#Not upset with the person who wrote these tags | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dustofthedailylife · 7 months

Text

Genshin Men as Influencers

→ Masterlist || → Taglist

Pairing: Alhaitham, Ayato, Kaveh, Wriothesley, Neuvillette, Zhongli, Kazuha, Cyno, Kaeya, Thoma, Tighnari x (gn!) Reader

Summary: What type of influencer would they be. What do they post.

Tags: Fluff, modern AU, short headcanons

A/N: This was a random idea I got today that I needed to get out of my system. And it got longer than I anticipated, oopsie.

Alhaitham | Bookstagrammer

He is neither someone who wants to stand in front of a camera talking nor does he desire to interact with people much. Yet he has this desire to share his thoughts about the books he reads with someone. When you propose the idea of becoming a bookstagrammer to him he is at first very dismissive about the idea, but eventually caves and creates an account. As it turns out he enjoys it more than he originally thought he would. He writes book reviews, does book hauls, and critical literature commentary. Reels are not his thing and he only posts pictures. His account blew up when he posted a selfie of him while reading a book. To this day he has not the faintest idea why that is what made his account grow exponentially. He turns to you whenever he gets DMs or comments that annoy him. He will sometimes ramble for half an hour about a single comment and explain in-depth why what that person wrote is utterly stupid.

Ayato | Fashion Influencer

He is predominantly a fashion influencer and model. Frequently posting pictures and reels of outfits, hauls as well as model and runway jobs. He is often described as the influencer who "effortlessly combines casual and business chic and turns it into a fashion statement". Always the best-dressed man around, no matter where he goes. Both his enchanting looks as well as his enigmatic personality draw his fans in. He has his own clothing brand for his trademark "casual business chic" which is quite successful. Every new collection is immediately sold out a day after launch. Yet, despite his fame, you had never seen or heard of him before. You randomly met him at a local bar where he offered to buy you a drink. You talked to him all evening and had just exchanged numbers with him when his face suddenly popped up on the TV screen at the bar. You had to do a double-take and reconfirm that the man on TV was indeed the one sitting in front of you right now. He had seen your glance and was now smiling back at you smugly, visibly enamored by the confusion that was written all over your face. For once he was happy someone didn't outright recognize him and just genuinely interacted with him without any second thoughts. And he fell for you right then and there.

Kaveh | Lifestyle Blogger

This man has so many things he loves he can't just decide on one thing. So he does kind of everything and his followers love him for it. He is smart, good-looking, artistically gifted, enjoys food, drink, fashion, and is into the latest gossip. His feed is a bit of everything, art gallery visits, food posts, fashion photos including OOTD, motivational quotes and more. He has a loyal fanbase that would do anything for him. They lovingly refer to him as "babygirl" all the time. When you become a couple he incorporates you into his posts and videos as well which lands you a couple of very angry DMs of fans who have formed a parasocial relationship with your boyfriend. And while you just ignore them, Kaveh absolutely can't and won't tolerate this behavior towards you so he replies to them from your account with an angry picture and a long DM. In all honesty, he is more upset over the messages than you are.

Wriothesley | Fitness Blogger

He is your classic fitness blogger and personal trainer. He posts training videos, nutritional advice posts as well as gym pictures of himself and fitness modeling campaigns he gets invited to. And he is quite successful at what he does. When you start dating you're not at all surprised when you learn what he does for a living. A man with his physique? Of course, he would be successful. You mutually decide to keep your relationship out of the public eye. Both because he wouldn't want you to get exposed to potential negative press or hateful DMs. But of course, paparazzi are more watchful than anyone ever could be. So naturally a picture of him and you kissing soon adorns every gossip magazine front page including your name and Instagram profile (because of course they also found that out...). Not long after #WrioYN starts trending. The posts under the hashtag are a mixed bag of either excited fans and positive articles or angry fans and negative press, who say that you aren't good enough for him. Since your relationship is out of the bag now, Wriothesley decides to take you with him to the next red carpet event where he provocatively and fiercely kisses you in front of everyone to show the world what he thinks about their opinion. You're his and he is yours, and no one would ever be able to change that.

Neuvillette | Food Critic

He is one of the most famous food critics around and gets invited to various restaurants all around the world. He writes reviews for the things he eats and drinks and rates the restaurants without mercy. If your restaurant gets a bad review from him you might as well lock the door and close forever. He rose to fame through a video that went viral where he taste-tested a variety of different water brands, grading them on a scale from one to ten as if it was the finest wine. At first, people were amused by the videos and created memes about it until it eventually gave him so much publicity that he was invited to restaurants. So he organically rose to fame practically overnight without even realizing it. This already led to some less nice situations where some angry restaurant owners insulted him in public for ruining their reputation or hate comments under his posts. He didn't understand what he did wrong or why they were so upset with him and he always looked for the fault in himself, socially isolating himself as a consequence. You're always there to lend your ear and shoulder to cry on to him when situations like these arise. He may look tough but you know he has a soft and fragile heart and often takes negative comments about his person way too much to heart.

Zhongli | Food Blogger

He is a food blogger, mostly known for his expensive taste and aesthetic tea brewing videos and it even expands beyond that to clothing and his appearance in general. When watching him prepare all sorts of dishes one could be inclined to think he has all the time in the world. Doing live streams where he brews tea or cooks for six hours or more is not a rarity. His followers love his insight and knowledge about all the ingredients he uses. He always sprinkles in little fun facts, trivia and random bits of information. Being his partner therefore also means you always get the privilege to have the most delicious and fragrant food served to you. If you didn't know better you would think he is a renowned Michelin chef. Food is definitely his love language. Sometimes you and him would do couple cooking streams together and his community is all over you two. You're receiving fanart and people even write fanfics about you two. Generally Zhongli, much like himself, gathers a very level-headed, polite and loyal community around him.

Kazuha | Travel Blogger

He never stays in the same place for long, so much so that at this point his followers aren't even sure he owns a home at all. His feed and stories are filled with magnificent locations from all over the world. From sunsets over to stunning mountain views and sandy beaches. His life feels like a dream. And his followers live it vicariously through him. Always starts his day by posting an inspirational haiku in his story and with supportive words to his followers. The most sunshine and feel-good influencer around and most certainly a good role model. You accompany him on most of his travels but mostly play the role of the camera person and photographer for him since he wants to keep your relationship private. Until one day he pulls you in front of the camera during one of his livestreams and passionately kisses you on the lips before blushing and turning the stream off right after. When you ask him what made him change his mind he tells you that his heart ached due to the rumors of him and another influencer dating and he wanted to get them out of the world once and for all. Needless to say, your heart and the press are on fire the next day.

Cyno | Entertainer

Of course, Cyno is an entertainer. His intimidating looks paired with an impeccable sense of humor immediately resonated with people all over the place. He quickly garnered a large audience both on Tiktok and Youtube and uploads a new comedic skit at least once a week. He also occasionally does some pack-opening streams whenever new TCG card collections come out. You're always there to support him in his endeavors and he is extremely thankful for that. You're always the first to whom he tells his ideas and sometimes you even get cameos in his skits. Some evenings you sit together while playing cards and brainstorming about new video ideas for him.

Kaeya | Fashion Blogger

Fashionista and icon through and through. He loves the spotlight. And his smooth-talking and sly nature has people on their knees for him all over the internet. Unfortunately, that causes him to have the most obsessed and delusional fans around. He mostly posts OOTD posts, fashion inspo and clothing hauls as well as various photographs of modeling jobs. He often goes live on Instagram and Tiktok to interact with his fans. Sometimes you ask yourself how he even manages to hold a conversation with them, considering that most of the comments and chats he gets are simping. But he is just a natural-born influencer. Knowing his bold nature it doesn't surprise you when he pulls you in for a long and intense kiss on the red carpet one day. Until now you had publicly taken on the role of his manager to disguise yourself. It was an idea that came from his actual manager. The reason for that is to divert the attention away from you and spare you from the wrath of his crazy fans. Seems like he finally grew tired of the act. His smug smile, the flurry of flashing cameras around you, and the feeling of his lips pressed against yours were proof enough of that.

Thoma | Food Blogger

Another food blogger and a really good one at that. The handsome blonde mostly posts aesthetic cooking videos, cooking ASMR videos, quick meal-prep recipes for a busy day-to-day life, as well as comfort food recipes. His fans say his tasty creations aren't the only snack on screen though. Interviewers always ask him about his opinion on what his fans say about him, which always causes him to laugh with a shy smile and a blush across his soft cheeks. He also often posts stories and gives some tips for chores and various other activities like knitting, cleaning, and other useful lifehacks. Occasionally he also uploads pictures of new recipes he is working on behind the scenes in his story. All of this earned him the title of the "Malewife Blogger" quite early on in his career and he fully embraced the title. He even has merch designs referring to the nickname his fans gave him. You are always the first one who gets to hear about his new ideas or gets to review and taste-test his recipes. You often tinker around on recipes with him until late at night. You also help him with the launch of his first cookbook by typing out all the recipes and editing the cover image of him standing behind the kitchen with his signature red apron and smile. And you would agree with his fans, the biggest snack in that cookbook is right on the cover.

Tighnari | Garden & Wildlife Blogger

He blogs about all sorts of wildlife, survival tips, and environment protection and gives gardening tips. His sassy and incredibly sarcastic nature and reactions to some comments are what draw people to him. He makes people aware of how ecosystems work and how to live in harmony with them. He sometimes posts reaction videos and stitches in reply to people treating nature in a disrespectful manner and goes on entire tirades about it as well. He suggests environmentally friendly products and eventually even launches his own brand of environmentally friendly cleaning agents he produces himself. Needless to say, it's a complete hit among his fans. You are supportive of his videos and often help him with filming and editing them. You went on trips with him even before he started his social media career so seeing him become famous and successful with what he enjoys most fills you with joy.

Do not repost, copy, translate or edit - © dustofthedailylife || reblogs, comments, and asks about Genshin or my fics are always greatly appreciated and motivate me! Maple dividers are mine - do not copy.

#genshin impact #astronetwrk #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin headcanons #genshin brainrot #alhaitham x reader #ayato x you #wriothesley x reader #neuvillette x reader #zhongli x reader #kaveh x reader #kazuha x reader #cyno x reader #kaeya x reader #thoma x reader #tighnari x reader #🍁 dust writes #🍁彡 gi

1K notes · View notes

5ummit · 1 year

Text

So there's this post with a troubling number of notes going around insisting that "dead dove" is not a genre, it doesn't inherently have anything to do with darkfic, and that the tag could be applied to fics that are "100% fluffy where everyone's having a good time" if they happen to contain some abnormal (though entirely non-problematic) content like an unusual kink. The claim is that "dead dove: do not eat" is simply a "courtesy tag" that means "this is a very specific niche, mind the tags." And that's just... wrong.

I wrote up a whole rebuttal to this post since I can't stand misinformation and frankly OP was being kinda rude and judgey on top of their wrongness. But right after I posted my reply, OP turned off reblogs because, and I quote, “some fuckwad added some dumb shit onto this post and it is no longer educational” (the “fuckwad” being me and the “dumb shit” being proof that they were wrong). A couple people have asked me to make a rebloggable version of my response, which I've decided to do because this isn't the first time I've heard similar claims and I want to help set the record straight. However, I'm not linking the original post on the off chance this gains traction because OP did the right thing by turning off reblogs, preventing it from circulating further, and I don't want them to get hate for being unfortunately misinformed.

For those who don't know the history, "dead dove: do not eat" was originally proposed as a catchall "hydra trash party" alternative label for any fandom to warn that the content of a fic may be considered problematic or potentially upsetting and to read the tags carefully so you know what you're getting into and won't complain later. Specifically, DD:DNE was intended to convey that the Bad Things in the fic would likely be reveled in and not explicitly condemned by the narrative, which some people tend to get up in arms about, hence the need for the extra warning in addition to the tags. Don't believe me? Here's the original proposal (note DD:DNE can be found on a handful of fics dated before 2015 but this is when it really took off and became a Thing).

There are currently around 50,000 fics tagged as "dead dove: do not eat" on AO3 and close to 50% of those also include the rape/noncon warning (which of course is not the only type of "dead dove" but is one of the most popular and most consistently tagged). The normal percentage of noncon fics in any given fandom? Around 1-3%. That's a HUGE disparity. So don't tell me that dead dove is just a general "courtesy tag" and doesn't or shouldn't have dark connotations. Even the context of the original joke on Arrested Development has a dark undertone. Micheal Bluth casually finds an animal carcass in a bag in his refrigerator with the label "do not eat", as if eating it would be any sane person's first thought. The whole situation is kinda fucked up. And this fucked up vibe very much carries over into fandom usage too, as was intended.

The claim that dead dove has nothing to do with the content's genre and could just as easily be used to describe a 100% fluffy fic in which everyone's having a good time is straight up Wrong, or at the very least, severely warping the original meaning. Also, when someone these days says that they like/dislike "dead dove" most people in fandom automatically understand what that means because of the consistency of its usage over the years and the way language evolves. Whether you like it or not, "dead dove" IS a genre now and the term does carry a specific connotation. I do agree that DD:DNE should definitely still be used in conjunction with other tags, when applicable, to be explicit about the exact type of fucked up content you may find, but to say that the term is meaningless on its own is patently false and I'm tired of people who don't know what they're talking about pushing this narrative and causing even more confusion.

You want a generic term that also means "mind the tags" and doesn't have any inherently dark connotations? Just use good ol' "what it says on the tin" instead of trying to force dead dove to be something it's not.

#fyi I've tweaked my response slightly to remove specific references to OP and make it read better on its own #I hope I don't regret making this post and inviting The Discourse #but dead dove is a topic that is very near and dear to me #I feel like someone has got to say something and put a stop to all of the misinformation around it these days #fandom #long post #my words #psa #wendy's help desk

3K notes · View notes

wordstome · 3 months

Text

how c.ai works and why it's unethical

Okay, since the AI discourse is happening again, I want to make this very clear, because a few weeks ago I had to explain to a (well meaning) person in the community how AI works. I'm going to be addressing people who are maybe younger or aren't familiar with the latest type of "AI", not people who purposely devalue the work of creatives and/or are shills.

The name "Artificial Intelligence" is a bit misleading when it comes to things like AI chatbots. When you think of AI, you think of a robot, and you might think that by making a chatbot you're simply programming a robot to talk about something you want them to talk about, and it's similar to an rp partner. But with current technology, that's not how AI works. For a breakdown on how AI is programmed, CGP grey made a great video about this several years ago (he updated the title and thumbnail recently)

youtube

I HIGHLY HIGHLY recommend you watch this because CGP Grey is good at explaining, but the tl;dr for this post is this: bots are made with a metric shit-ton of data. In C.AI's case, the data is writing. Stolen writing, usually scraped fanfiction.

How do we know chatbots are stealing from fanfiction writers? It knows what omegaverse is [SOURCE] (it's a Wired article, put it in incognito mode if it won't let you read it), and when a Reddit user asked a chatbot to write a story about "Steve", it automatically wrote about characters named "Bucky" and "Tony" [SOURCE].

I also said this in the tags of a previous reblog, but when you're talking to C.AI bots, it's also taking your writing and using it in its algorithm: which seems fine until you realize 1. They're using your work uncredited 2. It's not staying private, they're using your work to make their service better, a service they're trying to make money off of.

"But Bucca," you might say. "Human writers work like that too. We read books and other fanfictions and that's how we come up with material for roleplay or fanfiction."

Well, what's the difference between plagiarism and original writing? The answer is that plagiarism is taking what someone else has made and simply editing it or mixing it up to look original. You didn't do any thinking yourself. C.AI doesn't "think" because it's not a brain, it takes all the fanfiction it was taught on, mixes it up with whatever topic you've given it, and generates a response like in old-timey mysteries where somebody cuts a bunch of letters out of magazines and pastes them together to write a letter.

(And might I remind you, people can't monetize their fanfiction the way C.AI is trying to monetize itself. Authors are very lax about fanfiction nowadays: we've come a long way since the Anne Rice days of terror. But this issue is cropping back up again with BookTok complaining that they can't pay someone else for bound copies of fanfiction. Don't do that either.)

Bottom line, here are the problems with using things like C.AI:

It is using material it doesn't have permission to use and doesn't credit anybody. Not only is it ethically wrong, but AI is already beginning to contend with copyright issues.

C.AI sucks at its job anyway. It's not good at basic story structure like building tension, and can't even remember things you've told it. I've also seen many instances of bots saying triggering or disgusting things that deeply upset the user. You don't get that with properly trigger tagged fanworks.

Your work and your time put into the app can be taken away from you at any moment and used to make money for someone else. I can't tell you how many times I've seen people who use AI panic about accidentally deleting a bot that they spent hours conversing with. Your time and effort is so much more stable and well-preserved if you wrote a fanfiction or roleplayed with someone and saved the chatlogs. The company that owns and runs C.AI can not only use whatever you've written as they see fit, they can take your shit away on a whim, either on purpose or by accident due to the nature of the Internet.

DON'T USE C.AI, OR AT THE VERY BARE MINIMUM DO NOT DO THE AI'S WORK FOR IT BY STEALING OTHER PEOPLES' WORK TO PUT INTO IT. Writing fanfiction is a communal labor of love. We share it with each other for free for the love of the original work and ideas we share. Not only can AI not replicate this, but it shouldn't.

(also, this goes without saying, but this entire post also applies to ai art)

#anti ai #cod fanfiction #c.ai #character ai #c.ai bot #c.ai chats #fanfiction #fanfiction writing #writing #writing fanfiction #on writing #fuck ai #ai is theft #call of duty #cod #long post #I'm not putting any of this under a readmore #Youtube

880 notes · View notes

plmp0 · 3 months

Text

Just why

Summary: it was one of your routines to go live with some of your fans to show gratitude and probably attract more people to your group, but this time ur fan was a litlle too touchy for Sunghoon's liking.

Tags: idol!bf!sunghoon, idol!gf!reader,PWP, jealousy (for like 10 seconds), possessive sunghoon, kinda toxic, p in v, rough, mild choking, unprotected sex (don't do that), bulge kink, oral (m receiving), fingering, squirting, messy sex, aftercare. (I think that's all)

AU note: i wrote this at 4 am okay! idk wtf is this but yeah sorry if there is any mistakes and also eng is not my first language.

Sunghoon has been working out since this morning, he was so angry, seeing u flirt with a guy in a live was enough for him to loose his mind, he was used to u going live with one of ur fans once in a while and he was fine with it cause he knows how fans should be cherished as he has them as well, but when it's a guy that is constantly touching u, when his eyes never left u, he couldn't stand it, he is a person who gets jealous easily and he knows that and so u do and still you managed to upset him.

He sighed deeply and went to took a long hot shower trying to relax a little and calm his anger down, his muscles ached and his whole body was burning. He finished his shower wearing just his sweatpants while drying his hair, his eyebrows stuck together.

"You seem tense" u said from behind him and he didn't answer not even sparing u a glance, u came closer and rubbed his back, he let out a shaky breath, hands dropping the towel somewhere and he spoke without turning ur way "Did u really need to do a live with HIM?"

"Wdym?" U raised ur eyebrows, it was rule between both of u to not get into each other's work and it looks like Sunghoon forgot about that. He fixed his wet hair his voice hoarse "what i mean is that fan was Very touchy", u sighed rolling ur eyes Sunghoon has always been possessive for u but the thing is he doesn't have any reason to be so "well it's not like i was the one asking him to do that, we were live so anything i do can go against me, i tried to avoid his touches but yeah" u said sitting on his bed admiring his naked torso and the way the water in his hair falls on his body, Sunghoon clicked his tongue not liking ur attitude the slightest as he turned and looked into ur eyes and you got lost, his gaze was dark and full of anger hands on his hips flexing unintentionally his biceps and u felt small under his gaze, u swallowed thickly, his eyes following your every move as he took a step toward u, then another, and another until he stood right in front of u.

His fingers held ur chin forcing u to look at him "Sunghoon...", his thumb traced ur bottom lip shushing you as he sighed "why did u let him do that? Do u like it when a guy touches you? When he stares at you? When he flirts with you? Does it turn u on?"

His questions made you nervous, you know that his jealousy is the one speaking but u don't know why, maybe it's the tone he is using or the way his eyes darkened, either way he was intimidating. (and you liked that)

"Do u want me to show u what i do when i get mad?", he took a step forward, forcing u to fall back and his knee was between ur legs, his hands grabbed ur wrists holding them above ur head and his face was so close to yours,

"Tell me baby...what do u think i will do to u?" He breathed out his eyes on ur lips and u felt urself get turned on by the way he is acting, you have never seen him like this and you wanted him to go further "You tell me, Hoonie" u mumbled softly. "You like the sound of that? Me going feral?" He asked his eyes back to stare at urs.

"Show me then" u breathed out challenging him and he smiled, his eyes glinting dangerously, his hands tightening around ur wrists excited to take that brattiness out of you, He leaned into ur ear and bit your lobe whispering "i'm gonna wreck you"

Sunghoon pulled you up and pushed you towards the headboard of the bed, his body towering over yours, his hands went to hold ur throat making you moan softly, his tongue licked ur ear and trailed down ur neck leaving open mouthed kisses, he stopped near ur collarbone and sucked harshly, making you moan and squirm underneath him, he left a kiss on your shoulder and stopped to admire his art , his hands went to the hem of ur shirt pulling it off u and he threw it somewhere in the room, his fingers playing with the lace bra u had on, "white?" He thought ,u bit ur lip, your arms going to cover ur boobs and his eyes darkened.

"Don't hide yourself, let me see you" he let out his voice deep and husky, his hands grabbed ur wrist and held them over ur head his other hand undoing ur bra throwing it away and his eyes dropped to look at your exposed chest, his tongue wetting his bottom lip as he felt his mouth dry, you are so beautiful and the fact that he has you for himself always makes his heartbeats fasten, your cheeks heated up as u felt his gaze on you and he mumbled mockingly "what? Did u take back ur words?" And you only shifted your eyes from him shying away from him, and he chuckled leaning to take on one of your boobs in his mouth, his tongue sucking harshly making you moaning, he kissed his way to ur other boob doing the same as you kept squirming.

His fingers played with ur hard nipples and his teeth grazed it, u whimpered and he smirked, his hands going to grab ur breasts and he gave it a harsh squeeze making u gasp arching your back, his thumbs rubbing ur sensitive buds, "so sensitive", he kissed ur nipple and took it in his mouth again tugging it slightly leaving you like a mess.

His hands grabbed the waistband of ur jeans and pulled it down noticing the wet spot on ur panties, "Soaked already?", u looked away embarrassed and he held ur chin in place "answer me"

"Yes" was all u could say, a smug smile formed on his lips as his thumb traced your bottom lip, and u sucked on it almost immediately and his eyes darkened even more if it's possible, his mouth attacked yours in a heated and messy kiss, his tongue dominating yours as always, and his hands lowered to your ass, squeezing and groping it harshly. You moaned loudly, your hands tugging his hair and he groaned into the kiss, his hand slapped your buttcheek hard and you pulled away to let a small cry, he kissed ur jawline and licked it numbing on it and u pulled his hair roughly, "hmmm" he hummed enjoying every moment of this. His finger slipped under ur panties and rubbed ur clit, "so wet" he chuckled, and you moaned loudly when his fingers went to your entrance rubbing your wetness and coating his fingers in it. "Fuck you drive me crazy! I can't think straight" his breath hitched. "I'm sorry" u whispered you know exactly how he keeps overthinking things and you can only imagine what was on his head after watching your live, he looked at u with hooded eyes oh how sorry you are going to be he thought "tell me what u want me to do to you" he whispered lowly, "Anything, everything, please, anything you want" u said desperate for release after the amount of teasing he put u through.

"Hmmm" he thought for a second and his mouth found your nipples again, sucking and nibbling at them, "Hoonie...please" u whined having enough from his teasing and wanting the real thing (lmao bye )

"Please what? Say it, use your words" he said almost mockingly watching you squirm not even able to form a proper sentence "Plea- hmmm, I need u, please fuck me"

He chuckled, his fingers slipped into you and u moaned loudly arching your back, his digits were long and slim and his thrusts were quick and rough, he pumped his fingers into u making your eyes roll back, his mouth went back to ur nipple while his other hand was holding your waist firmly and u arched your back pushing him deeper into you, "shit, shit, shit" u cried. He can feel his cock twitching every time u made a sound like that, ur expressions captured in his brain, he love to see you like this, so small, so helpless around him and he was about to lose it when u rolled ur eyes back hips following his movements.

"You're so hot, baby, do you know how many times i thought about fucking you while you were dancing? How many times i wanted to throw u on my lap and make you cum around me in the middle of the dance room? Do you know how many times i wanted to fuck you in front of those cameras to show everyone who u belong to" he groaned, his pace getting fast, "Ho-Hoonie" you cried, the sound of ur wetness was so loud, his hand was coated with your slick leaving a mess on the sheets as well, his fingers curled inside of u making you see white, and even at ur fucked state u couldn't help it but spot how his hard cock was throbbing through his sweatpants making you whine loudly, and he laughed darkly noticing u "you want it? Beg for it, tell me how much u need my cock"

"P-please, I- I need u, I want u, I can't take it anymore" u said desperately, his fingers pulled out and went to rub your clit very fastly his other hand keeping u in place as u tried to get away from his fingers at how intense you felt ur release coming, u cried as you came undone squirting all over his hand and his chest, Sunghoon looked at you satisfied, your legs were shaking panting heavingly, your body feeling weak already, "good girl, you did great" he kissed your forehead and got up, u frowned confused "Where are u going?" You asked and he pointed at his lower half "I'll be back, just give me a minute"

Sunghoon took off his sweatpants and boxers, his length springing free and smacking his toned stomach, your mouth watered, the way his dick curved upwards and the veins around it, the way his tip was red and the way his balls looked heavy,HE was perfect, his hand went to wrap around his member pumping it slowly, moaning at the feeling making you swallow the lump in your throat. "You like what u see?" He asked, his eyes half lidded, and his thumb smeared his precum around his tip, u nodded slowly "want a taste?" He asked and you got up crawling towards him making him smirk ohh how much he loves it when u act like an eager slut for him.

U sat on ur knees, looking up at him and he groaned when your warm tongue lapped the tip his hands went to pull ur hair, he groaned dropping back his head enjoying the way your mouth was wrapped around his tip before you started hollowing your cheeks and sucking him, his eyes noting the was u didn't dropped eye-contact making his breath hitch and u felt his cock twitch in ur mouth.

You tried to take him as far as u can but he is just too big and long that it wasn't possible for u to not gag, his eyes opened and he looked at you again, his thumb wiping the tears in your eyes loving the way ur mascara was messed up and his other hand cupped ur cheek caressing it softly and your eyes met his again after rolling back, he smiled lovingly at you and the way his eyes turned so soft made ur heart race. He pulled out of ur mouth, his tip smacked his stomach and you couldn't help but admire him, "do u like it? Do u like it when i treat you like a princess while i'm rough with you?" He asked and u nodded, he hummed and went to lay down on his back and you crawled over him, he held his length and u positioned yourself on top of him, his tip teasing your entrance before going inside you and he groaned at how warm and wet u felt his hands guiding you to sit on him and take more of him slowly, the stretch was so good and he hissed as u moaned feeling him filling you up completely, his hand rested on ur hips his eyes closed enjoying how good u feel, and u moved on top of him, rolling your hips slowly as u kept moaning "shit" u whined,picking up ur pace bouncing on his cock, his eyes were now glued to the way his dick disappears inside of you, "god! so tight" he groaned, his hand slapped your buttcheek harshly and the way you clenched around him made him grunt, he thrusted his hips into yours, hitting your sensitive spot again and again until you cried.

"So close, i'm so close" you mumbled and his hand went to grab your neck making you choke mind going crazy, "I'm close too, baby" he whispered.

He kept pounding into you making the bed squeak you were sure ur neighbors heard everything as your moans were getting so loud, he let go of your neck and you lowered ur body taking more of him making him lose his mind one of his hands now traveled down to feel the bulge in ur stomach and his eyes rolled back at that his thrusts now fast and hard, it felt so good, his cock twitched inside of you and u knew that he is about to release at any moment you closed ur eyes enjoying the way he was grunting and groaning, his hands went to hold onto your ass delivering a hard smack making u scream as he kept fucking you into oblivion. You kept getting close and you struggled to hold ur release "Cum inside, fill me up, please" u begged wanting to cum with him and he chuckled "my eager slut" he cooed his thrusts never slowing down, "m gonna make sure to fill u up dw" his fingers went to play with ur clit making your body shake uncontrollably as u dropped your head on his shoulder crying not able to hold ur release anymore and he whispered into your ear lowly "cum, baby" You rolled your eyes back, and let out a scream cumming hard on him, his hips stuttered against u his cum filling you up as well, he groaned deeply,"fuck, take it" he rolled his eyes his movements not stopping until he got rid of his high fucking his cum inside you more, his arms going to hug you and his lips kissing your head sweetly, the two of you laid there trying to catch ur breath, your legs were trembling, your body was weak, you felt him softening inside of you and he kissed your head again whispering sweet words in your ear as his hands rubbed your back soothingly.

"You ok?" He asked and u hummed not wanting to talk making him laugh at ur cuteness and knowing how exhausted you were, his hand caressed your hair, you loved this side of him it makes u fall for him more, knowing that you are the only one with whom he can act so sweet and soft, only you are allowed to see his vulnerable side, his weakness, u sighed softly hugging his buff body "m sure m gonna wake up someday passed out just because of your hard grip" u joked feeling his hug tightening, he smirked playing with ur hair "the only hard thing you are gonna wake up to is my morning wood darling" You looked at him shocked and his smirk only got bigger, u pushed him lightly "Park Sunghoon!" He laughed at ur reaction, his hand going to brush a strand of hair away from ur face moving so you can face him, he looked into ur eyes deeply his gaze was so soft, so gentle, full of love, his thumb brushed against ur cheekbones and he whispered lovingly "i love you"

Ahhhhhhhhh i should go to sleep fr, but yeah i hope u enjoy ~~

#enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen sunghoon smut #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut

774 notes · View notes

calypsocolada · 2 months

Text

CAPTAIN | r. zoro

synopsis: the captain of the hockey team really gets on your nerves. authors note: hi! i'm back from the dead to offer this fic! i saw a tik tok and got inspired. it was a sports au of hockey player zoro and I was obsessed and wrote this! hope you guys like :) might write a part two since I really like this pairing. also was thinking of doing a series where all the one peice characters play different kinds of sports :)

cw: sports au!, hockey player zoro, not proofread, slightly suggestive wc: 3.5k

--------------------------------------------------------

You would venture to say you're a pretty reasonable person. You never got angry easily, or upset. You kept it together pretty well usually.

Usually.

Today… Well, today was an exception. Actually it was always an exception when Rorona Zoro was in the rink. He was one of those rowdy hockey players that you would mostly ignore. You worked at the ice rink on weekends and most of the time you got lucky. The players would either be at away games or out partying on weekends. But not Roronoa Zoro. If you could say one nice thing about him it was that he is dedicated to his craft. You had the displeasure of being stuck talking with him and a few of his hockey buddies one day. Who knew this one day would taint the rest of the times you saw him.

His hockey friends were desperate, you’d think they’d never talked to a human woman before in their life the way they pounced on you. Asking you tons of questions about your life, if you had someone, who was your type, did you fancy anyone. By the time they were done asking you felt as though it was an interrogation. You were about to tell them you had to get back to work when suddenly Zoro spoke first.

“Leave the girl alone.” He’d walked out of the showers, his green hair damp and messy. “She clearly doesn’t like being interrogated.” He grumbles. The rest of the team sighs but they listen to the green haired man, leaving you be. You watch as they head back towards the showers, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Thanks.” You had said, he shrugged.

“You should learn to speak up for yourself, rink girl.” He says and before you can respond he’s gone back towards the locker room.

Asshole.

After that you didn’t even spare him a glance, let alone a moment of your time. When he’d check in you’d slide the clipboard over to him not even looking up. It was a bit petty but you felt slightly vindictive towards him. Maybe not entirely towards him but also the company he keeps. His other hockey friends are atrocious to be around. They stare and ask for your number and try to eat lunch with you and just bother you relentlessly. Also despite them all claiming to have interest in you they call you rink girl because of Zoro even though your name is on a tag on the front of your shirt.

Days like today were no different. Once again two of the players were at your desk, asking about your day and pretending to care.

“Still no guy?” The blond one asks, you never learned their names since they didn’t care to learn yours. You clicked your pen, you had paperwork to do and were in a particularly bad mood.

“Still no girl?” You snap, the blond one pouts but the brunette one snorts a laugh.

“I see why Captain likes you so much.” The blond one mutters under his breath. You barely hear it, your brows furrowing.

“What?”

“Dude… shut up.” The brunette intercepts, knocking the blond in the back of the head. The familiar ding of the front door sounded as Zoro entered the building. “Oh shit… let’s go, hurry!” The blond gasps, you watch the two players practically sprint and trip over each other to get away from your desk. You furrow your brows as Zoro clears his throat. It makes you jump.

“Jesus!” You gasp.

“No, it’s Roronoa.” He says as he watches you place a hand over your heart, the other grabbing the clipboard for him to sign.

“Ha-ha.” You mock, sliding it to him. For the first time in a while you look at him. It’s cold out so he’s bundled up slightly, his cheeks lightly dusted pink from the cold. He’s almost… handsome? You never really noticed. You can’t look away… well until his eyes meet yours. You look away quickly as he clicks the pen and places it on the clipboard, sliding it back to you. When you reach to grab it back your fingers just barely grace his hand. He’s warm, despite just being out in the cold. You clear your throat, pulling your hand away quickly, busying yourself with your paperwork again.

“Hey,” He says as your hand pauses and you slowly look up at him. He looks at you for a moment, as though he’s trying to read something on your face.

“What?” You ask, slightly concerned that he’s lingering at your desk more than usual.

“I saw those two idiots talking to you.” He says and you're not sure if it’s a question or a statement so you nod your head. His jaw tenses as he sighs heavily. “Are they bothering you?” He asks. You stare at him for a moment, trying to read his face to know whether or not he was messing with you. He was infinitely serious.

“No. I can take care of myself.” You say with a tad bit of venom in your voice. He nods his head, the look in his eyes unreadable.

“Good.” He says and with that walks towards the locker room without another word. You watch him go, very confused.

A few hours pass as you walk back to your desk after lunch. The players are leaving for the day, some of them wave at you and you wave back halfheartedly. When the blond and brunette from earlier today pass they walk past you like wounded dogs, very clearly avoiding looking in your direction. Zoro isn’t with him curiously and as it gets later you see he’s the only one who hasn’t checked out and since the rink is closing soon you sigh and hop up from your chair. You walk into the locker room first, silence fills as you poke your head around the corner. Sure enough his locker is open and full of his stuff. You make your way towards the rink you know he’s in there before you even catch sight of him. You hear the sound of his hockey stick smacking against the puck sending it flying through the air, it swishes into the net with ease. A perfect shot. He hasn’t noticed you watching as he sails across the ice to retrieve the puck and set up again for another drill. He’d gotten much better in the months he practiced here. He played like a possessed man, much different from the person you watched practice months and months ago. Not that you knew anything about hockey but there was a reason this man was the captain.

“Enjoying yourself?” Zoro calls out to you. You jump again for the second time again, blowing out a breath, holding your heart again. “Someone’s jumpy.” He mumbles as he lines up a shot, sending it sailing down the ice into the goal. You clear your throat.

“We close in six minutes.” You call out to him coldly, turning.

“Hey,” He calls out to you. You're not sure why but you pause, turning as he skates to you, the only thing shielding him from you was a thick piece of acrylic glass that spanned the entirety of the ring. “You play?” He asks as you furrow your brows.

“Hockey?” You ask, looking up at him. Was he always this damn tall? He nods his head, reaching up and wiping sweat from his brow. You scoff, slightly amused.

“No.” You answer and his eyes travel from your own down your body then slowly, agonizingly slowly back to your eyes. You're blushing by the time he meets your eyes again.

“Think you can block me?” He asks and you stare at him incredulously, it takes you a long moment to answer.

“W-what?” You question, he cocks his head, smirking down at you.

“I said… Do you think you could block me?”

“I heard you.” You sigh. “And no… I don’t think I could block you.”

“Why not?” He asks, leaning against the glass.

“B-because you're like eight foot tall and hundreds of pounds.”

“Ouch… you make me sound like a monster.” He tsks, still with that grin on his lips.

“You are… you're huge.” You say and a second later your words cause you to blush and look away.

“Uh huh.” Zoro hummed, laughing slightly. You swallow, clearing your throat. “Put on some skates, Y/n, if you can’t guard me I’ll need a goalie.”

“We’re closing, in fact we're probably closed already.” You say as he shrugs his shoulders.

“Hmm… didn’t take you for the scared type.” He says, slowly skating towards the puck.

“I…” You stutter, scoffing a laugh. “Am not scared.” You finish as he shoots you a look, a challenging one. It was stupid really. Stupid that you found yourself sliding into skates and sailing right towards him in the rink. “Fuck,” You curse, not able to stop as you practically crash right into him. But it’s more like hitting a damn wall, he barely budges and grabs you before you can go down. “Sorry.” You breathe out, his hands are on your hips, stabilizing you, your hands on his shoulders trying to keep your balance.

“You can’t even skate?”

“I just haven’t done it in a long time.” You say feeling a rush of something entirely out of your control when his hands slowly let you go. “I’m fine,” You say, testing the waters as you skate around a tad bit. He watches you like a hawk and when it looks like you're about to go down he’s there in seconds, those big hands back on your hips.

“I think it’s safe to say I’ve won this game before we even started.” He says with a slight laugh as he slides off his jacket. You shake your head vehemently.

“Nuh uh! I just-- need to warm up, that’s all.” You say, staring at the ground as your hands grip his forearms.

“Here,” He says, placing his jacket on your shoulders, it smells like him, like something warm and woodsy. You slide your arms through the sleeves. “Look up,” He says. A moment later your eyes find his, something sparks between you, your stomach doing a flip. “Don’t stare at your feet as you skate.” He directs as you nod your head, not trusting yourself to speak and not mess up your words. Slowly he starts skating backwards, holding you as you keep up with his pace. Slowly you fall back into your old routine, able to skate on your own.

“See… told ya’.” You say a bit cockily, almost falling again but catching yourself. Zoro smiles softly, shaking his head. You could crash looking at the smile alone. You force yourself to look away. “So… how do we play?” You ask as Zoro grabs and tosses his stick to you, you catch it with ease.

“We’ll play for five minutes, if you can score one goal on me you win.”

“I thought I was gonna play goalie?” You ask.

“I’d rather me get hit with pucks than you.” He says, warmth spreads through you at that, so you don’t answer him. He reaches and zips up your jacket before skating towards the goal. He turns to face you, crouching slightly, nodding his head to you. Game on, you guessed.

You skated a few feet before hitting the puck hard. It sails and misses the goal by at least a couple feet. Zoro laughs.

“You’re trying right? That wasn’t even anywhere close.” He mocks as you skate to grab the puck.

“I don’t even know if I’m holding his damned thing right!” You call out, shaking his stick at him.

“You’re not.” he says and you huff.

You hit the puck again and again and again. A few times you made it close to Zoro but he just batted it away with ease. You weren’t sure how much time passed before you were hitting the puck again, missing, the force of the hit making you lose your balance and slam onto the ice. You lay sprawled out on the ice as Zoro skates over quickly to your side. You took the opportunity to hit the puck where you laid and slowly it glided into the goal.

“She shoots! She scores!” You cheer from the ground as Zoro scoffs a heartily laugh, his cheeks dusted that same pink from earlier.

“That was a dirty play.” He grins, looming above you.

“It was a play all the same right? Is that five points? I don’t know anything about hockey.” You skirk as Zoro lends you a hand, you take it.

“It’s one point.” He laughs, pulling you easily to your feet.

“One point…” You trail off. “I slammed into the ground for one point.” You say and Zoro breathes out a laugh, nodding his head. “What do I win for beating the captain? Bragging rights?”

“You can’t utter a word of this to my team.” He says in a mock serious tone as a smirk grows on your lips.

“You can’t tell me that, Roronoa, I’m the captain now.” You say as Zoro raises a brow, his cheeks going even more pink.

“Is that right?” He asks, his voice a rasp. You notice than how close you two are standing, you're still holding his hands, the warmth of them radiating through you.

“That’s right.” You confirm, keeping a well placed poker face.

“Got another round in you?” He asks as you shake your head.

“Y/N! Is that you?” Your boss called as you heard the door being pushed open. Your heart drops in your chest, the alarm showing on your face. “What’re you doing?” Your boss asks as you stutter out a sorry.

“She was helping me clean up, sir, sorry for keeping her.” Zoro calls out to your boss. Your boss buys Zoro’s words.

“Well hurry up, I need to get home for dinner.” Your boss says, walking back out of the rink. You blow out a breath, skating towards the exit, Zoro just behind you.

“Jesus… thanks.” You blow out, heart still in your throat.

“No worries.” He says just behind you.

You plop down on the bench, leaning to untie your skates. Zoro sits beside you quietly, doing the same. It's a little awkward now, especially after all that oblivious flirting you were doing. This wasn’t something you couldn't see coming.

Just last week you didn’t even like looking at this guy, now you found yourself liking looking at him. A complete turn around. Not entirely unwelcomed though.

When you finally kicked off your skates, you sat up just as Zoro reached over, warm fingers on your chin and turned your face gently towards him and pressed his lips to your own. You gasped, taken off guard, eyes wide. A spark shot through you like nothing you’d ever felt before. His fingers on your chin slid until he was gently cupping your cheek, his other hand coming up and doing the same thing on the other side of your face. He kissed you gently. Slowly your eyes fluttered closed, your hand reaching up and falling short, as you knotted it in the front of his t-shirt, pulling him by it closer to you.

“I really fucking like you.” He mumbles against your lips in between kisses, you kiss him hard at his words. Ghosted over your lips causing a shiver to track down your spine. All the pent up emotions you harbored came spilling out as you somehow ended up in his lap, the moment grew intense, a groan escaping his lips that your lips muffled. His hands found purchase on your ass as he stood, taking you with him, carrying you with one hand to press your back into the acrylic glass around the rink. One of your hands slides around the back of Zoro’s neck, tangling in his hair. Zoro makes a sound you didn’t think was possible for him to make, something that had your stomach bottoming out and your fingers barely tugging at his hair, a soft sort of whimper escaping his lips. His kisses then turn hungry, almost feverish. He’s burying his lips in yours, forgetting to breathe, his hands tightening around you, completely lost in the moment. Someone clears their throat, startling you both as Zoro lets you down. Your boss stands there, hands on his hips, a look of embarrassment on his face.

“Sir, I was helping him.” “She was helping me.” Zoro and you speak at the same time. Your boss raises his head, shaking his head as you nod your head in understanding leaving with your boss.

You were reprimanded but ultimately he let you keep your job. Yay. It was your first infraction and he said to keep it professional which you agreed with and apologized vehemently. You probably apologized hundreds of times in a five minute conversation. Your boss asked not to talk about it again and you were completely fine with that. You gathered up your stuff and pushed out into the cold winter night. The cold hitting your warm cheeks and cooling you off. You didn’t have a moment alone to think about what had just transpired.

“Y/n…” Zoro called out as you crossed the parking lot. He waved as you blushed. “I’m so sorry… you didn’t get fired did you?”

“No... What was that?” You asked as you got closer.

“What?”

“Why’d you kiss me? I-- I sort of thought you hated me.” You confront.

“What? I don’t-- I don’t hate you.” Zoro shakes his head.

“You sure? I mean-- you were an asshole to me that one time… saying I needed to learn to take care of myself and that stupid fucking nickname? Rink girl? All your teammates call me that by the way.” You say, all of it sort of falling out like word vomit. Zoro raises his chin slightly, looking down at you.

“They call you that?” He asks, his voice level as you sigh.

“Yes! They do!”

“I’ll fix that.” He promises as you stare at him. This whole night was just strange.

“Why’d you kiss me?” You ask again. Zoro’s eyes soften.

“I told you already.” He says as you shake your head.

“You didn’t tell me anything? We barely talked before today.”

“I said I like you. I said I really fucking like you.” He reiterated. You remember him saying that. The heat and warmth spread like a wildfire after hearing it again.

“Why?” You ask as Zoro sort of cocks his head.

“Why?” He echoes as you raise your brows, nodding your head imploring for an answer. “Because you're pretty. You’re funny and I like the way you ignored me all the time.” He admits as you laugh despite yourself.

“What? Y-you like that I ignore you?”

“I did. I like this way better.” He motions to you and him talking. You raise your head.

“Okay…” You say skeptically, you find your mind trailing back to the kiss and it brings a blush to your cheek. You clear your throat. “How long?”

“Hmm?”

“How long have you liked me?” Zoro looks like he’s thinking about it for a moment.

“The first day I met you probably.” He says nonchalantly. You laugh.

“Yeah… sure.” You roll your eyes. He steps closer to you.

“I mean it. You introduced yourself and said I had green hair, not that you liked it, you just said I had it.” You remembered that, your lips part in surprise because he remembered it too.

“It’s uncommon.” You say and Zoro smiles warmly down at you.

“Still don’t know if you like it or not.” He grins as your eyes bounce to it.

“I like it.” You say and see a soft blush form on Zoro’s cheeks. “Why were you such an asshole to me that day?”

“I-- am sorry about that. I was more angry with my teammates for annoying you. I wanted you to know that you could speak up for yourself, that you could just tell them to shut up but-- I’m sorry.”

“And Rink girl?”

“Poor attempt at flirting…” He says. You start laughing, shaking your head.

“The poorest attempt. But… your words did make me speak up for myself more, so…” You relent. Zoro smiles softly. You can’t help it, you pull him against your lips. That smile was too much. You needed it pressed against your lips. His hands slid around your hips.

“Christ, Y/n… go home!” Your boss grumbles as you startle, Zoro’s hands stay planted on you as you shoot an apologetic look at you boss.

“Sorry, sir.” You say as he waves you off, slipping into his car and driving away. You start laughing, your hand coming up to cover your mouth.

“You are going to get me fired.” You grumble as Zoro presses his mouth to yours again as though he couldn’t wait another damn second, walking you back until your back is pressed against his car. He lifts you with ease, setting you on the hood as the car’s alarm sets off.

“Fucking hell!” Zoro hissed, fumbling for his keys. You dissolved into laughter.

#one peice x reader #one piece zoro #zoro roronoa #zoro roronoa x you #zoro roronoa x reader #roronoa zoro #zoro x reader #zoro #zoro x you #zoro roronoa x y/n

242 notes · View notes

bamsara · 22 days

Text

A03 Questions Tag Game

I got tagged by: @kagedbird I tag: @onethirdofimpossible, @coffincrows, (first two that come to mind) and anyone else who wants to do the game

1 – How many works do you have on AO3?

At the time of writing this post, currently 30 fics. (Not including any fics or written works that are not posted to AO3)

2 – What's your total AO3 word count?

1,066,633

3 – What fandoms do you write for?

Formerly: Don't Starve, FNAF, Dragons Dogma, Invader Zim

Currently: Cult of the Lamb

4 – What are your top five fics by kudos?

Solar Lunacy, Celestial Omens, Bytes of Lunacy, The Rehabilitation of Death, Saturday Insomnia

5 – Do you respond to comments?

I try to but I also get very nervous responding because I often don't know what to say back and I feel like it's almost rude or disrespectful to respond to a comment, esp the very nice ones that are long and in-deph with just a keysmash or a bunch of emojis, but I do read every single one since I have email notifications on for them

I'd like to sit down and respond to many but I really don't want to make it awkward so pls dear god readers forgive me

6 – What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don't like unhappy endings. I enjoy angsty stories but I like when it's at least ending happy to me

7 – What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Not posted? Solar Lunacy

Ongoing? TROD

8 – Do you get hate on fics?

Not really? Most adults (in my experience) know the 'don't like don't read' rule and know basic online etiquette. I've gotten some for discontinuing a fic or switching fandoms though

9 – Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I don't write or draw NSFW! I like to make some suggestive themes sometimes, but I'm a very ace person, it's not something I do often. (I do have a current running goal that if my friend reaches their donation goal for their medical bills that I would give NSFW a shot, but again its not really my cup of tea)

10 – Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Nah I haven't written any cross overs, but I do draw them sometimes. Recently I've been spinning a Alice in Wonderland x COTL crossover in my head.

11 – Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yep. I've had people copy and paste my work, go in with a thesaurus to change a few words (like changing 'angry' to mad, 'upset' to 'sad', and so forth) to try and avoid detection and re-posted my written work under a different title name. AO3 staff took them down for violating their policy against plagiarism though

12 – Have you ever had a fic translated?

No. I wouldn't mind it so as long as I'm asked before hand, though not on anon so I can actually work with the person to prevent any mistranslations or mishandling, and that I don't want my work posted to other websites

13 – Have you ever co-written a fic?

I think I did when I was a teen but I cannot remember now

14 – What's your all-time favorite ship?

Eh I don't have any favorites, just ones I really focus on for a long while

15 – What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Pass.

16 – What are your writing strengths?

I can sit down for hours or several days and work on a writing wip completely in the zone. I cant do it on command but its at least something I can do

17 – What are your writing weaknesses?

Spelling and grammar, and sometimes long running sentences. I just kinda write, theres not really a goal for it to be perfect though so as long as the story gist and vibe is right, im fine with it

18 – Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I've done it before but only minor, had a friend help me with it (one or two lines of dialogue) Aside from that, I'm not comfortably fluent enough in anything to do it again without assistance

19 – First fandom you wrote for?

Soul Eater, when I was wayyy too young to be posting anything on the internet. My fanfics I wrote are still on fanfic.net to this day

20 – Favorite fic you've written?

It's inbetween TROD and EE&E right now

#sara shush

174 notes · View notes

amhrosina · 1 year

Note

frank with reader who’s really touchy and loves to touch frank and after a bad mission he snaps at her and she knows it’s because of what happened that night not her but she still feels really bad and distances herself

A/N: hey bestie i got this ask and felt so inspired that i wrote 90% of it in my free time at work today. fastest turn around time ever??? don't get used to it lol i hope you enjoy!!

MASTERLIST // JOIN MY TAG LIST

Frank knew he had fucked up the second the words left his mouth. He watched the words hit you, watched you process the rage induced slip-up that had forced its way out of his mouth – the way you recoiled your hand from his skin and stumbled over yourself to move away from him. It made him sick. Guilt coiled in his stomach, and before he could apologize, or say anything at all, you turned and left the room, mumbling an apology under your breath.

Frank couldn’t figure out where it had gone wrong. He’d never snapped at you before tonight and was almost as shocked as you were when the words tumbled out of his mouth.

“Stop fucking touching me. I said I’m fucking fine.”

Regret gnawed at his stomach, and if he wasn’t bleeding so hard out of the wound on his arm, he would’ve followed you out of the bathroom, dropped to his knees, and begged your forgiveness. But blood was hard to get out of carpet, and he didn’t want you upset about two things tonight.

So he stitched himself up, and wondered where you were in the apartment, and hoped to God you weren’t somewhere crying. The tears, your tears, he realized, were his least favorite thing in the world, especially if he was the cause of them. He’d rip any fucker who made you cry in half, a promise he’d made good on multiple times, but he hadn’t accounted for the tears he, himself would cause. The guilt overwhelming his senses were doing the job for him anyways – the longer he waited to confront you, the more he felt like an absolute asshole.

He tested the durability of the dressing on the wound, winding his arm around until he winced. A sharp pain clanged through the left side of his body, and though it made him grimace, he sat with the pain for a moment – let it ground him so that the stress of the evening could leave him. Pain usually sharpened his senses and made him feel more at home in his body. Tonight, it only unsettled him more.

He wondered if he screwed it up with you for good. You’d worked through a lot of things with Frank, but never this, and the idea of you leaving before he could even try to make things right targeted the urgency in him. He stalked to the door and began his search.

The hard brick dug into your back as you sat down, and for the third time in half a minute, you questioned your decision to clamber out the window and climb to the roof. You didn’t mean to leave so quickly, but the idea of pacing around the apartment listening to Frank grunt his way through stitches made it hard to breathe, so you did the next best thing – aka the roof.

You didn’t even need time to think the encounter with Frank over. You knew why he’d said it and what he’d been through tonight, but that didn’t stop the ache in your chest from blooming. It also didn’t stop the tears from welling up in your eyes. You had tried to blink them away, but the more you tried to ignore them, the more your vision blurred.

You’d always been a touchy person, though it had never been quite as present as it was when you were near Frank. When you first met him, you’d been so drawn to his charming aura that you hadn’t realized you’d been shaking his hand for at least 45 seconds. He hadn’t said anything – just kept watching you watch him with a soft smile on his face.

And the rest was history. You spent the entire first weekend after you met wrapped in each other’s arms, fucking on every available surface in your apartment. You didn’t quite understand why you felt the desire to be constantly touching him, but he didn’t complain and allowed you to give in to your desires as often as you wanted to. You had mentioned to him early on in your relationship that he could tell you to stop if he needed his space, but he’d never asked you to stop.

Until tonight.

And you respected it. You did what he asked. You “stopped fucking touching” him as soon as the words had left his mouth, and maybe it hurt your feelings, but you weren’t going to push that on him. If he wanted you to stop touching him, you would, even if it carved a deep, cavernous hole in your heart.

“Sweetheart?”

Your heart seized, and you jumped at Frank’s sudden appearance.

“Hey.” You mumbled, refusing to meet his gaze. “How’d you find me?”

“I worry about you too much not to be able to find you.” You quirked an eyebrow at him, unable to resist looking at him any longer, and he shrugged. “You left the window to the fire escape open. Can I sit?”

You shuffled to the side, allowing him the space to sit down, though you were careful not to let your skin brush against his. Frank let out a choked scoff and pressed his leg against yours. You turned to him, brows furrowed.

“I thought you didn’t want me touching you.”

And yeah, maybe you threw the words in his face to make him feel a little worse, but he was cracking jokes after snapping at you, and you couldn’t help the bite in your tone - didn’t want to help the bite in your tone.

He shook his head, expression turning grave.

“Baby, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean what I said.”

“You said it, though.”

“I know.” He nodded. “I know.”

You watched him take in your features – the swollen cheeks from the few tears that slipped earlier, the wildness of your hair after one too many run-throughs with your fingers, the way you could barely look at him before turning away again.

“I was just trying to help you.” Your eyes crinkled at the thought of him snapping at you again.

He nodded, cradling your face in his palms.

“I’m an asshole, baby.” His voice cracked, “I never want you to stop touching me. I love it – I love you – and I’m sorry.”

You gaped up at him, at the desperate expression on his face. A fresh wave of tears pricked at the back of your eyes. You gnawed at your bottom lip, unsure what to say.

“Don’t cry, baby.” He shook his head, wiping your tears away with the soft pads of his thumbs, “Please don’t cry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. You don’t understand how sorry I am.”

You sniffled, nodding. He’d groveled enough, and you weren’t entirely sure you knew how to stay upset with him for longer than 10 minutes.

“Did you tie the stitch off correctly?” you asked, nodding to the injury that was now covered with gauze.

“Of course.” Frank nodded. You narrowed your eyes at his nonchalant tone.

“Are you sure?”

“No.” He huffed a laugh and pressed a sloppy kiss to your cheek.

“Why not?” You giggled, swatting him away.

“Because if this didn’t work, I was going to complain about my awful stitches later and hope my muscles would entice you to forgive me.”

He smirked, and laughter bubbled out of you from deep in your chest. You climbed to your feet, holding your hands out toward him.

“Okay, Mr. Muscles, let me fix it before it really does get uncomfortable.”

He rose to his feet, using the leverage from your hold on his hands to pull you against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he paused, “again.”

“I know, Frankie.” You murmured, pressing a kiss to his nose.

“I love you.” he added, smiling.

“Shut up and kiss me, muscles.”

Tag List:

@xleiaorgana @mukbee @dilfs5678 @kokoterainonago666 @blackwidownat2814 @mymamalife @minervadashwood @emiemiemiii @h4rrys @messymissy @mylifeispainandiloveit @mossexe @fightmilk @spikedhe4rt @fictional-hooman @merleisapartygod @babyslyth @legocity2 @quackson03 @certifiedhunter @deliciousfestsalad @dumb-fawkin-bitch @americaarse @thatgirljayy @hiyabyeyababy @theesexystallion @scoliobean @myguiltypleasures21 @dnxgma @evyiione @gpenguin666 @desert-fern @alexxavicry @hallecarey1 @km-ffluv @chiaraxtargaryen @trulylavandedarling @D0wnbad @lilyevans1 @imagineadream @22carolina08 @definitelynotsugar @casualchaoticdevil @peachy-flxwr @nashja @xshewayout @blep--bloop @kpopgirlbtssvt

2K notes · View notes

yeyinde · 9 months

Text

lavender skies | Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x GN!Reader

Then suddenly, and all at once, there's a loudness in your head: a hundred whispers echoing in time to the same off-beat rhythm, full of memories and moments shared between you, threads woven throughout the years all buoying to the surface as you realise you're a little bit in love with him. (And that, maybe, you've been a little bit in love with him the whole time.)

tags: friends to lovers (but the type of friends who are basically already dating and everyone knows except them - until suddenly they do), mutual pining. Slight Kent bashing, oops. Golden Girls as a coping mechanism. warnings: none. very tame, considering who I am as a person. Heavy make-out sess, though. word count: 6,6k notes: This has been sitting in my requests forever (I lost the original, but the gist was: Gaz + pining + idiots in love). You can blame a lot of this on summer rain and 80s city pop. Been going to the pier and listening to it while I wrote this. Not my best, sure, but it was fun.

The Tinder date he warned you not to go on (and seriously, mate, who uses Tinder anymore?) ends like this:

Your date, the biggest gentleman in Kent, as proclaimed in his bio (a red flag in hindsight—there's no such thing as a gentleman from Kent), sneaks his number to the waitress, and then leaves you behind in downtown Manchester to go bar hopping with a group he just met.

It's not a great loss. All things considered, it's not even the worst date you've ever been on. It was just a spur-of-the-moment whim—equal parts anxiety and megrim: the sudden fear of being single forever (and no, despite what Kyle might say, it has nothing to do with the wedding invitation you'd gotten on Facebook, or the three others that came before it)—and therefore, there isn't much to be upset about. Not really.

But the world doesn't work on half-hearted lies and shaky truths, and on a dank little corner in Manchester, abandoned by your ride home, your abysmal date who barely looked at you, you can't deny that it hurts. That it's a little bit of a hit to your self-esteem in a way that makes you angrier than you were before, because, honestly—he wasn't even a catch to begin with.

Stupid.

You should have listened to Kyle, to his immaculate wisdom and emotional maturity far beyond his years, but you hadn't because—

Well. Sometimes the world should work on little lies. If only to the ones you tell yourself. Ones like:

It's completely fine—really it is—if your friend of nearly eight years is moving on with his life. And it's totally, absolutely okay if your best friend meets some flighty barista in Amsterdam and won't stop talking about her for the meagre three weeks he's been back from his impromptu trip to the Netherlands, then to Mexico. It's fine. It's all fine.

Because maybe you are, too.

And maybe that's the reason you went out with David from Kent.

From Kent? He texted, only hours before your date. (Hours because he'd been busy with this thing for his job—his boss is corrupt and the world is, too, but at least Amsterdam Barista is doing fine). You can do so much better than that, birdy.

You wanted to say, what? Like someone from Amsterdam instead? but you're doing this new thing where you try not to sound as mad as you think you are. Zen, maybe. Internal peace and happiness. So, instead, you say:

He's nice. I like him.

Words that, of course, have come back to bite you.

He isn't nice. He wouldn't stop staring at the waitress, and talking over you, or just generally ignoring your existence. He left you downtown, stranded without a way home. You don't like him. You really don't even think you were that interested in him.

But it makes sense.

Kyle is moving on. Your friends are getting married.

And where does that leave you?

Well—

It leaves you stuck downtown with shoes that were intended to be used for aesthetics, the kind that means standing entirely still and immobile, and not walking the fifteen kilometres to your flat because you'd spent all your money on this super flattering outfit and these unfunctional shoes, and can't afford a cab or an Uber.

Sometimes, you pretend you're a functional adult—one who knows how to navigate everything with ease, and you live in the present, the real world, where time is fluid and unchangeable, and things make sense (maths and geometry and physics) unless they don't (black holes and the vastitude of space and fate)—but moments like these remind you that you don't. That you live, instead, somewhere in the parentheses of both.

The indigo sky, murky black and void of any stars, seems to grumble along with you as you turn toward the street, readying yourself for the long walk home. Except the groan sounds less commiserating and more ominous. A noise that seems to reverberate through the crowded street, and right into your bones.

Some have the wherewithal to find shelter. A smart move because almost a moment later, the heavens split, and a summer deluge drenches the street. It's unrelenting in its downpour, soaking everything in its path in a shrill roar.

Caught in the middle of St Peter's Square, there are not many places to duck under for sanctuary, but you find an alcove beside a store, and dart toward it. The non-functional boots are pretty to look at, but with each step, you feel the hard synthetic rubber grind against your heel. Blisters form, break. The burn makes you inhale sharply against the pain, hobbling now on tender feet.

The wall is slick with condensation, but you lean against it to keep your feet from taking the brunt of your weight.

It reminds you, quite suddenly, of that night in Cardiff with Kyle. When you'd drank three-dollar margaritas at some downtrodden bar with your friends and ate rather limp-looking fish tacos (a mistake, of course, and Kyle still can't look at corn tortillas the same way), and laughed until your belly hurt at something he'd said—the words lost to alcohol and faded with time—and then leaned over, promptly throwing up in a bush.

You still can't drink tequila without giggling (and gagging) at nothing, a phantom memory, and the thought presses against a tender spot in your chest in all the wrong ways.

Time is fluid. An unavoidable truism that you can't escape.

There are people you've known since you were a child whose faces you can barely remember. Ones you promised the world to, to always be together, who you hardly think of anymore.

Moving on. Moving forward.

You think, then, of Kyle. Of the distance that lingers between you both, widening each day. It's nothing you've done, nor he; it's just—

Life. Concurrent. Everpresent.

It hurts to lose a friend, you'd always think. A small moment of grief, of loss. But not like this. Never like this.

Stuck in a downpour in the middle of Manchester, you realise you miss him. Have been missing him.

Huddling under an awning, you fish your phone from your soaked pocket, and pull up the only person you want to be around right now, in this moment of vulnerability. Loneliness.

You send him a quick text, date was a bust. Stuck downtown. Are you busy?

Kyle's reply comes three breaths later. For you? Never. Send me your location.

You send him your pin.

Another message pops up: stay put. I'm on my way.

You met Kyle Garrick at university.

It's one of those things in life that just sometimes happens. A happy accident. An eventuality that makes the world feel a little less daunting. A lock and key sliding into place. Sunsets in pretty ochre.

Someone you knew and someone he knew (two people who are now best man and groom in the upcoming wedding) decided to invite all of their friends out for a night, and it was then, slightly tipsy on cheap ale when you realised the boy in the back—a head taller than everyone else and more befitting inside the glossy pages of a magazine—was different, somehow, from anyone else you'd ever met.

It started when some stupid kids decided to pick on another. A smaller boy with a blue cap.

Kyle was the only one who noticed. The only one who seemed to care.

It was his anger that drew you to him in the first place. Moth to a flame. It's quick—the sizzling flame of a lit match: suddenly burning the wick and nearly uncontrollable. But it's short. A flickering star, burning bright, burning hot, and then being tempered and swallowed down until it's smouldering. Still hot, still dangerous, but—

Managed.

It was a snap. He was laughing, jovial. Telling jokes, and having fun, but still maintaining that enviable enigmatic persona: reserved but kind. Funny, but mature. And then it crumpled in an instant, folded away into anger. Bright and blistering. He walked to them, eyes blazing, and didn't wait for any excuses when the kids noticed him, just quickly decimated their foundations, and crushed their feeble lies between his teeth.

"Bullyin'? That's a pretty foul thing to do, innit, mate?"

And that was that.

He handed the kid back his hat—the one the others knocked off into the gutter—and told him, clipped, that he was better than them.

Just keep your chin up, yeah? Fuckin' losers, that lot. Don't go messing about with them anymore. Fucking pricks. That's a nice hat, too. Where'd you get it? Really? Oh, that's mint—

It was that moment when, unprompted and unnoticed, he easily slipped away from the group to help some kid he didn't even know that you realised you were very keen to get to know him.

"Fancy a kebab, hero?" You asked, smirking up at him.

A grin broke across his face. Sharp, feral. "I could always go to a lamb kebab."

The rest, really, just came quite naturally. Your best friend. The person you go to for anything—even terrible dates that leave you stranded in the rain.

You just wish you knew when it all began to change, to fall apart.

Kyle meets you near St Peter's Square.

You spot him first from your hiding spot beneath the awning, catching sight of his form moving through the (now) empty streets, hands shoved in the pockets of his denim trousers, the bottoms tucked, sensibly, into his fawn-coloured boots.

Even with the hood of his windbreaker pulled low over his brow, you can pick him out of a crowd with an ease that is as warming as it is jarring.

You wave him over when he stops on the mouth of Mount Street, looking in toward the Starbucks on the corner.

He finds you just as easily. And oh, his expression makes your toes curl in your misshapen boots.

Anger pinches the corner of his mouth, and hangs off the furrow of his brow, the divot between his eyes.

"Unbelievable," he huffs when he reaches you in the middle of the street, and sucks his teeth when you open your mouth to protest.

"It is what it is," you offer, playing the peacekeeper. You fall into step with him, trying not to wince. "I'm over it."

"Yeah?" The shadows across his brow deepen. "Are you sure? 'Cause… I'll fuck him up for you."

Setting your friend on a man from Kent feels entirely too vindictive, despite how much of a rush you get at the thought of seeing the man cowed a little bit. You shake your head, playing the part of a reasonable adult.

"It's okay. I'm just—I'm just, over this, yeah? Can we—"

Kyle stops you with his hand against your shoulder. "You alright?"

"My feet hurt," your smile is strained. "Terrible shoes."

"Take 'em off."

"Are you crazy—?"

"I brought slides for you. Figured you'd wear something stupid."

"Okay, fair. But—ouch? We can't all be crazy good-looking Armani models. Some of us have to work for it."

Kyle snorts. "Just take your shoes off, yeah? Throw 'em in my bag."

You can't deny it feels blissful when you lean against the slick wall outside of a shop, toeing off your tight boots. Aching feet freed from their prison. The sigh you let out makes him glance up at you from the pavement, bent over the rucksack he brought.

There's disapproval in his gaze—maybe at your choice. Choices. The date he warned you about. The boots. The socks he spots are stained with blood on the knob of your foot.

He tuts. A soft admonishment that cuts through the silence of the empty square. But it's all he says. He swallows the rest and drops the shoes he grabbed on the pavement in front of you, slowly pushing them forward with the tip of his toe.

You try not to grin when you see them.

Crocs. The ugliest ones you could find in Schuh. You'd bullied him into getting a matching pair with you. Neon yellow adorned with little clips.

You slip them on as Kyle reaches down to grab your boots. He pauses with them in his hand, eying them with something that taints the air with his disdain.

"When did you buy these?"

"On Friday." When he was sleeping off his impromptu trip to Chicago. He brought you home deep-dish pizza, frozen, and promised that it tasted much better fresh. "For the date."

"Why?" Is all he asks.

You shrug. "They're cute…?"

His eyes stray to your shoulders. The wet fabric of your shirt. His chin lowers slightly, but his eyes stay fixed on your flesh, on the goosebumps that bubble to the surface, spreading over your exposed skin. Eyes flicker, catching a droplet of water you can feel running down from behind your ear, falling over the slope of your neck. It breaks against your collarbone. He watches it all.

There's tension in the air. Static. The pressure builds and reeks of ozone when it presses into you, knuckles digging into the hollow of your throat. It renders you unable to speak—locked in a paradigm where the world beyond the honeycomb of his eyes ceases to matter, to exist almost. Thick honey ensnares you. Molasses. It clots against reason, logic, and makes you feel weightless. Floating, unmoored, in this unfamiliar abyss that closes in around you.

Except—

It isn’t.

There’s something aberrant about it, anomalous, that you can’t ignore; but beneath it sits a preternatural sense of familiarity that bends the paradox into knowns. Into tangibles. Concretes.

This is the same tension that has been simmering—festering, almost—since before he joined the miliary. In Cardiff when he leaned against you in the taxi, boney shoulder digging into your arm, and said, ‘dunno what I'd do without you, y’know?

It was the hazy smear of neon from the shops perched on the street. An ethereal gold hue streamed in from the window, cutting across the tenebrous in an asymmetrical chiaroscuro. The light was soaked up by him. Warm honey, the perfect compliment to his eyes, to the soft pink of his lips.

How could you possibly describe the feeling that spumes in the pit of your stomach outside of undiluted comfort?

Home.

It feels like like in shades; muted. A soft undercurrent that lingers inside something else, something deeper—

Moments in the foyer when he was heading back home for the evening. When he’d linger in the doorway, shoulder balanced against the frame, arms folded over his chest, and warned you not to watch Taskmaster without him.

He’d know, he said.

When you asked how, he just said:

“Because I know you.”

It feels like that. Like that and something more. Everything, all of it, coalesces into this. Into this moment where you can’t stop staring into the flecks of mahogany and charred birchwood in his eyes, and he can’t seem to decide where to keep his, vacillating between the slope of your neck and matching your stare. A lurch, a flash of something in your chest when your gazes meet. The deep sfumato of a bare forest in the middle of winter—rich browns, raw topaz, honey and amber in a sea of white. A sleepy hinterland. Solemnent and peaceful. Dreamy. Hypnogogic.

The world always seems to shudder into a deep slumber whenever he’s around.

He dips closer, swaying into you. Gravity, maybe. Tidally locked satellites on the same rung. Something bubbles in your chest. Unwinds from its dormant perch between the gaps in your ribs, and climbs up your esophagus. Ready, you think, to be free—

In the distance, tyres squeal against the pavement.

—and all at once, the moment burst, breaks. Shatters into a million pieces, cosmic dust, and you watch them fall around you, blinking rapidly, as though you’ve just woken.

It feels like slowly coming down to earth when you quietly gather your things, words now stuck in your throat. In their prison.

Kyle tears his gaze away from your bare skin, clearing his throat.

"Hardly." He murmurs after a moment and slips his jacket off his shoulders before wrapping it around yours. It smells of rainwater, wet rubber. Beneath the polymer, you can smell Kyle—vetiver, cypress, jasmine; sweet and heady—and you bury your nose in the hood when he turns back to the empty street. “Well, uh—”

You can’t speak. Not yet.

He seems to understand.

"Yeah," he nods, and reaches out, tugging on the end of the drawstring. "Let's get out of here."

The rain lightens into a muted drizzle, soft droplets that fall, almost rhythmless, on the wet pavement. The town sleeps, the streets bare. Empty. The only sounds come from your slick footfalls, a horn in the distance.

It’s an easy silence that lapses between you—not at all unlike the lulls before, when things were easy and featherlight and endless; when you could talk to him about everything, anything, and all of the worries in your life were saved for something else. Never him. Never, ever him.

But it tugs at something in your chest. The same pressure blooms at the edges, lingering in the periphery. You think of the spell you fell under—quiet yearning—and shake your head, desperate now to break it.

It’s just as easy to slip into familiarity. To tease, and taunt. And so, you do.

"I'm surprised you haven't said I told you so by now. That's so impressive self-restraint."

His gaze slides over to you. "Well, you know, it's implied."

"Oh, is it, now?"

"Yeah, like when you messaged me and told me about it and I said—"

"Who even uses Tinder?"

"—that he's knobhead, and you're gonna get hurt."

You scoff. "He's from Kent, so."

"Even worse," he makes a face, derision contrasted by the jaundiced lamp spilling over the pavement. "A Tinder date with a guy from Kent? What's next? Moving to Bristol?"

"It's a nice area."

He rolls his eyes. "Sure. As nice as Essex, maybe."

"The two are not even comparable—"

"'Dunno why you're rushing into anything, anyway,” he angles his chin toward you. “If this is about Carver's wedding, I said I'd go with you, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but…"

"But what?"

"That's sort of—like, you just have your own thing going on. I don't want to get in the way."

"I've always had my own thing going on. So have you. But that's never stopped us before, has it? What's changed."

"What about—" you swallow down something thick, bitter that wells in the back of your throat. "You know. Amsterdam. The Barista, or whatever."

His brow knots together. "And what about David from Kent?"

You sweep your hands out, motioning morosely toward your Crocs, your damp outfit. "This is what happened with David from Kent. Not exactly the fairytale meet cute you have with Amsterdam—" he makes a noise, like he means to interrupt. You cut him off. Bury it. "And besides, you should take her. I'll just—"

"I want to go with you."

"Why?"

Kyle falls to a stop near the Kebab shop you usually go to whenever he comes back from his missions, when he's craving good, hearty food that will rot his insides and clog his arteries. A small comfort from before, when everything he has now was just a dream, and you were struggling students in university who could barely afford a meal each and would split a lamb dinner over ale and terrible movies from the noughties back at your flat.

The suddenness of it all makes you blink beside him, slowly angling your chin up at him. A questioning noise wells in the back of your throat, but when you finally turn your gaze to him, it does out. A snuffed flame.

He brings his hand up, finger scratching at the soft patch of skin on the bridge of his nose where it starts to arch up. The look on his face, hidden, slightly, by the night blanketing overhead, but just illuminated enough by smears of neon and flushed street lamps for you to see it clove into something slightly flustered, hesitant. Sheepish, almost, like he hadn't meant to say what he did, and now doesn't know how to proceed forward. Cards tucked tight to his chest. Does he play his hand or fold?

You blink. Then blink again. Struggling, almost, to take in the suddenness of his flustered state.

Because the thing is:

Kyle doesn't get embarrassed or sheepish.

A running gag in your mutual friend group is that Kyle is twenty-eight going on sixty-five. An old man crammed inside the body of a young adult. He runs hot—passionate about his beliefs, quick to temper when he thinks an injustice is being doled out; a disciple of loose stoicism, but of a new age variety that is half parts stereotypical stoner chillness and ripe maturity—but he rarely is ever caught unawares enough to become embarrassed by something. He just has a perfect gauge of himself and those around him, able to quickly make friends with anybody he meets, and self-aware enough to know when he's in the wrong, when he needs to dial it back.

Being his friend for so long, you know the nuance of these expressions. His mien is ingrained in your head: known and catalogued. Nothing about Kyle is a mystery to you except the things you're barred from knowing (his second life away from home, you often joke: wholly confidential, entirety draped in secrecy).

But the look on his face is entirely alien to you. An expression you hadn't thought him capable of making.

It's jarring. It bludgeons into you with a ferocity that takes your breath away.

You know the man standing beside you, but this, everything else, is so unearthly. So foreign.

"Kyle," you hedge, taking a small step closer to him. You're not sure why. Maybe to reacquaint yourself with the man standing before you. Maybe to find something of familiarity within him to comfort the sudden crescendo of your pounding heart because even just the heady scent of his cologne—vetiver, amber—quells the sudden bloom of anxiety in the pit of your stomach. "Are you—?"

"No," he mumbles, then huffs out a soft laugh. It sounds mean, in a self-deprecating way, and your heart lurches for him. "Yeah, no. I'm alright. I just—shit, you know? 'Course I'd wanna go with you. Should be kinda obvious, no?"

Sure, you want to say. Sure, no, totally. Very obvious. And maybe had he not stopped, not made this peculiar expression on his face—like he isn't sure what to do when he always knows what he wants, what he's meant to do—you might have said them. Might let them tumble from your lips, equally self-deprecating and a touch forlorn despite never really knowing why, but that would be a lie, now.

Because you do.

The look on his face is upsetting—not because Kyle never makes that expression, or because he's never uncertain about anything, ever, but because you don't know it. It's not something you've ever seen before. And it hurts.

It's stupid. This whole thing. It shouldn't make you feel some sense of loss when he does something you don't expect. He always does. It's his brand, now—jettisoning across the world to catch bad guys and slap the trite American sense of justice and liberty for all across the faces of anyone who tries to oppose it—and you're very much acclimated to this side of him, the one he hides away from you, giving nothing at all about where he's going, what he's doing, what he's done, until he's back in England, safe and sound, and texting you at six in the morning for an English spread because he missed home. And maybe, maybe he missed you, too.

Those quiet moments are tucked into a cosm where it's only you and him, and greasy food, and reruns of Golden Girls together with your feet in his lap as you sit on the chaise and pick favourites (his is, of course, Rose) until the sun goes down, and he heads home because he has a debriefing in the morning in Hereford, and you have work. It's bereft of unease, of tension. Time slips through your fingers fluidly, and you hardly notice it's been hours since he first arrived. Comfortable, wholly, in his presence and in your skin.

Soulmates, everyone used to joke. You just get each other. Near finish each other's sentences.

Except for lately, where there has been this undeniable tension simmering between the two of you—a sense of fragility that you can't comprehend.

Growing apart, you thought. And then: guess it's time to do the same.

It made sense to make the first move. To download Tinder—much to his chagrin—and start looking for your—

Your Barista from Amsterdam.

And oh.

Oh.

Maybe it's the way the street light frames the angles and plains of his face, or the shadows that run deep lines of tenebrous across the valleys in his eyes, the sharp slope of his lips, the soft pout. The inscrutable expression that rents a jagged divot between his brow, and an unsure twist of his mouth. Maybe it's everything. Nothing.

But the only thing you know right now is that you know him. Have known him. Deeply. Intimately. In a way that goes beyond the boundaries of bodies, of flesh and blood. Bones and marrow. You know his soul. His essence. The foundations of who he is cobbled together in a lonely kebab shop over cheap ale, commiserating on an endless stream of papers and assignments; the eventuality of ever after when you hand in the final one. Over beans and toast in the afternoon, a whole day spent lounging in your flat watching reruns of Golden Girls, and petty arguments over Taskmaster that always seem to go a little bit too far, and never far enough. Fights that end two days later when he shows up with Greggs and a complete box set of that show you said you wanted to watch but never had the time for. Bargain shopping in Tottenham on an early Saturday morning because there's this chair, you see, one that you saw on their Instagram page and you simply must have it.

Soft moments in between, brackets where life doesn't seem to wrap its cold hands around your throat. Time spent in each other's company just for the sake of it.

Climbing onto your roof—a thatched mess of moss and straw and broken asphalt shingles that will one day give under your weight—and watching the stars, always searching for one that rockets across the sky while he murmurs beside you, quiet in this stillness that falls like snow in the dead of night around you. A hushed whisper as he relays the places he's been—all stars, he rasps, hand brushing wide strokes across the raspberry sky, dusted with light pollution: I'll take you there one day to see. Best fucking beer I'd ever had, too, just don't tell my cousin because he thinks the shitty lager he makes for his bar is good—and you try to picture it amongst the grey clouds. A life on the opposite side of the world. Just the two of you. Always.

And that's what it's always been, hasn't it? Just you. Just him.

It's sometime past midnight on a street corner in Manchester. Your feet hurt from walking all night, and your clothes are damp from the rain that caught you off-guard. A summer downpour. It clings to your skin in a way that's both freeing and wholly uncomfortable, but you're not thinking about that. You're not thinking about anything at all, not now. Not really. There's a silence in your head as the world falls into pieces, breaking like the jaundiced light that cuts crevasses and canyons in the tenebrous that colours sharp valleys of his face. He turns, then, a gentle list of his head as he takes you in, breathes your silence and questions the wideness of your eyes, the soft parting of your lips. The movement makes the light spill over the arch of his nose, the slope of his brow. The dawning of a new day. A new world. The untouchable of the moon where no light shines now burning hot under the sun.

(And maybe you've been a little bit in love with him the whole time.)

So, you say it. You whisper all the words that bubble up, impatiently waiting between your teeth, effervescent and burning white-hot as they throw themselves over bone and flesh to be free.

Confessing goes like this:

Molten agony in your guts as the secrets you barely understand yourself dissolve into the atmosphere, spoken aloud and born on cobblestone and petrichor. Wide-eyed shock, uncertainty, as a new quiet falls over your shoulders, louder than anything you'd ever heard. Guncotton in your nose. A million detonations in your ears.

You've never much liked the silence. You break it, then, with your bare hands.

"...and that's basically it."

It isn't much. It isn't poetry. You're not even sure the words were real. A figment of your imagination, broken free because of baristas in Amsterdam and losers from Kent, abysmal dates and the unending fear of being wholly alone in a world you're not prepared for, all without the person who makes you feel a little bit better about the nothingness that permeates around you.

And sure. Sure. You don't need him. If Kyle decided never to speak to you again, you'd cry and you'd hurt, but you wouldn't be less of a person because of his absence. He doesn't complete you in the same way you've read about in thick books with strong-willed protagonists and an abundance of petty misunderstandings, but he compliments you. Elevates the good and stifles the bad. You want to experience things with him—not because there's some grand force at play, red strings knotted around your fingers that lead you back to him—but because you like his company. His thoughts. His mind. His presence. His essence fills you with joy in the same strokes it makes you want to pull your hair out sometimes. Good and bad. You want it all.

You want it. Want him.

And he—

He's taking you home a little past midnight where you'll make yourself beans and toast and maybe try and sleep, or turn on the television to watch four women you're intricately connected to eat cheesecake and solve each other's problems. He could be at his own flat right now, playing that video game he said he wanted to try when he got back, or watching that movie he was supposed to with his flatmates, his friends. He could be talking to some barista in Amsterdam.

But he isn't.

He's here with you. Still. Still.

"I just—," you say, or try to.

But the rest is a muffled gasp against soft lips when he presses his against yours, stealing the words out of your mouth.

You can feel your heart beating through your lips. Taste him on your tongue when he draws you closer, hands reaching, grasping. Pulling you into him, into his body. You fit against him, tucked safe between the parentheses of his arms. He tastes of cardamom and cornflower. Lavender notes between his molars. Hints of milk on his tongue. You drink him down and know, then, that this is what they mean they talk about love being a feast because you chase this taste for the rest of your life and never be satiated.

He loops his arm around the small of your back, dragging you closer still. As if any atom between your bodies is an affront. There’s no hesitation in the action, in the way he burrows into your skin. No trepidation.

And maybe it would be silly for there to be any. You know him—every iota, every inch; secrets whispered at midnight in a shallow breath and dreams uttered at noon. To be known, to know, is a powerful thing. You feel it ghost across your flesh, featherlight, and reach for it with your bare hands. Seeking, searching. You don’t stop until the tips of your fingers meet his warm skin, curling around him. Anchoring yourself to him. Stuck, now, in permanence.

You find spots that were untouched before. Behind his ears, the dip of his brow, the curve of his nose, and the slope of his jaw. Cupping it in the palm of your hand, a plinth for him to rest his chin.

Your canvassing makes him groan, makes him tilt down into you as he begins his own exploration, chasing you in a mad pursuit. Sliding over your valleys, your plains. Running over the rugged mountains and the steep cliffs. He scours your topography with eager, nimble fingers. It’s slow, languid. There’s no rush with this, a consensus you both seem to come to rather quickly when he pries open your mouth and tangles his tongue with yours. It’s sweet, soft. His hands mimic his chase, sliding along your body as if he means to commit the entirety of you to memory, searing it in his brain.

It’s only when he comes to a crossroads at your navel, pushed flush against his body, does he stop. You moan in despair at it, wanting more and more, not ready to give up this taste that curls over your tongue—saccharine sweet, salty—and Kyle echoes the noise with a groan, a quiet plea for air that both of you desperately need but can’t quite make yourself take.

“Fuck—” he groans again, breath stuttering out in sharp, deep gasps. “Can’t bloody tell you how long I wanted to do this for, fuck—”

His words seem to peel back the dreamy gossamer of a slowly burning sensuality. It ignites in a blaze, not at all unlike the swiftness of his anger. The sharp, sudden strike of a match. The crackle and hiss of flames renting the air.

The blaze starts at the point where your upper lip touches his, and almost immediately, it consumes you.

It's frenzied when he kisses you again—feral and wild: all teeth and tongue and nips against your bottom lip but the moment you sink into the fervour, Kyle changes it. Slows down. Chaste pecks to your sore lips amid a sensual onslaught. A languid roll of his tongue, soothing the burn his teeth left behind.

The way he kisses you feels like a paradox.

It's organised chaos. Refined madness. A cluttered mess of finesse and deliberate suckles; an artist's masterstroke.

You can't keep up. His rhythm is fierce and uncatchable.

Each step seems to stutter. An avartan you can’t keep pace with. Elongated taals, dips. A crescendo of harmony that is matchless, unreproducible. You struggle along with his swift current, his unerring tide that sweeps you away; unmoored, adrift. The tentative exploration ends. He knows you, now. All of you. And this is his summit. His scramble to the top. It’s biting passion; roaring flames.

You cling to him, holding tight to the liferaft he offers in a slow huff, a gust of mirth across your lips and into your lungs, slowing down to accommodate you. Malleable, now, he lets you lead, lets you take over, and move seamlessly with him. In tandem, parallel. Equilibrium brings you to heel, and you sigh into his mouth—a deep exhale of everything that has been building and building, tipping the scales around you until it was unbalanced and precarious. Teetering on the edge a precipice unknown.

His hand roams across your known geography—hills and streams, rivers and canyons—until he reaches your hand still bracketed around his cheeks, slowly peeling it away from his flesh to slide his fingers between yours, holding tight, and—

Kissing is immaculate. Bending at an altar, and making an offering to something bigger than yourself. It’s the spark of lightning flashing overhead, static in the air. Magnets drawing closer and closer until they snap together in the middle.

But holding his hand?

It feels like coming home.

The world tipping back into place. Amber warmth in your veins; the softness of a jasmine petal. You suck in a deep breath at the shock of it all.

You think of missing puzzles and loose sea ice drifting alone in the vastitude of the ocean. You think of a life where he isn’t in it and find yourself shuddering at the wrongness that emanates from it.

You want him. Want him—

It’s Kyle who pulls away first, resting his forehead against yours. You blink slowly, eyes catching dark amber, honeycomb. It draws a smile from you, full and deep. Giddy on the taste of him, of this.

The only thought in your head is finally, finally.

You see his lips curl in response, eyes lidded and heavy. Blooming with want, affection. Adoration.

"What, ah—," he laughs a little, then, breathless and happy, and the noise anchors itself to your breastbone, pressing into the hollow of your ribs. A place you'll keep it forever. "What now?"

He hands you the starless sky, and places it into the cup of your palm. Breathes laughter in the air, paints the moon with his joy. You think about the places he wants to take you, and the ones he swears you'll never go. You think about aeons from now when the world is gone and the stars all die out, when there's just the hazy lavender of endless abyss you can't make sense of. You think of him, and you think of you, and you wonder when it started to just make sense for there to always be two.

Maybe that night in Cardiff when he held your shoes and gave you his coat. When he draped his arm around your shoulders, laughing at something stupid you'd said. A year before he joined this task force he makes cheeky remarks about but never goes too deeply into detail. When it was just endless summers spent working and drinking and eating good food.

He'd asked the same thing, then, half slumped over in the taxi, and three sheets to the wind. It made his eyes darken, endless pits. Black holes. The expanse of the sky is framed by brown lashes, and drooping lids.

And you'd said—

"Beans and toast?" It feels right. It feels good. "We can—"

He huffed, too, just like he does now, and squeezes your hand once, tugging you along.

"We're not watching Golden Girls."

You watch Golden Girls. Kyle wraps his arm around your neck, keeps you tucked in close to his side. He steals kisses from you when Sophia says something that makes you laugh until you're breathless and trembling.

When David from Kent texts you, he grins wide, and whispers in your ear, think I've always been a little bit in love with you, you know?

Yeah, you say, and kiss back until the taste of him is etched into the space between your teeth. Since Cardiff. For you?

"Since Uni for sure." He smiles again, sheepish and a touch flustered. It glitters on his brow and nips the apples of his cheeks. "You stole my heart when you devoured four lamb kebabs and then ate my tabbouleh. Said to myself, yeah, that's the one for me, innit?"

"On second thought, what's that Barista's number? Might try my luck instead."

"Nah, you're smitten," he presses his lips into the hollow of your throat, nips his teeth against your pulse point. "And you're all mine. No take backs."

"Ah, for fuck's sake—"

Ahhhhhhhh. Sappy romcoms are my kryptonite and it shows.

COD MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION

#kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #cod gaz x reader #cod mw2 fanfic #ehhhhhh #these are my sloppiest tags #i didn't feel like making a gif so i threw this together real quick #will fix in the am #when my eyes aren't on fire

734 notes · View notes

honeykyeom · 1 year

Text

white noise / track 1: st. patrick

pairing: lee seokmin x afab! reader

series summary: your best friend seokmin has always been there for you. after a particularly rough heartbreak, you find out he's there for you in more ways than just one.

series notes: uni!au, best friends to lovers, friends with benefits, kpop 97 line antics and shenanigans (specifically seventeen & loona), 18+ (smut is outlined/warned beforehand)

chapter notes: alcohol mention and consumption, house party setting, smut!!! (oral sex [afab receiving], protected sex, small insecurity mention), mingyu being pouty, yves being a terrible wingwoman, minghao being the king he is, to my jaehyun lovers i'm so sorry, this is for the orbits for the pain that we've been through

wc: 7.2k (still can't believe i wrote this much)

a/n: i've teased bringing this back a lot and this series still means so much to me, even though it still sits unfinished lol. this first track especially. and if it weren't the support (& excitement) of @onlyseokmins, idk if i ever would've reposted it. so this is for you bb <3 please let me know what you think in the tags or send in asks, i'd love to hear your thoughts! <33

“What do you think about this?”

You look over at your friend, her figure adorning a velvet tube top with loose white cloth pants, an outfit that’s comfortable and light for a steamy college party and yet accentuates her curves enough to show off. Any sane person would tell Yves that she would be the center of attention as soon as she walks through the door, having everyone question if they wanted to be her or be with her.

“It looks good,” you respond with a nonchalant shrug, going back to aimlessly scrolling on your phone, surrounded by a multi-chrome array of clothes.

You were clearly not the sane person in that scenario.

Yves turns to you, exasperated at your attitude. “Dude, you’ve been so boring since you got your heart broken by Jaehyun.”

“I did not get my heart broken.”

“Really? Because you’re acting like the second lead who just got dumped in a drama.”

“Your outfit and you are hot, like always! Is that what you wanted to hear,” a small chuckle leaves your lips as you stand up from the bed. “Anyways, I’m not heartbroken, just upset.”

You look over your outfit in the floor-length mirror of the room, your black booties standing out against your mid-wash jean shorts. As you play with your cardigan, your mind wanders to Jaehyun and the ghost of a fling, fleeting and indescribable to anyone not close to you. You begin to wonder how he describes you to his close confidantes, if the small cafe dates and late night study sessions in the library were described with care or if all that mattered were the rushed bedroom antics, leaving you with just a memory and an “I think we should see other people” text message.

“Take this off. I know you and you’re going to get hot,” Yves wakes you from your daze, pulling your cardigan off your body, revealing your black cropped tank, “This is a better outfit anyway. We’re going to a party, not one of Haseul’s opera recitals.” She joins you in the mirror, a small smile gracing her face as she assesses your outfit. “Much better. Plus, this,” she gestures to your figure, “will help you get laid.”

You roll your eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what they say! To get over someone, you have to get under someone new.”

Looking at Yves, her pride evident in her stance and a mischievous gleam in her smile, you were sure of one thing. “You’re absolutely mental.”

“You know I’m right,” Yves insists. “One way to quickly get over someone is to have sex with someone else. I’ve done it.” Her shameless approach on the topic bleeds through her demeanor, her shoulder sitting low on her upper body as she sits on her bed and one of her legs drapes across the other. Just as you were about to respond to her, your phone buzzes in your back pocket, distracting you and Yves from the current conversation.

LADS ‼️💯‼️

seokmin: ya’ll going to the party tn?

haseul: can’t :/ have the late night shift at the library

mingyu: booooo tomato tomato

minghao: and what happened to fuck capitalism?

haseul: try telling our landlord that

minghao: fair enough

yn: yves and i are going!

seokmin: jinsoul?

jinsoul: social battery is pretty low, so i’m probably going to stay home

mingyu: BOOOOO tomato tomato 🍅🍅🍅 i'm throwing tomatoes!

yves: leave her alone gyu!

jinsoul: i’m not getting you coffee before class anymore for that

minghao: lmao good job gyu

yn: he will be his own downfall

mingyu: :(

seokmin: anyways the boys and i will see yall there!

seokmin: do you need a ride?

yves: we’re taking an uber!

minghao: good. stay safe!

Yves looks up from her phone and looks at you with a playful smirk pulling at her lips. “You know what I just thought was a great idea.”

With her track record, it’s probably not a good idea.

“You should hook up with Seokmin.”

It definitely wasn’t a good idea. “Okay, now I know you’ve lost your mind.”

“You can’t tell me that you haven’t thought about it.”

You can’t deny that you haven’t thought about how your best friend would treat you in the bedroom. You would get lost in your head, thinking about how his arms had gotten toned after his recent workout sessions and how those same arms would hold you down as he made you reach cloud nine. Many would cringe at the mere thought, but with how close you and Seokmin were and how much time you two spent together, people thinking you were at least hooking up wasn’t uncommon, your cheeks getting hot any time it’s brought up. His eyes would get wide with that same sweet smile, the red flush on his ears disappearing quickly. You’d never cross that boundary just to get over a silly boy; your friendship means much more to you than a quickie.

“Just because I might’ve thought about it, doesn’t make it something that needs to happen. I’m not that desperate,” you double down on your stance, grabbing your phone to check the status of your Uber, finding any excuse to escape this conversation. The thin black line stating your driver was more than 5 minutes away, you mentally curse at whoever was upstairs who enjoys watching you suffer at the hands of Yves.

“Please, have you seen how buff he’s getting! Those arms?” a sly grin blooming on her face, she looks over at you expectantly as if you would agree with her. You do, but you’d never let her know that. Instead of entertaining her antics, you grab your personal bag, ready to leave for the night.

“Okay, you’re done. Let’s go,” you say, pulling Yves from the bed, “the Uber is almost here.”

Walking through the door of the frat house, the humidity in the air makes your shirt stick to your chest like a second skin. The packed bodies only add to the warmth inside the cramped house, you silently thank Yves for making you take off your cardigan, the couple years of your friendship proving that she knows you better than you think. She hugs your backside, keeping you close as you move through the mass of people, looking for your group of friends.

“Do you know if they’re here yet?” you hear Yves’ voice, yelling above the crowd from behind you and almost blending into the music.

You respond, bringing your face close to her ear, “Yeah, Seokmin texted me saying they were!” She nods in acknowledgment, eyes scanning the immediate area. It’s hard to miss a man towering over the crowd, his signature black hair striking against his tan skin making him stand out as he takes a sip from his red solo cup near the kitchen. Two other men stand close to him, donning similar red plastic cups, one with a bright smile that easily lights up the room, shining with the fluorescent blues and purples of the house, and the other boy making his mark with a messy mullet and trademark style that defines his frame. Even if you hadn’t recognized the trio as your best friends, you would’ve instantly taken notice, the boys immediately attracting your attention.

“I found them!” you announce to Yves, who’s still close behind you, clinging to your arm as if her life depended on it. Grabbing her hand, you move through the crowd, not caring whose toes you stepped on or if people didn’t hear your ‘excuse us!’. It wasn’t long before you met with the trio of men, their faces lighting up as soon as they took notice of your presence and Mingyu pulling you in for a suffocating hug.

“You finally made it!” Mingyu’s breath is hot against you as he yells over the noise, still keeping you close even after the hug was long done, his arms tucking you underneath him. His chin decides to rest on your head and naturally finding its place as his arms wrap around your figure. At first glance, people may think that the two of you were an item, but Mingyu was just close with anyone he knew, finding any reason to hug his close friends.

“You’re lucky we made it all, hell, with how many people are here!”

“We were talking about moving to the backyard once you got here. Did you guys want a drink first?” Minghao is the one to speak up, looking at you and Yves through his bangs, bringing his red solo cup to his lips.

A groan breaks through the air, Yves grabbing his hand as she responds, “Yes, please. I definitely need it.”

Surprisingly, the kitchen is less crowded than the common areas of the house, bodies not congregating in the area once they make their drinks. You feel instant relief, the air conditioning hitting your skin, even a nice breeze from the back door giving you much needed fresh air. The group makes their way to the kitchen island, an array of liquor, beer, and mixers lining the surface, making the workspace nonexistent. Mingyu works with what he has though, his hands moving with diligence and ease as he acts as the group’s personal bartender for the night - just like every group gathering before.

“Hey!”

Turning towards the voice, you’re met with Seokmin, his dark hair falling against his tan skin and a smile so big that the skin near his eyes smile along with him, still sparkling with the bright party lights. Your heart grows warm seeing your best friend, the energy around him bursting with sunshine and love that anyone can feel when they enter his presence. You return his smile and saddle up to his side. Your shoulders touch as the two of you watch Mingyu mix drinks for you and Yves, who joins you and Seokmin, sitting on the kitchen counter next to him.

“I haven’t gotten to ask you, how are you doing since…” Seokmin’s words trail off and you look at him, concern etched in his face.

“Since Jaehyun? I’m not made of glass, you know. We can talk about him.”

Yves chimes in, “Don’t act like you weren’t crying about how unloveable you were just two days ago,” her snark ever prevalent in her tone.

“Anyways!” you retort, moving your attention back to Seokmin, “I’m fine. It was just a little fling, not a big deal.”

“It’s ok to be sad. You really liked him.” Seokmin flashes you a sincere smile, so pure, so full of light, the party seems to be worth it all from this little interaction. It’d been a while since you left your cave, only earthing to join the weekly movie night with everyone. Every time you wanted to hide away underneath your sheets, when you wanted your world to be blackness, when you wanted the world to swallow you whole, Seokmin was always there, the light at the end of your tunnel, pulling you out.

“Well, we’re not being sad tonight,” Mingyu interrupts your daze, handing you a miniature plastic cup, the same shot-sized reusable cups that were on the counter for reckless decisions like this one. “We’re here to forget about Jaehyun and enjoy our friends. Ones we know won’t leave us high and dry.” He holds his cup up to the ceiling, everyone following suit. “To our friendship!”

The clear liquid burns in your throat and you can feel it travel down your body, a chill tingling up your spine. Your nights that usually start with vodka shots don’t end too well, you think.

Cheers to you finding out what this night has in store.

A breeze wafts into the air, tripping you up and the ball you just threw blowing away with it.

“That’s not fair! The wind affected the throw!”

“Doesn’t matter! We discussed the rules before we started!”

A pout forming on your face, you stand back, giving Seokmin room for his turn. He turns to you, giving you a small pat on your lower back, muttering a soft ’it’s okay’ before his concentration is back on the five red cups laid in front of him on the table. His eyes are focused, his face still as he brings his hand up to aim, lining up his shot. The air was silent, the group paying close attention to his actions, watching him take his shot. The world seems to stop as he lets go of the plastic ball, everyone quiet until it reaches the rim of a plastic cup, toying with your emotions until it finally dips into the cup with a resounding plop.

You scream and wrap your arms around Seokmin, giddy with excitement as giggles fill the air. You don’t even care that there were still 3 cups to a victory and neither did Seokmin as he lifted you in the air, making your world dizzy. He held you tight, keeping you tucked into him even after he set your two feet back on the ground, his arms hugging you and taking place on your shoulders.

“I don’t know why Y/N is celebrating, they’ve missed every one of their shots!” Mingyu taunts, clearly trying to get under your skin.

Before you can respond, Seokmin speaks up, “Hey! We’re closer to winning than you! And that’s bold coming from you when Yves is clearly carrying your team.”

Mingyu gets quiet at that, Yves not even able to defend her teammate, just turns to him with a sympathetic pat on his arm before lining up to take her shot. Minghao, who’s leaning comfortably on the back wall of the house, chuckles, only staying quiet once Mingyu shoots him a death glare.

Looking up at Seokmin, you pout with a small whisper, “Am I that bad?”

“What? No! Also, who cares? It’s just beer pong.” He leaves the comfort of your touch to grab the ping pong balls from the grass, both missed by Yves and Mingyu.

“I care! For my ego.” You know he’s trying to make you feel better, trying to make sure you don’t take Mingyu’s competitive nature to heart like you tend to do. It is just beer pong. But the phrase “The more you drink, the better you are at beer pong” has exceptions and you may be one of them, the alcohol coursing through your system not helping whatsoever.

A playful smirk appears on Seokmin’s face as he says, “Would it hurt your ego if I helped you out with your form?”

You look at Seokmin through your lashes, your pout turning into a coy smile and a flirtatious lilt coming out of your tone. “No, I don’t think so.”

When Seokmin hands you the ping pong ball, he takes position behind you, lifting your hand with his, the other holding to your waist tightly. His breath was hot against your face, his voice soft and nurturing, tickling your ears, “You want to keep your wrist loose and have it high to start. It’s easier to aim from high above.”

It could be the alcohol talking, but having Seokmin this close, this intimate, had you thinking that maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to have him tangled in your sheets. The same caramel voice that was coaching you through your terrible beer pong skills, the same voice that calls you late at night to make sure you’ve made it home safely, that same voice would be coaxing you to your high, having you come apart from his words alone.

It’s definitely just the alcohol talking, you think. You hope that’s the case, anyway.

“Once you get an aim, you’ll want to let go and follow through with your throw.” Seokmin leads you in the motion he described, still keeping you close. With your confidence now elevated, the air still, and everyone quietly watching, you let go of the ball and follow its arc as it sinks into a center cup.

Pride lights your smile aglow, your first instinct to reach Seokmin for a hug in a small celebration. His grip on you is tight as he hugs you back, his eyes showering you with admiration.

“I knew you could do it.”

“I only made that shot because of you.”

You glance over at the other side of the table. With a knowing smirk on Yves’ face, she keeps her eyesight towards the ground, preparing for her next turn.

You won’t be hearing the end of it from her.

You lean against the folding chair you’ve taken refuge in, a sweet breeze coming in, slightly lifting the jacket that’s draped across your shoulders. Smoke from the small fire in front of you makes your eyes sting, tears filling the corners. Bringing the cup you have to your lips, a clear line of separation from the ice that has melted and the alcoholic coke visible, you shudder at the taste and hand the cup back to Mingyu. “This party is kinda boring.”

“Oh, is beating us at beer pong not enough fun for you?”

“You’re starting to sound like a sore loser, Gyu,” Minghao chimes in, nursing his own screwdriver next to you. He keeps his puff jacket unzipped, letting the heat from the fire warm him up from the chill of the night air.

“So what if I am? Yves didn’t do all that work for nothing.”

“Speaking of Yves, where is she?” You never saw her slip away from the group, the atmosphere missing her snark and light attitude, but you’re only met with shrugs from the two men in front of you.

“She mentioned meeting with ViVi, don’t know if she ever found her.” The voice comes from behind you with a hand meeting your shoulder, the touch not unwelcomed, recognizing it to be Seokmin. “I’m assuming she has because she’s been gone for awhile.”

Just as Seokmin rejoins the group, a fresh drink in hand, your phone buzzes on your lap with the screen illuminating your face, looking at the text.

yves: leaving with vivi, don’t wait up <3

yves: also, don’t think we won’t be talking about seokmin later

yves: 😉

yn: we won’t be talking about him bcs nothing is nor will happen

yves: keep telling yourself that

You tune yourself out of your conversation with Yves, exhausted from the few text messages and her persistence. Turning your attention back to the group, leaning your head against Seokmin’s arm. “Yves just texted me. She left with ViVi.”

“Of course she did. I’m surprised it took her this long to make a move,” Minghao comments. The fire was now burning stronger, embers flying through the space only to land softly on the concrete. “How long has she been talking to her, anyway?”

“About 3 months now,” Mingyu answers.

“Damn… She must really like her.”

“Yeah, she never waits that long if it’s just a hookup. Even if I wanted to take someone out, I don’t think I’d wait that long.”

Minghao's eyes flicker to Seokmin, something on the edge of understanding and comfort, almost like he was sympathizing with him. Something you might have noticed if you weren’t resting on Seokmin’s hips, eyes closed as he rubs small circles on your shoulder. Something you would ask Seokmin about if you had seen. The look leaves as quickly as it came, Minghao’s face leans downcast, lips pursed as if he was holding his thoughts in.

Seokmin’s face leans close to your ear, soft and inviting as he speaks, “You getting tired?”

“Not really. Just bored,” sighing, you look up at Seokmin, meeting his eyes. “Kind of want to go home.”

“Let me take you back, make sure you get home safe. I’ll get us an Uber.”

“You just got your drink! I don’t want to end your night early.” You give Seokmin a gentle smile, a small appreciative gesture at his care. He was always taking care of you, always by your side, always giving himself to you. You wanted him to enjoy his night not worrying about you, at the very least.

Suddenly, Seokmin is walking to Mingyu, handing his cup over to the man sitting on the concrete, engulfed in conversation with Minghao. He announces his departure, telling the boys to make sure to get to their shared apartment safely and let him know when they do. Then, he’s walking back to you, grabbing your hand with such kindness, such care, before he’s looking at you expectantly.

“Let’s go.”

Your keys clinking fill the dead space as you enter your apartment, making sure to hold the door open, inviting Seokmin to follow you. He’s been here many times, whether it was alone or with your group of friends. The apartments shared between the seven of you had an open-door policy, welcoming heartbreaks, laughs, boredom, and overall debauchery with wide arms and open cabinets. Seokmin didn’t ask any questions when he walked into your apartment last week and saw you left alone in the darkness, nursing a bowl of your comfort instant ramen, your body hidden underneath an oversized blanket. You didn’t ask any questions when he joined you in your reality tv show marathon, grabbing a blanket from your ottoman, letting the fabric swallow him whole when he settled on your couch. Neither of you said anything, sitting in a comfortable silence, your brains turned off from the stress of the week.

He knew he didn’t need to ask anything; he knew you would come to him eventually, when you were ready.

He secretly hoped your heart would do the same.

“Did you want a drink?” your voice brings Seokmin back to reality. You were at your fridge, pulling out transparent green glass bottles. “I know you didn't get to finish yours earlier.”

“I thought you were tired,” Seokmin ignores the question, instead looking at you incredulously.

After you open the bottles, you bring the cold bubbly liquid to your lips, walking across your kitchen island to bring Seokmin the other. “I said I was bored, not tired. There was nothing to do, just a lot of loud drunk kids.”

“That’s most frat parties, you know.”

“Yeah. I don’t know why I keep letting Yves drag me to them,” you sigh, staring past Seokmin but not focusing on anything in particular.

“How about we play a game or something? Never have I ever?”

“You already know most everything about me! What fun would that be?”

“I bet there’s some things I don’t know about you!” While you and Seokmin had known each other since freshman year, spending most of your time together, you kept yourself guarded. Only letting Seokmin in when you were comfortable, prepared for the onslaught of judgment - which never came. Seokmin had been nothing but understanding, a warm breeze in an otherwise cold world. “How about we play 20 questions?”

You purse your lips, letting the beer bottle settle on your countertop as you think over Seokmin’s proposition. “Fine.”

“What was your first impression of me?”

You giggle to yourself, settling on your rug in the living room, thinking back to when you first met Seokmin during freshman orientation. Your knees touch his, bumping into each other as you reminisce. “What was my first impression of the goofball who followed me around like a lost puppy?”

Seokmin laughs, lighting up the room, making happiness bubble to the surface of your skin. You join in his laughter as he says, “Hey! Two lost people is better than one! Would you have not wanted me to follow you around because look at us now!”

“You’re right. Who knew that little goofball would end up being one of the best people in my life?”

“Remember during the social, Mingyu busted his ass trying to show up Minghao at b-boying?”

“Yeah and we had to help him nurse his ego in the dorm hallway?”

You and Seokmin had been inseparable that weekend, from his first awkward “Do you know where the Admin building is?” to your last “I guess I’ll be seeing you around campus”, you two finding your way back to each other come the first semester. With you two living in adjacent dorm buildings, it was easy to catch up for lunch, walk each other to class and meet in the communal study rooms. Mingyu happened to live in the same building as Seokmin and Jinsoul was your freshman year roommate. Soon, your group during the lunch break grew to include Haseul, Minghao, and Yves and solidified during sophomore year. They all held a special place in your heart, but none like Seokmin and they all knew it. Life was easier with Seokmin; midterms never seemed as difficult with his guiding light, heartbreaks never felt as lonely with his warmth and bad decisions never were so irreversible with his love.

Seokmin was and will always be your home — your light at the end of the tunnel.

The laughter between you two dies down, an easy silence falling in the air. It isn’t until you calm down that you ask the next question, “Okay my turn.” You bring a serious expression to your face, shifting the tone from the previous lighthearted atmosphere. “Is it better to love & lose or never love at all?”

“Oh, you’re getting philosophical on me now?”

“No better time than at 1 am on a Friday night, tipsy with my best friend.”

You see Seokmin slightly wince, something that happens in a blink of an eye before it’s replaced with a pensive expression, his lips jutting out in thought. You don’t have time to point it out before he’s answering, “Isn’t it better to love & lose? I mean, what’s a world without love?” You think on his words, albeit too long as he voices, “Why? Do you feel different?”

“Personally… yeah,” you mutter. You speak a little louder, confiding to Seokmin, “It might be everything that happened with Jaehyun but I can’t see how I can be thankful for giving him my love.”

“You… loved him?” Seokmin murmurs quietly, unable to mask his surprise.

“Not exactly, but is it embarrassing how fast I fell for him?”

No…” Seokmin trails off, his lips in a thin line, almost like he’s trying to keep himself from saying something he wants to. It’s faint, but you notice.

“What do you want to say?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re hiding something.”

“No I’m not,” he repeats, adamant.

“Yes you are!” you smile before continuing, “C’mon, just tell me!” You begin to poke Seokmin’s side, a prominent offensive move in your arsenal. Seokmin giggles, trying to move away from the stimulation of your jabs, but is unsuccessful as you reach over and begin your attacks on his left side.

“Y/N stop!” His demand comes out broken as he tries to catch his breath, unable to break his fits of laughter.

“Not until you tell me what you’re hiding!”

Your assault continues, your giggles getting louder, probably annoying your neighbors. Neither of you are able to catch your breath, until Seokmin suddenly grabs hold of your wrists, bringing your back to the cushion of your rug, effectively pinning you to the ground.

Your laughter dies, the room becoming dead silent, only your ragged breaths filling the air. Your chest is heaving, your lungs trying to catch the precious air around you. With Seokmin straddling your waist, it isn’t until your breathing finally slows do you realize that his face is inches away from yours. His breath is audible, face red from the commotion.

You’ve never really looked at Seokmin this close, his mole standing out on his cheek. You notice every pore, every freckle and every line, all of it accumulating into the beauty of his face. His eyes are soft as he looks at you. The tension is unmistakably palpable, making your skin hot underneath his touch. You glance down at his lips, the curves and various shades of pink accentuating against his tan skin.

Before you can think much about it, you’re suddenly kissing him.

And just as quick, he’s pulling away from you, eyes wide. He looks at you as if you might break, like fragile glass ready to crack at any moment.

“Are you sure you want this?” Seokmin is sincere, voice woven with care, loosening your own heart strings. “I don’t want you to do something you’re going to regret in the morning,” he whispers, speaking softly, trying not to overstep his boundaries. His thought to put you first was the last undoing of the tangled mess of woven string in your heart, unraveled and exposing yourself to him.

“I’m sure, Seokmin. I want you.”

You don’t get to finish your sentence before Seokmin’s lips are back on yours, swallowing your last breath.

His lips are softer than you imagine and taste of mint and whiskey, combining to create something that was uniquely Seokmin. The hairs stand up along your body, your senses being invigorated by Seokmin’s attention to your lips. Shivers run down your body from his kisses alone and once he starts trailing along your jaw and neck, your skin lights fire, igniting the burning desire within you.

His hands leave your wrists, bringing them to your torso, keeping you close against him as your hands immediately cling to his neck, breathing heavily. He runs small circles along your skin, making you go dizzy.

Panting, you manage to whisper through your short breaths, “Should we take this somewhere that, you know, isn’t my living room floor?”

Seokmin keeps his attention on your neck as he responds between kisses, “I don’t know. I was ready to take you right here.”

“Do you want me to blow my back out?”

“Oh, you’ll be getting your back blown out no matter where you are.. so it’s really up to you.” You can feel him smile against your neck with a small nip. You moan at his words, his confidence making you quiver. This kind of arrogance isn’t something you’re used to seeing on Seokmin, but you can’t deny that it looks good on him, easily molding you like clay under his fingers.

You play it cool, though, or you hope, at least. “I’d rather not have sex with you on my living room rug.”

“Fair enough.”

SMUT WARNING !

As soon as you shut the door, Seokmin finds his hands all over you, bringing you back to his mouth. One of his hands lands on your waist, kneading at your skin underneath your crop top, slightly lifting the fabric. He held on tight, not wanting to let you go, afraid of you disappearing from his grasp. He can’t help but think this is all a dream — his ears ringing with your whines, his fingers grazing your goosebumps, it was everything he’d fantasized about.

“Seokmin…” Your voice sounds sweet in his ears, blissful, a desire dripping from it that he’s never heard from you before.

“What is it?”

Your breath on him is hot, heavy against his skin. “Can we hurry this up because I need you,” you sigh, a small teasing smile playing against your lips. Your hands were grabbing at his clothes desperately, the tug and pull making Seokmin’s head spin. He lets out an airy chuckle, pulling you closer.

Seokmin leads you to your bed, your back hitting the mattress as he runs his hands along your thighs, still leaving kisses along your neck. He trails along the length of your body, down your neck, your clothed chest, your stomach, leaving languid kisses. He was in no rush, wanting this night to last as long as possible, even if it was already two in the morning. He could have you underneath him for hours, your hands pulling at the strands on his head.

He reaches the bottom of your shirt, playing with the hem, leaving open mouthed kisses along your stomach. “Can I?” He asks, referring to your crop as he looks at you, eyes meeting yours. He didn’t want to do anything out of comfort zone, feeling lucky enough to be in this position. As much as the flirty banter made both of your positions clear, he wanted to give you any opportunity to back out if you were ever uncomfortable with crossing the imaginary boundary of your friendship.

You nod and slowly, Seokmin begins to lift your top, revealing your torso. It took everything in him to not confess to you right then and there, the alcohol flowing in his system removing the filter in his mind. He wanted to kiss you all over, sing sweet praises, tell you how much he’d always wanted this and more, how he’s been in love with you since that freshman orientation weekend — everything that’s been on his mind these past two years.

But he settles with a “God, you’re so beautiful,” hoping that you’d recognize the whiskey lacing his words instead of the yearning.

“Why are you acting so surprised? You’ve seen me in a bikini before!”

He has seen you in a bikini and Seokmin had to take a cold shower when he rinsed the chlorine off of his body for the day, hoping you hadn’t noticed his lingering eyes.

“Can’t a guy just compliment his best friend’s naked body before he fucks them?”

He’s also hoping that you don’t notice how hard it was for him to say that, disguising his wince with a teasing smile.

You begin to unbutton your jean shorts, your hands dancing around the waistband of the material. “Are you actually going to fuck me or are you just going to talk about it?”

Oh, you were going to be the death of him. He fears that you know that.

“I should’ve known you were going to be a brat,” Seokmin mutters, still loud enough for you to hear as he pulls down your shorts down your legs. He’s met with a visible wet patch on your black underwear, which almost takes him out right at that moment. The damp fabric is stuck to your cunt, like a second skin. “Fuck.”

“What?”

“You’re so wet,” Seokmin responds, getting closer to the gap between your legs, blowing puffs of air from his words, making you shake from the stimulation.

“Is that a bad thing?” He can hear the insecurity in your voice, the confidence from earlier breaking with you slowly pulling your legs together. Seokmin counteracts this action, bringing your legs apart and opening yourself up to him once again. He plants a soft kiss on your inner thigh and he feels the tension release from your body, welcoming his touch.

He looks up at you earnestly. “Of course not. It’s hot.” He toys with your panties, waiting for your approval to continue.

“You can take them off, Seokmin.”

That was all Seokmin needed, peeling your underwear off.

Seokmin thinks he’s died and gone to heaven. Seeing you bare, spread open for him and only him, was something he’d never believed would happen to him in this lifetime. He’s awestruck at your beauty, only able to respond by kissing your thighs repeatedly, your moans only encouraging him.

He lowers himself close to your pussy and licks a slow, long stroke along your bud. You grab at his head instantly, a whine coming out of you. He circles your folds, teasingly slow, savoring every moment he has between your legs. You taste sweet, more enticing than any of Seokmin’s dreams. His hands took purchase on your waist, pulling you closer to him when you’d steer away. Your arousal builds and he’s quick to flit his tongue against your clit.

“Fuck! Have you always been good at this?” you choke out, the question coming out broken and breathy, a moan following.

Seokmin smiles against you, laughing quietly, the vibrations tickling against his lips. His pride was swelling, hearing you, the person he’s been in love with for two years now, cry for him. The feeling is making him insatiable, the desire to make you cum overriding any other thought in his mind. Your fingers that were in his hair started to pull harder, fervid as the pleasure overtook you.

The ache in between his legs, his dick squeezing in between the fabric of his jeans, started to become excruciating. Seokmin slowly grinds against the mattress, searching for any relief for his own hard-on. It proves to be useless, his arousal moving three steps forward and one step back each time you moan his name. His face was covered in you as you jerk against him, riding out the sensations.

He ghosts his fingers to your entrance, hovering over it, teasing you with the prospect of having them inside of you. He keeps his fingers where they are until you wail, begging for them.

“Seokmin, stop teasing…” your voice trails, punctuated with a gasp, from Seokmin slipping his fingers inside of you.

He didn’t need any lubrication, you were dripping enough for him. The sounds that were coming out of your cunt were lewd and it only turned Seokmin on more, blood rushing to his cock and the strain against his jeans becoming even more unbearable to ignore. He can feel you clenching around his fingers; he knows you’re close. Once he reaches the bumpy surface of your g-spot, your muscles tense even more and your breath hitches, your legs squeezing Seokmin.

“Let go for me,” he whispers with a kiss to your clit. A second later, you’re coming undone, back arching off of the mattress. Your walls pulse against his fingers, making his cock twitch. His eyes were transfixed on your figure, watching you fall apart because of him. You were beautiful, this he always knew to be true, but the image of you tensing around him and cumming against his fingers would be engraved in his mind for the rest of his life.

You begin to come down from your high, Seokmin kissing your inner thigh, eyes shining with awe as he continues to slowly pump in and out of you. You look down at him, relaxing your hands that were once gripping his hair with superhuman strength. He didn’t mind, though. He never minded anything when it came to you, especially since he knew that he was the reason for the overwhelming pleasure.

“Oh my god… Seriously, where did you learn to eat pussy like that?” you breathe out, still trying to catch your breath.

“I don’t know,” Seokmin chuckles as he slowly pulls his fingers out of you. “I guess I’m just a natural.”

You sit up, reaching for Seokmin’s chin as you bring his lips to yours, taking his breath away. He's completely intoxicated by you, the alcohol wearing off and being replaced by your allure. It still amazes him how you have him trapped under your spell, wrapped around your finger — and you don’t even know it. Seokmin is so lost in your kiss, he doesn’t realize that he’s now on his back with you straddling him, your hands fumbling with his zipper.

“Let me take care of you,” you coo, your lips still close to his, brushing against them softly.

It pains Seokmin, the thought of your mouth around his length, his body shivers with the image in his mind. “I’m going to be honest, while I’d love to have you sucking me off, I’d cum in 30 seconds,” he confesses. “I need to be inside of you. Now.” You smile so bright, so enchanting, Seokmin is already seeing stars when you kiss him again, only breaking the kiss to take off his pants and underwear and he removes his shirt.

“Do you have a condom?” he asks, lingering on your body as you remove your bra.

“There’s one inside my nightstand.”

Once Seokmin rolls the condom down his length, your body hovering over him, he finally realizes that this is actually happening. This might not be the way he thought it would ever happen, but he doesn’t have much time to think about it before you’re sinking down on him, enveloping his cock in your heat with a curse.

You pause, eyes screwed shut as you mentally curse. Tears threaten to fall, pooling to the side of your eyes. Seokmin sees this and panics, immediately sitting up, rubbing soft circles on your cheek. “Hey, hey, are you okay? What’s wrong?” He speaks softly, comforting, afraid that you would crack.

You shake your head, finally opening your eyes to look at him. “It’s nothing, it’s just…”

“Just what?”

“I just had to adjust. You’re…” you pause, thinking carefully on your words, “much bigger than I anticipated.”

Seokmin can’t help but feel smug. He can feel you clenching around him, squeezing the life out of his cock. He can’t hide his smirk, but he’s quick to give you a tender kiss, feeling you relax on top of him. “Just relax. You set the pace,” he soothes and you nod in response.

He stays sitting up as you slowly start to rock back and forth on his lap and Seokmin is already seeing stars, holding back moans. You start slow and easy, setting a rhythmic pace, building pleasure and you lean your head on his shoulder. “Fuck, Seokmin.”

“What is it, baby?” The pet name slips out before Seokmin can catch it. He mentally curses, hoping you don’t notice. It tastes sweet on his tongue, like it was meant to come out of his mouth.

“You feel so good,” you moan, punctuating the statement with a clamp on his cock.

“I can say the same for you.” It was embarrassing how close Seokmin already was, completely drunk on you. Every squeeze, every whine brought him closer to his dissolve; it took every ounce of Seokmin’s self-control to not let go right there. It took everything in him to not confess, tell you that this was everything he’d ever dreamt of, that he was helplessly and completely in love with you. Seeing you drunk on him, on his cock, was shattering all of his resolve.

“Seokmin, I’m so close,” you whine.

Thank God, Seokmin thinks. His hands that were on your waist guide you, bouncing you up and down on his cock, helping you reach your high. “C’mon, baby, you can do it.” Fuck, I’ve got to stop saying that…

He feels your nails dig into him, creating crescent moons and threatening to break skin as the tension that was building in your body starts to snap, an overwhelming amount of electricity coursing through your veins. Seokmin’s willpower is left on a thread, feeling your velvet walls tense around his cock, he’s close to his own climax. Once he’s looking at you, seeing your pleasure wash over you, your eyebrows furrowed and a symphony of moans releasing from your mouth, he’s done for. His orgasm crashes against him and he grips your waist tightly, keeping your body at a steady pace as he empties inside of you.

You're both left panting, bodies spent and going still. All that’s left in the air is your breath and the humidity as you both come down from your highs. Seokmin doesn’t know what comes over him, but the overwhelming need to kiss you takes over his body. He doesn’t think, just reaches up and pulls you to his lips, kissing you passionately until his thoughts come back to him.

Well, where do we go from here?

#seventeen x reader #seventeen smut #seokmin x reader #dk x reader #seokmin smut #dk smut #dokyeom x reader #dokyeom smut #seventeen scenarios #svt x reader #svt smut #svt scenarios

1K notes · View notes

grimoireofhayley · 9 months

Text

Of Friends and Horror

Stu Macher x Fem!Reader x Billy Loomis

WARNINGS: Graphic content, eventual Smut (MINORS DNI), Language, Talks of SA (rape), Cheating, Obsessiveness, Gore, 18+ content, Stalking, Jealousy, Angst, Possessiveness, (let me know if there’s more that needs to be added!)

Word Count: 1.02k

Tag List: @ev3ningrain @nerdytif @m-the-little-witch

A/N: Ah, I hope y’all feel lucky. Two chapters in one day! I hope you enjoy this one as much as I enjoyed writing it. I hope I captured Randy, Billy, and Stu’s personality correctly. Thank you so much for reading! I’m hoping I’d get an update out tomorrow, but if not, it should be up later on this week at some point so keep an eye open. I also wrote this on my iPad, so I apologize if there’s any grammatical errors. I’ll proofread again tomorrow and put out an updated version. Oh, again, if you wanna be added to the tag list, just comment down below. Thank you :)

All chapter links! 👇🏻👇🏻👇🏻

OF&H Masterlist

Chapter 3

“Remember, your principal loves you, and I want you to be safe. All students are encouraged to return to their homes promptly from school grounds…” The principal spoke over the PA, “Avoid strangers, walk in twos and threes—“

You pinched the bridge of your nose, visibly stressed from all the questioning. You haven’t a clue why you were so upset about everything, you weren’t the killer, but for some reason it felt like you were. Maybe you should’ve lied? Twisted the story a bit so you didn’t reveal you were a mistress at some point in your life.

“I am a slut..” You mumbled, dragging your fingers down your face, causing your eyes to droop. “Now Brooke is definitely going to find out, how am I to confront her on that?” You asked no one in particular.

You stared at the vibrant blue sky, squinting when the sun flashed your eyes. “Have mercy on me, please?” You begged the man upstairs, not expecting an answer in return.

“What kind of questions did they ask you, Sid?” You heard Tatum’s voice in the distance.

You blew a raspberry, putting your brave face on and sauntered over to your friend group at the fountain.

“They asked if I knew Casey…” Sidney’s voice soon followed.

“Hi, guys!” You chirped, sitting in front of Stu, Billy, Tatum and Sidney, unintentionally stopping their conversation.

“Hello, Sweetcheeks!” Stu blurted, eyes glazing over you, a small smirk planted on his lips. “What took you so long?” He groaned, “It’s always so boring when you aren’t here!” He frowned, tossing his head back.

“Gee, thanks Stu..” Tatum snipped, causing you to giggle.

You looked over to Billy, seeing Sidney leaning against his legs, your face contorting in disgust as jealousy was creeping up on you. You mentally slapped yourself, looking away and back at Stu.

“Uh, they had me stay longer for questioning…” You admitted, leaning back against your bag, stretching out your legs.

“Huh? Why?” Billy asked, curiously.

“Yeah, why’s that?” Sidney mumbled.

You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat.

“Just reasons, I guess.”

“Speaking of questioning, did they ask if you like to hunt?” Stu looked at Billy and Randy who seemed to have shown up out of nowhere.

“Yeah, they did. Did they ask you?” Billy answered and probed, Randy nodded in agreement.

“Hunt? Why would they ask you if you liked to hunt?” Tatum voiced.

“Because their bodies were gutted.” Randy spoke up, shoving a peanut in his mouth.

“They didn’t ask me if I liked to hunt…” both Sidney and Tatum declared.

Stu looked around, but his eyes always seemed to land on you, which caused you to blush, and chew on your fingernail.

“‘Cause there’s no way a girl could’ve killed ‘em..” Stu laughed.

“That’s bullshit. The killer could easily be female, basic instinct.”

“That was an ice pick. Not exactly the same thing…” Randy butted in.

“Yeah, Casey and Steve were completely hollowed out. And the fact is, it takes a man to do something like that.” Stu grinned, still staring at you without realizing it.

You leaned in, placing your chin on the palm of your hand. “Really now? If that’s so, then why did they ask me if I liked to hunt, Stu?” You smirked, catching all of them off guard. “Like Tatum said, the killer could easily be a girl. Though, with how they were killed it was clearly a man. They’re all the same, messy. They like to play with their prey. A woman on the other hand, knows how to get things done, swiftly and cleanly. Why do you think they don’t get caught as easily?” You finished your statement. Drumming your fingers across your lap in triumph.

“That was— I was not expecting that.” Stu laughed loudly, bewilderment lingering around him like an aroma of some sorts. Billy was just as shocked, but more amused.

However, Sidney wasn’t having it. “How… How do you gut someone?” She asked.

“You take a knife—“ Stu started and Billy looked up from his lunch. “And you slit ‘em from the groin to the sternum..”

“Hey.” Billy cut Stu off, glaring at him. “It’s called tact, you fuckrag.”

You sighed, shaking your head.

“Hey, (Y/n)..” Sidney asked, ignoring Billy and Stu’s former conversation.

Your ears perked and you looked at her confused.

“Didn’t you used to date Steve Orth?”

‘Now how in the fuck could she have possibly known that…’ You thought, your ears turning red from anger and you clenched your fist.

“Yeah, for like a couple of months..”

“Hold up, did I miss a chapter or something? When the hell did you date him?” Billy asked, looking somewhat pissed.

“Uh, yeah, I have to agree with Billy here.. when the hell did that happen?” Tatum’s eyes widened, she felt betrayed.

“Jesus, guys, it was only a couple of months, I don’t even know how Sidney found out.” You started, shooting Sidney a glare.

“Can we change the subject, please?”

“Did you sleep with him?” Stu mumbled, starting to get irritated as well.

“All of you, please just shut up. It is not a big deal.” You demanded.

“Are the police aware that you dated the victim?” Randy asked, ignoring your pleas.

“Hey, what are you saying? That I killed both Casey and Steve?” Your mouth gaped at the accusation.

“It just makes sense, ex-girlfriend not over the relationship, gets jealous seeing her lover with someone else… You know, the scorned ex who kills for revenge!” Randy shouted, earning a few stares in the process from passersby’s.

“(Y/n) was with me last night, okay?” Billy spoke, winking at you from behind Sidney.

“Yeah, I was…” You stated, catching Sidney’s eyes darting your way.

“Was that before or after you sliced them up?”

“Hold on, you went to (Y/n)‘s after you came by my place? You said you were going to Stu’s!” Sidney flared her nostrils, anger bubbling to the surface.

“Oh, brother…” You whispered, face-palming. Seeing Sidney hurriedly packing up her things, she didn’t give neither you or Billy time to explain...

<- Previous Next ->

#fanfiction #billy loomis x female reader #ghostface x female reader #stu matcher x reader #stu macher x female reader #billy x you x stu #billy loomis x reader #billy loomis #stu macher #ghostface #scream x reader #scream franchise #scream 1996

360 notes · View notes

prettyboykatsuki · 5 months

Text

take it from me | barou shouei ft. isagi yoichi

✮ tags ; gender neutral / fem!reader + afab!reader (reader is referred to as girlfriend but uses they/them pronouns), cucking, petnames (baby, beautiful), fingering, dry-humping, breeding (mentions of getting someone pregnant and kids etc.), 18+

✮ wc ; 2.7k

✮ synopsis ; barou doesn’t like anything isagi has planned for him, but he never backs down from a fight either.

✮ a/n ; a fic a beloved anon commissioner has allowed me to post! also... if i had a nickel for every time i wrote a fic with isagi cucking someone... i'd have two nickels which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice right

It’s easy to get on Barou’s nerves.

But it’s hard to get under his skin.

Very hard. Harder than most people actually understand, because people get a kick out of riling him up. They often get upset when he realizes and stops being mad at all. Surface level frustration is commonplace for Barou, but that skin deep stuff is hard to come by. And whatever does get him truly angry is usually justifiable, understandable. Strangers don’t make this distinction about him but he knows it to be true.

It’s rare, unusual - to get under his skin so fucking consistently.

But Isagi always does.

That shitty little egoist has a talent for bothering him with his antics. Every person who’s ever told Barou off for being egotistical doesn’t know shit about shit. They don’t know the kind of egoism Isagi bears, the kind that’s subtle until it isn’t. Until it’s in your face at your lowest, opportunistic and evil.

He’s fine off the field. Almost innocent when they sit around together for a drink. Off the field, he blushes when he gets any advances and doesn’t carry that same energy. But Barou knows better, can’t let his guard down because when everyone is distracted it slips. Barou sees the way Isagi looks. Plans. Manipulates for what he wants. He should’ve been able to guess that Isagi’s bet on their last match was a ploy to get something he wanted.

But Isagi knows in what way he can push Barou’s buttons. So after carefully placed insults and pushes, a bet was made.

If Isagi’s team won their next match, he got to fuck Barou’s girlfriend. In front of him.

Of course his first answer was fuck no. Barou’s not stupid, wasn’t planning on giving that shitty little brat an inch because Barou knew he’d take a mile. Isagi, though, got under his skin. Pushed and pushed, making digs about Barou being worried about you. Isagi knows that Barou is confident in his soccer, as much as he is in his feelings - but Barou can’t let up to that kind of push. Can’t allow Isagi to think for even a minute he can’t satisfy you. In a fit of anger, Barou says he’ll agree if you do.

And to his surprise, you do - but you’re demure about it. Not that you need anyone but Barou, you assure, but you do want to support his confidence in himself. Sweet thing like you always are, gentle with batted lashes and a hand on his chest.

Barou loves you, would’ve said fuck no again if you showed even the slightest bit of hesitation. Instead, you looked up at him with clear eyes and a gentle smile.

Fine. Barou agrees to play Isagi’s shitty game. He’ll win the next match and it’ll be over.

Except, he doesn’t win.

It’s a close match, but Isagi’s team manages to get one goal in - Isagi himself striking it into the net. As soon as it’s called, only seconds before the last buzzer goes off, Isagi looks at Barou directly. Grins as he scores, smiles like Japan’s sweetheart when everything is over.

Barou wouldn’t go as far as describing his feelings as dread. Dread implies that he’s lacking confidence. It’s more like he was pissed. Pissed that Isagi got his way, pissed that the match was so fucking close, pissed as he was relaying the news to you on the way home. A nightmare of a situation - ultimately.

But Barou is a man of his word.

And as man of his word, Barou puts you three in a groupchat with Isagi. There’s some hoopla about getting to know each other. Barou can appreciate Isagi’s efforts to make you comfortable, despite knowing it’s bare minimum. There’s something real about his approach, his desire. Isagi wants to fuck you as you, as much as he does because you’re Barou’s girlfriend. He just wants you, and Barou isn’t entirely sure what to make of that.

He isn’t sure if that makes his fuck-up worse or better. But he’s here now, and there’s nothing he can do.

He doesn’t really know what to do with his hands. He’s supposed to just watch, and he has some qualms about jacking off while you’re being fucked by someone else. It’s weirder to be in his position though, to just sit and look on as Isagi lays hands on you.

Barou loathes knowing Isagi’s preferences, loathes even more that they have similar tastes. You’re wearing white lace and thin straps and mascara that isn’t waterproof per request. You're beautiful in a way that Barou knows to be normal for you, but still feels impressed by.

And Isagi is there.

While Barou is looking at you, eyes fixated on your silhouette - your expression is turned to Isagi. Bright eyes, fluttery lashes, lips that are parted and pouty. Your hands are clamped up at your sides, thighs trembling. You’re nervous, it’s written all over your face. Isagi is hovering over you - speaking in quiet whispers until you smile or laugh. He gets you comfortable with the way he talks, much faster than Barou could’ve in a situation like this. He’s a people person, notably. Barou can’t hear what Isagi is telling you so secretively.

But it must have something to do with him, given the way you glance over at him and Isagi turns your face gently back his way. He’s not a participant here, not playing on the field. He’s a fly on the wall, a watcher - a passive one, and he isn’t sure if it’s too early or not to be pissed.

“Shouei,” You whisper despite Isagi’s efforts to make you forget him. Barou stills “It'll be okay.”

Barou breathes out at you, softening his features. Isagi’s touch on your body doesn’t make him lunge out of his seat this time.

Isagi kisses you when Barou is looking. From where he’s sitting, he can see it clearly. You crane your neck up like you usually do when you kiss, and Isagi has a hand around the side of your face. He doesn’t know what to think, what to feel - so he focuses on you.

Your lips part, and Isagi puts his tongue in your mouth. Puts his tongue in and nips, laps at the gloss of your mouth until you give in. Your hands clasp around the end of Isagi’s shirt, a flash of innocence.

It’s an explicit way to kiss, lewd. Suggestive. Barou thinks this is intentional. He can’t wrap his head around why Isagi would want to fuck you dirty other than his own preferences. But there’s more to it. So much more underneath the surface of his desire that makes Barou want to get up and punch his lights out.

But he doesn’t. He keeps his hands tucked at his side, and watches as you squirm. There’s something dirty about the desperation in your every gesture. Isagi keeps kissing you as he slowly undoes you.

He starts with kissing your jaw after thoroughly making your head blank. Isagi lets his lips trail over the corner of your mouth, the angle of your jaw, the space where your shoulder meets your neck. There’s no romance laced in it, only lust. Your face twists with each bite and his hands make quick work out of touching you in every place other than where you need. He breaks you apart in careful, calculated moves. Exploits all your sensitivities. His hands squeeze the softness of your chest, groaning at the way it feels in between his fingers.

He teases your nipples, flicking and rubbing them until you’re wiggling away from the feeling. He licks and bites at the tender flesh, sucking harsh enough to make a wet sound.

Barou busies himself with counting all the differences, and measures his own touch up to it. How different it is. The way Isagi is touching you lacks delicacy, finesse.

There are a few moments where you pause, glancing at him to say something. But when Isagi touches you, you can’t get the words out. His groping isn’t very romantic.

But you like it, don’t you? You do. It’s in your face. In your blissed out eyes, and the subtle flutters of your tummy and the legs wrapped around Isagi’s waist when he humps you. Ruts the hard shape of his cock against your clothed, wet cunt and makes you whimper like you’ve been hit. He’s groping you like he’s only known sex from dirty magazines or porn on DVD, but you like it. You’re so engrossed in the feeling that every word you have for him dies in your mouth, gets washed away by your desire.

Isagi makes a show out of humping you, once you both get into it. The two of you break apart only briefly. He peels his shirt back as he sits up on his knees, pulls his pants down enough to just be in his boxers. He lets his hard cock rest against your pussy, still in his boxers. Gripping your thighs, he thrusts - slow and deliberate until the tip pushes into your swollen clit. You cry out, your hands still fisted and trembling around your size. Isagi narrates this time, loud enough for Barou to hear. The sound of his voice grates on Barou’s nerves.

“You’re so fucking wet,” He punctuates, laughing - harshly at that “Do you like when I’m a little mean?”

Your hands curl, and you clam up - but Isagi doesn’t let you shy away. Instead he keeps thrusting his hips over and over, gripping your jaw to make you look up at him. Your eyes are blown so wide, wetness pooling at your lashes as the sensation drives you over. Barou would’ve touched you by now, but Isagi does not.

“That brute is a gentleman to you, huh. I’m a little surprised.” Isagi says conversationally, making Barou’s whole body tense. “But you look like you need to be fucked a little mean. I almost want to make you cry.”

Barou goes to interject, he wants too - but you moan. And Isagi laughs at you again.

“Is that what you want? Hm? Want me to fuck you?”

“Hngh, please.” Your voice nearly breaks as you whimper “Wan’ you to fuck me.”

Shit. Barou is hard.

Isagi grins “That’s what I like to hear,”

Isagi moves, pulling himself away from you. He lifts your legs to take your panties off, and tosses them somewhere carelessly before sitting back. He spreads your legs, coating his middle fingers with saliva before positioning himself.

He hovers over as he lets his fingers dip down to your cunt, brushing over your swollen clit. He ignores your cry out from neglect. You wrap your arms around his neck as he keeps himself upright with free hand, kissing you softly as he starts to finger you. He doesn’t give you room to breathe, doesn’t let you pull away as his fingers start to stretch you open. You mewl at his ministrations, paw at him and kiss him desperately. There’s such a whiny quality to your moaning, one that Barou has only ever heard in bits and pieces before this.

He watches as one finger scissors you open then another. You take it well, don’t complain even Isagi takes his sweet time pressing up against your soft spot. Once you’re all stretched and light headed, he kisses the corner of your mouth.

“Now you’re ready for me,” Isagi mumbles, looking you over “Gonna fuck you nice and full, yeah? Wanna let him see you?”

Dazed, you nod. Barou goes to ask what he fucking means by that, but the words never make it out. He watches instead, as Isagi maneuvers you to roll onto your side.

While Isagi comes to lay behind you. The angle you’re at gives Barou a perfect front view of your body, down the smallest details. He can see the traces of saliva left on your skin, the soft indents of marks. Everything stops, his breath hitching as he gets an eye full of your face. Sheer bliss on your features, shining with a sheen of sweat. Your eyes are glossed over, glassy.

Before Barou can think at all, he finds a hand at his waist - rubbing his cock through the fabric of his pants. Isagi’s arm circles around your middle as his chin rests on your shoulder. You pick your leg up to give him easier access to you.

Barou watches intently as Isagi’s cock pushes against your entrance. Your tight hole stretches around the swollen tip as your voice starts to tremble. Isagi curses behind you, quiet as he eases himself inside. He fills you up deliberately, inch by inch pushing into your hot cunt until he’s all the way bottomed out. Your eyes are nearly rolled back into your head from bliss, mouth agape and drooling. Isagi lets his hand travel down to your clit, his middle finger rubbing soft circles into the bundle of nerves. He bottoms out with a deep sigh.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” Isagi groans, pulling out before pushing in again in one thrust “Makes me wanna cum in you so bad, fuck.”

Barou can see how much the words affect you. Isagi must feel it.

“Shit, you want that, huh?” He laughs, breathless and entertained by your desire. He fucks up into you now, starts his pace off slow - the sound of your pussy filling up the room “Want me to cum in you instead of pull out? Give you a baby?”

You gasp, shudder at the prospect. Isagi is fucking you raw, where Barou is almost always using condoms. He should be pissed beyond what he thought possible, and some part of him is. But another part of him, even quieter, is fixated on the pure pleasure you’re getting out of it. Out of being fucked raw by someone who’s basically a stranger.

Isagi, ever the egoist, sees the opportunity and runs with it. He fucks into you harder, gives it to you deeper with a vicious smile.

“I’ll knock you up, beautiful. Want it so bad, of course I’ll fuck it right into you,” Isagi croons, his voice edging on sadistic but mostly saccharine sweet “Hear that, Barou? Aren’t you lucky, ‘m giving your girlfriend a winner's baby. Maybe you could teach ‘em to play soccer.”

Barou feels his own irritation bubble into his throat - but he can’t be fully angry when you look the way you do. When your whole body tenses and trembles every time Isagi thrusts his cock into you, like you’re practically begging for him to breed you full. No matter what Isagi does, it’s not like Barou could ever be agitated with you, and god - you look like you feel good.

Your voice is choked out as Barou watches you get tipped over the edge. He feels his own cock twitch from neglect, but refuses to let himself go any further. Despite how painful it is to not touch himself. You reach for the sheets as your eyes go wide, fluttering back into your skull.

“Gonna cum, Isagi, Isagi” Your voice is hoarse and trembling “S-somethin’ gonna come out.”

Isagi keeps pace, fucking you how you need.

“Let’s cum together, yeah? Cum with me so your pussy can swallow up all of it, make sure you’re bred nice and full.”

You nod dumbly and hold it in despite yourself, and Barou watches you as you make a mess. Watches all of your arousal drip and stain the sheets as Isagi fucks you, how you’re so wet you nearly push him out. You bite your lip and take his cock like it’s nothing, his grip on your waist nearly bruising. Your shoulders sag with relief as he finally gets close.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum,” He warns, then a little softer “Let’s cum together? Cum with beautiful.”

Barou watches you as you. You cum and you cum hard, hard enough that your eyes squeeze shut and your whole body tightens before breaking out into trembles. You’re convulsing as you pull away from his cock, a wet rush spilling as you finish. Isagi groans as you squirt all over him and the sheets, the mess of his seed mixing as you lay down.

You nearly collapse into the bed beneath you, trembling as Isagi kisses your shoulder. Then for the first time, he looks over to acknowledge him.

“It’d be rude to give them just one right?” Isagi says, giving Barou a cocky glance “Don’t hold it in so much.”

“Fuck you,” Barou curses, groaning.

It’s gonna be a long, long night.

#barou x reader #isagi x reader #barou smut #isagi smut #bllk x reader #writing tag

219 notes · View notes

buckybarnesb-tch · 2 months

Text

Hybrids Mafia Princess Pt2

HMP Part 1

Warning: Very sad dog/wolf death scene, it is traumatic and that’s coming from the person who wrote it and I’m very sorry ahead of time, Emotional and Relationship Manipulation

Translation: девочка means Babygirl and for anyone who speaks Russian, if this is not accurate let me know, it’s just the most accurate one I could find on multiple translators but please correct me if I’m wrong, I’m always happy to learn and fix mistakes like that

Tag-List: @a-beaverhausen @ranisingsnew @susannahmikaelson @skulliecadaver-blog

To say that night had been hectic would be a massive understatement.

After Y/n’s mother had left the room it wasn’t 10 minutes before the door was kicked in and Y/n screamed, terrified immediately that someone was breaking in and Klaus was on his feet, growling at the 4 men that now stood in the room with guns. ‘What do you think you’re doing Rumlow?! Get Out! I was fucking sleeping you crazy assholes!’

‘That’s enough девочка, they’re here to get that animal out of my child’s bedroom.’ Klaus instantly recognized this man as Y/n’s father and he would have no matter what he had said, she looks like him in more ways than she does her mom.

‘No, he’s not going anywhere. He’s mine now, he hasn’t hurt anyone-‘

‘Yet! He’s a wild animal! It is time for him to go, I am not asking-‘

‘Of course not! You never do! You never even speak to me, let alone ask me how I feel about something! He’s not going anywhere!’ She snapped, moving to hug him and Klaus licked her face to try and comfort her, knowing this was not going to end well.

‘I’m going to give you a choice because I love you девочка. Either you take the animal outside and let it go or I get rid of it right now. It’s your choice, because I will not have a wolf in my house ready to hurt my child, it’s nice now but it’s a wild animal, it is not a pet!’ Y/n was glaring at her father but he refused to look at her. Klaus could see he didn’t want to upset her but he didn’t want to risk a wolf sleeping in his child’s bed, he can’t say it’s not logical but he sure isn’t going about it the right way. ‘Choose Y/n, or I will.’

Y/n turned to look back at him and pet him gently. ‘Come on Fenrir.’ He hopped off of the bed and followed her down the stairs and out the back door, kneeling in the grass beside him. ‘You go home, okay? I’ll bring you something special to eat tomorrow, does that sound good?’ He barked, enjoying her scratching behind his ears as always.

‘No Y/n, you will not go looking for him, you will leave him alone, no more going into the woods.’

‘What?! No! You don’t want him in the house? Fine, but he’s my friend! The only one I have in the world thanks to you! I don’t get to have friends, or boyfriends, or dates, and now I can’t even have a fucking pet?! I’ll come talk to him whenever I want and you can’t stop me!’

‘Y/n-‘

‘No! I’ve always done what you say, always, even when it means I can’t go to college or have a job or know any other human beings besides the people who you pay to be here but this isn’t fair! You don’t get to do this to me!’ She was hugging him around the neck tightly and he whined, not knowing how to comfort her.

Her father gestured to one of the men who moved to grab her and Klaus growled, lunging at him as he reached for her and biting his hand viciously. ‘Mother Fucker!’

‘He’s protecting me! That should prove that he’s good-‘

‘It proves that he’s dangerous!’ He shouted, his voice loud and pissed off as he moved to grab Y/n and haul her up. ‘Don’t look.’ He told her, trying to hold her face against him.

‘No…No! Let Go! Let Me Go! Fenrir Run!’

Klaus had to give James Barnes credit, he’s much more of an idiot than he expected. Klaus had been trying to figure out how to get Y/n to leave with him, and with how she had been raised he expected it to be difficult but no, her father was doing a fantastic job of driving her away all by himself. All this was doing was solidifying it for him, though he had always hated getting shot. Humans and their guns had gotten effective over the years and it seemed it got more painful every decade.

There was a loud gunshot which cut off Y/n’s screams and everything was silent, no one spoke, Y/n’s mother not even knowing what to say right now. ‘Clean it up.’ James demanded before pulling his daughter towards the house but she planted her feet and dug her teeth into his arm as hard as she could making him scream and let go.

A moment later she was knelt over her friends body, crying into his fur and willing him to wake up, even though she knew he wouldn’t. No one seemed to know what to do until her mother moved. ‘Honey…it’s time to go inside-‘

‘You let him do this…you’re the only person he’s ever listened to and you did nothing.’ Y/n’s voice was hollow, she didn’t have it in her to care anymore.

‘Honey, I couldn’t-‘

‘You didn’t want to. There’s a difference.’ It wasn’t until she was blaming her mother that Bucky spoke again.

‘Don’t talk to your mother like that-‘

‘Don’t you ever speak to me again.’ She cut him off, glaring up at him. ‘All you’ve done tonight is prove everything that I’ve been saying about you for years…you don’t care about me. Maybe you did when I was a kid, maybe it was all a lie, maybe once I got old enough you realized I wasn’t everything you wanted and you realized you hated me cause you can’t have any better kids. I don’t know and tonight was my last straw…I don’t care anymore. I hate you-‘

‘Y/n!’ Her mother scolded.

‘I Hate You…and not some teenage angst “I hate you” bullshit, I mean it. You were the only friend I had my entire life and for whatever reason you gave up on that and left me alone and now you couldn’t even let me have a pet as a friend. I’m done. I’m leaving, I don’t know how but I will find a way to get away from you and you will never find me again…I Hate You.’ Y/n released Fenrir’s fur and stood, pulling away from her mothers phony comfort and walking into the house without a glance back at anyone.

She knew her parents would never let her leave, they would see her as “in danger” every moment she was alone and maybe that’s true but she didn’t care, it had to be better than this lonely, painful life that she was living.

Y/n spent the rest of the night sobbing until she passed out, unable to keep her eyes open anymore.

Klaus truly felt awful for letting her believe him dead. He could see how much his wolf meant to her already and he couldn’t say he was shocked. This girl had been cut off from the outside world due to her fathers paranoia, she couldn’t leave the house and go to school or have a job or make friends and while her life with Klaus would be much the same (as he is also a paranoid bastard) he would never leave her alone to wonder if he loved her or not. She would never doubt his love. Plus she would have Fenrir to snuggle whenever she wanted.

Klaus knew that getting Y/n to trust him wouldn’t be hard and if it was any other situation he would find that funny but he loves her and he doesn’t care for how vulnerable her father has left his mate. If anyone else had gotten there before Klaus she could have been hurt and he would have had to kill her father for that, something he didn’t really want to do.

He knew that killing her parents would hurt her even if she says she hates them, therefore he wouldn’t be doing that but he also wanted James Barnes to know that his девочка was out there, alive…well…“Alive” and happy with another man and that he would never find her.

All Klaus needed to do now was create an environment that James would want or need to take his daughter to. He could compel someone to throw a party and depending on who it was he would have to bring his family or it would be insulting.

Having been invited into the house by his Princess, Klaus climbed his way through her open window and sat on her bed, stroking his fingers down her cheek. He was relieved to finally be able to touch her soft skin, even if he could only do so while she’s asleep, he would have her soon. It wouldn’t be hard to convince Y/n that he loved her and Klaus was thankful that she was his mate, he was saving her from getting hurt by a man in the future with much worse intentions and while Klaus’ intentions were to fuck her and keep her all for himself at least he knew that he would never cause her harm. He loves her. She is his mate, and he would care for his Princess for the rest of eternity.

Klaus would be her new Daddy.

And his little Baby would never be sad again.

Hybrids Mafia Princess Masterlist

Klaus Mikaelson Masterlist

132 notes · View notes