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ineylesian · 28 days

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— FELL ON BLACK DAYS

AVENTURINE X FEM! READER

AO3 | NAVIGATION

WORD COUNT — 9.5k

WARNINGS — spoilers for penacony’s storyline, enemies (??) to lovers, slowburn fr (it gets good i promise) mentions of genocide, mentions of child exploitation (not explicit), weapons & violence, smut, fem anatomy reader, sub!aventurine, mentions of traumatic events, one bed troupe

SUMMARY — Risk. It’s the word Aventurine lives by, a motto that claws at your heart when he’s gone. A reality that spills tears when he closes the door to your apartment, leaving only the ache of your heart in his absence. A danger that never guarantees the next time he chases his destiny will not be his last.

You will never fight to change it, because that’s all it is. Destiny.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — AHHH i love aventurine so much he made me write again <333 i will defend this man to the end of the earth i swear. also holy word vomit, this is officially my longest piece!!

“BREAKING NEWS: Reports incoming that the International Peace Corporation has been seen with an employee suspected of Avgin origin from the planet Sigonia-IV. All habitants from this world were thought to have been wiped out or lost to the galaxy, so the appearance of this mysterious individual has grasped the attention of–”

The broadcast slowly fades into the background, overtaken by the synth and snare of a song that lightly shakes the ground at your feet.

Sometimes you’re better of dead–

“Oh, you think you’ll be an asset? You’ll have to learn to make tough decisions on the go here if you want to succeed, so tell me…”

There’s a gun in your hand, it’s pointing at your head–

“You want to help this clan? Help claim this world and rid it from the remaining filth that roams?”

There’s a piercing screech amidst the bar, the high pitched wail of the speaker blasting the music fighting against the volume. A few seconds pass before the song picks back up again, a few lyrics skimmed through.

Which do you choose, a hard or soft option? (How much do you need?)

In a West End town, a dead end world, The East End boys and the West End girls–

“...”

“Before your initiation, you must make a prayer to the winds and mountains. Do you swear to devote your thoughts and beliefs to them, and reclaim the glory of Sigonia-IV?”

We’ve got no future, we’ve got no past

Here today, built to last–

“I swear.”

The bass fades and you’re left standing amidst a crowd of chatting people, some high on buzz, others passed out beside the restroom. Your eyes slowly fix forward, coming to a halt as the masses shift in formation, curving in a circle around the biggest table in the casino. Lined with forest green felt and red chips, hands bang against the surface joined in a cry of frustration.

“God damn it. This is rigged!” A player screams, hot-faced and teeth grit. “YOU!”

He stomps his way around the table, stopping at the dealer’s chair, failing to gain any attention despite the magnitude of his boots on the floor. In retaliation, the man takes a fistfull of the dealer’s hair, spinning him violently around and grabbing the collar around his neck.

Seldom have there been times where you didn’t see him in this sort of setting, a man with glasses that carried the same orange tint as the drink in his hand, die mounted between his fingers as he speaks with a wealthy patron. His words weave like velvet on a fine tailored suit as he invites you to play a game of chance, and before the game has even begun, you’ve lost.

His name is Aventurine, and, just as his reputation precedes him, the corners of his lips turn upward as you enter his field of view. He is never one to be down on luck.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to exit the casino. The drinks have riled you up a bit too much, and I’m afraid you’re no longer sober enough to keep playing.”

The smell of outlandish alcohol hits your nose in a foul wave as he turns, rudely shrugging your hand off of his shoulder.

“And who do you think you are? Protecting this weasel like that.” You take a step back as he advances, completely abandoning his grip on Aventurine as his gaze focuses on the emblem tailored to your shoulder. “You’re in on this scam too, aren’t you? Fuckin’ IPC, always looking to take money from people.” A sizable crowd has gathered at this point, and with that, guards are quick to stand at your side. You tilt your head to the side, extending a hand to gesture at the coat draped over his empty chair.

“You may gather your things and leave now, sir. Refusal to comply will result in you being forcibly removed.”

A few more seconds of seething stares pass before he grumbles an insult toward you and rushes to gather his things, attempting to push the guards following him away. You sigh, turning to the dealer, who is now comfortable in his chair, feathered hat placed neatly on his lap as he shuffles the pool of cards pushed his way.

“Alright folks, now that’s over with, how about another–”

“Mr. Aventurine unfortunately won’t be able to join you all this round.” You quickly cut him off, laying the newly layered deck of cards onto the table. “May I have a word, please?”

The blonde takes a glance between you and the rest of the patrons at the table before nodding, allowing a charismatic smile to decorate his face as he slides the cards forward.

“Of course. Miss Antonia, would you please find another dealer to step in for the remaining games?”

He gathers a kind nod from a nearby waitress, before turning to follow you outside of the casino. As the door opens, strong drafts of icy wind blow against your face, and you hear a shiver from behind.

“Sheesh, couldn’t we at least have talked inside? I didn’t come prepared to stand in the cold…”

You send a look his way, and Aventurine’s hands rise, lips pursed in faux apology. He pushes his glasses farther into his nose bridge as you lean against the casino’s exterior wall, shielding yourself from the chill. It’s clear he’s not taking you seriously, stifling out a yawn and rubbing his eyes before he even spares you a glance.

“Here to lecture me about the, wait…” His eyes suddenly narrow, honing in on your uniform. “Who are you?”

You remain silent, watching as he taps a few fingers against his forehead, thinking. The talisman of the IPC’s Strategic Investment Department sits firmly laid into your uniform. A smoothly carved onyx, inferior to the cornerstone you know he possesses and certainly lacking in power. His eyes linger on the stone for a few moments, biting the inside of his cheek as he tilts his head back up.

“Never seen that stone before..” He says after a few seconds, voice substantially lower. “What rank are you?”

His gaze is opaque, on guard. You resist the urge to bite your lip, figuring lying in this kind of situation wouldn’t be the best decision. Subconsciously, you bring a hand up to your stone, adjusting your coat flap before bringing it back down.

“P39.”

His eyebrows form a sharp line, but his lips remain flat. The lens behind thick shades linger on the stone, burning into the lights that reflect off of the darkness. He’s never seen someone who isn’t a part of the Ten Cornerstones wear something like this, so who are you?

“If you’re here to try and convince me to do something, I’m not interested. I’ve had enough orders drilled into my head since I came to Jarilo-VI.”

His forefront is confident, but you can see the hand that lingers at his side, struggling to stay put. It reeks of mild uncertainty, and a lack of security. He doesn’t feel safe when he’s not in control.

“I’m here to tell you that your assignment’s changed.” Your response is straight and to the point. There’s no room to betray any underlying feelings of guilt you may have from years passed. “You’ll be with me and my team, we’re going to the Loufu in three days to sort some business out. I suggest you finish your deals here before we go.”

“Well then.” Aventurine clicks his tongue, mild annoyance riding the smile that forms on his lips. “Let’s acquaint ourselves then, shall we? You must know who I am, so please allow me the pleasure of returning the favor.”

A small passage of frosty air rises into the atmosphere as he breathes, hand extending in formality. You take it, slowly shaking, taking in the defensive rise of his shoulders. It seems he has zero tolerance for strangers.

“Nice to meet you, Aventurine. They call this stone the onyx.”

–

The Interastral Peace Corporation only takes workers to be strong-minded and just as toughly willed. In the Strategic Investment Department, greed is a virtue, and wanting nothing but it all is a prayer. Those who earn their spot as a cornerstone will stop at no means to chase their desires.

Aventurine values risk, but he always loves to have control in his corner. Without control, the chips in his hands are of no use, and his bargains crumble beneath him.

A gambler's true nightmare, sitting right between his eyes.

Your relation to him is a true mystery, despite all of the digging he’s been doing after arriving at the Loufu. Despite the numerous deals you’ve closed together, he still fails to know anything about you, other than the fact that you have quick wit and fascinating knowledge of the universe. He won’t dare approach you directly, his inhibitions are too high and he knows too little.

However, there’s something off about you and that stone of yours. It’s unlike anything he’s ever seen before.

“Does the IPC really need that many funds to perform a vitality check on the Sky-Faring Commission? From what I remember, this is nearly triple the amount of last year’s fee.”

“Well, Helm Master, from what our reports say, you had agreed to the accumulation of interest based on reports of safety in the Loufu. Based on recent events, there has been a substantial raise in alarm concerning the safety of the citizens here. We hope you can understand.”

Aventurine unfolds his hands, sliding a glossy black dossier over to the woman known as Yukong. After skimming over the first page of analysis, she sighs, and places her hand over the cover.

“Is it possible that we could touch bases on this later this week? I need time to look over these documents and discuss them with my team before making any decisions.”

Biting back a groan of exasperation, you nod, politely shaking her hand and bowing your head when she stands. What you thought was going to be a quick excursion of debt collecting had turned into two long weeks of debate, and you’re starting to lose sleep. After Yukong exits, you run a hand through your hair, allowing the flow from the outside to flood your ears..

You can admit, the place they chose is certainly impressive in its theatrics, blooming with tall fountains of pristine water and a live band of foxians playing classical music on a mahogany stage.

After a few minutes of jotting down notes you find yourself leaning against the bar’s edge, elbows cool against smooth wood. Your thoughts swirl like the vibrato of the woman singing a cover of a local song in a language unknown to you, but it’s calming, and you begin to itch with the desire to order a drink.

The waiter polishing glasses near you seems to pick up on your wants, quietly gesturing with her hand that she’ll take your order.

“A Rose in Rain, please.”

She makes your drink at an astonishing speed, sliding the glass next to your hands with a smile. You stare at the royal blue liquid sitting at the rim, contemplating if the hangover will be worth it.

Aventurine eyes the finger that rests along the base of the glass, humming quietly to himself. He figures there’s no better way to get to know someone than through a few drinks.

“You gonna drink that or keep staring at it?”

You turn your head, watching as he slides onto the barstool next to you. He raises his three outer fingers, ordering a small glass of Wintry Garden before turning to face you.

It’s been a long month with the Cornerstone. His approach remains restricted, evident in his snippets of sarcasm that he still doesn’t trust you. Your situation is… unusual, so you tolerate it. However, there still lies a fear within that he’ll go deeper than what’s for his own good.

“Do you usually drink? Or are you afraid to spill your guts?”

His words drip with conviction, blindly accusing you with the corners of his mouth tilted upward. It’s been too long, and he still doesn’t know a damn thing about you other than the stone you wear. He needs to flip this in his favor, fast.

Aventurine’s fingers drum against the bar’s edge as he picks up his drink, taking a small sip. The slight tilt of his head inclines you to start yours too, drinking half of the tall glass in one swig. His eyebrows raise in surprise when the drink hits the table, taking all but a few seconds to completely down the entirety of its contents, a resounding clink following.

When you don’t rush to finish your own drink, Aventurine chuckles, crossing his arms as he turns to face you fully. He’s eyeing you, daring smile plastered on his face.

“What, scared?”

He’s challenging you. And it works, since your drink is empty and you’re ordering a second round in a matter of seconds. Fizz sluggishly bubbles down your throat, followed by rich spots of thick, clear syrup.

A few drinks is all it takes for you to begin feeling lightheaded, pressing a palm into your eye to try and alleviate the nausea. Aventurine is at least 6 drinks in, setting down his next with an exaggerated sigh. Raising his hand for another, he lightly dings his glass against yours, the scent of redsunset sauce high on his breath.

“Let’s talk, Onyx.” He remarks, placing his hands on the table as the bartender comes over. “What’s the real deal with you? How come I haven’t seen you anywhere in the IPC and you show up in my faction one random day?”

You cough, attempting to clear your throat before you answer. It’s tough to keep your resolve with the amount of alcohol in your system.

“Maybe you’re just not perceptive enough, I’ve always been around.”

It’s clear he doesn’t like your answer. Another drink down.

“How many years have you worked for the IPC?”

“Almost 4 now.”

“What’s the entrance project that got you into the Strategy Department?”

You hesitate, and he grins, satisfied. This interrogation is going as planned.

“Well then? I’m sure it couldn’t have been that bad, unless you’re more dangerous than you seem.”

It’s your turn to down a drink, wiping a small trace off of your chin as you think.

“Izumo.” You answer, short, watching as his fingers clasp tighter around the glass in his hand. Surprise.

“You really expect me to believe that?” He scoffs, a tinge of fire evident in his voice. “No one goes to Izumo any more, not after the slash.”

“You’d be surprised at the sheer amount of people that go to Magatsu no Morokami to uncover history. The IPC has their eyes set on valuable relics left behind from the war.”

He leans forward, dangerously close to your face. Past the thick orange lens of his aviators, you can see the irate spark in his eyes, alight with a plethora of shades you’ve never seen before.

“It’s not wise to lie to your superiors.”

You back away, sliding your card across the counter to the bartender. The moment Aventurine gets up to follow, you stop in your tracks, holding a small drive in his direction. You have some tricks up your sleeve, too.

“You’ll change your mind.”

He pauses, slightly bent over in a stupor of alcohol.

“Best keep your cards close to your chest, Aventurine. Snooping in places you don’t belong bodes bad fortune.”

His mouth opens, but no words come out. Slowly, he takes the drive from your hand, leaning back onto the bar’s surface, eyebrows knit in thought. The world is suddenly too loud and amidst a flurry of harmonic bellows and blinding lights, you disappear.

—

INTERASTRAL PEACE CORPORATION, STRATEGY INVESTMENT DEPARTMENT HQ | ONE MONTH LATER

“I guess I should apologize.”

Several weeks of absence. You look up from the papers on your desk, watching as Aventurine places your drive back on your desk. He straightens back up, waiting for you to respond.

“Understandable.” You answer, finalizing a document with a quick signature. “I would have had my apprehensions too.”

“Still do, but it’s better to work with someone you tolerate, right?”

You look up. He shrugs, eyeing the papers you have scattered around.

You had given him a flash drive with your report on Izumo, or, at least, a report on it. Sometimes things are left best buried. Still, Aventurine is certainly not stupid, and you know that. The final version of the report is vague and full of small incidents that contrast the planet’s true history There are inconsistencies, but he seems a little less hostile for the time being.

“Whatever you’re hiding from me, I intend to find out in due time. But I can’t do that if we’re at odds.” A hand is extended your way, held a little less straight and professional. “Let’s just try and hate each other a little less, huh?”

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you take his hand and shake it for the second time. Aventurine smiles at you, a little less pointedly, but still on guard.

“Friends it is, then.”

His grip tightens slightly at the proclamation, leaving your veins seared and eyes wavering. As if you just made a deal with the devil. Your gaze drags along the fancies of his coat, figuring this is just another gamble he’s won. Something closer to certain death; the passion for it intrigues you.

Sooner or later you’ll suffer the consequences of a lie, you tell yourself. There’s no good outcome when striking up an agreement with a gambler, especially one like Aventurine.

Especially when the gambler is holding a knife to your throat.

The blade is cool, barely holding back from your trachea. Leather gloves hold a fistfull of your hair, shoving you down onto the filing cabinet you were sifting through moments before. Your eyes dart around, only able to see the edge of his shoe pressing against your ankle and the papers you dropped scattered across the floor.

“Just as I thought we were getting along.” His spits, words slithering around your chest and settling around your neck. “It was only a matter of time before you slipped up.”

Confusion spreads across your features, and Aventurine scoffs. His shoe digs deeper into your achilles, and you stagger against the metal.

“What the Hell are you talking about?” Your words come out choked, gasping for air against Aventurine’s hold.

“That man, the one you had a long conversation with at the meeting tonight? You two seemed to get along.” Aventurine’s breath runs short out of anger, grip scalding against your skin. “You know him, don’t you?”

You close your eyes, tracing the night’s events back several hours. You only recall shaking two men’s hands, one being the esteemed Doctor Ratio’s, and the other the reason why you were down in the IPCs archives. He was dressed nothing short of what a gentleman would wear, offering you many commending words as he spoke of the recent inflation concerning the astral economy. However, you didn’t miss the brilliant stone embedded in the shell of his tie, reflecting vibrant colors you’ve only seen once in your lifetime. And neither did he.

“Pretty stone isn’t it?.” Aventurine continues, pressing your hands against the wall you’re shoved against. “I’ve seen it a lot throughout my lifetime, but I’m sure you know that already. Silly me, forgetting how easy it is to conceal them.”

He reaches for your shoulder, and you push back, using the slightly stagger of his feet to grab the blade’s edge, violently smashing your head into his and spinning him around. His blade traded for your stone.

“I’d like to know…” His fingers flip the stone around, taking in the colorless mass, like a void amidst the stars. With a quick swipe of his hand, a lighter is held to it, engulfing the black in a dance of pale fire. Aventurine shakes the rising smoke off of him after a few moments, and your eyes narrow.

“...Why you have this?”

Turquoise meteorite, a brilliant blue stone infused with veins of a green just as bright. A kind of beauty that could only be found on Sigonia, tailored in a way only an Avgin could. The crafter spoke of a tactic that could hide the stone’s true color, while keeping its spirit alive with you still.

Blood drips from your hand, staining your clothes a deep crimson. Gritting your teeth together, you slice a sleeve of your dress shirt off, slowly wrapping it around the wound.

Aventurine stands, still, fury riding his waterline. His glasses sit beside his feet, hues of purple and blue wavering in the dim light. His hand slowly clenches, in and out, smoothing the cooled piece over his palm.

“What now, Katican?” His voice is quiet, gently ricocheting off of concrete walls. “Came to settle one last score, fulfilling your dream of tracking down the last Avgin? Oh, I bet you’re itching to use that knife right now.”

You step to the side, shaking bloodstained papers off of your feet. The knife drops to the ground, scraping cruelty against the ground as you kick it to a corner far out of your reach. A sharp intake of breath follows, and he steps back.

“I’m no Katican.” Your tone is low, locking eyes with Aventurine, his gaze darts from the knife to you. “The stone was a gift from an Avgin I saved during the second extinction.”

The air is stale, prickling with fear as you pass. Aventurine stands tall, but you know all too well that his greatest fear has come alight in this very room. The thought of coming face to face with a Katican chases him in his nightmares each dusk, a terror looming over his head akin to a raging storm. For once, he’s speechless, completely dumbstruck, mind racing to comprehend all that you’ve bestowed upon him. So little said, yet so great a burden unveiled.

You would be right in telling him that such information is better left buried. Yet Aventurine knows only how to shatter the destiny that calls for him, and monumental change has left in its wake.

He opens his mouth to speak, yet words fail him. The hand holding the stone sits slotted behind his back, holding on to it as he would a birthright. A piece of his past that would never bless him again, sitting in the shade of Sigonia’s darkest nights, mimicking a color that does not belong to it. He wants to scream, take his knife and shove it so hard into your chest that it comes out on the other side.

“I am on your side, Aventurine. I always have been.”

After forcing himself to swallow, he straightens up, but you’re already gone.

Distantly, a heavy thud hits the floor.

–

TUMBLEWEED, SALSOTTO.

“I’m Daisy, here this morning with Tumbleweed’s daily weather report. As usual, there’s sun about. However, a rude awakening is coming at around 6pm, as a pretty hefty thunderstorm is coming our way. Make sure you carry your umbrellas! And remember, as our beloved Fleetworld Marc says, thunder only happens when it’s destined.”

Destiny. The word lingers in your head as a pang of hunger hits your insides. Placing your last suitcase beside your bed, you set off for your hotel room’s kitchen. Reaching over and opening a cabinet, you groan when it reveals itself to be empty.

Shrugging your coat over your shoulders, you pocket your room card. However, when you open your door, you’re quick to step back, feeling your heart rate spike instantly in shock.

“Uh…” You take a few short breaths, regaining your composure. “Can I help you?”

The man standing before you is no other than Aventurine, chin receding as he looks at you with evident confusion.

“Can I help you?” He retorts, flipping his hotel card up to the light. “This is my room.”

You pull the exact same card out of your pocket, and the two of you share looks of bewilderment. After reading over the numbers on your card for what felt like the 50th time, Aventurine sighs, long and drawn out.

“Well, this isn’t what I imagined when the front desk told me they could fit a room in for me.”

“I’ll go ask–”

You’re cut off with a swift wave of his hand.

“Don’t bother, I already did. They’re fully booked for the next week.”

Before you know it, both Aventurine and his bags are heading into your… your room. Exhaling, you mutter a quiet “okay..” and follow him inside. However, he’s quick to stop you once you make it past the bathroom, exaggeratedly pointing toward the wall to your right.

“This has to be some kind of joke, right?” Aventurine laughs, pulling his glasses off as if attempting to see better.

His gaze is fixed on the bed sitting across from you. The single bed, accompanied with a single nightstand and a TV. In that moment, you both share a second groan, and Aventurine palms his face.

“I’ll figure this out.”

In a matter of moments, he’s gone, suitcases set haphazardly on the ground beside you. After a few minutes of thought, you head to the bathroom, soaking your hands in cold water. A brief inhale follows the icy chill that drags over your face, and you silently curse destiny.

A few hours pass before Aventurine returns, shirt slightly ruffled, annoyance clearly displayed upon his features. The click of boots melds into the soft step of socks as he enters the kitchen, and you silently pass a bowl of fried rice you had been able to scavenge from a local grocery store over. Running a hand through his hair, he nods your way, sliding into the stool across from you and stopping the bowl with his fingers.

“As you could have guessed, there are zero people in this whole building willing to switch rooms with us.”

“Ah, yeah. Tourists are usually snobby.”

A hum signifies his response. Silence encompasses the room as a blanket would, save the soft clangs of silverware on bowls. You fix your gaze on the granite countertops, following intricately woven lines of mixed stone and drawing patterns in each section you come across. Becoming so immersed in the cracks, you don’t even notice when Aventurine passes you twice, once with his bowl, and once without. Seconds turn into minutes as you stare at the sheet of stone, only taken away from thought when he returns to the table, dressed in a black set of silk pyjamas.

“What’s your story?”

Your eyelashes flutter, taken aback by the sudden inquiry. Raising your head, you push the now cold rice to the side and glance at the man across from you, fingers interlocked in wait.

You’re shocked at the simplicity of it. The lack of accusations are a breath of fresh air when it comes to his words, typically cold fronted and dripping with malice. You would expect him to be angry still, perhaps even worse, giving that you lied, but you can feel the genuine curiosity lingering within. He seems to want to understand.

“I joined the IPC when I was young, almost ten years ago.” You start, fighting the urge to snap away from his gaze. “In my second year, word was out that there was trouble on Sigonia. It was thought that the IPC had it under control, but everyone knew there was something else coming.”

You pause. Aventurine remains quiet, attentive.

“I took it upon myself to convince my superiors to send me to Sigonia, despite their warnings. But… the work we did there, it wasn’t enough. I could help no one under the bounds of the IPC, so I sought out the Katicans. No more bounds. I was on the inside, where I could do things my own way.”

“Such lovely people, weren’t they?” He questions, apathy leaking from deep within. “Didn’t have a single care in the world other than themselves. They wanted to see everything burn, the women, children.”

“I have never seen a deeper hatred than what lies within them.”

You stop, again, toying with your fingers. Aventurine’s silence beckons you to proceed.

“I could only help so many, and they all ended up dying anyway. There was no escaping them, they were ruthless.” Your voice trails off, shaking your head slightly at the recollection of dark days in the wasteland they call Sigonia. No horrors match the ones that took place there. “I couldn’t imagine what you went through, any of you. And still, you’re alive.”

A word softly chants in your head. Destiny.

“Ever since I was born, I knew what was made out for me was never good.” Aventurine says, a hint of irony in his voice. “I fell on black days without knowing what it was like to live on the other side, and it’s been like that since.”

Flashes of your past mix in with current thought. You remember them, the Avign children, clinging to scraps of life even when it was evident their lives would soon end. Their eyes, just as brilliant as his, drowned by crashing waves, yet afloat on the prayer of hope. You imagine Aventurine was just like them, and you understand. Anger breeds and it seethes.

“How do you control it?” Such a simple question, yet so many answers.

“I put it all into risk. Every single last bit of it. I gambled, and I won.” His pointer finger gently hits the table, and he raises his hand to wave it through the air. “I survive, and I bet again.”

“A bold motto, I must say.”

A small smile graces his features, shrugging lightheartedly.

“Luck seems to be on my side.”

You look to the side at the sound of a crack, noticing that rain has started to fall. The sky is obscured by deep grays, and the rumble beckons you to the sliding door separating you from the balcony. The crash of drops on concrete is soothing to your ears, bestowing a peace upon your heart you’ve failed to find for a while now. The serenity thickens as Aventurine steps to your side, the hues in a ring of his eyes reflecting the storm outside.

“I didn’t rain much back then.” He muses, gaze following the slow drizzle of fallen streaks on the balcony’s edge. “A privilege I can keep alive, now that I see it so often.”

You look to the side, meeting Aventurine’s eyes halfway. The corners of his lips turn up as he looks past you, covering his mouth as he stifles a yawn.

“Almost forgot about the bed.” He laughs, running a hand over his lower face. “You can have it, I’ll be okay on the floor.”

“Absolutely not!” You counter, head tilting in defiance. “I’ll be fine on the floor.”

“That would be extremely impolite of me.”

“As it would be for me…”

“Will you please just sleep on the bed?”

“I brought extra pillows! I’ll be more comfortable than you on the floor.”

Aventurine stops, sending you a half lidded look. You walk over to your suitcase, swiftly pulling the two large pillows you packed out, holding them at your sides. He walks over to you, snatching a pillow out from one of your arms before walking toward the bed.

“Or, how about this?” He shoves your pillow on top of the hotel provided one. “We put the extra pillows on the bed, and we both take a half.”

You purse your lips, and shrug in reason. After patting your pillow into place, you climb onto the bed, turning on your side to ensure you’re only taking up half of the bed.

As you land on your other shoulder, you nearly touch noses with Aventurine. He chuckles, eyebrows raising in a teasing manner.

“It’s not often someone gets the chance to be this close to me.”

You groan, tugging the coarse blanket to your chest as you flip to your front. Stifling a few chuckles, Aventurine turns so his back is facing you.

Within a few minutes, quiet snores begin to drift through your ears. You sigh, and roll your eyes. And yet, only peace visits you in your dreams.

–

There have been few nights of your stay in Salsotto without rain. You’ve grown accustomed to the melodic pad of morning to the erratic roar of the night. This night is different, however, as dew is high in the air but the clouds of the afternoon are white, tainted with swirls of pink that bode better weather.

You fumble with the pearls on your neck, carefully positioning them so they rest on your collarbone. All IPC events require a clearance of wear that is above the standard grade of formal, nothing short of extravagant, explaining the fine tailored suit you wear over your dress. Ivory on cream, a palette that bodes well when making business deals.

Heels click on pavement, Tumbleweed’s National Museum in sight. Golden lights cast the establishment in an elegant glow, and the stream of classical cello welcomes your ears as you approach. Welcoming smiles are given your way as you enter the building, and you start a long night of shaking hands and business chatter with the esteemed mechanical aristocrat Screwllum.

Leisure chats of the Genius Society’s next project flow in and out of wine chutes, with gentle opera joining new deals of funding. Another hand shake bodes your farewell to a philanthropist from the Herta Space Station, and you take a seat at one of the tables nearby, attempting to gather your thoughts. Sipping on a glass of sparkling rose, you start jotting down tonight’s business proposals onto your phone.

“Having fun?”

You look up, offering a smile toward your temporary hotelmate as you pull the chair next to you back.

“Was wondering when I’d run into you, Aventurine.” You say, clinking glasses with the blonde. “How many deals have you clinched tonight?”

“More than you, I bet.” You scrunch your nose, folding your arms after sliding your phone his way. Aventurine takes a look through your notes, smile expanding on his face as he progresses.

“...And it seems I would be right.” He exclaims, holding up two full hands. “Don’t feel bad. It’s the natural charm.”

“Mhm. Super natural, and not annoying at all.” You quip, earning a light jab in the shoulder.

Your past two weeks with Aventurine had proved to be an easier feat than you had thought. Beside the snoring (that you had learned to tune out), he had served as a good source of company, squandering your worries of lingering grudges as you spent more time around one another. You were grateful he had the will in his heart to see the reason behind what you had done, although you were a little surprised to see that he had forgiven you with such ease.

Now, to you, he seemed to be an easy soul forced to carry burdens that were undeserving of him.

“Hey.”

You’re roused from your thoughts by the gentle tap of Aventurine’s foot against your heel. He cocks his head, and you’re suddenly aware of the soft serenade filling the room, sung by an artist famous for this piece.

“Let’s get our minds off of business for a while. Care to dance?”

He straightens his jacket before standing up, beckoning you to do the same. You accept the hand outstretched, threatening to roll your eyes as Aventurine lays his other on your back, guiding you to the floor.

“Trying to show off?”

Aventurine slowly spins you into a shroud of spotlight, laughing when your eyes go wide from the precision of his arms slowing you back down.

“Of course.”

A look is shared between the two of you, and the dance begins. You recognize the piece, Seid Umschlungen, Millionen! (Be Embraced, You Millions!), and fall into a sort of waltz, slow, quick, slow. Your feet move in a symphony of chirping violin and cello vibrato, swirling carefully around other dancers as you step from box to box.

The music quiets in a moment of repose, and you slow, winding your hands around his neck as you sway, in wait.

“What’s with the long face?”

The question catches you off guard, as you weren’t aware that your thoughts had reflected off of your face. Lips pursing, you wonder whether taking the chance and ruining the moment is worth it, but the question nags deep within, festering like a cancer that will not cease until it is freed.

“Do you forgive me?”

Strings echo and rise; Aventurine fits a hand behind your back before spinning you into dance. His eyebrows are furrowed lightly, as if your question had caught him off guard in some sort of way, but you both knew it was coming. Trust is an uncertain entity, not easily won or wagered, never certain in whether it’s attained or lost. Forgiveness is a trial for trust, and within inquiry lie a question of deeper truth that never made it to the surface

Do you hate me, Aventurine?

There have been many times in the passing days where you’ve been questioned about your time in Sigonia-IV. A test to determine whether your actions deserved merit. Recounting stories of countless lives you worked tirelessly to save at the risk of your own. Gallons of blood stained on your hands from the guilty, those whose karma ran the empty river beds of the desert red.

So much, and yet nothing at all. It’s as if life is out to play some game of twisted fate, as you see all of the lives you could not save in the man right before you. The brand slightly hidden by his collar and wispy blonde, jewelry glittering at his wrists, irises that shine in the darkest of nights. Bewitching, yet so alive.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” He says, after some time. “You did a brave thing, I would be a fool to condemn you for it.”

Elation. It’s the feather touch of his hands, graceful in the way they dip you, nearly stopping time as you lay suspended. Your eyes lock, and you nearly drown in the glow of lavender and maya that stare back. Slowly, you feel one of his hands leave your back, dipping in his suit pocket and coming to rest in your vision.

“Their memory is always alive somewhere. It’s up to us to keep it.”

You’re lifted to stand, and, amidst a rather slow spin, Aventurine pins the turquoise meteorite you’d thought was long gone onto the span of dress fabric above your chest. The resounding smile shared is trust.

You twirl and sink until the song comes to an end, stopping in a hold of hands and interlocked legs as orchestra is overtaken by voice. In the midst of fading spotlight, your breath evens out, and you find yourself following the gambler’s hand to escape the noise, elbows brushing on a balcony railing as you stare out into the fading daylight.

The sky is tinged with the baby blue of afternoon, arising into a deep interweave of violet and blush. A small, red casino chip flips between Aventurine’s fingers, rolling to sit between his pointer and thumb in short pauses.

“Got any tricks up your sleeve, gambler?”

Aventurine tilts his head to the side, invigorated by the rise of your lips, challenging, daring. The game you propose has risk, but what is life without taking leaps blind? Aventurine is sure he can see you now, after all.

With a flip of the chip and a wave of his hand, the red disappears, and a cool sensation lands firmly on your lips. His face is inches away from yours, fingers gently pressing against the chip that severs the distance between you.

“There are tricks to any risk, as long as you know what you’re doing.”

You raise your hand, sliding the chip from your mouth and palming it. When he doesn’t move, you tug on his collar, chin tilting upward to press your lips to his. The sensation is warm, gentle, as if you tread on ice that threatens to shatter. Honey sears your tongue, and you revel in the touch of his lips, soft as the velvet of his tie.

The moment is all too short, yet your mouth feels numb as you break away. In a moment of silence, you take the hand that sits lightly clamped around your wrist, sliding the chip in his palm and closing his fingers.

“I think I’ll be gambling a lot with you, Aventurine.”

His face moves closer, and you look down for a moment, noticing the hand that sits behind his back.

“I look forward to it.”

–

INTERASTRAL PEACE CORPORATION, STRATEGIC INVESTMENT HQ | TWO MONTHS LATER

Knock, knock.

“Coming.”

The door opens in fluid motion, revealing a room cast in gloom, tan shade, blinds drawn.

“Hey, Aven.” You sigh, placing a chaste kiss on the blonde’s cheek. “Long day?”

“Long day.” He mirrors, offering to take the stack of papers off of your hands. You accept, slipping into the chair across from his desk. “Are you done for today?”

“Mhm.”

Aventurine sits in his desk chair, shrugging the navy coat he sports onto the back. You stretch your arms behind your back, watching as deft hands undo the cross hatched tie representing the cornerstones from his collar. As he sets the piece down, his office phone starts to buzz, and he groans.

“Hello, this is Aventurine… Uh huh, what time?” He draws circles into ebony, holding the phone to his shoulder as he reaches for a notepad. However, as he clicks the pen in his hand, he nearly drops the phone, clearly startled. “Can you repeat that? Si- okay. I’m coming.”

In a flurry of movement, he stands, tie and coat snatched.

“We have to go, right now.”

His tone is impatient, brimming with anxiety and unwilling to contest. You blink a few times before following him out of his office, grabbing his coat to hold onto as he fits his tie back to his shirt. The walk is silent, save a quiet “thank you” when you hand the coat over and the click of shoes on tile. Your nerves rise as you move, watching the way he frets with his gloves, tugging on the ends repeatedly.

In a matter of minutes, you arrive at the boardroom of the IPC’s Strategic Investment Department, stopping at the edge of the table as Jade turns around, followed by a concerned looking Topaz.

“Ah, Aventurine. What a surprise, I was sure not to include your name in the list of attendees tonight.“She sends a look to the white haired cornerstone, before directing her gaze to you. “Unfortunately, ranks below P40 are prohibited from attending this meeting. Guards, please see her out.”

You push against the guard that seizes your wrist, but are unable to resist as more come to his aid. After having the door shoved in your face, you’re dragged to the hallway outside of the meeting hall, forced to sit in wait.

30 minutes. Another 30. An hour before the doors open, with Aventurine first, Topaz following close behind. He rushes past you, eyes on the ground, gone within seconds. Concern etches your features as Topaz runs up to you, lips pursed in distress,

“Aventurine-” She pauses, hand on her chest as she catches her breath. “Please go after him. You’re the only one that he’ll see now, after what just happened.”

“What happened?”

At your inquiry, she shakes her head, nodding her head toward the direction Aventurine took off in.

“It’s best you hear it from him. But, please, go see him tonight, he needs someone who’s close to his heart.”

Worry is quick to seep into your features, but you nod. A quick visit to his office and you’re off, taking the next jet off of Pier Point, to Klimt Republic. Weaving through streets and bullet trails full of life, you arrive in the heart of Klimt just two hours later, standing on the penthouse floor of an apartment complex worth more than the entire block you’re on.

Knock, knock.

Silence. You hesitate, and knock again.

The shuffling of feet hit the floor, and you wait in anticipation, hands firmly at your sides as the noise stops. After a few moments, the door slowly opens, and you sigh in relief.

Aventurine stands, slightly hunched against the doorframe, hair disheveled, eyes red and irritated.

“Aven, what happ-”

A pair of hands seize your wrist, tugging you inside and slamming the door behind you.

“Not now.” Your eyes widen at the plea in his voice, whole with a basal need that makes your chest tighten. “Please, just, make me forget about it right now.”

He looms over you, yet the shadow he casts is the antonym of threatening. Fear reeks off of him like vodka, as tears brim on his waterline. The feeling spreads to your skin like wildfire, and you feel him shake as you take his face in your hands, breathing shallow and scared.

The first taste of his lips is sweet, but the salt of his tears is quick to sink in. Clumsy and trembling, your bodies rock and hit walls as you make your way to his bedroom. You throw his coat to the side as he does yours, pushing him down onto his bed as you break for air.

Aventurine’s hair flows out around him as he falls onto the mattress, shrouding him as a halo would. You chase after him, littering his neck with soft bites that elicit soft groans from the skin beneath. You unbutton half of his shirt before diving for his collarbone, reveling in the whines that respond as you nip and bruise.

His hands reach for your pants, and you stop him before he can reach for your panties.

“Ah-ah, hands behind your head.” Your voice pools out smooth, running a hand down his shirt. “Just relax and let me take care of you.”

Gently pinning his hands above him, you let go, and he complies. You reward him with a kiss, messy and careless, pulling a string of saliva between your lips when you leave them. Your free hand pushes hair out of his eyes while the other works on the zipper of his slacks, watching as his fingers lock together as you apply pressure.

A shudder leaves Aventurine’s lips as you pull his boxers down, hand gently running along the length of his dick. Teeth tug at lips as you spit on your hand, working at his cock while running your free fingers along your folds. His neck lifts up as your hands move faster, and you grin, choking the noises that threaten to spill from your mouth at the display before you.

A sight like heaven, an angel laid out for worship. Aventurine’s skin is coated in a soft sheen of sweat that shines in the dim light, hand laid over one eye whilst the other remains barely open. Under the mix of hues that resemble wild fields of flowers, blush coats his cheekbones, a light to the darkness that blooms on his neck. The vulnerability of it makes your heart soar, and you feel a fire ignite in the depths of your being that fails to stoke.

The hand that toys with your clit lifts, prodding at Aventurine’s mouth as you lower yourself on his cock. Muffled whines vibrate around your fingers, and you moan at the fullness that envelops you. You swirl your fingers in his mouth, biting on your cheek as his tongue wraps around them, sucking on the sweet taste of you.

His hands abruptly reach up, fingers winding and tangling in hair as they pull you down, replacing fingers with lips. The sensation is hot, as if an unquenchable balm has set your skin alight.

“Feel good?”

“What kind of- ughh- question is that?”

You clench around him as if it's instinct, and Aventurine calls your name as he would a prayer. His moans are akin to song, divine in melody, alluring in a way that shuts your mind off from anything else but him. One of his hands leaves your hair, fingers clumsily clamping around your own, holding you like fine china.

The stretch of his dick does little to quench the hunger within, you crave more, a devout worshiper crying a hymn of need. Your motion becomes erratic, a twist of limbs and friction that siphons tears that streak down your cheeks, falling to mix in with the sweat on your lover’s face.

“Gonna-” Aventurine chokes on his own words, eyes shut harshly as he blinks back ecstasy. “Cum.”

Your words are lost to you, only managing to groan in response as Aventurine pulls you back to him. His lips seal over yours in a searing kiss, arms winding around your back to hold you still as your orgasm shakes you. White light flashes through closed eyes as you spasm around his dick, mixing with the cum that leaks inside of you.

The room is quiet, save the howling wind of night and the dance of unstable breath. Blankets shuffle as you drop to Aventurine’s side, allowing him to drape your discarded shirt over your bare chest. Time seems to cease as you meet his gaze, touch serene as the plains of distant worlds as he encourages you to come closer. You accept, eyes closing for a moment, feeling the warm fan of his breath over your nose.

“The IPC is funding a project to excavate Sigonia.” The silence breaks, peace shatters and your eyes snap open. “Turquoise meteorites are rare, so they’ll scrape the whole planet dry until every last piece is gone.”

Your face falls, corners of your lips pulling downward. Aventurine’s eyes are half lidded, seemingly already accepting the fate of the planet he calls home. He refuses to look your way, eyes focused somewhere past you, the sorrow spreads and leaks into your soul as it opens further. A place so full of hatred and loss, yet a place that he will never be able to let go of. It burrows within the deepest neurons, refusing to snap and forget.

“You have to say something, Aven.” You pull at his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Whatever you have to do, I’ll help you.”

“The IPC doesn’t have time to listen to Avgin.” He sighs, hope stale on his breath. “Not even if it's the last one alive.”

You still, fingers falling to rest against his cheek. Aventurine’s eyes close, brows furrowing lightly against pale skin.

“Sigonia will fall, and only Kakavasha will remain.”

Defeat. It seems that what events occurred in that meeting room left no room for conversation. Guilt flows through your veins like it’s replaced the red, and your chest aches, latching onto the horror that no doubt holds sovereignty in his head.

Kakavasha. Blessed by the heavens yet cursed by the living world. Such a beautiful name that deserves no hell it endures.

Amidst the quietude, Aventurine’s hand slithers under the blankets, latching onto your wrist. He traces skin, knuckles brushing against your own, coming to rest intertwined.

“Can we try something?”

You nod, and your hand is slowly lifted to the air, palm against palm between your chests. You’ve seen this motion back on Sigonia, yet it’s always remained distant to you, and the words echo in obscurity.

“I’ll go through it once, and we can do it together.”

You nod, once more. Aventurine closes his eyes for a moment, reciting a prayer lost to you in time.

“May the Mother Goddess thrice close her eyes for you… keeping your blood eternally pulsing. May your journey be forever peaceful… and your schemes be forever concealed.”

A brief pause passes. You sigh in unison, and lock eyes. A voice whispers within the depths of your mind, and you smile.

The memory is always alive somewhere. It’s up to us to keep it.

“May the Mother Goddess thrice close her eyes for you… keeping your blood eternally pulsing. May your journey be forever peaceful… and your schemes be forever concealed.”

As the last words drift off of your lips, you bend your fingers, slotting them between his. Aventurine shares your sentiment; hope flashed in the gentle smile that graces his lips. Your eyes wander, and notice that a single tear trails down his face, disappearing into his skin as it rolls.

Outside, you hear the crack of thunder. You pull Aventurine in, and in your clutch, the downpour begins.

–

Some months later…

The chatter of voices on the phone rouses you from sleep, rubbing a hand over your eyes in annoyance as you come to. Light spills through drawn curtains and open glass doors, filtering the room in hues of honey and hazel.

“Mhm. Alright, I understand. Let’s schedule the interview for today.”

Songs of canaries and mourning doves flow through the air, and you sit up, raising a hand to block out the sun’s gaze. Aventurine sets his phone down on the bedside table, stifling a yawn with his hand. You roll onto your side, hand propped up onto your chin as you soak in the sight of your lover.

His hair is slightly ruffled from sleep, bangs astray and cast into his eyes. Only the top button of his sleep shirt is buttoned, leaving lean, sun kissed skin on display.

“It’s rude to stare, you know.” You roll your eyes, allowing him to pull you in for a kiss. “Morning. Sleep well?”

“Mhm.” You hum, knowing full well tonight has been one of the worst nights you’ve slept yet. Aventurine sees right through you, but chooses to say nothing, opting to pull you forward so half of your body drapes over him.

Today Aventurine leaves for Penacony. And, seeing as he was called in for a meeting, he’s probably leaving even sooner now.

He seems to read your thoughts, offering a comforting peck to the corner of your lips in apology. Your hands card through his hair, head resting against his collarbone.

You have your apprehensions about Penacony, having heard whispers on the streets of mysterious disappearances of people in the world’s famous dreamscape. The IPC has had a limited number of run-ins with the family, leading you to assume a recent grounds of suspicion has arised, and Aventurine was chosen as the solution. In his eyes, it’s just another gamble of life or death.

You’re roused from your thoughts by a tap on your cheek, making you look up at him.

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart.” His words do little to soothe you, but you listen regardless. “The risks I take are always foolproof.”

Risk. It’s the word Aventurine lives by, a motto that claws at your heart when he’s gone. A reality that spills tears when he closes the door to your apartment, leaving only the ache of your heart in his absence. A danger that never guarantees the next time he chases his destiny will not be his last.

You will never fight to change it, because that’s all it is. Destiny.

His phone rings, and the two of you groan before he gets up and tells the person on the other line that he’s on his way. You watch from his side of the bed as he throws his clothes on, grabbing two packed suitcases from the side of the bed before bending over to give you a kiss. The touch of his lips is bittersweet, nearly taunting as it is over before it even begins. You peck him again, running a hand over his hairline to straighten his bangs.

“Be safe out there, Aven.”

He smiles, so radiant it rivals the sun and all that it shines on. You think yourself blessed to see it survive.

“I will. Luck is always on my side.”

And he leaves. You turn to the window, awaiting the rain.

#eleysiacalling #eleysiansighs #hsr aventurine #aventurine honkai star rail #aventurine x reader #aventurine smut #aventurine x you #honkai star rail #aventurine hsr #honkai star rail smut

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actuallysaiyan · 2 months

Text

Send Me An Angel(Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader x Higuruma Hiromi)

warnings: smut, exhibitionist, oral sex(both fem and male receiving), drinking, smoking, drugs, candaulism, panty/pussy sniffing, creampie finish/unprotected sex, swearing, nipple play, pervertedness, pet names, just lots of lewd themes, threesomes word count: 4.6k!!! pairings: Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader x Higuruma Hiromi summary: you meet Hiromi at the bar, and you two bond over your love of 80s music. Despite Kento being a protective husband, he always wants to see you happy...even if it means to fuck you in front of the loser lawyer a/n: HERE IT IS!!! Omg I have been dreaming and planning and thinking about this fic FOREVER!!!!! I want to give a very special shoutout to both @beneathstarryskies and @seireiteihellbutterflyfor helping me out with this beauty! taglist: @sparklynightm4re, @buttercupbitches(sorry tried to tag you but Tumblr won't let me!)

You sit at the bar, drink in hand. Your head starts bobbing to the music, and you instantly recognize the song. A presence sits near you, someone of average build and average height. You look over at them, your smile spreading on your face. He smiles shyly at you and then orders a drink from the bartender. After he receives his drink and pays, he then scoots a little closer to you.

"I love this song," he comments, looking at you curiously. You smile, "Me too! Nobody likes the classics anymore!"

There's a sudden chemistry between you and the man with the long nose. His tired eyes remind you of someone very dear to you. Between sips of your cocktails, you and the man you've come to know as Hiromi become acquainted. You two are deep in your conversation about post-punk music and synthpop when you feel a familiar presence near you.

His strong arms wrap around you, his head resting on your shoulder before he leans in to kiss your cheek brazenly in front of Hiromi. The lawyer's eyes widen as he gets a good look at the salaryman who's making his presence quite known.

"And who's this, darling?" His voice is deep and gravelly, almost filled with a need. You giggle, "This is my new friend. Hiromi Higuruma. He's a lawyer."

Kento's eyes narrow at the man sitting very close to you. He's not sure he likes the way Hiromi is looking at you, and he's certainly sure he doesn't like the way you and he keep giggling and talking like you've been friends for years.

"Higuruma-san, was it?" Kento asks, extending his hand out to Hiromi. "Nanami Kento." Hiromi shakes his hand, "A pleasure to meet you. This must be your pretty girlfriend." "Wife." Kento corrects watchfully. "Wife, hm? Lucky guy, you are."

Hiromi is beginning to sense he's no longer wanted, but you extend your hand to grab onto his wrist. Kento watches you carefully, but he thinks he understands what's going on now. When Hiromi faces you, you're pouting.

"Wait, you're not going to leave, right? I thought we were having a nice conversation, Hiromi." He smiles, looking down at his drink, "Well, I guess I can stay. That alright with you, Nanami-san?" Kento's eyes dart towards the tired lawyer, "As long as you keep your hands to yourself."

This causes you to playfully slap Kento's chest. You chastise him for chasing away so many people this way, but Kento can't help it if he wants to keep you locked away from the world. If it were up to him, he'd keep you at home at all times of the day and the night. It's always you who insists on going out and socializing with others.

You and Hiromi begin discussing the song that's playing, which puts Kento's mind at ease. Despite the spectacle he had seen earlier of you and Hiromi chatting and flirting like a pair of high school reunion lovebirds, Kento knows that you're just being kind. Sure, you flirt from time to time, but Kento knows that when he goes home, you're the one coming with him and only him. He's the one who's going to have your face down in the pillows, begging for a break from the violent pounding he'll give you.

"So you like 80s music then, Higuruma-san?" Kento asks, taking his pack of cigarettes from his suit pocket. He places one between your lips and then one between his before he procures a lighter to light them both.

Hiromi watches enviously as Kento pulls you closer, the tips of your cigarettes almost touching. The scene was sensual in its own right; images of fiery kisses are evoked from the sight of Kento lighting both of your cigarettes at once.

Hiromi clears his throat, grabbing his drink to wet his mouth. Then he turns to see you awaiting his reply so eagerly.

"Yes, I love 80s music." He finally concludes. Kento smirks at him, "Funny, so does my wife. No wonder she took a liking to you."

Hiromi smiles nervously. He knows the kind of game Kento is playing at, but it's you he can't really read. Despite your drop-dead gorgeous husband right by your side, you continue to flirt and be eager to talk to Hiromi. If you were trying to get him killed, then he wouldn't be surprised at all.

You and Kento smoke your cigarettes, enjoying a conversation that's just between the two of you. Hiromi can't help but listen in; something about what you'll be having for dinner tomorrow night, and something about having to pick up Kento's dry cleaning tomorrow morning.

Hiromi blanks out for a few moments. His mind is filled with a sweet wife of his own. The kind of girl that he would be proud to bring home to his parents. In his mind, he sees such a sweet face and such a loving smile. The voice that comes from those lips is like warm, dripping honey. Hiromi is enjoying his little fantasy so much, it takes something else to pull him out of the thought.

"Hiromi," you coo softly. "You okay?"

Hiromi smiles sheepishly, looking down at his hand holding his drink. He downs the rest of it within seconds, hoping it'll soothe his nerves. Kento continues to watch him from his position behind you. He looks like he'd snap Hiromi's neck with ease if given the chance.

"Y-yeah, I'm alright. Just thinking."

You giggle softly. Kento grumbles in your ear, a soft warning to you. But he knows what your plan is, and he's not very fond of where this is going. Despite this, he'll more than likely entertain your idea.

"Are you imagining my wife in your little fantasies?" Kento asks, his eyes dark. Hiromi blushes, "Come on…don't say that. She's a fine lady, but she's yours." Kento smirks, "Oh? Is she not good enough for you?"

You slap Kento's chest playfully again, telling him to quit it. This is when Kento cups your cheek, planting a passionate kiss on those pretty, plump lips of yours. Hiromi would be lying if he said that just watching you two kiss didn't turn him on.

"That's enough! Don't embarrass me in front of my new friend," you whine and pout.

Kento chuckles darkly, moving some hair from your neck to place a kiss there too. Hiromi swallows hard, wishing he had another drink to keep him occupied. He's not even really sure where to look, but he knows he wants to keep looking at you. You, this ethereal being, that's just popped into his life. Something bright and beautiful to take the edge off the tiring monotony of his life.

"I think it's time we head home," Kento whispers in your ear. You nod, "Yes, I suppose it's time."

Kento heads over to the bartender to pay off your tab. You know he'll probably pay off Hiromi's tab as a way to show that he's the breadwinner in your relationship. While he's busy doing that, you find a pen and a pad of paper in your purse. You jot down your number, handing it to Hiromi. He looks at you like you've just signed his death wish. Your fingers brush against each other as you pass him the little piece of paper.

"Text me sometime, yeah? We can continue our conversation."

And with that, you're leaving with Kento. Hiromi gets one last glance at you as Kento slips his jacket onto your shoulders. And within a blink of his eyes, you two have disappeared out the door.

The night air feels so good on your skin. It's almost sobering you up. You lean against Kento, and he keeps a tight hold on your waist. You two walk in sync, your home only a few blocks away from your favorite bar. Kento lights up another cigarette; this one's for you to share.

"So, what do you think?" You ask him, looking up at him. Kento scoffs, "What? Him? You can't be serious, darling."

This causes you to pout and you know pouting is Kento's kryptonite. He's groaning as he watches you smoke the cigarette solemnly. You're just too precious to say no to.

"He's perfect! Just the type of guy I was looking for." You confess. "Him? He's just some pussywhipped loser. You can do better than that. He wouldn't even have the guts to ask you to fuck him." You giggle before passing the cigarette back to your husband. "That's the thing…" Kento cocks an eyebrow, "What is it this time?" "I don't want him to fuck me. I want him to watch us fuck."

Kento isn't that surprised, but his cock twitches to life. It's the thought of putting that damn loser in his place while he fucks you properly. That Higuruma-san probably hasn't fucked many women in his life. He's probably the type to pop within seconds of being in a hot, tight pussy.

"If you're sure about this," Kento starts. "I think it could be a little cruel to have such passionate sex in front of a man who looks like he hasn't gotten laid in years."

Your eyes widen. Did Hiromi really seem that pathetic in Kento's eyes? Something about this was turning you on in a way you couldn't quite describe. It was like you were the perfect trophy wife to be shown off. The kind of woman that most men have intense sexual fantasies about.

"Well, I gave him my number. Maybe he'll text me,"

But neither of you is truly convinced that Hiromi will come through with texting you. He's probably going to head home himself and fall asleep in his clothes like he does most nights. You begin to hope and pray that Hiromi would have the balls to actually contact you.

It's only when you and Kento are in front of the warm fireplace, snuggled on the white fur rug that your phone vibrates. You and Kento share excited glances. The more he thought about it, the more he found himself excited about the prospect of fucking his gorgeous wife in front of such a loser.

"It's him!" You giggle like an excited schoolgirl. "Answer him. Get him here now."

Hiromi's text is a pretty drunken one. He babbles about needing a place to crash, so you quickly give him the coordinates to Kento's penthouse suite. Then you and your husband wait with excitement flowing through your veins.

It's only about fifteen minutes later that you hear the buzzer. Kento goes to answer and grants entrance to your private home to the lawyer. Your heart is pounding your chest as the reality of the situation is finally dawning on you. This was actually going to happen. Your panties were a little wet already from your arousal.

There's a gentle knock on the door and you fling it open. Hiromi looks a bit disheveled and he smells like booze. You grab his wrist gently and you pull him into the penthouse. He looks around, his eyes widening at the luxury of your home.

"You found our place okay? You're doing alright?" you ask, wrapping your arm around his shoulder to lead him into the living room. Hiromi moans, "Yeah, I'm alright. Could use some water."

You help guide him to the couch, and you sit yourself right next to him. Your knees are touching. Kento comes in from the kitchen, a bottle of mineral water handed to the long-nosed man.

"Ahh, thank you." Hiromi slurs, opening the bottle and taking very greedy gulps of it. "Slow down, sweetie."

Your term of endearment nearly makes him spit out the water. He focuses on swallowing, then he turns to you. He's carefully assessing the situation. Shivers run down his spine when you begin to rub his thigh.

"What the fuck is going on here?" Hiromi questions, his cock twitching in his pants. "Nothing, just having a little fun. You like to have fun right?" You ask, a mischievous look in your eyes.

Kento then sits on the other side of Hiromi. Suddenly the lawyer feels very boxed in. If he wasn't completely sauced off his ass, he'd probably make a beeline for the door. But your soft touches and sweet perfume seem to soothe him more than he'd like to admit.

"I saw how you were looking at my wife," Kento begins. Hiromi throws his hands up in the air in defense, "Hey, come on. She's smoking hot. Can you blame me?" You caress his cheek, "Shhh…it's okay, Hiromi honey."

He shudders at your sweet touches. His cock grows harder the more you're teasing him. Kento keeps a watchful eye on both of you, but he's letting you have your fun.

"Let's lay down some ground rules," Kento finally pipes up. Hiromi looks over at your husband, "R-rules?" You nod, "Yeah if you want to have a little fun with us, Hiromi honey, you need to accept our rules."

And without warning, you reach over to squeeze his hard cock through his pants. His eyes shut and he lets out a pathetic moan. He has to focus on not cumming in his pants.

"Rule number one, we're calling the shots here. You have to listen to what we say and do what we tell you to do," Kento's voice sounds a million miles away as you continue to palm at Hiromi's cock. Hiromi nods his head, "G-got it." "Rule number two, we've got a safeword! It's bread, and if at any point any of us want to opt out, we can say this word. This includes you, Hiromi honey."

Hiromi moans, nodding his head once more. Kento taps his cheek, and the lawyer's eyes snap open. Kento asks for confirmation that he heard you, and Hiromi confirms.

"Rule number three consists of one thing. We can touch you as much as we want, but you are to always ask permission to touch either of us." Hiromi whines, "Fine, fine. That's fine with me."

You begin to unzip his pants and unbuckle his belt to give him a little more relief. His hips buck up involuntarily to the stimulation you're providing. Hiromi's head leans back against the cool leather of the sofa. You gently graze your nails against his cheek before you pull him in for a kiss.

"Rule number four," you whisper on his lips. "Is that we all have fun."

Kento watches as you kiss the pathetic man who sits right next to him. He knows that he'll be fucking your brains out sooner rather than later, but he's growing impatient watching you play with your latest prey. It takes no time before you pull down the straps of your dress and you're straddling Hiromi's lap.

Kento helps you pull down your dress, exposing your breasts to both men. The black-haired man groans as your nipples are so close to his face, and he's wanting to suck on them so bad.

"Don't forget rule three," Kento warns him. "C-can I touch you? C-can I suck on your nipples?"

You nod your head, leaning in closer to let Hiromi have a taste of your soft skin. A sweet moan erupts from your parted lips as his lips wrap around one of your pert nipples. Kento surveils you both, his eyes dark with lust. It's been quite some time since you've picked out a third party for your nightly games.

"Doesn't she taste so sweet?" Kento asks, leaning in to begin kissing your neck. "Fuck yeah," Hiromi moans as he continues suckling on your tits. "Like…strawberries." Kento chuckles, "Just wait til you taste her pussy…well, that is if she lets you."

Hiromi is in a daze. This is all too much. He thinks to himself that even if he can't fuck either of you or even get to touch you more than this, he'll consider this night a success. He's enjoying himself as he sucks and nips at your nipples. Your fingers are carding through his hair.

"How does it feel, darling?" Kento inquires, pressing a kiss to your temple. "So good, baby. He's got such a soft tongue."

After a few minutes, you get off Hiromi's lap. Then you extend your hand out to him, which he gratefully takes after asking you if it's okay. You begin leading him into the master bedroom. Kento's following close behind. Once inside the bedroom, you show Hiromi the comfortable sofa that's in the corner of the room. He sits down on it, noticing the side table is filled with all kinds of paraphernalia. Things ranging from glass pipes used to smoke marijuana, lots of different packs of cigarettes, and condoms of every variety. He even spots some smaller baggies with various pills inside.

"Help yourself to anything you like," you offer to him as you walk over to the expensive-looking stereo system. Some upbeat synthpop music begins to play softly.

Hiromi thanks you, but his eyes dart towards the door. Kento is beginning to undress, and his mouth is growing dry as he admires the man. He's so well-built. His muscles flex as he continues removing more of his clothing. Hiromi has never seen such a specimen of man before. Kento realizes he's being admired.

"So you're into men too, huh?" Hiromi blushes, "Well…uh…yeah, I guess."

You come over to both of them, and you sit on Hiromi's lap. You beckon Kento to come closer, and you begin to unbutton his pants and unbuckle his belt. You can feel Hiromi's erection poking you in the ass. Moving your hips to the rhythm of the song, you feel him twitching and throbbing with every move you make.

"She's a little temptress, hm?" Kento questions. "Mmm y-yeah, she sure is."

You continue to grind down against him, finally helping Kento out of his pants. He's only in his boxer briefs now, his cock straining against the material. Then you look up at him, begging him to take the lead on the next part of this.

He gathers you up in his arms, kissing you longingly and sloppily. Your tongues wrestle together, swapping spit together in such a lewd manner that Hiromi just cannot tear his eyes away from you both. He's going to enjoy watching you two make love.

Kento places you on the bed, his calloused hands rubbing and caressing all your erogenous zones. You moan softly as his fingers pinch and pull on your sensitive nipples. Then his head dips down to capture one of them into his mouth as his hands continue to undress you. Once your dress is pulled off, he turns to face the lawyer sitting in the corner.

"Wanna come see if she smells as good as she tastes?" Kento goads him on.

Within seconds, Hiromi is up and off the sofa and he's on his hands and knees at the foot of the large bed. Kento spreads your legs, showing the wet patch on your pretty little panties. Hiromi is practically salivating as he begins to get closer.

You shudder as Kento pulls your panties off so slowly, exposing you to the lawyer who is ready to worship you both body and soul. Then he turns to face Hiromi and he gives the man your soiled panties.

"Have those, she's got lots more."

The black-haired man holds the soiled material to his nose and takes a greedy inhale. He shudders at the sweet and musky scent of your arousal. His tongue darts out pathetically to lick up a bit of the nectar.

"Look at him," Kento draws your attention towards Hiromi. "Pussywhipped loser."

Something about watching the way Hiromi is licking your panties really drives you wild. With your pussy exposed, Kento begins teasing your clit with slow circles. You buck up to meet his hand, which earns you a scoff from your beautiful blond lover. When your eyes meet, you can see the warning in them to be a bit more patient.

Without warning, Hiromi brings himself closer to your pussy and his face is inches away from it. His pupils have all but turned into hearts when he looks at your cute little cunt. He's just about to lean in when Kento pushes him off the bed.

"Did you forget rule three already?! You can't just do whatever you want." Kento growls.

Hiromi apologizes profusely, his heart racing. The thought of Kento hurting him to lay claim to you is turning him on. Maybe he is just a pathetic, desperate sex fiend. A pervert who hasn't gotten laid in so long. He sits up on his knees, watching you both.

"You wanna know what it's like to not have to ask for permission? Watch closely,"

With those words, Kento sinks himself into your dribbling hole. You cry out, clinging to your husband. He begins drilling himself into you, making you moan just for him. Hiromi's eyes widen, watching the scene unfold in front of him.

"You like that, huh? Fucking loser, you love watching my wife take my cock, don't you?"

Kento's words are hitting him hard. Hiromi has to begin palming himself through his slacks, the precum making a stain in his boxers. You look at the lawyer, moaning loudly as Kento keeps hitting your sweet spot dead on. Hiromi brings your panties to his nose as he begins to unbuckle his belt and take his leaking cock out of his boxers.

"Look at him," Kento goads, "look how much he's so desperate."

Your eyes are practically rolled back in your skull, and anyone can see you're much too preoccupied with the pleasure to even think about looking at the desperate man who is now jerking off at the edge of your bed. Kento chuckles darkly.

"See that? That's what a woman in the throes of pleasure looks like. Something I'm sure you've barely ever seen in your life."

Hiromi grunts as he picks up the pace of stroking his cock. His fist is a blur as he jerks himself off; your panties are still pressed to his nose. Your sweet moans and cries of love make his cock dribble out even more precum.

"K-Ken…I'm gonna cum!"

Kento growls sensually before picking up his own pace. He's slamming into you, making sure to angle his hips so that the tip of his cock continues to ram against that sweet spot deep inside of you that makes you see stars. Waves of electricity course through your body, making the muscles in your groin begin to tense as your orgasm builds more and more. The flame in your belly is burning hot, and the coil snaps. Your nails dig into the muscles of his back, and your plump lips part to cry out his name.

"Fuck, she's milking my cock so good!" Kento grunts, his own orgasm imminent.

Hiromi feels his balls drawing up fast, and he can't keep his eyes off the lewd scene in front of him. He moans as he fucks his fist a little faster, squeezing as if it was your pussy milking him as well. Then with a loud grunt, he's cumming so hard. Spurts of his cum begin to shoot out and cover his fist and the edge of the bed.

"Hah, I knew you'd blow your load first!" Kento brags. "I could keep going, but I suppose I shouldn't overstimulate my wife too much. I think she's had too much excitement for one night,"

Hiromi is slack-jawed as he watches Kento plow himself into you. His cock throbs with every thrust, and Hiromi has the front-row seat to watch as the man fucking your brains out is about to cum. The long-nosed man is very mesmerized by the blond's movements.

"Shit, such a fucking good pussy! Fuck I'm gonna cum!" Kento cries out. "Watch Hiromi-san, this is how you breed a pretty little wife!"

With a loud roar, Kento's hips stutter as the pleasure hits him hard. Shot after shot of his potent and sticky cum begins to fill your pussy. You whine from the overstimulation, but he's quick to hush you with sweet words of praise and love. Then slowly, he settles onto your tits and begins sucking on them.

"Hiromi honey," you call out to the lawyer. He looks up at you, a blush on his cheeks. "Yeah?" You smirk, "Come here, honey."

Hiromi crawls onto the bed. Kento pulls out, and both men watch as the cum begins to leak out of your abused hole. The lawyer is salivating at the sight of your puffy cunt. Kento beckons him closer, spreading your thighs a little bit.

"Have a taste," Kento instructs. "You've been a pretty good boy. I think you deserve it. But…" Hiromi looks up at him, "But what?" "You've got to clean us both up. Not just her, you better be sucking me cleaning too."

Hiromi feels his cock springing back to life at the chance to taste you both. First, he leans in to take a big whiff of your pussy. It's taken on a more musky scent with Kento's seed mixing in, but it's definitely still making him dizzy. He tentatively licks your folds before moaning. He's in heaven as he begins to lap at you like you are his last meal.

"Heh, you still think she tastes like strawberries?" Kento asks him.

Hiromi looks up at him, his eyes glazed over with lust. He moans his response, not caring that Kento's seed is mixing with your arousal. To the lawyer, you both taste so heavenly. A flavor he doesn't want to soon forget.

Kento reaches over, gripping Hiromi's black hair. He pulls him away from your oversensitive cunt, and he pushes him towards his half-hard leaking cock. Hiromi is quick to open his mouth, savoring the taste of your pussy on Kento's cock. The black-haired man moans as he begins to take even more of your husband's dick in his mouth.

"Fuck, darling…do you see just how much of a pervert he is?"

With that, Kento pushes him off and lets you all catch your breath. You watch through half-lidded eyes as your husband dons his favorite robe and heads into the kitchen. Hiromi stays put on the ground, unsure of what to do. You pat the spot next to you, and he sits near you.

"Hiromi honey, did you enjoy yourself?" you turn around and grab the sheet to cover your body.

He finds it adorable that you're choosing to be more modest right now. The vulnerability in that one little move really makes his chest feel warm. Suddenly he feels like he's actually looking into your private life.

Kento returns with a few bottles of mineral water for all of you. He also has a warm washcloth for you and Hiromi. Hiromi blushes as he turns away from both of you and cleans off his cock and his hands. Kento sits on the bed and wipes up the cum from your puffy, red pussy.

Once everyone is decent and cleaned up, you all take a moment to drink the water. Kento lights up a cigarette and as a sign of good faith, he hands one to the lawyer who gratefully accepts it. You three sit on the bed with the window cracked open, smoking your cigarettes.

"Still need a place to crash?" Kento asks Hiromi. "Yeah, I'd love that."

You lean back against the pillows, beckoning the lawyer over. He strips down to his boxers and he crawls under the covers. There's a warmth that comes from you as you wrap your arms around him and allow him to snuggle against your breasts. What surprises Hiromi is when Kento settles behind the man and wraps a protective arm around him.

"Sleep tight," you coo softly. "Love you, Ken." "Love you too, sweetie. Sleep well."

And the three of you fall into a deep sleep…

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ozzgin · 2 months

Note

Hello!

🌟 here again! I'm here with another request for our lovely bodyguard yandere.

Have you ever seen videos of fans jumping up onto stages with kpop idols? Then get carried away by security behind stage?

I'd love to see how our lovely violent baby girl would react to not being able to react with immediate violence as a reaction given all the eyes and cameras on him. Would he be stone faced just carrying the stage crasher by the collar like a cat? Or would he be dragging him by the legs into hell?

The reactions of fans to the bodyguard would be interesting too, I could see Reader being jealous over people thirsting over bodyguard on Twitter or something lol. Or bodyguard confused on why people would say stuff like "he could snap my back like a twig and I'd say thank you" about him.

Hope you are taking care, and I have my fingers crossed to hear from you eventually

Sincerely

-🌟

Long overdue and I'm terribly sorry about that! I had the ideas for a while now, but I could never find the proper words to assemble everything. ;-;

Yandere! Bodyguard x Idol! Reader (III)

Your bodyguard has gained sudden Internet fame after dealing with a crazed fan on stage. Naturally, he couldn't care less about anyone else, but that doesn't stop you from trying to make him jealous in return. Someone will have to be the sacrificial lamb to his murderous possessiveness.

Content: female reader, obsessive behavior, violence, death, reader and yandere are both psycho

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

The screen of your phone lights up again and you only need a quick glance to know what it is. Another post about last night’s event. About your bodyguard. You sink your nails into the leather chair and look ahead towards the mirror, exchanging a smile with the hairstylist.

“Oh, it looks lovely! You always do such a great job.” You compliment the woman as you tilt your head both ways, admiring the gentle curls. Now get the fuck out already.

“I’m so glad! Is there anything else you’d like me to-”

“No, that’s all. You can go”, you respond curtly.

The stylist collects her products and waves at you, exiting the room. The phone vibrates once more with a new notification, and you promptly throw it against the door. It scatters in large chunks of scrap across the plush carpet.

The whole ordeal happened within seconds. You were performing the final song of the evening when a fan hurled himself over the security barrier and onto the stage. The people standing at the very front began screaming and some took their phones out, scrambling for a good angle to record everything.

“Please, (Y/N), I’m your biggest fan!” the man pleaded, approaching you with shaking hands.

You froze in place, observing his actions with the same indifference of watching a TV ad that goes on for too long. Before the stranger could even reach your proximity, your bodyguard effortlessly and speedily threw him over the shoulder, giving you a reassuring nod and retreating backstage. He had that smile on his face that signaled he was pissed, and your mouth hung open in realization: You wouldn’t be able to witness the massacre.

You knew that expression all too well. That man would never see the light of day again, and under normal circumstances you would be right behind your bodyguard, cheering him on and suggesting ways to further torment of whoever dared to get too close to you.

And yet, your little ritual had been interrupted. You stood there on the stage, baffled, as the other idols gathered around you with worried looks. You poor thing. That must’ve been terrifying. The audience was shouting words of support, encouraging you to continue as if nothing happened. With pursed lips, you tightened your grip around the microphone and reassured everyone of your well-being. The show had to go on, regardless of your bloodlust.

This morning, you woke up to hundreds of posts online about the incident. Or rather, the way your bodyguard dealt with it. You scrolled through photos, videos, and confessions regarding the mysterious stranger who protected you from harm.

“I need a man like that in my life!”, “I know, right? So cool!”, “Imagine how easily he’d pick you up”, “The broad shoulders! I’m in love <3”

You don’t even have time to be properly upset about it. Your schedule for the day is packed with interviews and photoshoots. You glance in the mirror one final time and exit the room. The bodyguard has been waiting for you, resting against the wall with crossed arms.

“I need a new phone”, you tell him in a casual tone.

“What happened to the previous one?” He inquires, somewhat confused by your sudden request.

“Just do it!” You snap at the large man, rushing past him without providing any window for a reaction.

Ideally, you would very much like to tell him that the sudden influx of attention irritates you beyond comprehension. Then he’d reassure you that his indifference towards everyone else has not changed whatsoever, and thus your worries are entirely unfounded; but, if you need an outlet to release all that stress, he can easily find an empty changing room and service you like he always does.

Unfortunately, there is no time for that.

The bodyguard follows your movements with raised eyebrows, perplexed. What could’ve gotten you into such a sour mood? Has someone caused you to be upset? Are you still pouting after the missed playtime? He ponders the possibilities as he searches for an assistant.

The employee is visibly startled upon hearing his deep voice calling her. She turns obediently and nods, flashing her best customer-facing smile.

“Can you get (Y/N) a new phone?” he asks plainly.

“Huh? Sure…Did she specify any preferences? What was her previous model?”

He stares in confusion.

“…Can’t you guess?” she insists.

“I’m not good with these things.” The bodyguard rummages through his pocket and pulls out an old, cracked device to prove his point. “I don’t use phones much.”

Why would he? The only time he needs a phone is when he’s apart from you, which hasn’t happened since the Christmas incident. He previously considered a more modern option, so he could stalk your social media and make sure you don’t have any perverts sliding into your messages. That proved to be unnecessary, as you frequently leave your phone unattended or involve him in the process: most of your photos posted online nowadays are actually curated by his truly.

“Oh, so you don’t know about the recent craze?” The woman chuckles and takes out her own phone, speedily tapping on the screen before presenting it to the man. “See? You’re trending!”

He scans the multitude of messages. Ah, so that’s what it was. His lips curl into a grin. To think he’d witness his spoiled idol struggle with jealousy.

“That will be it for today!” the photographer announces, gesturing with his hands and guiding his helpers with the expensive equipment.

This was it, the last photoshoot. You unscrew the cap from your water bottle and take a healthy sip from it, wiping the sweat off your forehead with your other hand. The only good part about the continuous work was that you couldn’t check more of those annoying posts drooling over your bodyguard. Remembering it is enough to increase your heartbeat. The male model you were paired with for this campaign walks in your direction.

“Say, do you have anything planned after this?” He questions smugly. “You could come back to my place.”

What a ridiculous idea, you think with a grimace. Does this asshat think he’s worthy of your company? After a second of contemplation, you’re flooded with the same disappointment you felt back on the stage, watching your fan being carried away like a mere piece of cardboard over the much larger frame of your bodyguard. You might just consider the stupid offer. Why not? It’s not fair to be the only one plagued by jealousy.

“Sure. I know a better place, though.”

Your eyes narrow in a bright smile and you lead the young man towards your backstage room. As you pass by your bodyguard, you remember to mention in a low voice: “Make sure no one disturbs us.” He doesn’t answer, merely gazes at you with an empty expression.

“Man, that guy is scary as hell”, the model remarks as he throws himself in your vanity seat. “Are you not afraid to be alone with him?”

“Not really, no”, you respond idly. “You, on the other hand…”

“Excuse me?”

Now then. To set the scene, you gingerly climb into the man’s lap and adjust your arms around his neck. What a frail little human in comparison to your bodyguard. You blush in anticipation and begin counting in your head.

“H-hey, what did you mean-”

The young man is interrupted by someone’s abrupt intrusion. Your bodyguard throws you a quick glance before turning to close the door behind him. Alright, he can’t be too excited. He must pretend he’s furious, baffled, out for the hunt. You went all the way out for him. He even checked his watch to make sure you had enough time. He can’t let his enthusiasm betray him.

You jump out of the model’s hold with a gasp.

“It’s not what you think~!” you exclaim with feigned surprise. “He started flirting with me and I…” Your words trail off and you rub your arm nervously.

The bodyguard approaches the other man with monotonous movements and grabs him by the collar.

“Wait, you can’t possibly…he’s a well-known model!”, you protest with a fake cry.

Sweet little darling. Worry not, he won’t disappoint you. He’ll put on the best show for your sake. Anything to soothe your innocent heart.

“Could be the President himself”, your bodyguard confesses with a dash of theatrics, “and I’d still break his fucking neck for touching you.” He pulls out his pocketknife and looks at you. “I’ll deal with you in a moment, Miss.”

Your knees weaken and you have to rest against the vanity table. Among the screams and pleads for mercy coming from the poor butchered model, you can only focus on one thing: the violent fucking you’re about to receive.

Your bodyguard truly knows you best.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere male x reader #yandere bodyguard #yandere imagine #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere fic #yandere male #obsessive love #female reader

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satorhime · 2 years

Text

★ ⋆ ࣪ CALL 1-800-BOYFRIEND#2 ! an anthology | ˚｡jjk men x female reader ᨀ minors do not interact˓˓ aged up!characters, infidelity, toxic relationships, explicit smut, unprotected sex, creampies, degradation, squirting, praise kink, + more content warnings listed before each piece! ˚｡ FEATURING ᨀ fushiguro toji, gojo satoru, getou suguru, nanami kento, fushiguro megumi, itadori yuuji. ˚｡ SUMMARY ᨀ whenever you get in the mood, just call boyfriend number two! a collection of smut works inspired by the song boyfriend #2 - pleasure p; ꒰ PLAYLIST ꒱

★ ⋆ 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 ᨀ ࣪exes with benefits, ex boyfriend!gojo, belly bulges, cervix fucking.

you knew that it was wrong to invite him in while your boyfriend is waiting and let him fuck you, but how can you possibly atone for your sins when the closest thing to a god is the one helping you commit them between dirtied sheets?

“you gonna answer that, angel?” satoru taunts over the cheerful chime of your ringing cellphone. five missed calls from your boyfriend piled up in your notification center and he refuses to give up. your heart plummets down at the sound, sitting right next to the pretty bulge of your ex-boyfriend's cock in your lower belly as he fucks you mercilessly.

your tongue may be barbed with insults for him after your break up, but your pussy is still honeyed and sweet as ever to him. making the cutest noises, splitting like a good girl for the delicious stretch of his cock. he's got you embarrassingly fucked out too, ruining you before your date— lipstick smudged, thighs possessed by bruises from his teeth, all the while he's busy fucking his thick load back into your cunt from the first round.

“i recommend answering it, huh? tell him you're all taken care of, angel. don't want him comin' to your rescue when you're about to cum for me, now do we?”

“w-wait, i need to-” you choke, hand scrambling to find the phone somewhere in the soaked sheets— wanting to answer for your boyfriend even as your back curls off the bed when gojo fucks it just right, the fat mushroom tip of his cock bullying your cervix with each bruising thrust. “h-hold on a minute, f-fuck- slow down, my boyfr-”

he rolls his eyes, finding your phone easily and tossing it on top of the lewd bounce of your tits— a sneer on his lips as he fucks into your cunt with nasty, possessive ruts of his hips that sloshes slick and cum out of your abused little hole in a frothy drool that you can feel dripping down the line of your ass. he has no intention of slowing down or stopping so you squeeze your eyes shut, sucking your lower lip into your mouth to stifle your noises and finally, pick up the ringing hotline.

“hnnng h-hello?”

“hey, baby!” your boyfriend of one year greets cheerfully, oblivious and sweet. he upset no balances in the world with his birth and he isn't the strongest of anything— he's just a kind man, attentive and storybook romantic; the kind you dreamt of, but that doesn't stop you from letting satoru fuck you whenever he wants. “takes a while for my pretty girl to get ready, huh? know you're going to look amazing, too, but.. our dinner reservation was at 8. where are you?”

satoru snorts, shifting his hips to drag your attention back to him. your heart clenches at the same time your pussy does, cock catching you on a good fuck that shoots white hot pleasure simmering through your nerves. it's too much— you claw at his arms with one hand while the other shakes against the phone.

“i-i'm on my way soon, baby. sorry, oh my f- h-hah...” your lower lip wobbles as you fight the urge to cry out, dewy tears clinging to your lashes. gojo is relentless, bringing a violent tremble to your thighs as he lowers a hand between your legs, the calloused pads of his fingertips rubbing raw circles over your clit so good you drop the phone onto your chest.

“hello? babe, what's wrong?! are you there?” you can hear your current boyfriend's staticky voice on the other end while your ex leans forward, bracketing your head with his strong arms as he mouths wet kisses along the soft skin at your jaw; sucking the lobe of your ear onto his tongue.

“tell him this pussy is mine, you little slut. see how good 'm fucking you? where else are you gonna get it this good? don’t you want me back? wanna be able to fuck on this dick any time you want?” he growls, sickly sweet into your ear, the yandere tone of his voice rumbling shivers into your skin. “tell him who it belongs to or i will.”

“i-i can't- can't do that to him, 'toru-” you blubber, even though you want to. miss the way dating satoru made you feel complete. salty tears spill down your cheeks that gojo sweeps away with his tongue like a lazy cat lapping at his favorite bowl of milk.

his fingers quickly flick and twist overstimulation under the hood of your swollen clit until he feels your pussy squeezes around the stretch of his cock, cackling in response as he gets what he wants. he’s breaking you down, got you on the ropes. “see? this pussy knows what she wants, even if you don't,” he groans out too loud, hips stuttering and sloppy now, a rhythm that fucks you open while all you can do is sob and writhe like the wanton little whore you are.

“who the fuck is that- hello? hello? what's going on? are you okay?”

gojo is high off the power trip of your moans and though he knows that rubbing it in is breaking the ultimate code, his free hand's picking up the phone before he knows it—

“'toru- satoru, n-no-” you whine out, but he jerks his hips hard against yours to shut you up, lodging his cock so deep inside your pussy, your mind short circuits.

“yo!” gojo greets into the receiver, voice winded but clear. he's mockingly casual as he tucks the phone between his cheek and shoulder to free up his hands, as if he is discussing the latest gossip with a friend, his fingers digging prints into your hipbones.

“who the fuck is this?” you hear your boyfriend demand in confusion and you lurch forward to take the phone away, but the force of his cock lays you flat.

“i'm sure our girl's told you about me, yeah? the only one who broke her heart, the one who can't settle down, the one you're so much better than. blah blah blech- name's satoru!” he introduces himself and grins wide, glancing down at you. his pretty ex-girlfriend whines against his shoulder, thrashing against the sheets as he fucks that bubble in your lower belly to bursting. fucks you like no one else can. “anyways, cock's- oops, i meant cat's- got her tongue right now so i wanted to let you know that she won't be able to make it to your date tonight... ain't that right, baby?” he hums, holding the phone out to you so your boyfriend on the other line can hear the sweet, traitorous sounds of your moans as you cream on another man's cock. “yep, that's right. she finally decided to come home. where you should go too, man.”

gojo doesn't elaborate further, clicking the little red icon to end the call with a winner’s smirk on his lips and then his attention is back to you, on fucking a bellyache into you with his skilled fucking and your boyfriend's name out of you, the lewd sound of your slick gurgling out of your perfect little pussy sounding like sin. gojo's fingers are back on your clit, pinching it hard. “now back to you, angel face. cum for your boyfriend.”

★ ⋆ 𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢 𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨 ᨀ college!au, professor!nanami, student!reader, blowjobs, desk sex, semi-public sex in a classroom, use of "sensei" to address kento.

kento is the last of your professors you would have expected to keep you company while you cry over your boyfriend who would rather spend drunken nights out at frat parties, but you are quickly finding out that fucking your pretty little body is professor nanami's favorite after school activity.

“keeping yourself busy down there?” nanami has the nerve to inquire while you're on your knees under his desk, putting in real work for the title of his best student.

your expression is dazed and full of wonderment, a cute wrinkle between your brows at the way you are actually able to fit your professor's cock inside your mouth, nose pressed to the tamed patch of sandy hairs at his crotch. it's amazing how it can erase all bad thoughts of your neglectful lover from your mind and you worship it greedily. nanami's thick thighs spread wide, cafe au lait eyes gazing down at you over the top of his round reading glasses while you suckle on his cock like a lollipop. it's heavy against your tongue, weighing it down with the strain and drooling sweet opaque drops of precum down the slope of your throat. he barely makes a sound, but he rewards you with a jolt of his hips each time you swallow a drop of it with a whine.

“aaa-atta girl, just like that, huh? why don't you do that thing for me?” he drawls out in an appraising tone, lax in his chair.

you obediently draw back, eager to please him. you grip his wet cock gently in your small hold, kitten licks into the sensitive slit before you wedge your tongue under the head, sucking over a fat, forked vein. he is composed, the picture of professionalism during his working hours but you are the only one who is allowed the pleasure of seeing nanami kento with his hair mussed, glasses askew as you suck him wet between the legs. sleeves rolled up as one hand pins his pressed white shirt out of the way while the other rests on your head, petting your soft hair with affection.

“fuck, little darling- that mouth will be death of me,"” he breathes and you suck him down slow on the pull in, letting the tip of his cock nudge against the fleshy patch of your throat before tears spring into your eyes and you bounce back with a wet gag— bathing in the way that he hisses, in the way that you make him feel. he doesn't regurgitate bad lines from porn like your boyfriend does, but his grunts of pleasure and soft praise shoot like fallen stars across your pussy, making you sneak a hand into your sopping panties, immediately sinking two fingers past your entrance with a whine, the vibration like a hot rubber band around nanami's dick.

“wan’ you to fuck me now, p-please.”

“e-easy there. i'll take care of you. stop that and come here,” he coos, hooking an arm under your elbow as he drags your mouth away from his cock.

“o-oh-” your professor spins you around, bending you over his desk. he takes care in folding your skirt up, his big hands kneading the globes of your ass cheeks in a gentle circle. you wriggle your hips back desperately until you bump against his damp cock, squirming on the desk over his ungraded papers, takeout flyers, and seminar invitations.

“k-kento-sensei, hurry up, please-” you simper, eyes glazed over and glossy with lust for him already.

“i'm right here, doll,” he reminds you and he's in a good mood— he doesn't like impatience or insolence, but he lets you rut your ass against his crotch for friction until he stills your hips with a click of his tongue. “you don't have anywhere to be, after all. that fella of yours is at that party you were crying over, isn't he?”

your lips plump out in a pout, about to scold him for reminding you, but the words shrivel on your tongue as he edges forward to tug your panties down to the middle of your thighs, spreading one ass cheek to the side and exposing your pussy to the air. you're so pretty and wet for him, hole fluttering and glossy with slick.

“how badly do you want it?” kento chuckles under his breath, barely nudging his cockhead into the entrance to your cunt. your professor does not fuck like your boyfriend. he doesn't believe in ten minutes of sloppy, selfish fucking that leaves you unsatisfied. even with the risk of someone walking in, he is a man unhurried. he waits, petting two fingers between your folds. “hmm?”

“want it real bad, real real bad!”

“tch, have i taught you anything? use proper vocabulary when you beg for my cock.”

“once upon a midnight dreary, while i pondered, weak and weary, over how your cock would feel fucking me silly,” you smile cheekily into the strewn papers, arching your ass further against his hips in invitation.

“naughty girl, don’t ruin the classics,” the tiniest of smiles quirks his lips at your antics, snuffing out a laugh.

but nanami gives you what you’re begging for. he is discovering that refusing you is becoming increasingly difficult. his fingers curl around your waist, tugging your body down his desk until he impales your little pussy on his cock. the stretch is painstakingly slow, forcing you to feel every fucking inch, every ridge and vein— dragging along your walls in an overwhelming sensation. you scramble to grab purchase into the desk, mouth slacking open with a long grunt as you press your forehead to the desk.

“good girl. look how well you take me, hmm? if only you could listen so well in class, too,” he hums in approval, watching the way your pussy expands as he draws out, only to suck him in nice and tight as he plunges back into the warmth of your cunt. you've always been his worst student, combative and mouthy— barely able to sit through the nasally drawl of his lessons with your impatience, so it's no surprise when you drop your head onto his desk, gripping the edge as you bounce yourself back against his hips.

“did i tell you that you could-” but his reprimand is shut off with a sharp grunt, his hips stuttering while you tremble and frantically fuck your cunt on his cock at a quick pace, the pleasure coiling in your lower belly hard and fast. “oh, is that what you wanted? to cum?”

“yuh-yes! i-i need t' cum, kento-sensei!”

“cum then, call my name instead of his when you gush all over my cock. go on, love.”

★ ⋆ 𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐨 𝐭𝐨𝐣𝐢 ᨀ age gap (toji is in his 40s, reader is in 20s), babysitter!au, mean!toji, car sex, cowgirl, breeding kink.

toji wasn't a nice man, but he had well-behaved kids and secretly tipped you bonuses on days you wore short dresses or skirts to the house as if you wouldn't notice. it wasn't uncommon for him to give you a ride home whenever it gets too late, even if his dark eyes linger on your thighs the entire time. crawling into his lap like a money hungry little whore and unzipping his jeans in the front seat of his car after he offered you five hundred dollars to see if you could fit his cock inside you was new, though.

toji used a safety pin to tack the wad of fresh green dollars against your tank top with a crooked grin, as if you were a birthday girl. he moves the cash now to pull your tank top aside and expose one of your nipples, the little bud puckered up from the blast of the air conditioner behind you.

“m-mr. fushiguro, i have a boyfriend- mmph!” you whine in protest, a contradiction after you crawled across the center console with a competitive glint sparkling in your eye, the steering wheel of his jeep digging into your lower back.

you don't remember how the conversation started, but it ended with you in his lap and your bank account a half thousand richer. you should be disgusted, toji is sleazy— he'd rather spend time chasing after loose women than raising his children and he stares at your tits mid-conversation, but no. to you, he is the epitome of a dilf, all bulky and rugged lines and dark edges. and that's why you moan for his big, rough hands sliding under your simple tank top, cunt oozing slick for the father of two.

“that so? why're you grindin' all over my lap then, little girl? get off 'n' get outta my car if you're scared,” he growls, even though he knows you’re not running anywhere while he's got your skin feverish and sweaty as he tweaks one of your nipples, pinching the perky bud between two fingers. the sly smirk he wears on his scarred lip both irritates you and simmers arousal between your hips. you swear that your hips move on their own accord, bumping into the weighty girth of his cock that you forgot is sitting wedged beneath your ass. “yeah, you ain't going nowhere, are you? like it when nasty old men stare up your skirts and down your shirts, dontcha?”

his filthy words have your folds messy, leaving a damp patch on your cotton shorts. you move before you can stop yourself, reaching nimble fingers between the shadow of your bodies to unbutton his jeans, tugging his cock out with saliva drooling in your mouth. you wish that you could see it, but you can feel it, stomach lurching. the wide, blunt head twitching fat against your palm before toji is manhandling you, jerking your cotton shorts to the side and forcing you to grind your bare cunt along the length of his cock.

“let’s see where all my money is going to, eh?” he grunts at you, each of his huge hands are between your legs now, prying your folds open with his thumbs as you circle your clit against the surface of his cock. “so easy too- don't know if i want a little whore like you around my kids, hah. look at how wet you are for a man you ain't dating,” he rasps out in a salty, degrading tone, pinching one of your folds before he wraps fat fingers around his cock to hold it steady.

“y-you're so mean, mr. fushiguro,” you sigh out blissfully, not caring in the least bit when his cock rubs against your clit, creating delicious friction.

“yeah, and you're fuckin' slow. sit on my cock already or gimme my money back.”

your legs are split over the wide planes of his thighs, so snapping them shut isn't an option when he presses you back against the steering wheel, the horn beeping pathetically, pushing his thick cock into your sopping pussy.

your eyes widen at the overwhelming twinge of intrusion as toji feeds you every inch of his veiny girth— your hips having no choice but to drop into his lap and take his cock. watery tears prickle your eyes because it hurts so fucking good. he's the biggest you've ever had to fuck yourself on, bigger and wider than your boyfriend, twice as fat as he is long. but that doesn't stop you from levelling your weight down, letting your cunt sink and sink and sink, until finally he's so fucking deep that your clit is buried in his pubic hair and your ass is pressed up against his heavy balls.

“what's going on with this tight little pussy, mm? this guy not fuckin' you right, doll face?” he wolf whistles at the feeling of your cunt slobbering around him, desperately trying to accommodate his massive girth. “c'mon, move. don't sit there tremblin' on me like a fuckin' leaf.”

“f-fuck, too much it's big- so big, mr. fushiguro-”

“can't take it a cock this grown, doll?”

“i-i don’t know-” you whimper, but you don’t want to lose. hiding your face onto his shoulder, pleasure surges through your veins, dopamine fogging your brain as you lift out of his lap until the tip of his cock pops on your entrance. a devastating, heavy drop of your hips that spears you on his weighty dick, building up a rhythm that has you whining and creaming all over toji's cock. images of the man you've been dating flashes through your mind before your thoughts are clouded by the single father of two fucking you towards an orgasm. your pussy gushes, the bulb of your plump clit rubbing against the hard ridges of his abdomen.

“you want my cum? want me to plug you up all nice and full?” he grunts out the question, his breath fanning hot across your cheeks in the dark shadows of his car.

“yuh-yes! want your cum, want you to plug me up! want you to give me a baby,” you chant in a lusted moan, eyes rolling shut as he dips his head to your breasts where they've bounced out of the side of your tank top, suckling one of your nipples onto his tongue with a rough chuckle.

“woah now, who said anything about you havin' one of my rugrats? you like watching 'em that much?” he lifts a thick brow, but he would be lying if he said it didn't make his cock twitch inside of you. if it didn't make him rut his hips up into you with deep, low grunts in the depths of his chest. he bares his teeth, pinching your nipple between his sharp canines in a hard bite, throwing you off the edge—you drop your hips, cunt spreading around the base of his cock and creaming all over him as you cum, squirt dripping on his leather seats.

“fuck, oh fuck. you’re so tight, ain’t ya? you want my runts so bad, take every fuckin' drop of my cum, little slut, ‘n’ don’t complain about it,” his abdomen tightens at the feeling of your cunt spasming around him, his cock jerking as he heat washes over his body, shooting thick, wet ropes of seed into your cunt.

★ ⋆𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮 ᨀ stranger!suguru, hookups, bathroom sex, cunnilingus, panty sniffing, tongue piercings.

he was dark and alluring, ensnaring your attention like a siren calling across the dance floor. you should have declined his offer to buy you a drink and he should have bid you goodnight when you told him you were taken, so how did you end up here?

“aren't you precious?” the stranger purrs breathily into the drum of your ear, breath the scent of cigs and mint as he advances on you, crowding you up against the cool sink. thankfully, the bathroom is clean and there is a lock on the door, hiding you away from your friends and their judgmental eyes. “you couldn't resist following me here, even though your friends are worried and there is someone waiting at home for you. i'll make your betrayal worthwhile, don't worry.”

your breaths wheeze out in a fog, his accusation burning hot but the handsome stranger is reaching under the hem of your mini dress to soothe the sting of his words, slipping your panties down your thighs. there's a cheshire smirk on his thin lips, rows of perfect teeth gleaming in delight to find you dripping for him already— the fabric clinging to your folds, connected by sticky strings of slick.

“these are a nice pair- i hope you'll forgive me, pretty,” he hums, inspecting the lace before gathering the damp panties in his hand and bundling them against his nose, an audible sniff snorting through the quiet that warms your cheeks in embarrassment. “you smell fucking divine, too. it's a shame that boyfriend of yours won't be able to take them off at the end of tonight.”

they're your favorite set, navy blue fenty lace that you wore to boost your confidence. that you planned to seduce your beau into ripping off of you when you stumble in from the club. instead, here you are, heart beating behind your ribs in the dark corner of a bathroom as a complete stranger tucks your panties into the pocket of his black jeans.

“d-don't talk about him like that- and give those back! i don't even know your name,” you hiss, irritation twisting your face at the nerve of this infuriatingly attractive no-name, but the raven-haired man looks unimpressed with your fervor as he circles his spindly hands around your hips and hoists you onto the sink, adjusting your thighs until one of your feet are propped up on the surface of the counter, spreading you wide for him.

“you'll know my name soon, don't worry,” he promises, the rolling drawl of his lilt making you shiver. the cold air breezes relief against your bare, feverish cunt as he presses close to you, settling in between the space of your open legs. he trails hot kisses over the pulse point at your neck, where your perfume is sweetest. your head lolls to the side with a lustful sigh, eyes butterflying closed as his teeth nip against the skin of your collarbone.

you gasp when you feel his fingers slip between your legs to shift through your drooling slit, your leg accidentally jolting off of the counter as he draws teasing figure eights into your clit. arms wrapping around his broad shoulders, your fingertips caress the long inky ponytail waving down his back, accidentally untying the leather strip holding it together.

“o-oh, your fingers-” you gargle, a soft moan spitting from your lips. he draws the digit down your slit, pushing the long appendage into your pussy, curling it up on the slow drag out, combing along your walls.

“call a new name tonight, precious. suguru. say it and i'll give you whatever you need.”

“s-suguru-” his name whines off your tongue so prettily as he fucks his finger into you languidly; your hips angle down, trying to suck it in deep and trapping his hand against the counter, but it's not enough— clamping down on it, but greedy for more. for a thicker stretch, for the cock you felt pressed up against you on the dance floor. you reach for the zipper of his jeans, but suguru angles his hips away with a tut. “i thought you said-”

“i promised i would give you what you need, pretty. not what you want,” he says, and then he's dropping to his knees. he's so tall that his head is level with your pussy up on the counter. he hooks his hands under the seat of your ass and scoots you to the edge of the counter, until you're on the edge of his own personal dinner table. his dark, crescent eyes trained directly on the juices webbing your folds together and the sight of your hole, unstretched and eager for him. “let me open you up first.”

his tongue swipes out, wetting his lips and you catch a glimpse of a silver jewel embedded in the pink flesh. glinting in the dim light of the bathroom— his tongue piercing and oh god, the sight of it has your cunt clenching around emptiness in want. he tilts his head forward, dark waves of hair falling like a smokescreen over his shoulders.

he spits on your pussy, a thick, bubbly glob of it trailing down your slit before he licks it up. long laps up your folds, the hard ball of his piercing making you squirm and gasp out, fingers sinking into his soft hair before you slip down to his ears, pressing your fingertips to the black gauges hooked in the lobes— causing him to suck in a sharp breath. suguru's lips are warm and wet, skilled as he secures a soft suck around your clit that draws your vision to a cross.

“oh my-”

“you like that, do you?” he smiles, eyes shaping to moons in glee— burying his head between your legs. he massages his piercing against your clit. hot stimulation and wet kisses over your cunt as the bass of club music thrums behind the bathroom door, stiffening his tongue for a harder lick. he swipes a few times against your clit until it swells, sweeping his tongue to your hole, curling his tongue inside to taste where you're leaking the most.

“i-i like it so much, sugu-” you moan and the shortened sound of his name on your tongue makes him snarl, roping his arms around your thighs and hooking you open for him. renewed in the way he slurps up the clear slick drooling out of your cunt before fucking it back in, the squish of his tongue flicking against your walls turning you limp— flaming your sensitive nerves with each heavy swipe. the sharp line of his perfect nose bumps your clit, sweet friction that has you drooping back against the sink mirror, widening your legs shamelessly.

“can't believe you're letting a stranger eat out a pussy this sweet- wonder if you'll let me fuck it too,” you feel like sobbing at the thought of being filled with his cock. your cunt squeezes his tongue desperately and he draws back, up to your clit where you're most sensitive at. putty in his grasp as he pulls the swollen nub onto his tongue, suctioning you in deep until you feel an orgasm tingling in your lower belly.

“i'm going to cum, suguru-” you whistle out breathlessly, clawing at his scalp. he grunts and pries your cunt apart with three wide fingers.

“what are you waiting for, pretty? cum for me.” it's not the cock you wanted, but his fingers are experienced— curling out and prodding in deep, switching and spreading until they push right against that sweet spot inside of you.

“o-oh-” gut lurching, your orgasm bubbles up fast as suguru fucks that spot until you cum, cunt pulsing rapidly. you sink, nerves raw and thighs shaking.

you're still tingling when he stands to his feet, his chin and nose covered in your slick. the handsome stranger rubs his fingers along your lips until you part them and suck them onto your tongue, eyes fluttering closed as you taste yourself on his skin. suguru unlinks his belt and your heart dips in lust at the sound of it.

“clean me up and i'll give you my cock up next, pretty girl.”

★ ⋆ 𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐨 𝐦𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐦𝐢 + 𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐢 𝐲𝐮𝐮𝐣𝐢 ᨀ best friend!au, no cheating, threesome, spitroasting, cum eating.

“you ever wondered what it would be like if we fucked each other?” yuuji joked, and though you and megumi swatted at him and berated his bad humor, you never expected a normal saturday night with your best friends to end up like this. with yuuji's tongue down your throat and megumi's lips on your breasts while the two of them fucked into each other's hands.

megumi knows that he should say something— he should say that what the three of you are doing is wrong. you're all best friends, empty red solo cups litter the floor of itadori's funky bedroom, but his mind is too full of cotton and cheap booze and he is entranced.

there is no way he can tear those jadestone green eyes away from the way you're begging for both of their cocks, from the way you writhe and whine on the bed as megumi and yuuji both play with your puffy clit, their fingers bumping against each other's clumsily while they fuck you.

you feel overwhelmed, overstimulated on both ends. the plump peach of your ass jiggles against fushiguro's tapered hips as he humps his cock into your pussy from behind, your breasts bouncing lewdly underneath your arched body as you suck yuuji's cock up front.

“'gumi, yuu- please! c-can't take it anymore!” you feel like crying, but the sound chokes off into a needy gasp as megumi's long cock drags through your walls at the right angle, his cockhead fucking against that gummy patch deep inside of you. you need them to cum— to give you a break. you never expected your sweet friends to fuck you like this.

megumi huffs, sweat beading down his neck as his fingers pet and rub quick against your swollen, sore clit. almost sobbing when your soft walls clamp down on him so tight that he fights to pull out.

“i'm gonna cum soon, but f-fuck- stop fucking clenching around me like that, stop-” megumi's raspy whine is guttural, yanking his cock out suddenly to stave off the burning orgasm at the base, watching the way your cunt pulses around emptiness, stretched and pretty, before he feeds it back in.

“fushiguro's cock feeling good down there, babe? hitting all the right spots?” your strawberry-haired friend groans out, neck blotchy with blush and shuddering as you flick your tongue over the seam of his balls. his heavy cock bumps against your cheek, smearing precum all over your foundation before you slack your jaw and suck him back into your mouth. you grasp his hipbones desperately to fuck his cock deeper down your throat. yuuji is painfully thick, stretching a dirty twinge in your jaw while megumi is long, spearing your puffy walls until your cunt aches with pleasure, nerves flipped inside out with each rolling thrust of their cocks.

neither of them expect you to answer the question the way that you do— reaching between your wet thighs, fingers bumping megumi's cock where it squelches in and out of your hole, you scoop sticky cream onto two fingers and show the drizzle proudly to the two boys drilling you. their groans reverberate on each end of you as they fuck you harder.

if you didn't feel overwhelmed with the white hot licks of sensation scorching a trail through your body, you would be embarrassed letting your two best friends see you like this— creaming and drooling all over them.

“i-itadori, don't do that-” megumi suddenly hisses, hips stuttering as his cock thickens out. his fingernails cut bruises into the soft flesh of your ass as he watches yuuji bring your hand to his lips, wrapping them around your fingers to shamelessly suck the combined mixture of you and megumi's cum from the digits.

“fuuuuck, f-fuck! why d'you two taste so-” yuuji cries in a mumble around your fingers, tongue lapping against your fingertips for more. it's not your pretty little mouth caving his stomach inward with the way you suck his cock, but the bittersweet taste of his two best friends' cum bursting over his tastebuds that sends yuuji over the edge first— ropes of warm cum shooting into your mouth without warning, kicking a pained grunt out of the male's chest. you choke, drawing back to suckle the tip greedily as he feeds you his cum. “fuck, babe-”

“itadori, move.”

yuuji is barely on the comedown before megumi's fisting a hand into your hair and tearing your mouth away from his friend's flagging cock, chasing the burning deep in his own gut as he suddenly flips you onto your back. he presses your legs to your torso, feet brushing his shoulders until you're folded in half beneath him and your creamy cunt is open wide for him, a pitiful wheeze squeaking out of your mouth—

“m-megumi-”

the male wraps his fingers around the base, fumbling with it because it's drenched and slippery in your juices as he lines his cock back up with your pussy, fucking in so quick that you cough and scrabble to grab for yuuji, as if he can save you from the force of megumi's fucking. but your other friend is no help, stretching out on the bed next to you and shifting through the wetness between your folds to rub your clit.

“b-boys, i'm so close! please please please! wan'... wan' you both to make me cum!” you beg, thighs trembling violently against your chest and expression twisted in full bliss as yuuji pats wetly at your squishy clit while megumi fucks you out so good that tears spill hotly, blurring your vision as you cum, gushing so wet that you soak the bed. clawing at their arms and screaming their names so loud it makes megumi clamp a hand over your mouth. the latter is only two thrusts behind you, painting your insides with thick globs of seed that oozes out of you embarrassingly when he pulls out.

“i-i'll get a towel,” megumi breathes, sitting back on his haunches. his cheeks turn a rosy shade as he surveys the wreckage of his two best friends in the afterglow. it’s disgusting to megumi how the two of you are able to rest on top of soaked sheets, yuuji’s cock flagged and megumi’s cum funneling out of your used cunt. but neither of you are letting him run, your and yuuji’s fingers wrapping around each of his wrists and pulling him on the other side of you.

“or you could come cuddle me instead?”

yuuji did not need any convincing, but both boys can’t find it in themselves to move an inch when your breasts are the softest pillows their heads have ever touched.

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heavenblvd · 3 months

Text

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒.

pairings — fem!reader and rafe cameron.

summary — after rafe takes your life, he tries to move on, and simply pretends he’s the one who didn’t do so. eventually, hauntings and truths will lay themselves out to remind rafe just how sickening he is.

warning tags — adult language. details of gruesome m*rder & m*rder itself. mentions of DV relationship, (brief) child ab*se & awful parents. talks of religion and god. reader’s pov from heaven (?? just stick w the program). rafe actually going more insane than usual. overall dark content.

author’s note — this is based on and inspired by ethel cain’s song ‘strangers’ and while this song has multiple interpretations to go by, i’m taking mine by the main and common one (just without the c*nnibalism!). this also gets super dark and depressing so if you cannot bear any of it, please click off! this also isn’t revised at all so my apologies for grammar mistakes.

likes, shares & reblogs are very much appreciated ⋆୨୧ ₊ﾟ

you had tears in your eyes, body shaking to point you thought you’d convulse. you tried to be obedient by keeping in rafe’s secret of what he had done on that tarmac. he beat you to make sure you kept your mouth shut for good.

he said, “i’ll kill you if you say one word,” and it took enough fear to believe him, but you didn’t think that day would come.

murder is an evil thing, and everyone can attest to it. rafe murdered sheriff peterkin as if she was nothing, as if she was a problem in the way. bad enough, he let john b. routledge — one of your best friends — take the fall for it.

you continued to keep your mouth shut, but after rafe tried to invade the police, ward killing himself, you didn’t see a reason to keep quiet. ward was the only reason why rafe could stay out of prison, and now that he wasn’t around, you could speak.

your father preached every sunday to live by righteousness and good, to never let evil win.

rafe was that evil. he was the devil himself.

the devil that you danced with, let make love to you, kiss you, but also beat you until stars twinkled in your vision, and your breath kept getting caught in your throat.

your mother would be horrified to know that, your father too. but it was their fault in a way that you accepted this cruelty as love; your father, especially to blame.

if love is not meant to be hit at you, does it even exist? your father showed you that when he’d slap or punch you for falling out of line, but go to church the next day, and preach about being a good servant to god.

you wanted all evil out of your life. it was suffocating, it was drowning you.

rafe had to be eliminated first.

“you killed peterkin, and i’m tired of knowing it,” you said, picking up your car keys. “we are done, and i won’t even show up to your trial when you go down for it.”

rafe just stared at you appalled and puzzled, sitting on the edge of his bed. you were close to being far out enough to your car until strong, violent hand seized you.

you screamed and kicked, not being new to this routine, only knowing that he was going to harm you.

you could never predict that his violence would lead him to murdering you.

“let me go, rafe!” you screamed, being pulled inside, your pleas and cries echoing in the empty home.

expecting to be physically berated, you were being led downwards.

to the wine cellar basement.

and for once in a while, you prayed to god, and hoped he would finally listen to you this time. that he would save his child, and perform a miracle.

but a miracle never came as rafe manhandled you, pinning you down on the cement ground of the basement.

“shut the fuck up! stop crying!” he yelled, a solid punch coming to your cheek, and you yelped, an easy gush of blood rushing out of your mouth. “you’re a fuckin’ backstabber. after everything i’ve done for you, gonna treat me like that?”

you cried, shaking your head. “r—rafe, please! i’ll be good, i’ll stop!”

“don’t trust you, little one. can’t let you ruin everything,” rafe said, reaching for something out of his back pocket.

the more you fought back, the more angry he got; the more you fueled the fire that rested in his hands and body.

before you could let out another plead, a sharp pain was made into your abdomen.

rafe stabbed you — and he wasn’t planning on stopping there.

god wasn’t there. you would show up to his gates in this condition, and ask him why he let it happen. if god is real, why did he bear witness instead of saving you?

rafe doesn’t recall killing you.

he remembers grabbing, and dragging you down into wine cellar basement, but couldn’t be able to tell anyone what happened after that. all he knows your blood was quite literally on his hand, knife shaking in his grip.

your babydoll white dress was now stained with violence and scarlet red blood.

the sight should’ve made him sick, but it didn’t. he just stared at you, breathing heavy, and it didn’t strike him until a while later that he had killed you.

rafe cameron had killed the love of his life.

he only panicked when it came to how to dispose your body, take off any evidence that could trace back to him. he was more than willing to dump your body in the woods, let any gators eat at you for supper.

he tossed your body only hours later in the depths of the woods, and it didn’t take long until you were reported missing.

of course, he was questioned first. it was easy for him to play the concerned boyfriend, crying because he also hadn’t heard from you, saying he had been texting and calling you for hours.

your parents sobbed on the news and asking anyone to come forward with any information, that they’ll give up however much money for their child to come home.

rafe just stared numbly at the television screen, a cup of scotch in his hand.

your best friends, the pogues, sobbed for days, and even started a search party for you. rafe made sure to dig you levels down in those woods when the ground was wet enough to dig up, and cover you up.

sarah cameron had a feeling her brother had something to do with your ‘disappearance’ but it was only just a gut intuition, she couldn’t prove it. she always questioned why you got with her brother, always emphasizing how horrible and violent he was, but you would tell her, “you don’t know him like i do; you don’t know how much he loves me, and takes care of me.”

kiara knew how bad rafe was — for god sake, she momentarily went to the academy around the same time he was a senior. she knew he wasn’t destined to be a boyfriend, let alone even in a fucking relationship.

the boys of the group were beyond furious, the three wanting to round up and take ahold of rafe, beat some information out of him. but they knew you wouldn’t want that, and that rafe would easily get the police to arrest them.

however, months passed, and you slowly became a memory to not only the town, but to rafe himself. he went on with his days like nothing occurred, that he didn’t violently take the life of his girlfriend.

you weren’t on his mind anymore, and he didn’t have to worry about you anymore.

or so he thought.

karma and revenge go hand in hand together; they mingle and burst out, they make sure they arrive at the doorstep of the people who deserve it.

rafe always thought getting rid of you would avoid his downfall, but the murder of you was just the beginning of it all.

he slept peacefully like he had done for a while now, with him about to drown into a deep sleep. he rested with his hands laid atop of his stomach, comfortable and at solitude, a female whisper woke him up.

he peeked around, but saw no one. he assumed he was just sleep deprived and imagining things, his eyes closing again for sleep.

“do you feel sick yet?” the voice that sounded like yours came through, more clearer and visible. he shot up, and turned on his bedside lamp.

nothing. no one. not you.

why would he have to feel sick? you were gone, you were no longer a problem.

rafe shook it off, and was able to go back to sleep.

you were angry in the afterlife. you stared at rafe from heaven, trembling with rage and regret. a man you once loved, had acted as if you never existed. you adored him, and he disposed you like garbage.

you just wanted to be his, wanted him to tell you that you were his only; that he loved you as much as you did to him, that he would change and better himself for you.

that the violence would dissipate, and his rough hands would be nurtured with love and softness.

but no. that never came, and never would.

you were taunted by your murder, burning with the need to remind rafe of how sick he was.

your violent lover let you bleed before him, and without tending to your wounds or simply sitting with immediate regret, he soaked in his actions and dismissed it.

why couldn’t he be gentle? was him painting you blue and purple not enough? did he have to go as far as killing his lover to satisfy the disdain and vexation he held for you?

was that enough? was that enough to make you enough?

rafe’s nights slowly turned interrupted and sleepless. your voice was always there, and time to time, he thought he saw you standing in his bedroom, drenched in blood and with tears streaming down your face as you kept asking him, “do you feel sick yet?”

sick. not regretful. fucking sick.

sleep deprivation was catching up to him, making him more mean and angry than usual, more out of control.

the coke wasn’t even helping either, only making everything worse.

he was at barry’s trailer, snorting endless lines of the white powder, trying to shake off the sight of you from last night.

“country club, you good?” barry asked, and rafe didn’t respond. “you don’t seem well, bro.”

“just need this shit, okay?” rafe mumbled, separating another drop of cocaine. “just… just want to sleep, need it.”

barry didn’t want to push him with more questions, minding his own business as the blond haired boy snorted up excessive amounts of lines.

rafe ended falling asleep on his couch, barry mindlessly scrolling on his own phone as he laid down on his bed.

the cold air from the air conditioner ran around in the basement, making it more freezing and chilling than usual.

rafe could smell strawberry perfume, indicating you were around. he looked around, and saw nothing of you.

“where are you!” he screamed. “you can’t scare me, you bitch!”

“i’m not here to scare you,” you talked, rafe spinning around to find you perched in the corner of the basement. you careened closer, the dim light emphasizing on your mangled body.

rafe stared at your stomach, where immense stab wounds laid on it. he swallowed thickly, his breath shaking and jagged.

“do you feel sick?” you asked, and rafe looked up at you. he couldn’t move in this dream, he was paralyzed and a witness to your lacerated body.

nausea and despair washed over rafe, almost consuming him entirely.

you were finally face to face with him, your hair disheveled and bunched, face stained with tears and runny makeup, all for him to look at.

rafe could feel your physical touch, your soft hand grabbing his, and made his palm touch your abdomen. he almost fucking threw up.

you could see it, you could see he was wanting to vomit everywhere. “am i making you feel sick?” you asked, and rafe shivered, forcing his hand to put more pressure on your stomach, blood rushing out onto it. “am i making you feel sick?”

rafe screamed and lurched up, his eyes opening and alarming barry. “woah, what the fuck, rafe!” barry shouted, and rafe breathed rapidly, his heart thumping against his chest, a need to vomit.

rafe brought his face into his hands, trying to shake everything out of his hand.

your face, your touch, your blood — he felt it all. he was being reminded of you, when he didn’t want to.

barry kept asking him what was wrong, why he was crying, if he was okay, but all rafe could focus on was your voice asking, “am i making you feel sick?”

he was no longer immune to his destruction. he was becoming infected by it. you were a disease that he couldn’t treat, a parasite that ate at his brain.

he would never get rid of you — and you would make sure that he never did.

it was month seven without you, and you became a faded name to the outer banks. the only people who lived on to tell your name was your parents, and your best friends. the pogues carved your name into the chateau’s tree, a ceremonial bench placed at the high school.

your body or you weren’t ever discovered, but the police had listed you as deceased. you weren’t a runaway, you were eighteen, and had nothing to runaway for. when you couldn’t be traced anywhere on the grid, the police pronounced you dead, and that was that.

pictures of you and any sort of evidence remained in a cardboard box somewhere in the police station. you were left to rot in every way.

you were tired of being forgotten, but more exhausted that nobody knew that your boyfriend did this, and you probably weren’t going to be the first girl he killed.

rafe cameron needed to know what he did, and you wanted to do everything you could to make him drag himself to the police station, sit down, and say, “i killed her — and i enjoyed every fucking second of it.”

madness was becoming rafe. he was already an insane, depraved fuck before, but the lack of sleep and memories of the murder were catching up to him for good.

dark circles were around his eyes, hair greasy and messy, his body tired. he felt like he was going to snap any second.

he kept drinking, smoking weed and doing coke back to back, surprised that his heart didn’t give out yet.

a random exhaustion toll pushed over him, laying him down on the floor of his bedroom, and his eyes threatened to snap shut.

he didn’t want to sleep, he was afraid to. he was afraid to see you, with your bloody dress and sad face, making him touch your wounds.

rafe didn’t win the fight of sleeping, and he knocked out cold on his bedroom floor.

he wasn’t in the basement, he was in his bedroom, and he could hear your feet padding away to the front of the house, to your car.

oh, he was reliving the night. and he couldn’t stop. he couldn’t get out of the memory — he was facing everything.

he saw you bloody by his doorframe, and you tilted your head. “why are you doing this?” he asked, his voice sounding as if he was trapped in a void.

you only frowned. “so you know.”

like a reflex, rafe hurriedly rushed over to you outside before you could get away, seizing you away, and taking you to the basement.

he pinned you down to the ground, and screamed at you to stop crying, upset and angry you were willing to betray him when he did everything for you.

you were sobbing, but it became echoes and his ears rang, everything around him becoming silent except his own heavy breathing. he grabbed the knife that sat in his pocket, and he could see your eyes widen with fear to the sight of the object.

“rafe!” you screamed in the first stab. he hit you sharp and right in the abdomen.

he held his knife there for a second, like time was freezing him, and he felt a hot breath at the side of his face.

it was you.

“am i making you feel sick?” you asked, and rafe proceeded to stab you as you sobbed. you cried out his name, trying to fight away the knife, promising to be good and for him to stop.

“am i making you feel sick?”

another stab.

“am i making you feel sick?”

another stab.

“am i making you feel sick?”

another stab.

“am i making you feel sick?”

rafe couldn’t stop, he couldn’t control himself. he kept stabbing you as you screamed. he was a monster, with the inability to suppress his anger or violence.

“am i making you feel sick?”

another stab.

“am i making you feel sick?”

another stab.

“am i making you feel sick?”

another stab.

“am i making you feel sick?”

a part you thought you were making him feel sick because of how mutilated your body was; that the body he was once desired, was now filling him with disgust. you wondered if how butchered you looked, was making him uncomfortable and sick. he didn’t deserve your concern, but it happened anyway. was it making him sick?

rafe wanted to cry, but couldn’t. he was revisiting the person he was in this moment, and could see life vanish from your eyes, death taking you away.

he took one last stab, and held it there like the first one. you kneeled in front of him, looking over at your corpse for a moment before your eyes settled into his raging ones.

he held prolonged eye contact with you as you inched your face close to his, but kept a safe distance. you placed your hand on top of his murdering one, and with a blank face, lastly asking him, “am i making you feel sick?”

rafe broke eye contact with you to look at your deceased body, and realized and remembered this murder. your organs could be nearly seen, blood gushed and poured out everywhere, your body cold and still.

he dropped the knife, and eyed you. “i’m sorry.”

you shook your head, and sighed. “you will revisit this everyday as long as you live,” you said, sniffling. “all i wanted was to be yours, and be good enough, rafe. was i no good?”

he didn’t have an answer, and with that, you got up, staring over at your body. “i want you to know,” you chuckled softly to yourself, “i never blamed you for loving me the way that you did. i forgive you, especially since i’m happier where i’m at.”

“heaven?” rafe asked.

you nodded. “you won’t make it here, but i’ll still hope and wait that you do — because i love you too much to let god be angry with you too.”

“he’s an angry man?”

“he’s angry and unfair,” you responded. “like someone i know. i loved god, i loved you; two men who didn’t view me as much, who don’t deserve for me to believe in them.”

rafe went quiet, and enough time went by for you to disappear for good to let rafe cry, and scream. he cried and sobbed, dry heaving as he vomited everywhere to the sight of you.

he killed you, and as long as he kept it to himself, you would drive him mad and insane with the knowing of it.

rafe cameron confessed to your murder only hours later. he drove himself to the police station, and confessed to every detail, telling sheriff shope where your body was.

they found your maimed body in the exact location where rafe told them it was, your body already decomposing into near bones, eaten by critters and bugs.

the earth was consuming you.

he was hated forever, the town wanted him torched or given the death penalty. it would be a while until he got a trial.

your funeral could be proper with your body in a casket, given a rightful way to be down in the ground, protected and secured by a box stuffed with silk fabric.

you could see your mom cry, and you wish she wouldn’t. your father had to give the prayer at your funeral, your best friends sobbing, and hating themselves for not getting you away from rafe sooner.

however, your death was simply inevitable. if rafe didn’t kill you, your love for him would. he was everything to you.

even when he was murdering you — getting a vile satisfaction from it — you were worried about him, if you and your maimed body was making him feel more nauseous and sick than the actual murder was.

rafe would live with the knowing that you truly loved him, and he took your life every single day that he spent in a prison block cell.

and your ghost would continue to linger and haunt him, never letting him know peace and serenity as he never did to you.

#rafe cameron #outer banks #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron outer banks #obx #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fluff #drew starkey obx #drew starkey one shot #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x you #rafe outer banks #outer banks fanfiction #drew starkey x reader #outer banks imagine #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron x female reader

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gardnhee · 1 month

Text

edging with choi soobin !

𝜗𝜚 warning(s). pure FILTH, edging (duh), fluff, cursing, combination of praise and degradation, switch!soobin, yn is a little mean :(, soobin is a mess, cum eating, sloppy bj, soobin begs like… ALOT, intentional lowercase - lmk if i missed anything !

𝜗𝜚 switch!soobin x switch!afab!reader

𝜗𝜚 song rec(s). if you think im pretty - artemas, mmmh - kai

𝜗𝜚 wc. 1k

𝜗𝜚 note. yes this is absolute filth, no i am not ashamed. enjoy! ૮₍˶ •. • ⑅₎ა ♡

“f-fuck!” soobin whimpers as you pull your hand away for the nth time today, “baby please…” he breathed, “let me cum, please…” you give him a sly smile, earning a frustrated groan from him.

“you wanna cum?”

his head immediately snaps back to you, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “y-yes..” you grab his dick again, angry red from all the stimulation- or lack thereof- it's been receiving.

soobin moans, the back of his hand placed on his forehead while the other grips the sheets beneath him. his chest heaves, entirely naked as you’re fully clothed. at first he thought it was unfair, but right now that’s the least of his worries. he just wants to cum.

he doesn't know how long you’ve been on your knees, or how long he’s been sitting on the edge of the bed; all he knows is that the familiar coil is building up again. “t-thank you … princess!” soobin strains, violently shaking as his orgasm is right around the corner. within reach. it’s right there…all he needs to do is-

you take your hand away.

he pouts.

“what the hell-!”

“i didn’t say i was going to let you cum, i simply asked if you wanted to cum.”

soobin scowls at your snarky remark, both hands fisting the grey sheets, knuckles turning white.

you snort, “so pathetic.” his cock twitches as he whines, “such a whore.” you grimace, slapping his cheek gently. with your fingers now digging into both sides of his face, you smash your lips together, drinking up every unholy sound shared in between.

to say you were taken aback was far from what you actually felt. your boyfriend - now reduced to a moaning, drooling mess- didn’t believe you could get him to this state…oh he was terribly wrong.

“you … what?”

“i want you to take the lead today, yn.” soobin stared at you with intent, “i want to see what you can do.” he smirks, leaning over the table, dinner long forgotten.

“are you underestimating me, choi soobin?”

“hmmm, maybe? but you can always prove me wrong..” his eyes travel to your shared bedroom, jutting his chin towards it.

and that’s how you ended up here, straddling him as his hard on rests on your stomach, standing tall and proud as it desperately awaits its release.

“baby - mff - please…” tears are brimming his eyes.

“hm? please what?” you taunt him, you always taunt him, and he curses himself for liking it more than he could admit.

“i need it … please.” soobin hiccups, tears now falling from his lash line. you bite your lip as you feel his hands squeeze your ass. he just looked so…fucking good.

disheveled blonde hair, a sheer coat of sweat covering his body, and drool pooling at the corners of his mouth. just a mess. a moan inducing mess. you’re a hair away from handing him the reigns and letting him use you however he damn well pleased.

you sigh, “fine. fine! i’ll let you have it just this once.” he eagerly smiles, hugging you tight as he presses his face into your chest.

“thank you…” soobin’s tears seep into your - his - shirt, making you shudder as they made contact with the skin underneath.

“i was going to walk out on you just like you do to me, but i’m feeling generous today.” he playfully gasps as you reveal your initial plan, kneeling down between his thighs once more. you quietly wince as the pain flourishes again, spreading along your leg muscles considering you’ve been putting pressure on them for hours.

you grab his dick, heavy and hot in hand. one thing about your boyfriend, he’s big. like…big. making space for him in your mouth was always a challenge no matter how many times you’ve done just that; you’re beyond grateful that he guides you through it with small, breathy praises and coos.

“yeah…just like that…careful…” soobin’s voice turned husky, propping himself on his elbows as he watched you bob your head. his eyebrows knit together in pure concentration, relishing in the intense pleasure. teeth sink into his swollen lips, holding any and all noises from slipping.

you pop him out of your mouth, “don’t hold back, you haven’t until now…” his cheeks turn bright red, nodding obediently.

“good boy.” soobin gulps, following your every movement. you wrap your lips around his shaft, “ah!- be careful i’m sensitive…” he utters, body continuously shaking as you sink your head until your nose taps his pubic bone.

“f-fuck im close…”

you hum in approval, greedily ripping a loud hiss from his throat. “you’re s-so fucking…” he starts, head falling back, “so fucking good, baby…” hand flying up to your head, he pushes you down, gag emanating from your sore throat as more saliva dribbles down your chin and onto his base.

you swirl your tongue, feeling every prominent vein that basically pulsates to the touch. “‘m cumming…!” soobin announces, trembling as his orgasm hits him like a wave. incoherent words that you doubt could ever become proper sentences.

you smile as his load hits your throat. “don’t swallow, dollface.” he leans forward, cupping your cheeks, “open.” the blonde haired boy demands, “mmmh.” he smiles, kissing you passionately. the older male smirked against your skin as his juices fall on his tongue. the whole act of cum eating was so intriguing to him- beyond arousing, he thought.

“c’mere.” he wraps his arms around your waist, manhandling you to sit on him again. “it’s your turn, yeah?” your boyfriend says, eyes zeroing in on your neck, then your collarbones. “by the way, you look so sexy in my shirt.” he connects his lips to your supple skin as you feel yourself relax under his hold.

“soobin?”

“hm?”

“i love you.”

he pulls back, beaming smile tugging at his lips, “oh, baby, i love you more.” he gives you a quick peck.

“here, lay down,” he instructs.

“what are you planning?” you frown, brows quirking up in wonder.

“i want to return the favor.”

you shake your head, “no baby, it’s okay. i did this out of pure pleasure. i don’t expect anything back.”

“you sure, love?”

“yes, soobinnie. i want to cuddle.”

he lays in bed with you, completely disregarding the fact that he’s sweaty and naked. but you didn’t mind as you lie your head on his firm chest, falling asleep to his steady heartbeat.

𝜗𝜚 big thanks from the bottom of my heart to my amazing proofreader @heartryuu 🤍🤍

𝜗𝜚 this was mainly a smut practice, im not the best at it just yet but i do intend to practice more. also im sorry if the ending felt rushed 🙁 i wrote it in a hurry!!! please like, comment, and reblog. i would highly appreciate that 🫶.

𝜗𝜚 taglist. @stvrliighttt @strawbvrrie @haob1ni (lmk if you’d like to be added to my taglist!!)

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stargirllanaa · 3 months

Text

୨⎯ "Cruel World” - Rafe Cameron

❥ Masterlist

Warnings: Dark!Rafe, Noncon smut, toxic relationship, Abusive relationship, Domestic violence, Gun violence, Drinking, ex!rafe, Rafe is actually terrible, psycho ex bf Rafe

Summary: loosely, based on ‘Cruel World’ by Lana Del Rey, everything goes wrong when you spot your psycho ex bf at a New Year’s Eve party.

A/n ✎: Thank you so much for 100 followers! Ahhhh!!!! I’m so glad you guys are enjoying my work, I recommend listening to the song ofc but you don’t have too. Bold and italics are flashback. Enjoy <333

Wc: just under 3k

18+ MINORS DNI, YOU WILL BE BLOCKED

“Does anyone know where I put my eyeliner?” Your friend Nora asked you, as well as your other friend Violet.

You were all getting ready for some New Year's Eve party at Nora's boyfriend's house; everyone would be home from college for winter break, so you were excited to see all the people you went to high school with.

“No, but I know where the vodka is!” Violet chuckled,

“Come on, let's all take a shot!” Violet continued as she made her way over to you.

“Come on, y/n, are you going to pout all night? He might not even be there.” the brunette expressed as she sat beside you, bottle in hand.

She was referring to your ex, Rafe Cameron, and you knew for almost a fact that he would be there. Nora's boyfriend happened to be his best friend, Topper, and you and Rafe hadn't exactly ended on the best terms. The two of you had been broken up for about a month and a half; for the first two weeks, he would not stop texting and calling you, profusely apologizing, saying things like, ‘I'll go to therapy.’ ‘give me another chance.’ ‘I'll be better.’

It got so annoying that you had to block him; obviously, that wouldn't stop him. The thing was, Rafe was fucking crazy; he would always find a way to get to you, and if he didn't, he simply didn't want to.

“He's going to be there.” You said with a sign, “I'm just going to get fucked up, ignore him, and hopefully get some dick tonight.”

“That's the spirit!” Violet said as you tilted your head back, and she poured the vodka down your throat.

“Are you kidding me?” Your boyfriend asked you in a harsh tone as he stalked toward you.

“What?” you respond as you tried to take a wobbly few steps back.

His eyes narrowed at you, and his eyebrows furrowed.

“Well, aside from the clown makeup,” Rafe said, referring to your red lipstick.

“How many times do I have to tell you I don't like that dress?” Rafe interrogated as he roughly grabbed your waist.

“How many fucking times, y/n?” the blonde shook your body roughly. “For you to get it through your thick fucking skull?”

You were silent, frozen almost; whenever Rafe got violent, you didn't know how to react. You didn't fight; you didn't try to run; you stood wide-eyed in shock because if you did respond the wrong way, you knew it would make things 10x worse than they already were.

“Huh?” He asked you, shaking your body roughly again, waiting for you to respond.

“I- I don't know.” You mumbled weakly.

“You don't know,” he mocked with a dry humorless laugh.

“Go and change. Red looks trashy on you.” He stated before letting go of you with a harsh push into the wall.

All your friends knew that Rafe was bad, but they certainly didn't know how bad he was. You were so good at hiding it, concealer, color corrector, foundation, you name it; if it could cover a bruise, you had it. Every story you told them about your fights with Rafe were very watered down, and because of that, no one knew how truly scared you were to run into Rafe at this party. Not in an ‘Oh, no, my ex!’ way more in a ‘he might kill me way.’ But with every shot you took, you felt your fear start to fade slowly, and when you arrived at the party five shots in, in your little red party dress, you felt way more confident than you should have.

Your arm linked with Violet’s as your friend Nora lost the two of you to find her boyfriend. You and Violet stumbled through the house, passing through groups of people, trying your best to find the drink table.

“By the way, I love your dress,” Violet approved, looking you up and down. “Red is your color.”

“Thank you!” you smiled, taking the compliment to heart; she didn't know just how much that meant to you; you hadn't worn red since Rafe had told you it was ‘trashy’ on you.

“Fuck, is the Britney Smith?” Violet giggled, pointing at the short blonde girl.

“Isnt she pregnant?” you wondered as your eyes fell on the drink table.

“Oh my god, look who's right next to the drinks,” Violet says before covering her mouth with her hand.

“Is that Alex?” you replied, squinting your eyes to get a better look.

Violet nodded in response, eyes wide with excitement.

“Go talk to him!” you smiled at her. “I'll sit right over there,” you said, pointing at the elegant velvet couch.

As you sat on the couch, you couldn't stop thinking about Rafe. Your anxiety slowly started to rise, and you regretted every choice you made up to this point. First of all, you and Rafe had ended on horrible terms; second of all, you came to a party that you knew he would most likely be at, and now you are all alone and a little more drunk than you'd like to be.

You couldn't stop thinking back to that day, your breaking point, the last fight you had with Rafe before you ended things for good.

“Why are you following John B on Instagram?” Your boyfriend asked you as he looked up from his phone.

The question confused you a bit; you honestly didn't even know you were following him in the first place.

“I don't know?” you replied with a shrug. “Probably was an accident; maybe Sarah tagged him in something or-”

“Was it an accident when you smiled at him the other day at the wreck?” he cut you off.

Was he serious right now? John B had waved at you, and you simply smiled in return. You were just being nice; it was nothing more than that.

“Rafe, I-” You were going into very dangerous territory, and you knew that, even though Rafe was physically attractive, he was very insecure, which showed a lot in your relationship.

“If it's another bullshit excuse, I don't want to hear it,” he scolded as he stalked towards you.

He wasn't even giving you the chance to defend yourself, and frankly, it was pissing you off even more than his stupid questions.

“Rafe, I don't even know what you're talking about; I literally-” you plead with your boyfriend, taking a step back for every step he took forward.

“Of course you ‘Dont know,’ you never do.” Rafe hissed at you, moving closer and closer.

“That's what you do; you act all fucking innocent and then sneak around behind my back.” the blonde accused.

“Do you think I'm stupid?” He sneered, backing you against the wall.

That was the final straw; now he was accusing you of cheating from a simple smile and an Instagram follow. I mean, how delusional could he be?

“Are you fucking crazy?” you asked him, eyebrows furrowed.

You could tell he was shocked at your response by the way his eyebrows arched upwards slightly, but you could also tell you pissed him off by the way his jaw ticked.

“What did you say to me?” He asked; he heard you loud and clear the first time; he just wanted to see if you had the guts to repeat it.

“Are you fucking crazy? I follow him on Instagram. So what? I can unfollow him if it's a problem.” you argued, shocked that this was even an issue.

Rafe's hand shot forward without warning, delivering a sharp slap to your face. Time momentarily slowed as the impact echoed through the room. As the sting of the slap registered, a deep sadness clouded your features. You hated to say it, but you were used to rafe hurting you.

“Who do you think you're talking to?” Rafe asked you. Blue eyes are darker than their everyday shade.

“Huh?” He scoffed, laughing slightly.

“Calling me crazy…talking to me like I'm the one in the wrong?” your boyfriend shouted as he snatched a big chuck of your hair, gripping it tight enough to bring tears to your eyes.

“Rafe, I-” you tried to defend yourself as tears clouded your vision.

“No, I'm talking now.” His voice boomed as he screamed in your ear.

Rafe slammed your head against the wall behind you, using your hair as leverage; at this point, your ears were ringing, your head was banging, and you couldn't speak from the pain alone. And Rafe just kept going on and on about how important trust is in a relationship, but how could you even listen when he was gripping your hair so tight? But obviously, Rafe didn't see this as punishment enough because he dragged you by the hair to his closet, and even as he rustled through his sock drawer, clearly looking for something, he didn't once let go of your hair.

“Rafe! Stop-” You were cut off by the feeling of ice gold metal pressed against your temple; you were completely frozen, not knowing what to do; there was no way your boyfriend was pressing a gun against your head over an Instagram follow.

“If you even look at john b again, your fucking dead.” Rafe threatened coldly.

Your heart was racing; Rafe was impulsive knowing him; you could breathe the wrong way, and he would pull the trigger. That didn't stop your breath from fasting and your tears from falling, though.

“You hear me?” he asked, pulling your hair back just enough to make eye contact.

You didn't say anything; you had been sobbing ever since you felt the metal against your head in the first place.

“Do you hear me?” He shook you, demanding an answer, “I will fucking kill you.”

“Yes!” you cried out, hoping and praying for him to put the gun down and let go of you.

And when you left his house that night, you had never returned. Rafe did have his good moments, but was he worth your life? You broke up with him over text the following day, and you hadn't seen him since.

Since today, as soon as you looked up from your lap, lost in thought, you made eye contact with Rafe. You felt sick when you saw him; you knew he would be here, but you weren't expecting to see him this soon.

You stood up, making your way through the separate groups of people; you needed to find somewhere you could be by yourself because right now, you felt like you might have a panic attack.

“Excuse me,” you repeated over and over as you drunkenly stumbled to the stairs. No one was upstairs, other than maybe a few people hooking up, but other than that, it was pretty empty. You looked for a room, apologizing when you opened the door to see Nora and Topper making out. You stumbled through the halls until you found an empty room, sighing in relief as you closed the door behind you.

Your relief was short-lived because you didn't realize that Rafe was following behind you the entire time, and when he entered the room, you instantly regretted isolating yourself from the rest of the party and your friends.

“No.” you panicked, anxiety rising deep within your stomach.

He was intentionally standing in front of the door. There was no way out.

“Hey, Listen, y/n-,” Rafe said calmly, trying to calm you down.

“No! Get away from me!” you interrupted words slurring, not wanting to hear a thing from him.

You had no desire to speak to Rafe, not after all he had put you through in your relationship, not after you had been in therapy for the past month to heal the pain he had caused you. He wasn't just a regular ex, Rafe was fucking crazy, and you both knew it; you knew he was waiting to see you in person again, probably planning it, planning out exactly how he was going to get you back and what he was going to do if you declined his offer.

“Can you just listen to me!?” he snapped at you, slightly losing his calm demeanor. “I just want to talk-” He said through his teeth, walking over to you and away from the door.

“Well, I don't want to talk!” you barely even knew what you were saying; your head was spinning, and you regretted every shot you had taken earlier.

“So that's how it's gonna be, huh?” Rafe mumbled to himself more than you, fist clenching as he spoke.

As he got closer and closer, the room seemed easier and easier to escape; you knew you couldn't scream for help because of the loud music banging throughout the house; no one would hear you, and you knew you couldn't put up the best fight because you were drunk and Rafe’s also way stronger than you, he had proved this time and time again.

So you took the opportunity to run for the door while you still could. But two steps in, Rafe had already caught you and wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly against his stiff chest.

“I didn't want to make this complicated.” he hissed into your ear. “But come on, y/n, it's almost like you want me to hurt you.”

You thrashed your body, wiggling side to side, trying to escape his grip.

“You’re fucking crazy!” You shouted as you continued to attempt to free yourself.

“Yes! I'm crazy,” Your ex admitted as his grip around you tightened, and his nostrils flared. “I'm crazy for you.” he dug his nails into your side.

“Get off of me!” you cried out, voice raw with emotion.

“You come to my best friend's party wearing the fucking dress I hate! Knowing I'm going to be here!” he criticized, pushing your body towards the bed. “It's almost like you want me to take it off.”

“Rafe, stop, I-” you were cut off by Rafe throwing you on the bed and wrapping his hands around your throat as he hovered over you.

“Shut the fuck up!” He sneered, looking down at you with dark eyes.

“You fucking left me!” His grip got tighter the more he spoke. “Not even a call, but a fucking text.” he scolded. “Do I really mean that little to you?”

You didn't end things the way you did because you didn't care about Rafe; you cared about Rafe so much, more than you ever wanted to, and that hurt; throughout everything he's done to you, all the pain he's caused you, you still cared. You broke up with Rafe over text because you were terrified; he had threatened to kill you over an Instagram follow; you couldn't imagine what he would have done if you dared to break up with him in person.

But you couldn't say any of that because he was choking you so hard that you couldn't breathe, let alone speak; all you could do was hit his hands repeatedly, hoping he would let go.

“You didn't care about my feelings. Why should I care about yours?” He asked you, looking deeply into your bloodshot, teary eyes with his blue angry ones.

Your mind was racing; Rafe was actually going to kill you. You saw this day coming many times throughout your relationship, but you didn't expect it to happen when you guys were finished. You had shared your body, your mind, everything with him, and you had been happy it was over; you finally were starting to feel like yourself again. But now he was going to take that all away from you.

Rafe finally let go when he started to see your eyes roll back as you started to lose consciousness.

You gasped for air in between coughs as you held your throat, desperate to soothe it from the pain he caused with his harsh grip. You had accepted death. You knew exactly who you were dealing with, and the thought of him killing you over a breakup wasn't too far-fetched.

“You have a lot of making-up to do after the stunt you pulled last month,” Rafe sighed as if he was inconvenienced by what he was doing to you.

The stunt you pulled? Your break up was serious, and for a good reason; he was lucky you hadn't called the police; if anyone had pulled a ‘stunt,’ it was him. He had pulled a series of stunts throughout your whole relationship. He was pulling one now.

Before you knew it, Rafe was tugging at your dress, attempting to pull it off you. If there was one thing you weren't doing, it was going down without a fight. You tried your best to kick him and scratch him, everything, but you were drunk, had just been choked, and Rafe was much stronger than you, so he pinned your wrist above your head with one hand and pulled the bottom of your dress up with the other.

“Remember this, y/n,” He said as he positioned himself up against your cunt. “Remember this feeling the next time you think about trying to leave.” He taunted before pushing into you roughly.

As he thrusted into you repeatedly at a rough and harsh pace, you sobbed. You thought Rafe was behind you; you told yourself you would never let a man hurt you the way he did again. You were so happy when he was gone.

“Fuck, take this off,” Rafe moaned as he pulled your dress over your head.

With every hash thrust, your cries got louder. Rafe didn't care about your pleasure or even his; he wanted to hurt you; he wanted to see your tear-stained face. This was your punishment, and he was succeeding. The only thing you felt between your legs was severe pain.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!” you heard everyone downstairs scream in unison.

“Happy New Year,” Rafe smirked as he pulled you in for a rough, sloppy kiss.

Rafe was fucking crazy.

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fiber-optic-alligator · 3 months

Note

Requesting IDW Megatron x Lost Light human liaison reader. Based on the song "Heaven's Light" from Hunchback of Notre Dame.

Thanks for the request! Sorry for such a long delay! I spent a lot of time writing and rewriting this because I wanted to get it right. I went with Autobot Megatron for this one. I hope that is okay with you! Feedback is always appreciated! :D

Heaven's Light

Pairing: IDW Megatron x Human Liaison Reader

Word Count: 3588

Summary: Though he is now a hardworking Autobot aboard the Lost Light who's just trying to make up for the sins he's committed in his past, Megatron still believes he is a monster who is unworthy of ever being loved. That all changes when you, a little human liaison from Earth, makes your way into his life and implores him to reluctantly open his spark.

Megatron knows he is a monster.

He has done horrible things. He has killed, he has tortured, he has maimed. His recharge cycles are plagued with the echoes of screams and the fallen frames of mangled bodies. He stands atop a pile of them. When he looks at his servos, they are drenched in wasted energon that isn’t his own. Nightmares, Rune calls them. Terrible warped memories of his past. He cannot escape them. The guilt will stain him forever.

Megatron is aware that most of the Lost Light’s crew is afraid of him. With the exceptions of others like the captain, most steer clear of his way. When they see him thumping down a hallway with steps that seem to shake the entire ship, they scurry like glitch mice when a cyber cat is near. They speak to him with tremors in their voices and rattling in their joints.

Not that he makes things easy for them, he admits. Megatron is aloof, calculating, and antisocial. His violent tendencies have devolved into simple growls and annoyed huffs. He’s not here to make friends. He’s here to do a job: atone for the sins he has committed.

And yet, the nightmares remain. They do not leave no matter what he does.

Megatron is not a gentle being. He knows he is rough around the edges, and that scares people. So when he hears the announcement about a human boarding the Lost Light, his first instinct is to avoid them at all costs. It does not matter if they are a liaison. Humans are fragile and too easy to break. And he hardly believes Earth wants their delegate to be interacting with the former Decepticon warlord who has slaughtered thousands.

Unfortunately, his dimwitted captain has different plans.

“No.” Megatron crosses his arms and lifts his chin defiantly. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on.” Rodimus throws his helm back with an exasperated groan. “You're the perfect bot for the job! Why can’t you just say yes?”

“I did not board this ship to inevitably become a human babysitter.” Megatron’s words come out harsh and unyielding. “The answer is no, Rodimus. Get someone else to do it.”

“I agree,” Drift says. “In no way can I see this resulting in a positive outcome. Um…no offense Megatron.”

Megatron snorts. “None taken.”

“You two don’t understand.” Rodimus rubs his forehelm in faux exhaustion. “The human is here to learn about Cybertronian history and culture. Who else knows more about that sort of stuff than you?”

Megatron bares his teeth. “Are you calling me old?”

“I’m calling you knowledgeable,” Rodimus shoots back. “You can tell the human so much about us, more than Drift or I could combined.”

“That is not my area of profession. Get Rewind to do it.”

“No,” Rodimus objects. “I want you to do it.”

“Rewind would be a much better option if we want this human to successfully integrate into the ship’s social life,” Drift advises.

Rodimus punches the other mech squarely in the shoulder plating. Drift yelps and jumps back. “Ow! What was that for?”

“Are you on my side with this or not?” Rodimus snaps.

“I’m on the side of wanting the human to like us, and I don’t believe pairing them with Megatron is the best way to achieve that! Again, no offense to Megatron, but we need to make a good impression.” Drift straightens and rubs his shoulder, wincing. “We have to think about this clearly, Rodimus.”

“I am thinking clearly. I am the most clear-thinking mech in this room. I have never been thinking clearer, and I don’t think I ever will.” He points at Megatron. “You are going to be this human’s companion for the next six cyber-weeks they are here. You will educate them on our ways, teach them our history, and convince them that we are awesome and amazing and incredible. Understand? Come on, remember their little human motto! ‘Salvation through understanding, understanding brings in the light!’ There’s no way you can say no to that!”

Megatron feels indignation churn within his tank. That indignation turns into something dangerous, something he has not been able to snuff out of himself completely since he’s turned over a new leaf. That something is hostility borne from the frustration of being told to do something he doesn’t want to do. He snarls, but Rodimus does not cower. The red-and-orange mech’s plating bristles and clacks together in an act of instinctual dominance. The two leaders stare each other down in a silent battle. It takes Drift being the middle-man to relieve some of the tension crackling between them. “Alright, enough! Both of you stop right now! The human is going to be here at any moment, and you want their first impression of you two to be this? Calm down and get a hold of yourselves!”

Megatron scoffs. Without looking at either of them, he shoulders past Drift towards the door. “I will do as you say, Rodimus,” he rumbles. “But don’t you think I will enjoy a second of it. You are making a mistake.”

He hears Drift whisper “This is a bad idea” to the captain. Megatron stomps off, ignoring how every mech around him presses themselves against the walls to avoid his path. They should have chosen Rewind.

You are…not what Megatron was expecting.

You arrive on the ship with a swagger in your step and not an ounce of nervousness within you. Your eyes are wide with awe and your little dermas are split in a wide open smile as you turn in a circle to take everything in. There’s something distinctly adorable about the way you shift the weight of your stuffed backpack from one shoulder to the other and drag a tiny little suitcase behind you that makes the softer side of Megatron want to say “Awwww.” Apparently he isn’t the only one either; Rodimus is smiling like an idiot, his servos fidgeting like he wants to scoop you up and coo at you dotingly.

Drift elbows him. He snaps to attention and announces himself grandly, which makes Megatron want to cringe. “Liaison Y/N! So good to finally meet you in person! Welcome to the Lost Light!” He kneels and extends his servo with surprising mindfulness. “I am Rodimus Prime, captain of this ship.”

Your smile widens when you hold the tip of his index digit between both of your little fleshy servos and shake it. “I am honored to be here, captain.”

“The honor is all ours. And please, just call me Rodimus. You're one of us now. There’s no need for formalities.” Rodimus rises and gestures to Drift. The red-and-white mech steps forward and dips his head while he is introduced. “This is Drift, my third-in-command. And this is Megatron, my…co-captain.”

Megatron keeps his expression neutral when he steps forward to loom over you like a mountain. You have to crane your neck back in order to take all of him in. Here we go, he thinks. Any moment now, you’ll recognize his name. You’ll retreat to a safe distance. Maybe even start screaming in fear. He shouldn’t be surprised. After all, he is Megatron, feared former leader of the Decepticons, one of the most ruthless and terrifying beings in the-

Your smile does not waver and your attitude remains just as bright. “Megatron. It’s wonderful to meet you. I’m Y/N.”

It takes a moment for him to register your words. Wait, what?

Rodimus coughs and eyeballs him critically. “Oh.” Megatron blinks. “Um. Yes. Hello. It’s wonderful to, uh, meet you too.”

Drift snickers. He wants to punch him.

“I apologize for his flustered state.” Rodimus laughs nervously. “We’re all just very excited to have you on board. This is the first time much of the crew will be meeting a human, so I hope you’ll understand that some of us might not know how to interact with you.”

“It’s no problem,” you say. “I get it. But that’s why I’m here! So if you are curious about me, then I encourage it.”

Rodimus relaxes, looking relieved. “Yes, of course! We’re connecting two worlds! It’s absolutely incredible.”

“If anyone makes you actively uncomfortable though, please let one of us know,” Drift adds. “We understand that there is a clear power imbalance between you and all of us. It’s important that you feel safe here.”

“Well, that’s why Megs is going to be your partner during your time here!” Rodimus grabs Megatron’s shoulder and shakes him. It takes all of his strength not to growl. “You're here because you want to know more about us, right? Well, my co-captain is extremely knowledgeable in all things Cybertronian. He’ll do his best to answer any and all questions you might have!”

You show no trepidation over this. In fact, your eagerness only seems to grow. Megatron is honestly stunned. “Oh, absolutely, I’d love that! As long as it’s okay with you?” You look back at him inquiringly.

He starts to object, but Rodimus slams his servo over his intake. “He’s totally okay with it! He volunteered, after all! And he’ll start with showing you to your habsuite with Drift, so you can take all the time you need to settle in!”

Your concerns are soothed. Taking up your suitcase, you follow Drift and leave the docking bay, with the other mech walking at a turtle’s pace in order to stay in tandem with you. Megatron rips Rodimus’s servo away from his intake. “You,” he hisses, “are the bane of my very existence.”

Rodimus shrugs. “I can live with that title. But seriously, I’m doing you a favor right now. Enough with the brooding miserableness and more with the reinventing yourself. I’m trying to help you feel more at ease here. If you start with the human, you may find yourself actually being gentle.”

He snarls, and for the first time in a long while wonders if he can get away with killing one last Autobot. But when he looks at you and sees the way you smile up at Drift with so much young excitement…something in him softens.

“So, I was told you know a lot about Cybertronian culture,” you say to him. Drift is long gone, and your habsuite is set up to house all of your accommodations. You sit back on the miniature berth covered with blankets and pillows, thin legs swinging idly while you regard him with a curious look. He glances at you fleetingly, then returns his gaze to the data pad he’s holding.

“That I do,” he answers.

“Mind telling me some stuff?”

Your question is blunt and to the point. There’s no hesitation. You don’t look the least bit afraid. For a moment, Megatron wonders if you even know who he is. You just seem so…clueless. Did your human superiors really give you no sort of debriefing on who you would be dealing with here before you left?

“What do you want to know?” he asks reluctantly.

“I want to know about turbo foxes,” you reply.

He stares at you. Then he bursts into raucous laughter that causes his entire frame to shake. You throw your hands up in feigned exasperation, grinning like an idiot. “What? What did I say?”

“You said nothing wrong, little one.” He manages to calm himself down, shaking his head while still chuckling. “I just…I was expecting you to ask about the war.”

“Why would I ask you about that?”

“Because that is what everyone wants to know about. The war is essentially a defining factor of our history and culture. Our image cannot exist without it.”

You shrug. “I can learn about the war from anyone. I already have. But turbo foxes? I’ve only read a single paragraph about those. They sound so cute! You have to tell me more.”

“Wait.” He pauses, confused. “You…you’ve learned about the war?”

“Of course I have,” you reply. “Like you said, it’s part of your history and culture. Who hasn’t at this point?”

“So…you know who I am. Megatron. Me. You’ve learned about me.”

“Yes?” You tilt your head. “I don’t know what this has to do about turbo foxes.”

“No, it-it has nothing to do with them. I just-” He sighs, rubbing his optics in a tired way. “I just don’t understand why you haven’t acknowledged the fact that you know me. You know what I’ve done. You know what I’m capable of continuing to do.”

“I haven’t acknowledged it because it’s not worth acknowledging.”

“That is absurd. Of course it is worth acknowledging. I am Megatron. I’m the former leader of one of the most feared armies known throughout the universe.”

“Former leader,” you say.

“That-” He sputters. He isn’t sure where you are going with this; you’ve thrown him for a loop. “That has nothing to do with the current situation.”

“Yes it does.” You stand up. “You used to be the leader of the Decepticons. You’ve killed, you’ve destroyed. But you don’t do that anymore. So now here we are.”

“You are okay with completely looking past everything I have done? You're just going to…ignore it?”

“No.” You take slow steps towards him. “I’m not. I’ve done my research on you. I understand that you’ve done terrible things. But I also know that you're trying to make up for all of that. You're good now. Being here, helping me…I know you're trying to be better. I appreciate that.” You hold up your hands. He understands, yet hesitates to fulfill your wish. You have to encourage him. “Come on, it’s okay. You won’t hurt me.”

He bends down and extends his servo. “How can you be so sure?”

You hold his index digit and bring the tip to your cheek, allowing him to caress the soft organic skin of your face. You are so small, so delicate, so carefully made. Megatron isn’t caught up on the stories about the gods of your world, yet he knows-he can feel it-that whatever being made you put so much care and love into their work, he is sure their power rivals Primus himself. His walls crumble. He wants to hold you forever.

“I’m sure because I trust you,” you say. “And when you earn the trust of someone you can so easily hurt…you know you are good.”

Six weeks later…

Swerve’s bar is filled with life. Megatron hears it all the way from the deserted hallway he sits in. The laughter, cheers, and songs echo like the hauntings of spirits. Yet, he feels no urge to join in. The bench he sits on is as cold as space. He’s sure he can feel the chilling void through the large observation window he’s in front of right now.

The soft pitter patter of human feet turns his attention away from the window. He sees you heading towards him with cheeks flushed red and a stupid smile. His olfactory sensors pick up on the faint scent of alcohol sticking to your skin when you make it over to him.

“Are you drunk?” he asks.

“A little,” you reply. A soft pat to his pede signals what you want. He gives it to you, scooping you up into a gentle hold and placing you on his right tibulen. You lean against him with a soft exhale. “Why didn’t you come join us?”

He lifts his gaze to the window. “I’m not a big drinker.”

“Oh. Well, that’s okay. Neither am I.”

The warmth of your little body is comforting. It makes him want to focus on you. Yet, he can’t manage to do so. It’s such a foolish situation; him, of all mechs, so infatuated with this little human, he can barely look at them.

But it goes beyond that. He knows it does. So do you. Six weeks are nearly over. Your time here will soon be done.

He doesn’t know how to handle that anymore.

“Why did you leave Swerve’s?” he chooses to ask you, because if he brings up the topic of you leaving, he thinks he’s going to lose control of his emotions.

“I wanted to be with you.”

He snorts. “I hardly think a party being thrown in your honor is worth leaving in exchange for spending time with some old bot.”

“Oh, please. You aren’t just some old bot to me. I like being around you. Is that so hard to believe?”

He smiles humorously. “You might be the only one on this ship who does.”

You don’t respond, and Megatron fears he might have offended you in some way. When he looks at you, he sees your shoulders slump and your head hang like you are mourning the dead.

“I’m leaving soon,” you murmur.

“...I know.”

“I asked my superior if I could stay.” You draw your knees to your chest and hug them. “I begged him. Another week. Hell, another day. But he wouldn’t give in. Fucking asshole…he knows I’ve gotten attached.”

“Getting attached was the point of you coming here.”

“I know. But…not like this.” An invisible chord tightens around your little body. He can tell your composure is crumbling. “This…wasn’t something I was trained for.”

His spark aches painfully. If he were younger, he’d do something rash; threatening your superior would have been his first course of action. If that didn’t work, he’d steal you away and whisk you off to the far reaches of space, away from Earth, away from anything or anyone who might prevent the two of you from being together.

But he’s not his younger self. He’s old. He’s tired. So he simply heaves a sigh and lifts his optics to the stars. “You know…so many times out there, I’ve watched a happy pair of lovers walking in the night.”

You lift your head and look at him. There are tears in your eyes. Megatron rumbles out a deep purr and reaches for you, gently maneuvering you into his servos and lifting you up to his faceplate. You lean forward and place a tiny hand on his nose.

“What were they like?” you ask quietly.

“They had a kind of glow to them,” he responds with a sense of wistfulness. “It almost looked like…Heaven’s light.”

That makes you giggle. “How the hell do you know what Heaven is?”

“Lets just say I’ve done my research,” he answers with a smile.

You lightly tap his nose with your fist. “Sap.” Your expression falls into a contemplative frown. “What were you thinking when you saw them? The lovers? Were you jealous?”

“Well…not exactly. Jealousy isn’t the right word to describe it. But…I envied them. I wanted to be like them. But I knew I’d never know that warm and loving glow, though I might wish with all my might.” He closes his optics, steadying his breaths. He doesn’t want to cry, not in front of you. “No face as hideous as my face…was ever meant for Heaven’s light.”

You open your mouth to retort, not at all willing to listen to him put himself down. That’s one of the things he loves about you. No matter who it is, you will always step in to make someone feel better. It’s a quality many Cybertronians are lacking, yet it abounds in humans plentifully.

He had been wrong about your kind, back when he was still the leader of the Decepticons. You are so much more beautiful than you realize.

Megatron cuts you off gently with a low puff of air into your face from his nose. You sputter and stumble back, and he laughs. His thumb comes up to stroke your hair, then travels down to trace the outline of your jaw. You still, eyes widening when you see the lovesick look he’s giving you. “But suddenly an angel has smiled at me…you, little one. Come on, smile.”

There’s no sharp-witted reply from you to make him chuckle. You just obey him and smile. His spark skips a beat and he feels like he is going to melt right then and there. “You are the only one to smile at me in this way,” he whispers. “And you…you’ve touched my face without a trace of fright.”

“I could never be afraid of you,” you say. You press yourself against his nose, hugging him in the best way you can. He feels you trembling. “I’ve dreamt of this. I’ve dreamt of you. I still dream. I dare to dream that you might even care for me…”

Megatron leans into your touch. “My cold dark tower seems so bright…I swear it must be Heaven’s light.”

There is silence between you for some time. The noise from Swerve’s bar has faded away. You sniffle and don’t pull away. “Stay with me,” you beg.

“You know I can’t,” he says. “Not forever.”

“Then just for tonight. For as long as we have left. Stay with me, please. I don’t want to let you go. I love you.”

“You don’t have to.” He hugs you with his free servo. “Not right now. I’m here. I love you too. You are the only one I will ever love. My Heaven’s light.”

“Salvation through understanding,” you sob, tears streaming down your cheeks. Yet, you are smiling. It’s a grateful smile. A smile that tells him you are so, so lucky to have ever met him at all.

His optics well up. He lets the walls break. “Understanding brings in the light.”

Megatron knows he is a monster.

But after meeting you…he knows he’s a monster who’s worthy of receiving love.

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lxstfathier · 11 months

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Animals

Phillip Graves x Reader

Summary: you knew your commander was interested in you, but you don’t like him in the slightest, and he’s not used to being rejected. You will be his, one way or another.

Warnings: non-con, unprotected sex, p in v, porn without plot, slapping, choking, manhandling, implied kidnapping.

A/N: i wanted to write non-con for sooo long and now i finally got the courage to do it. But, if i’m being honest, i think it fits more as dub-con. However, this fic is inspired on the song Animals by Maroon 5, give it a listen if you can. That’s all i had to say lol, sorry for any errors english is not my first language, and thanks for all the support, hope you enjoy this as well 💗

Read at your own risk

“Did you really think you could run away from me?”

Graves’ voice is dark, low, and filled with lust, much more frightening than anything you ever heard before. His whole weight is pressing against your back, pinning you to the ground, and one of his hands grabs a fistful of you hair, forcing your face to the dirt.

“Let me go, please!” You beg, crying and shaking in pure fear, now regretting all those times where you rejected his romantic interests in you.

“Are you scared now?” He coos, mocking your desperate cries. “Too bad darlin’, cause i won’t let you go until i get what i want.”

And you know exactly what he wants. He’s gonna get between your legs and do all those gross things that he has fantasized about for months. And there’s nothing you can do to stop him right now, he’s bigger and stronger than you, he’s gonna take whatever he wants, whether you like it or not.

Without wasting no more time, Graves grabs both of your wrists, tying them together with a zip tie behind your back, and then proceeds to cut your pants and underwear with his knive, leaving your ass exposed in the cold air, all while you cry and whine at him to stop.

“Go ahead and scream all you want baby, no one’s gonna hear ya’ “ he says, leaving his knife aside and undoing his pants. Hearing your pretty cries has made him hard as a rock, and he can’t wait to claim you.

But, as desperate as you are, you know he’s right. You’re both too far away from the military base, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded only by trees and bushes. No one will hear you even if you scream at the top of your lungs. So you decide to save your voice, accepting the fate that your commander is creating for you.

Just let him satiate his needs and it all will be over soon.

Graves positions himself between your legs and grabs you by the hips, lifting you up a little bit. The pink tip of his cock already prodding at your bare pussy. And, without a warning, he slides into you with one powerful thrust, grunting in pleasure as you sob in pain.

He sets a brutal pace, abusing your tight little cunt with his big cock, slamming against your cervix over and over, his strong hold on your hips bruising your delicate skin.

“I knew you’d feel so fucking good. Fuck- you were made for me baby, even if you think you’re not.” He growls into your ear, resting his chest on your back. And a sweet moan scapes your lips. “What’s that? huh? are you enjoying my cock?.”

You know you’re wrong, it’s sick to moan in pleasure when he’s taking advantage of you like a fucking monster, but the way he stretches you open and hits all your sweet spots is way too good to ignore. The pain has faded and now your cunt is begging for more, coating his length with your slick, and arching your back to give him a better access.

Graves lets out a dark chuckle, knowing that he somehow managed to break you and make you forget that it’s all against your will, just lifting his ego impossibly high, feeling like the proudest bastard around.

What would your colleagues say if they saw you both fucking like animals in heat?.

You moan again, clenching around him, getting that familiar sensation building up in the pit of your stomach, closer to your release with each one of his violent thrusts. But he suddenly stops before you can reach it, pulling out just to quickly manhandle you into a new position.

Now with your back on the damp forest dirt and your legs spread open, you can clearly see him leaning on top of you as he slides inside your wet heat again. God, he’s handsome, but so damn evil.

“You like getting used like a whore, don’t ya’?” He asks, staying still, looking down at you with his pretty blue eyes. But, when you don’t answer, one hard slap against your cheek makes your face go red. “I asked you a question.”

“Y-yes, i like it sir” you say, kinda enjoying the burning sensation on your skin.

“Such a nasty little girl” his voice sends shivers down your spine, and his right hand finds a place in your throat, squeezing tight as he starts thrusting again, this time harder than before.

You squirm under him, feeling his thick cock pounding your tiny hole in the most delicious way, gasping for air while your orgasm comes closer again. But he’s choking you hard enough to cut all your airflow and fear washes over you once more. He could kill you right there if he wanted, there’s nothing to stop him, not even your own hands to push him away.

It’s a weird feeling. You’re scared to death, you don’t know if your commander will be kind enough to let you live, and still you can’t help but feel extremely aroused, bucking your hips to meet his thrusts, making your clit brush against his pubic bone.

Graves grunts in your ear and you finally come undone, writhing and spasming in pure bliss, soaking his cock in your sweet juices. And he follows right after you, swearing under his breath, filling your womb with white spurts of cum, loosening his grip on your throat just as you’re about to pass out.

You both stay still for a few seconds, panting and riding out your orgasms.

“I hate you” you say once you can speak again, looking up at the bright blue sky above, angry at him for what he just did and way too disgusted with yourself for enjoying such thing.

“Don’t lie princess” he speaks, a sick smirk appearing on his face. “If you hated me, you wouldn’t be creaming all over my fucking cock.”

Tears stream down your face and Graves pulls out of your poor pussy, staying on his knees while he admires the mess he made. His hot cum slowly dripping out of your abused hole, your bruised hips, the red skin of your neck and your sad eyes filled with tears. Way more beautiful than anything he had ever laid his eyes on.

You sit up, trying to get away from him, silently begging him to untie your hands and let you go, not even caring if your legs are still weak, you’re ready to run away as soon as he cuts the zip tie on your wrists.

But what a naive and innocent creature. Did you really thought he would fulfill his promise of letting you go? Did you really thought that you could give him a taste and then expect him to cut you loose? Oh, darling, what a shame.

“You know what, baby?… i’m gonna keep you all to myself.” Phillip says, caressing your cheek, the rough material of his black gloves absorbing your tears. “Just as a pretty toy for me to fuck whenever i want.”

Say bye to the army and your old life, you’re his now.

#phillip graves x reader #phillip graves smut #cod smut

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sissylittlefeather · 3 months

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Baby, Let's Play House

A/N: I'm not sure how I feel about this one. Like I was so excited to write this idea and then I'm not sure it turned out very well. I don't know. If you like it, let me know because my confidence is slipping. If you read it, thanks as always. You're the reason I do this!

Warning: 18+ minors DNI, kissing, cussing, fingering, p in v penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, infidelity, domestic violence (happens "off screen", Elvis is not violent), mentions of infertility

Word count: ~3.8k

And a little song inspiration for this one. (I know it's not the title song but it inspired the fic lol)

******

You've been on Audubon Drive for several years when the Presleys move in next door. They seem like nice people: a husband, wife, and young adult son. They wave and smile when appropriate and you go on about your daily life.

You don't have children, so it's just you and your husband in your home. You try to convince yourself that he's not a bad man, but when he has a few too many, he has a tendency to make that a hard argument. But what choice do you have? It's 1956 and divorce isn't something anyone goes into lightly. Honestly, you probably just need to toughen up and realize that this is what you signed on for when you married George. Still, some small part of you hopes that there may be more to life.

One day, you decide to take it upon yourself to help George with the chores. Maybe this will reduce his stress and allow him to be kinder to you. You bring the lawnmower out of the garage with the grand idea to mow the lawn on your own. There's only one problem: you've never used a lawnmower before. You go to battle with it for about twenty minutes before you're so frustrated you want to cry. Finally, you sit down in the grass next to it and try to gather yourself. You're just about ready to give up entirely when you hear him. You look up into his face from your place on the ground.

"Ma'am, can I help you at all?" It's the neighbor boy from next door. You say boy, but he's easily in his early twenties. He's a man.

"Oh, well, I'm just, no I'm fine." He sits down next to you on the grass.

"I'll be honest. You don't look fine. Are you sure I can't help?" For the first time, you get a really good look at him. He's impossibly handsome. The lines of his face are like a Greek god and his lips look like they're soft as marshmallows. He kind of takes your breath away, but you're hesitant to let him know that.

"Well. I've never used one of these things before." He chuckles.

"I suspected as much. Can I do it for you?"

"Oh, my husband..."

"Is he here?" He turns to look up at your house.

"No."

"Then why don'tcha let me help? I'll be done before you can shake a stick." He smiles and you almost melt.

"Alright. If you insist."

"I do. I'm Elvis. Elvis Presley." He reaches a hand out to shake yours.

"Y/n. Y/f/n y/l/n. Thank you, Elvis."

"You're welcome, Mrs. Y/l/n." He pops up off the ground and takes the lawnmower. He skillfully maneuvers it around the yard and you watch from the porch for a bit. Then, it occurs to you that you should do something to thank him. You run inside to make some lemonade. When you come back out, he's taken his shirt off and is almost finished. A thin, sheer coating of sweat covers his skin and something inside you jumps. You stand on the porch with your tray trying not to stare at him as his arm muscles flex with the movement of the lawnmower. At one point, he looks up at you and you look away quickly. When you risk a glance back in his direction, he's smiling the dimpled smile again. Eventually, he finishes and parks the lawnmower in front of the porch. He walks up the steps, wet with sweat, and takes the glass of lemonade that you offer him.

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Please don't call me ma'am. It makes me feel like I'm a hundred years old."

"Well, if you don't mind me asking, how old are you?"

"That's not a very nice question to ask a lady."

"Oh, I'm sorry-"

"I'm 33." He nods and smiles again.

"That's not old at all, honey." The switch from ma'am to honey is a subtle but deliberate one.

"How old are you?" He grins devilishly.

"Old enough." You feel your cheeks flush with his flirtatious answer. You're trying very hard not to notice how his tanned skin glistens in the sun. But the way he looks at you, like a puppy who hasn't eaten in a week, makes it hard to ignore how handsome he is. He looks out to your yard again.

"Looks like you need someone to sort out those flower beds. Can I come back this weekend?" You think to yourself that George wouldn't like it. But he's out of town for work this weekend and you do need help with the flower beds.

"Sure. Can you be here Saturday morning?"

"I can be here whenever you want, honey." He winks and hands you his empty glass. Then, he takes your hand and kisses the back of it. "I'll see you on Saturday."

"I'll be waiting." You try to hide your cringe after you say it. What on earth made you say that?! But he takes it in stride, grinning widely.

"It can't come soon enough." He walks back across the yard to his home and goes inside. Your chest is heaving and it feels like you can't breathe. No one has made you feel like this in years.

******

George doesn't even notice that the yard is mowed before he leaves for his business trip. You're torn between being disappointed that he doesn't notice your efforts and relieved that you didn't have to tell him about having the neighbor help.

When Saturday rolls around, you wake up early to make yourself presentable. You catch yourself as you're about to dab on your expensive perfume and look at yourself in the mirror disapprovingly. Why are you trying so hard to impress this young man? You put the perfume down and walk out of the bathroom. But before you make it to the living room you go back and dab on the perfume and swipe on your favorite lipstick. Does it really hurt anything to look and smell nice? No. At least that's what you're going to tell yourself.

He shows up around 10am and knocks on your front door. The butterflies in your stomach are embarrassing and you take a deep breath before opening the door.

"Hi Mrs. Y/l/n!" He smiles brightly and you actively try to calm yourself down.

"Hi Elvis. Thank you again for doing this."

"Oh, it's no trouble!" You walk outside with him and show him what you want done with the flower beds.

"I know that's a lot of work. If you don't finish today, it's okay." You look at him and try not to bat your eyes.

"I'll just come back again." He winks and your stomach flip flops.

"Well, I'll leave you to it." You smile awkwardly and he nods. As you walk away, he calls after you.

"I don't mind if you watch." You turn back to him with a shocked expression on your face. "Kidding. Mostly."

His smirk causes a physical response between your legs and you turn and walk away from him as quickly as possible.

A couple of hours later, you peek through the blinds to check his progress. He's taken his shirt off again and you watch as he wipes his brow. You don't even notice you're biting your lower lip until he looks up at you in the window. He smiles mischievously and you realize you might be in trouble.

After another hour, he knocks on the door. You swallow deeply and open it.

"I think I've done all I can do today. Do you mind if I take a break in here? Maybe have some more lemonade?"

"Oh, of course!" He follows you to the kitchen where you fix him another glass of lemonade. When you hand it to him, your fingers touch and you almost drop it. He takes a long drink and then looks around your house.

"Your husband isn't here?"

"No, he's away for work."

"You have kids?"

"No, no kids."

"Hm." He drinks more from his glass and you take the opportunity to look at him again. His hair has fallen from its perfect, slicked back style and the front pieces hang in his face. You become keenly aware of the fact that you're alone in your house with him and he's half naked. Your imagination begins to run wild and you clear your throat to try to get it to stop.

"How do you like the neighborhood?"

"Oh, it's really nice. It's the best place we've ever lived." You nod and he tells you a little bit about the place they came from and how his music career has allowed him to get something nicer for his family.

When his glass is empty, he looks down at it and then back up at you.

"Would you like some more?"

"No, I'm alright Mrs. Y/l/n."

"You know, you can call me y/n."

"Okay then, y/n." He looks into your eyes for a minute before he takes a step closer to you where you stand leaning against the kitchen counter. You look up at him in anticipation and he reaches behind you to set his glass down. He gets painfully close to you when he does so, close enough for you to catch the scent of his natural musk mixed with some other manly smell. He's absolutely intoxicating.

"I should probably get out of here. Thanks for the lemonade." You nod.

"Of course."

"I'll come back to finish those flower beds sometime this week."

"Okay. That sounds good." You're so discombobulated that you don't even think about what might happen if he shows up when George is home. He's got you so distracted that you almost forget George exists. Then, before he leaves, he leans in and whispers in your ear.

"I like your perfume." As he backs away, his lips graze your cheek and a shiver runs through you. "I'll see you soon."

He turns to walk toward the door and your heart pounds so loud you're pretty sure he can hear it.

******

Thankfully, when he shows up on Wednesday to finish up the flower beds, George is at work. You answer the door and he stands on your porch eagerly.

"Thought I'd come finish those beds, if you don't mind."

"Oh, not at all. Thank you for coming back."

"Well, maybe I missed you." He smiles and your heart turns over in your chest.

"Elvis, you don't know me well enough to miss me."

"Maybe I'd like to know you better, then." He's surprisingly serious when he says it. You open the door for him to walk inside and then close it gently behind him.

"I have a husband." You practically whisper it to him and look down at your feet.

"I know that." He tips your chin up so that you're looking up at him. "You just seem so lonely."

"I am." Your eyes fill with tears as you look at each other. A single tear escapes and slides down your cheek. He catches it and wipes it away with his thumb. Slowly, he leans in and kisses your cheek where the tear was. Electricity runs through you and you're overwhelmed with the need for him to kiss you more. Seemingly reading your mind, he leans in again and presses his lips to yours softly. When he pulls back, his eyes flick between yours and then down to your mouth. You can tell he's about to kiss you again, so you look back down at your feet.

"Elvis, I can't."

"Is he good to you?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Like hell it doesn't!"

"Elvis, please." You look at him desperately and his heart breaks for you.

"Okay. I understand."

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay. I'll just get to work on those flower beds."

"You really don't have to."

"Y/n, I want to. Please let me help you." Your heart is warmed by his kindness. He seems to genuinely care about your wellbeing.

"Thank you." He nods and smiles and heads out the front door to the yard.

While he works, you sit in the living room and sob. You're not used to a man who actually cares.

******

"What happened to the flower beds?" George stands at the window on Friday afternoon with a glass of whiskey and a cigarette.

"What do you mean?" You ask innocently, trying to figure out how to answer him.

"They're weeded and there's new flowers."

"Oh, well, I did it. Or rather, I had a friend do them."

"A friend? What friends do you have?" His tone is scathing. He loves to bring up how alone you are.

"The neighbor boy."

"The one with the sideburns and squirrel shoes?"

"Stop, George, he's nice."

"Oh? He's nice? How many times has he been over here?"

"Just a couple of times to help with the yard work." A sickening feeling settles in your stomach as his mouth twists.

"Why is he so keen to help you?"

"He's just a nice kid, George."

"I'll bet he's nice. Men usually are when you fuck them."

"George! I have not!"

"I'm sure, you little whore. You'd give it up to anyone who smiles at you right." You feel the angry tears prick the corners of your eyes.

"George, please stop." He walks towards you menacingly and you cower, trying to avoid him. You close your eyes and pray that he'll get his fill of hurting you quickly.

******

On Saturday morning, George leaves for another business trip and you lay in your bed crying. That's where you are when you hear the soft knock on your door. You don't answer it. But then you hear another knock and Elvis calls to you from the porch.

"Y/n! I know you're in there." You walk to the door and talk to him through it, refusing to open it.

"What do you want, Elvis?"

"I don't know, I just. I wanted to make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Your husband. He said something to me. Please let me in."

"What did he say?"

"He said 'she's all yours'. Now let me in. I have a bad feeling about this."

"No. Go home, Elvis. It's nothing."

"Alright, now I'm really coming in. You can open this door or I'm breaking it down."

"Elvis. Don't be ridiculous."

"Here I go! You better stay clear." You hear him back up like he's going to actually try to kick the door in, so you open it quickly.

"Stop!"

"There now that's... y/n..." He pushes his way into the room when he sees you, closing the door behind him. You stand and stare at each other. Then, he gently holds his hand up to your face, gingerly ghosting his thumb over the black and purple bruising on your eye.

"Did he do this to you?" His voice is strained and lower than you've ever heard it before.

"It doesn't matter."

"I'll kill him." You can feel the raging energy coming off of him in waves.

"Elvis, please." The desperation in your voice is the only thing that could calm him down.

"Did he do this because of me?" He practically whispers it. You look down at the floor. "Did he?!"

When he gets loud, you wince and move away from him out of habit.

"Oh, god, honey, I'm sorry." He softens again and wraps his arms around you. You don't hold back anymore, sobbing openly on his shoulder. He walks you to the couch and sits you down next to him, still holding you as you cry.

Eventually, you sit up and look into his face. He shakes his head when he sees your eye again.

"I know I'm ugly with this-" You put your hand up to cover it and he brings it back down.

"Stop. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. I just wish I could've been here to protect you."

"Oh Elvis, it's not your-"

He cuts you off by pressing his lips to yours, his hand on the side of your neck. He pulls back a little and whispers, running his thumb gently across your cheek.

"He'll never hurt you again. Not as long as I live." Then he dives back in and kisses you deeply, parting your lips to let his tongue slide into your mouth. He kisses your cheek down to your neck and lays you down on the couch, situating himself beside you. You put your hands on his chest and melt into the closeness of his body. He might be young, but he's strong and for the first time in a long time you feel safe. His hand drifts up and down your back, finally settling on your hip, pulling you tight against him. His mouth finds yours again and your tongues dance against each other passionately.

You know you should stop him. You're married. But you don't. Instead, you let him reach behind you to the zipper on your dress.

"I'm going to take this off now, unless you say no." You're a little surprised at his confidence, but it's obvious he can tell how vulnerable you are. You nod yes and he slowly pulls the zipper down. Then, he sits up and uses both hands to pull your dress forward and down off of your body. He pulls his shirt over his head and kicks off his shoes, lying back down at your side. He rolls his hips into you and you feel his erection pressing against you. His hand slides up your body to your breast and he squeezes it lightly as he kisses your neck. You reach back and unclasp your bra, letting him pull it forward off of you. His mouth immediately goes to one of your nipples and he kisses and nibbles your chest affectionately. He slides his hand under your panties and teases your clit with his finger. Before too long, he slips a long finger into you and begins to pump it in and out. He adds a second finger and kisses your mouth again.

"Does that feel good, darlin'?" You moan softly and nod.

"Yes. Yes it does."

"Good. I just want to make you feel good, baby." He uses his thumb to rub circles on your clit and you whimper with pleasure.

"Oh, you like that?"

"Yes, don't stop!" He slows his fingers down and focuses instead on stimulating your sensitive bud. He drags his thumb over the top of it and moves faster and faster. He watches your body for cues and follows them to bring you the most pleasure. Your breathing picks up as you feel your climax approaching. He rubs a consistent pattern and your orgasm rushes toward you.

"Oh, God, Elvis, yes! Yes!" You cry out as you come hard on his hand. While you ride your body high, he goes back to pumping his fingers, crashing against your g-spot, and you come again, your release splashing out of you. Your legs shake as he pulls his hand away. He pulls your panties down and off and then stands up to remove his pants. They hit the floor and you're shocked to find that he isn't wearing underwear. His cock bounces free and the size of it takes your breath away. He climbs on top of you and aligns himself with your entrance, massaging your sensitive clit with his tip.

"Are you ready?" You look at him hovering above you and you can't believe this is your life. He's so beautiful and so kind. If you're not careful, you'll be in love with him. Finally, you whisper.

"Yes."

He nods and pushes into you, slowly sliding his cock inside. You moan softly as he fills you fully and you stretch around him.

"Oh fuck." He sighs and closes his eyes. You laugh a little at his reaction and he smiles, kissing your shoulder. Then, he picks up a steady pace of fucking into you.

"Is that good, honey?" He whispers in your ear as he pounds you.

"God, yes." You wrap your legs around his waist and he groans. He kisses your mouth with heavy tongue and slows his pace to long, deep strokes.

"Mmm, you feel so good, baby. I could do this forever." A big part of you wishes he would. "But I'm gonna come soon, darlin'. Where should I-?"

"You don't have to stop. I'm not... there won't be a baby." He stops momentarily and looks down into your face. You look away from him and he cups your chin and turns you back to look at him. He kisses your mouth, your cheek, and then your forehead.

"Okay, honey." You never thought you'd find a silver lining to your situation, but here it is. He rolls you on your side to face him with your leg over his hip and begins to pump in and out of you again slowly. Something changes slightly in the way he fucks you. He was gentle and deliberate from the beginning, but now he's even more affectionate, sweetly peppering you with kisses and running his hand over you gingerly. It dawns on you that you've gone from having sex to making love.

He moves his hand down to your hip and holds you tightly as he increases speed.

"Mmm. Baby. It's so good." He rolls his hips into you over and over as his climax approaches. His cock slides in and out quickly and he kisses your mouth one last time before he slams into you and shudders, filling you with warmth. He presses his forehead to yours and breathes heavily. "That was amazing."

You nod and kiss him softly on the lips. He rolls onto his back and rearranges you to lay on his chest. For a young man, he has no problem taking charge and you feel more and more comfortable in his arms. You spend the next few hours in this position, talking about anything and everything. When the sun starts to get low in the sky, he looks out the window.

"Do I need to leave?"

"It's up to you. George won't be home until Monday evening." You feel a lump form in your throat at the thought of spending the next few days alone.

"Then I'm staying. I have to leave on Monday to play a couple of shows, but I'll be back. I'll stay with you until I leave."

"Your parents won't worry about you?"

"I'm an adult. I'll call my mother and tell her I'm staying with a friend for a bit."

And he does. You spend the next two days together, laughing and talking and playing house. You've never been happier in your life. Neither of you thinks about what the future might hold for you. Instead, you revel in the time you have right now with each other. For the moment, you're happy, and no one can take that away from you.

******

Thoughts?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love

#elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley #elvis fanfic #elvis smut #elvis presley fic #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #elvis presley x y/n #elvis fic #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley x you #elvis presley fanfic #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #elvis presley smut #Spotify

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wintersera · 9 months

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rockstar!winter x f!reader

notes: completely self indulgent as you will be able to tell from all the screaming- i’m blaming that clip… drove me insane LIKE ACTUALLY INSANE

cw: dom winter, sub reader (OMG SURPRISE), daddy kink, is calling reader a ‘whore’ degredation? it’s also not proofread i just wrote this on autopilot-

word count: 0.8/0.9k i forgot….

showing up to your girlfriends performance for the first time ever was going to be the death of you.

the lights were dim, loudness of the bass shaking your skeleton? you didn’t even know that could happen. it was a bit overwhelming for you because honestly... you weren’t even into rock that much even though your girlfriend is a rock genius.

it was definitely worth your time. seeing the spotlight shine on her while she plays with her guitar. and in all seriousness you didn’t really give a shit about the music AT ALL. your focus was completely on her fingers, the way she was tapping and strumming the strings had you in a trance, and oh my! you’re panties are soaked through.

you didn’t even last one second into the song thag was playing, all that was in your mind was her fingers, oh my god her hands, her fingers should be in me right now, i want her fing- yeah…

“baby you did so good on stage” running to the back of the stage. you just couldn’t wait anymore

“of course, you were there. i had to put on the best show for my girl” standing there with sweat dripping down her face. “did you like my guitar solo? dont tell my fans, but i practiced it just for you”. your girlfriend, minjeong, was so sweet. the main guitarist of the band aespa and the hottest person to ever cross this universe. whatever you did in your past life must be crazy to bless you with such a fine ass girlfriend.

“no one is in this room right?”

“what are you implying y/n?”

“oh nothing, i just wanted to say that you looked so hot on stage daddy” seducing her by slipping the string of your top down your shoulders.

not expecting that, she dropped everything she was holding right at that moment and cornered you. locking the door just in case one of her bandmates decide to waltz in. “oh don’t you dare start this now. not with those skimpy ass clothes you're wearing” now you knew wearing a mini skirt and a tight top would do you justice even tho your ass was so cold waiting outside the venue 😭, and well today you couldn't help being turned on, seeing your girlfriend work her guitar with her skillful fingers on that electric guitar had your pussy throbbing.

“turning me on after my performance, oh my baby is such a whore for me” hiking up your skirt to reveal you pretty much soaked thong “and you’re wearing a thong? all dolled up for me? you’re so kind” tugging the thong that rubbed your clit all in the right ways.

“a-anything for you daddy” god you turned her on so much. she just wanted to fuck your pussy so hard rn, and thats what she’s doing 🤭 pumping not one but three fingers into your sopping wet hole while she messily makes out with you, her tongue dominating over yours with ease. the noises you were making were anything but holy, thanking the interior designers for the very good choice of making the room sound proof because god, you are literally screaming out her name, moaning, groaning, literally all the noises are coming out of your slutty mouth. and if the noises coming from your mouth weren’t enough to show that she had you wrapped around her fingers (PUN NOT INTENDED) your wet pussy definitely showed. sticky, wet sounds were definitely escaping out of you. oh my god she was making you so unbelievably wet, your juices literally spilling all over the floor coating her hands and dripping everywhere on your legs.

AND SHES NOT FINISHED WITH YOU, breaking your kiss to make you face the wall and bend over so she can see your pussy in full view!!! her licking your lips before she fully makes out with it. licking and sucking so violently on your clit it makes you squirm and buck your hips into her face, while also shoving her fingers back into your pussy, slamming them into you without any mercy. it doesn’t really take that long to make you cum, with the whole build up during the concert you were pretty much standing there in awe on the verge of cumming JUST BY SEEING HER PERFORM?? she’s so rough with you but that's how daddy minjeong likes it anyways, seeing you turn into her personal sex doll and treating you as such as well, slapping your ass as you're bent over like a whore, repeating to you that she’s “your daddy”. she would open the door to show the entire crowd her lovely baby being finger fucked with a stupid slutty fucked out face, but she’s overprotective like that you know.

when you finally, cum it’s so violent yet so so so good. legs shaking, BODY SHAKING, you’re on the verge of blacking out as you’re hitting the walls screaming “daddy- ah, daddy m-minjeong your fingers feel so good” biting down on your lip as you feel the ecstasy course through your entire body.

of course once you’ve had the most craziest orgasm of your life, you fall to your knees.

picking you up she just smiles at you, kissing you on the lips then whispering in your ear “let’s continue this at home”

#wintersera #aespa smut #aespa x fem reader #aespa x fem reader smut #aespa winter smut #kim minjeong #fem! reader #kpop smut #girl group smut #gg x reader #kpop girl group smut #girl group x reader

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henneseyhoe · 10 months

Text

“Tell daddy you sorry”(request)

Stunna x BLACK!THICK!FEM!reader

WARNINGS: toxic!stunna, daddy kink, rough sex, name calling, breeding kink(eh?), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!)

SUMMARY:you fucked somebody else. Stunna ain’t too happy bout it.

Ps. This was (kinda) inspired by we cry together by Kendrick Lamar. I listen to that shit unironically and the ending of the song had me gasping when I first heard it so I had to make a lil drabble lmfao. Also I owed y’all a lil sumn before putting out these other requests and series.

✮✮✮✮

“Now tell daddy you sorry”

“Tell daddy you sorry for givin’ his pussy away” he repeated, his hips colliding into her with force as she whined pathetically, her hands pushing at his hips to keep him from going so deep. She felt defeated in this moment. Weak that not only did she let this nigga back into her house, but she let him back into HER.

Her soft eyes stared up at him, her mouth gaped open with a stupid look on her face, the golden chain he wore around his neck dangling above her, putting the girl in a trance like state with the help of his mad thrusts. One kiss to her lips and she was snapped out of it.

“Fuuuck! I hate you!”

“You do? This pussy looove me, though. Look how wet she is, baby” he says, delivering slow, deep strokes that had her mumbling incoherent words. She couldn’t even lie and say she wasn’t loving every bit of this shit. If she did, her hormones would have made it obvious that she was boldly lying through her teeth, and one thing about Stunna was that he hated a liar, especially a bad one.

Her eyes rolled back into her head and her back arched to the sky, the man getting satisfaction out of watching her try to break free from the death grip he had on her thighs. He was surely gonna leave a mark.

“now say sorry”

the logical thing for her to do was comply and do what he told her to do instead of being a brat and refusing again, and she would have said no anyway if her ass wasn’t already sore from the 10 strikings his hand gave her earlier.

“I- I’m so sorry, daddy!”

“You is?”

“Yesss!”

“This pussy mine?”

“Yes! yes! yes!” She chanted, her toes curling.

Stunna smirked. “Obviously he ain’t do a good job if you came back. You love me?”

“Yessss! Give it to me!” She cried, her nails scratching down his back as she took every single inch he gave to her. He spoke no words, just continued to do his damage, aiming for her sweet spot the entire time. The way he was fucking her, you could have sworn he hated her a little, shit, he might after tonight.

Her thighs felt like she had ran a mile, her body not getting time to calm down before another orgasm was upon her. In bliss, she was unaware of the turmoil she had set herself in just by fucking this man once again. And she’d do it again after this too.

“Shit!” He shouted, his jaw clenched as he gripped her thick thighs, bending them back to her chest. If she knew getting fucked this hard would take playing in his face, she would have been broken up with him and using somebodies son as a sex toy.

“Fuuuuck! Fuck me nigga!” she screamed before her voice became hushed, the man responding in harsh slaps to her ass.

“Imma fuck you bitch”

“Fuck meee!”

“Imma fuck you bitch”

They went back and forth till the woman’s legs began to shake violently, her pussy practically choking his dick, just how he wanted it.

“I don’t wanna see you with nobody else unless it’s the baby I put in you”

✮✮✮✮

@chxrryp0p

#black fanfic writer #black fanfiction #black!reader #masterlist #black actors #black reader #black!fem!reader #black!oc #smut masterlist #henneseyhoe #yahya abdul mateen ii #yahya abdul mateen ii smut #yahya fanfiction #smutty #actor smut #smut blog #Stunna #Stunna smut #Stunna x reader

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strniohoeee · 3 months

Text

Web Of Desire Pt. 2

Pairing: Chris Sturniolo X Female Reader (part 1)

Synopsis: Chris thinks he can escape the grasp of Y/N, but she’s always two steps ahead. The heart wants what it wants, and she will stop at nothing to have it🗡️

Warnings⚠️: Psycho Y/N, manipulative Y/N, death threats kinda??. Toxic Y/N. Tbh I think that’s it just a whole lot of crazy bitch!

Song for imagine: He Needs Me- Punch-Drunk Love, Tarantula Girl- Violent Vira

Tags: @eyelessdemon @sleepysturnss @megamett44-lover @breeloveschris @mattslolita @dsturniolo @ellie-luvsfics @sturniolosstar @mayhem-72 @vicxzc @creamoncreamoncream2

I won’t know why I knew he needed me

It could be fantasy, oh

Or maybe it’s because

He needs me, he needs me

It’s been a month since Chris was left in that bathroom. Confused, angry and annoyed. He did not like Y/N. She was a friend, but ever since her psycho antics he couldn’t bear the sight of her. Nick and Matt still loved her because she played the normal girl act a bit too well.

Y/N however couldn’t be more ecstatic. Her mornings became brighter as she’d awake with a smile on her face. Smelling her roses in her bedroom. Encased in a beautiful pink vase with a bow wrapped around them. Signed “from Chris” on the note attached. A note she of course placed on those roses that she purchased herself. Singing and dancing like a cheesy 80s movie. She felt on top of the world.

Spending most of her days with Nick, Matt and Chris. Getting to force words out of Chris’ mouth because he couldn’t ignore her infront of his brothers. She very well used this to her advantage, often placing her hand on him, offering him compliments and even cornering him at times.

Chris wanted nothing more than to block her number, her socials and honestly from his life completely, but he couldn’t. And because of this he knew she was feeding off of it. Calculating her moves perfectly and Chris caught himself in her webs time and time again.

Heading into his bedroom after showering, a towel hung on his waist as he dried his hair with a towel. Lowly rapping some Lil Skies song as he opened his bedroom door. Flicking on the lights and shutting the door behind him. Trotting over to his full length mirror, looking up to catch Y/N sitting on his bed.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He asks turning around to face her

“No way to talk to your pretty girl” she says pouting at him

“Not my pretty girl” he states bluntly

“That towel is hanging awfully low” she states biting her acrylic nail flirtatiously

Looking down to realize what he was wearing he grabs onto the towel and rushes into his closet. Rummaging through his clothes to find an outfit.

“Why are you here?” He asks the girl

“Well we have a party to go to don’t we?” She says giggling

“I have a party to go to not you” the boy states as he grabs a pair of pants

“Well Nick invited me as well, so looks like it’s our party” she says to him

“Can’t you just go away. Take the hint and leave me alone” he replied angrily

“I told you Christopher….you're stuck with me for good” she says laughing once again

“Stay the fuck away from me tonight, or so help me I’ll-“ but he was cut off by the young woman

“Or you’ll what? You think you can threaten me? Please I’m the master manipulator here you can’t use my own tactics against me” she says dryly

Emerging from the closet with his outfit on and his socks and sneakers in hand. Rolling his eyes at the girl as he sits at the edge of the bed.

“Sick bitch” he says under his breath

“Awww Chris” she says crawling over to him and placing her hands on his shoulders

“Get off of me” he says as he shrugs her arms off of him

“Play nice” she says through gritted teeth as she sinks her fingers into his shoulders harder causing him to wince

“Just one night. Leave me alone” he says shaking his head

“Behave and I’ll make all your wishes come true” she replies placing a kiss on the back of his neck

“I don’t have to abide by you” he says as goosebumps form against his skin

“Can’t say I didn’t try” she replies with a smile getting off his bed and heading towards his door

“I promise to leave you alone” she states as she begins to walk out

“Thank you” he says as she walks out and shuts the door behind herself

However Y/N didn’t plan on playing nice. She loves the chase and honestly Chris was the best candidate for that. An evil plan was cooking up in her brain as she skipped up the stairs to wait in the living room. If he wanted to play hard to get then so be it, but he better be watching his back all night.

Y/N knew she was a difficult girl and she had a tiny bit of an obsession problem, but all she wanted was to be loved. Anger and jealousy began to bubble inside of her as she sat in the back seat with Nick as they headed to the hills. Chris and parties equaled one thing….shitty hookups and that made her stomach twist. If he just listened to her and claimed her as his then she wouldn’t have to ruin his night.

“You okay girl?” Nick asked Y/N, taking into note how fast her leg was bouncing

“Yeah…sorry I was just thinking” she replied smiling at the boy

“Thinking about all the boys you’re gonna pull tonight?” He asked her laughing

“Something like that” she said back laughing with him

“I heard Larray has a friend who’s been super interested in you lately” Matt says from the driver seat

“Really?” Y/N asks almost upset that her plans will be ruined by having to escape from this random guys attempts all night

“Yeah right, you wish” Chris says sucking his teeth

“What’s wrong? Jealous?” Y/N asks the young man with her arms crossed over he chest

“In your dreams” he replied laughing at the girl

“Funny coming from you” she says, almost hinting at something. Which causes Matt to look at her through his rear view mirror

“The fuck are you talking about?” Chris asks her defensively

“Why are you getting so defensive? Not like we did anything Chris. I was simply referring to the fact you think you can get any and every girl” she said smiling at him evilly

Chris stood quiet and Y/N knew she won that argument. He was too afraid to open his mouth, scared he might incriminate himself in front of his brothers. But the silence coming from him was already doing that.

Pulling up to the rooftop party Matt hands his car over to valet and they head up. Immediately dispersing to talk to their friends. Y/N grabbing a drink from the bar as she walked around. Planting her eyes on everyone and her ears as well. The amount of girls whispering about her Christopher almost made her lose it, but she gripped her glass harder and found a corner to sit in.

Sitting in the far back by the glass, looking to her left as she watched LA from above. She thought to herself what if I just accidentally pushed Chris over….because if she can’t have him no one could. Or maybe herself? Smiling at the guilt she knows Chris would feel. Immediately her twisted thoughts were interrupted by a clearing of someone’s throat.

Hoping it was Chris, but disappointed when a rigid boy with black hair stood before her. Immediately fixing her dead gaze, and planting a smile on her face.

“Y/N?” The young man asked her

“That would be me” she replies smiling

“I’m Johnnie….Johnnie Gilbert” he says sticking his hand out for her to shake, accepting his handshake she begins

“Nice to meet you Johnnie, I take it your larrays friend?” She says as he sits down across from her

“Uhh yeah” he says laughing shyly

On any other occasion this would be the exact guy she would obsess over. He was emo, rigid, and mysterious. Except now there was one small problem…. It was Chris who she only cared about.

Engaging in conversation with him and hoping Chris was looking her way. As they spoke her gaze often shifted to that of her surroundings. Looking for her man and only to see him engaged in conversations with a girl. A very pretty girl at that….she hated to admit things like that, but she choked back a scoff.

Her issue was that he could care less about Y/N right now. Looking deep into the mystery girl's eyes and laughing. Actually not even looking anywhere but her. What a slut Y/N thought. Doesn’t she know that he’s hers?

“Johnnie it was great talking with you and you’re a great guy, but I’m kind of seeing someone right now” she says smiling at him

“Oh…I’m so sorry I didn’t know! But consider me a ghost. I’ll catch you around” he says laughing playfully as he waves her goodbye

Smiling at him as he walks away before dropping it. Looking back over to Chris and the girl. To her surprise Christopher was gone. A wicked smile growing on her face.

“Oh would you look at that I need another drink” she states looking at her half full cup. Tossing the rest of the drink over the ledge not caring if it landed on someone.

Standing up and smoothing out her dress before moving through the body’s littering the surrounding area. Trotting over to the bar and standing next to the mystery girl. Waiting for the bartender to come over she looks over at the girl.

Hmmm she looks cheap, she thinks to herself… classic Chris.

“I love your dress” Y/N states to the girl, she looks over and smiles at her

“Thank you” she says nodding her head at her

“Where from? Forever 21?” She asks her cocking her head to the side

“Uhh no Chanel” she states a bit offended

“Hmm” Y/N says looking her over again before motioning the bartender over

“May I have an apple martini please extra sour” she says batting her lashes at him, and he nods a small blush planted on his face

“Hey you wouldn’t say you know where Chris is right?” The girl asks Y/N as she looks back over at her

“Like sturniolo?” Y/N says

“Yeah him” the brown eyed girls says with a smile

“I wouldn’t know we kind of separate at events like this” she says as the bartender slides her drink over to her

“Oh? You came with him?” The girl asks her

“Oh yeah that’s my boyfriend” Y/N says taking a sip of her drink

“Boyfriend? He didn’t say he had a girlfriend” she says furrowing her brows

“Why would you think he came to talk to you as anything other than just being friendly?” She asks the girl as she cocks her head to the side

“Excuse me?” She replies getting offended

Pulling the brown eyed girl in towards her before placing her mouth by her ear.

“I suggest you back off of him” she says with a smile on her face before pulling away

“Or what?” She says laughing

Y/N’s face drops and her eyes go cold. Swiping her tongue over her teeth.

“Follow me” she says to the girl like she has a secret

The girl gets up and follows Y/N to the edge of the rooftop. They both look over at the city.

“Girl to girl, do not go for Chris trust me he’s no good” Y/N says light heatedly

“What do you mean?” She asks her

“He's a major fuck boy and you’re too pretty to get hurt by him trust me. He ruined every girl he’s ever came into contact with” y/n says in a gossip tone

“Wait I thought he was your boyfriend” she replies leaning in to hear her better

“Not yet, but soon to be” Y/N replies back to her as she takes another sip from her drink

“You’re a psycho bitch” she says backing up a bit

“What is it with everyone calling me out of my name? I’m Y/N” she says sucking her teeth and looking up

“I’m going to find Chris” the girl states, but before she could walk away Y/N grabs her

“This ledge is awfully low and we’re awfully high up. I’d say about 100 feet? It would be a shame if an accident occurred…..drunk ol you slipping over the ledge…..don’t you think?” Y/N asks the girl with a devilish grin and excited eyes as her grip became firmer

“WOAH Y/N” Chris says suddenly appearing next to her

“What’s going on with her?” The brown eyed girl says

“I’m sorry she drinks way too much and just talks crazy. She’s super protective over my brothers and I. I’m so sorry” Chris responds to the scared girl

“She’s a psycho” the girl says backing up

“Oh don’t worry it’s just the alcohol speaking! I’ll catch up with you later” he says to girl

He grabs Y/N roughly by the arm and drags out into the lobby. Walking all the way to the end where nobody could hear them. The party was so loud all you could hear was the muffled music and feel the vibrations even at the end of the lobby.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Chris asks her as he roughly throws her back

“There’s no problem baby” Y/N replies sipping her drink as she batted her lashes at him

“Do you know how fucking sick and demented you are? You’re lucky I talked that girl down because this is LA where people know people. If she wanted to, she could have you wiped from everything.” Chris says blinking at her

“That doesn’t scare me” the woman responds shrugging her shoulders at him

“You think I love you and I don’t, get that out of your thick skull. Jesus Y/N you threatened to kill a girl because of your sick obsession with me” he says tapping the girls head

“I wouldn’t have to do that if you’d stop playing hard to get and just be with me” Y/N states finishing her drink

“I can’t be with someone like you, you’re not okay” he says scoffing

“But I am Chris, I’m just crazy about you is all” The girl states innocently

“That’s a lie! You have this image of yourself that’s so fucking sweet and innocent. But it’s bullshit” he says laughing dryly

“How dare you” she says gasping at him

“You think I want all these other girls, and you’re going to do whatever it takes to destroy that” he replies to the girl

“This isn’t about you being a good person and looking out for me or these other girls because I’m a fuck boy, this is about getting what you fucking want” he says stepping closer to the girl

Y/N was truly taken aback by Chris. He usually bit the bullet but for some reason tonight he was letting her have it. She couldn’t figure out why. Might’ve been the innocent threat to that girl….so sad he was there to overhear it.

“You know what you don’t realize Chris? Is that I don’t care what happens to me. I don’t care how angry you get. You’re not good for any of these girls and they’re not good for you, and I will do everything I can to prevent it” Y/N states getting angry but mostly hurt

“Jesus Christ Y/N” he says rubbing his hand over his face

“Truth is I’m not a good person, but all I want is to feel loved…. i just want to be seen” she says as a few tears threaten to fall

“Stop the fucking crocodile tears. This is bullshit” he says rolling his eyes at her

Not biting at her tactics, her face drops and she becomes angry again. From a young age Y/N knew she wasn’t “normal”, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t act it. But everyone’s a little bit crazy right?

“But just give me one chance” she pleads to the boy

“Listen, yes there are many cool things about you, but this weird panning over me is not one of them. I think it’s time we part ways. It would be best for you” he says turning on his heels a bit

Y/N throws her empty glass, the shattering causing Chris to turn back around.

“I DIDNT DO ANYTHING WRONG. WHY ARE YOU LEAVING ME IF I DIDNT DO ANYTHING WRONG. I DONT UNDERSTAND I THOUGHT YOU LIKED ME” Y/N yells as anger bubbles in her chest and her breathing began to quicken

“STOP THIS NOW” Chris yells back as he shoves them further into the corner

“YOU ARE NOT LEAVING ME HERE! DONT YOU UNDERSTAND YOU SHOULD BE AFRAID OF ME” Y/N yells as her eyes widen and tears fall from her eyes

“You are not blackmailing me into being with you” he states angrily

“No I’m not blackmailing you…. Blackmailing you means you have no choices, but you do have choices. However you can’t seem to pick the right one” she says to him

“THAT IS THE LITERAL DEFINITION OF BLACKMAIL. IF YOU DONT THIS IM GOING TO DO THAT” Chris yells at the girl

“I DONT CARE IT DOESNT CHANGE ANYTHING” she yells back in a high pitch tone. One that causes Chris to go wide eyed.

“THATS FUCKED UP” he yells back

“You know what’s FUCKED UP CHRISTOPHER? YOU CALLING ME YOUR PRETTY GIRL AND FINGERING ME AND THEN TELLING ME YOU DONT LIKE ME, AND GOING AFTER GIRLS” Y/N yells back at him with a pointed finger hitting his chest

“WHAT THE FUCK……WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? He yells as he bangs his hand against the wall

Y/N backs up relaxing her body as she watches his freak out.

“Okay….bye” she states sweetly as she begins to walk away

But Chris stops her, grabbing her arm. And in that moment she knew once again she won. He loved her just as much as she loved him. A devilish grin plastered on her face as she stood with her back towards him. If he truly didn’t like her then he’d let her walk away.

This was the sick idea in Y/N’s head, but truthfully Chris knew she was mad. Not a normal mad though. But a vengeful mad. He knew if she walked back in that party she’d do something to herself or others. He needed her to calm down.

“No Christopher…. You made it clear you don’t want me” Y/N states bluntly

“I need you to calm down” he says

“I am calm. I’m feeling great actually” she says to the young man

“No you’re not I know you” he states as he pleads with her with his eyes

“If you truly knew me then you’d know just how much I like you. I don’t act like this ever. I’m just trying to get you to see that it’s you and I who should be together” she says giving him doe eyes

“Maybe I don’t know you then” he states shaking his head

“I’d never actually hurt you or harm you. I love you with my whole heart” she says rubbing his cheek with her right hand

“It’s just hard to see that when you want to cause harm to so many people around me” he says rubbing his forehead

“It’s just to mark my territory. Instill fear in people. I don’t want anyone taking my man” she says to him

“But nobody would take me” he says mindlessly

BINGO! She thought. Just like she knew deep in her heart Chris did in fact love her. She knew she was all he ever wanted, but was too scared to admit it.

However Chris was just scared and at this point he’d do anything to be with her. And get her to stop being psycho. If he had to be with her then so be it….

“If I go out with you will you promise to leave everyone alone?” He asks her

“Of course my love” she says batting her lashes at him

“I love you Y/N” he says looking at the girl before him

“I love you too Christopher” she says smiling at him before placing a kiss to his cheek

But there’s one thing Y/N knew and that’s you can’t outdo the doer. You can’t beat someone at their own game, especially if that game is manipulation. She knew he was playing along with her to keep everyone around him safe. She didn’t care because now that she had Chris nobody else mattered. He’d never leave her because he had too much fear in her heart at what she’d do. So once again in her eyes she won.

If you can’t get someone to be with you out of love, then get them to be with you out of fear. That guarantees a lifetime with the one person you’ve truly only ever wanted. Because you know they’ll always come back.

And that my dear is how you master the art of getting a man to fall into your

Web of desire……

The End

WHEWWW CHILEEEE this bitch is crazy. But honestly me too🤞🏽. This is def the last installment of this series. But I can always make more psycho Y/N in other instances in the future. I love yall dearly 🥹🖤🖤

-J💅🏽

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets imagines #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo imagine #christopher sturniolo x reader #Spotify

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midgardian-witch · 11 months

Note

could you write about the moon boys coming home to find reader just jamming out to music? like you have earbuds in and are blasting music so loud they can hear it from several feet away, lip syncing along to the song like your life depends on it, eyes closed, making expressive faces, dancing all dramatic, maybe not even so dancing so much as just clenching your fists and bringing them to your chest, then flailing your hands and arms around in front of you, head bobbing/banging over and over ya know? (thats literally what i do all the time) thank you! <3

Thank you for being patient, anon. Your request is so sweet I just couldn't say no. It's less a fic more a drabble but I hope that's alright <3

Like Nobody's Watching

tags: just pure fluff | established relationship | gn!reader (they/them pronouns used and as few descriptors as possibe used for reader)

ships: Moon Knight System/Reader (Steven fronting but all three present)

AO3

Edit: added AO3 link

It's a rare occasion that Steven can leave work early. He thanks whatever deity is listening (except Khonshu, that mean old bird doesn’t deserve any thanks) to be able to return home to you earlier than planned.

Vibrating with excitement Steven opens the door to your shared apartment. With just a few steps in he stops in his tracks, completely enamored with the sight in front of him.

With your back turned towards them you seem to be having the time of your life. Arms waving, hips shaking, head bobbing to a beat Steven can faintly hear even through your earbuds. Normally he would be concerned about potential damage to your eardrums, listening to music so loudly, but right now he can only think about how beautiful you look.

Our ángel is having a good time, hm? Maybe we should join?

Steven can hear the sultry grin in Jake's voice and rolls his eyes in response.

Some of those moves are…bold.

Marc sounds amused and, well, Steven had to agree. You were flailing your arms vigorously and bobbing your head almost violently to the music, still not noticing that your boyfriends had returned.

Not wanting to frighten you with his sudden presence but also not wanting to stop watching you, Steven felt stuck. You look so adorable, carelessly dancing like nobody's watching. And there wouldn't be if Steven hadn't gotten off of work early.

Do they do this often, you think?

It looks like they had a lot of practice at least. We should take them dancing some time.

Steven nods wordlessly. Jake is right, the way you're moving your body they should absolutely go out with you to dance. Why haven't they done that before? Maybe you didn't like having people watch you dance? Steven would ask you. Later.

Meanwhile the music changed from upbeat to something more dramatic - or that is what it sounds like to Steven. You're impromptu dance routine changes from wild flailing to what at first glance looks like dance moves an early 2000s boyband would use.

With a dramatic big jump you turn around to face Steven. Not expecting him to be here already you yelp in shock and tumble backwards. Steven follows you, wanting to make sure you don't fall over or hurt yourself. You clutch your chest right where your heart is and take out your earbuds.

"How long were you just standing there? You almost gave me a heart attack!"

With guilt clearly written on his face Steven looks at you. "I am so sorry, love. I didn't mean to frighten you!"

You calm yourself and shake your head. "It's ok. I know you didn't mean to," you tell him with a gentle smile, "but…how long have you been watching me?"

Steven clears his throat, embarrassed by being caught. "A while. You seemed to have fun," he answers sheepishly.

A started laugh escapes you. You nod, your smile spreading into a wide grin. Gently you take his hand and pull him with you to the nearby couch to sit down.

As Steven sits down next to you he continues holding your hand, his thumb softly stroking the back of your hand.

"Jake wants us to take you dancing some time. He seemed to enjoy the show," he offers and you swear you can see him blush, "Well, we all did, to be perfectly honest." You lean against him, your cheek squished into his shoulder as you look down at your hands.

"I'm glad you were entertained," you tease with a laugh, "And I would love to go dancing with you. Although you may not be able to keep up with my moves. I have a lot of practice."

#moon knight x reader #steven grant x reader #moon knight/reader #steven grant/reader #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #moon knight #moon knight fanfic

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unfinishedslurs · 1 year

Text

welcome to eden

this is a love letter. inspired by this song

As soon as Steve picks up the phone, she knows she’s making a mistake.

“Rob?”

“No,” she says instead of hanging up like she should.

“Nancy?” He sounds more alert now, and she can picture him standing up straighter, calling to attention at the sound of her voice. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Not really,” she sniffs, hating herself for it. “I—can we talk?”

He’ll say no. He’ll say no, because it’s one in the morning and he was probably asleep before the phone rang and she shouldn’t be asking to talk years after she broke his heart and didn’t even remember—

“Of course,” he says, and Nancy could kick herself. “Over the phone?”

“No. Not over the phone. I’m sorry, it can wait, you can go back to bed.”

She hears him huff a laugh, even though there’s nothing funny about any of it. “I wasn’t in bed,” he assures her. “Am I picking you up?”

Tears spring anew to her eyes. “If that’s okay.”

“Works for me,” he says. “See you soon.”

“See you,” she echoes, and hangs up.

She spends the time it takes pacing quietly in front of the front door, berating herself for using him like this. But she needs to talk to him, and the sooner it’s over with the better.

Headlights cut through the window way too soon, and she nearly throws herself out the door.

She gives him a look when she opens the car door, telling him she knows how many traffic laws he must have broken to get here this quick. He just grins in return, ready to point out the felony in her closet.

“Where are we going?” He asks, and her heart clenches. He’s so good. He’s so good, and she couldn’t-can’t love him like he wants. She has to tell him.

Tonight probably wasn’t the best night for this conversation, but her skin feels like it’s peeling off and the faster she says something the quicker it will be over with and she can go back to how it was before. Back when she didn’t have anyone to talk to, because Robin might never speak to her again after she breaks her best friend's heart for the second time.

Just rip the bandaid off, Nance.

“I don’t know,” she says instead. Maybe she’s a coward. “A field? Somewhere I can see the stars.”

“I can do that.”

The drive goes by in silence, Nancy staring stubbornly out the window. She can feel Steve periodically checking on her, and she knows he wants to know why she called. She can’t open her mouth to say it in the suffocating enclosure of the car. She rolls down a window.

They get to a field almost out of Hawkins, and the car is barely in park before she’s climbing out, going around to sit on the hood. Steve cuts the engine and follows.

She still doesn’t say anything. She called him to have a talk, why can’t she just open her stupid mouth—

“Nancy?” Steve asks, gentle in a way that used to make her melt. She pulls her legs to her chest, feeling vulnerable. “What’s wrong?”

“Jonathan and I broke up,” she finally gets out.

“Oh shit.” He looks genuinely surprised. “That sucks, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well, it was never going to be forever.” Except she’d thought otherwise. She thought they were Nancy and Jonathan, the two of them against the world. She hunches her shoulders. “We never talk anymore, and he was pulling away from me, and he was lying to me for months-“ she shakes her head, clearing the anger she feels at that. “It doesn’t matter. I’m starting to realize there’s things I need to work on, too. A lot to work on, actually.”

“I don’t know what that could be,” he says, flashing her a smile filled with boyish, roguish charm. “You’re already the best person I know.”

She sniffs, and suddenly she’s crying into her knees, shoulders shaking. He freezes beside her, before wrapping an arm around her and pulling her into his side. She leans in for a second, chasing the comfort, before remembering what she came here to do and ripping away violently.

“Fuck,” she whispers. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. I don’t—I can’t—this isn’t what I—“

“Hey,” he soothes. “Slow down. Let it out.”

She wipes her eyes, suddenly furious. “I don’t want to date you,” she says, finally looking him in the eyes. “I don’t—I’m sorry for calling you. I just remembered how much better you used to make me feel, but then I realized that’s like…really shitty of me.”

“Why?” He asks, as if Nancy didn’t come out here to break his heart again. “I want to make you feel better. I like knowing I can make you feel better.”

“I don’t want to lead you on,” she says, mouth screwing up. “That’s why I called you out here. And I know it’s shitty of me—“

“Nancy, you’re not leading me on. I…I don’t want to date you either.”

That stops her in her tracks. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” he echoes quietly. “I—don’t take this the wrong way, okay, ‘cause I know I’m gonna sound like an asshole saying it, but, uh, I can’t do that again. And even outside of that, I don’t like you that way anymore. Uh, sorry.”

She tries not to sag at the overwhelming relief she feels at that.

“Are you sure?” She studies him closely, trying to see if he’s saying this for her sake or if he means it. “Back in the Upside-Down, and when we were fighting Venca, it seemed…”

He grimaces, and Nancy thinks if it wasn’t dark she’d see the beginning of an embarrassed flush on his ears. “I…may have been feeling things,” he admits. “I was testing the waters, I guess. I started feeling nostalgic, and you were there, and everyone was encouraging me, and it all just ended up in this weird…feelings soup. Sorry.”

“You said you wanted to have six kids with me,” Nancy reminds him. “And travel the country in a Winnebago.”

He groans, covering his face with his hands. “I am,” he says, “so sorry. I don’t know why I said that. That had to be so weird for you.”

“It was kind of sweet?” She tries, not letting her relief show. Not yet.

“We haven’t been together in years, and I decided to tell you I used to dream about you having my babies. How do you deal with me?”

“Well it helps to know you were dropped on your head. Puts everything in perspective.”

“Yeah, yeah, yuk it up.” He looks at her, really looks at her, and she tries not to fidget under his gaze. Too earnest, too caring for someone who doesn’t deserve it. He’s always tried so hard. To woo her, to be a better person, to keep back the vicious streak she still sees in him. “I meant it, when I said I loved you,” he tells her gently, no sign of that cruelty that had him painting her as a whore for the whole town to see. “Back then, I mean. I just wanted you to know that.”

She wants to cry. “I know. I’m sorry I couldn’t say it back.”

“It’s okay,” he says like he means it. He leans back against the windshield, looking at the sky. After a moment, she copies him.

They watch the stars together, and the air feels clearer.

“Where do we go from here?” She asks, afraid of the answer.

“What do you mean?”

“What happens with us now?”

“Well,” he says gingerly, like he’s testing the waters. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve heard you’re a pretty kickass friend.”

Friends. She doesn’t know that she and Steve have ever been friends, not properly. Even after the apologies they made to each other, she doesn’t know that she could call what they had friendship. It wasn’t substantial on its own, needing Jonathan as the barrier between them. When it fell, so did they.

“I haven’t had a friend in a while,” she admits. “Robin is kind of a novelty for me. She’s amazing.”

It’s funny, in a way. She was so jealous of Robin, of how close she was with Steve in a way Nancy wasn’t. She’d thought, at first, that it was because they were so clearly dating. After Robin told her they weren’t, she realized how badly she’d just wanted friends. She missed hanging out with Steve, missed his laugh and his squint and his bitchy attitude. She’d hoped that eventually they’d get to that point, was sure they were almost there before Starcourt. In a way, she’d been jealous of Robin for stealing Steve. She knew it was ridiculous. Steve had found a friend, a real friend who hadn’t cheated on him or slept with his girlfriend. She couldn’t begrudge him that.

She just missed him.

“She is, isn’t she?” Steve grins, but sobers up quickly. “I didn’t really think about that. How lonely you must be, since…”

She’s already shaking her head. “It’s not your fault. I didn’t reach out.”

“I didn’t exactly reach out either.”

They fall silent again, at a loss for words. Barb’s death, as always, the canyon between them.

Finally Nancy huffs. “It’s both of our faults,” she declares, “or neither of our faults. I don’t know. I just missed you.”

“Well shit, Nance, I missed you too,” he says, touched.

“I’ve heard you’re a pretty kickass friend too, you know,” she says, glancing at him. He smiles.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, Nancy Wheeler, I would be honored to be friends with you,” he says, and sticks out his hand to shake, like they’re meeting for the first time.

She stares at him, and starts laughing. “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.”

She shakes his hand.

Max has always felt like a mirror. One Nancy wanted to smash, pull her out of the shards of her reflective grief and hug. Stroke her hair the way she wanted someone to do for her and say you’ll get through this. So Max could hear it from someone who knows.

Except Nancy doesn’t know anything. Still drowns in her guilt, the ball and chain dragging her into the depths. She can’t help when she’s still such a mess, three years later.

Her hands clench when Mike says Max is pulling away from Lucas. She wishes she could look her in the eye and tell her you don’t have to be me. You can be better.

She’s Mike’s friend. They barely know each other outside of a quick hello as they cross paths or fighting monsters. Max has enough on her plate, she doesn’t need her friend’s weird older sister butting in to tell her how to mourn the right way.

Nancy just hopes she’s getting out of bed. Remembering to eat. Brushing her teeth. She had more cavities in the year after Barb died than she’d ever had in her life, and she knows Max doesn’t have insurance.

Now, sitting next to Max’s hospital bed, Nancy wishes she’d reached out.

With school back comes studying, and with studying comes Eddie Munson, in all his super-senior glory. Nancy is going to get him a diploma if it kills her.

He laughs when she tells him so. “Shit, Wheeler,” he says. “The day something manages to get you is the day this shithole goes down for good.”

Robin turns down her offer to form a study group. “I’m pretty sure if I joined, I’d just distract Eddie, and let him distract me, and we’d end up throwing things at each other until you killed us. Sorry. Steve’s going to help me study for finals, though!”

She looks at Steve, eyebrow raised. She’s pretty sure it’s fair to be dubious, since she was the reason Steve passed his finals in the first place.

“I’m her rubber duck,” he says as an explanation, and she nods in understanding.

Her mom isn’t about to let her study alone with a boy in her room, though, and especially not a boy like Eddie, so she drags him to the library three times a week. He complains, he bitches, he tells her he doesn’t care about his fucking history class anymore. She just hands him a Rubik’s Cube she found to keep his hands busy as she quizzes him.

Three sessions in, he slowly puts a worksheet down and screams into his hands.

“Stop that!” She kicks him in the shin. “If you get me kicked out of the library I’m never forgiving you.”

“I can’t do it,” he says, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m so fucking stupid, Nancy. I can’t even get past question two. Is this torture? Did I die and go to hell? That would be fitting, wouldn’t it? Doomed to repeat high school for the rest of eternity?”

“Stupid” her ass. She knows what kind of work goes into those campaigns of his, has absently flipped through his annotated fantasy novels and left feeling as if she’d seen the story anew. Plus, she went and made a tape of everyone’s favorite songs, just in case, and she knew damn well how quickly he’d taught himself to play the song he did in the Upside-Down. “Stupid” and “Eddie Munson” don’t belong in the same sentence, much less belong in the same space in his brain. She hates Hawkins High just a little bit more for it. “Stop being dramatic. What are you stuck on?”

“Fucking nothing! I can’t focus, it’s driving me fucking insane. I keep trying, I swear, but it’s like I can’t even read anymore! This always happens, I swear to God it’s killing me more than the fucking demobats ever did.”

“Don’t joke about that,” she snaps. “You’re smart, Eddie, you know that. You just need to try.”

His face twists, and she realizes that was the wrong thing to say.

“Oh, thank you, Miss Wheeler, why haven’t I thought of that? Sorry for wasting your time, I’ll get out of your perfect hair now—“

“Sit down,” she protests as he gathers up his stuff. “Eddie, I’ll help you work through the problem, okay? Just sit down, please.”

“No, Nancy!” He swings around, eyes wild. “It’s what everyone always says. Just sit still, stop doodling, be quiet, pay attention, try fucking harder…I tried, okay! I’ve been trying, I tried for fifteen fucking years, and I can’t do it! I might as well just drop out and get it over with. I’m fucking sick of this.”

“Okay!” She feels herself getting riled up. “You want to fail so bad, fine! I’m not your keeper, do whatever you want.”

“I will!”

“Fine!”

They stare at each other, not moving. Finally Eddie storms off in a huff, flinging open the library door in a grand gesture she pretends not to see. There’s a sinking feeling in her stomach, but she can ignore it.

She pretends not to notice when he comes slinking back five minutes later, shuffling his feet.

“Sorry.”

“For what?” She asks primly, going over her notes.

“Nancy, please.”

She sighs. “I’m sorry too. I’m just…frustrated.”

“I’ve been told I’m pretty frustrating,” he offers.

“It’s not…”

“It is,” he says, sitting down. “It’s okay. God knows I piss myself off with this shit.”

She studies him, looking over his defeated face like he’s one of her flashcards. “You’re trying your best,” she says, sounding it out. She can’t really make sense of it. After all, trying her best has always been straight A’s, not stopping until she knew everything she needed to and more.

“It’s not good enough.”

“It will be,” she says. “You’ve got me this time.”

“Listen, I know you’re trying to help—“

“Do you want fries?”

“What?” He blinks at her, shocked, as she starts packing up her things.

“We’re not getting anywhere today. Sometimes you have to step back, and come back with a clearer head.” Usually she locks her door and cleans her guns, the repetitive motion soothing her mind until she can think again, but she has a feeling that won’t work for Eddie.

“I usually just give up.”

“I don’t. Get your backpack, we’re going to the diner. Dinner’s on me tonight.”

At the diner, he makes her laugh so hard soda comes out her nose. The next day, they go to the library again.

After a couple of days, he solves the cube. After three weeks, he nearly kicks her door down rushing to show her the B he got on a test.

Two months later, he throws his cap into the air and his cane on the ground. Swings her around, both of them laughing.

“Nancy fucking Wheeler!” He crows. “Achieving the impossible yet again!”

“Eddie, put me down!” She shrieks gleefully as he stumbles. She barely makes it back to solid ground before two more bodies are slamming into them, Steve and Robin whooping in their ears.

It was weird, to see Steve and Robin effortlessly communicate the way she and Jonathan always had and have it be so unabashedly unromantic. She’d always thought that knowing someone like that was a sign you were meant to be, and they did it while still loudly proclaiming Platonic with a capital P.

She and Jonathan didn’t do it much anymore. It was like dancing to a song that was always a beat off, syncing for just one moment before stumbling again, unsure that they were still allowed this.

She’d known him better than anyone, once, and he’d known her the same. Now she wonders if that was ever true.

“So,” Eddie says, throwing himself onto her bed. “Steve.”

She sits in her desk chair, raising an eyebrow. “What about him?”

“You broke up with Jonathan, right? Are you going to get back with him? I thought you would, but it's been months and neither of you said anything.”

“No,” she says. “No, that’s not what I want. It’s not what either of us want.”

“Really?” He rolls over, eyes searching. “What happened there, anyway? With both your boys. I’m a nosy little asshole, and I wanna hear it from you.”

It makes her laugh, the way he admits to it so freely. He grins wolfishly at her, baring his teeth in a grin. That’s probably why she tells him the truth.

“I wasn’t okay, when I was with Steve,” she says honestly. “I was distant, grieving…I was a mess, and I stayed with him because I didn’t know what else to do. With Jonathan…I was getting closure, I was healing, and things were good between us. They were so good, but after a while, we just started to…deteriorate. I don’t know if we lost momentum, or if the stress just got to us, but we started fighting more and more,” She traces the desk with a finger, remembering the sour taste of Oliver Twist on her tongue. It was a shitty thing to say. “I thought we’d figured it out, for a little while, but then we just…stopped talking. I think, maybe if we’d talked more, we could have worked it out. But I’m…not upset that we didn’t, you know?”

It’s a different kind of loneliness when your partner won’t talk to you. It was different than grieving, different than not having anyone to talk to at all. Because even when she didn’t have friends, she had Jonathan. And then, slowly, she didn’t anymore.

“Nancy, you’re one of my best friends, so-”

“Steve is your best friend.”

“Steve is my best best friend,” she agrees. “But he’s also more than that? Like, I think we’re literally soulmates. Platonic with a capital P soulmates, but, like, it feels like more than friendship sometimes? Like sometimes it’s like he can literally feel my bad days even when I haven’t talked to him yet. He told me once he just knows sometimes. It’s like I hit my hip on my desk and he felt it, but emotionally. It’s wild. It’s like the drugs literally combined our minds. Where was I going with this?”

“I don’t know,” she says, slightly bewildered. She wants to ask how they do that, but Robin barrels forward.

“Right. So outside of mine and Steve’s platonic more-than-friendship, you’re kind of my best friend? And you’re, like, the coolest person I know.”

She blinks. She’s not sure she’s ever been described as cool before.

After Barb, Nancy tried to cut her own hair.

Her mom found her in the bathroom, unshed tears in her eyes and hair a mess on the sink and floor.

She hadn’t laughed, hadn't said oh, honey, your beautiful hair. Just clucked her tongue and took the scissors from her hands. Stepped behind her and took over, took the uneven mess and made it something good, something presentable.

She didn’t say anything until she was done, setting the scissors on the counter. “Sometimes,” she said, wetting her lips. “Sometimes we need a change, before we can move forward.”

The closer she gets to Emerson, the more she feels like she’s letting someone down. Mike. Max. Jonathan. All the people who have relied on her, all the people who trusted her to fight.

In a strange turn of events, her mom is the only one she doesn’t feel is disappointed in her. Her mom is more excited about college than she is sometimes. Chattering excitedly over dishes about the classes she’s going to take as Nancy dries and smiles and tries not to feel like the ground is being pulled from under her feet.

This is everything she’s ever wanted. Why does it feel so wrong?

She takes Eddie to the gun range, because having a gun in her hands has always made her feel safer. More in control. More like the badass protector she wants to be, than the scared little girl she feels sometimes.

Eddie stares down the scope of the gun and shoots like he has experience, but doesn’t hit a single bullseye.

“Your hands are shaking.”

“I’m in a fucking gun range and a bunch of small town hicks were hunting me not too long ago,” he snaps, taking another shot and missing the target completely. He swears and changes the magazine. “Excuse me if I’m a little bit on edge.”

She hadn’t really thought of it like that. “You didn’t have to come,” she says. “I just thought with everything that’s happened, you should know how to use one. Just in case.”

“I know how to use a gun,” he rolls his eyes.

“You know how to shoot one.” She looks from him to the target pointedly. “Not the same thing.”

“Deep. I could really feel the judgement there. Tell me, is there anything else wrong with me?”

“There’s security cameras all over this place. We’re not in Hawkins, so there’s no mob coming after you. I’m here, and I do know how to use a gun. No one is going to hurt you here.”

“I know all that.”

“Do you?”

He scowls at her. She looks back unflinchingly. She’s been here plenty of times, and the guys laughed at her until they didn’t anymore. By the time she brought Eddie, all she got was a raised eyebrow and a “boyfriend?” from Hunter at the desk. She didn’t know what was more incriminating, so she just shrugged.

“You’re kind of a pain in the ass, you know that?”

She rolls her eyes, taking the gun from his hands and lining up a shot. “I’ve heard worse,” she says, thinking about Nancy Dre-ew, and Nancy “the slut” Wheeler, and priss, and shoots. It hits the bullseye.

So do her next five shots.

Eddie looks begrudgingly impressed when she reloads and hands the gun back to him. It’s more satisfying than it should be, to realize that while he’d known she had guns he’s never seen her actually shoot before.

She raises a challenging eyebrow at him, and he huffs around a smile. “All right, all right,” he says good naturedly. “Let’s try this again.”

He does a little better this time around, now that he’s actually trying. He does a little dance when he hits one of the inner rings.

“Take that!” He crows. “I bet Steve couldn’t do this. In your face, Harrington!”

“He’s much more of a close-combat kind of guy, isn’t he?” Nancy agrees.

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” he says. “Does he really have a bat with nails?”

She blinks, caught off guard by the fact that Eddie hadn’t seen it. She never registered that he hadn’t used it during Vecna. Something about the fact seems weird somehow, as if it was as integral to Steve as his coiffed hair. “He keeps it in his trunk.”

“You and Byers need to update your Steve manuals. He said it’s under his bed now.”

“Ah,” Nancy says, thinking of all the times she’s slept with her pistol under her pillow. Empty, because she’s not stupid enough to sleep with a loaded gun when her little brother sometimes wakes her up after a nightmare, but the comforting weight of it alone makes it easier.

“Just tell me one thing,” he says, widening his eyes imploringly at her. “Did he look as sexy as I think he did? Byers won’t give me a straight answer.”

It’s a joke, but his cheeks are a little pink. She’s not dumb, she’s seen the looks the two of them share, as if he and Steve were circling each other. Caught in a whirlpool, waiting for the moment the vortex would drag them down and they could finally touch.

The looks between Eddie and Jonathan, too, that share a certain camaraderie she doesn’t entirely understand and at the same time understands all too well. Steve and Jonathan had always had a strange relationship, too close to not be friendship but not quite there. Surprisingly enough it was better after she and Steve broke up, Jonathan no longer avoiding them and the talk she’d forced the three of them into clearing the air. Sometimes, she’d wake up to Jonathan climbing into her bed, smelling of cigarettes and a hint of something stronger, and he’d tell her it was Steve who drove him there.

She’s a journalist. It’s her job to notice things. She just wasn’t ready to confront that reality, where the two boys she’d wanted wanted each other as well. But she’s grown since then.

She also knows that whoever Steve chooses, it won’t be easy.

“You know,” she says, considering, “when we were dating, Steve never pressed me up against the wall or anything you’d expect from the King.”

Eddie gets this look on his face, caught between confusion and caught out. “…okay? Did you want him to do that or something? Are you trying to ask me to hint to him?”

“No,” she says. “I’m just saying, he never did any of that. It was kind of funny. He always made it so that he was the one pressed against the wall.”

Eddie misses the next five shots entirely, and she laughs at him through it all.

She’s hyper aware of touching other girls now. She didn’t used to be. Even with Robin, who is a lesbian and definitely won’t hate her. Who’s probably gone through the same thing. She can’t help it.

What if they get the wrong idea? What if someone else sees? What if they can tell, what if they know, what if they hate me?

She hates feeling like this. She doesn’t know why it started, doesn’t know what’s wrong with her. She’s no stranger to casual affection—or at least she didn’t used to be. Why does it make her feel so tense now? It’s been years since she realized she liked girls, shouldn’t this have happened back then?

Deep down, she knows why. The Reagan sign in her front yard. Her dad sitting in his chair, the news always on. “Always that nasty disease, Karen, I swear some people are just asking for it.” She’s always known she could never tell him, but now she knows that if she gets sick he’ll say she deserves it. She doesn’t know what her mother thinks. She’s afraid to find out.

She’s growing up, and her fear is growing with her.

Objectively, Nancy knows she and Eddie don’t make sense.

They’re not cut from the same cloth, like Steve and Robin. They don’t calm each other down, like Jonathan and Argyle. They’re too different, too alike in all the wrong ways, for them to get along. They’re both snappy, a little mean. Eddie’s dramatic enough to get on her nerves, and she’s prim enough to get on his. At their worst, they have earth shattering arguments that end in them not speaking to each other for days.

When people see them walking down the street together, they whisper about “that nice girl Nancy Wheeler” and “that awful Munson boy.”

It’s not fair, never has been. Nancy hasn’t felt nice for a long time, maybe before Barb ever disappeared. Eddie isn’t always particularly nice either, but the court of public opinion takes it to extremes, twists him into something cruel instead of the kindness he carries under his leather armor. Someone to keep their children away from. It really is a shame, because Eddie loves kids in a way Nancy never has. She can see it in the way he interacts with them, his bright smile fading when a parent comes to drag them away. Even when he’s expecting it, his face falls, just for an instant, before spinning around with a grin that won’t reach his eyes.

Nancy wants to take him out of here. There’s an offer on the tip of her tongue that she knows he’d refuse.

He’s not her brother, but he’s not…unlike one. It’s almost like talking to an older, flashier Mike. He’s annoying, is what he is. He picks at her, keeps pressing over the littlest things. Tries to get under her skin, succeeds, until she’s on the verge of stabbing him with her pencil. Looks triumphant whenever Robin has to grab her arm to drag her away, rambling an excuse about “some girl thing I totally forgot, yeah it’s an emergency,” while Steve drags him the other way to have bro time.

“She loves it,” she’d heard Eddie crow delightedly once, when Robin didn’t get her out of hearing range fast enough. “Do you see that fire in her eyes?”

“Do I?” She asked Robin. “Love it?”

“I mean, far be it from me to tell you what you do and don’t like,” Robin answered. “But, uh, as far as I can tell, you totally love it. You look like you’re going to rip him to pieces and enjoy it, and he loves that. I didn’t think you’d be this much of a nightmare together, seriously, like, how are you two at each other’s throats one second and then best friends the next? Steve and I have debated locking you in a bathroom until you get along, but we’re kind of afraid you’ll kill each other.”

So no, Nancy and Eddie don’t get along. They’re kind of a nightmare together. They don’t make sense, and they don’t try to. They have other friends, who they get along with better, that they can seek out.

But when Eddie knocks on her window, the only surprise is that he could even get there.

“How?” She hisses, opening the window. He tumbles in, doesn’t even try to play off the utter gracelessness he’s displaying.

“Wowie, I am never doing that again,” he breathes, flat on his back. “You’re going to have to help me down the stairs when I leave, had to leave my cane at the bottom and I cannot get back down that way.”

She doesn’t even want to know what he had to do to get up on her roof with his bad leg. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m but another lover, nothing but an ant in the face of your unwavering beauty, my queen,” he says, batting his eyes at her. The dramatics don’t hit the way he intends, given that he’s stuck on the floor. He holds a hand out pleadingly, and she rolls her eyes, hauling him up until she can get him to her bed.

“Never mind.” She puts her hands on her hips, a gesture that is so obviously Steve she removes them immediately. From the glint in Eddie’s eyes, he notices.

She tries not to be jealous. She tries, she swears, but…

Three of the four (five? she doesn’t know what Argyle thinks of her) friends she has are dating each other. Two of them dated her, first. She can’t help but wonder, if she’d known that was an option, if everything would have been different. If she wouldn’t have this aching bitterness between her teeth.

(Nothing would have changed, she knows. She’d been too desperate for other things. Trying so hard with Steve so her best friend didn’t die for nothing. Staying with Jonathan because he understood her more than anyone else, so maybe they didn’t need to talk. It wouldn’t have helped anything. She still wonders.)

It doesn’t matter. What’s past is past, and she needs to move forward. She can’t stop to think about could-have-beens, because thinking about boys is what got her into this mess in the first place.

She closes her eyes, taking a shaky breath. That’s not fair. None of this is fair. None of it is fucking fair because Nancy stopped caring about fair when Barb died.

She needs a drink. She needs a nap. She needs to stop feeling like Atlas with the world on her shoulders.

She doesn’t do any of that. She calls Robin.

“Barb was my first kiss.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Nancy says, and keeps talking, because Barb is dead and Robin is a lesbian and she’s long forgotten what Barb’s favorite chapstick was back then. “We were seven, and I liked it but I didn’t know if I liked her. But I was convinced I was going to marry her, until my mom told me that girls don’t marry other girls. And I knew she liked girls when she died. She told me when we were fifteen, and I didn’t know the word bisexual but I knew I loved her and that was all that mattered. Not—not like that, not romantic, or maybe it was but it doesn’t matter because she was my best friend and I still love her but she’s gone forever. I loved her.”

She feels Robin lay a tentative hand on her back.

“I had to look her parents in the eye and pretend. All those fucking NDA’s, I had to pretend there was hope. Pretend she was still missing. It was like everyone forgot about her except for me and them, and they sold their house to find their dead daughter and I wasn’t supposed to say anything and Steve kept reminding me about the fucking NDA’s—“

“Nancy…”

“It’s my fault,” Nancy says, staring at the water. “I lumped in Steve, because it was easier than being alone. He didn’t know her like I did. She was worried about me. She stayed because she cared, and look where that got her.”

“That’s bullshit!” Robin’s eyes are wide, and she waves her hands around as she talks. “If it’s anyones fault, it’s those—those scientist guys experimenting on El! They knew there was a problem, and they tried to cover it up instead of making sure people were safe. You didn’t know it was dangerous. How were you supposed to know it was going to end up as anything other than normal teenage drama? None of this is supposed to be real, you didn’t know—“

“But I left her,” Nancy cuts in. “I left her alone to go lose my virginity to a boy she didn’t even like—“

“He was your boyfriend, it shouldn’t have mattered if she liked him—“

“It doesn’t matter!” Nancy shouts, and Robin falls silent, mouth still moving. “It doesn’t fucking matter how it happened, because it did and now she’s dead and she’s never coming back and it’s all my fault.”

Nancy is sick of crying. Sick of feeling helpless. Sick of not being able to change the past.

“It’s not just Barb. I took Fred to the trailer park—he didn’t even want to be there, and now he’s dead. Eddie needs a cane, Max is almost completely blind and might never walk again and it was my plan that put them there. My plan that almost killed them. I’m responsible—“

“Fuck that.”

“Robin…”

“No, you listen to me, Nancy Wheeler,” Robin says, grabbing her by the shoulders. “You are one of the most remarkable people I have ever known. Max would have died without that plan. We all would have died. Venca-slash-Henry-slash-One would have won without that plan, and I am not going to sit here and listen to you blame yourself for saving lives. And-and Fred! Venca had already marked him, you know that. You couldn’t have done anything! And Barb is not your fault, okay? I-I-I know I can’t convince you, but I’ll say it as many times as it takes until you start believing it, because it’s true. You didn’t kill her. You didn’t kill anyone.”

“I killed Bruce,” she says, just to prove Robin wrong. And isn’t that shitty of her, to forget about him until she can use him to prove a point? She’s a fucking awful person.

“I don’t know who Bruce is, but given your track record I highly doubt that.”

“I bashed his head in with a fire extinguisher.”

Robin pauses, and Nancy’s stomach sinks. This is it, she thinks. This is what will convince her, this is what will make her see that I’m wrong, that I’m poison-

“What was he doing?”

“What?”

“Bruce. You had to have a reason for it. What was he doing?”

It’s like Robin doesn’t even care that Nancy just admitted to first degree murder. “He was flayed,” she admits, knowing Robin will take it as proof that she’s right.

“That’s not murder, that’s self defense,” Robin says, just like she knew she would. “Also, if he was flayed he was already dead. Sorry, I’m sticking to your side on this.”

“But I’m less torn up about killing my asshole coworker than I am about anything else. How does that not make me a monster?”

“He was already dead, Nancy!” Robin shakes her. “You’re not beating yourself up over it because you know he was already dead, a-a-and I know you’re using him to try and push me away and I won’t let you.”

“Robin…” she says, tears springing to her eyes. She’s so fucking sick of crying. So sick of the way she never seems to stop anymore.

“Nancy,” Robin says. “None of us are going to leave you. Stop trying to make us.”

She pulls her into a hug, and Nancy sags into it, boneless.

There, sandwiched between the sky and the water, Nancy starts to feel like she could forgive herself.

“Nancy,” Steve says, putting a hand on her shoulder and ducking his chin to look her in the eye. “They won’t be alone.”

Tears well up, unbidden, at the way he seems to understand her now in a way he never did before.

“I want this,” she insists.

“I know you do,” he says. “Which is why you’re going to go out there, kick ass, and take names. We’ll be here, okay? We’ll keep an eye on them.”

“I know you will.” She swipes a hand across her eyes. “Can you talk to Holly, too? She gets lonely.”

Steve smiles. He’d always loved Holly, when they were dating. He used to braid her hair sometimes. Asked her about her drawings, her TV shows, listened to her talk with the same attentiveness Nancy’s father had never shown any of them. He’ll be a good dad, someday. To someone else’s children.

“I’ll talk to Holly,” he promises. “Does she still like princesses?”

“Ladybugs,” she says. “It’s ladybugs, now.”

“Ladybugs. I can do that. Black and red, and they’re all ladies. What’s not to like?”

“There are male ladybugs.”

“Wait, seriously?”

She laughs, tearfully, but they’re happy tears. Steve wipes them away gently, and she smiles at him to let him know she’s okay. “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.”

“You’re the best person I know, Nancy Wheeler,” he replies, achingly sincere. “You’re gonna have the whole world under your thumb, I just know it. Ever thought of running for President?”

“Can’t be worse than the one we have now,” she says, grimaces as her own joke lands too bitterly to be funny. She sees his jaw tighten before he forces himself to relax.

“I’d vote for you.”

She grins at him, sharp to punch through the tension she’d made. “I’ll make Eddie my Vice President.”

“Oh, fuck no. You lost me,” he says, and Eddie makes an offended noise from where he’s stealing snacks from the glovebox. Jonathan swats him, and she smiles at him too. He smiles back, tentatively, and wanders to her side.

“You gonna be okay up there?” He asks quietly. She can hear the guilt in it, still, and she reaches down to squeeze his hand. The one with the scar that matches hers, so their palms line up. It feels full circle, somehow, the three of them together like this.

“I’ll be okay,” she confirms, and feels the truth of it in her chest. Her boys are here with her, the ones who have been there since the beginning. Eddie’s watching them fondly, munching on a granola bar. Robin is inside somewhere, rambling at her mother. Mike and Holly are probably still bickering over the last cupcake. She loves them so much, all of them.

“Of course you will,” Steve says. “You’re Nancy fuckin’ Wheeler. Nothing stops you.”

She wants that to be true. She can feel in her bones that it will be. Eighteen has nothing on who she’ll be at thirty.

She’s Nancy Wheeler, and the world won’t see her coming.

#welcome to eden au #stranger things fanfic #nancy wheeler #eddie munson #steve harrington #robin buckley #jonathan byers #this is the biggest thing i've posted so far #i ran out of the little fics i'm gonna have to start figuring out how to format the big ones #there's background steve/eddie/jonathan bc this was originally a companion piece to a seperate fic about them #that was 22k before i lost interest #i'll post that one eventually #can you tell nancy is my favorite character. i love u miss survivors guilt <3 #sometimes i think about how nancy has no friends for p much three seasons after barb died and i get very upset #jonathan could count but he also wanted to date her so i'm not counting it #I JUST WANT HER TO HAVE FRIENDS #i also love nancy/eddie friendship they're both judgy bitches #so is steve frankly. nightmare trio #i'm gonna write that ot3 one day (don't hold me to that)

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