#I was going to do a video but it wasn’t working

[ninisdollie]

diet pepsi - nishimura riki 𓈒ིུ ❤︎

✧˚⋆ ˖ ࣪ .

"In which reader films a hot, sexy music video with the world’s favorite supermodel, but the tension between them is so palpable that it ends up exploding"

content: +18MDNI fem! reader x ni-ki, popstar x supermodel, usage of both riki and ni-ki, drinking (wine), sexual tension, explicit sex, oral sex (m. receiving), fingering, riding, unprotected sex.

i love addison rae and i love diet pepsi so this was slightly inspired by it.

hate comments will be deleted and blocked, likes and reblogs are appreciated!! <3

There was something about the air of a freshly built set, the warm lights already buzzing overhead, and the distant rustle of crew members preparing for chaos, that made your heart race every single time.

You stepped onto the soundstage in platform heels and a silk robe, a Diet Pepsi can in hand (prop or not, you actually liked the taste). The soft curve of a smile found your lips as you took in the glossy tiled floor, the velvet chaise, the retro signs glowing like neon halos. The whole set screamed glamour. Over-the-top. Effortlessly iconic.

Very you.

At your age, you were pop music’s favorite contradiction. Sweet as sugar off-stage, barefoot in studios, always bringing snacks to rehearsals, thanking every crew member like it was second nature. But the moment a camera turned on, something inside you clicked. Your voice dropped, your stare sharpened, and your body moved like it was fluent in seduction.

Soft. Wildhearted. But when it was go time? You locked in.

That’s how you made it here, headlining your own tour, pulling millions of views in a matter of hours, and now, filming the summer's most anticipated music video.

And it was exactly how you pictured it.

Every shot, every frame, it started in your head. You’d pitched the concept to your label yourself. You wanted soft-focus lights and a sultry track that felt like summer sweat and silk sheets. You wanted that old-Hollywood-meets-modern-muse vibe. You even storyboarded scenes on your iPad at 3 a.m, manicured fingers swiping through reference photos and aesthetic inspo like your life depended on it.

Because in some ways, it did.

This wasn’t just another video. This was you, your vision, your control, your era. You fought for this.

What you didn’t fight for was Riki Nishimura.

That part was your manager’s idea. “Trust me,” he’d said. “The chemistry will be insane. He’s got the look. The mystery. The fanbase.”

You knew who Riki was before the meeting even ended. Everyone did. He was fashion’s crown jewel, elusive, unreadable, and unfairly beautiful. The kind of guy who didn’t chase cameras; they chased him. Long, tall body, not so muscular but somehow ripped, gorgeous face decorated with moles, plump, thick lips that glistened in every shot, and a perfect, almost jaw dropping smile.

You hadn’t worked with him before. But you’d seen him. On runways, in perfume ads, in magazine spreads where his gaze practically peeled skin. He had that thing, the kind that couldn’t be taught.

Still, when they told you he’d agreed to do the video, your first thought wasn’t excitement.

It was wariness.

Because something about him felt dangerous. Not in the way guys tried to be dangerous, loud, flashy, fake, but in the quiet way. The way that creeps under your skin and settles there. The kind of danger you don’t notice until it’s too late and he’s already in your bloodstream.

You handed off your empty can and settled into the glam chair, locking eyes with yourself in the mirror.

Eyes sharp. Lips glossy. Pulse steady… enough.

✧˚⋆ ˖ ࣪ .

Riki arrived on set like he always did, silent, sharp, unbothered.

He didn’t need to announce himself. People just knew when he entered a room. Maybe it was the height, or the face, or the way he moved like time bent around him. Smooth, slow, unrushed, like he was already in the center of the frame.

The stylists barely looked up as he passed by, just nodded, eyes wide, like they were seeing a deity in the flesh. He was used to that by now. The stares, the whispering, the cameras pretending not to follow his every breath.

Riki Nishimura wasn’t born a model, but the world acted like it.

He started when he was fifteen, walked for a niche Tokyo brand no one cared about, except someone did. Someone important. The next season, he was in Paris. By seventeen, he was on the cover of GQ. By eighteen, he had his pick of luxury campaigns. Runway, editorial, billboards. He became the face of mystery. The body of fantasy.

Now he was unstoppable, but he was ambitious, he wanted to reach peak iconography.

So when they first called him, asking for him to do a music video, he hesitated at first. That was something he'd never done before.

Then he heard your name.

Y/N.

The popstar with the velvet voice and the lightning eyes. The girl who wore glitter like armor and moved like she was born to ruin people. He’d seen you before, on award show stages, in commercials, in paparazzi clips where you laughed with your whole chest like you didn’t care who was watching.

You were different. Not because you were pretty, they were all pretty. But because you meant it.

Every look, every note, every time you walked into a room like you owned it and yet somehow still made people feel welcome. He respected that, maybe even admired it. He was a full believer of work ethics and safe environments in an industry where he started so young.

So he said yes.

Now, as he stepped onto set, he saw you before you saw him.

Sitting in the glam chair, head tilted back, lips parted slightly as someone lined them with gloss. A robe slipping off one shoulder. That same energy curling around you like perfume, soft, sweet, dangerous.

He didn’t react.

Didn’t let the flicker of heat show on his face. But inside?

He felt it. That flicker of something he couldn’t control.

✧˚⋆ ˖ ࣪ .

A chrome convertible gleamed under heavy rig lights, surrounded by buzzing PAs, cables curling across the floor like snakes, a faint haze from the fog machine made the air feel thick, almost humid.

You tugged down the hem of your barely-there silk dress, heels clicking against the concrete, your lips already glossed and your heart drumming way too fast beneath your ribcage. You’d been on hundreds of sets, you were used to eyes on you, used to being the moment, the vision, the concept. But today, it wasn’t just your concept anymore.

Because he was here.

Your manager’s voice echoed in your head. “He’s a little quiet, but he gets it, he has the look, the edge. You two will kill this if the chemistry’s there.”

You hadn’t seen him yet, not in person.

But the moment you turned the corner and caught sight of the figure getting inside the car? You knew.

He was taller than you expected, dressed simply in black jeans, a snug white tee, silver rings on his fingers, hair slightly tousled like he hadn't even tried. Ni-ki's features were even more enchancing in person, he didn't even look real. You had to swallow, breathing hard as you approached him.

He didn’t look nervous, or excited. He looked like he belonged.

Riki didn’t see you at first, his gaze was low, focused on something in his hands, maybe a ring he was fidgeting with, maybe nothing. The jeans sticked to his legs so perfectly his muscles were visible through the fabric, he was so tall he couldn't even sit straight inside the car.

Then his eyes flicked up, and locked onto yours, you didn't know why, but your stomach dropped.

There was no smile, no wave, just a stillness in the way he watched you walk toward him. Eyes steady, almost unreadable. But there was something under it, curiosity, heat, something you couldn’t name yet.

“Hi,” you said first, voice sweet, casual smile on your lips, stopping a foot away from him. “So you’re the mysterious co-star.”

His lips quirked, just barely. “And you’re the reason everyone’s pretending they’re not watching.”

His voice was smooth, low, deep, didn't match with his face at all, in a good way. Then you smiled softly, tilting your head, hair falling down your shoulders.

"You rehearsed that one?" there was tease in your voice, friendly, of course.

He scoffed, knees parted as he fixed his composure a bit, lazily, natural. Your eyes drifted for just a small second. Then he smirked, because he noticed.

"Maybe. Did it work?" Ni-ki raised an eyebrow, and you laughed again under your breath.

You didn't respond.

The director clapped nearby. “Places! We’re starting with the car scene. Y/N on his lap. Close. Intimate. You’re just back from some chaotic night out, everything’s charged."

Riki let out a sound, staring at you a little amused.

"Starting strong, huh?"

"I like strong starts."

You opened the car door, palm resting against the frame, took a deep breath, your face changing as you slipped into the character mode. You stared at the passenger seat, then him, relaxed, body resting on the driver's seat, like it was his own car, his own set.

Then you stepped forward, and carefully, climbed into his lap. Your bare thigh brushed his jeans, his hand steadied you, fingertips on your waist, featherlight but very real. The movement was awkward for half a second, your knee slipping against the console, your hand pressing into his shoulder to balance, the unfamiliar weight beneath you. After a few seconds, you settled, straddling him. Face inches from his, chest to chest, you could smell his scent, you recognised it without problem, Luna Rossa Black, Prada. Clean, a little smoky, expensive.

Ni-ki didn't even move.

"Is this okay?" you asked quietly, more out of professionalism, but for some reason your voice sounded breathless.

His gaze dropped to your glossy lips, just half-second, you still caught it. A shiver went down your spine.

"Yeah, you?"

"I've had worse monday mornings." You joked, and he laughed, quiet and short.

The director's voice crackled again. “Y/N, lean in. Let your hand trail down his collar like you’re teasing him. Riki, rest your hands on her thighs. We want electricity, not fire. Not yet.”

You sighed deeply, your fingers moved up, tracing the collar of his shirt, brushing lightly over the edge of his throat, your knuckles grazed skin. He inhaled through his nose. His hands came up, one landed on your thigh, then the other. He didn’t squeeze, didn’t drag, just rested them there. Warm, steady, too much. You looked down at him, eyes sharp, lips parted like you were about to say something, his gaze flicked between your eyes, your mouth. Again.

"Action."

The camera slid in close, tracking the curve of your jaw as you leaned in just slightly, you moved your hips an inch forward to adjust, purely for comfort.

He exhaled through his nose, barely. But you felt it.

The whole world narrowed to this, your thighs pressed against him, the heat of his breath, the way his fingers twitched on your skin like he was deciding if he should stay still… or not. Your voice played in the background, slow, sultry, the lyrics dripping with tension. The timing was perfect, the mood was perfect. You slid forward in his lap, slowly, feeling the heat between your bodies grow unbearable in a blink. His hands tightened instinctively, you pretended not to notice, but you felt it.

The director's voice echoed from somewhere in the background “Perfect, perfect, just like that, don’t blink, don’t move.”

So you didn’t. You leaned in, your mouth a breath from his, your palm dragged from his jaw to the nape of his neck, you felt his pulse there, rapid and betraying him. He tilted his head, slightly, as if expecting a kiss. It was all supposed to be pretending, but for some reason, it didn't feel like that.

Ni-ki’s hands slid higher on your thighs. His thumbs grazed your skin, barely brushing the edge of your dress, tingles, all over your body. You sucked in a quiet breath, but your face stayed composed.

You wanted to stay in control, but he was peeling it away, inch by inch, with nothing but touch and breath and timing. He was too good at this.

“Cut!” the director finally said. “That’s it. That’s the shot.”

The crew broke into applause, and you sat perfectly still. Ni-ki didn’t move either, you were still in his lap, still breathing the same air, still buzzing from the high of pretending to be something you weren’t.

Long seconds passed, and you finally climbed off his lap, too carefully, too slow. And as you stepped out of the car, your heart beating through your dress, you felt his eyes on your back.

Watching, burning.

✧˚⋆ ˖ ࣪ .

The second set was darker.

Low, red-tinted lights, velvet curtains, a red chaise lounge that looked like it belonged in a 90s R&B music video. You recognized the mood instantly, it was the “after” scene. The one where you weren’t just lovers, you were drunk on each other. The energy that simmered after the chase, heavy with implication.

You stood near the monitor, adjusting the strap of your dress, watching crew members adjust cameras and angles, you knew this scene would be riskier. Not explicit, not technically. But the subtext?

Oh, it was loud.

And for some reason it made you nervous, because you already knew how good Riki was at this, how he pretended with so much ease, as if he'd been doing it his whole life. But was he pretending? The way he touched you before, the way he looked at you, they way his dark gaze kept wandering down your face, your lips, your body.

The concept was simple: you on your back, legs draped over the edge of the lounge, Ni-ki kneeling between them. No kisses, no touches beyond the waist. But all closeness, all suggestion, a game of restraint. Timing was perfect, of course.

You felt him before you saw him.

His presence was becoming familiar, like the storm air before thunder, that heavy awareness your body picked up before your brain could name it.

“You ready?” he asked from behind.

You turned.

He stood close, too close. His shirt was now half unbuttoned, part of the look, apparently, his collarbones sharp, skin dewy under the glow of the set lights, his lips were glossed, hair slightly messier. He looked so good, so dangerous. You were sure he was the most beautiful man you'd ever laid your eyes on.

“I should be asking you that.”

Ni-ki’s mouth twitched into something small, dangerous. “I’ve been ready.”

Your stomach flipped, but you turned away before you let it show.

“Places!” someone called. “Quiet on set!”

You exhaled once and moved to the chaise, the silk of your dress whispering as you lowered yourself onto it. You leaned back, one leg bent at the knee, the other draped lazily to the floor. A little slutty, a little powerful.

Ni-ki took his mark, kneeling between your legs like it was the most casual thing in the world.

But there was nothing casual about it.

His hands rested on either side of your thighs. Not touching. Just hovering. The space between you felt electric.

“Okay,” the director said. “Ni-ki, lean in. Get close like you’re listening to her heartbeat. Y/N, you’re still, unmoving. You’ve got him in the palm of your hand. This is control. Seduction. Don’t blink. Don’t flinch.”

“Action.”

The music kicked in—low, bass-heavy, slow. Your voice cooing something breathy and loaded through the speakers. Ni-ki moved, he leaned forward, head low, jaw brushing just shy of your knee. He didn’t touch, not at first. But he looked up, eyes trailing along your body, then locking with yours. And he smirked.

It was small, barely there, but it was cocky, confident. A secret he wasn’t sharing.

Your heartbeat spiked.

Then, slowly, so slowly, his hand crept up the inside of your thigh. Your body lit up, it was such a subtle touch, but it was enough for you to almost flinch, for the skin on your legs start to jump, shivering, down your spine and settling beneath your legs because you were wearing only underwear under the dress. And god, he looked at you as if he'd noticed, his pinky brushing the silk fabric of your clothes, his breath crashing between your legs, and your thighs almost twitched.

It wasn’t in the script.

But he didn’t go far, just enough, just inside the line. Was he being professional? Or was he holding himself back?

You didn’t stop him. His head dipped, lips close to your skin now, his breath hit your inner thigh, and you nearly lost it.

He was testing you. You raised one hand and brushed your fingers along the line of his jaw, light, teasing.

“You’re supposed to look like you’re worshipping me,” you whispered low, just for him.

“I am,” he murmured, voice rough, eyes never leaving yours. “You just don’t realize yet.”

Oh.

Your breath caught, but you turned it into a sigh, letting your head tilt back, you closed your eyes for just a second. When you opened them, he was closer. One hand pressed just above your knee now, thumb rubbing slow, lazy circles into your skin. The camera was still rolling. Nobody stopped you, nobody noticed. But he knew exactly what he was doing.

“You’re dangerous,” you whispered.

“So are you,” he said back. “But I’m starting to like it.”

You let your hand trail down his neck, your nails grazing lightly. He shivered, just a little.

“Cut!” the director finally called. “That’s it. That was perfect.”

The crew clapped, but Ni-ki didn’t move right away, his hand slid just a little higher, fingertips brushing the lace of your underwear, and you had to stop yourself from spreading your legs.

And then he looked up at you, mouth right at the edge of your thigh, and said:

“Tell me when I go too far.”

You swallowed, then, very quietly, you whispered:

“You haven’t yet.”

✧˚⋆ ˖ ࣪ .

You hadn’t stopped thinking about him, not for one goddamn second.

It was like your body hadn’t left the set even after the cameras stopped rolling, the velvet, the heat of his hands, the way he whispered things no one else could hear. You were back in your hotel room, alone, trying to move on, but your fingers still remembered the curve of his jaw.

This was weird for you, you'd always been so professional, your work and your career meant everything to you, you were used to work with gorgeous people, gorgeous men. No one like him, though. Everytime your mind wandered and remembered the look in his eyes, you felt it, it was like your whole body knew, how much you wanted him.

And he wanted you too, you knew that. It didn't matter how good he was at his job, he wasn't even an actor. The look in his eyes was real, the heat, the fire. The music video wrapped three days ago, the press was already talking, chemistry, sparks, rumors. You were supposed to be ignoring it, letting it die out, being above it all.

You sighed as you stared at the ceiling, the night quiet, it was only you and these unholy thoughts. Then your eyes landed on the mini-bar, a full, brand new bottle of Amelia Chardonnay looking straight at you, like trying to tempt you.

Your hands reached for your phone before you could even stop yourself. Then you clicked on his name, and stared at the last exchange of messages. Casual thank yous, post-shoot “you did amazings.” All polite, all surface.

Then you typed:

hey do you wanna celebrate tonight?

You stared at it. Deleted it. Typed again.

just me, nothing big i have a bottle of wine in my room no pressure :)

The seconds stretched.

You told yourself it was fine. If he said no, you’d move on. No harm done. You’d drink the wine yourself and call it a night.

Your phone buzzed.

what room number?

Your breath caught.

He was coming.

✧˚⋆ ˖ ࣪ .

You changed outfits twice. Ended up in a silk slip dress that felt just casual enough to pass, but it was short, and soft, and clung in places you knew would betray you if the night went sideways. Heart was racing in your chest, you were feeling like a teenager about to see her crush for the first date, and you slapped yourself mentally. You were a powerful, famous, millionare pop star, who everybody adored, you were a sex symbol, a bombshell.

And yet, your knees weakened when the door knocked.

You had to recompose yourself before opening, stared at yourself through the mirror, hair down, looking casual, no make up on, you didn't want to look like you were trying too hard, but you also wanted to look good for him, to see if it was real, if he truly was holding himself back.

Your hand reached the door, and you opened.

Ni-ki, in all black, a hoodie half-zipped, chain peeking out from underneath, eyes locked on yours like he’d been thinking about this for days too. His hair was slightly damp, like he’d just showered. He looked so good, and your chest tightened, your mind going circles at his damn smell. Manly, strong, elegant.

“Hey,” he said, voice low, hands in his pockets.

“Come in,” you said, stepping back, trying not to think about how clean your room suddenly looked. How the dim lamp made everything feel more intimate.

He walked in, looking around. “Nice view.”

You grabbed the bottle of wine from the counter. “It’s overpriced. But it works.”

He smirked, pulling off his hoodie and tossing it onto a chair. Underneath, a fitted black tee clung to his chest. Arms long, veins popping under his skin.

You swallowed and handed him a glass.

“To... successful collaborations?” you offered.

He clinked his glass with yours, smirk in his thick lips, a little low chuckle leaving his throat, then he took a sip from his glass, and his eyes wandered, slow, intentional, over your body, there was no way to hide it now.

The night went away, and you both had your second glass before the conversation started drifting. At first, it was surface-level: tour schedules, brand campaigns, a horror story about a malfunctioning fog machine mid-shoot. But the wine was working fast. Not enough to slur. Just enough to slow the world down, to take the edge off your restraint.

You leaned back on the couch, leg curled under you, facing him.

“Do you ever wish you’d picked something else?”

Ni-ki blinked at the question. “Like… not modeling?”

“Yeah. I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re good. Stupid good. But do you like it?”

He tilted his head, swirling the dark red liquid in his glass. “Sometimes. Not always.”

You waited.

“There’s something lonely about it,” he admitted. “People see the pictures, but they don’t know you. They just… project onto you.”

You hummed. “Yeah. Pop music isn’t that different.”

Ni-ki glanced sideways at you. “Except you write your own songs. That’s real. Vulnerable.”

You sipped. “It can be. But sometimes I wonder if anyone hears what I’m actually trying to say. Or if they just hear the beat and move on.”

“Isn’t that what art is though?” he asked. “Hiding in plain sight?”

That made you laugh, a soft, surprised sound. “Okay, philosopher Riki.”

He grinned. “Shut up.”

“No, really. I didn’t think you were this deep.”

“You didn’t think I was anything,” he said, and something flickered behind his eyes. “Before the shoot.”

You hesitated. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but you couldn’t, he wasn’t wrong.

“I thought you were gonna be arrogant,” you admitted. “A pain in the ass. And okay, you kind of are.”

He smirked.

“But then you surprised me.”

His smile faded, he tilted his head, his eyes were already lazy, because of the alcohol in his system. “How?”

You looked at him, really looked. His hair was a little messier than before, cheeks slightly red from the wine, lips wet because he kept running his tongue over them. He was so handsome, so effortlessly tempting.

“At first I thought you were just good at pretending. The way you got so close to me, like it was nothing. But then… you kept listening. You never broke character, but your eyes? They didn’t lie.”

Ni-ki’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and your eyes followed the movement.

The silence after that was heavier. Not awkward, just pulsing, charged, like the air had thickened between you and was now buzzing with every unsaid thing. You both reached for your glasses at the same time, your fingers brushed. And neither of you moved away.

“You keep doing that,” you whispered.

He raised an eyebrow. “Doing what?”

“Looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

You exhaled. “Like you’re going to ruin me.”

He stared for a beat. Then, so softly you almost missed it, he said: “Maybe I will.”

Your breath caught.

He set his glass down slowly, deliberately. And then leaned in, not all the way, not enough to touch.

“You invited me here,” he said, voice low, eyes flicking to your lips. “Did you think we were just gonna talk about work and drink wine?”

“I didn’t...” Your voice cracked. “I didn’t know what I wanted.”

“You do now?” he asked as if he was desperate for your answer, desperate for you.

Your pulse was loud in your ears. Your body was already answering before your mouth could, the space between you practically begged to be closed.

And then you whispered, “Yes.”

He didn’t wait.

His hand cupped your jaw, gentle but firm, and he kissed you.

Soft at first, testing, tasting. But the moment your lips parted, it shifted. You moved at the same time, like something snapped. You were suddenly straddling him, the wine long forgotten, your hands in his hair, his mouth on your throat. It was messy, hot, desperate. And yet, still controlled. His hands slid down your sides, slow, like he wanted to memorise the shape of you. You gasped when his fingers pressed into your hips, pulling you against him, and he groaned into your mouth like he’d been holding that in for days.

Ni-ki's hands then traveled down your thighs, grabbing, squeezing just a bit, not too hard, but enough to make you sigh in his mouth and unintentionally rock your hips against him, while pulling strands of his dark hair, tangling your fingers, lips crashing, tongues against each other, hot, warm, wet. Just like your underwear was now, you felt it, pooled against the thin fabric. Your dress was lifted up, showing more, the lace of your panties showing up, but you didn't care, you wanted it like this, because he kept touching you. Warm fingers ended up in your asscheeks, squeezing again, and you rubbed yourself against his crotch again, he moaned deep, hot breath colliding with yours, hard beneath his pants.

Then a knock on the door, and you separated from the kiss, breathing heavily, but he didn't stop, trailing with his soaked lips along your jawline, down to your neck, tongue licking, sucking, but not marking. His lips brushed your ear as he whispered.

"Don't answer."

You don’t even remember how you end up horizontal, just the feel of his hands under your thighs, lifting, the soft thud of your back hitting the plush hotel bed, the silk of your slip bunching under your hip, his shirt forgotten on the floor, his lips on your collarbone.

Underwear was the only thing covering you know, after he lifted your dress and helped you slip out of it, throwing it across the room like a hungry man, like he couldn't wait any longer to have you.

He stared like he’d never seen anything more devastating.

And when he leaned in again, this time with no hesitation, no restraint, you knew you were gone. You weren't the popstar. He wasn't the model. You were just you, and he was just Ni-ki, and this was the crash you both saw coming from a mile away. Your lips crashed again, messier now, hotter, you traded kisses like secrets, like confessions, like sins you both wanted to keep making. He grabbed your throat, but didn't choke, just held, not wanting to let go of your mouth, and you moaned softly, sucking his tongue as his hand now traveled between your legs, above your underwear, he touched you, slow, like teasing, your arousal soaking a spot in your panties, and he moaned against your mouth.

"Can i take this off?" he asked, voice weak, breathless, forehead against yours, his fingers rubbing slow circles in your clothed clit.

You just nodded, you couldn't talk, you just wanted him right there.

So he smirked, pecking your lips before sliding your underwear out of you, and his eyes sparkled, he bit his lip, hands on your knees so you could be spread open for him. He wasted no time, fingers between your folds as he soaked them in your arousal, glistening, thick wetness that made him inhale through his nose and hiss between his teeth, and you arched your back lightly, sensual, one of his hands squeezed your breast.

"You're soaked. Dripping." You tried to smile, but a whimper left your lips when he slid a finger in.

"You like it." a breathless chuckle came from your throat, and he smirked again, sliding a second finger, curling them inside of you, stretching you, so good.

"I love it."

Then he started thrusting them, in and out of you, fast, with skill, his palm crashing with your clit, and you moaned again, closing your eyes and letting your head fall on the pillow, your thighs twitching, but he kept you spread, not wanting to miss how his fingers disappeared inside your tight walls. His other hand kept groping your breasts, pinching your hardened nipples, and a jolt of pleasure washed you completely. He chuckled, but not making fun of you, just amused, lustful.

"You're sensitive." he bit his lip again, fingers still curling inside of you "Fierce, hot, bombshell popstar is sensitive, right here." He pinched your nipple again and you trembled, high pitch moan leaving your throat, he smiled when he felt how your pussy clenched around his digits. "Cute."

He kissed you again, tongue and spit in your mouth, and you whined when he added a third finger, your wetness now dripping between your thighs and soaking the silk bed sheets beneath your body, he reached your g-spot and teased it with the tip of his fingers, and you arched your back again, biting his lip and pulling it which made him hiss, your legs trembling when his thumb rubbed your aching clit.

Then he removed them, catching his breath, straightening on the bed, knees against the mattress, his weight heavy, his body hot. He slid out of his pants and underwear in one movement, and you looked up at him, devastated, eyes teary, shiny, full with lust and need. His length was thick, hard and veiny, dripping from his red tip, throbbing in his hand as he stroked himself just a little.

You moved before even saying anything, lifting your torso and replacing his hand with yours, rubbing your palm against his throbbing member, and he groaned low, placing a hand on your head, softly, gentle, but it made you shiver anyways. Then you licked, long, slow, wet, from the base to the dripping tip, and he hissed louder, now pulling your hair just a bit, thrusting his hips forward to meet with your mouth. Your lips wrapped around him, and you relaxed your jaw, taking him deep, until he touched the back of your throat and you had to suppress a gag, eyes watering, vision hazy, head spinning, the room hot around you.

"S-Shit." Ni-ki groaned, letting his head fall backwards, his adams apple moving up and down as he breathed hard, and you bobbed your head, tracing with your tongue the veins on his cock, tasting him, swallowing him. You pulled back and repeated the process, until spit and tears were dripping, until he had to make you stop because he didn't want to cum yet.

Your back touched the mattress again, and he placed himself between your legs, kissing you, tasting himself in your soaked mouth, and then pushed your legs against your chest, forcing you spread open just for him. He then grabbed the base of his cock, rubbing the tip against your soaked slit, up and down, side to side, slow, and you whined at the anticipation, at the tease, your pussy pulsing, aching, needy and wet, his precum dripping against your folds.

He slid inside of you, arms above your head, heavy on you, slowly, but his gaze was sharp, dark and full of lust, and he groaned your name as he stretched you, soaked walls swallowing his length so good, so tight, and he felt so thick inside of you that you had to reach for his shoulders, eyes shut and lips parted trying to breath. His hips met yours, your pussy clenched tight around him. He stayed still for a few seconds, dropping his forehead against yours, sweaty, sticky, your nails digging against the soft skin of his shoulders. Your vision was blurry, your body completely clenched, as if it had been waiting for this too.

"I’ve thought about this since the first take,” he admitted, voice wrecked “When you climbed into my lap in that car.”

And you whimpered as his hips pulled back a little, you felt his stretch leaving your insides, your walls fluttered, clencing around nothing for a few seconds, but he pulled in again, skin against skin. You moaned breathless, your bare breasts against his chest.

"Fuck, you feel so good, baby." his breath was hot against your face, and you arched your back, hot and sweaty bodies just so close to each other.

Then he started moving, setting a rhythm that was just so perfect, not so fast, not so rough, but deep, you could feel him in every inch of you, stretching you, shaping you, your pussy clenched around him in every thrust, soaked, dripping, creating a slick sound everytime his hips crashed against the skin of your entrance. And you could only whimper, combining the sound of your weak voice with his long and low groans.

"Ni-ki..." you cried his name, lips parted, eyes sticked to his.

"I'm right here, baby." his voice was raw, he talked through his teeth, his strokes growing a little rougher.

He was stroking, not too fast, but forceful, every thrust forcing moans out of your chests, and the bed creaked beneath both of you, his rhythm perfect, hard, persistent. Ni-ki's lips found your neck again, and he dragged them along your skin.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, clutching at his shoulders, nails digging crescents into his skin. “You feel so good...”

“I know, baby,” he grunted again, voice breaking around the words. His hand slipped under your thigh, now lifting it higher around his waist, and suddenly he hit a spot that had your back arching off the mattress, a sharp cry ripping from your throat.“There?” he panted, smirking despite the sweat at his temple. “Right fucking there?”

You nodded frantically, too gone to speak, tears prickling in the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming heat between your legs and the maddening pace he kept. His mouth was everywhere, your shoulder, the swell of your chest, your jaw, littering kisses and bruises, like he wanted to mark you, leave proof that this happened.

“You’re so tight,” he groaned, forehead pressing to yours. “So fuckin’ perfect, taking me so well.”

His thrust were steady, perfect hips rolling over you, breaking you, wrecking your body just how you needed, his lips never leaving your skin, as if he couldn't keep them off of you, as if he was trying to devour you and never forget you.

Suddenly, something shifted.

Your hand moved to his chest, pressing just hard enough to make him pause. He blinked up at you, chest heaving, confused for half a second, until you lean in, kiss him slow and deep, and whisper against his mouth:

“My turn.”

Ni-ki didn't argue, a soft grin in the corner of his swollen, red lips. He let you push him back, his head falling against the pillows, lips parted as you swinged your leg over him and straddled his waist in one smooth, practiced motion.

“Fuck,” he breathed, hands automatically landing on your hips. “You look..."

You rolled your hips once, teasing him, wet folds against his thick hard cock, and his words dissolved into a moan. You lined yourself up again and sunk down slowly, inch by inch. His head dropped back with a curse, hands gripping your thighs so tightly they might bruise. You started slow. Rolling your hips just enough to make him twitch beneath you, your hands braced on his chest, nails dragging down his skin. He watched you like he was in a trance, eyes glued to the way you rode him, mouth open, completely undone.

“You’re so deep,” you gasped, throwing your head back. “So fucking deep.”

His hands slid up your body, one gripping your waist while the other palmed your breast, thumb circling lazily over your nipple. You leaned down, mouths meeting in a messy kiss, your movements never faltering. His abs tensed under your touch, hips bucking instinctively, trying to meet you thrust for thrust, but you pinned him down with a smirk.

And the rhythm built again, faster, sharper. The air was thick with moans, sweat, skin. Your name tumbled from his lips again and again, until his grip tightened, your breasts bouncing against his face, skins crashing, you jumping up and down on his length until your thighs felt like burning, but it felt so good, he was so deep, so thick inside of you, so meant to be. Ni-ki's hand stretched, and he circled your clit, at the pace of your bounces, and you whined his name and moved erratically, wetness dripping until his pelvis was soaked.

Your body started trembling over him, that familiar wave building fast, too fast. You slowed down for just a second, rocked into him deeper, his thumb dragging down to press right where you needed it most.

“I-I’m close,” you choked out, voice shaky.

“Then come,” he whispered, almost pleading. “Come with me.”

And then you fell.

Head thrown back, mouth open, thighs squeezing around him as your whole body convulsed from the force of it. The climax crashed through you, white-hot and blinding. You fell forward, shaking, mouth pressed to his shoulder as your body pulsed around him. He was not far behind, watching you unravel completely, eyes dark and wild, as he thrusted once, twice, then buried himself deep with a strangled moan. He let go seconds later, hips jerking, hands clawing at your back as he spilled into you with a broken groan of your name.

The world blurred.

Silence followed, heavy and satisfied.

You stayed on top of him, both of you breathless, sweaty, clinging like the high might never fade. And then, quietly, he whispered, voice hoarse:

“I don’t think I can ever look at you the same way again.”

You smirked against his skin. “Good.”

thank you so much for reading <3 i hope you enjoyed this and you understand my vision damn i love addison rae so much she’s so iconic to me

anyways, i really like this one <3

hope you guys love it !!

[agustdtown1]

CLOSER TO YOU [TEASER]

PAIRING: nerdy!roommate!jungkook x OF!reader.

SUMMARY: After getting various comments about your poor filming skills for your OF page, you finally decided to give in and reach out to the one person that could help you with your problem. However, what started as your roommate just helping you to film your video turned into you begging him to fuck you.

How long would it take for Jungkook to finally give in? After all, all he ever wanted was to be closer to you.

WC (teaser): 615, final work is almost 10k

WARNINGS (teaser): swearing, sexual themes, allusion to masturbation, it’s not explicitly stated but reader is fully naked, reader being a little menace and jk being completely whipped for her. The rest of the warnings will be added to the final fic.

A/N: not me coming back here after almost a year of not writing anything. I don’t have any further explanation aside from the fact that my life changed a lot and I got way busier than I thought I would, I also kinda lost inspiration and motivation to write so… there’s that, hopefully with this new fic I’ll be back to writing more often and being active. n e way, enjoy your reading and lmk if u wanna be tagged for the final fic! <3

masterlist

“Kook…” You breathed out, “I need you.”

It was so subtle, so fleeting the smugness that covered his face for a brief instant that you barely noticed. His eyes widened and his lips moved like that of a fish trying to survive out of the water, he didn’t know what to do, much less what to say. 

“Me?” He whispered, completely clueless of the effect he was having on you in that moment. You nodded, fingers stilling in between your legs. “Wh-What do you mean?”

You sat up, stopping the filming once again. “Exactly what I said, I need you… I-I need your help with something else. You can say no, but… I would be forever grateful to you if you said yes.”

Jungkook was putting to use his 128 IQ score to try and understand what you were hinting at, but none the wiser, he needed the words spelled out to him to get your idea. And so, as softly as possible, you explained what your need was actually about. You noticed the way his body reacted to you and the show you were putting on for your viewers but more specifically for him; it was painfully obvious how much he desired you, and in all honesty, you weren’t any better. 

Ever since you two started living together, you swore that you wouldn’t act on the small and silly crush you developed for him after meeting for the first time. It was just a silly attraction that wasn’t worth the hassle of getting involved with your roommate; his built body and big biceps drove you crazy, and you couldn’t turn a blind eye to the intricate tattoos adorning his arm, which was such a stark contrast to the type of man he made himself out to be; the lip ring shining from his mouth was so painfully enticing, and more often than not, you found yourself wondering what it would feel like against your lips while kissing the life out of him. And God bless the person that gets you started on how much you loved those black rimmed glasses that adorned his eyes almost 24/7, giving him a geeky look that would never fail to make you weak in the knees. But all of those features, as well as the lewd scenarios conquering your mind minutes before going to sleep, had made it difficult for you to stay in your lane all this time. Tonight, however, might be your one and only chance to turn your dirty dreams into reality, only and only if Jungkook agreed to your idea.

“I don’t want this to ruin our friendship.” He murmured, looking down at the floor and avoiding your hopeful eyes glaring at him. You reached out for him, your soft hands coming in contact with his covered thighs while you kneeled in front of him. “Y/n… don’t do this to me.” His whole body stiffened, fighting the urge to jump your bones and turn you into a crying mess just like he always imagined.

“You don’t want me like that, Kookie?” You so innocently asked, lashes fluttering against your cheekbones. “Is that the real problem, hm?” Your hands were sliding up and down his thighs, teasing him.

“God, no.” He answered breathlessly, “You have no fucking idea how bad I want you…”  

“Then why don’t you show me? What’s stopping you, hm?” Your cheek resting on his jean-covered thigh elicited a soft gasp from your roommate. “It's just a small favor.” 

“I… fuck, you’re driving me crazy right now.” He ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the ends while letting out a frustrated groan. Jungkook took off his glasses while rubbing his eyes before looking at you again. “You have to promise… you really have to promise that it will be a one-time thing. No more favors after this, at least not of this caliber.” 

You nodded eagerly, looking at him with a spark in your eyes. “I promise, just this time.” 

“Okay,” Jungkook nodded, “I’ll help you with anything you need.”

[shaiyasstuff]

hellow^^ idk how this request thingy works but i’d like to ask for the fluffiest cutest fluff of how the lads men will react to mc being a bit bold(??) like trying to hold hands with them something like that, considering that mc is a shy person? sorry for this😭😭 this has been bugging me for like a week now and i just want to satiate this need of mine hehehwhahsgsg

also, it’s actually me being shy to my bf even after a year of dating and i still get shy with holding hands and everything with him😭😭 i love caleb A LOT😔😔🫰🏻 sorry again, tmi i guess😭😭😭

omg i would love love LOVE to write this for you! sksks that is so cute?? i’m actually quite the extrovert myself so seeing really shy people sometimes baffles me XD i decided to write this in a more comedic tone because i find that it really starts getting you giggly sksksk tell me if you don’t like it though🥹

here is your request written beloww (unfortunately i do not write for caleb at the moment, forgive me? :<)

Had this request since forever, i’m sorry it took so long :p

Rafayel

You didn’t mean to do it.

It just kind of… happened.

One minute, you were staring at your laptop screen, chewing your thumbnail like it owed you money, and the next minute your pinky was just… there.

Sitting next to his. Touching. Breathing the same air.

You immediately wanted to die.

Abort. Abort. Emergency.

But Rafayel had already noticed. Of course he had. Because the universe was cruel and Rafayel was worse.

“…Y/N,” he said, slowly. Like you were a wild animal. Like he was trying not to scare you off. “Are you… are you trying to hold my hand right now?”

“No,” you said immediately.

“But your finger—”

“It slipped.”

“Your entire hand is slipping.”

“I’m testing gravity.”

He blinked at you. Then blinked again. Then full-body collapsed onto the floor like his soul had been forcibly ejected.

“I’m gonna die,” he announced from the floorboards. “This is it. I’ve seen heaven and it’s pinky-first hand-holding.”

You covered your face. “Please shut up before I actually ascend out of shame.”

He peeked up at you with the gentlest smile you’d ever seen him make. It made your stomach somersault like a traumatized gymnast.

“I’m not making fun of you,” he said softly. “I’m just—really happy you touched me first. Even if you did it like you were defusing a bomb.”

You didn’t reply. You were too busy malfunctioning

Zayne

It took you an hour to decide.

You stared at his hand on the armrest like it was a medieval relic. He wasn’t even paying attention.

Just watching a video, arms crossed, frown in place. Classic.

You, on the other hand, were over here doing breathing exercises like you were prepping for a hostage negotiation.

Okay.

You could do this.

You very, very slowly reached out. Your fingers hovered above his like a crane game, shaking slightly. You were sweating. This was fine.

And then—just barely—you touched the side of his hand.

He flinched like you’d tazed him.

You yanked your hand back like you’d been caught trying to steal government secrets. “S-sorry—I—I didn’t mean—!”

He turned his head so fast you thought you heard a vertebrae crack.

“You were trying to hold my hand.”

“No! I mean yes—I mean not in a weird way—I just—” You were halfway to curling into yourself like a shy little bug.

Zayne stared. His ears red.

Then—slowly, rigidly—he reached over and took your hand. Very carefully. Like it was made of glass and explosives.

“…Next time,” he muttered, still looking straight ahead, “just do it.”

You nodded, eyes wide.

“Don’t make that face,” he added, glancing at you. “I didn’t hate it.”

Your heart did a full backflip into a vat of molten embarrassment.

“…I’m gonna go scream into a pillow,” you whispered.

“Do it later. I’m not letting go.”

Sylus

It was fine.

Everything was fine.

You were just sitting next to Sylus on a rooftop. Casual. Chill.

No thoughts. No anxiety.

Definitely not staring at his hand resting by his thigh like it was the holy grail.

Nope. Not you.

You were normal. Totally not planning an emotional ambush. Not at all.

You were. Obviously.

You scooted an inch closer. Then another.

Then—half an inch, just for good measure.

Your pinky hovered next to his like a drone on low battery.

Your heart was sprinting.

Your soul had already left the building.

Just do it. Just hold his hand. It’s not illegal. You won’t die.

You might die. But in a cute way.

You reached out.

Your fingers brushed his hand.

Then you froze.

Like a raccoon caught in the headlights. Staring. Horrified.

Sylus glanced down immediately. Then up.

You felt his eyes on your face like a heat sensor. You could feel him trying to process it.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low and so casual it made it worse.

You made a noise that sounded like a cross between a squeak and a power outage.

Sylus blinked. Slowly. Dangerously.

“…Were you trying to hold my hand?”

You instantly pulled your hand back like it had betrayed national security. “N-no—I mean—I was just stretching—like—finger yoga—”

“Finger yoga,” he repeated, deadpan.

You nodded, face burning. Your entire nervous system was filing for divorce.

He didn’t speak for a second. Just watched you. Unreadable. Then—

“Come here.”

Your soul ascended.

But before you could combust entirely, he reached over and—gently, deliberately—took your hand in his.

Fingers cool, firm. Careful. His palm fitting against yours like it was meant to be there.

You short-circuited. Fully.

“I was wondering how long it’d take you,” he said, voice low and just a little amused. “Didn’t want to scare you off.”

You stared at your hands. Then at the skyline. Then back to your hands.

You were never speaking again.

“…You’re still shaking,” he murmured, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“I—I’m fine,” you managed. Barely.

“You’re adorable.”

You died. Right there. On that rooftop.

Sylus just smiled to himself and didn’t let go.

Xavier

You had rehearsed it in your head.

Five times. Okay, fifteen. Whatever. You had a plan.

You were going to accidentally reach for the popcorn bowl on the same side he was sitting, and your hand would maybe land near his. Just near.

Not even touching.

Just close enough to give yourself a heart attack.

So, of course, what actually happened was this:

You reached for the bowl.

You missed.

You smacked his hand.

And then. You panicked and just grabbed it.

Full-on, uncoordinated finger spaghetti.

“Oh,” Xavier said.

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

Words had abandoned you. Your mouth made a sound somewhere between a squeak and a dying phone battery.

His thumb brushed against your knuckles. Slowly. Deliberately.

“You’re trembling,” he said, voice low, warm.

You wished for the sweet release of spontaneous combustion.

“I—I didn’t—s-sorry—I wasn’t—I was just—snack—popcorn—”

“You’re adorable,” he said gently.

You made a noise. It wasn’t human.

“I mean it,” he added, quietly, like he was afraid to scare you off. “It means a lot. That you tried.”

You didn’t answer.

You just nodded and looked at the wall like it had personally challenged you to a duel.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Shimmer Kane with his breeding kink sends me absolutely feral. He gives me the vibe that he calls it ‘mating’ whenever you have sex

You have killed me, thank you.

I Like

Shimmer!Kane x f!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? •

Summary: Kane's a little obsessed.

Warnings: Kissing, fingering, rutting, not beta read, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 700

“Need to mate with you.” Kane groans in your ear as he kisses your jaw. He’s on top of you already, pressing you back down onto the sofa, his warm hands firmly pulling your thighs apart so that he can settle between them. 

“Kane, I-” You turn your head, trying to get his attention. But he growls softly, pressing his lips to yours and sinking his tongue into your mouth. 

He swallows your whines desperately as he rocks his aching erection against your core. 

He was naked already, having pulled off most of his clothing before he’d even walked into the room. 

You pull lightly at his hair on the back of his head, just enough to get a fraction of space between you both. He moans and shivers, enjoying the action far more than you thought he would. 

“What’s got into you?” You breathe. You’d become used to him over the last few months, familiar with his habits and patterns. 

His hands snake up higher on your bare thighs, underneath the skirt of your dress, to hook at the waistband of your underwear. 

“I want to get into you.” He breathes, his voice even, even though you know he is trying to make a joke. 

You grin. “I mean, what’s got you so worked up?” 

“I saw a video.” He says simply, as if he wasn’t rubbing himself deliciously against your core, just catching the edge of your clit. 

“What video?” 

Ever since Kane came back changed, you had set him up with a tablet for him to use when he had questions about everyday items. It wasn’t that you didn’t like explaining things to him, it was more that the questions he had were often so completely outside of your field of expertise or everyday common knowledge, that you usually ended up looking them up online anyway. 

“I was looking at yoga.” Something you had suggested to him to help him relax. He bunches your skirt up higher. “Different positions.” 

“And how…?”

“Lotus position, I click on some videos. They showed other things.” His breathing hitches ever so slightly, the smallest hint that his rapid rutting is affecting him. “Made me hard. Wanted you.” 

“Kane,” you squirm a little, your body reacting to him so quickly. You press your chest closer. “You know you don’t always need me when you get horny, you can take care of your needs-”

“I don’t like that.” He kisses your jaw, sucking at your skin and you have to pull him back by his hair so that you can continue the conversation. 

“What do you mean you don’t like that?” 

He gives you a small frown, as if you are being purposefully difficult. “I don’t like fucking my hand. I like being with you.” He kisses your neck again, pushing you back so you're fully laying down. 

He manages to pull himself away from you for just long enough to yank your panties down and off one leg. 

“I like when I come in you and you squeeze me.” He groans in your ear, going back to dragging his burning hot cock through your folds and gasping at the wetness that greets him. 

You shiver, pleasure twisting in your stomach as you scrap your fingers along his scalp. 

“I like when you make noises and how warm you are.” He pushes two fingers inside you and moans loudly as you whimper. 

He rubs his thumb against your clit, while he ruts his cock along your inner thigh, smearing precum along your skin. He strokes you eagerly, the spot and pace to make you scream memorised perfectly. 

You moan his name, wrapping one arm around his shoulders so you can hold him tight. 

He growls again, louder this time and watching your face as you pant and writhe under him. 

“I like that you love me.” He practically purrs, “That you let me. That you want me.” 

“Kane,” You swallow, pleasure burning and threatening to pull you down at any moment. 

“I like that you’re going to come for me and then let me make you come again.” He watches you with large, dark eyes, enraptured by your every moment. “I love you.” 

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[cumikering]

Rugby Gaz x reader 4

2.6k | fluff Kyle always had your back (part 1)

You did not expect to fall in love with rugby.

You watched videos of it in your free time, learning the rules and history, and caught professional matches on the telly with Kyle. Come Monday, you’d discuss each match with your classmates.

Some were curious of your abrupt, new-found interest. Some asked, with wiggly brows, if you’ve got something going on with the Kyle Garrick (who was often seen holding your hand) and if he had anything to do with it. You only offered an ambiguous smile.

There was perhaps something going on - you hoped so anyway, but you knew better than to jinx it. Consistency, besides, spoke louder than any promises, and for the first time in a while, a boy did not make you question where you stood.

For the upcoming big match against another top school, you bought yourself your university’s jersey. It set you back in your progress to save for your new bike, but it was worth it.

Unfortunately, it was a match Kyle lost. He couldn’t hide the disappointment in his eyes as he dragged his tired feet to you at the edge of the grandstand, his shoulders sagging.

“You did good, Kyle.” You pulled him into a tight embrace, not caring about the mud and sweat on him. “I always love watching you play.”

He sighed in your arms before giving you a lopsided smile.

Out of your oversized bag, you presented him a bouquet, a stunning arrangement of orchids in the team’s colours.

His face lit up, gaping at you and back at the gift. “I- Wow-“ he blinked- “Thank you so much, love. They’re gorgeous.”

You could tell he meant it, when he kissed your cheeks multiple times (the eager ones with the mwahs) before joining the rest of the team in the locker room, spring in his step. You might have giggled as you watched.

You joined Kyle’s practice once a week, often followed by lunch and a study session together, be it at a cafe or the library. You two might have been from different majors, and despite not being able to help each other, you loved his presence nearby. His quiet hum of concentration, the way his foot brushed against yours under the table, or the way his pinky would rest on yours next to the pile of notes.

It was reassuring, see. He was always calm and collected, radiating warmth. His beautiful smile soothed your frustrations, and these assignments were, more often than not, annoying.

True to his words, he often offered to hang out at yours, or at least somewhere nearby so you wouldn’t feel too bad about him walking you home. Other times, he’d accompany you to the supermarket before cooking with you, helping you carry your shopping.

This boy, Kyle Garrick from Birmingham, didn’t seem to have any idea how terribly kind he was. After you tutored, he’d welcome you to his flat with a fresh, warm meal. Something with colourful veggies, complete with its macro count. You’d never paid nowhere near that much attention to your meals at home, yet there he was saying he wasn’t a good cook with his back to you as he fussed over plating.

His hard work clearly paid off. It was hard to not admire (stare) the results. He was beautiful, that was plain since the second you saw him on the bulletin board, but being in his embrace- hell, even the simple fact that you were in his proximity, in his relaxed state was a pleasure.

The way his carved shoulders moved, and the way his hard thighs flexed- You promised you always looked respectfully! So of course your eyes darted away when he turned to put the two plates on the dining table with a proud grin.

Yet after all the hassle, he’d walk you home - like that chilly Friday night too. As you neared your place, thunder rumbled before it drizzled.

You sprinted into the building before turning to him with a grimace, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“I didn’t realise it was going to rain.” You gazed morosely at the road, the flowing water glinted under the streetlamps. “Sorry,” you muttered.

He gave you one of his perfect smiles again. “S’alright, love. It’s the weekend. I can wait it out.”

He made tea while you showered and got into comfortable clothes. The rain didn’t slow, in fact, with the thickening clouds, it didn’t look like it was going to stop anytime soon.

“I feel terrible, Kyle! If I had a bike you wouldn’t have to keep walking me home.”

“I want to, love.”

“I’ll start looking tomorrow. I’ll have enough by the end of next week.”

“How many times do I have to tell you I don’t mind? Really.” He patted your hair. “I promise.”

You sighed. He was such a kind soul and he was none the wiser.

You suggested a film, and snuggled on the couch. However, the rain against the windows and Kyle’s warm embrace made it hard for you to fight off your sleepiness. When you caught yourself almost dozing off, he held you closer and caressed your hair wordlessly.

It was all it took. You were a goner.

Later, you blinked awake when you sensed movement. You were laying on the couch with him kneeling next to you, tucking you in.

“Kyle?” you muttered, squinting at him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, caressing your cheek with a sheepish chuckle. “The rain’s stopped, and I’ve washed the mugs. I was going to head back.”

You sat up and looked past him at the clock. It was after 10. Behind the curtains he’d drawn, the city had gone quiet.

“Sorry to keep you so late,” you rubbed your eye with the back of your hand.

“I enjoyed my time,” he reassured.

You held his gaze for a few more moments. If you looked into those beautiful brown eyes long enough, could he read your mind? You didn’t want him to leave.

“Would you like to stay?”

Despite the dim lighting, you didn’t miss the way his eyes widened. You didn’t know what made you ask, but your heart sank as the words hung.

He held your hand. “I’d love to, if you let me.”

You gave Kyle a toothbrush and lent him your oversized clothes. When he entered your room, the rain had started back up.

You flicked the bedside lamp off. “I guess it was good call you stayed.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, chewing on his lip as he climbed into bed to join you.

Was he as nervous about this as you were? It made your heart race.

He laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling. “Erm- For the record, I don’t mind taking the couch at all.”

“No.” You leaned in, muttering against his shoulder, “Wanted you to hold me again.”

He stroked your arm, his fingertips feather-light, stuttering your breath. Despite the dark, you felt his eyes on you. Sure, you teased him here and there – and enjoyed it too, but this time you couldn’t hold his gaze.

But you didn’t miss that little sigh. You didn’t have to see to know he was smiling – a skill you picked up the very first time you met.

This bed felt like the lift. With the lights out, it was like the line between this and later didn’t exist. Like you were in a bubble ever expanding, untouchable by the outside world as it melted into the background in puddles of grey. If you closed your eyes long enough, it was as if this didn’t have to end.

You fisted the comforter.

“May I kiss you, love?” he asked, almost a whisper.

Your eyes flew open. Did you hear that right? You’d seen the way he glanced at your lips, and you could only hope he didn’t notice the way you admired his way too often.

It took you a second before cupping his cheek. He let out a steady sigh as he leaned in- thunder boomed.

The both of you jumped, and you might have yelped. Loud. While he let out a laugh, your heart hammered from the scare. You turned your back to him, flustered by the ruined moment. You wanted to scream. You were THAT close.

He scooted closer, patting your head before wrapping an arm around your waist. He nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck. “Sleep well, love.”

“Goodnight, Kyle,” you mumbled.

He smiled against your skin.

Gaz woke to you sleeping soundly on his chest, his arm around you. He smiled at how adorable you looked with your cheek mushed like that.

He thought back to the night before. Did you know how long he’d been wanting to kiss you? That time you brought him the orchids (the same ones he displayed on his nightstand until they dried to a crisp), he didn’t know what it was that tumbled in his chest as he struggled for words. He settled for the flurry of kisses on your face, but oh, he could have dropped to his knees to taste you right there and then.

If only you knew how fast his heart raced when he finally mustered the courage to ask.

He had to be undeniably sure you felt the same, right? Still, the few second that followed were painstaking as his mind reeled with the possibility of a rejection. But of course the bloody thunder had to strike when you leaned in.

The memory made him smile - the way you yelped was endearing. If only you knew how much more it made him want to kiss you. He could tell how much it scared you with your heart thumping against his when he spooned you. But at least he knew now you liked him enough. He’d just have to find a more fortunate time, preferably when it wasn’t raining.

Gaz planted a kiss on your forehead before getting out of bed, careful to not disturb you. You’d usually wake in about half an hour. How cheesy was it if he made breakfast?

He got himself cleaned up before preparing some pancake batter. When he checked on you, you were still asleep, starfish style now, making him chuckle. With nothing else to do, he lounged on your couch, scrolling on his phone.

It didn’t take long before you shuffled out of the bedroom.

“Kyle?”

“I’m here,” he replied, making his way over to you to kiss your cheek.

“Good morning,” you mumbled, eyes shut as you grinned.

He poked your cheek with a small laugh, tucking your hair behind your ear. “I’m making us pancakes.”

You joined him in the kitchen shortly, laying out plates and getting mugs for tea.

“I can handle it,” he said. “While I waited for you to wake up, I found bike listings nearby. They seem decent. Why don’t you have a look?”

You waited at the dining table while he continued cooking.

“No way,” you gasped. “That’s- that’s my bike!” You turned his phone towards him.

He turned the stove off and hurried over.

“It’s been repainted, but look.” You pointed at the handlebar. “I carved my initials here, you can still see it.”

Gaz zoomed in on the photo before grabbing his phone, typing a message. “The cheek on this bloke,” he muttered.

“What are you doing?”

“Letting him know we’re very interested,” he said with a smirk.

You gave him a knowing smile.

That afternoon, in the parking lot of a gym near Gaz’s, a lad rode in on a shiny blue bike.

“Mate!” Gaz called, flagging him over.

He dismounted and struggled to set the kickstand down. He was around your age, stood a little taller than Gaz, but looked lanky even in his hoodie.

He shoved his hands in his pockets before clearing his throat. “So uh-“ he gestured at the bike- “it runs fine, brakes are good. It’s just repainted.”

You turned the pedals and tested the brake levers before inspecting the stamped numbers below the seat, the only part of the frame still in its original colour. “Yeah, looks alright,” you said. “Do you mind if I give it a test ride?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

You hopped on, flicking the kickstand up with your heel with practiced ease before riding off.

“You mentioned you’re the first-hand owner?” Gaz asked as you rode in small laps. “You got the receipt?”

“Yeah, about that.” He averted his gaze. “I must have misplaced it, I’m afraid. It’s been years since I got it.”

He nodded with a hum.

“But the bike’s fine, yeah? I’m selling it so I can upgrade.”

“How nice of you to get it repainted just to sell it, so cheap at that.” He laughed. “It’s a steal, if I’m honest.”

He forced a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck as he shifted his weight. “Yeah, figured it’s easier to sell that way. So is-” he turned to you as you zipped out of the parking lot- “What- HEY!”

He ran after you, but could only watch helplessly as you rode out of sight. It was Gaz’s cue to sprint the other way.

“What the fuck, mate!” he yelled. “That’s my bike!”

“No, you stole it from her, you twat!“ he called back before rounding the corner. “But thanks for the paint job!”

There, you’d loaded your bike into the waiting car and were shutting the boot. You both rushed into the backseat.

“Go, go, go!” Gaz tapped the back of the driver’s seat, looking out the rear window.

Johnny peeled off as soon as the doors shut. As he turned into the next street, the seller stumbled onto the pavement, heaving with his hands on his knees.

“Wee lad looks like he’s about tae have a heart attack.” He let out a hearty laugh. “Somebody call 999.”

“Oh god, this feels illegal.” You squeezed Gaz’s forearm, unable to stifle your giggles.

“Well, the papers say it’s yours,” he said lightly, placing his hand on yours.

Before he knew it, you’d leaned in, fisting the shirt on his chest.

His heart stilled. Was this really happening? Were you doing this? It took another second before he pulled you in, pressing his lips against yours.

He closed his eyes with a sigh, falling into the kiss. Finally. Your lips were as lovely as he’d always imagined, fitting perfectly against his. His fingers curled tighter around your waist as your hand moved to cup his face. The way you caressed his jaw made him let out a satisfied-

“Oi! Get a room ye two!” Johnny scolded. “This isn’t part of being a getaway driver!”

You pulled away with a laugh, covering your mouth. “Sorry!”

Aw bollocks, how embarrassing. You gave him one little kiss and he totally forgot his friend was right there. He was never going to hear the end of it in the locker room.

“You owe me an extra box of granola bars,” the Scot said, scowling at him through the rear-view mirror.

Gaz’s hand remained on yours, but he couldn’t look you in the eye from how hard he tried to bit down on his giddy smile. Was he blushing? With how warm he was feeling, he probably was.

“We’ll continue at mine,” you whispered into his ear before giving him a small peck on the cheek. He turned to your teasing smile, his grin winning. You should stop making his knees weak, but who was he to resist stealing another kiss?

Masterlist

@tiredmetalenthusiast @readabitchtofilth @the-sweet-hibiscus @queensarchieve @eve-lie

@thumbtacked-heart @winnieb00 @shitface141 @mismatchsposts @hexqueensupreme

@shinymriver @cope-with-x-readers @tonypicstotransfer @ghostalina

[gunwoo-bh]

The Night Shift - Part 4 [Min Yoongi x f!Reader]

MIN YOONGI x F!READER UniStudent!Yoongi AU SUMMARY: You chose a boring, quiet job at your campus’s 24-hour library for a reason: it kept you away from drama, gossip, and parties. It was positively uneventful. Until it wasn’t. Warnings: swearing, some light teasing, some innuendos?, fluff, yoongi is quietly awkward and adorable A/N: I am on a roll recently. I am trying to slow down to make sure I'm happy with what I'm writing but the inspiration hasn't stopped pouring in. THANK YOU EVERYONE. You are all so kind with the love these chapters have been getting. I am so excited to keep writing this.

THE NIGHT SHIFT

PART 4

Consistent. 

That's the word you'd use to describe Min Yoongi. 

You would also describe the last two weeks as surprising. At first, Yoongi showed up every other day, dropping off a tangerine while you were working instead of sneakily leaving it when you couldn't see. And then it was every day. 

You always tried to be casual when he showed up, but you never could hide your excitement when he scanned his ID at the turnstile. The interactions were never long, usually a quick hello and asking how you were, taking that time to peel the tangerine for you, and when he was done, off he'd go. 

Your friends lovingly but endlessly teased you when you finally told them about it all. They loved watching the way you spoke about him and that you even talked about him in the first place. You were notoriously private about crushes and boyfriends; you had mentioned as much in the past. 

“Unnie,” you turn to Eunji as you sit around the living room table, “let’s go grab some food, I’m hungry~~.” 

You point to the fridge, “We have food…right there.”

She pouts, knowing you’ll give in. You just like teasing her or giving her a hard time, “But not the kind I want…”

You stare at each other, waiting for the other to give in and look away first. You adore Eunji, being that she’s like the younger sister you never had. Even with just one year apart, you enjoy being able to help her, even though she is more than capable of handling pretty much anything life throws at her. 

But you cave.

“Fine. Where do you want to go?” 

“Let’s invite Hwayoung Unnie too! We haven’t had BBQ in so long, let’s do that.” 

You almost expect her to insist on going to Yoongi’s parents’ restaurant to tease you, but you’re glad when she picks your second favourite spot. A bit of a hole in the wall, it is by far the most liked and visited BBQ restaurant among students for its cheap prices yet amazing food.

You get dragged to your room by Eunji, who picks an outfit for you as if you were going on a night out. But instead, it’s just three friends going to grab food. She picks something relaxed and casual for you. A pair of dark, worn, straight-cut jeans, a black ribbed tank top, a cropped tan cardigan, and your favourite pair of white Converse. As you get ready to head out, grabbing your black long coat and tan crossbody bag, you call out to your friend when she sprints out of her room.

You’re both giggling as you begin your journey, walking arm in arm and talking about your day, running into Hwayoung’s arms when you see her waiting outside the restaurant. 

“I got us a table, come on!” She drags both of you in, settling in at a table in the corner near the window. 

You place your bag and coat in the storage of your seat, shutting your eyes when the BBQ smell hits your nostrils. You haven’t treated yourself to BBQ in a while, so this impulsive treat is well deserved. 

“Y’know me, I don’t go out lots, but thanks for insisting we go out.” 

Both girls high-five, making you roll your eyes at their antics as you look over the cuts of meat you want to order. 

You love going to BBQs with them because your favourite thing is cooking the food for them while they share stories of their nights out and all the spicy details, too. They show you video after video of loud parties, games of beer pong, dancing, and some shots of clubs filled to the brim with people. You laugh a lot when they tell you about all the crazy things they do out late at night, every other thing more daring than the previous one.

“I swear, if I didn’t have you guys’ locations, I’d be spending nights just scared, wondering if you guys were okay…” You confess.

Hwayoung pouts, “Awww, do you worry?”

If the restaurant weren’t so loud, they’d hear the sharp intake of breath you take while stopping the grin from spreading on your lips, “No, what do you mean…”

Eunji reaches over to pinch your cheek, and you let her, pouting, “You do~! You love us, admit it.”

“I say it every day, isn’t that enough?” You feed her some pork, and then you feed Hwayoung next.

“You should come with us one day.” Eunji mumbles, her mouth full. 

Shrugging, you chug the last of your water, “Some day I will.”

They both start jumping up and down on their seats, still chewing their food and giddily cheering your casual, noncommittal promise. They make a toast, downing a shot of soju each, coaxing a cackle out of you.

“Jeez, you’re acting like I’ve come out of a fucking convent…” You nudge Eunji, eyes twinkling with mirth.

All your heads snap up when the bell of the door rings, but that’s not what catches your attention. It’s the laughter of the guys who enter. Now, this wouldn’t be unusual considering your friends are always on the lookout for cute guys, but the attention within your small group isn’t on them. No, this time they are staring at you. Because in that group of guys, standing quietly in the mix of them is Yoongi. 

They all follow Namjoon, who guides them to a free table still within view of yours. But getting there means passing by yours, and there is no avoiding what happens next.

Namjoon weaves his way through, glancing around until his gaze lands on you. Crap. He comes to a stop and quickly bows to you, waving and continuing on, but the damage is already done. Now, all the guys bow at your table, but not only that, Yoongi is now aware of your presence, taking a longer pause near your table. His eyes are trained on you, and you smile softly before mouthing a small ‘hi’ to him. 

And just when your heart begins sinking, thinking he would walk without any more acknowledgment, he returns your smile and mouths the smallest hello right back. You look down at your fidgeting hands in your lap, chewing at the corner of your lips until your shin gets nudged. Your gaze shoots between your friends, whose eyes hold such amusement and giddiness. You easily spot the table they’re sitting at, clocking immediately where Yoongi is sitting as he makes eye contact with you briefly before–

“That was the cutest shit I’ve ever seen!” 

That takes you out of whatever reverie you are in, leaning over to smack Eunji, who only laughs in response. 

“Oh my god, not so loud!” You beg, hands covering your face. You take one hand, grabbing your chopsticks to take another bite of food, “Please tell me they’re not looking.”

“Oh, they are, but I think your guy is going through it too...”

You don’t even correct her when you peek from behind your one hand to see Hoseok teasingly nudging Yoongi, who makes a face, shaking his head the entire time. 

Hwayoung reaches over to grab your arm, squeezing it gently, “Ohh, come on, let’s just have food, okay? We’ll leave it alone, mhm?” She glances at Eunji, who nods in approval. 

You’re nodding before smiling at your girls, “Thanks. Interrogate me later, I know you’ll want to…” 

Hwayoung is older than you by a couple of months, and she sure protects you like an older sister would, but she will tease you like one, too. She begins telling a story of this guy she met at a club, keeping your mind occupied, even with the biggest distraction in the room, a few meters away. Even with him in the back of your mind, you’re able to focus on your friends and the amazing food. 

“...and his parents found out he was out clubbing instead of studying, so they barged into the club and I was dancing with him, so imagine what happened?”

You cringe, “Oh no…” 

You burst out laughing, covering your face at the embarrassment while she delivers the climax of the story, “His mom pushed me aside, started smacking him over and over, and she was, like, yelling at him, his friends and then me, saying we were distracting her precious son from his studies! I had nothing to do with it, though, I just met the guy!”

Sipping your water, you stand up as you gently tap your chest, “I need to pee, I swear that was the best story you’ve told me…and you’ve had plenty!”

You’re still laughing when you grab your phone and walk to the back, in search of the bathroom. Your friends are still laughing as you glance back at them, walking past the boys’ table. You feel all of their eyes on you as you walk by, delighted by the realization that Yoongi had more than likely spoken about you to them. 

You aren’t in there for long, exiting and walking back to your table before bumping into Namjoon, “Shit, sorry…”

He laughs, hands raised, “Shoulda looked where I was going…” 

“Well, you guys have a good night.” You start walking around him when he calls out to you. 

You turn to him and he’s smiling, this knowing look in his eyes, “Sorry for the guys being extra…” 

Looking down at your feet, “That’s okay, my friends will probably be the same.” 

You both laugh before waving at each other as you return to your table, your friends hunched over their phones, clearly conspiring. You rush back and lean against their backs, looking over their shoulders, “So, what party are you guys considering going to?”

They look up to you, and you snort, “C’mon, seriously, what is it? Where is it? And how long do I still have you for before you’re rushing off to a club?”

You are in no way bothered by it. This is how your friendship works, and you love more than anything how they run to you to share their stories. 

“We’re not sure yet?” Eunji admits, and you walk around back to your seat. They’re waiting on a text from a friend of theirs, “But most likely.”

You lean back, watching their faces, “Let’s finish eating, in case you need to fly outta here…”

They order one more bottle of soju between them, cleaning up all the meat left on the grill and exactly like you said, they receive that text. Eunji fist bumps the air, prompting you to snort as you sip water. 

You stand up, “It’s on me tonight, ‘kay?” They look up at you, eyes wide and jaws slack. 

“Are you sure?” Eunji looks like she could cry. Probably the bottles of soju that are in her system already.

You nod, rubbing her shoulders, “Mhm, on me.”

Hwayoung rests her chin in the palm of her hand, “You can’t wait to go home, shower and read a book, can you?”

You enthusiastically nod, the gentlest smile plastering your lips, “Mhm, yeah. You know me.”

You dig your coat and purse out of the bench, going up to pay, and as you stand there, you can’t help but glance over the cashier’s shoulder directly in Yoongi’s direction. He’s listening intently to his friends talking, and it makes you smile as you pay for the meal. You wait for your friends to catch up with you as you head outside in the cold evening air. 

“I’m guessing you guys are off?” They walk up to you, wrapping you up in their arms as you stand there. “Okay, okay, that’s enough.” You push at them without much effort, not actually trying.

“Our location is on. You okay to get home?” Hwayoung asks you, cupping your face as you nod.

“I’ll be fine, go! Have fun! Stay safe! Don’t get slapped by some guy’s mom!” You all burst out laughing as you wave them off, standing there until they disappear into the crowded street ahead. 

You’re still looking down the street as you dig your phone out to look at your messages. You open one from your mother and smile.

Mom [7:37PM]: Your father and I are coming down next weekend, and I’ll be making you food. Any special requests?

You [8:19PM]: Mhm, I definitely want Japchae. Your kimchi. Kimbap. Anything you wanna make? I’ll take.

You [8:19PM]: So will the girls ^^

The door to the restaurant opens, but you’re still head down on your phone as you move aside to not stand in the way of the entrance. You feel a person walk closer to you, and you immediately feel like your bubble is about to be invaded, but you relax the moment you lift your head.

“Hi…” It’s Yoongi. He’s just slipped his jacket on as he steps out. 

He takes a quick look up and down your frame, meeting your eyes, “Hey..”

The evening air remains cold even though the weather has warmed up, “Having fun?”

He glances at his friends through the window, “Yeah,” but his attention is back on you, “you headed off to work?”

“Nope. Home.”

He frowns, “Where are your friends?”

You snicker, “Off to a club.”

“You didn’t wanna join them?” He takes a few steps, moving to face you. 

Your head tilts, “Do I really look like the club type to you?”

“I don’t know,” he checks you out one more time, “you could have a crazy club outfit under there.” 

That makes you blush, looking down at your feet, “Well, unless you wanted to check for yourself, let me just disappoint you right now. I don’t.” 

“Wouldn’t be a disappointment.” He states matter of fact. 

You go quiet while watching him, “So, I guess I’ll see you around.” 

You wait on him for a few moments, but he stays quiet as you smile, taking a step to move, “Wait.” He takes one step towards you. “Let me walk you home.”

That catches you so off guard, you’re sure he sees it plain as day on your features. You open your mouth to speak, but no words come out other than, “What?”

“Let me walk you home.” He repeats, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“You don’t have to.” He’s about to protest. “What about...?” You nod to his friends inside.

“They’ll be fine. And I want to, I think I’ve mentioned that.” You’re about to try to reason with him again, but he adds. “And if I go back in there, they will rip me a new one for letting you convince me not to walk you home.” 

“Do they scare you?” 

He shrugs, “I’d just rather walk you home than hear them whine.”

“So, I’m convenient?” You tease. 

He sighs, mildly dramatic, “Will you let me walk you home or no?”

You start smiling, “Yes. You can.”

He moves aside, “Lead the way.”

You adjust your purse and begin walking as he falls into step with you. 

It’s five minutes into the walk home when you look up to him, admiring his profile. Anyone walking past him right now would think he was upset with you. He’s serious as he looks ahead, and you notice the way he blocks anyone from walking straight into you by either moving in front of you or by gently grabbing your elbow, tugging you closer. 

You’re turning onto a quieter street, the noise finally fading as he clears his throat, “Thought you’d be working tonight.”

“I’m actually switching over to the earlier night shift.”

The news seems to take him by surprise, “Really?”

“Mhm. My sleeping schedule has become too messy. Plus, nights are so quiet that they decided to let students do the self-serve thing. And they’ll have security on duty.” You watch him process.

“So, you’ll be off at 11?” 

“Nah, they’re having me do 4 PM until midnight.” You find his lack of reaction so interesting because his tone speaks for his face.

“That’ll be different…” 

“Mhm. I’ll miss it. Not sure how I feel about it yet.” The corner of your lips curl lightly. 

You haven’t thought too hard about what it meant for your routine with Yoongi, and whether he would still show up. You never want to put that pressure on whatever this arrangement between you two was. 

You glance up at your apartment building and come to a sudden stop, “Oh,” you say, disappointed, “this is me.” Yoongi steps around you to stand at your side, looking up at your building.

You turn to look at him, a small grin on your lips, “Thank you for walking me home.” 

He nods softly, looking down into his pocket as he digs out something. He holds his palm face down, waiting for you to hold yours face up as you snort. You break out into a smile because you know exactly what he has. You put out both of your hands, holding them like a bowl for him to drop the tangerine into. Except when he does? It’s not the fruit you expected.

Instead, it is slightly smaller but fluffier. When your eyes leave his face down to the small object in your hands, you don’t stop the small huffed breath that leaves your open mouth. You immediately bite your lower lip, obviously tickled pink by what he dropped in your hand.

A tangerine keychain. 

“Oppa…” it slips out, and you don’t even realize that it does. (But he does.)

You look up, wide and bright-eyed, your lips curling, “You really didn’t have to…” 

Yoongi is holding your gaze, carefully watching your reaction as you look down to turn the keychain over and over in your hand. 

“It’s cute.” You add, your voice small and timid. 

When you look back up to his face, he is just watching you, lips parted, “You like it?”

You nod rapidly, “I love it.”

You have no idea what it is your words are doing to him in that moment, but he looks content with your reaction as he shifts, “I’ll get going then.”

You look briefly disappointed as he adds, “Early class.” Your entire face changes at that, nodding.

“Mhm, then go. Thank you for walking me home. And for this.” You lift the keychain. 

He manages the subtlest of smiles, “Goodnight.”

He waits, and you turn around as you code into your building. You glance one more time at him and smile when you finally disappear. 

The entire walk up to your apartment, you are on cloud nine, staring at the keychain. You enter your apartment, and you run to your room once your shoes are off. You quickly get into comfortable clothes, settling on your bed with your phone. You know your message will send your girls into an absolute frenzy once they see it. 

You [9:01 PM]: [image] 

You [9:01 PM]: A gift from you know who.

You [9:02 PM]: He also walked me home.

You [9:02 PM]: You guys were right. I’m so fucked. 

You [9:03 PM]: I have a crush on him.

QUESTION: Would you be interesting in seeing a drabble of Yoongi's POV in certain situations? I've been writing lots of thoughts down but I haven't written anything. Yet.

I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS :D

Post separator credit to @hyuneskkami

[he4dliner]

good graces- patrick zweig x reader

cw: (2.5k) kinda angsty, but all resolved in the end, cursing, kinda toxic patrick and kinda toxic reader, allusions to cheating, & implied alcohol consumption

a/n: based on good graces by sabrina carpenter!!! perhaps i may make a release of fics based on the short n sweet album… also I did this instead of writing a research paper :p ….dont mind me making a challengers kinda reference in a challengers fic towards the end…

© HE4DLINER on tumblr. Do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works without my permission. Do not use my ideas without credit.

things were great with patrick. honestly, they were.

you had been dating for just under a year now, and already friends and relatives had been asking ‘when’s the wedding?’. you’d both even broached the topic of kids, agreeing to want a few in the future, and at times, you couldn’t help but imagine cradling a baby with yours and pat’s features in your arms.

when he had tournaments, you’d pack his bags and suitcases for him, leaving inside little love notes with hearts and swirly letters, handing it to him with a kiss on the cheek, a hummed reminder that you loved him, and to pretty please call you when he checked into the hotel. and before he went to bed. and before going to any events. and certainly if he was going to any parties.

he’d write you the sweetest texts if he was in an earlier time zone than you, wanting you to wake up with a smile. “i love being urs, baby. thank u for packing my good pajama shirt, these sheets here r ass”

you laughed at the text when it buzzed you awake, the bright light of your screen illuminating your room as you rolled over onto your stomach to reply. “you’re so cute. ofc, ml! don’t want the best tennis player EVER to get a bad sleep.”

his reply came quickly, grey dots replaced by a grey bubble. “i swear, ur perfect. promise youll never leave me?”

“i pinkie promise <3. you are the only guy i’d ever need.” there was a few seconds before he replied.

“good.”

after some more chatting that morning, you’d gone about your day, now wearing one of his sweaters when you went out to the library to study. which proved to be a bit of an issue because you couldn’t focus with the smell of his cologne so close to your nose.

once a few minutes had passed, you’d decided to send a text to pat, “missing youuuu”, with a sigh, switching your focus to your laptop to search up whichever service was broadcasting his match.

it wasn’t long until he’d won, and you sent him about a dozen congratulation messages, full of emojis and hearts and exclamation points.

the video feed continued, and you watched as he went to his chair, grabbed his phone- to read your messages, no doubt- but he simply put it back down as someone came up to congratulate him.

some girl.

a very pretty girl. wearing the shortest tennis skirt ever- so short that you were genuinely concerned. was that really allowed? the cameras moved to focus on the players for the next match, but patrick and this girl (tennis girl, you dubbed her), were still in the background, so your eyes remained trained on the pair, watching every detail.

and you knew your boyfriend’s face well enough to tell that when his head dipped down, his eyes were definitely looking at tennis girl’s legs.

is he fucking serious?

so you watched, leaning forward to your laptop screen as tennis girl ran a hand over his arm and they laughed about something. you watched patrick leaning into her, obviously interested in their interaction.

fuck.

...maybe you were overthinking things.

you grabbed your phone, sending another text, “really really so happy for u baby, i’m the proudest girlfriend ever!!!!”

and maybe he didn’t hear the notification because he didn’t check his phone, and well- you really wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. so you took a deep breath and called him, gaze fixed on his reaction on your screen as you held your cellphone to your ear.

oh.

he’s fucking serious?

the deep breath you took left your lungs as your eyes widened, viewing in real time your boyfriend’s fall from your good graces.

you watched patrick grab his phone from the chair, read it was you, glance back at tennis girl, silence his ringer with a single click, and go back to fucking flirting with her.

you were infuriated.  why shouldn’t you be? you just witnessed your boyfriend blatantly ignore you for some random girl.

some random girl who was probably also staying at the same hotel as him.

double fuck.

once your phone finished ringing out the call, you took a couple shaky photos of patrick chatting with tennis girl, saving them in your hidden album. then,practically slamming your laptop shut and shoving it into your bag, you made your way out of the library.

your speed walk back to the comfort of your bed only made the cologne from his sweater rise into your face more, and you pulled it over your head- glad you’d worn a tank top underneath- and continued stormed down the halls.

“fucking bitch!” you screamed into your pillow once you collapsed onto your bed, gripping its sides. “i hate you!”

you spent almost an hour moping and screaming and crying into your blankets and yelling at the stupid stuffed animals patrick had bought you, before you sat up, almost laughing at yourself when you caught your reflection in your mirror.

no way was tennis girl winning this. no way was patrick winning this. you were too hot and you had too much confidence to let this… this random bitch ruin your day.

so you showered in scalding hot water, put on some makeup, got dressed, found some friends, and made the drive to a fucking beach because you were going to post some bomb-ass bikini photos. and guess what?

patrick didn’t seem to want to check his phone so its not like he’d even see it for a while.

the friends you’d brought were all a bit surprised by the sudden invitation, so you bribed them. if they could come, you’d pay for a cabana and service, and boom. you got 4 other girls with you and so far 3 contenders of pics to post.

after the second or maybe third drink with a cute lil’ umbrella in it, you decided to post one of the photos. and with your decent following, it was an instant ego boost to start getting likes within minutes.

you decided to put your phone down for a bit- the likes coming in didn’t entirely soothe the fact that patrick had yet to call or text back- and enjoyed some time with your friends.

until your phone began to buzz with a message, and you scrambled to grab your phone from the table beside you, heart pounding because surely patrick had texted you- nope.

but.

in his stead, jordan waters had dm’ed you.

jordan was just some other guy who plays tennis with patrick. and your patrick just so happens to hate him because sometimes jordan plays better and your boyfriend is a sore fucking loser.

also jordan has tried to shoot his shot with you before.

a little grin spread across your face when you realized that you had the perfect option right now.

if patrick could, why couldn’t you?

so you read jordan’s message and replied.

jordi.waters: “hey ur at the same beach as me! you look beautiful in that color btw”

no.1.girl: “aw omg, thank you!!! ur here now? why don’t you come by, we’ve got drinks!”

you bit the inside of your lip as the dm delivered, kind of icked that you were flirting with someone other than patrick, but you remembered his pixelated face on your laptop screen and that fueled you to add a second line.

“you were great in your doubles match the other day btw.” the match where patrick lost to jordan most recently. a low blow, but it would certainly sent the vibe to jordan that you were perhaps not on the best terms with patrick, what with praising the guy who beat him.

“thanks, pretty. i’m heading over rn”

and yeah, a few minutes later, you had jordan waters in your cabana. your friend sam had shot you a wary look when he’d arrived, but you told her you had it under control. she didn’t know what “it” was, but had shrugged.

jordan sat in his own chair beside yours, but was leaning into you as you faked being coy and bashful and whatever shit he seemed to respond to, discreetly taking photos with his leg or shoulder or the back of his head “randomly” in the view of the beach pics you were taking.

once you got the perfect frame, you sat up, pretending to get a text and faking a pained smile. “oh my gosh, i’m so sorry, jordan, i’ve actually got to get going now, so it’s been nice meeting with you, but yeah.” not the best, but it did the trick of making him a bit confused as he reluctantly got to his feet, grabbing his beer. “you uh… kickin’ me out, pretty?”

yeah.

ew.

“oh, um, I don’t want to seem rude, no, not like that. but i’ve got to get home to call pat before his next match.” the lie flew off your tongue and jordan’s eyes sharpened a bit at the mention of patrick as he nodded. “alright. yeah. see you around.” with a single look back at you, he walked out of the cabana, and back down the beach.

“do we have to go?” sam asked as you repacked your beach bag.

you glanced at her as you downed the last of your fruity drink. “oh, uh, i’ll pay for the cabana for another hour, i’ve just gotta go, sorry. you’re good going back with the others?”

she nodded, glancing at the three girls that had all laid out in the sun to tan. “yeah, i’ll be good. text me later, yeah? about whatever’s going on?”

you pulled a baggy t-shirt over your bathing suit. “i will see.” and with a blown kiss to sam, which she caught dramatically and tucked into her top, you headed to your car and made the drive home, occasionally checking to see if patrick had viewed your stories yet.

nope.

once you showered again, getting into comfy clothes and completing some random assignment to clear your mind, you settled into your pillows- still ruffled from punching them earlier- and weeded through the photos you’d taken at the beach.

uploading one with you and sam posed in the water to your story, you gave the tempting thought in your head a few seconds before going along with it finally. you posted a photo that very obviously had the side of some muscular shirtless guy in the frame, your legs almost touching.

thanks, jordan, you thought to yourself as it finished loading up. two could play this game. let’s see how patrick felt seeing you with some guy stranger in the corner of your post.

you lost yourself scrolling, trying to not think any more about him, and soon enough you’d fallen asleep on top of your bed sheets, phone in your limp hand.

and to ruin things- it buzzed incessantly to wake you up.

“my babyyyyyy”, the screen reported and with bleary eyes that immediately widened, you sat up, swiping up the call and pulling your phone to your ear.

“h’llo?”

“you went to the beach?” came patrick’s voice on the other line- he sounded tired, maybe angry? maybe jealous. good.

“mhm, yeah, i did. me and the girls. why?”

“who was the guy with you?”

“what guy, baby?”

you could hear him groan back the urge to explode.

“babe, why the fuck was waters there?”

you bit back a giggle. “its the beach, of course there’s water there.”

“that’s not what I fucking meant and you know it, why the fuck-”

“who was the girl with you?” you interrupted, his line going silent for a moment.

“what girl, babe?”

oh. so two were definitely playing that game. “you’re being awfully suspicious.” you replied.

“and you aren't?” he snorted. “why the fuck was jordan waters with you? you know I hate him! and you know he likes you, so what the hell was going through your mind when you had him next to you in a fucking bikini?”

“what the hell was going through your mind when you ignored my call to flirt with that tennis whore on fucking television?” you retorted.

silence again.

“baby,” he started, his voice softer. “is that why you’re switching up like this?”

“don’t fucking start, zweig. i know what i saw. i’m not naive. you weren’t just chatting with some girl. i know you.”

“i swear to god- fuck, why the hell are you- fuck it's complicated. let me explain, please.”

you gripped your pillow again. “fine.”

“yes, i ignored your call, which is a douche thing for me to do. yes, i did it to talk to her instead, but no, i was not checking her out. she had a leg injury a while ago and I was surprised to see she was still playing.”

he continued. “and i am sorry for ignoring you but i haven’t seen her in forever and she was  a good friend of mine.”

your fingers slackened on your pillow. “…so you were not flirting with her?”

he sighed. “yes. i wasn’t flirting with her, babe.”

“then why’d you say ‘what girl?’ like that? like, all suspicious?” you asked.

“because i was genuinely confused since i didn’t think talking to her for three minutes was enough to be like ‘with’ someone, and i didn’t like, even think of her like that cause one, i love you, and two she’s a lesbian.”

oh.

“you’re serious?”

“i mean, yeah, i very seriously love you. and at least, i’m pretty sure she’s a lesbian. she had this weird trio thing with her best friend and some other guy they both liked but it was so obvious that they liked each other, they even had a threesome once and the dude told me they low-key forgot about him.”

you sat in silence as patrick continued.

“i am sorry for trying to make you jealous out of spite.” you mumbled into your phone, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. “just let me give you advice, never ignore my calls.”

he laughed. “yeah. yeah, i got that, baby. you genuinely sounded so mad, i’m sorry too. i never wanna kiss your cute ass goodbye.”

that made you smile. “i love you,” you added softly.

you could hear his smile in his voice “thank god. it sounded like you didn’t give a fuck about me for a minute there.”

“never break my heart or it’ll be much worse.”

“never speak to jordan waters again.”

“deal.”

“deal.” he laughed. “alright, i literally just got back from a round of interviews and i need to shower, so i’ll call you after so we can have dinner together, yeah?”

finally, you laid back in bed, looking at your ceiling. “yeah. i packed your conditioner in the mini red bag in your suitcase, by the way.”

“fuck, you’re amazing.”

you giggled. 

“i know.” 

shoutout to tennis girl who was not based on anyone at ALL and who did not have a weird trio genderbent version of ANYTHING else. thank you so much for reading, please please please ;) like and reblog <3333

[princesskaulitz]

New Boy (Part One)

✮ bill is the new cute boy at your school.

✮ 2008 bill kaulitz, fem! reader. this is also kinda au where the he doesn’t have a band. reader is in a group with popular girls at school but is starting to realize that it isn’t what she wants…. TW?: super toxic friends.

✮ A/N: i’m going to make this a couple part thing and it’ll be a lot longer than my other fics. this is also a tiny bit of a slow burn so if that isn’t your type of thing and you don’t have patience for that, this probably isn’t for you lol. 🖤 also this like skim proofread but I didn’t pay that much attention so if you see a typo, my bad. 💀

(vid from unendliichkeit on tiktok)

friday you nearly slept through your alarm. the sound blending into whatever nonsense your brain was dreaming up. blindly, you reached over to hit snooze, your fingers fumbling across the screen– tapping everything but the actual button. the frustration built up until you resorted to smacking your phone, which only resulted in it tumbling off the nightstand and onto the floor.

with a groan, you shoved your blankets off and dragged yourself up, snathing your phone and finally silencing the damn thing.

then you just… sat there. letting the dizziness pass. letting your body catch up.

three hours. that’s all the sleep you got. three.

you stayed up all night catching up on homework, completely loosing track of time. now, you were paying for your procrastination addiction. thank God it was only a half day and double thank God that next week you had that school amusement park trip and you would get a bit of a break. that’s one thing that all your hard work last night would pay off for.

forcing yourself to your feet, you shuffled to your closet. you had no clean school clothes. at this point, you didn’t even care about wearing your uniform, one dress code violation isn’t going to ruin your life. you threw on sweats and a hoodie that hadn’t seen the inside of a washer in weeks. you didn’t even brush your hair. this is never how you dressed, you always dressed to impress, to fit in, to feel noticed or less invisible. you were in a friend group with the rich popular glamorous girls at your private school and you couldn’t afford to look this much like shit, couldn’t afford to look like you didn’t care what others thought but today you were just too exhausted.

but at the same time, something about not having to do your makeup and hair felt like a day off for you. this almost felt… comfortable.

the walk to your bus stop was a blur, along with the walk to class and whatever drama that your friends around you were babbling a mile a minute about, your so called friend melina making comments about how shitty you look.

“oh my gosh, isn’t that a chocolate stain from like last month?!” she says all obnoxiously, making a couple of your other undeniably fake ass friends laugh. “ew y/n when was the last time you even washed that?”

usually it bothered you but friday just wasn’t one of those days. you didn’t even have the emotional energy to let her hurt you.

that’s when it happened…

your eyes locked onto one person in particular… a guy. a very tall, skinny guy. oh he was so fine.

he had on a pair of adidas, some black and white striped pants, and a studded belt, and a black band tee on. there was a leather bracelet on one of his wrists and he was wearing a choker that looks like it could double as a belt. (pretty much the outfit he’s wearing in the video above). he also had dark eyeshadow and hair styled like a hedgehog to complete the look. his eyes were such a pretty brown, he had pale skin, perfect nose and… was that an eyebrow piercing?

you couldn’t pull your gaze away from him. you thought he must be a new boy– you’ve never seen him before, of course you haven’t, i mean how could you see that pretty of a face and not remember it?…. and how the hell hasn’t he been dress coded?

before you could even process what was happening, he was walking right in front of you. he glanced at you for a second, making brief eye contact, before looking ahead again as he continued walking… oh fuck. you did a double take. did he just look at you? shit. you looked like absolute shit and that cute ass guy saw you?

“oh my gosh did you see that guy? what the hell was he wearing?” melina comments judgmentally.

“and what is going on with his hair? embarrassing.” lena comments.

“oh he probably just thinks he’s david bowie but he wound up looking more like he stuck some scissors in an outlet instead.” lilly adds in. they all giggle except for you. not only was that simply the most unfunny shit ever but you just didn’t hear it, you were too busy looking back at him as he disappeared around the corner like some kind of hot goth mirage.

you really hoped he didn’t hear them giggle and think you joined in… hope wasn’t going to do shit for you though.

then monday came. you came to school looking a lot more put together, hair done flawlessly, you even trimmed it yourself as you were good at it, you also had on a freshly clean uniform skirt and shirt, cute expensive heels that made the other girls jealous, you were wearing perfume, had your makeup done, fresh manicure and lash extensions you just got the day before.

funny how you’ve spent so long trying to fit in, believing it would finally bring you peace. but the effort it took—the constant adjusting, the quiet shrinking of yourself—never felt like joy. it felt like labor. and now, in the quiet moments, you’re starting to question if the approval was ever worth the cost… why weren’t you happy?

you had come in a little late, some tall guy with dreads, a lip piercing and baggy clothes bumped into you so hard that it was blatantly purposeful, he didn’t even bother to help you pick up your fallen things– even seemed to have purposefully kicked one of your books across the hallway. damn who pissed in his cereal?

in class, your friends were gossiping about the news that had made it’s rounds in town over the weekend. there was new twins at your school, notorious trouble makers and punks. lilly mentioned that their mom was engaged to the recent appointed assistant superintendent who was super loaded and doesn’t make the boys follow the school rules. you put two and two together, the hot emo guy and the guy with dreads were probably the twins, obviously because they were the only people in the school at the moment that didn’t wear uniforms.

your mind drifted as your friends started saying a bunch of stuff about how arrogant and spoiled they must be to think they can walk around with special treatment like they do, giggling about something about how they’re step dad is probably just letting them do whatever they want so he can keep getting laid by their mom, calling the boys pathetic, already making assumptions that they’re probably going to pass with flying colors without having to put any work in because step daddy will make a way for them. they even go as far as to say that boys like them didn’t belong here, that they’re not even smart enough to go here, that they’re making the school look trashy, less professional or pristine, pretty much that they’re embarrassments.

you’re looking out the window– what a pretty cardinal you see on the tree branch. then you glance around the classroom. your eyes lock with the guy with dreads from earlier… he looks pissed about something… did he hear your friends talking shit?

he didn’t keep eye contact with you for long before he just looked back down at the worksheet in front of him, bringing his pencil up to continue writing which reminded you that there was only 15 minutes left of class and you should probably finish your work too.

lunch time rolled around and you were putting your salad together. you hated salads if you were being honest but you were pretty much called a fat ass by melina for eating anything else.

melina looks you up and down slowly, a half-smile playing on her lips. “trying to redeem yourself for friday?” she asks, tone light but laced with something sharp.

“um… well, i wouldn’t say that,” you murmur, trying to keep your voice steady. you feel your hands automatically tug at the hem of your sleeves.

“did you get eyelash extensions?” she asks, raising her brows like she already knows the answer.

“yeah, i did,” you say, barely louder than before.

“yeah… i can tell,” she replies, dragging out the pause just long enough to make it sting. her smile widens, but not in a kind way.

you blink, hesitating. “do you… like them?”

she tilts her head, feigning thoughtfulness. “well… i mean, they look fine or whatever. but when you go to your lash tech, you should probably ask for something more natural next time, because i can definitely tell you have eyelash extensions. and like… the point is for people not to be able to tell, you know what i mean?” she lets out a small, performative laugh, eyes flicking to lena and the other girls.

you open your mouth, trying to find something—anything—to say in response, but before the words can form, she’s already continuing.

“and also, your foundation…” she trails off, her voice dipped in mock concern. “babe, you really need to clear your acne first. otherwise, you just end up looking… cakey.”

“and you look kind of orange, don’t you think, melina?” lena adds with a giggle, glancing around for approval.

they all laugh. it’s not loud—but it’s pointed. the kind of laugh that’s meant to echo.

you blink again, a dull pressure building behind your eyes as their voices begin to blur. one of them says something about how “boys don’t like catfishes,” but it sounds far away. you stare down at a scratch on the cafeteria table in front of you, willing yourself not to react, not to feel how red your face is getting.

“um can we help you?” a bit of a change in melina’s tone catches your attention as you look up to see who she’s talking to.

you see the guy with the dreads again. he had a soda in his hand.

he stops, shrugs. “nah, just wanted to give you something.” he had a deep voice, german accent.

he holds up the soda. they blink at it, confused, suspicious.

“what is that?” lena mutters.

he unscrews the cap slowly, and just as they realize he’s dropped something inside—

foomph.

a volcano of foam shoots straight out, splashing across the table. shrieks erupt. melina tries to scramble back, but it's too late—her top is drenched, so is lilly’s. lena’s phone is coated. your salad goes flying as your skirt gets ruined, soda getting in your hair. the whole table is in chaos.

he just grins and walks off like nothing happened.

“what the hell!” melina exclaims.

after a few seconds of grabbing every napkin in sight and desperately trying to wipe the soda off your pure white skirt, you look up and see him smiling and laughing with his twin, the cute guy you saw the other day.

great. just great. they know about your friends talking shit and they think you were a part of it… worstly, that emo cutie thinks you were a part of it.

the next day came, the school trip for the little mid semester break that all the students who made themselves eligible looked forward to. it was at an amusement park, there would be a good couple days off school, free hotel stay, free food, skip-the-line wristbands. it was exciting.

you were late. per usual.

your mom took forever—always did. dropping you off wasn’t just a task, it was a performance. she had to get done up like a victoria’s secret angel, just in case any of the other moms happened to see her. just in case they didn’t look their best, and she could make them feel like shit by comparison. blending in with the moms who looked way too good for this early in the morning. usually when she was too tired to doll herself up, that was when she made you ride the bus.

what an influence.

no wonder you ended up the way you did.

you barely made it to the fancy charter bus. inside, it was already alive with chatter and laughter—snack wrappers crinkling, chips being tossed from one seat to another. you scanned the rows, searching for your friends.

you spotted melina. relief hit—for a second. but as you moved to sit next to her, she quickly slid her bag into the seat before you could.

“what? what are you doing?” you asked, confused.

“that spot’s for lena,” she said flatly, not even looking up.

you glanced behind her. lilly was already sitting with her little boyfriend, all smiles and no intention of noticing you.

“you—really? you guys couldn’t save me a seat?” you asked, the question coming out smaller than you meant it to.

melina shrugged. “well, the bus filled up fast. you should’ve been on time. i don’t know what to tell you.”

no apology. no space made.

“just go find another seat. hurry up—we’re about to leave,” she added, waving you off like you were the problem. “you don’t want to be that person holding everyone up, do you?”

you sigh. lilly was even later than you yet you’re the one getting the speech and no seat? pretty typical.

you head toward the back of the bus.

the only open seats left? the twins.

and judging by the way they’re both spread out like they own the place, they have no plans of making room.

the one you like is lost in his own world—earbuds in, chewing absently on the cord. legs stretched across the seat, taking up as much space as possible. he doesn’t even glance at you.

his brother, on the other hand, does.

he meets your gaze without shame, holding it just a second too long. there’s not a hint of concern in his expression—just a lazy smirk, like he finds the whole thing funny. like he’s rooting for you to get rejected twice in one morning.

you glance back at the one you like. he must feel your stare, because he finally looks up—but only barely. he gives you that classic what do you want? face. the one that makes you feel like a total idiot for even standing there.

“move your legs and let her sit, bill,” one of the chaperones calls from the front, voice light but firm.

he exhales through his nose, rolls his eyes at the ceiling like it’s all so inconvenient. his jewelry clinks softly as he shifts, dragging his legs off the seat with a quiet clatter of chain and metal.

he doesn’t say a word.

you sit and situate your things. fuck he was so close you could smell him. he smelled like musk, sandalwood, iris and leaether. you almost forgot for a second that you weren’t necessarily his favorite person. he had his hair down today, not in his usual crazy style. you also noticed he had his nails done, they were black with white on the tips.

then you feel something small hit you on the side of your head, getting stuck in your hair. you pull it out, a gum wrapper. you look across at the other twin who’s just smirking, putting his pack of gum back in his bag.

you sigh, throwing the wrapper elsewhere. you look over at bill next to you, you had to tell him at some point that you weren’t like your friends. you admire him for a moment as he looks out the window. his side profile is so damn perfect and those lips look so soft. you get so distracted by them that you don’t even notice him side eyeing you.

“what?” he asks, not at all hiding his annoyance.

“nothing.” you quickly look away.

you pause for a moment before speaking again. “i swear i’m nothing like my friends. i’m sorry that they talk about you guys the way you do.”

“i heard you laughing with them on friday.” he says, not buying what you’re saying whatsoever. he has a soft voice and the same german accent as his brother.

“i wasn’t, i swear. i thought you looked cool, i really did.” you try your best to tell him but it doesn’t seem to be getting through.

“then why do you still hang out with them? clearly you want to be like them. if you truly didn’t care about them or like the way they act, you’d drop them so don’t hand me that shit, you still wanted to sit next to them a few moments ago even after the way they talked about us.” he says.

man he was right. why do you still chase them even after you see the way they are? even after they’re so mean to you. they were mean to you but even just hanging out with them filled something within you… or at least you thought.

but chasing people like them put you right down on their level and it was apparent now more than ever that maybe that isn’t truly what you wanted. you couldn’t possibly live without chasing little moments of approval where any other time, you were made fun of or given back handed comments though, it was even that case with your own mother. it was like some kind of dopamine chase.

where else would you get that fulfillment from?

you look at bill again. how the hell did he do that? how did he dress the way he dresses and do his makeup like that and not care what anyone else thought? like how does he live like that? you realized that it was a pathetic question.

you get lost in your thoughts for awhile. you and him don’t speak anymore. you loose track of time, even falling asleep when suddenly a voice wakes you as you get nudged.

“can you move?,” it was bills annoyed voice.

you open your eyes to see all the students getting up, then look up to see bill looking down at you, waiting for you to move. you quickly get up to see that the bus has made a pit stop at a fast food restaurant to get some lunch. you check your phone. damn how long were you out?

bill watches as you get off the bus and walk right past your friends this time who don’t even notice or seem to care that you hadn’t joined them.

you get yourself a chicken salad and choose to sit by yourself today.

bill and his brother watch you from afar where they’re sitting.

“i saw you talking to that girl, why?” his brother asks.

“she was telling me something about how she wasn’t like her friends and she swore she wasn’t laughing at me the other day. i didn’t buy it though because if she truly wasn’t like them, she wouldn’t be hanging out with them even after they talked about us the way they did and i told her that too.” bill explains.

it wasn’t that he cared about if you were laughing or not, he just hated people like you and your friends who think they’re better than everyone, he and his brother always sought out to humble and embarrass people like that. they had been tortured for years of their childhood by people like that and one day they just up and decided they weren’t going to take that shit anymore and they were going to fight back.

“well i don’t know, maybe she thought about what you said, she’s sitting by herself.” his brother notices.

bill glances up at you as he takes a sip of his cola. “i don’t think that means anything tom. she’s probably just mad at them because they wouldn’t let her sit with them.” he says.

tom doesn’t speak. he looks a bit pensive as if not fully agreeing with what bill is saying. almost like he can see more through you than bill does.

of course you’ve noticed by now that your friends don’t seem to give a flying shit if you’re sitting with them or not. as much as you wanted to pull yourself away from them, it still bothered you that they didn’t care. why did it fucking bother you? it was beginning to frustrate you.

you all were back on the bus soon. you sat in your same spot next to bill but still, neither of you talked.

it was a long ride until you guys finally arrived at the amusement park. there was a hotel there and that’s where the students were directed to first. teachers handed out key cards and let the students make their way to their hotel rooms to put their things away, put on sunscreen and whatnot and everyone was directed to meet back in the lobby in 20 minutes.

your class was huge and was taking up the entire small hotel.

students were to make groups of two’s or three’s for their room, of course melina got her card and her, lilly and lena all got a room together, not even caring to invite you.

melina’s excitement had mere seconds though before it was ruined as she was soon bound to discover the gargantuan wad of gum tom stuck in her hair when you guys got off the bus.

you got your key card but didn’t even bother to try and find a roommate, knowing that you probably wouldn’t wind up with one anyways so accepting the fact that you might be alone, you just made your way up to your hotel room.

you slid the keycard into the slot. the green light blinked, the lock clicked, and you pushed the door open.

then froze.

bill was already inside—back turned to you, bent slightly as he rifled through his duffel bag on the bed. he paused too, sensing you. when he turned around, the look on his face was pure confusion laced with irritation.

“what the hell are you doing here?” he asked, brows raised.

you blinked. “um… this is my room.”

he stared at you like you’d just grown two heads. his expression flatlined into disbelief, eyes narrowing slightly as if you were trying to pull a joke he had no patience for.

without a word, he stepped over and plucked the keycard right from your fingers, flipping it over to check the number. then he pulled his own from his pocket. compared. same number.

room 483. (hehe)

of course.

“no. nope. you’re gonna have to get another room or something because this?”—he motioned between the two of you—“this isn’t happening.”

he practically tossed your card back at you. you fumbled, barely catching it.

“there are no other rooms,” you said, trying to stay calm. “our class took up the whole hotel. everything’s booked.”

he scoffed. “then go stay with your little friends or whatever. not my problem.”

“i can’t. their rooms are already full. please—don’t make this harder than it has to be, there must have been some kind of mix up. i won’t be a burden. i’ll sleep on the floor, you can have the bed, seriously. you won’t even notice i’m here.”

his jaw clenched a little, the gears clearly turning behind his eyes. for a long second, he just stared at you. you could almost see the resistance softening at the edges.

finally, he let out a breath. not quite annoyed, but definitely not thrilled.

“…fine.”

part two here

[shewhoeatssand]

I want to befriend Kaneki and meet with him and email him forever

[actualpapanihil]

My stupid ass has been forever immortalised on the official ghost YouTube channel. I am cooked.

[spideyhexx]

read some older interviews with tom and his Juilliard story is crazy

[zodiacsea]

ANOTHER coworker i love is leaving AND i have a bunch of shit i need to get finished at work before i go to vegas next week and not enough time to do it AND the zipper on my favorite jeans broke AND i woke up half an hour late this morning i actually want to go home and curl up in a ball forever. thanks

[boomerang109]

just saw a video that was like “do you even know who your grandfather’s father was?” YES?! i KNEW him! he died when i was 16!!!

[classyrbf]

thinking about classmate!gojo who has no idea that the shy, nerdy girl in his class is secretly a perv who has a massive crush on him and has been trading nudes with him. From the moment you saw him in your lecture, glistening blue eyes and fluffy white hair, you immediately could feel your heart pounding. He was so cute, so handsome, and god his muscles drove you crazy, not to mention his smile. He’s only glanced your way a few times, though, but it wasn’t until you went on your fake account and began sending such lewd pictures of your body to him that he started noticing you. To your surprise, he actually sent one back and from there on out, you chatted every day.

You shouldn’t have been shocked to find out that he had a pretty cock too. Lengthy and thick with a pretty pink tip, just waiting to be sucked and fucked. Everytime you scrolled through your chats, your hands always found a way in your pants, rubbing at your little aching clit. You’d get so worked up, so wet, sending him videos of your dripping pussy, fucking yourself on your fingers just for him. He’d send a video back, jerking his cock, his heavy breathing and soft moans in the background. “God, baby, you have such a pretty pussy, you know that?” He chuckles. And the next morning, you’re both back to being complete strangers. He’s sitting in his seat on the other side of the room, obnoxiously tapping his pencil, completely unaware that you’re fawning over him, getting wet just thinking about him.

Sometimes you even leave class to slip into the bathroom, pulling your skirt up and snapping a picture of your cunt or unbuttoning your shirt to snap a picture of your tits just to hit send to him. And when Gojo gets the notif in class, the professors words going in one ear and out the other while he hides his phone to stare at the pictures you sent, his cock growing hard. And still, he has no idea that it’s you.

gojo: send a video of you playing with yourself for me, yeah?

Without hesitation, you listen. You’re in the bathroom stall, skirt hiked up while you quietly finger your soaked cunt, showing your slicked coated fingers to the camera. And a few minutes later, you walk back into class, watching gojo look down at his phone, trying so hard to pay attention but failing so miserably.

Later that night, Gojo is in his bed, fucking his fist to your pictures and videos, scrolling through your chats and messages, his cock throbbing in hand. “Fuck, I wish I knew what you looked like,” he muttered under his breath, pressing play on a video of you fucking your dildo, your ass bouncing up and down on the silicone. “I could fuck you so much better, baby. Have you screaming, begging, crying for my dick,” he grunted, following your pace. His eyes are fixated on your pussy, drooling over how it grips the toy, your juices dripping down it while your ass jiggles. Just as he’s about to cum, he clicks off your video and presses record, making sure to capture the moment to send to you. “Look at what you fucking do to me,” he rasps, and seconds later he’s cumming all over himself, moaning, grunting, swearing under his breath.

All you can do is smile when you get the video, giggling to yourself. His toned abs flexing underneath the light when he cums, throbbing veins decorating his thick cock. He’s just so perfect to you. A few seconds later he messages you.

gojo: when you gonna let me see your pretty face?

you: you’ve already seen it <3

part 2

[sentimentalbeeswax]

i hate my head of department and head of social media so fucking much

[rose-tinted-nostalgia]

I had to tell my manager, borderline in tears, that I had to go home just minutes after clocking into my second shift after finally returning to work this week because my son’s father is so incapable of watching his own children that he had a tantrum until I came home. But I got to dance in the kitchen with my kids while my oldest very proudly made pancakes all by himself, and although I sobbed the entire way home, seeing my children smile at me with that much love almost made me forget it.