeager is no good for you. He keeps you in the dark about his life and he’s certainly not loyal..”

“I-I can’t deal with this. I never expected this from you Armin.” You shot up from the couch, trepidation filling your nerves, “Now if you excuse me, I’m going to greet my boyfriend.” You uttered the last word with as much hostility you could muster.

Mikasa had her arms wrapped around Eren. Which was fine. They’re best friends. They’ve known each other far longer than you knew him. He thinks of her as a sister.

He thinks of her as a sister.

You walked over, looming behind them. Most of the crowd had dispersed, with only Eren and the Ackerman girl lost in their own world.

What is wrong with you? You scold yourself. You didn’t usually think like this.

“[Y/N]”

Eren noticed you right away, and Mikasa turned around to face you.

“Sorry [y/n], didn’t mean to take so much of his time from you.” The dark-haired girl smiled apologetically.

You could feel guilt gnaw at you, how could you ever suspect her? She waved to Eren, and warmly thanked you, “You did so much of the planning. Thank you.” And before you could reply, she left.

That left you alone with the man himself. “Hi.” You said shyly. He smirked, “Hi babe. Long time no see huh.”

His viridian eyes slowly roamed your appearance, head to toe. You blushed under his stare as they paused longer than necessary on the dip of your neckline, and the expanse of legs not covered by the silk dress.

“So you did all this?” He teased, vaguely gesturing to the string lights, and hanging paper flowers.

He steps closer to you until he’s just a breath away. “Hardly. Just helped out wherever I could.” You whisper.

He hugs you, his tall frame enveloping yours. You feel so safe, pressed against his chest, as his arms compass the slight of your back.

His cologne is your favorite. Subtle, and intoxicating with thick notes of spice. You sniff something else, something overpoweringly distinct.

Still enclosed in his arms, you look up to him, “Did you drink?”

He takes a step back, still wrapping an arm to your waist, “I met up with Zeke. He offered me a drink.”

“Zeke?” You questioned, “You visited your brother?”

Eren was privy to sharing details about his life and you knew virtually next to nothing about Zeke, his half-brother he came recently in contact with.

He kisses the top of your head, and you can feel the loose strands that escaped his bun tickle your face, “It’s nothing to worry your pretty little head about.”

He keeps you in the dark about his life.

“You were cozying up with Armin on that couch, weren’t you?” His tone is light, containing a thinly veiled accusation.

You laugh it off, hoping he wouldn’t notice how tense you suddenly got, “No, no. We were just talking. I was sure I was going to kill myself out of boredom just waiting for you.”

Snuggling closer to him, you stand on your tippy-toes to kiss his jawline, trying to distract him from wavering thoughts.

“Oh?” He asked, “Armin wasn’t entertaining you well enough? Well, he does have a tendency to babble about nothing.”

As he talked, you had a feeling he wasn’t really looking at you, but rather peering straight behind you.

An uneasy feeling fills your lungs, “Um Eren, let’s head to the kitchen. I can fix you a plate. Niccolo did the catering so you know it’ll be really good-”

The tall boy waved your suggestion away, “Not hungry. In fact, why don’t we head over to my best friend? I haven’t talked to him in a while.” You didn't appreciate the mocking lilt in his tone.

Before you could dissuade him, he was already pulling your wrist so you could turn, hand placed on the small of your back, leading you somewhere you definitely did not want to go.

The charming blond was still situated on the couch but this time joined by a woman who was talking rather animatedly. You vaguely recognized her by her chin-length wavy ash-colored locks. Hitch.

“-Annie is so lucky! Jesus, I can’t believe you guys are engaged! And Marlowe still hasn’t worked up the nerve to-”

Eren coughed, asserting his presence. Two pairs of eyes flitted upwards. Hitch sighed dramatically, “Well if it isn’t the birthday boy. The big 2-0. You’re not a teen anymore Yeager. Think you’re ready for the adult world?”

Your boyfriend, who was never one for false pretenses and small talk, ignored her question entirely, “Hello Hitch. If you don’t mind, I would like to catch up with Armin here.”

The woman rolled her eyes, “Guess that’s my cue to leave.” As she stood up, she looked back and forth between the boys, noting the animosity that seemed to permeate the air as they burned holes into each other.

“Why are the vibes so tense? The energies you two are radiating...is reminiscent of a pissing contest”

Without really intending to, you let out a chuckle, attracting the attention of the three people around you.

Hitch’s eyes softened, “[Y/n], I haven’t seen you in a minute. Let’s go do shots with Mina and Hanna.”

Eren’s grip on you tightened, “She’s staying right here Hitch. Enjoy yourself though”

“Funny, I don’t recall asking you. Your girlfriend can’t speak for herself?”

“Uhm, thanks for the offer Hitch but no thank you, I’m not really in the mood to drink right now.” You chuckle nervously, flashing a big enough smile that will ascertain that everything is okay.

Hitch shrugs, “Suit yourself”, and proceeds to walk away.

“Well, I suppose I have to thank you for driving her away. She’s quite...talkative.” Armin breaks the silence. He addresses you both but his eyes are trained on you, “Back already [y/n]?” An easy smile spreads across his face.

You don't look at Eren’s face to gauge his reaction, but you notice how the hand around your waist squeezes almost painfully. The boys stand up to shake hands. Armin gestures for the two of you to sit but the dark-haired boy waves it away, “We prefer to stand.”

The blond gazes between the two of you questioningly but seemingly accept Eren’s response, “Okay then. Guess I’ll stand too.”

“Where’s Annie? Trouble brewing in paradise?”

Armin’s smile hardens, “Don’t know how you’d assume that. She’s just not here.”

Unease pinpricks at you. You could feel trepidation in the air.

“What a shame. Doesn’t Annie like me?” Eren taunts before delivering a line you didn’t expect, “I recall a time where she liked me much more than you actually.”

Surprise is an understatement for how you feel. You didn’t even want to register the implication of his statement. Did Eren and Annie have a past? You lightly touch Eren’s arm in a hint of a warning, “Eren-”

The blond shakes his head, “You’re really something else, you know? Talking about another woman so brazenly in front of your girlfriend? Are you projecting your insecurity onto me since you know” he tilts his head in your direction, “[y/n] liked me first?”

You fluster immediately, jaw-dropping slightly. It was true. You did have a rather big crush on the intelligent blond boy who sat next to you in a class that bored you to sleep. But there was nothing between you two beyond a handful of platonic study dates from when you were freshmen!

Too many moving variables. He was dating Annie and not being the homewrecker type, tried to squash the interest you had. Besides, you were planning to drop that class anyways, and in a twist of fate, it was Armin who had inadvertently introduced you to Eren.

Also, how did that damn Arlert know and why was he bringing it up today of all days?!

Your boyfriend sneers, “Does that really matter when she’s with me? When she’s dating me. And. Not. You.” He punctures the last words out.

“Uhm, I’m right here-” You finally find your voice, “And I’m not really comfortable with being discussed like this.”

Armin’s eyes find yours, “Of course. Sorry [Y/n]. It’s super disrespectful of me-”

Eren cuts in with words heavier than bullets, “Shut the fuck up. Always desperate to play the white knight in shining armor aren’t you? Your duplicity makes me sick.”

As if sensing an oncoming attack, Eren pivots away from you, creating some distance.

Armin closes the gap between himself and the dark-haired boy and bunches Eren’s collar in his fist, “You don’t know how to treat people, you know that? So full of yourself that you think basic decency has an ulterior motive.”

Eren’s eyes dance with mirth, “There’s always an ulterior motive with you, isn’t there though?”. He forcefully shoves his friend, sending Armin stumbling a few steps backward, “You really like pretending you’re one of the good guys when your hands are blood-stained like the rest of us.

You can hear the blood rushing in your ear and you attempt to get in the middle of the impending conflict but Eren grabs your arm with a painful force. He growls,“Step back”. You obey.

“Don’t touch her touch like that.” Armin snarls.

“She’s my fucking girlfriend. I’ll touch her however I want. By the way, just because your little fiance is giving you a hard time doesn’t give you the right to leer at what’s mine.”

At this point you realize you come to your senses, and you leave the area quickly to get help. You scan the area around looking for Mikasa. She’s reliable and always knows what to do. You try to calm your panicked heart.

Gaining speed, you nearly fall by running into someone in the long hallway. Thankfully, the good samaritan is able to catch you in time, holding your shoulders in a firm but comforting grip.

You look up, eager to thank the man who caught you. Mullet. Tall. Slight scruff at the chin. You recognize him right away.

“Woah y/n, what are you running for?” He asks in amusement but one look at your teary eyes has him instantly concerned, “Hey, hey. Are you okay?”

“I-uh,” You’re blubbering, “Armin and Eren are acting kinda strange--I think Mikasa should calm them down.”

Jean’s eyebrows are furrowed, “Strange how? She stepped out so she’s not here right now.” You bite your lips, wondering how you were going to explain the situation.

Jean grabs your shoulder, “Hey, don’t worry. I’ll settle this. Can you take me to them?”

You nod, supremely grateful to have Jean in your corner. As you guys take a turn to the living room, you hear the excruciating sound of glass breaking. “Shit!” Jean curses.

In the middle of the living room stood Eren and Armin like centerpieces, beating the ever-living shit out of each other. You couldn’t see much beyond the fact Armin was throwing punches left and right, landing some but Eren was able to dodge most.

As you move to run forward, Jean grabs you, “No. Stop. There’s glass everywhere. You’re going to get hurt.”

You’re incredulous, “I can’t just let them hurt each other!”

Jean merely looks at you with a look of pity,

#armin arlert fanfic #armin arlet x you #eren yeager x reader #eren yeager x you #eren jeager x reader #armin and eren fight over you #attack on titan headcanons #attack on titan fanfiction #tw manipulation #tw gaslighting #tw fighting #manipulator armin

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

Mark of the Beast

Please be kind. I haven’t written werewolves before and this is an unedited drabble I did to distract myself. Hope you enjoy werewolf!Thor and needless to say it’s dark.

Reblog and comment if you like, please and thank you.

Warnings: noncon and rape, exophilia, blood, biting.

You sat along the edge of the yard, just at one of those picnic tables set with chips, salsa, and other finger foods; most of it crumbs and smears as the night wore on. The fire licked up into the sky as the strangers chatter drunkenly, laugh loudly, and sing and dance wildly to the music floating from the bassy bluetooth speaker.

Parties were never your scene and you don’t know why you agreed to come. You didn’t even know why you were asked. You never were the fun friend, hell you were often the forgotten one. The one who found out they weren’t invited or when you were privileged enough to be asked along, it was because someone else fell through.

Well you couldn’t take another night in your boxy apartment, sitting there alone as you watched the same shows over and over again. Restless as nothing ever seemed to change and yet time continued to pass you by.

You noticed how as the sky darkened, the guests began to couple up and trickle away from the flames of the tiki torches and the empty keg. You thought this kind of thing was better left to college kids.

The early summer night was cool and dull blue as clouds streaked the sky. You hadn’t seen the sun directly since noon and it cast an odd haze over the party. Even so, there had been much screaming and shrieking on the oversized slip and slide. Again, these people, you included, were too old to be throwing their drunken bodies around.

Valerie giggled as she hung off the slender man with the black hair. He wore a green button up and black jeans. His clothes were pressed and pristine. He looked out of place amid the group. He looked like you felt.

She grabbed his collar and led him away from the few stragglers still grinding around to the retro tones of TLC. You stood as she headed for the trees. She was your ride and you didn’t feel like staying all night so she could get laid by some stranger. You didn’t even know how she got invited to this.

The sky shifted and dimmed a little more. You collided with a large body as you made to catch up with Valerie. You recognized the blonde man. He’d been lurking throughout the night, socializing over the top of red plastic cup, at one point chatting with the black-haired man Valerie was flirting with and helping tap the keg when it was overturned in some dumb stunt.

“Oh, excuse me,” you said as his large hand settled on your arm, “um, I’m just…”

“You don’t like the party?” he asked in his booming voice.

“What? No, I--”

“You’ve been hiding over here all night,” he said, “and you haven’t looked very happy about it.”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” you countered.

“Well, this is my party,” he said lightly, “Thor.”

He removed his hand from your arm and offered it to you. You looked at it reluctantly then glanced around him.

“I’m here with my friend. We should probably go--”

“The one who just disappeared with my brother?” he chuckled, “I don’t think you want to walk in on that.”

“Then maybe I’ll just call a cab,” you shrugged, “but I should get--”

“Why did you come? To glower in the corner and feel sorry for yourself?”

“No, I… you don’t know me.”

“No, I do not but that is not my doing. You sit here and isolate yourself to the point that anyone who approaches you, cannot break that barrier you’ve put up. The one you blame on those around you but you’re the only one enforcing it,” his blue eyes were pale, almost silver as the clouds darkened, and you realised in that moment how big he was.

“I didn’t ask for your--”

“You wouldn’t know what to ask for if you found the nerve,” he gave a crooked smile, “you don’t know what you want, what you need.”

He leaned in as his voice turned to a growl, something animalistic as he leaned in and his shadow shut out the sky.

“I know I want to leave,” you said as you stepped back, only to hit the low bench behind you.

“Did you not notice?” he asked.

“Notice what?” you sidled along the wood and he stopped you, this time his fingers gripped your arm tightly.

“That everyone else is gone. They’ve found their mate…” he lowered his voice to a gristle, “the moon is close and they must consummate their pairing.”

“What are you--” you gasped as you saw the way his canines pointed dangerously and grazed along his lip.

“All in my pack made their claim,” he whispered as he leaned in and the silver moon flickered behind the wisping clouds, “I’m making mine.”

“Get off--”

Suddenly you were spun around and flung so you landed in the grass, your knees and the heels of your hands scraping against the twigs and pebbles. Before you could try to stand or turn, he was behind you. His large hands braced your throat and he pulled you onto your knees so that your back was to his torso as he lowered himself behind you.

His nose tickled your ear as he inhaled your scent and a growl crackled in his throat. His fingers tightened and you felt sharp claws prodding at your flesh. His breath picked up as you felt his body tremble. The clouds parted at last and the full moon painted the grass silver.

“You have no purpose, I see it,” his voice grinded roughly, “you are lost but I have found you…”

“Let me--” you rasped and wheezed as he choked you harder.

“You don’t know. How can you realise that I have chosen you for a greater need?” he slid one hand to the back of your neck and pushed you down sharply so that you were face down in the grass, “I can smell it on you… ripe for a pup.”

He flipped your over harshly and his hand pressed to your jaw as he squeezed it painfully. You grasped his wrist in terror as the moon limned the fine fur that had risen across his skin, his long blonde hair blending into his thick main as his eyes glowed eerily.

“I… I...what are you?”

“What are you?” he repeated back, “can you tell me that?”

“Please, don’t--”

“You’re mine,” he snarled as he dragged a long nail over your shirt and sliced through the fabric easily, his other hand still framed your jaw, “if you survive, you will carry my pup, if you don’t… an honourable death.”

You slapped at his hand as his fingers hooked in the front of your jeans and he janked them down in a single motion. Your panties caught in the denim as he brought his foot up to push them down to your ankles. He pushed his knee between your thighs and dug a nail into your hip. Hot blood rose around his claw.

“I can smell it all. The loneliness, the desperation, the fear… it’s delicious.”

His claw flicked over your clit lightly as he pushed your folds apart. He played with you as you squirmed helplessly and gripped his arm, one hand on his wrist and the other on his bicep.

“No, no--” you murmured as your body went into shock, the pleasure of his teasing like a muffled shout in your core.

When his hand moved from your cunt, you felt its absence more intensely. He brought his other knee between your legs and pushed them further apart until your jeans slipped from one ankle. He lifted your left leg and hooked his arm under it and leaned on you as he lined himself up.

You pushed on his chest as the moonlight limned his silhouette above you and clenched as he prodded against your entrance. He cradled your face and dropped his head down beside yours as he pinned you under his weight, your leg bent uncomfortably as your other splayed against his hip.

He poked at your resistance and when he finally pushed through, you cried out into the night. He was thick, so thick, and when you thought you could handle no more, he pushed further in. You strained around his cock as he snapped his hips up and when he filled you entirely, you whimpered as you felt him in your stomach.

You tangled your fingers in his hair as his hot breath tickled along the crook of your neck. He pulled back and you let go of the breath in your chest only to suck it back in as he thrust sharply. You whined as he jolted your entire body and sank his teeth into your flesh. The shock of pain mingled in your core and filled your veins with an irresistible heat. He removed his fangs from you and dragged his bloodied lips down your neck.

“If you fight it, you will suffer,” he purred, “give in… you feel it, don’t you?”

He rutted faster as his breath kept time with his hips. Your body was alight against the cool grass as your eyes rolled back. Your moans added to your horror as they rose without thought, roused by the friction of his pelvis against yours and the slapping of flesh on flesh.

He fucked you faster and harder with each tilt and held your head between two hands as he looked down at you. His thumbs rubbed your cheekbones as he kissed you hungrily and the taste of your own blood stained your lips.

You felt hollow and light. The weight of him faded and you were on high and your lashes fluttered as the silver nights and his dark shadowed coloured your vision. You curled your fingers over your chest as you came and arched beneath him like a wild animal. The orgasm sent heat through you from head to toe and you whined and whimpered desperately.

Thor hammered into you even harder and his growls filled your head. He snaked his arm under you and slammed his hips down so viciously that every bone in your body ached.

“Oh, little one,” he snarled, “you take me so well…” his thumb brushed over the bite on your neck, “you wear my mark like a true bitch.”

He buried himself completely and panted rampantly as he spasmed. His cum flooded you and seeped and squelched around him as he gave a final thrust. He held himself as deep as he could and nuzzled your cheek as the smell of his sweat filled your lungs.

“Mine,” his teeth brushed against you and you shivered as a sudden fatigue weighted your eyelids, “that’s it…” his voice grew further and further away, “let it take you, little one.”

#thor #dark thor #dark!thor #thor x reader #werewolf thor #werewolf!thor #werewolf #werewolf au #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #mcu #marvel #exophilia

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taechaos · 3 years

Text

Your Boy, No?

pairing: bully!Jungkook x nerdy!fem!Reader

genre: drabble, smut, college au

synopsis: You can't stand seeing Jungkook with another girl, so you give him a piece of your mind in a stranger's bedroom by becoming his outlet of sexual frustration.

warnings: losing virginity, riding, degradation

a/n: jungkook's character is not exactly submissive, so i added my own twists to this request. i hope you don't mind @madygswich c:

word count: 2.5k

You can't stop pouting. Holding back tears when seeing a woman perched up on Jungkook's lap while they make out has proven to be difficult, but you're trying. It hurts your heart; hell, you're aching everywhere. It doesn't take a genius to know he's doing it to get a reaction out of you when his eyes are throwing daggers at you with his tongue down another girl's throat.

Following Jungkook around like a lost puppy isn't ideal, especially at a frat party. He never gives you the time of the day if it's not out of menace, but you aren't willing to give up on him. It's just not possible when you are so in love with him, and so fucking jealous.

More than Jungkook, you're mad at the girl. You want to rip her heart out, make her suffer for ever touching the love of your life. You're becoming irrational, mentally cussing her out for being a whore while you stop yourself from breaking down in a house filled with horny young adults. You don't know a single person here, and you have to deal with your pent up emotions all by yourself.

You choke out a sob when Jungkook starts kneading the girl's ass shamelessly with her skirt hiked up to her back. They're being so inappropriate in the kitchen of a stranger's house, while you can't even take a sip from your spiked drink in the bustling living room. You abruptly stand up and throw away your plastic cup when Jungkook's hand disappears elsewhere, and you have an idea of what he's about to do. You march over to him, looking absolutely tiny next to the overbearing college students and you don't notice Jungkook's sinister smile as he watches you fume.

"Let go," you sound hoarse, and not at all intimidating when you push the girl off of his lap. She stumbles at the force, but you pay no mind to her confusion as you pull Jungkook up by his arm to drag him away. You think it's the anger and adrenaline giving you so much strength, but it's Jungkook amusing himself by allowing you to take him upstairs.

"This isn't a therapy session, little girl," he yells over the music, "I didn't come here to listen to you cry."

You huff and let a single tear slip before harshly wiping it away. When you reach the hallway, you enter the first bedroom you find. It's occupied by a foreplaying couple, but you're driven as you hiss, "Out!"

They leave at your demand, and you're confusing a lot of people tonight. Jungkook is surprised by your sudden aggression, but he doesn't stop with his remarks, "the chihuahua's gone mad."

"Shut up, Jungkook!" you whirl around angrily to face him. "How could you do that to me?!"

He quirks a brow. "Do what to you? I'm sorry, am I the one who forcefully brought you here? Am I tripping or are you?"

You push at his chest, "you're a fucking whore! Tonguing a girl in front of everyone, in front of me?"

His shoulders shake in silent laughter and you cross your arms when he starts cackling loudly. The music is drowned out and muffled behind the door, but it's nothing compared to how hysterically Jungkook is laughing.

"What's so funny?" you ask lamely. He throws his head back as he clutches his stomach, and you're starting to get annoyed. You push him on the bed, but he's still laughing. "Quit it already," your voice wavers, but you don't back down as you smack his chest. You place your knees on both sides of his hips to limit his movement and cover his mouth to shut him up.

His crescent eyes turn intense instantly as he glares at you under his hooded lids. He exerts only a tiny bit of his energy into pushing your hand away and you weakly collapse on him. It's foul play to compete with his muscles, and you realize he can snap you in half if he wanted to regardless of your rush of adrenaline.

You sit back up as he lowly speaks, "The fuck's it to you? I wanted to fuck her, and I was going to until you stepped in as if you're my girlfriend. Tell me why I shouldn't go back to her right now." He clasps his hands under his head, making himself comfortable with your weight pressing against his crotch.

"You know why," you huff with a frown, and you look so cute in the dim lighting with your baggy knitted sweater bunching up on the sleeves, sitting on his bulge with so much innocence in your expression. He's smitten, but it doesn't show in his cold stare. "I'm your girl, and I won't tolerate you messing around with other women. It's slutty!" You slightly bounce for emphasis, but your knee-length skirt hides your actions. Jungkook feels it with you, and his eyes trail down to your lower region.

"My girl?" he parrots with a raised brow. He gazes back into your eyes. "You do my homework."

"I don't care. I love you," you plead pathetically, "please say you love me back."

"Wasn't I a whore just a second ago?"

"You were! Apologize to me," you harshly yank his head back by his hair. He doesn't react in the slightest, so you softly add, "please."

"Oh little girl," he sighs, "are you really trying to dominate me right now?"

"I am dominating you. Promise me you won't kiss another girl like that again. I won't forgive you a second time."

"Yeah? What's my loss?"

"Well, you're lazy in school," you bluntly state, "and no one loves you like I do. No one would try to cater to you like I do. I'd do anything for you, Kookie." You tug down your skirt to take it off and plop back down on him before saying, "Including sex. You can only use me for your sexual needs."

He's enamored by your words, but he doesn't dare share it with you. Instead, he thrusts upwards and you yelp when you jump. "Go on then," he says nonchalantly. "Show me how much of a slut you are."

"U-Um, okay," you stutter and start unzipping his black denim jeans. You've seen a lot of porn videos to make sure you were prepared for the next step with Jungkook, but you have no experience with penetration.

And he realizes that rather quickly when you're so meek with your actions. With a groan, he asks, "You're not a fucking virgin, are you?"

"I've been saving it for the right guy," you answer with offence. This is a special occasion, and you want him to take it as seriously as you do. But it's definitely not a good idea to be snarky with him when you can barely remember the steps for safe sex. "Do you have a condom?"

"It's in my pocket," he grumbles and points at his front without taking it out himself. You're excited and nervous as you tear the wrapper and take out the preservative. You have no idea how to put it on, but you're topping so you clumsily push down his briefs. Jungkook is surprisingly throbbing under you, and you blush at the sight of his erection.

He stops himself from teasing you and saying that the girl from earlier gave him this boner, but he doesn't want to be cruel yet. It's your first time, and truthfully, he jacks off to thought of you too often anyway. He can handle being somewhat nice by staying quiet, but that doesn't mean he would teach you how to put on a condom.

You slip it on with little struggle, and don't waste any time in positioning his cock in your entrance. Before he can stop you, you sink down on his length with a painful moan. He wants to tell you that losing your virginity in this position is the most painful, but instead he groans, "Holy shit, how are you so fucking tight?"

It hurts so fucking bad. Your tear ducts are like clockwork as they water instantly, but you lower yourself down to the hilt anyway. You're quite literally sitting on his cock as you try to catch your breath because God, you're in so much pain.

"Fuck, are you okay?" he asks, but he's more worried about controlling himself from fucking into you before you can adjust. It's difficult, but he's trying.

"Jungkook," you whimper quietly with your eyes screwed shut, "it hurts."

"You're so fucking dumb for doing this, but you feel so fucking good," he pants as he holds your hips.

"Thank you," you muster out in a breath. A few seconds pass until the pain starts to numb, and you move against him very slowly. Your walls are stinging, but it feels like Heaven for Jungkook who you clench down on.

"Go up and down," he instructs with a bit lip. He tries to move your hips, but you're resisting in fear of another shock of pain. "Come on!"

"Can you wait?" you hiss through clenched teeth.

He's trying to rile you up when he says, "Sana wouldn't take this fucking long."

And it works, because you bounce once. "Don't say her name!"

He groans at your tightness, and he can't believe how wet you are. You're dripping on him, and he curses himself for holding back because of your hopeless romance. He can't entertain your conservative way of going on about this any longer, so he continues, "She would have made me cum by now, but this prissy princess can't even get a move on."

It's almost pathetic how one push from Jungkook makes you start moving, and it feels less uncomfortable to hop up and down against his pelvis. The filthy sound of slapping skin mixing with the generic radio music is making you feel so slutty because it's so stereotypical, but when Jungkook moans, it brings heat all over your body. You take your sweater off when sweat begins to cumulate on your temples, and he commands, "Take off your bra too."

He's thrusting into you as you unclasp the black material, freeing your breasts as he finds his new eyecandies. You are so pretty, your nipples are so hard, and your cunt sucks him in so perfectly. It almost upsets him when he realizes how much pleasure he's deprived himself of; the amount only you seem to be able to provide, because it's beyond physical intimacy.

"Good girl," he exhales and gently slams into you with his hands fondling your tits. You smile coyly through your tears, and he asks, "Does it still hurt?"

You contemplate for a second, because you don't feel the best yet, but you don't want to disappoint Jungkook either. "I-It doesn't," you lie.

Jungkook mentally rolls his eyes; he really wants to believe you so he can chase his high, but he sees right through you. He slaps your tit without mercy and chastises you, "don't lie. I thought this was your little moment of control."

"I'm sorry," you pout as you slowly ride him.

"Another lie," he slaps your other tit more harshly and you yelp.

"I'm not lying!" you plead and hasten your pace, desperate to sell your lie. It's working, because you're starting to feel a knot in your stomach the more you adjust.

He moans with you, and you lose yourself when he stills your hips and begins to fuck you himself. It's rough, loud, and the pain is your pleasure. His balls slap against your skin as he easily slides in and out of you with the help of your arousal. Your love dawns on him when you're so turned on for him without any foreplay, and he's on cloud nine because nothing can compare to being inside you.

The setting is so unlike you, fucking in someone's bedroom with a bunch of people behind the unlocked door who can barge in at any given moment, but he finds it so sexy. You only care about being with him, and you really do look like his slut now.

His hands start holding onto your ass, kneading it until it turns red with his fingerprints, and he demands you to kiss him. You're out of it, your ears are ringing and you can only moan out his name, but you can't bear to ignore him. Your lips fall on his, and the kiss is sloppy with his tongue all over your mouth. You can't keep up, but your chest swells with pride when you realize how needy he is for you. He goes as far as to spit in your mouth, and you swallow it without hesitation.

"You want me to play with your clit?" he murmurs against your lips, and his voice sounds so airy and melodic to your ears. "Hm? Want me to make you feel good, little slut?"

You whine without a clear response because his lips feel so soft and wet, and that's the only thing you can focus on. All you want to do is kiss him and he doesn't stop you from doing so, but you're even more overwhelmed when he starts touching you while penetrating you. "No," you whimper, "I'll cum."

"A slut can take it," he grunts and rubs your clit faster, and you come undone all too soon. You moan loudly as you tremble, shaking as he rides out your high with a pinch to your clit. You're numb when you collapse on top of him, but he's relentless with his thrusts. He's using your body as you intended, and he's vocal with his pleasure and teasing climax. It's remarkable how he holds you up when you've gone limp and still fucks you just as hard.

You want to record his voice when he starts to whine pathetically, but you have no energy left within. He's panting in your ear, and it's not long before his hips fall on the mattress with a sigh. He's surprised by how powerful his orgasm was, as he fills the condom with his release instantly. His cock is still nestled inside you as both of you recover from your climax.

"Get off," he taps your thigh, and he pushes you off when you don't obey immediately. Your spell has worn off as he starts to dress himself. "I'm going back to the dorms." You listen to him with your mind in a haze. "Unless you want to get raped on your way without me, get the fuck up now."

"Can you carry me please?"

He shrugs and swings your arm over his shoulder, picking up your body with ease. He collects your clothes in his hand, but doesn't hand them to you as he steps out of the room.

"W-Wait, Jungkook, I'm naked-"

"You're my girl, no? Be a good slut and shut the fuck up."

Dangling off his shoulder with your bare tits pressed against his back, you close your eyes and drift off on the way to campus.

Boyfriends typically drop their girlfriends off anyway, right?

#bts scenarios #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts imagines #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts smut #jungkook smut #jjk smut #jungkook imagines

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woos-lil-oreo · 3 years

Text

Love Scene

Pairing: Song Min Gi x Female! Reader

Word Count: approximately 3.1k words

Warnings: Slight Voyeurism???, Mentions of alcohol consumption, cursing/swearing, biting, spitting, Reader is a slight pillow princess, UNPROTECTED SEX (plastic wrap your peenie weenies), oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, slight use of pet names... I think that's it.

Author's Note: Most of this is a BIG self-indulgence XD and that Mingi gif always get me going... AnYwAyS, This fic is NSFW!!!! If you are uncomfy, do not read! If I miss anything, please tell me. If you wanna join the taglist, send me an ask and let me know. Don't steal... all that ✨ jazz ✨ music. Drink your water and enjoy my dirty lil harlots 😉

Taglist: @shusan @woowommy @ceopjy @joongsprincess @yunhofingers

Intro and Masterlist ✨

This is the happiest day of your life. You are dolled up in a beautiful snow-white dress decorated in speckled sequins and intricate rhinestone designs.

Your makeup is simple yet glamourous with a simple natural smoky eye with a shimmer in the inner corners. There is this aural glow of happiness around you, and you genuinely feel like a princess.

You are standing in front of your handsome fiancée with your hands holding each other, who is decked out in a simple black suit with a white dress shirt accented with a deep royal blue tie and shiny black Oxfords.

Hongjoong’s friend, Maddox, recites the point in the script where the vows would be repeated by you and your soon to be husband.

The vows. A spiritual binding of words that will connect the two of you until the end of eternity… or until you two get tired of each other, whichever comes first.

As you repeat after Maddox, Mingi’s eyes glisten with tears of joy. As much as he willed himself not to, one little miscreant of a tear dared to fall. You drop one of your hands to go wipe the tear stream off of his cheek.

The guests proceed to awe in adoration. Seonghwa fans his eyes to prevent his tears from falling, while Hongjoong is sporting a runny nose and a giant crocodile tear down his cheek, clinging to Seonghwa’s shoulder.

As you listen to Mingi recite his vows, tears start to well up in your eyes. You grip Mingi’s hand a little tighter to calm yourself because your makeup is beautifully done, and you’d be damned if you let a teardrop and a dried tear stain appear on your cheek. Jae-hee would have your ass. You got through the ceremony without tears!

“By the power vested in me, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.” Maddox proclaims. You turn to Mingi, who now has one of the brightest smiles ever on his face, and he leaves a nice, sweet, lingering peck on your lips, still holding your hands.

“Oh, come on, you can do better than that!” Wooyoung screams out, earning himself a nice smack to the forehead from Yeosang. Wooyoung winces and rubs the spot while the guests laugh at their interaction and turn back to you when Mingi lets go of your hand and smirks.

Mingi pulls you to his chest, grabs you by the waist – pulling you close to him – and kisses you. As the kiss gets deeper, he places his hand on your cheek – steadying your head, and your hands work their way to the back of his head.

The crowd begins to root the two of you on, and Jae-hee screams out, “You guys are literally about to get a room!” You both pull away from each other and look at your husband. Mingi has a very thin layer of shimmer lip gloss on his mouth, and his cheeks and the tips of his ears are red.

A now very flustered and blushy boi Maddox quickly recollects himself from what he just witnessed and mutters, “They don’t pay me enough,” with a chuckle before he announces, loud and proud, “I-I now present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Song Min Gi!”

Everyone stands up from their seats and creates a round of applause as the newlywed couple leads the processional to the area where the wedding party, which is beautifully attired in soft peach pink dresses and deep royal sapphire blue accented suits, is to take pictures of one of the most important days you will never forget.

~25 minutes later~

The host has completed the introductions for the most chaotic wedding party that has ever existed, and everyone is getting to their seats in the venue.

The reception hall is absolutely stunning! The same colors of the wedding party are accented with gold. Diamonds are loosely scattered across the table, tealight candles alit floating in water vases, giving the room a soft glow in addition to the dimmed lighting.

The caterers are dressed in a clean white shirt, a black vest, and slacks. The guys have a royal blue sleeve garter, and the girls a soft peach one.

Once everyone has settled at their tables, Jae-hee and Yunho approach the front of the makeshift stage to make their toasts as Maid of Honor and Best Man.

Jae-hee grabs the microphone first, and she is already tearing up, and she is usually not one for emotion often. “Y/N, we have been friends for so long… we are practically sisters. I’ve watched you grow into a beautiful and confident woman… and even though I put you through some shit….” All of ATEEZ shakes their head and groan in agreement, and the rest of the guests laugh in response.

Jae-hee rolls her eyes and continues. “I’m so happy that you have found the love of your life and that I wasn’t the first to get married.” You roll your eyes and get up to hug her, and she meets you halfway. While in her embrace, she whispers, “I love you, baby girl,” and you respond with the same hushed tone, “I love you, too,” letting one measly tear run.

You two kiss each other’s cheek, and you return to your seat, and Jae-hee returns to the stage. She grabs Yunho’s handkerchief to dab away her tears before they fall through mascara. “Mingi, I officially welcome you into the messy integration that is our family.” Mingi chuckles and nods in response.

The mic is passed to Yunho. “Mingi, you have grown into an immaculate young man who is decorated with accomplishments and people who love you. I’m really proud of you, and I wish you two the best of luck. Y/N, I have watched you become each other’s yin and yang. You may be a bit of a handful,” you roll your eyes and chuckle. “… But we love you so much, and we welcome you into our quote – end quote ‘messy integration that is our family.’” Yunho walks over to give you a kiss on the cheek, and bro hugs Mingi.

“Cheers!” After an emotional toast from Hongjoong and Seonghwa, it was time for the party to begin, and I mean both aspects of the term. Which explains why you are now seated in a chair in the middle of the dance floor. Mingi is standing across from you with a slightly evil glint in his eye.

Hope You Do by Chris Brown blares through the speakers in the venue. You immediately cover your warm cheeks with your hands to conceal the blush and warmth there, knowing what is to come. Mingi starts to remove his suit jacket… and Yeosang, Yunho, and surprisingly, Jongho remove their coats as well.

As the trio wines and grinds on the floor behind the Groom, Mingi moves closer towards you to go and remove your garter.

When he reaches you, he does not even take the time to bunch up your dress and goes straight into hunting for the garter. His big hands rub around the top of your knees to find it.

When he does, he drops his hands to the floor to give himself leverage. He proceeds to leave a speckled trail of kisses up your leg and bites right below the garter, causing you to yelp in surprise and the crowd to holler out.

Mingi drags the garter down your leg to your ankle and removes it from your foot. At this point, there is a tension between you two that begs and pleads to be relieved.

Mingi stands to his feet, grabbing your hands to guide you straight up off the chair. You two make eye contact, and you can see the tension. “Alright young bachelorettes, come out to the floor and catch you a bouquet!” The host says in the mic, and all the women move to the floor, ready to start drinking, the actual after-party, and the real fun.

When all participants are on the floor, you pretend to throw the bouquet to keep them on edge. After a few false turns, you finally throw, and Jae-hee sprints to the front to catch it effortlessly.

“Yeahhh bitches, I’m next to get married!!!” She jumps up and down as you laugh and the other ladies leave the floor.

The host announces that it is the fellas’ turn to come out on the floor. It was not as many males as females, but there was a good amount present. Mingi played the same card as you: pretending to throw the garter until he did.

In an ironic twist of events, Jongho caught it on the top of his head like a flower crown. When he patted his head to confirm he sort of caught it, he made eye contact with Jae-hee.

They both quickly look away with a bright pink flush on their cheeks, which causes you and Mingi to laugh together. He wraps his arms across your shoulder blades and squeezes your shoulder. You look at him questioningly, and he nods to the door. You nod and grab his hand, running to the back door with your husband.

Seonghwa will have your ass for running out and leaving him and Hongjoong to clean up your mess, but that is a tomorrow problem, and you have more… pressing matters to deal with.

Mingi is flying down the street with you in the back seat to compensate room for your dress. As he tries to get to your home without getting a ticket, you untie his tie and proceed to rub down his chest, slow and meticulously popping one button after another.

Before you could decorate his neck in pretty little hickeys and love bites, the car jerks to a stop, and he power strides to your door and opens it. He grabs you in his arms bridal style out of the vehicle.

You were surprised at how easy he made that look, especially with all of the extra fluff on your dress. He carries you into the threshold with ease, kissing you as if his life depends on it.

When Mingi blindly finds your room, he puts you down on your feet, spins you around, and begins to unzip your dress. He kisses under your ear and down your neck as your dress pools around your feet. He breaks away to rest his forehead on yours.

“As much I would love to pound you into the mattress right now, I would like for our first time as a married couple to be gentle,” he breathes out. You nod your head, and he slowly turns you around to unclip the black strapless bra, allowing your breasts to drop.

He returns his mouth back to your neck and softly twists your nipple between his fingers, eliciting tingles to run all over your body. As good as the feeling was, you remove Mingi’s hand and spin around to face your husband. You walk backward until the back of your legs hit the mattress and lean back.

MIngi crawls on top of you and slowly kisses you. You can feel the passion and love through it, causing you to shiver. Mingi, once again, pulls away from you to drag your black lace panties down your legs. He throws them across the room and stands from the bed, peeling away the dress shirt you opened in the car.

The shirt drops to the floor, and he begins to unbuckle his belt, dropping it to the floor. The pants come next, along with the boxer briefs, and they pooled around his ankles. You bite your finger and lick your lips with lust-darkened eyes as you are being blessed with this private show.

Mingi returns to your V of your legs and brings your ankle to his mouth, leaving delicate kisses down the inner side of your leg until he reaches the inner thigh, where he leaves a bite – causing you to giggle and squirm a bit.

He lifts himself to where his penis grazes your labia. He rubs the tip along your slit and teases the tip inside of your core. “You ready, baby?” He sticks the reddened tip inside, just to pull it back out, and repeats this a couple times until you are a whining and moaning little mess. He finally pushes his dick past the tip and slowly moves into you, allowing you to feel every vein and ridge of his cock.

You moan in relief and very, very, VERY slight pain due to his girth, and Mingi doesn’t stop until he is at the hilt, meeting you pelvis to pelvis. He doesn’t move for a second, trying to collect himself before he busts in you from the tightness of your honey pot. You shiver as he pants in your neck, leaving goosebumps wherever his warm minty breath hits.

You grind your hips around, signaling that you have adjusted to his size, and he moans out at the action. He begins to pump inside very slowly in and out of you, with his brows scrunched and his bottom lip being bitten.

You hear the squelching noises from his slow pace. When you started getting louder, Mingi moves a bit faster, seeing that you are slowly reaching your orgasm, and frankly, so is he. “Baby, I love you so much,” he mutters like a mantra as he helps you both reach new heights.

You two have made love before, but never to this extent. After every mutter, your heart from knowing that this is the man you will spend the rest of your life with. You place your hand on the back of Mingi’s neck to kiss him, but before your lips could make contact, Mingi stops.

He licks the base of his thumb and places a firm pressure on your clitoris, and then kisses you, his tongue swirling around your own. You two are seeing specks of light under your eyelids from cumming so hard. It may not have been anything degrading, rough or intense in that sense. Still, it was absolutely beautiful joining souls with your lover.

~The Next Morning~

You wake up feeling floaty, like you are lying on a cloud. Your husband is asleep with his arm draped around your waist. As you face Mingi, his features are soft, and it looks like he is in bliss. You place your hand on his cheek and caress the apple.

When you are done admiring your husband, you carefully move his arm to his side to make breakfast. You are successful in not waking Mingi and hop out of bed, still naked from last night’s escapades. “Wow, it feels nice to say that,” you think as you grab your husband’s dress shirt and run to the bathroom to clean Mingi’s cum that has dripped down your leg.

~A few minutes later~

You are now in the kitchen, whipping up some waffle batter. The table is decorated with a nicely plated array of bacon and a bowl of freshly washed and cut fruit. You finish plugging in the waffle iron when your husband wraps his arms around your shoulders and spins you around.

He quickly lifts you on the counter. “Good morning, Mrs. Song.” He says huskily from his morning voice. You try to reply with a greeting, but Mingi catches the words in your mouth. Your lips are smashed together from Mingi’s fervency, and his long and slender fingers start to move down to your hole.

“Oh my goodness, babe. You’re so wet for me.” He teased. You moan out while he rubs your entrance, spreading your slick up and down. “You like this, don’t you?” He asks when he pushes a finger in, causing you to scream in response. “Those weren’t proper words, but I’ll take it.” He responds while adding another finger in and drastically changing his pace. You cry out due to the incredible speed. Mingi looks up at you.

Your head is tilted back, tiny pants coming from your mouth, and hands grabbing the counter as if to ground yourself. Mingi lets a drop of spit fall from his mouth and adds another finger to add more lubrication and bring you closer to climax.

You start to squirm on the counter, which is now soaked in your fluids, and whimper softly. A telltale sign that you are almost there; you just need that one little push. Mingi kneels down to be face to face with your cunt, and he stares at your dripping core as if he was hypnotized by how well you are taking his digits.

A loud moan from you knocks him out of his trance, and he adds one more finger and starts to apply suction on your button. A blinding white light flashes behind your eyelids, and a fuzzy warmth roams all over your body.

You breathe heavily from your high, and Mingi slows his speed, allowing you to ride out your orgasm. He slowly removes his fingers, causing you to whimper from overstimulation, and brings them to your mouth.

You immediately open your mouth to welcome in the appendages and begin to suck them as if your life depends on it. The spit dribbles from your mouth down your chin and along Mingi’s forearm. He gently pulls at your jaw to open your mouth and spits in your mouth.

“Swallow.” He growls, and you do not think twice about disobeying him. He returns to kiss you, mixing your natural taste with your juices and his tongue.

He pulls away, and your fucked out state is adorable: your eyes are dilated from here to Hell, saliva glistening your chin, your cheeks are heavily flushed, and your ass is drenched with your cum.

“If this is what I wake to every morning, I’m not complaining.” Mingi chuckles. “You didn’t even get to have breakfast yet.” You laughed. He looks with an eyebrow raised… “Oh, you meant actual food?” You nod your head.

“As long as I have you, I don’t think I’ll need anything else.” He cheesily says. “Yeah, sure, that’s not what your body will be saying.” You retaliate as you jump off the counter, cringing when you hear your butt peel off the corner from your juices.

Mingi laughs, grabs some paper towels to clean that. When he’s done, he washes his hands and proceeds to help you cook so you two can build the stamina to christen the rest of your home together. Well, christen is not the right word… more like fuck like rabbits until the morning light returns.

~~~~~

And there's the fic ✨ hope you enjoyed the read ✨ leave an ask and say hi or even follow me or reblog if you did

#mingissoggywaffles #ateez #ateez smut #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #atz smut #song mingi smut #mingi smut #ateez x reader #mingi x reader #mingi x y/n #kpop smut #song mingi x reader

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achillieus · 3 years

Text

let you down. (sebastian stan x reader)

summary: it's a universal truth but it's worth repeating; feelings eat us raw. or just an actor and a girl falling in and out of love over the course of three months.

(this was inspired by sebastian's visit to greece for his movie, monday, and is based on that, so that means in the story we’re in 2018. also i have this posted on ao3 too but while i’m writing the last parts i thought of posting it here too)

pairing: sebastian stan x reader

warnings: alcohol, sexual references, implied depression, sebastian desperately needs to hug the reader, it's kinda slowburn because i love the yearning

(pinterest inspired board)

part: 1/6

(other parts) (masterlist)

The day it happened, it wasn't a significant meeting at all, you barely even talked. In fact, when he opened the door of your neighbor’s flat that day with a beer in his right hand and his hair messy, he didn't have any effect on you. You always knew that living next to a director meant that sooner or later you’d bump into the pretty faces of well-known people. Sure, you didn’t expect them to be Hollywood actors like him, but to say you were starstruck by the man, would be the overstatement of the year.

The building you’ve lived in for the last three years has five floors; you live in the 4th, he lives in the 5th. He’s a quiet person, usually spending his evenings out of his apartment. You’ve talked sometimes, about the weather and the weird lady that lives in the 1st floor. You’ve never told him you find his directing style a little pretentious.

You’ve never been to his place until that annoyingly warm August evening, when you find a white button up shirt on your balcony. You can clearly see more clothing when you look up and you’re certain the item you’re holding belongs to him.

He’s not there though. Instead you find a different face behind the door. Lighter eyes and darker hair. The man in front of you is definitely younger than the director. You don’t bother to notice what he’s wearing.

“Can I help you?” His voice is deeper than you expected. Stronger, with a touch of European accent. The sound of English surprises you at first but soon you realize he must be another foreign coworker that came to visit your neighbor

“No, I just think Argyris dropped this and it ended up on my floor.”

He looks at you and then at the shirt, in your hands.

Then he says “Sure, I’ll take it.”

“Okay.”

Then it ends. He doesn’t even ask your name. You don’t have to ask his. You figure out, as soon as you walk down the stairs, that it’s Sebastian Stan that you just talked to.

And while being a big fan of marvel movies, you think nothing special of him at first. You just wonder how a mostly unknown director from Greece got an actor like Sebastian to come here so they can work together. It makes no sense to you, but you forget it when your phone starts ringing.

It would’ve been easier if you never saw him again, yet you do. You see him trying to understand what the old lady from the first floor is trying to tell him. You already know. The elevator is not working. The next day you see him walking up the stairs.

You exchange a quick hello, how are you and then off you both go.

The same night Argyris invites you to have a drink with them in the terrace. Part of you wants to just stay in bed and binge watch some Sherlock episodes. Part of you already thinks of what to wear.

There are around ten people there when you show up. They’re all sitting down in huge pillows drinking and talking loudly. You don’t know most of them.

You sit next to a blonde girl, across from Sebastian. This time you notice he’s wearing a plain black shirt and holds a glass of whiskey.

You don’t share any direct conversations but you learn that he’s afraid of growing old and that he thinks Taxi Driver is one fucking masterpiece, as he says.

When you mention that you’re probably the least artistic person in the room right now, you hear him laugh.

A curly haired woman starts dancing with him at some point. You decide he’s not a good dancer.

He leaves the same time you do, following you down the stairs.

“I thought you live here.” You say when he doesn’t stop at the floor you expect him to.

“Ah no, I stay at a hotel near the centre.”

He keeps talking about his suite until you reach your door.

You part in a blur, with a short goodbye.

He still doesn’t ask for your name.

It makes you feel genuinely offended.

Two days after, he is the farthest thing from your mind, until you find him sitting in front of your door, his eyes roaming the place with despair. And then he sees you.

“Ah finally you are here.” He starts casually. “Thank god.”

You just nod.

“Argyris told me to wait for him with you. We had a meeting but he got stuck in traffic.”

You give him a look.

“He said you’re always at home so you won’t mind.”

Ouch. Yeah sure, your social life wasn’t something to brag about but for some reason the way Sebastian said it, it sounded like an insult.

“Okay, come in.” You shrug, clearly not feeling comfortable and turn around to unlock the door.

You hear him call your name. You thought he didn’t know.

“Yes?”

He offers you an easy smile. “Thank you.”

Sitting in your couch he’s eyeing the entire room, while you put some groceries in the fridge.

“Argyris says you’re a great girl.” He clears his throat. “But he thinks you’re too quiet for your own good.”

You look at him, your eyes flicking up and down his face.

“And from what I can tell, he’s right.” You hear him laugh.

It felt weird to see him laugh while he was leaning back at your cozy pillow. He had entered your life so suddenly you didn’t even have time to react to it.

“I’m sorry but I barely know you.” Your words are sharp. He sits up.

“Okay then let’s get to know each other, what’s your favorite Disney princess?”

Defeated, you laugh. “Are you kidding me?”

“No, this is an important question.”

You wait for him to crack up but then you remember he’s an actor.

“I don’t know.” You think for a second. “Mulan?”

“Oh my god. Mulan is amazing.” You smile at him. “My favorite is Jasmine, she’s just so badass.”

You share your favorites that day, having almost nothing in common rather than your everlast love for animated movies and buttered popcorn.

When it’s time for him to leave, he stops and looks at you in the eye.

“You should talk more often.”

You stare at him with confusion. “I talk,” you raise your eyebrows. “When I have something to say.”

“Good.” he says, still looking.

Later in the evening, you’re eating some yoghurt when he comes knocking on your door.

He’s different. The white tank top he was wearing this morning is replaced with a dark shirt and his face looks tired. You assume they’ve been working since he went upstairs.

“Hiii”, he says dragging the i, “Am I interrupting anything?”

You desperately want to nod. You want to tell him that you were doing the most exciting thing in the world, before he came but you were never a good liar.

So you just tilt your head and take a step back.

That’s when he enters and is met with some loud rock music blaring from your laptop.

“You like AC/DC?” he asks, almost wide-eyed.

“Well, I can tell it’s them when I hear their stuff.” For the first time that day, he seems to be in loss of words. “Why are you so surprised?”

He sits in the same spot in the couch as earlier and laughs.

“I just didn’t take you for the kind of girl who likes this music.” It’s your turn to laugh.

“Why?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Quiet girl who loves animated films and eats kids’ yoghurt” he looks at the carton in your kitchen table, “and also likes metal music? Doesn’t add up.”

“We’ve basically just met; you shouldn’t make assumptions about me.”

“Fair enough.” He sits back, fidgeting with his fingers.

You take some time just looking at him

There was a certain vibe about that man that made you wonder how it’d feel to cruise down a dessert highway in a convertible mustang with him. In the summer. With him wearing that white tank top.

The color of strawberries emerges at your cheeks just at the thought of it.

You wish he doesn’t notice.

You’re glad to find him looking the other way, before he speaks up.

“We’re going out tonight.” His voice is warm now. “Argyris says you should come along, even though I’m quite sure there’s no hardcore music where we’re going.” He laughs again.

I can’t. You almost say. But then anxiety slips away from you and out of sudden you want him to stop being so freaking arrogant, going around and acting like he knows exactly what kind of person you are.

He thinks you’ll say no. You can see it in his eyes.

“Sure, when should I be ready?” you say, surprising both of you.

He looks at you for some time and then trying to hide whatever he was thinking he says the first thing on his mind.

“How old are you?” He sounds pitiful. He knows. He wishes he could hit a wall; with his head.

“Twenty-one.” His eyes scan yours, unsure of what they’re looking for. “Why?”

“No reason.”

He inhales deep.

You try to blink. You’re at a party in a little bar you’ve never been before and a lot of people are wearing black. Alcohol. You can still taste it on the back of your tongue. You don’t remember how you end up pressed against a dark skinned man, but you can tell he smells of cigarettes and despair.

You sway your body to the beat, close your eyes. Breath in. And out. You think the music deafens you for a second but you open your lids and see Sebastian and he’s watching you, unashamed.

He’s not that far, though it feels like it with countless bodies in the way. The music melts. His gaze is almost angelic. Or devious. You can’t really tell.

He’s dancing with that curly haired woman again. You wonder how intimate their relationship is.

The red neon lights make his skin glisten. His muscles move divinely. It makes you think there’s an entire world inside him, his flesh barely keeping it hidden. Out of sudden you get the urge to walk towards him. You want to see him up close under this dim lighting. But you don’t move.

The man that’s groping your waist asks for your name. You tell him you need to flee. He doesn’t understand.

You sit outside with the sweet summer breeze touching your bare arms. The bass of the music in the background syncs with the beating of your heart. You can feel your ribs grow with every breath you take. Until you stop breathing because the door opens and his eyes suffocate you.

You can’t fathom the effect he has on you. He was a pretty face on screen some days ago. But right now he steals distance and stays near you.

You don’t look his way. He doesn’t say a word. Nicotine and smoke surround you as he exhales. His fingers hold the cigarette butt with care.

“Do you want some?”

You turn to look at him.

“I don’t smoke.” He laughs.

“That doesn’t mean you don’t want some.”

You want to know if his breath has the taste of sulfur. You want to pretend it’s the alcohol or the loud music that makes your head hurt.

“What’s the best part of being an actor?” The blue in his eyes glows.

There’s silence but he seems to be thinking about it.

“Do you ever feel things too much?” He says, his voice hoarse. “I mean, when you feel something so intensely it becomes a part of who you are.”

You nod. You understand.

“Acting allows you to let go of these feelings,” he starts. “You share the burden with the audience until it becomes light and you can hold it again.”

You look at him, shaking your head.

“I don’t think I could that,” you close your eyes. “I don’t think I could share what I feel so easily.”

He stands up. The wind hits you again.

“A lot people can’t. That’s why everyone is heartbroken,” he takes a breath, “Feelings eat us raw.”

You both go to bed alone that night. Tomorrow there is a hole next to you.

the morning after, search history

(02:45 PM) hangover recovery

(03:00 PM) best food after a hangover

(03:10 PM) sebastian stan

(03:30 PM) sebastian stan girlfriend

(06:00 PM) xanax side effects

You follow him on Instagram. He doesn’t follow you back. You remember he probably gets tons of followers every day and decide not to let it bother you. Instead you study for the exams of the following month.

The subject of your studies doesn’t interest you. Another poor decision you made under pressure. Sometimes you feel as if your life is borrowed from someone else. Sometimes you feel as if you haven’t found your home yet.

Feelings eat us raw.

His girlfriend looks beautiful in the pictures you find online. The media isn’t certain if they’re still together but you like to think so. It makes it easier to avoid him.

But the universe seems to be oblivious to your thoughts and you see him that same day. You’re taking the garbage out and he’s coming down from the top floor. You meet in the elevator.

“I’m glad to see you’re still alive,” his eyes are smiling as he talks “you looked kinda drunk last night.”

You fidget with the hem of the bag you’re holding.

“I wasn’t drunk.” You notice he’s growing some stubble. You’re not sure you like it.

“Whatever you say, doll.” You bite your cheek trying to devour any sign that might give away how his words make you flinch.

He turns his body a little so now you’re facing each other. He’s so pretty. He’s so pretty in a way that doesn’t hurt. You try not to stare at him, but you fail sometimes. You’ve never noticed how slow the elevator moves until you want to get out. You can’t stand being so close to him for much longer.

He’s an arrogant rich actor who loves Disney and smokes a lot, you think. I have no reason to be affected by him.

“Ah! Argyris said we’re leaving for the weekend.” You eye him curiously. “He wants to show us some small villages in the south. He thinks we should get to know the country a little more before we start.”

You’re stunned by your neighbor’s dedication to his work. Sometimes you wish you had something you could be passionate about too. Sometimes you think you’re never going to find it.

“That’s great. I’m sure you’ll like it.” You give him a smile.

He leans his back at the wall. The elevator stops. Finally.

“I like your eyes.” You grab tight onto the bag. “But they don’t smile when you do.”

He opens the door and he’s gone.

They tell you that it’s fun to meet a famous person. They tell you, you can ask for a photo and a hug. They tell you celebrities don’t talk a lot but that doesn’t mean they’re rude.

But he’s not like that.

He’s fire. He’s burning heat and scorching flames. His words are his thoughts; raw. You don’t like it.

late night search history

(00:38 AM) blue valentine movie soundtrack

(01:15 AM) is sebastian stan a bad person

(01:30 AM) acting classes for amateurs

(01:50 AM) cheap leather boots

(02:10 AM) sebastian stan eyes

You find it annoying; how he’s present even when you’re alone.

Thankfully he’s leaving for the weekend, you think.

The weekend, however, is two days away.

You think you can get away without seeing him. And you do. Until it’s late at night again. And they’re all upstairs with music so loud you’re certain the lady on the first floor is going to be rude about it in the morning.

The music tempo has you unaffected. All you think about is if he’s dancing with that woman again.

He’s such a bad dancer, he should not be dancing.

There’s a subtle knock on your door. You know it’s him. You hope you’re wrong.

“Do you feel like dancing?” His face is all flustered. It’s a good look on him.

“You can’t come knocking on my door at 2 AM and ask me to dance.” His gaze is filled with confusion.

“So you don’t feel like dancing?” You roll your eyes. He notices.

“That’s not the point Sebastian.” It’s the first time you call him by his name. You let it slip away slowly, testing the way it sounds coming out of your mouth.

He takes a step closer. You are suddenly aware of your pyjama shorts and your exposed skin.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to irritate you.” His eyes are the cliché blue of the sky. “I just thought you might want to dance, that’s all.”

Suddenly you feel guilty and embarrassed. He’s oblivious to it.

For a moment you feel his eyes linger on you. It feels surreal.

You nod at him.

He’s ready to say something when Argyris comes down the stairs, his shirt slightly unbuttoned.

“Ah man, I thought you got lost or something.” You lower your eyes. “Stop messing with the poor girl. People are looking for you.”

He throws a smile at you and Sebastian takes a quick breath.

“People are always looking for me.”

He gives away that he’s carrying a burden. Your expression softens. But then you look at Argyris and you see he doesn’t really pay attention to these words.

You share a quick look before you’re there standing alone at your doorstep, trying to grasp the idea of him.

When you wake up you feel like running. You can’t fathom where the feeling comes from but it starts like a liquid running down your veins and soon you can’t stay in bed even for a second.

Feelings eat us raw. Only if you let them.

i really appreciate feedback, it motivates me tons and also tell me if you’d like to be tagged in this six part story :)

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan imagine #monday the movie #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #letyoudown

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lord-explosion-baku · 3 years

Text

Sparrow

Prince!Satoru Gojo x assassin!reader

Warnings: violence, swearing, suggestive themes, dubious themes, blood

A/N: request numero dos is done! It’s kinda silly, but I think it’s pretty fun! I think it can be read as pretty lighthearted, even if it gets a little violent! it’s a little different that what was originally requested! I had the elements for a sword fight set up, but it wasn’t working out the way I wanted it to, so I took a slightly different route! theres still fighting though! I hope you like it!

It’s been a long journey to get where you are now, silently scaling the castle towers towards the prince’s bed chambers. An extra long journey, considering how many royal guards have been posted on top of kingdom rooftops. Like a shadow in the night, using nothing but the black elements to mask your presence, you’ve managed to slip by them, as well as the gatehouse soldiers, undetected, leaving only four men incapacitated, and not a vestige of your presence. All this sneaking around has been a trying job thus far, but it’s almost over now. You’re about to finish what you came to do.

Light as a feather, quiet as a dormouse, you swing your body up and over the limestone-clad palace window. The room is adorned with priceless artwork watched over by gilded ceiling paintings. Framing the biggest bed you’ve ever seen is a corona with royal blue drapery that hangs down to each corner. In the center of the bed lies the sleeping and wonderfully unaware prince.

His body is lopsided, and only partially covered by silk sheets. One of his feet hangs off the bed. Tousled white hair sticks out in every direction while still managing to frame his admittedly attractive face. Long white eyelashes. Peaceful and full lips. He’s young, you think, although you’ve been aware. But seeing him in the flesh solidifies the thought: you are about to be the end of his short life.

However, this mission comes with little remorse. There have been rumors that the Royal Gojo Family has been dabbling in alchemy for over a century now. To you, there is nothing more disgusting than the use of the unnatural sciences. It’s ungodly. And even then, this kill shouldn’t matter much since you can call it what it is: a job. This is what you do. Do as your master commands, kill without question, leave no trace, get paid, repeat. It helps that there have been rumors specifically centered around your charge; rumors that Prince Satoru is a complete and utter womanizer.

Well, not for long.

The bed doesn’t shake the least bit as you climb on top of him. The prince sleeps soundlessly and doesn’t stir when you situate your thighs over his firm hips. Normally, you’d simply slit your target’s throat, quick and easy, but since there are those rumors about the use of alchemy, you need to work a little differently tonight. To kill an alchemist user, one will have to pierce them directly in the heart with a silver blade. You don’t particularly believe that the prince is a user; his focus has primarily been on balls and parties and other social events, but you’d rather be safe than sorry. So, your primed weapon of choice, a silverlined dagger, slides up your sleeve and into the palm of your hand. You grasp its hilt, then line it parallel to his heart, pull up, and plunge it in.

Rather, you would be plunging it in, if it hadn’t been for the swift-acting hand wrapped tightly around your wrist.

“Drop it.” The low, sleep-crackled utterance sends shivers up your spine. Acting fast, you use your free hand to push on the hilt, your strength against his, but it doesn’t budge a centimeter, and instead, both of your wrists are captured by the prince. His grip tightens, squeezing you so harshly that you feel the tips of your fingers tingle, but you don’t relinquish your weapon.

Vibrant blue eyes blink up at you, narrowing into a scowl. You try pushing harder, ignoring the fact that his eyes seem to glow in the darkness, ignoring the fact that they are the prettiest eyes that have ever gazed at you, ignoring the fact that those pretty eyes are now trailing down your body. Your skin burns at the attention. You can’t let yourself believe that he’s checking you out in a life or death situation, but then you figure it’s in your head when he says, “if you wish to keep your wrists intact, you will drop. Your. Dagger.”

Surrendering is not an option. It’s either kill or be killed, because even when you choose to not kill, your termination will be absolute. You will be tried by the king with his son at his right side, then you will be hanged for your crimes. So with shaking hands, you attempt to exert more pressure, trying to keep your breath steady to not raise a commotion.

Surprisingly, the prince chuckles. “Has a little sparrow flown through my window to try to kill me?”

In one fell swoop, Satoru manages to flip you onto your back, his hands bringing your wrists down on the side of the bed, forcing you to drop the dagger to the floor. He eyes you speculatively for a moment, then his mouth turns up into a half-grin.

“A woman, no less.” He muses incredulously. Then his eyes dart back down your body, and by the way his grin widens, you’re sure he actually is checking you out. “Are you supposed to be some kind of peace offering?”

What an odd man. Although you've just made an attempt on his life, he’s smiling down at you like you’re some kind of acquaintance—no, friend.

“I mean…sending a beautiful woman to my bedchambers says a lot, wouldn’t you agree?” Prince Satoru asks after taking in your dumbfounded expression. “Not much for words?” He asks. “That’s okay, little sparrow. We don’t need to talk.”

You gasp when he begins to lean down, eyes trained on your lips. Without a second’s hesitation, your feet meet his bare chest, and with all of your might, you kick off, throwing him back a couple meters. You flip back onto the floor and attack him with throwing knives while you search for your dagger. If he is in fact an alchemist, your other weapons won’t do much damage, but could slow him down if you could manage to hit him.

“You’re strong,” Satoru gleefully appraises, dodging another one of your throwing knives, and catching the other. He throws it back at you, but you manage to duck behind the corona curtain at just the right time. “And fast.”

The dagger is under the bed. You grab it, gulp some air, then use the curtain as a distraction before charging at the prince, using the same swiping technique your master has taught you. Your blade cuts through the air with one swipe, and another. You’re barely missing him, and it’s frustrating because that goofy grin stays plastered to his dumb, pretty face!

In a moment’s notice, he grabs your outstretched arm, pushing down on a pressure point that has your limb lock up. “But you’re messy and unrefined,” he says as a hand slides up your arm. Now behind you, he places his free hand on your waist, moving you into a stance similar to what your master has shown you. “Don’t you fret, little sparrow. It’s nothing a little polishing won’t fix.”

His breath is hot and fanning your ear. Your stomach knots when he squeezes your waist, and to your utter horror, his lips graze down to your neck, tongue sliding over your skin. “Mmm…sweet.”

“What! Are you—?!” Bouncing away from him, you cover your slick neck with one hand while the other continues to point the dagger outwards. What’s even worse is that he doesn’t look the least bit jaded!

He laughs. “Even your voice is cute!” In the dim light of the room, you can see pink beginning to bloom across his cheeks. “Won’t you speak more? Say my name, pretty please.”

“Prick,” you hiss, once again charging forward.

“Do you kiss your master with that mouth?” Satoru begins using his arms to block and redirect your attacks, until he’s twirling you around as if you’re dancing and not trying to kill him! You fume, hating the fact that the prince knows you have a master to begin with. “I should hope not. The only person I’d have you kiss is me!”

He dips you down low, your dagger somehow tucked between the junction of your arm, and very smoothly places his lips against yours. You’ve been kissed before, but never in such a way that made you feel like floating. Like gravity ceased to exist. Like you were falling into a black hole that you didn’t want to claw out of. Prince Satoru Gojo’s kiss is different. It’s light and it’s heavy. It’s heaven and it’s earth. It’s a blessing and a curse.

He hums into you, making the knot in your belly tighten. For a moment, you don’t struggle. Instead, your lips part, and you allow the prince to cup your face to pull you in deeper, tasting you, relishing you. You wind your fingers through the soft strands of his starry hair, and lose yourself in the moment. When he breaks the kiss, pulling away with an expression you can only call beguiled, his thumb moves along the bottom of your lip. Your mind is the fog that clouds the streets at night. It doesn’t mean anything to you when you kiss the tip of his thumb, but when that grin you hate so much comes back, your body erupts in blusterous rage.

Realizing what you just allowed to happen, you snap at his hand. He pulls it away just in time for you to reach for your weapon and slice it across his chest. You push him back, only allowing yourself a second to collect yourself before aiming the dagger at his heart. He catches your wrist before it makes contact.

“So passionate,” he says with a smile, but through gritted teeth. “I must admit, this has been the most fun I’ve had in my bedchambers in a very long time. You might even be spoiling all the fun that the future entails as well. And I don’t even know your name yet. How sad.”

Satoru throws you against the wall, pinning your dagger-wielding arm against one of his extravagant paintings. He nods towards your weapon. “Throw that away.”

“You scared, alchemist?” You bite back.

“I’m only afraid you might hurt yourself, little sparrow. Sharp objects are dangerous, you know. Wouldn't want to clip your wings.” He winks. “And you should be referring to me as your royal highness. I am a prince, afterall.”

“With the dark craft that you and the royal family use, you’re no higher than me.”

Satoru chuckles. “Won’t you please tell me your name? Or at least join me in bed before you insist that I need to be killed.”

“This is not on my insistence.” It’s a slip, but it’s a big one. You’d cover your mouth if your hands were free.

“So, who sent you?” The prince prompts. “It can’t be a scorned lover. Hmmm. The Fushiguro clan? Pshh. No. They’d do it in person.” He flashes his teeth, omniscience glowing in his beautiful blue eyes. “Master Suguru Getou?”

You suck in a breath and he reads it all too well.

“I already know,” he purrs, lips brushing against yours. “Your fighting style is very similar to his. I’m just surprised he sent somebody with so little experience. It certainly proves how much of a coward he is.”

Your blood boils. How dare he insult your master to your face! Satoru Gojo, the sleazy prince and a lowly alchemist. He is scum compared to Master Getou.

You ram your head into the prince’s. Pain shoots down your spine, but you ignore it and thrust your dagger forward. Satoru grabs your arm and pushes it down, and soon, you scream after hearing a tearing sound, and feel a very sharp stinging at your side. Sticky warm fluid seep through your fingers at your side. It’s not a deep cut, but it’s just enough to make you bleed.

“Oh no,” Prince Satoru says in earnest. “Oh, this was my mistake. Dear sparrow, that was a reflex of mine. I didn’t mean to—“

There’s a knock on the prince’s chamber doors, followed by someone’s low voice asking, “your highness, are you well? I heard screaming.”

Shit. This is it. You’re dead. Sure, the prince wants to play with you, but anyone else will have your head in a heartbeat if they see what you’re doing. You should say your prayers now and kiss the world goodbye. You’re sending a silent apology to Master Getou when Satoru lifts you up and carries you to his bed.

“Sir Nanami?” The prince calls while he throws the sheets over both you and him. He climbs on top, pressing his chest into yours. The side that’s injured seers with pain, so you let out a little whimper the moment you hear footsteps enter the room.

“Don’t tell me you have a woman in here,” the man groans. “You know the king has forbidden any partner of yours from walking through these palace doors until further notice.”

“She flew in through my window, actually,” Satoru slyly admits. “But she’s no ordinary woman. She’s very special to me.”

Both you and the knight scoff at the same time, though you hope he doesn’t hear you. If he can believe this charade, perhaps you can get on with your night. And once you kill the prince, there will be a knight who will think that his murder is nothing but a lover’s quarrel gone wrong.

“I see.”

You’re staring at Satoru’s chest, and you realize that his wound from earlier is nearly healed. If you had any doubts about the Gojo family using alchemy, they’re out the window now. You run a fine finger across the red line that contrasts against his ivory chest, feeling the smooth bump where you’d cut him. Will it scar? you think. Disappear completely?

The prince squirms and grabs your hand. “That tickles!” He exclaims, bringing your hand up to his mouth to pepper kisses all over it. Even though the attention burns the back of your neck, you let him, since it’ll only convince the knight that the two of you are in fact being intimate.

Finally, Satoru says, “did you need something, Sir Nanami, or are you ready to confess your voyeuristic sins?”

Sir Nanami sighs, but you hear him back up a few paces. “Then, nobody’s hurt, your highness?”

“No,” Satoru says dubiously, “however, if you could fetch the healing medicines, that would be appreciated. She’s a little feisty!”

You slap his chest and he yips playfully back at you. It would be good fun if the two of you weren’t enemies.

Once the knight leaves, you’re quick to slink out of the bed, albeit wobbly. Dots of blood line his sheets, the sight making you feel a bit dizzy, but it doesn’t stop you from picking up your weapon.

“You don’t tire, do you?” Satoru asks impishly. “As admirable as that is, I simply cannot allow you to try to kill me anymore! You’ll get more hurt!”

“You’re nothing but a dirty alchemist.” You weakly thrust the dagger forward, nearing the window.

“Well, and a dashing prince, but that’s besides the point.” Satoru steps forward and you step back, your legs hitting the window’s wall. “Your master is no better.”

You bare your teeth at him. “Don’t you dare say a word to me about my master!”

“Please, little sparrow, you’re injured. Step away from the window and let’s bandage you up.” He reaches a hand out, and you swipe through the air, splicing his palm. More blood falls to the floor. Unafflicted, Satoru says, “you can’t hurt me.”

“Then let me leave, so that when I return, I can hurt you!”

There’s a purse on his lips. A pensive pause. Then the prince raises both of his hands, one of which is already healed, in defeat.

“There’s a medicine man who lives south-east from the gatehouse,” he says. “His name is Kiyotaka Ijichi. He’ll be asleep by now, but he’s a bit of a pushover and a sucker for a lady in distress. If you wail a bit outside his house, he’ll come out to offer you aid.”

“I don’t need anybody’s help,” you spit as you begin climbing out the window. You half-expect him to push you then. It’s a wonderful opportunity, one that you would seize if you were in his position. But the prince just watches you begin your descent.

“Do try to not bleed on any of the garden flowers,” he calls.

You wordlessly growl back at him.

“Oh, and little sparrow! Should you return here tomorrow evening, or perhaps the next night, or even a week or a month from now, shall I prepare red or white wine for you?” Prince Satoru offers you a charming smile. “And would you like there to be a violinist present? Anything to set the mood?”

Once you’re on your feet, you glare up at the beaming prince. He’s far too confident, but you make a mental promise to ruin that confidence someday, somehow. You don’t answer him, like you’re sure he doesn’t expect, but you allow him to watch you disappear into the black from whence you came.

#jjk requests #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk imagine #jjk reader insert

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aenaxes · 3 years

Note

OMG ok for the 200 follower celebration (based on your smoking post) PLZZZ write sharing a spice blunt with cross or any batcher of your choosing I would simply die 😩💅🏻❤️

vapor trails

[crosshair & hunter x f!reader] you don't really run with the fett twins' crowd, but you find yourself at one of their parties anyway (in reference to this post lol)

warnings: college!au, recreational drug use, suggestive themes, but consent is sexy & mandatory & sober babes

w/c: 3.8k

a/n: anon, you ask for one batcher, but why not two? thank you for enabling me nonnie & @mallr4ts lol (im so sorry to all the previous requests for the event, this one has just been needling in my brain all day and i had to get it out hsdfs)

event details here! requests are open until july 4th!

You don’t know much about the Fett twins.

They’re something like campus legends even though they’re only a year your senior and at the tail end of their fourth years. But as much as you’ve heard their names slung around in weekend plans and excited chatter, you’ve never once met them, much less seen them yourself. Between idling class whispers and dining hall conversations, all you can piece together from the rumors is that: one, they’re from a big family (you’ve heard anywhere from two to twelve other brothers, yikes); and two, as much as they work hard (because the venture capital and pre-professorial tracks seem rigorous enough), they play even harder.

It helps that they apparently own one of the biggest apartments off campus, one in which you find yourself hopelessly and miserably lost. And overdressed.

Great.

It hadn’t occurred to you that your roommate, who is nowhere to be seen, had been dressing up for her girlfriend, and that most people who had half a mind would wear something comfortable that could withstand a few spilled drinks and ash. So seeing the rest of the room in rumpled tees and sweats has you and your little black dress seeking out the nearest wall as you fiddle with your questionably sweet cup of margarita mixer.

You feel like a first year, and it sucks.

But for once, with everyone too busy mingling amongst themselves over the heavy thrum of some mumble rap beat, you manage to slip by unnoticed.

Every now and then, you dart your eyes around the ever shifting landscape of faces in the dim room, looking for even the vaguest familiarity that might let you feign being tipsy and join a group for the night. But every time you try, there’s no luck.

Fuck, you haven’t even seen anyone here before.

But there might be a god watching out for you yet when the crowd shifts just enough that you catch sight of the couch, and on it, someone you suspect to be one of the twins as he greets a few girls with a disinterested nod.

Emboldened, but mostly nervous that in the crowd of bodies and red solo cups you’re still helplessly alone, you push off the wall and squeeze past huddled cliques of conversation to make for the dark couch.

By the platinum bleached hair and big-name consulting group quarter zip, Crosshair—at least you think it’s him—lounges over the couch. He isn’t the only body on the suede seats, but he keeps to himself, his head dipped low as he works one hand over a small metal canister in his other palm.

If you weren’t having luck with the other nameless faces around you, maybe the Fett twin would keep you company—at least until your roommate came back to find you (if she did). And worst case, you’d just slink back to your dorm and mope until your roommate apologized to you with your favorite overpriced smoothie bowl the day after.

Mustering every ounce of courage you have, you plant your feet by the couch and finally speak.

"Is your name actually Crosshair?" you ask.

The man on the couch pauses, his motions stilling over the small metal cylinder in his palms, and he lifts his chin just enough to flick his eyes up towards the sound of your voice.

You always thought the girls in your droning 9AM gen-ed were wildly exaggerating his hype for their own devices, squealing over his (apparently) brooding charm and sharp looks to nip at his stash for free. But for all the vague haze surrounding your perception of the twins, you never thought that they were telling the truth.

If you had been in broad daylight under the incandescent glow of your creaky lecture hall lights, you might have called him cocky, almost haughty, how he meets you with an unreadable look for having interrupted him. But in the purple LEDs and heavy haze of vape juice and shitty tequila, he’s captivating, all dark eyes and perfectly lit skin, marked only by the needle-thin design tattooed over the right side of his face and a worn wooden toothpick bitten between his teeth.

You swallow down the dry lump in your throat when you catch him flick his eyes from your face, down the short length of your dress, and back up again.

"Smoke with me; maybe you'll find out," he drawls, toothpick bobbing as he speaks. He twists the cylinder once and offers you a wry smirk. And when you stay, speechless but there all the same, Crosshair scoots to the side and pats the narrow space between him and the couch arm, inviting you close.

"I've never smoked before," you admit a bit shyly as you drop down beside him. Your dress hikes up your thigh, and you shiver when your skin presses up against the soft denim of his jeans.

"Not even cigs?"

You shake your head. And you tell yourself that when he leans close and brushes his shoulder up against your arm, that he’s only doing it because someone’s boosted the bass, and you can’t hear him over the reverb.

"Well, good thing I'm here, yeah?"

He gives the metal canister a final twist and sets it down on the coffee table before you. Swapping the canister for a small brown sleeve, you watch in a daze as he pulls a semi-transparent leaflet from the folder and tears a strip of cardstock straight from its flap. He has pianist fingers, you think wistfully, neatly kept nails and slender grace, and you wonder if he’ll entertain you if you ask to compare your hand to his.

“What’s your name?”

You scrabble back to the present at the sound of his voice. “Uh, y/n,” you offer.

“Well, y/n,” he says with a soft laugh, having caught on to your daydreaming. “Step one, you fold your filter.”

You nod along absently as Crosshair artfully crimps the thick paper into a neat roll. As if there isn’t thirty-some odd people crammed into his apartment, he quietly takes you step by step, offering you the filter, the paper, then the contents of the canister (a grinder, he explains) like it’s a game of show and tell. But with every piece he places into your hands, you gravitate closer, closer, until you’re flush against his arm and practically hanging over his side to watch as he gently taps a line of bud over the paper.

“Here, let me give you a better look,” Crosshair says.

You expect him to bring the neat line of bud to you, but when nothing comes, you look up and find him waiting for you, one arm open in invitation as the other pats once on the dark denim of his thigh.

“Uh—”

“Sit,” he says as if you haven’t just met him fifteen minutes ago. “Front row seats if you want ‘em.”

On one hand, you barely know Crosshair outside of the rumors you hear on campus. On the other hand, he’s a genuinely pleasant person, careful to accommodate for your boundaries and offering a snide playfulness that’s banished your nerves from earlier in the night.

He’s also really fucking hot.

“Okay,” you murmur, and you let him wrap his arm around your waist and tug you onto his lap. And he’s right. Perched over his thighs, you see with perfect clarity (and without the strain in your neck) as he gently folds the paper over the mound of bud and carefully twists. It’s the prettiest joint you’ve ever seen—though it might be because it’s the only one you’ve seen.

"Final touch," Crosshair's voice rumbles over your back, shooting straight into your core as he lifts the paper's vellum edge to your lips. “Lick it for me.”

Since you sat down with him, you’ve only been the passenger, nodding along as Crosshair’s long, nimble fingers creased over filter paper and patiently pointed out things like the stray pistils in his baggie and the keef gathered at the bottom of his grinder for if you really want to get fucked up. And even though you aren’t doing much (because licking paper doesn’t really seem too crazy), it’s a step forward from the comfortable rhythm that had settled between you, and you twist around in his lap to shoot him an uncertain glance.

“Just,” Crosshair flicks his tongue over his lower lip, flashing a brief glimpse of a ball piercing towards your wide eyes. And if you weren’t so flustered, you might have recognized the coy playfulness in his gaze. “Give it a lick, right over the edge.”

“I—uh, what if I—” you stammer.

“You’re not gonna mess this up, darling,” Crosshair chuckles. If his hand squeezing brief over your waist wasn’t enough to bring heat searing over the tops of your ears, his next words, crooned low and breathy into your ear, certainly do. “You’re a smart girl. You can do it.”

"My brother giving you trouble?"

Another voice cuts through the din of the party, sparing you your stammering nerves as you whip your head up in its general direction. You’re greeted with the sight of his brother, peering down on you as he takes a sip from his cup.

“You’re such a killjoy,” Crosshair mutters, drawing his arm tighter around your waist as he jabs the half-rolled joint to where Hunter sprawls down onto the couch beside him. “No, I’m not being a creep. I’m teaching our pretty underclassman here how to roll.”

Oh.

Heat rushes over your cheeks, and you can’t decide whether you want to shrink into yourself or bask in it and beg for more.

He called you pretty.

“With her in your lap,” Hunter snorts into his cup.

“It was your idea to invite your entire fucking rugby team. Where else would we do it?”

“I’m so sorry he’s like this,” Hunter laughs, tilting his head and looking up at you through his (unfairly) long lashes. Where you thought Crosshair’s tattoo was bold, Hunter’s practically blows him out of the water, a well-worn swath of ink on the left half of his face, curving into neatly stylized teeth right at the edge of his lips. “I’m Hunter.”

Huh, maybe you do have a thing for tattoos.

“Y/n,” you squeak. “It’s, um—it’s nice to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, sweetheart,” he says as he offers you an easy smile. “Has my baby brother been treating you right?”

“God, two fucking minutes,” Crosshair snaps. You hear the embarrassment seeping from the vitriol, and it strikes you like a shot to the head that he’s trying to play cool in front of you. “I come out two minutes after you and—”

“We’re fraternal, and I got all the oxygen in the womb. Explains why he has awful people skills,” Hunter fake-whispers loud enough for Crosshair to hear, and you giggle as the other man groans from behind you.

“No, he’s been really nice,” you say softly once you realize that you’ve been laughing a little too loud. “He’s teaching me about weed.” It sounds juvenile when you say it, awkward and clumsy on your tongue. It’s a dead giveaway that has Hunter’s smile mellowing into something soft.

“Your first time?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, Cross here’s high as shit at least four hours every day. Says it helps him do the math. I hate to say it, but you’re in good hands.”

“You try running a nonlinear regression sober,” Crosshair snorts. “Anyways, we were just finishing up this joint before you decided to kill the vibe.”

Crosshair lifts the half-rolled joint back up to your chin, and this time, he leans forward and presses his chest close against your back as the playful snark leaves his tone, in its wake, something patient and calm as his voice rumbles by your ear.

“You gonna help me finish the job, sweet girl?”

You surprise yourself when the initial trepidation vanishes as you tip your chin down and stick out your tongue. Maybe you’re showboating now that you have an audience, feeling Hunter’s dark eyes on your lips when you touch the tip of your tongue out over the edge.

Whether it’s your lip gloss or the fine crumbs of bud stuck to the roll paper that fills your mouth with something earthy and sweet, you can’t say. All you know is they’re both following you with that intense intent, the bass and blend of voices faded out around you; just you in Crosshair’s lap and Hunter pretending to care about the drink in his hand as you lift your tongue off the far corner of the paper and close your lips.

“Good job,” Hunter muses, and you’re pretty certain he’s not talking about the joint when you feel his gaze boring into you alone.

The smell of smoke pulls you out of Hunter’s gravity, and you look back in front of you to see Crosshair snap a scuffed metal lighter shut and toss it onto the coffee table. He brings the joint back down in front of you, blowing a neat stream of whitish gray smoke past your ear.

“You know how to pull?” Crosshair asks, and his chin brushes over your bare shoulder as he speaks. He’s so close. You can smell the burn, acrid and sour, but it doesn’t matter that it doesn’t smell like some bubblegum vape when you feel his breaths curling over your skin. You just want more.

Mutely, you shake your head.

“Mm, you know how to shotgun?” Hunter offers, and you hear Crosshair huff laugher from behind you. “Might be easier for your first try.”

You shake your head again.

“It’s,” Hunter pauses, and his brows knit close as he thinks for a moment. “It’s kind of like a kiss. But not really. I take a hit and you catch my smoke. That sound okay?”

You don’t think it matters that someone’s hit shuffle on the playlist, filling the room with a hard electronic beat that might have otherwise drowned out all sound. All you hear is your heart pounding in your ears as you nod and watch Hunter lift the filter to his lips and inhale deep, then pass the joint back to Crosshair.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, white trails of smoke curling over his upper lip as he lifts one hand to cup over the base of your neck.

“Open,” Crosshair whispers.

Wordlessly, you obey. Your lips part just as Hunter pulls close, so close you feel the heat of his skin spreading warm over your cheeks, and blows a soft stream of bitter smoke into your mouth. It can’t be more than a few seconds, but all the while, you can’t seem to tear your eyes from his.

“Breathe in, deep,” you hear Crosshair instruct as he begins to rub one thumb over the curve of your hip.

The smoke is thick, sluicing down your throat and filling your lungs like nothing you’ve ever felt before. It’s not bad, just new, and pressed between the twins over the couch, you think it just might have been worth being ditched by your roommate earlier in the night. But your lungs ache, and you slowly exhale, watching as your vision fogs with a loose cloud of smoke until your chest feels clear again.

“And you didn’t even cough,” Hunter smiles. His calloused fingertips follow the slope of your neck, lingering one moment more before he pulls away. And you aren’t sure if the low buzzing in your fingertips is the weed or their combined warmth as Hunter rubs over your knee and Crosshair leans his head against your neck. “Good girl.”

“Wanna do it again,” you whisper as the buzz begins to crawl up your neck, fizzling around your temples as you lean your cheek over where Crosshair nuzzles into your shoulder.

“With him or me?” Crosshair murmurs, his lips brushing over your skin.

“You,” you say dreamily, and Hunter laughs, a sound that suddenly seems so far away as you tip your head and press close against Crosshair’s silver hair.

Crosshair leans into your touch, pressing his cheek up against your neck one last time before he’s lifting his head and bringing the joint to his lips. You hear the hiss of his inhale, smoke curling up through the narrow body of the joint as the charred end glows warm beside you.

And instead of Hunter’s approach, level with you, Crosshair looms above you, meeting your wide eyes with something of a fond smile. Dragging his hand up your chest, he follows the line of your neck and holds snug over your chin. He squeezes softly, and your jaw falls slack, lips parted in a soft ‘o’ as he dips low. He's closer than Hunter as you feel his mouth just brush over yours and breathe smoke over your tongue.

This time, it’s easier.

You swallow down the smoke and hold, just a beat longer than before. But both Crosshair and Hunter notice as your lips stay parted, and they share a soft laugh that has you exhaling smoke and pride all at once when you finally relax your diaphragm and breathe out.

“Fast learner,” Crosshair muses, nosing up under your jaw as you sink back against his chest.

You mumble incoherently, chasing his touch as the high creeps heavy and warm from your chest to your collar and settles at the back of your throat. It anchors you, molding you up against Crosshair who feels nothing short of perfect as he circles his arms loose over your waist.

You turn your head to thank Hunter when you distantly register him pressing a cool cup into your hand (water, you think you hear him say), but the words slip back down into your throat, your eyelids suddenly unbearably heavy and coarse over your blurry vision.

“You wanna lay down?” Hunter offers, and his voice comes to you like you’re underwater, warped and bubbling past the din of the party around you.

You're pretty sure you nod.

For a few moments, you catch traces of an unintelligible exchange between the twins, only aware of the rumble of Crosshair’s voice at your back, and then you’re being lifted up off the couch, the music and raucous laughter fading behind you.

A door opens, squeaking half-shut, and you wince as a light clicks on beside you. Whoever was carrying you sets you down on something soft and cool, and you sway as the light dims and you settle into your seat.

You’re on a bed, you think.

Crosshair’s, judging by the shock of light hair that you can make out through your lashes. He helps you into a worn tee that reaches past the short hem of your dress, and you wiggle into it with a soft whine, holding it tight.

But where you expect a familiar weight to dip down next to you and pull you close, your eyes fly open when you see his figure turn away from you and towards the neon lights of the party outside.

“You aren’t staying?” It's the most coherent you've been through your first high.

“Not tonight,” Crosshair says softly. He turns back towards you and reaches up to fix the strap of your dress as you sit on his bed. “Baby’s first tokes got you all dopey. Right now, what you need is this,” and he presses a plastic bottle of vitamin water he’s seemingly produced out of nowhere into your palm. “This,” he adds, pressing your phone into your other hand. “And a good night’s sleep.”

“And what if I say I need you, too?” you pout.

Some part of you—the conscious part locked away in the back of your skull—bangs up against the hazy high at the crown of your head because when you’re good and sober and when Crosshair inevitably turns you down, you won’t be able to look at yourself in the mirror for the next semester.

But he breaks into a smile that crinkles at the corners of his eyes before he leans down to press his lips to your forehead. It’s just a split-second of warm, chapstick-soft lips on your skin, but it floods you with an indescribable good from the top of your head all the way down to your toes.

And as high as you are right now, you have a hell of a hunch that the flutter in your chest is going to stay, even when the room stops wobbling around you.

“When you’re all sobered up in the morning, we’ll make you breakfast, and we’ll figure it out from there,” Crosshair says after he’s pulled back, reaching up to smooth his palm over your hair. “Sound like a plan?”

You nod, probably with a little too much enthusiasm, but you’re rewarded with another low chuckle that’s practically music to your ears. His hand gentle and firm over your shoulder, Crosshair guides you down onto the bed and pulls the covers up to your chin.

“Now text your roomie so she doesn’t call the cops on us, get some sleep, and drink all of that, okay?”

“Okay,” you respond.

“Good girl.”

And when the lights click out, you curl into Crosshair’s pillow, breathing in cold, fresh notes of his cologne, and then you’re asleep.

You climb out of bed the next morning, your minidress rumpled under a long shirt. It's not like a hangover, no, you just find yourself a bit lightheaded and throat parched, and the disorientation makes your head spin as you’re greeted with the smell of fresh coffee and something savory—

Your roommate doesn’t wake up earlier than you, and she can’t cook for shit. And why were your sheets grey? Whose shirt were you—

Oh.

Fuck.

You practically burst out of Crosshair’s bedroom, and you’re not sure what you expected, but somehow you hadn’t expected to see Hunter sipping mildly on a mug of coffee while Crosshair pushes something around in a pan over their kitchen range.

“Mornin,’” Hunter offers you a small wave, and reaches for a third mug on the countertop. “Wasn’t sure how you liked your coffee so we just made it black.”

“What happened last night?” you gasp. If you weren’t so panicked, you’re certain the sight of them sporting nothing but grey sweats would have been your only concern, but you’ve just woken up with foggy memories and the slimy dread of anxiety that follows a blackout night.

“Easy, easy,” Crosshair assures you as he steps away from the stovetop. “Nothing happened after we smoked. You took, like, two hits, and you were so hazy you couldn’t remember your dorm number, so we put you to bed, and I slept out in the living room. Fetts are wild but we’re not scumbags, promise.”

And judging from the throw blanket sliding off the edge of the couch cushions, you’re fairly certain you can believe him. Relief floods your chest.

“Oh thank God,” you sigh, and your shoulders sag as the weight of panic sloughs off your back.

They both laugh softly, the sudden tension lifting from the bright morning light, and you can’t help but join in. And when that rosy relief gives way to silence again, it’s Crosshair who speaks next.

“So, you staying for breakfast?”

“Can I borrow some actual clothes first?”

“Done deal.”

#fun fact: my signature party trick is flirting with a guy and then stealing his blunt ✌️😗#thinking about how schlorbe n i agreed crosshair listens to souncloud mumble rap :/#its ok i kiss him anyways #hc that crosshair’s an econ/finance bro and hunter’s a history major hehe #sequel series: crosshair goes venture capital (gross)#tech's probably at like the space equivalent of mit or something #and i will Die on the hill that wrecker's super smart with kinesiology #crosshair x reader #hunter x reader #sergeant hunter x reader #the bad batch x reader #anon #yaej.writes

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