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poemsforchan · 7 months

Text

LOVE GALORE

pairing: bang chan x fem!reader

summary: you meet Chan at a club and things get steamy from there.

word count: 3,579 words

warnings: NSFW, chan is always referred to as Chris, might be ooc?, mentions of alcohol, a lot of kissing, reader gets called pretty, sexual activities in the car, naked humping, thoughts of raw sex, that is all I can remember.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

The blinding lights of the club hurt your eyes when you walk through the door. The stuffy air and loud music hit you full force and you almost feel like turning around and going back outside, where the atmosphere was chillier and less suffocating. Your friend’s hand on yours is what makes you move forward, navigating through the sea of bodies with a quick “Sorry!” or “Excuse me.” being thrown into the air even though no one could really hear you. Your friend lets go of your hand when you reach the bar, immediately trying to get the bartender’s attention to order a drink. In the meantime, you look around the place in hopes of seeing your other friends you were supposed to meet. You suspect it would have been better to meet up outside the club. You shoot up a quick text to the group chat and wait for a response, expecting at least one of them to check their phone. Your friend returns to you with a big smile and a colorful drink in her hand and she promptly drags you to the dance floor, swinging from side to side to the beat of the song. It doesn't take long until you spot your friends and you move from your spot to stand beside them, exchanging hugs and loud words.

You dance with your friends for a bit, screaming lyrics and laughing as they make you twirl and do some silly dance steps. Mid twirl your eyes catch the stranger standing near the wall. He’s not alone, two other guys standing next to him with drinks in their hands and they laugh at something, but he’s staring only at you. The man is cute and very much attractive with dark hair, full lips and big muscles but you don’t stare at him for long, a bit too shy at the intense eye contact but you can almost feel him look at you even with your back turned to him. One of your friends catches your attention and you discreetly move your head towards the stranger behind you. She squinted her eyes in his direction, completely forgetting that she was supposed to be discreet and not completely obvious.

“You should talk to him!” She screams over the music, giving you two thumbs up in approval. You shake your head in horror, denying her suggestion. “He keeps looking at you!”

You want to check if it’s true but decide against it, not knowing what you would do if those intense eyes were still on you. You can’t help but feel a bit self conscious and scared that you were reading the signs wrong. You didn’t want to make a move just to be turned down because he was actually looking at one of your friends. Or maybe he was just looking around, too bored of the party and your eyes coincidentally met. You didn’t have much to lose but you wanted your pride to be kept intact. The rest of the group caught up on what was happening and they too proposed you going to talk to the mysterious man but when you denied their offers, they didn’t push you too much.

You kept having fun with your friends, the time passing too slowly and there were still a few hours to go before the agreed time to leave. Your friend, thankfully, asked you to go outside for a bit, feeling too hot and tired dancing. There’s an open area used mainly by smokers but a few people are sitting on the floor against the wall talking to each other. You and your friend find an empty spot, the rest of the group deciding to stay inside. She sits on the floor, completely ignoring the fact that it’s dirty, and you settle for leaning against the wall.

“You ok?” You ask her just to make sure.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Are you? We can leave earlier if you’re feeling tired.”

“Don’t worry.” You answer, looking around the place. “The guy inside was really hot. I kinda wish I had the guts to talk to him.”

“He was totally checking you out.” She laughs, looking up at you. “You’re so sexy, you should've jumped on him.”

You shake your head at the thought. “Never. Maybe he was looking at you. There’s no way I’ll embarrass myself.” Your friend replies with a “No way!” a bit too loud that has some people turning to look at you. “I’m serious!”

Your friend starts rambling about all of the signs the man was showing when looking at you, set on convincing you that he was indeed into you and should go for it. You don’t pay much attention to what she is saying, instead only catching a few words from time to time as you look at the people outside. You feel sleepy already - your day was too long for you to be partying all night but you weren't about to leave knowing you could stare at the pretty guy for a bit longer even if nothing was going to happen. You look back at your friend, still rambling about the man being “a pussy” and “doesn't know what he’s losing” as she gets up from her place to start walking inside. You laugh at her passion, your hand already holding hers so you don’t get lost in the crowd. The loud music hits you full force once again and you can tell your friend is still talking but you can’t really hear anything. The woman stops abruptly and you bump against her back, looking over her shoulder to see what happened. The pretty man stands in front of her, a shy smile on his lips as he says something near her ear. Your heart drops a bit and you scold yourself for getting a little bit of hope. He says something to your friend, she laughs and you just want to get out of there. You squeeze her hand before letting go, trying to signal that you were going back to the group standing a few meters away. Your friend quickly turns around with a big smile.

“He’s asking if he could steal you from me for a bit!” She screams over the music. You look at her confused. You? Maybe you didn't hear her correctly. “Was telling me he thinks you’re cute and wants to talk to you.”

“Why wouldn’t he just talk to me?” You ask a bit too loud, making the guy hear you too.

“I didn't want to seem like a creep or come onto you too strong. I don’t know, I’m nervous!” He replies, scratching the back of his neck.

Your friend pushes you closer to him before shouting a “have fun!” before rejoining your group. They’re close enough that they can see you if you need someone to save you and that makes you relax a bit. Still, it’s a bit awkward. The man’s eyes are too intense and you try your hardest to avoid eye contact. Instead, you look at your hands picking at the skin around your nails. A warm hand settles on yours, stopping your actions and making you look at the owner. He gets closer to your ear before saying “I’m Chris. You?” and you feel like you're going to combust on the spot. His hand is holding yours, his eyes are looking at you and you have an urge to just scream. His thumb is rubbing circles on your palm, moving to your fingers and then up to your wrist. He repeats the action multiple times, still looking at you and still waiting for your response but your brain is practically malfunctioning. You manage to say your name without embarrassing yourself further but you believe there’s steam coming out of your head when Chris smiles so sweetly at you and your legs turn into jelly. Your heart is beating too fast, your body is too hot and Chris is too close to you. Your eyes go from his to his lips and you don’t think you have ever wanted to kiss someone as bad as you want to kiss Chris. “You’re really pretty.” You hear him say and you swear you’re about to pass out and humiliate yourself in front of the hottest guy you have ever met. “Wanna go outside so we don’t have to keep yelling at each other?”

You almost want to argue that you haven't been yelling at each other because your brain turned into mush and you’re not talking at all but you still nod and he guides you outside, your hand still holding his. Chris takes you close to the spot you had previously stood with your friend. The cold air helps you organize your thoughts and stop overheating. With the stuffy air inside the club, the proximity and Chris’ breath hitting your neck, it was a matter of time before you passed out.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you since you first walked in.” He admits before his eyes widened and he quickly said “Not that I’m stalking you or anything! I just happened to see you and you’re really beautiful but I was so, so nervous. I don’t think I’ve ever done this but I knew I was gonna regret it if I didn't make a move. My friends were giving me a pep talk and when I saw you come back inside I just went for it. I’m sorry, I’m rambling.”

“Don’t apologize, that was cute.” You giggle a little, feeling a lot calmer knowing you weren't the only one anxious. “You caught my eye too, I was just too shy to make the first move.”

Chris lets out a breath. “Good to know. I was scared my rambling was going to push you away and make you think I’m weird.”

You shake your head. “Don’t worry, I don't think that.” You chewed on your bottom lip, thinking about what to say next.

Chris’ eyes move from yours to your lips for a second before he snaps back to reality and his eyes move up again. “I’m glad. Are you… are you sober?” Your eyes alternate between his and the tongue wetting his lips. Chris’ hand is still holding yours and he uses it to his advantage, pulling your body closer to his.

“Yeah…” you whisper, not wanting to break the moment. Your throat is dry and you wonder if alcohol would have helped you in this situation. “I’m the designated driver. Are you?” you ask back.

“Drank water all night.” He replies.

His answer is enough to make your lips crash. Chris holds the back of your head with his free hand while yours is grabbing his shirt. His lips are soft and taste a little bit minty - it makes you dizzy. You can't think of a kiss better than this one but you reckon it has to do with the man kissing you rather than the quality of it. It’s a bit sloppy and fast but knowing you’re kissing Chris is enough for this to be the best kiss of your life. He’s the one stopping the kiss first and you mindlessly chase his lips, your eyes still closed. He chuckles and gives you a few pecks. You open your eyes and immediately wish you hadn't. Chris looks even more handsome with red, swollen lips that shiny a little from the lipgloss you had. His hand slides down your body from your head to your waist and you’re as close as possible. Every single thing you want to do to him plays in your mind like a movie and you even get surprised at your thoughts. It’s definitely a first.

For the first time since he talked to you, you let go of his hand to wrap your arms around his neck. His grip on your waist suggests he’s trying to hold himself back, eyes burning with desire. You pull him for another kiss, nails lightly scratching the back of his head as you play with his hair. You push Chris against the wall to deepen your kiss as you open your mouth to welcome his tongue. You don’t think you can go back to living your boring life after tonight and especially not after Chris starts being bold and slips a hand to grab your ass.

“Come home with me.” Chris whispers against your lips, then moving to kiss your jaw and neck.

“Can’t.” You manage to breathe out. “I have to drive my friends home.” You explain, throwing your head back to give him more space. The man sucks a hickey on your neck and hums at your words. “The backseats of the car are really spacious though.”

You don’t know why you were so bold suddenly but you knew you needed some kind of relief. Plus, having sex in the car was safer than going to his house. Right? It didn't matter either way - not when Chris looked at you with those eyes; like he was ready to undress you right there. He holds your hand again and guides you through the still full place until the exit. You manage to send a text to the groupchat informing your friends regarding what is about to happen (texting with one hand was harder than you expected but you’re almost sure they will be able to understand despite the horrible mistakes). When you reach the exit, you guide Chris to where your car was parked and the walk felt longer than you remembered. You unlock your car but Chris claims your lips before you have the chance to open the door. His hands travel up and down your body and you pull his hair a bit to make him stop. The man full-on groans while kissing you and you’re quick to reach behind you to grab the door handle before you decide to just drop on your knees to hear him groan like that again. You open the door and quickly go inside, laying on the backseat with your head propped on the window. Chris gets on top of you, almost forgetting to close the door if it wasn't for your warning. He goes back to kissing you as soon as you’re in the privacy of your car (which wasn't much. Sure, your windows were tinted but you doubt you will be controlled enough that people passing by don't know what is happening). You separate just long enough to pull his shirt off before your lips are crashing again.

“Do you… fuck… do you have a condom?” You ask, breathless, while grinding your hips against his already hard dick.

His eyes widened. “No! I didn’t think I was gonna need it.” He runs his fingers through his hair, making it even more messy. “I can just go down on you or something?”

The thought of Chris between your legs is definitely something and you’re inclined to say yes but, today, you’re focused on both of you. However, you hope you can see Chris again to fulfill the fantasy of having the handsome man pleasing you with his tongue, whether he’s between your thighs or under you while you ride his nose. Right now you have to deny his request, instead unzipping his pants. “We could just… do this?” Your front humps against him and Chris groans, moving his hips.

“Yeah… yeah, that’s fine.” He replies weakly. “Just… hold on, fuck.” Chris grabs your legs to help you take off your shoes and then works to unzip your jeans, sliding them off your legs with a bit of struggle. He pulls his pants and boxers down just enough to take his dick out and your jaw drops at the sight. Chris is pretty everywhere and you mentally curse yourself for not having condoms on you because you could be feeling his dick inside of you right now. One of his hands rests next to your head, supporting his body while the other guides his dick to touch cunt - your underwear being the only thing in between. Chris groans with each thrust, surprisingly vocal in this situation, which gets you to imagine how much louder you can make him be. For the first time in your life, you kind of want to get fucked raw by this guy you just met. Obviously you don’t. Instead, you pull your underwear to the side so you can get more friction. Chris, to your displeasure, thrusts against you rather than into you but it’s the best you will get in this situation. The tip of his cock bumps deliciously against your clit and you cling onto his shoulders like he will just disappear. He kisses you and bites your neck between sweet, groans and then his warm hands are pushing your top up so your bra is on display for him.

“Take it off for me.” Chris pleads and you immediately do as it says. The position is a bit awkward and it takes you a bit longer than normal to take off your strapless bra but as soon as you manage, Chris’ hand is touching your boobs, pulling softly a nipple between two fingers. “You’re so pretty.” He whispers. “And you have the prettiest pussy…” Chris grunts. Your brain almost doesn't process the words coming out of his mouth. The man who was too shy to talk to you had the dirtiest mouth during sex but you would never complain. Not when he looked at you like you were an angel, the prettiest person he has ever seen. “I can’t wait… f-fuck… I can't wait to fuck her.” Chris’ hand slides down your front until his fingers are circling your clit for an extra stimulation. It’s too much and not enough at the same time. You think your brain short circuited due to Chris’ words and at the fact that his dick, at times, gets dangerously close to your entrance. “You’d take me so well, wouldn't you?” You realize Chris’ words aren't directed at you and the whiplash you get from the guy you talked to at the party and the man humping you in the backseat of your car is insane.

With difficulty, you find your voice to whimper a “‘m gonna cum. Keep doing it like that.” that has Chris kissing you again. His fingers maintain the rhythm you asked for and it doesn't take long until you cum with a moan of his name. Chris helps you ride out your orgasm and his thrusts get a bit sloppy at the same time. Your hands find his hair, now slightly more curled than you remember seeing at the party and sticking to his forehead. “Are you close?” Chris nods eagerly. You pull his hair a bit, drinking in the way a moan falls off his lips so red and swollen from all of the kissing. Chris thrusts a few more times before spilling all over your stomach with heavy breaths.

Post-nut clarity hits Chris hard. “I am so sorry!” He says with widened eyes. “I don’t know why I said those things.” He looks down at your body, his cheeks getting a cute shade of red that you’re not sure is from the heat or embarrassment. “And I got you all dirty, I’m so sorry.”

“You’re fine, don’t worry. I enjoyed it.” You calm him down but feel a bit shy yourself. “I have tissues in my purse. I think I threw it in the front seat. Can you get it for me?”

Chris looks over the front seat and reaches to grab the purse. You grab the tissues but he stops you and takes it from your hand. You never believed in love at first sight but butterflies are partying in your stomach while Chris gently cleans you. When he’s done he pulls your panties back in place and smiles kindly at you, dimples on full display. You tug him for another kiss, this one slower than the ones you’ve been giving him so far. You both get dressed fairly quickly after you read the clock and realize your friends might show up at any moment. Chris opens the car door, looks around to see if anyone is near and then hops out the car. You get out after and leave the door open to hopefully get rid of the smell of sex. Chris pulls you by the waist to get another kiss and it confirms that you both like kissing each other more than anything.

You see your friends walking to your car when you stop kissing, a bit drunk and laughing loudly at something.

“I have to drive my friends home but… You could come to my house after.” You say quietly, a bit shy and scared that Chris didn’t feel all of those butterflies too and this was a one time thing. “If you want.”

He pulls out his phone from the back pocket and hands it to you unlocked. “Give me your number and I’ll text you so you can send me the address? My friend is gonna drop me off at my place and I’ll just drive to yours when you’re done.”

“It’s late though. Are you sure?” You question, taking his phone and creating a new contact with your number.

“One hundred percent.”

You get teased by your friends all the way but you barely listen to their words, thoughts filled with Chris and the second encounter happening when you get home.

#poemsforchan post #bang chan x reader #bang chan smut #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids bang chan #skz smut #skz x reader

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manicpixiedreamcurl · 7 months

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The More You Give ❧ (Part VIII)

Pairing | Eddie x shy!reader Warnings | 18+ only. Do not interact if you are underage. Roleplay (PrincessxWannabe Usurper lmao), sexual fantasies (including rockstarxgroupie), Eddie says some weird possessive stuff but reader likes it, oral (M receiving), P in V sex, dom!Eddie, sexual guilt as per, there’s aftercare. Word Count | 10,400 A/N | Nobody ask me about the timeline of this story, either in the fic or how long it takes me to write it. Taglist Previous Chapter

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The air is stuffy, despite the growing chill outside. The last days of Summer are at least a week gone now, and with Autumn comes heated stores. An ABBA song is playing on the main floor, filtering through enough for you to make out the tune. It’s the sort of thing your Mom plays in the car all the time, your mind following the words even though you can’t quite hear them over the buzzing ceiling lights.

I try to capture every minute, the feeling in it. Slipping through my fingers-

The curtains pull back, the sound of metal over metal dragging you to full attention. May’s eyes are bright with excitement as she twirls, showing off how the strapless black dress fits around her waist and flares out at her hips.

“It’s perfect, right?” She says, smoothing it down only to twirl and puff the skirt up again. “Ooh, let me see with the jacket.”

You search through the bag at your feet for the cropped jacket she’d found earlier, then watch as she pulls it over her shoulders. She fluffs her hair and poses in the mirror at the end of the changing room hallway. “I mean it actually is perfect, right?”

“For sure, you can totally see who you are already.”

“Right? And then I can just backcomb my hair a little. My Mom’s gonna lend me her scarf. God knows what earrings I’ll wear, but I can work it out. Definitely can’t get anything new after this,” she finishes, turning her head and pulling at the tag on her back to double check the price. She pulls a face before tucking it away gingerly.

“That bad?”

“That bad. Even with 30% off.” May smooths her hands over the skirt again, turning once more to the mirror. Her smile lights up her pretty face. “But totally worth it.”

Once the dress is folded and wrapped in tissue paper by the woman at the counter, paid for with what seems like every spare penny in May’s purse, attention moves to your costume. “Okay, Fairy God Mother,” May says, linking her arm with yours. “Game plan. Where do we need to go?”

“I think just the costume store. I have a blue dress I can use. But I’d like some wings and a wand. Maybe a tiara, if I can afford it.”

“Ugh, you’re gonna look so cute. Are you sure you don’t want to come to Tommy’s party?”

“The whole reason I’m dressing up is for Grace,” you reason, spotting the orange banner reading City of Fright, which appears in the same spot every year mid-September and vanishes November first.

Gone are ABBA’s lilting tones, replaced with stock Halloween music, the occasional creepy laugh and thunder clap. The entire front of the store is complete costumes, wrapped up in plastic and hanging on metal rods, but once you reach the shelves at the back, you are surrounded by an array of vampire teeth, witches hats and face paints.

“Eddie’s renting Theatre of Blood,” you tell her, not waiting for a reaction before launching into a prepared defence. “It sounds really good. It’s about an actor who takes revenge on his critics by murdering them like Shakespearian deaths - drowning in Malmsey wine, that kind of thing. He picked it cause, you know, he thought I’d like it.”

“Okay, but she’ll be in bed by what? Eight?” May asks, wandering around the table of paraphernalia as you start thumbing through fairy wings piled next to fake blood bags, searching for the right blue. “You could come after.”

There’s a moment of silence, then she sighs softly. “Okay, I will say it’s kind of cute that he picked that. In a weird, not really that cute cause it’s a horror movie about gruesome murders, sort of way.”

You stifle a grin, chancing a look at her over the table. “That sounded…almost like a compliment?”

“Almost,” she agrees, walking back round to your side. Then, before you can answer, she has seized a shiny silver plastic tiara and is reaching out to place it gently on your hair. “There. Fit for a Princess.”

You shake your head, laughing. “What about a Fairy Godmother?”

May hums, grabbing a set of the net and wire wings and pulling them over her arms. “I’m the fairy now!” She declares, raising her chin and going up on tiptoes to whirl around the racks, wings shaking behind her. “Here to make all your Halloween costume dreams come true!”

Your heart warms, a giggle escaping as she peers curiously at the rubber masks and cat ears in character, mumbling about the strange habits of humans.

“Oh please, fairy godmother! I need a wand if I’m going to look anything like the real thing!”

“A wand, of course!” She cries dramatically. “No true fairy would be seen dead without their wand.” You watch her scurry on tip toe around until she comes to a display of wands of various colours, topped by stars and hearts, sequined tassels and glittery handles. She wiggles her fingers above them, picks out one with a simple silver star and travels back to you gracefully. You take it from her with a flourish. “There, and now your wings.” She helps you into your own pair, then turns and throws a graceful hand into the air. “Now, we fly!”

You flit about after her, laughing at her with every pause she takes to frown disapprovingly at fake scars and rubber spiders. She stops in front of a Tinkerbell costume, pointing with a surprised smile at the model on the package. “Hey, I know her!”

You snort a laugh and it sets her off, all attempts to stifle your laughter only making it worse. Your giggles are only beginning to settle when you feel the sudden awareness of being watched tickle the back of your neck.

“Uh, hi girls.”

Your heart drops. Caroline stands, a hand over her mouth, barely covering the smirk. “You look like you’re having…fun.”

Suddenly, the clear elastic of the wings is too tight around your shoulders. You can feel the crooked angle of the tiara atop your head, close to slipping off entirely. The wand in your hand isn’t silver now, just chipped paint on plastic.

Next to you, May is wrenching off her wings, laughing airily. “Just messing around,” she assures, folding them up and holding them with a tight fist at her hip. “You costume shopping?”

Caroline looks around at where you are. “I mean, obviously. Not for me, though, for Ethan,” she sighs. “You know boys, no interest in shopping.” She sets her stare on you, eyes scanning from the crooked tiara downwards. “Are you girls dressing up together?”

Your throat feels blocked, leaving you just to shake your head. May answers for you both. “No, no. Like I said, we’re just messing around. So we should probably put this stuff back.” She slides her wings into the space between some hanging masks before elbowing you into action. You’ve abandoned the tiara and wand and are in the process of sliding off the wings when she adds, coolly, “I’m actually going as Madonna.”

Caroline’s smirk falls, replaced at terrifying speed with a deep frown. “What? You can’t, I’m doing Madonna. I’ve got a veil and everything. Ethan’s going to be Sean Penn.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m going as her in Desperately Seeking Susan, so it’ll be, like, totally different.”

“But I don’t think there should be two Madonna’s,” Caroline continues, almost sounding sympathetic. She crosses her arms, shrugging. “You’ll just have to go as somebody else.”

“Oh,” May says, shoulders falling. “Um, right. I get what you mean.”

You’re not in the habit of arguing with Caroline. It’s been easier, historically, not to contradict her or answer back. But you can feel May deflating beside you, and it tumbles out. “But you won’t look similar or anything, they’re completely different costumes.”

“They’re not though.” She answers with finality. “They’re both Madonna, and the last thing we want is comparisons, right? People talking about who wears it better all night?”

May nods. “You’re right. Totally. I’ll think of something else. No worries.”

“But May, your dress! You can’t return it now, it was on sale!”

“It’s fine,” May snaps before smiling close mouthed at Caroline. “I can find something else to wear, no issue.”

“You could be fairies together!” Caroline says. “I bet the guys at Tommy’s party would love that.”

“No, no, like I said, we were just messing around,” May says. “Not really my thing. And anyway, she’s not coming on Friday.”

“Oh no!” Caroline pushes her bottom lip out into a pout. “But I haven’t seen you outside of school in ages!”

“I’m babysitting,” you explain, clutching your removed wings in your fists.

“Oh sure you are, not spending the night with your boyfriend. We hardly see you anymore, I feel like there must be so much detail we’ve all been missing out on. You’ll have to come on the next girls trip, right May? So we can hear all about you and…Eddie.”

Your heart pounds as May nods. “Yeah,” she answers. “Eddie can’t have all your time.”

“Perfect. Well, let me know what you end up doing, May! See you later, girls!”

She flounces away, and May hides her face in her hands. “I can’t believe she saw me doing that.”

“It’s okay-”

“It’s not!” She says, throwing her hands up. Her eyes shine with frustrated tears. “It’s not okay! Not for me, anyway. It’s different for you, people already think you’re weird.”

You blink at your friend. Then you look down at the speckled linoleum floor, watch the spots fuzz and blend into each other as the lump in your throat builds. Before five seconds have passed, her arms appear at your sides, pulling you into a tight hug. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean that.”

But you know that she did. You know that’s exactly what she thinks.

For the moment you have to think about what you say now, you imagine calling her out on this. Pushing her away and telling her that she doesn’t have to spend any more time with you, given you embarrass her so much. You’d buy your fairy wings and your crown, walk out with your head held high.

Maybe she’d call after you, apologise again, say that losing you isn’t worth impressing Caroline or sitting at the cheerleader table.

But maybe any pain she’d feel at the prospect of your friendship ending would only bring out her anger. Maybe she’d swear to never speak to you again.

If you were somebody else, someone who didn’t love May, maybe you’d take that risk. But you are you, and you’ve loved May since you were five. To you, the only thing worse than feeling hurt yourself is the thought of hurting her back.

So you shake your head at her shoulder, blink away tears and squeeze her tight in your arms. “It’s okay,” you whisper.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you nod, pulling away from her collar that smells the way being seven smelled. You release her, and in turn her arms fall from you. “I get it, you’re just stressed.”

“I know! I don’t know what I’m going to do about my costume!”

Your heart pangs. You swallow the lump in your throat that’s trying to rise back up. “Well, at least the dress is black,” you say, sniffing quick and quiet. You drag your hands over your eyes, clearing away the wetness clinging to your bottom lashes. Stop it, you think. Stop crying. “Let’s return the jacket, yeah? Then you’ll have money for a witch hat or something.”

May nods slowly as she thinks it through. “Okay, yeah. Yeah, that works.” She gives you a relieved smile. “God, what would I do without you? Let’s go.”

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“Well, I didn’t think I wanted glasses because Katie has glasses,” Grace explains, holding her plastic pumpkin, now close to overflowing with candy, in both hands at her stomach. She looks at you with a look too knowing for a seven year old, then continues. “Katie is a tattle tale.”

“I see,” you nod.

“But I want ones like Jessica’s!” She cries, arms extending with the weight of her treasure trove before she pulls it back up. “They go dark in the sun!”

“It’s not the same,” she whines. “And then when we went to the optom- uhm.”

“But you already have sunglasses,” you reason, picturing the little red plastic pair you’ve had to run back for when out on walks many times. Grace hefts the pumpkin again and you give in, lifting the bag from her grasp and burying your wand in with the candy. You soften when she grabs your hand with a deep sigh.

“The optometrist?”

“Yeah, when we went to see him, he said my eyes were perfect!”

“Well, that’s good.”

“No!” She yells, dramatically, pulling on your arm with her whole weight until you have to heave yourself back up. You stifle a giggle at her distraught expression. “Because now I’ll never get glasses, and everybody has them.”

“Well, first of all, I’m sure not everybody has them,” you say, smiling down at her grumpy face. “And secondly, you shouldn’t just want something like glasses because other people have them, even if it was everybody else. You can’t just live your life just trying to be like everyone around you.”

“I know,” she mumbles. Then, catching your raised eyebrow, “I know!”

You round the corner to her street, and by the time you’re approaching her house, she’s moved comfortably on to the next topic of her candy eating schedule for the next three days. “Because Jessica saves all her Skittles for last,” Grace explains, her position now firmly against being anything like Jessica. “Which is stupid, because you should have the best candy first.”

“Mm? Why’s that?”

Grace looks at you with a frown. “Because the best comes first,” she tells you, with the tone of somebody kindly trying to hold in their frustration with an imbecile.

“Of course, silly of me to ask. Hi, Mrs. Miller!”

Grace’s Mom was clearly waiting for you near the front door, already out and standing on the front steps as you walk up the front path. Grace holds her hands out to take her bucket back, launching forward when she’s got ahold of it. “Mom! Look at all my candy!”

“Whoa! There’s no way you’ll be able to eat all that!” Her Mom says, eyes comically wide. “Think you need someone to help you out, hm?”

Grace shrieks indignantly, running under her Mom’s arm inside and clambering up the stairs out of sight without a bye nor leave for you.

“Everything went okay?” Her Mom asks, smiling when you give her your usual answer, all fine. “Will you be okay getting home? I can get her back down if you need a ride.”

“Oh, um,” you check either side of the street, feeling suddenly warmed inside at the sight of Eddie’s van parked at the end of the road. Now that you’re concentrating on it, you’re sure you can hear the music blasting behind glass. “No, it’s okay. That’s my boyfriend.”

“Ah, Eddie.” She smiles, then smacks her teeth as she, too, registers his music. “Maybe tell him to keep it down next time? I don’t mind but I already get monthly phone calls from Mrs O’Hara about the sound of the lawnmower.”

“Oh, sorry. I’ll do that,”

“Okay,” she says, calling after you as you start up a fast pace towards Eddie. “You have a good night!”

You pull your cardigan sleeves down over your hands to fight the chill as you move, smiling when you can properly make out Eddie sitting in the front seat. He had a special D&D night planned when he dropped you off at Grace’s earlier. While your costume sat folded in your bag all day, he’d gone to school dressed all in black, even his white Reeboks swapped out for a pair of knockoff doc martens he’d launched himself towards when he caught sight of them at the thrift store. They’d fit him just fine with three pairs of socks.

This morning, sitting in his van, he’d barely managed to control his excited twitches while you lined his eyes with a cheap black pencil from the drugstore. Your work is a little smudged now, but on him, it looks even better than before. Which makes sense, you think. Eddie doesn’t suit neat lines.

“Hi Princess!” He calls, turning the music down enough that his excitement is just audible through the glass as you approach.

“Not a Princess,” you remind him as you climb in, turning your back to shake your shoulders and display the blue net wings. “A Fairy God Mother.” You settle back into the seat, shivering away the chill that had gooseflesh rising over your body. Eddie rubs your arm over your cardigan, and you take the opportunity to grab his hand. As much as you want to warm your cold fingers, it’s mainly just to touch him. “How was the game?”

His grin turns sharp as he leans back in his chair, chin tilted up. “So fucking good. I have them right where I want them. I thought for a second Lucas had me worked out. He hesitated when they were getting to the caves, but then he just went along with it. I can’t wait till next week.” He lets go of your hand long enough to start up the van before returning his open palm to the space between you for you to take hold of him again. “How is Princess Grace?”

“Increasingly despotic. She executed like five of her toys before we went out trick or treating.”

“Jesus,” Eddie laughs. “What for?”

“Well, her not-so-wise Fairy God Mother,” you start, gesturing to yourself. “Made the mistake of telling her about royal food tasters? Now there’s a poisoning attempt every few days.”

“Very active imagination, this girl. Violent, but active.”

“Mm, I think most girls play that way. When I was little- Well, me and May, we’d act like witches sometimes? And make potions out of mud and sticks and stuff. And talk about who we would curse.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks. “And which poor soul had earned this spite, pray tell?”

“Did you ever have Mr Gilmour?”

“Oh, Gilmour, yeah, I fuckin' hated that guy!” Eddie yells. His eyebrows furrow. “I threw up during gym in seventh grade and the sadistic prick made me finish running a mile.”

“Yeah, I forgot about that till now.” His brows stay taught for a second longer, then he shakes his head a little, tapping his fingers along your knuckles. “Too bad I didn’t have you around then, coulda cursed him for me a little earlier.”

“Oh, Eddie, that’s horrible.”

“I would have,” you promise. “But you were telling me about the game. Did you get Dustin with the, um, venom troll?”

“Not yet. We didn’t get as far as I’d have wanted before they had to go. I mean, what fourteen year old has a curfew? I didn’t, and I turned out alright. But I’ll get him next week. I can’t wait to see his face - that little punk thinks he’s so smart, but he is pre-dictable.”

Eddie continues describing the campaign, the traps he’s set for them that he’s sure they’ll run into, the whole drive to his place, excited and animated as he usually is on the rare occasion you get to see him after Hellfire, wound up from the events of the day. He only slows down when you’re settled on his couch. Sneakers left at the door, wings, tiara, and wand abandoned on the kitchen table, wrapped up in his arms as the opening titles of Theatre of Blood play.

Eddie’s so warm, and unusually still when you sit with him like this. Being cuddled up to him puts you in mind of your aunt’s black cat. She spends the first couple hours of every visit pretending that she isn’t interested in being anywhere near you. Then, after letting her sniff your hand, rubbing gently between her ears, she darts up on your lap, her soft heat spreading through you.

Eddie might not admit it, at least not verbally, but he likes being petted the same way. You’ve seen his eyes flutter when you play with his hair, heard the gentle sighs he lets out when you touch his cheek. Now, leaning into his chest, rubbing lazily at his torso, you can feel the way his body relaxes into the couch under your touch. It makes you smile at the TV even as Vincent Price swears revenge on all his critics.

You turn your head just a little, trying to be subtle as much as possible so you can look at him properly. Eddie’s eyes, which in sunlight can be bright as copper, are dark and focused in the electric light of the TV. The light freckles that dotted the tops of his cheeks and nose during Summer have faded from the cloudy days and early sunsets, leaving only his soft pale skin. His lips, as always, are soft looking and pink, still shiny from the last time his tongue peeked out, set in a near constant subtle pout.

You sigh gently, and in turn breathe in the remnants of smoke and laundry detergent from his shirt, the fading spice of his drugstore aftershave.

“You know I picked this movie out special,” he says, only his eyes moving to fix you with a mockingly suspicious expression. “Vincent’s a master.”

You’re surprised to find you’re not ashamed at having been caught. “M’just looking at you.”

“Therein lies the problem, sweet thing. One minute you’re just looking. Next thing I know my head’s trapped between your thighs.” This time he leans in properly. “Wicked temptress.” He whispers it, his breath warming your face.

You think he’ll kiss you then, but instead he relaxes back into the couch with a sigh. “M’just lucky you weren’t dressed up all day.” His hand tugs at the hem of your skirt, then spreads out just above your knee. “I wouldn’t have been able to think about anything else. It’s a miracle I even got the movie playing instead of trying to touch you.”

“I wouldn’t have minded,” you answer, trying not to sound too eager.

“I bet,” he says, eyes shining. Then his face turns serious, palm coming to his heart. “But Eddie the Chivalrous would never touch a Princess without properly wooing her first.” His eyes scan over your face quickly. “I guess that means we need to finish the movie.”

He’s teasing you. He wants to push, see how much he can get you to say, if you’ll ask him outright to just touch you the way you want. Warring feelings compete to decide what you do next. Maybe months ago, when you first started dating Eddie, you would have pressed your thighs together and settled in to finish the film. A part of you still calls for that, screams that whatever you say won’t be right.

You stare at Eddie now. His eyes still lined dark, the smirk he’s trying to hide. Your toes curl just looking at him, and the thought escapes naturally. “You don’t look like Eddie the Chivalrous, right now.”

Eddie blinks slowly. His head tilts. “No? Who do I look like, then?”

Now, something like shame creeps back in, and you wish you’d just settled down to watch the movie.

You haven’t ever put a name to it before. In your fantasies, the ones that appear unprompted when you’re alone in your bed and you haven’t been able to touch him in a couple days, Eddie’s always Eddie, but sometimes just a little different.

Maybe Eddie the Chivalrous is the right name for how you first thought about him like that, calling you Princess as usual but meaning it. You thought about him as your knight and guard, sworn to protect you, breaking all the rules by laying you down and treating you gently, better than any lord or Prince you could be promised to.

Then you’d think about his laugh, the one that comes out when you moan a little loud, or lose your patience and try to direct his hands or his tongue to where you need him. The mocking gasp and teasing tone that often comes along with it, you want it bad, huh, Princess? You think about an Eddie who’s like that all the time, teasingly mean with you, dark and dangerous to everyone else, finding you alone in your soft bed, holding your hands above your head and- and-

People already think you’re weird.

You give in to the sudden hot shame, pressing your face to Eddie’s chest lest he read your expression so perfectly that he works it all out. You whisper into his shirt, more to yourself than him. “I’m so weird.”

“Well, s’a good thing you’re with me then, mm?” He says, big hand moving to stroke the back of your neck. “Cause if you got a fantasy, like, something you think about when I’m not around. You know I won’t judge you for it, right?”

“I know.” It comes out muffled against his shirt but it’s certain. It’s instinctual, now. You’re as sure that you don’t need to worry about Eddie judging you as you are that the sun will rise tomorrow morning. More and more, you find yourself talking to him the way you talk to yourself in your head. Easy and free, not waiting for the other shoe to drop. But this is different. “It’s just- It’s like-” You sigh, searching for the words that won’t come.

He hums, still rubbing your neck. “Maybe I could- I mean, do you…wanna hear one ‘a mine?” You emerge from your hiding place, leaning back into his hand to gauge how serious he is. Eddie’s eyes crinkle at the sides at having coaxed you into looking at him again. “Yeah?”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he echoes. Eddie searches his side for the remote first, pausing Vincent in the middle of another monologue. “Okay. Well, yeah, sometimes I think about- Wait no, gotta set the scene. I’ve just played maybe the best show of my life. Nothing too big,” he continues, giving you a serious look. “I’m not a sell out. We’re talking the smaller arenas, you know? Anyway, after, when I get backstage, feeling like hot shit, there’s this girl. Prettiest I’ve ever seen. And she’s wearing the band’s shirt.”

“And she’s a little shy. Can barely look me in the eye-” He catches you just as your gaze moves to his collar, pulling you back to staring, helpless, into his dark eyes. Eddie takes your hand from where it was playing with the hem of his shirt, weaving your fingers together. “She’s kinda fidgety, too.”

You swallow. “Me?”

“You, sweet thing. S’always you.” You bite the gum behind your bottom lip, holding back from grinning too much. You squirm a little under his gaze, waiting for him to speak again. “And you tell me you’ve been waiting for me,” Eddie says, voice smooth and quiet. “You tell me you’re my biggest fan. And you can’t quite say everything you wanna say, but it doesn’t matter, cause I’ve got you worked out. So I get real close,” he says, his face disappearing as his mouth moves towards your ear, “and I ask if you want me to touch you?”

“And I do,” you continue for him, shivering again at the little groan Eddie lets escape from his throat.

“Mm hm, real bad.” His eyes reappear, scanning over each part of your face. “So bad you wanna earn it. Wanna show me I was right to pick you and not some other girl. You get on your knees for me.” Eddie licks his lips quick. “And I know you’re kinda inexperienced, but it’s good, the best I’ve ever had. You know why?” You shake your head, gaze darting between his eyes and his mouth. You watch his lips move around his words. “Cause you’re so fucking grateful for it.”

“Mm. And when I decide you’ve earned it, I lay you back on a couch somewhere. A green room or a tour bus or something. And I show you you were right to wait for me.” You shiver. It’s a delicious thrill to picture Eddie that way, completely new to you, a total stranger, yet so sure of what he can take. “And after that?” He says, giving the back of your neck a squeeze. “I keep you.”

“Eddie.” You feel your heartbeat between your legs, wishing he would touch you there now, or even put you on your knees the way he wants so you could show him you’re as grateful for him here and now as you are in his fantasy.

The fantasy fades when Eddie kisses you. With the press of his lips, the taste of Dr Pepper on his tongue, he’s your Eddie again, familiar and perfect. You’re still floating back to Earth when he pulls away. “Your turn.”

You flinch, crashing to the ground instead. “What?”

“You like Latin, right? It’s quid pro quo, sweetheart. I show you mine, you show me yours. Tit for tat. That was the deal.”

“It was implied.” Eddie answers breezily. Then, with his thumb rubbing gently at the back of your hand. “C’mon. Try? You liked mine, right?” You give a barely noticeable nod, but Eddie catches it. “Yeah. And I bet I’ll like yours.”

“There was no deal!”

“I can’t- I don’t have it all, like, thought out the way you do.”

“Well, I’m a storyteller by trade,” he says, pressing his free hand to his chest. “All my sex fantasies have lore. And we can build on yours, if it needs it.Alright. I’m not Eddie the Chivalrous right now. Who am I?” He tilts his chin to where you have started playing with his rings, twisting each round his fingers in turn. “Apart from Eddie the Stress Toy.”

“It’s not- You’re just-” You swallow, rubbing your thumb over the metal skull sitting where a wedding ring would go. “You’re just somebody…somebody I shouldn’t want.”

“Intriguing. And you are?” Your face flames. You mumble it, barely opening your lips, and Eddie squints. “Mm?”

You sigh. “Princess.”

“Always,” Eddie replies, ducking his head to make sure you see his face, reassuringly still smiling. “Okay. I can work with this. Maybe I'm…Eddie the Banished. I tried to take power for myself by force but I failed.” He brings your hand to his mouth, kisses the thin skin at your wrist. “And I’ve returned, because I realised I don’t need to win a battle. I just have to…take the Princess?”

You clench around nothing. “Yeah.”

“Fuck, yeah. C’mon, sweet thing.”

Your gaze follows him as he stands. “You want- Right now?”

“Why not? We’re all dressed up. The time is now.” Eddie pauses his excitement when he registers the fact you’re still sitting. “If…if you want.”

“I do,” you breathe. “But I can’t, y’know, talk like you.” You just know Eddie already has some dialogue thought up, things he can say as the character he’s just come up with that will make you dizzy. “I’ll get stuck.”

“Maybe you will, maybe you won’t,” Eddie says, squatting down in front of you, hands spread out on your knees. “I don’t mind taking the lead. Besides, the Princess would be kinda nervous anyway, right? If you’re not supposed to want me. The outlaw, the traitor. You’ve been told about all the terrible things I’ve done, what I tried to do for power. Now you feel guilty about what you really want from me. And I’ve been thinking about you while I’ve been on the run, living rough- You know, this is good stuff,” he says, interrupting himself and looking round. “You got a pen? I should maybe write some of this down- No. After, sorry.” He gives you a sheepish grin, then leans in close. “Don’t think there’s much chance I’ll forget this, anyway.”

He stands then, hand extended to you with wiggling fingers for you to take and let him guide you through to his room. Eddie hums when his door is closed, shutting out the world beyond the frame. “Shoulda done this at yours,” he says, sitting you down on the mattress. “In your pretty Princess bed.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you say breathlessly, meaning it entirely. All that matters is it’s him. He’s the only person you could do something like this with.

“Okay, I need a little more. You shouldn’t want me, I’m…morally grey, let’s say. Chaotic neutral. Am I mean?”

“Kinda,” you answer. “You’re…selfish?”

“Selfish,” he repeats.

“Just like, y’know. It’s like-” Eddie’s hands spread at the sides of your thighs, teasing the skin at the hem of your skirt. You want them everywhere. “You know I want you. That I’ll…do things for you. And you take advantage. ”

There’s a pause. “I think I’m following. Things somebody like you shouldn’t do?” You nod quickly, cheeks burning as you watch him work it out. “You wanna get your mouth on me, Princess?”

You fight the instinct to hide, the urge to look away, the voice telling you to deny everything, take it back. Instead, you start playing with the hem of his shirt again, soft cotton between your fingers.

“Mm hm.”

“Shit. Okay. Anything-” His voice cracks a touch, and he clears his throat before he speaks again. “Anything else?”

“It’s not like- Even though you’re mean, you still- With me, you feel-” Now you do have to look away, staring at where your fingers are fiddling with the black fabric. He can read you too well, and you don’t want him to see exactly what you want from him. “You-”

You love me.

“I feel…how I feel about you?” He suggests.

You bite the gum behind your lip to stop yourself asking exactly what that means. “Yeah.”

“Okay, good. Hard to pretend anything else.” Eddie leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips, long enough that your whole body relaxes into it, your mind settling on Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. When he pulls away, it’s easy to answer his question. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Eddie stands to full height, his shoulders back. He tilts his head, expression shifting. From your Eddie, with chestnut eyes and his perfect, dimpled smile, to a smirking man with a dark gaze excited to ruin you.

“I’ve been looking for you, Princess,” he says, voice smooth and confident. A thrilled shiver runs up your spine. “Knew I’d find you eventually, but I could only hope I’d find you like this. All alone.” He takes a step towards you. “Unprotected-”

“Eddie,” you whisper.

Softness peaks through with raised eyebrows. “Good?” You nod quickly, and it disappears again as he slinks closer towards you. “I missed you, while I was away,” he tells you, soft and teasing. “Did you miss me?”

“I-” You swallow. You’re used to repeating back what Eddie says to you, in times like this, letting him guide you through everything he wants to hear from you. But you don’t want to just watch him do this for you. “No.”

Eddie blinks, surprised, then he puts on a mockingly hurt face, hand over his heart. “No? You wound me, Princess.” That same hand reaches for your face, cupping your cheek. His thumb strokes gently under your eye and you can’t help but lean into him. “Or you would, if I believed you.” He tilts your head up to see him properly, standing over you. “You think I didn’t see the way you’d look at me, before I left?”

Your fingers twitch to reach out and brush at the ends of his hair as it falls towards you, but you keep them at your sides on the bed, curling into the sheets. “You didn’t leave, you-”

“Left, banished, driven out; it all comes to the same end, mm?” His eyes scan your face, down your dress and back up. “That’s you and me, Princess. Here, alone together. You gonna pretend you never wanted that?”

His thumb, callused and warm, keeps rubbing over your cheek. “I can’t want it”

“No, you can,” he presses. Eddie, your Eddie, would sit with you now, squat in front of you to talk to you at the same level. Now, his grip on your jaw tightens just enough to remind you that he could stop you looking away if you tried. “Cause I’ve had time to think about it.”

“While you were hiding in the woods?”

“While I was regrouping,” he corrects. “I realised something. I went about it all wrong.” he tells you. “It was foolish of me to try and use force to get what I want. Not when you were right here. Waiting for me.”

His thumb pulls at your bottom lip, then presses inside to the tip of your tongue.

“If I make you mine, everything else follows. That’s right, isn’t it?” He nods slowly until you copy him. “The throne, power, vengeance on everyone who tried to hold me back. And you, in my bed every night. All day if I wanted.” He pulls at your lip again as he steals his thumb back, leaning in until his breath is warm against your cheeks. “That sounds nice. Doesn't it, Princess?” You glance at his lips, wanting him to kiss you now, to take it from you. Eddie shakes his head, drawing your gaze back to his. “I wanna hear you say it. You wanted me to touch you, just like this, and more, didn’t you? Wanted me to show you how to make me happy?”

You can feel your heartbeat heavy in your chest, your breath coming quicker. Only Eddie could do this, have you convinced of a story which before tonight only existed half formed in the fantasies of your bedroom. You can feel the internal conflict as if it really is your duty to say no, and your heart’s only desire to give your next answer.

“Yes, Eddie.”

He gives you a kiss that’s half teeth, dragging at your bottom lip. Even this is different. You’re used to the gentle start, feeling him smile on your mouth. He breathes deep through his nose, pulls from you so suddenly that you make to follow him until he presses a hand to your shoulder.

“And I will. Get on the floor.” Eddie steps back, and it doesn’t even occur to argue with him now. You slide off the mattress easily, knees falling to the carpet without looking away from him. There’s a pause. He speaks quietly, as if he doesn’t want an invisible audience to hear. “You comfy? You want the pillow?”

“No,” you answer, heart aching. “I’m okay.”

“Okay.”

You watch the way he steels his face again, looking at you on your knees in front of him like that’s where you’re meant to be. His hands work at his belt, a soft hiss escaping when he presses his palm down the front of his pants. His head tilts back, displaying his thick neck, the rising pinkness across his pale throat, and he breathes a laugh. “Now, Princess- Wait!” You jump at the suddenness of Eddie pulling his hand from his pants only to clasp them at his waist as he half-jogs towards the door. “Just a second. Don’t move!”

Eddie disappears through the door, mumbling to himself. His words are faint but it’s clear enough that he is looking for something. You close your eyes, focusing on his voice, however fuzzy. You never thought you could have something like this. Someone like Eddie. Someone safe. So safe that you can abandon yourself to fulfilling a silly fantasy thought up under the covers of your bed.

Something catches your hair and you open your eyes to find him standing over you again. The tip of his tongue curls over his top lip as he places the plastic silver tiara just so on your head. When it’s as he wants it, his teeth show with his smile. “Perfect,” he says, pressing two fingers to your chin and turning your head each way. “My Princess, mm? I’m going to show you what it is to be mine.”

Eddie reaches into his pants to pull himself free. His hand drags over the shaft, quick and dirty, just for a moment’s relief if the clench of his jaw the second he stops is any indicator.

You think you know what to do now, tipping your chin, opening your mouth, ready to take him. Only he angles his head away from your tongue. You peer up at him in confusion, watch the way his excitement plays out on his face. “C’mere, Princess.”

Cupping your cheek with his spare hand, he guides you to the base of his cock, where he is softest. Your lips graze the fuzzy skin of his balls and Eddie makes a noise that has you squirming for the lightest touch between your legs. You kiss delicately, blinking up at him, watching his thumb rub over the head of his cock, catching wetness to ease the slow movement of his hand. He taps his fingers on your cheek gently. “Open up. Want your tongue.”

Your toes curl. You want to taste him here, aching at the smell of him; like his neck at the end of the day in Summer, his sweat and musk, fading body wash. You want to make Eddie feel good so badly, you think you might do whatever he asks as long as he looks at you the way he is now.

You reach for him, palm settling on his knee where denim meets exposed skin. Opening your mouth, you lick quickly at the seam of his balls, taste salt on soft skin. He groans, fingers flexing around your jaw. “That’s it,” he encourages. “Fuck yes,” Eddie bites out when you lick broad and wet up to the base of his cock, thinking of his wide tongue drawing upwards from your pussy to your clit. “Fuck, yes.”

He draws you back, smiling down at you. It makes your face burn, but you struggle between looking him in the eyes and staring at his cock. His balls are pink and wet from your attention, his hand moves steadily over his length, drawing folds of skin over his thick head and back.

“Want you to suck on them a little,” he tells you. The pause he leaves gives a moment for you to squeeze at his knee, as if presenting your open mouth wouldn’t be enough to show your agreement. He drags the weight of his balls over your chin to your wet tongue, listing off curses when your lips close just enough to suck gently. Eddie’s hand moves faster over his length, the curve of his fingers brushing your forehead with each tug.

Eddie’s groans are all that matter now. His sack is heavy, falling past your lips the wider you open your mouth. “So fuckin’ full cause of you,” Eddie bites. You hum, closing your eyes, his hips stutter. First towards the warmth of your mouth and then away entirely, replacing his sack with the head of his cock tapping against your tongue.

Eddie gasps when you lap at his leaking tip. “Can I-” He pauses, rephrases, puts on the right tone. “I’m gonna fuck your mouth now, Princess.”

He watches you carefully, gives you time to tell him no. You squeeze his knee once more, gaze moving from his dark eyes to his cock. You press a quick kiss to the swollen head, a darker pink than the rest of him where it peeks through folds of skin, then let him press your head back against the mattress.

Eddie’s cock glides smoothly over your tongue to the top of your throat. “Fuck,” he breathes, rolling his hips. “M’starting to think this is what you wanted the whole time.” He eases further, just past the entrance of your throat. It’s easier, like this. You are more open to him with your head tilted back this way. He holds himself in the warmth of your mouth, watching you blinking back tears to try and keep him clear in your gaze. Finally your throat protests, and Eddie draws back till you can suck at his head, the exposed length of his cock shining with your spit. You gaze at him, wanting him to be proud of you for taking him deeper than you have before. He makes a soft encouraging noise, but Eddie like this won’t give you the validation you want so easily. “Teased me for so long. I think I deserve to take what I want, now.”

Eddie thrusts slowly at first, easing you in despite his words. The hand that was on your cheek now stroking at your heated forehead.

You like it like this.

You liked having him in your mouth the first time, and every time after that. Like watching him shake, hearing him groan and whine, and knowing that you’re the one making him like that. You like focusing on him; lick here, nip there, let him feel you moan around him. Now, you don’t even have to think about how best to please him. You can focus on your breathing, taking air in through your nose when he pulls back enough. And on Eddie and how he looks as he takes his pleasure from you.

Eddie’s so beautiful. His dark hair frizzes around his face, eyes crinkling at the sides when he closes them and groans into the air. His neck is pink, a pretty blush crawling up to his cheeks as his thrusts speed up. “We’re gonna do this all the time, Princess, you hear me?” He grits, fingers curling into the sheets at the side of your head. You moan in answer, pleased when it makes his cock twitch in your mouth, his tip dipping deep enough past the entrance of your throat that you can’t blink away the wetness that springs to your eyes. “You’re gonna be in my bed all the time, maybe I’ll tie you up, mm?” He presses deep again, then holds steady. When the tears collected at the corners of your eyes start to fall, he wipes them away before they can reach the apples of your cheeks. “Keep you here, just for me. Don’t need to see or talk to anyone else ever again.”

If your head weren’t fuzzy, you’d start questioning why that makes you ache. Eddie withdraws his cock from the top of your throat and you only take a second to gasp in the air you need before following him, reaching up to touch the inches of his cock your mouth still can’t quite cover. Eddie laughs through a moan at the feeling of you jerking his cock into your mouth, licking wet at the end of him. “You want that, huh? Hey-” He drags you away from his cock, leaving you with wet, pleading eyes looking up at him. “You want that?” Your mouth opens, then closes. Your hips roll, seeking friction you can’t get while kneeling like this. Eddie’s eyes flick down, lips turning up at the sight. “Get on the bed for me, mm?”

Eddie reaches a hand out to help you sit up on his mattress. Then he pulls his shirt off over the back of his head, exposing all the soft pale skin and dark ink of his torso. You pull your dress up too, knocking your tiara in the process. When the dress is off entirely, Eddie’s there in an instant to fix it for you, his fingers caressing your cheek when he’s done. “Hey, uh. Am I doing alright? Is this the sort of thing you imagined?”

“This is better,” you tell him earnestly, loving how pleased he looks. You’re learning that this, the pleasure gained from praise, is something you and Eddie share. You love it when Eddie calls you good, or smart, or sweet. When he tells you that you’re good at something he’s teaching you. In turn, Eddie likes it when you tell him how good he makes you feel, that he’s doing everything right, that he’s looking after you exactly how you want it.

He kisses you, and it’s softer this time until he bites gently at your bottom lip as he’s pulling away. “C’mon and lie down, Princess,” he says, guiding you to lay down. You press your legs together, knees bent and feet flat to the mattress as Eddie climbs up after you. His hands stroke up and down your thighs, making you giggle softly as he passes ticklish spots. It relaxes you enough to let him guide your legs open and back, allowing him closer. Eddie tilts his head, thumbing the little blue bow at the waistband of your panties. “You really want me to tie you up?”

Without thinking, you glance quickly at the handcuffs hanging from his door. You feel the beat of your heart against your chest, wondering if you’re ready for that, knowing really that you’re not. Eddie’s hand cups your cheek, directing your gaze back to him. He kisses your knee. “Not tonight, Princess.” He leans in, whispers. “And only ever if you really want, okay?”

“I know, Eddie,” you answer. And you do. You know that as much as Eddie is teaching you, seemingly leading you along to each new experience, in truth he’s making sure you set the pace.

“Take this off for me,” he says, pulling at the strap of your bra. You reach underneath your back to unhook it, shimmying it off your arms and letting it drop to his floor. Once you’re settled, he takes both your hands in his, pulling them up over your head. You can’t help but giggle, feeling both nervous and giddy. “Hold onto the headboard?” You follow the instruction, wrapping your fingers around one of the wooden slats. Stretched like this, chest presented to him, you feel open and exposed, your nipples tightening from the cold air and from Eddie’s attention. “Don’t let go, mm?”

He leans down, kissing from the base of your neck down the skin between your breasts, his hair dragging behind him, tickling the sensitive skin. He leaves a wet mark on the curve of your left breast, the sting of his teeth quickly soothed by his tongue. When he takes the tight bud of your nipple between his lips, your whole body tenses. It’s a test of your submission, if you can last with only your memory of what it feels like to tangle your fingers in his hair. If you can bear not to tug at it when he flicks his tongue like that.

Your hands tighten around the wood, hips tilting to find his cock where he tucked it back in his boxers, still hard and throbbing between your legs. The friction, however light, against where you have been waiting for him all evening, is too good to give up, and you keep searching for his hardness to rub against.

Eddie releases your breasts with a grin. “You want it bad, huh, Princess?”

You whine, melting when he presses his hips forward to give you more delicious friction along your pussy. He huffs a laugh, sitting up and quickly reaching out for the pack of Trojans on his bedside. You watch him kneel between your legs, the way he fists his cock while he tears at the foil square with his teeth, his desperation to roll the condom over his length. Eddie shuffles forward on his knees and presses his wide hands to the back of your thighs. He gently guides your legs back, hitching your hips up for better access to your pussy, wet and swollen under his gaze.

“Wanted this for so long, Princess,” he says. “You’ve been waiting too, hmm?”

“Yes, Eddie. Been waiting so long.” You nearly cry from relief when his cock latches at your entrance, then from despair when he stills instead of filling you. The headboard creaks from your squirming. “Please,” you whisper, sounding pathetic in a way that would embarrass you if you weren’t aching from the emptiness.

Eddie stretches you perfectly as he presses inside your slick cunt. The tease of pain feels good now that your body recognises what it means, where Eddie filling you up leads. “Good?” He asks, once he’s deep enough inside that the curls of hair above his cock are teasing your clit.

You mean to answer properly, but the intention is overtaken by the need for him to move. Waiting for him, your fingers tighten around the wood so much you swear there will be marks from your nails. “Eddie.” It comes out whinier than you intended, but he certainly doesn’t mind.

“Eddie,” he mimics breathily, his teeth showing as the heat of pleasant humiliation crawls up your spine. He doesn’t keep you waiting any longer, snapping his hips to draw back and press deep again through your clenching cunt.

You’ve been under him every time, but like this you feel helpless. Hands voluntarily useless, body tilted up and legs opened by his hands, your body presented to him and positioned perfectly for him to set the pace. It feels right for this - you know now what the romance novels you hide under your bed mean when the heroine is taken.

Your toes curl when Eddie’s hips roll just right, the heavy head of his cock hitting the end of you. When he reaches between you to press a thumb to your clit and rub in tight circles, your body tilts, hips trying to chase the pleasure, only for Eddie to press you back down to where he wants you.

“I like it,” you answer. “I like it, Eddie.”

“You like it, like this, hm?” Eddie asks. You blink at him slowly, wondering if it’s your boyfriend or Eddie the Banished asking. “Tell me.”

He shakes his head like he can’t believe it, hair shaking. “Knew you would. Pretty Princess just needed to be fucked right, mm?” You shudder, tightening around his cock enough that he gasps, “fuckfuckfuck. S’good. It’s so good, honey.”

You breathe a laugh. “Princess, to you.”

“My apologies,” he says, snapping his hips to land heavy against the spot at the back of your pussy. You gasp, legs kicking out against his grip involuntarily only for him to tighten his grip and push them back to where he wants them. You can hear how wet you are, the sound of him moving inside you as loud as the bed springs, as loud as your moans. “Mine now, aren’t you, Princess?”

You nod easily. “Yes.”

“Gonna give me everything I want from now on, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Yes-”

“Made it so easy for me. Should have just done this in the beginning, just taken you for myself.”

“Yes. Yes, Eddie.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, head tilting back as his hips speed up. “Fuck, I can’t- Can’t get enough of that.” When he looks back to you, the detached, mocking look is gone. He’s all intensity and warmth, your Eddie again. Your whole body tightens. “Tells me everything I need to know when you say my name like that.” He gives you a mean thrust, tongue peeking out as he watches where you’re connected, the slick coating his cock, before his gaze returns to your pleasured, sweaty face. “You’re so fucking good, you know that? So fucking good, the way you talk to me. Telling me what you want. Not gonna hide anything like that from me again, are you?”

“Nuh,” you manage, legs twitching. “Eddie.”

”Again,” he gasps. “Please. My sweet girl-”

“Eddie. Eddie-”

Maybe you keep chanting his name, maybe you cry it out, maybe you stop altogether to scream out instead. You don’t know. You just know he’s all you’re thinking of as the pleasure crests, spreading out from the back of your cunt through your body until it’s intense enough you think you might cry. Then it fades to the gentle delight of Eddie still moving inside you, the warmth and weight of his cock when he buries himself deep. You hear him groan, feel the potential for bruises blooming where his fingers dig into your thighs. Then it’s his weight easing down on top of you, the ache in your shoulders and your legs as you let them relax before wrapping yourself around him.

You finally get your hands in his hair. The roots are damp from sweat, his curls tangled in knots. Eddie’s face is pressed so fully to the space between your breasts that you’re not convinced he can be breathing. He mumbles something that’s lost to your ears, then tilts his head up till you can see his face, and his goofy smile. Your heart aches even as you giggle. Then he’s crawling up your body to kiss you, his mouth warm and tasting like the sweat from his upper lip.

“I’m gonna pull out now but I want it known that it’ll take amazing strength of will on my part.”

He does so, disappearing from the bed for less than five seconds to throw out the condom before flopping next to you again and opening his arms to let you clamber into his hold again, you try to fight the rising worries by pressing your face into his neck. He hisses at the scrape of the plastic tiara under his chin, taking it off himself before returning to stroke at your temple with his fingers. “How do you feel, sweet girl?”

It takes you a minute to answer, sorting through all the complicated feelings that emerged the second Eddie wasn’t inside you anymore. “Good,” you murmur. Then, “weird.”

You hate how fast it all happens so soon after something so special. You feel overwhelmed and tired, like you want to scrub yourself raw under hot water, like you want to curl up in Eddie’s arms and smell like him forever. You feel like you don’t want to ever be touched again, but the thought that Eddie won’t makes your heart sore. You wish you were normal. You wish you didn’t have weird fantasies. You wish you didn’t feel guilty about what you want.

Eddie holds you tight against him, and you let yourself feel the comfort of that. Eddie doesn’t think you’re weird, or gross, or immoral. Eddie won’t ever leave you alone to cry and scratch at your crawling skin.

He presses his lips to your forehead, mumbles against your skin. “Gonna let me look after you?”

He keeps you with him while he runs a bath. You’re wrapped in a towel while he runs around naked, giving you mock coquettish looks over his shoulder every now and then until he gets a giggle from you. As steam starts to rise from the tub, he searches through the cabinet under the sink before emerging with a bottle filled with suspiciously bright orange liquid. “We don’t have bubble bath but, uh, this is six-in-one.”

You try sitting in the water together, wrapped up in him, but the pins and needles come too fast, eight limbs not quite fitting as they should. You end up facing him, legs tucked up to your chest, watching the water drip from dark ends of his hair.

“Not as romantic as I’d hoped,” he says.

“It’s okay. I like looking at you.”

His dimples show. Sweetest boy on Earth. He splashes at you a little, waiting for you to smile before talking. “Feeling better?”

“Much,” you answer honestly. Somewhere between giggling at Eddie rushing to his bedroom to fetch towels for you both, a hair tie for you, with his hands covering the crack of his ass while leaving his dick uncovered and him quietly insisting on taking the side of the tub with the tap at his back, the grey cloud hanging over you faded. “Cause of you,” you say, splashing him back.

Eddie smiles, resting his face against his knee. “Is there anything I can do, you know, to make it better, like, before it happens?” He reaches for your hand in the water. “Cause it hasn’t, in a while. I know that this was, like, different, but if I did something-”

“No,” you interrupt. “It wasn’t you.” Eddie lets that sit for a while, waiting for you to continue. “When it’s just me and you, it’s like-” You swallow. “Sometimes I feel like I’m being really, actually myself for the first time in my whole life.” Eddie’s eyes are so soft, looking at you now. “And I know that you won’t ever judge me for…my fantasies, or whatever. But then it’s like, it’s almost like- Like without even wanting to, I imagine what other people would say, if they knew the stuff I told you. If they saw how I am, when it’s just us. And then I just feel like, even though they’re not there, it’s ruined it.”

Eddie squeezes your hand, sighs with his whole body. “That sounds exhausting.”

Tears prick in your eyes even as you laugh without real mirth. “It is.”

“Well, you know this stuff really is always going to be just me and you. Right?”

“I know, Eddie.”

“I wish I could fix it for you, sweet thing.”

You close your eyes tight, trying to force back the tears. You swallow the lump in your throat, thinking, me too. Instead, you sigh, remind yourself that however hard it is now, you’re sure it used to be worse. Before you had Eddie and his humour, his touch, his kindness. “You make it better, Eddie. I promise.”

He’s perfectly gentle with you the rest of the evening, curling back up with you on the couch when you’re dry to restart Theatre of Blood. You let yourself sink into his chest, playing with his rings. You are just about engrossed in the story again, watching with sick fascination as the first critic is stabbed like Julius Caesar. Then, a thought suddenly occurs.

“Did…did you say the soap was six-in-one?”

“Sure did,” Eddie answers. “Face, body, hair, laundry, pets and dishes.”

“That’s why it smells like the terrier next door.”

Eddie hums, lifts your hand to his face and sniffs. “You mean that’s why we smell like the terrier next door.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x shy!reader

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lionhanie · 3 months

Text

han taesan ; back 2 u (part two)

you can’t help but find yourself coming back to taesan everytime

this is part two of my series, back 2 u! read the previous part here!

fuckboy!taesan x fem!reader, college au

...featuring! BFFS jaehyun + woonhak, fuckboy leehan (AND he's taesan's roommate), and lovely roomies sungho + riwoo <3

word count: 3.1k

warnings: cursing, alcohol mention/usage, reader is drunk (So is Riwoo), overthinking and insecurity, mentions of fwb/unprotected sex, leehan is lowkey a dick, suggestive comments but nothing too crazy imo

a/n: gongfourz for cover pic bc.... MY MAN IS FINALLY HERE!!!!! also bc they look tew damn fine for me not to use this pic sry

likes ♡ and reblogs ↺ always appreciated!

Sungho and Riwoo led the way to the house, having been there on countless occasions. The excitement rushing through you is undeniable— It’s not that you aren’t used to going to parties, but you’ve never really had much of a reason to be feeling so…Full of adrenaline. As in, you’ve never had Han Taesan personally invite you to one of his on a random Thursday afternoon.

The scene in front of you is so stereotypically movie-like: Music blaring from speakers placed around the room, air stuffy from the sheer amount of people packed in a small place, concerningly sticky floor from (hopefully) spilled drinks, and the never-ending movement of bodies dancing against each other. The door is opened by a tall man, brunette hair falling almost-too-perfectly in front of his eyes as he greets your friends upon entering.

You’ve never met him personally before, but you recall having him in one of your past classes. Kim Leehan: Taesan’s roommate who ironically shares a similar reputation— a set of unforgettable good looks that’s known to do everything except commit. You feel his gaze follow you up and down as you follow closely behind Sungho, his sharp eyes intimidating you. “Who’s this pretty ‘lil thing you bought with you?” Leehan questions. You can practically hear the smirk in his voice without having to look at him.

Leehan closes the door behind you as you walk in, placing his arm above your head as he leans in to get a closer look. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before. Surely, you have some idea of who I am if you’re standing in front of me like this.” He winks, waiting for you to respond. Witnessing your interesting first interaction, Riwoo chuckles and pushes Leehan away from you.

“Jeez, Leehan, do you hit on everyone who walks through these doors? You’re gonna scare the poor girl,” Riwoo puts his arm around you, bringing you closer to his side. “This is our dear Y/N!~ Sungho and I are going to be with her the whole night, so don’t try anything weird.” You know Riwoo is only half-joking, especially since the two of you are well aware of his notoriety amongst the other girls on campus, but you’re thankful he designates both himself and his roommate as your party buddies for the night.

“Ah, so this is Y/N… About time you came, then.” Leehan, now a respectable distance away from you, motions over to the alcohol in the corner. “Why don’t you two show her around our humble abode?And get some drinks while you’re at it, 'kay?”

He pushes the three of you in the direction of the kitchen, where people are crowding around for refills to their red solo cups. Sungho hands you a plastic cup, full of a liquid that you can’t exactly tell the color of because of the flickering LED lights above you. Soon after you’ve all finished your first (maybe second… and third…) rounds of drinks, you find yourself being dragged to what looks like the main area for dancing.

Half-empty beverage in hand, you laugh as you dance along to the beat with the comfort of your trusted friends beside you. It was actually… really good music, especially for a college party. In the past, you and your friends have had to leave parties solely because the music was shitty, so you’re happy that isn’t the case tonight. Riwoo finds himself in the middle of the dance circle, absolutely loving the attention he’s currently getting from the people around him. Sungho bursts out laughing at the situation, and you quickly join him as you watch your friend dance.

Just as you bring your drink up to your lips to take another swig from it, you feel a cold pair of hands wrap around your waist. Startled and ready to yell at whoever’s currently invading your personal space, you turn your head to look at who the hands belong to— only to find yourself face to face with one of the few familiar faces in the house tonight. “You came,” Taesan’s breath is hot against your ear, making sure you can hear him amidst all the noise. His hands on your hips pull you closer to his body, and you swear there’s sparks where his skin meets yours. “I knew you would come see me. You look great.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Maybe you’ve had a little too much to drink (or maybe you’re just using that as an excuse), but you boldly wrap your arms around the back of Taesan’s head once you turn around properly, creating an oddly intimate scene between you two as your bodies sway to the music. He’s more than happy to comply, mesmerized at the way you feel against him. “Taesanie…” Your words are slurred as you inch closer to his face, pushing yourself up by your tippy-toes.

“Thought I told you to call me Dongmin,” His tone is playful as he looks down on you, still shorter than him despite your attempts to reach his impressive height. “Something wrong, angel?”

“Mmph, sorry... Dongminie…” Even in your drunken state, you maintain your eye contact with the man in front of you. Taesan suddenly finds himself flustered, shocked that he is the one to break it, looking away momentarily but keeping you steady against him. “Would you be mad if I said I really wanted to kiss you right now?” This isn’t something you’d normally say, but the effects of the alcohol and Taesan’s hands on your body fill you with confidence.

“Well, I definitely wouldn’t mind, but… You’re drunk,” As much as Taesan also really wanted to kiss you, the last thing he’d want is to make any moves on you while you weren’t thinking straight. “Can’t wait ‘til you’re sober?” He sends you a cheeky grin. It’s amazing how he still manages to find a way to maintain his composure to tease you, even after you’d shamelessly confessed your desires.

“I can’t kiss you, Dongmin?” Out of nowhere, you grab his face with your hands, pouting at the denial of your request. “Why not?” Your actions paired with your words make Taesan’s heart race, everyone else around him suddenly vanishing; the only thing he has on his mind is you. He couldn’t tell you how much time has passed at this point, but he can’t stop looking at your lips.

“How much did you have to drink tonight?” His question is genuine and full of concern, once again making you rethink the rumors about him amidst your drunken haze. Something in you doesn’t want to accept the idea that the boy holding you so close is the type of person to break hearts so carelessly.

“I can’t remember,” The hands on his face fall back down to their original place behind the back of his neck as you rest your head on his chest. “I don’t know what you want from me, then.” Your voice is small now, the combination of music and voices from the nearby partygoers making it hard for him to hear you. It felt weird to think that he’d reject the advances of someone coming onto him so strongly. You can’t deny that you’re disappointed, perhaps even slightly hurt, especially after showing up to the party fully expecting to wake up in Han Taesan’s bed the morning after.

All of a sudden, the lights are making your head hurt, it’s feeling entirely too stuffy in there, and the outfit you’re wearing makes you want to rip off your skin. This is ridiculous. Why’re you so upset at being turned down? Now, you’re almost certain it’s the alcohol that’s making you feel this way when you feel tears begin to well up in your eyes. Sensing something wrong, Taesan pulls you away from his chest, hand reaching down to your chin to tilt your head up to look at him. His eyes widen once he notices your tears threatening to spill, clearly shocked to see your sudden change in mood.

“Hey, hey.. What’s wrong?” You pull your face out of his grasp, hating the vulnerability you’re currently feeling. It’s hard to maneuver away from him with the amount of people surrounding you; Taesan only pulls you closer when you don’t say anything. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong, pretty. Don’t want you crying under my watch, now.”

Even in your current state, you feel your heart flutter at his comment. Either Han Taesan is madly in love with you, or this is just his insane charm working its magic. Probably the latter. “Can we go somewhere else?” Your voice shakes as you speak— you're not even sure where you were asking him to go, but you didn’t want to be stuck in the center of the party a second longer. “Just… anywhere? Please?”

Taesan takes your hand in his, using his free arm to shove through the crowd. The grip on your hand is tight; he doesn’t want to lose you. You don’t know where he’s taking you, but you’re not in the right mindset to want to question it any further. “Taesan, there you are!” The two of you are forced to stop temporarily after being called out by his roommate. He’s leaning against a wall with a beer in hand and a beautiful woman practically wrapped around his arm. Leehan whistles at Taesan once he notices your interlocked fingers. “Looks like you finally found her. Use protection this time, yeah?” He smirks, making the girl he’s currently with giggle at his side as she peers at the you two, making it feel like she's judging you.

The vulgar implications of Leehan’s comment followed by their snickering makes your face heat up. You feel… Gross. “Not the fucking time.” Taesan pushes past him in annoyance before bringing you to the entrance of what you assume to be his room. The change in environment seems to calm you down immediately. The door closes behind you with a gentle click, drowning out all the noise coming from behind it. It’s significantly cooler there than it was out in the main living area, giving you the chance to breathe properly and actually hear yourself think.

Taesan walks over to the corner of his room to turn on a lamp; a warm glow fills the area and allows you to properly take in its contents. It was obvious now to see that the space was without a doubt his— various band posters pasted haphazardly on the walls, clothes rack organized neatly by the door, and queen-sized bed made to perfection in the middle of the floor. “Uh, you can sit there, if you want. It’s comfier than sitting on the floor or something,” He points to the bed with his eyes, grabbing a bottle of water from the table beside the lamp he’d just turned on.

You trip on your own feet slightly as you walk over to the bed, startling him slightly as he moves to help you sit. A newly-opened bottle of water is placed in your empty hands as you take a seat, which you gratefully take a much-needed drink from. The feeling in the room is awkward as you avoid his eye contact, finding the cute plushie laying on his pillows more interesting than the man in front of you.

You’re playing with the plastic label on the bottle as you hear him clear his throat, prompting you to finally look at him for the first time since entering his room. “Thanks for bringing me here, and uh, the water.” The tension in the room slowly begins to sober you up as you’re the one to break the silence. “Sorry about all this. I think I just got a little overwhelmed out there, that's all.”

“Come on baby, don’t apologize. It’s all good, okay?” There he goes again with the pet names. “If this ever happens again at one of our parties, just find me, and I’ll take you back here." Yeah, if you muster up the courage to show your face at one of these ever again. You don’t think you’re capable of coming back to this house if it means you need to live through that whirlwind of emotions every time. You can feel your phone buzz in your pocket, but you don’t care to check it.

1 new message from “Y/N’s bodyguards ♡”! Sungho: where are u Y/N?? party’s pretty much over now

“And disregard what that dumbass said earlier,” He’s talking about Leehan, letting out a frustrated scoff replaying the brief interaction in his head. “I wasn’t, er…” Taesan’s struggling to find an appropriate way to word what he’s trying to say. “...Planning? On doing that with you tonight.”

Your hands fidget in your lap, feeling a bit insecure now. What are you supposed to say to someone who just said they wouldn’t have sex with you? “Oh, uh… Yeah, I get it.” You almost want to laugh out loud to cope with how uncomfortable your conversation currently is.

Taesan notices the discomfort on your face after realizing what his words might imply to you. “Wait, I didn’t mean it like… I'd never want to hook up, but…” He’s stumbling over his own words as he rambles on. It’s oddly endearing to see him so flustered, a complete 180 from his usual calm, collected demeanor. “Y/N, I think you’re attractive, like, seriously hot. But shit gets messy when there’s alcohol involved, and I didn’t want to make a move if you didn’t really want to… But I swear I would’ve kissed you right then and there if—”

There’s a knock on the door behind him, and Taesan mentally thanks the universe for saving him from the hole he just dug himself into. “Y/N, are you in there?” Although muffled, you’re quick to recognize Sungho’s voice. “Leehan told us Taesan brought you to his room… So uh, just… Finish up whatever you’re doing and come out when you’re done, I guess?” Your cheeks redden at your friend's suggestive words. Oh god. He definitely thinks Taesan brought you in here to fuck.

Taesan also finds himself embarrassed, even more so than he already was at his poor recovery seconds ago, quickly moving to open the door to reveal your two friends standing behind it. You smile sheepishly at them as you grab your water bottle and make your way towards the door, feeling completely sober at this point. Riwoo and Sungho quickly glance back and forth between you and Taesan, letting out a small breath of relief once seeing that seemingly nothing too bad happened while you were in there.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry for leaving you all alone out there!” Riwoo engulfs you in a huge embrace, very obviously still drunk. “I promise, like really pinky promise, I won’t let you out of my sight next time!”

“Alright you big baby, we need to go home.” Sungho pries your mutual friend off of you, patting him on the head once he successfully pulls him away. “You didn’t see any of our texts Y/N?” You send him a confused look, reaching into your pocket to find your phone, only to be greeted with a series of notifications upon unlocking it.

8 unread messages from “Y/N’s bodyguards ♡”! [11:43] Riwoo: Y/N WE LSOT YOU I’M SO SSORRY [11:44] Riwoo: SUNGHO IS YELLIGN AT ME RN FOR MAKING THE DANCE CIRCLE TOO BIG 🙁…. my bad for being TOO good ig… [11:47] Sungho: YES bc Y/N and I got SEPARATED and look where we are NOW [11:47] Sungho: you’re an adult so…. i trust you Y/N [11:50] Sungho: BUT text us if u need anything or if you want to go home [11:51] Sungho: phone is on vibrate, i’ll feel it in my pocket [12:02] Riwoo: YA IAM READY TO LEAVE WHENEVER YOUU ARE OKAY I LVOE YOU Y/NNNNNN BE SAFE [1:35] Sungho: where are u Y/N?? party’s pretty much over now

“Ah… I guess I didn’t notice my phone going off earlier.” It’s only a partial lie, you knew you ignored his most recent message, but the rest of them were sent while you were too preoccupied with grinding back against Han Taesan on the dance floor; It’s only reasonable to think you weren’t going to check your phone then. “Guess I wasn’t paying attention,” Your gaze flickers to Taesan briefly, who’s still holding the door open as you explain to Sungho. “Sorry, I hope I didn’t worry you guys too much.”

“Don’t worry, she was with me.” Taesan unexpectedly chimes in to the conversation from next to you. “As long as Y/N’s okay, right?”

Looking past the doorway, you were shocked to see that the party actually was over. The previously crowded space was close to empty now, only a handful of partygoers lingering around the room. Looks like you lost track of time... How long were you with Taesan? Sungho’s holding Riwoo onto his shoulder as they begin staggering to the front door, you and Taesan trailing closely behind in silence.

The awkward air between you two was short lived, however, as Taesan grabs your wrist and pulls you into his arms, similar to how you were earlier in the night. Your back is against his chest as he rests his chin atop your head, hugging you from behind. “Sorry for sounding like a douchebag in my room earlier. I really do think you’re gorgeous, though.” He twirls you around, taking your hand in his once more as he walks you to the door.

The brisk air from outside makes you shiver, your arms immediately wrapping around your torso. You didn’t notice how cold it was while the three of you were walking there, the alcohol from the pregame warming you up too much to feel the chill in the first place. Riwoo and Sungho are already a couple feet out the door, bickering over what kind of food they should pick up on the way back to the apartment.

In front of you, Taesan shrugs the jacket he was wearing off his back, placing it around your shoulders. The sweet gesture alone makes you heat up; you’re thankful that even after everything that’s happened between you guys tonight, he’s a gentleman. “Thanks, Dongmin.”

He waves his hand in front of him, as if to tell you it was no big deal. “My clothes look good on you, Y/N.” The hand he places on the side of your face is gentle as he brings your lips to his, giving you a short kiss. “That’s all you get for now. You’ll just have to wait ‘til next time to kiss me properly, hm?”

tags: @minwrlds @luna2nite @taesancore @cherrytaesan @helpsplease @taylorluvation @serejae @dimplewonie @nikiismyhb (send an ask or comment to be added!)

a/n: literally the longest thing i’ve ever written thus far sorry if there’s mistakes LMFAO i’m def editing it after i posted ... AWWWKKKK

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gabessquishytum · 4 months

Note

Hob is a star! Mind it's for kicking a round ball up and down a long field, and yes Hob is aware that his life is absurd, but he does love it.

And really the day his life changed, he was just being loud and silly with his mates at some dumb exclusive vip bar, he didn't expect to fall head over heels (at first sight) for some stuffy 😍 museum curator who walked up to him, calling Hob on his bullsh*t.

What was this (glorious) man even doing within the sound of Hob stupid voice?! Nothing about Hob seems to impress -- the footie stardom, the hot bod, the money.....pretty man was sooooo unimpressed! Hob wants to have his babies!!

Dream Endless was only in this club because he was trying to be nice to his sibling. Desire was celebrating getting a major modeling contract and wanted to bask in everyone's regard. Dream was prepared to stay for a socially acceptable time and then leave,,, when this beautiful silly man (who was famous?!) started being loud and wrong, and Dream just couldn't let it go.

He might have spent the rest of the night sitting close to Hob arguing and staring into his eyes.

AKAKSJDHA football star Hob is absolutely a wonderful au. He has no braincells but boy is he sexy!!!

He's (loudly) asserting that the world is a wonderful place and that it would be a magnificent thing to live forever (while all his mates laugh, trying to goad him into doing more shots), and this gorgeous man walks over and flat-out tells him that he's stupid. It's basically Hob’s dream come true, he's pretty much got a kink for being insulted by hot people. He's only too glad to drag Dream into one of the boothes (with a bottle of top shelf vodka to share) to continue the argument. Stuffy museum curator Dream spends every day taking care of literal skeletons and the belongings of long dead people, and he has opinions about death. Hob is happy to listen to Dream talk about how life is a stain on the canvas of the universe. And to reply "but if I was dead I wouldn't get to see your eyes shining in this light, would I?"

Dream, in turn, is secretly fascinated by Hob's bare arms dusted over with soft hair. And the thick thighs hidden by his perfectly fitted jeans. Dream has had no desire to see a game of football literally ever in his life until now, but he's having thoughts about this man running around in a little pair of shorts and it is..... tantalising.

Its even more tantalising when Hob tugs Dream into the bathroom (which is surprising clean and empty) with a mischievous grin on his pretty face. Hob isn't allowed to kneel on the floor (his PT would murder him) so Dream bends over the sink pedestal with his legs spread as wide as they can go, and Hob quite happily squats behind him and eats him out like giving rimjobs is his full time job.

Dream isn't totally convinced on the idea of living forever, but fuck... he's willing to be persuaded again!

#the sandman #dreamling #nsft

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katsukikitten · 11 months

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"His freckles are gone." You say softly, so softly that the gruff blonde behind you isn't sure what you said. Silently asking you to repeat yourself by bending closer, tilting his head so his ear is closer to your mouth.

"His freckles are gone." Still monotone but louder this time. He glances down, watches you start to fist the hem of your black dress, a dress he knows he'll never see you in again despite black being your favorite color.

Maybe after today it wouldn't be.

He doesn't know how to act, his own emotions scattered but seeing you like this, numb and empty makes his already stiff suit feel that much stiffer. Makes him wipe his sweaty palms on his perfectly creased black slacks.

"His freckles are gone." You repeat, this time more frantic, panicked and strained all in one. Tears clump in your water line, fat droplets spilling over. No purse for you to dog in, one that normally carries shit like wet wipes or tissues. Bakugou glances around, searching for a box of fluffy white tissue yet his dark puffy eyes come up empty.

And fuck wasn't this type of place supposed to have a box at every fucking corner.

It seems to hit you all at once as you bring your thumb to your mouth. Wetting it gently as you reach down to wipe the foundation from the bridge of his nose. Sweeping it under his eyes and trying to ignore the waxy sheen to Izuku's skin.

"Why would they hide his freckles?" You ask, gripping at the padded wood as if he needed all of these pillows, this stuffing as he lies in his own black suit. Flowers scattered at your feet and all over the fucking place.

Bakugou's throat closed up, a sob trying to force its way past his cracked lips. Supporting you by putting his hand on your ribs as you continue. Struggling to get the matte foundation off of his pretty skin to reveal the constellation of perfect brown flecks that kissed his skin.

But it won't budge. Souring your stomach and suddenly the lights are too bright, the air too stuffy. The room way too fucking hot even with just you and Bakugou before the event starts. The cold sweat at the nape of your neck makes the hairs start to cling to your skin, your breath coming in shaking, gasping breathes as your vision blurs.

Why won't it come off? Why won't it come off? Why won't it come off? Why won't it come off? Why won't it come off? Why won't it come off? Why won't it come off? Why won't it come off? Why won't it come off? Why won't it come off? Why won't it come off? Why won't it come off? Why won't it come off? Why won't it come off? Why won't it come off? Why won't it come off?

Usually Izuku smiles when you clean his face but he can't.

Not this time.

"Why would they cover his freckles?" Tears make your knees weak as you start to slide to the floor even with Bakugou borderline holding you up.

"He was perfect." You choke and Bakugou can't hold back his own tears now, pulling you to him as the two of you sit on the old hardwood. Bloomed apologies scattered over the box, the table, the floor and pews.

What the fuck were all these flowers going to do?

Nothing, this was inevitable and in the end it happens to everyone.

Still Bakugou can't stand to see you like this, can't stand to see Izuku like this either.

"I know." He croaks, you take what little comfort he can't give. The next words from your mouth are nothing new but the way you speak them are. It sounds haunted, raw, full of everything you held back since the doctor broke the news to you.

Since your heart imploded and turned into a black hole.

The star in your sky gone now.

A sound that would haunt Bakugou on his most restless nights as you utter out three words that tear his heart from his chest.

Again.

"He was perfect."

#major character death #kitten chats 🖤🐈‍⬛

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skullythefriendlyskullface · 2 months

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I made fanfiction for the rottmnt 40th anniversary comic! You can read the full first chapter by clicking here, but I will be posting a little preview below, so SPOILERS AHEAD!

Time Forever Lost

Chapter 1 - Family Movie Day

Leo placed some breakfast on a wooden tray – toast with strawberry jam and a warm cup of tea – and walked it out of the kitchen and down the hall. When he finally made it to the dilapidated subway car that was Splinter’s bedroom, he stopped short of the door. Taking a deep breath, he put on a brave face and tapped the door with his toes.

“Hey, Dad, I’m coming in. You better be halfway decent in there,” Leo called. He gently kicked open the door and let the light from the hallway illuminate a path to Splinter’s bedside. The sickeningly sweet smell of flowers bombarded his nostrils, and he had to tread carefully to avoid knocking over the vases that lined the floor. At some point, he would have to water some of those roses and discard the wilting bouquets, he reminded himself. And at the rate that his family was receiving flowers from friends, he was going to have to find some more vases, too.

The bed was a mess of pillows and blankets – but no Splinter. Leo nearly dropped the tray. No matter how many times he and his brothers had told their dad not to get up and wander around the lair without their supervision, he did so anyway. It was as if he didn’t care that it gave them a heart attack. Or maybe it just was payback for all the times they snuck out of the lair and got into trouble when they were kids. Leo set the tray down on the bedside nightstand and rushed out of the room, sending a flurry of petals flying in his wake.

Thankfully, Splinter was right where Leo thought he would be: curled up in his favorite armchair in front of the TV. “Blue! There you are,” he said. His voice was raspy, and it was obviously painful for him to talk, but he spoke with enthusiasm nonetheless. “I think we should watch Enter the Tiger today, hm? How ‘bout it?”

Leo planted his hands on his hips. “I think you should stop with the vanishing act and just stay in bed until I get you.”

Splinter crossed his arms. “But it’s stuffy in there. It’s like living inside the perfume kiosks in the mall. I mean, the flowers were nice at first, but now it’s kind of overkill.”

“We can move them out if you want, but – hey, where are your socks?!” Leo asked, suddenly noticing his dad’s bare feet.

“The grippy socks? Eh, they were making my feet sweaty.”

“Dad!” Leo cried.

“What?”

As much as Leo wanted to be mad, he couldn’t blame him. If he were bedridden for months on end, he would probably go stir-crazy, too. But man, he’d be lying if he said his dad wasn’t driving him insane already. “Nothing. I’ll get your breakfast, and then we can watch that movie, ‘kay?”

He returned to Splinter’s bedroom and retrieved his breakfast tray. On his way back, he found Raph stumbling towards the bathroom, bleary-eyed and yawning. “Mornin’, Leo,” he said. “You taking care of Pop’s breakfast today?”

“Nope!” Leo said. “I’m taking care of Pops though.”

The scowl that crossed his brother’s face was almost as funny as his own joke. “Wow,” Raph said. “That was horrible, even for you.”

“Really? I thought it was pretty good.”

“Well, it wasn’t. Raph gives you a C minus for that one.” His tone grew somber. “Seriously though, do you need any help?”

“I got it covered,” Leo said. “Wait, actually, could you do me a favor and try to find Dad’s grippy socks for me? They should be around here somewhere.”

“He took them off again?”

“Apparently.”

Raph groaned. “Fine, I’ll look for them.”

By the time Leo returned to the TV room, the familiar sounds and images of Enter the Tiger was playing on the screen. Splinter was snuggled in his armchair and fiddling with the volume controls on the remote, as if he hadn’t obviously gotten up to put the movie into the VHS player in the first place. But Leo didn’t feel like reprimanding his dad for the umpteenth time, so he pretended not to notice. “One carb-heavy breakfast, on the house!” Leo said as he rested the tray on his dad’s lap.

“Yay, my favorite: flavorless toast,” Splinter said, rolling his eyes. He took a slice from the plate and nibbled one of the corners.

Over a year ago, when Splinter first cracked a joke about his food tasting funny, Leo had chalked it up to Draxum’s cooking. Although he wasn’t as bad of a chef as Donnie or Raph were, there was no telling what he put in their lasagna that night. In Leo’s opinion, it hadn’t tasted any stranger than it normally did, and his brothers all thought the same; Splinter was the only one who insisted that it tasted different. Everyone assumed that he was taking a jab at Draxum, but it should have been the first clue that something was wrong.

For the next couple of weeks, he complained that everything tasted bland, from his favorite froyo to Mikey’s homemade pizza. It wasn’t until he mentioned that he also felt pain in his throat and ears that Leo and his brothers realized that things were more serious than they seemed. It took days to figure out what was making him so sick; meanwhile, Splinter’s health worsened. His pain became unbearable, he lost his appetite, and he became even more lethargic than normal. Eventually, Donnie narrowed down the diagnosis: oropharyngeal carcinoma. Tonsil cancer.

None of the turtles slept much in the following weeks. Donnie often pulled all-nighters trying to develop a chemotherapy drug that would get rid of the cancer without being too aggressive on Splinter’s already frail body. Mikey started having nightmares, ones that usually made him wake up screaming. Raph and Leo threw themselves into vigilantism. If he were honest, Leo only went on nightly patrols to make sure Raph was okay. But if he had to guess, Raph went on patrols looking for an excuse to take out all his anger and frustration on whatever hapless crook crossed their path.

Then, slowly but surely, things started looking up. Donnie completed the chemotherapy drug and started treating Splinter with Leo’s help. The drug took its toll on his body, and his fur fell out, but when it grew back months later, it was a hopeful sign that he was improving. Mikey started getting more sleep and having less nightmares. Leo and his brothers started going on regularly scheduled missions again. Of course, Splinter’s health was still much worse than it was before, and they weren’t out of the tunnel yet, but at last they could see the light at the end.

To be continued...

#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt fanfiction #tmnt 40th anniversary #rottmnt leo #rottmnt leonardo #rottmnt leo angst #rottmnt splinter #rottmnt splinter angst

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saltsicklover · 1 year

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Title: The Weather

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3,160

Rating: PG13 - FLUFF

Warnings: Swearing

Disclaimer: I do not own Bucky Barnes, or anything related to Marvel within this piece. Not Proof Read or BETA'd. All mistakes are my own.

I do not consent for my work to be edited, reposted, or translated.

You are responsible for your own media consumption. This is a work of fiction that may contain mature themes. If you are sensitive to those subjects, please do not read.

It took James Barnes three months to speak more than a 'hello' and an appointment time to the beautiful woman that sits behind the front desk in Dr. Raynor's stuffy office. She is the opposite of Dr. Raynor, her edges are still soft, her soul not bared to the world- covered in blood and devoid of sacrifice and suffering.

At first, James found her intriguing. The way she sat, stick straight, attention always on her work. Her hair was never quite perfect, a sweet halo of frizz adorning her head, complimenting the way her eyes seemed to always crinkle at the corners whenever she would smile at him. She would always smile at him while keeping her hands busy with paperwork, tucking loose pages into files- paperclips, pens, and highlighters strewn around her desk.

Every day he talked himself up in the mirror and then again on the train, saying that today would be the day he would speak to her, finally catch her name, maybe even give her a real reason to smile- something more than just being customer service friendly. She's the one thing that seems to radiate positivity and light in the near desolate office he visits once a week.

Today it is raining, somewhere between pouring and deluge and Bucky trails a small creek into the office with him. The water streaks down his face, hair sticking to his forehead. Droplets race down his leather clad body, pelting the tile floor.

"Good morning, Mr. Barnes," The dame behind the desk speaks, her voice like fresh honey and it washes a tidal wave of warmth over Bucky. He shivers, goosebumps breaking out over his skin. Bucky is clammy and cold to the touch but it doesn't seem to bother him. The wet droplets that roll off his body don't either. Finally, the women looks up at Bucky, a bit of shock rolls over he features before before it's replaced with a chuckle and her signature smile, eyes crinkling but still shinning under the florescent lights. "Looks like that storm's gotten pretty bad since I got in this morning," She comments, standing up from her chair to greet him, "Don't you own an umbrella?"

Bucky can't help the laugh that escapes his lips, deep and full like the sweetest expresso she's ever tasted. Her body buzzes from the sound, joy vibrating under her skin at the change in his usually stony demeanor. The furrow of his brow is lessoned now, a smile threatening to pull at his lips, but his expression remains neutral. Yet, somehow, it's like a smile had reached his eyes with the way he look at her.

"Oh, you know, didn't think I'd need one but the weather really took a turn and now I'm swimming in my boots," He almost laughs, almost, the squelching sound of his boots and the harmony of the squeaking floor with each step he takes towards the desk makes him feel the most on display he has in years. The full tooth smile she gives him makes it worth it. "I have an 11:30 with Dr. Raynor."

"I've already got you all checked in, but," his confidence faulters a bit, as does her smile, "Dr. Raynor was called into an emergency meeting this morning, about an hour ago, and she still isn't back yet. She called to let me know that she is on her way, and she wanted me to ask you to wait. So, if you could take a seat and hang out, that would be lovely," She rambles a bit, spinning one of the many rings she wears on her delicate fingers. She plays with the large gem, spinning the band round and round as if she could twirl her anxiety away with each revolution of the silver band.

"Yeah, uhh-" Bucky stutters a bit, brushing back his bangs then attempting to flick the water off of his fingers with the shake of his wrist, "I can wait, definitely." He nods at her like he has any other choice, and she nods back, the awkwardness of the whole scenario becoming more palpable with each tick of the clock.

She sits back down too, after a moment, tucking her skirt under her backside with a quick motion before she turns back to the paperwork in front of her. The only sounds in the room are the light piano music playing over the speakers, almost too quiet for the average person to hear, and the clicking of the keyboard as she types. Bucky can almost hear her breathing, if he strains to listen, the small breathes pushing past her lips and then back in.

Bucky watches as she works, her tongue poking out of her mouth from between her lips as she concentrates. His heart flutters at the sight, and he thinks he might pass away right then and there when she drags her bottom lip between her teeth.

He watches the clock too. It hangs on the plain wall behind her, and the minutes seem to tick by slower and slower with each passing glance. But time seems to stand still as he watches her tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. He notices the diamonds and pearls decorating her ear, a site he isn't quite used to yet but still finds intriguing. The idea that someone might purposefully stab themselves to then adorn their bodies is something he finds perplexing and she finds irresistible.

"Hey, can I ask you somethin'?" Bucky finally breaks the silence, the clicking of her keyboard slowly dissipating. She flashes that grin of hers at him and he melts.

"What's up, Mr. Barnes?" She stands to look him in the eye over her computer. He sits in the waiting area, off to the side of her desk. He plays with the cuffs of his coat, fingering at the zippers and tugging at the fabric.

"I just realized, I've been coming here for a while now and it has never occurred to me to ask you your name," She laughs a bit at him, one of those small laughs that comes from the back of the throat. She gives him her name and it gently falls from her lips like it's the easiest thing in the world and he decides that it is. Bucky repeats her name back, it's liquid sugar on his tongue- he wears a shy smile now, the rest of his body useless, like he's been zipped into a body bag as his mind spins.

The rain is turning to hail, the small bits of ice pinging off of the windows, echoing though out the office. The lights flicker, off, on, then back off, leaving them sitting in the dark. Bucky tenses, his hands tightening around the arms of his chair as his companion lets out a huff in irritation.

"Well, so much for getting any sort of work done now," She grumbles, pushing herself away from the desk. She moves around her desk, but not carefully enough. A low smack, the sound of bone hitting wood is heard throughout the room, and so are the swear words and grumblings that leave her lips.

"Are you okay, doll?" Bucky asks too quickly, jumping to his feet.

"Oh yeah, I'm- I'm just great. My knee just wanted to make friends with the corner of my desk, that's all," She informs him, rubbing her sore knee with her hands. She moves to sit in front of her desk, making home on the floor, her back pressed against the wood. Bucky tries to make out her form in the dark, but he can barely see her from where he stands. He pulls his cellphone out, clicking the flashlight on to illuminate the room. He places it on the floor, nudging it with the toe of his boot so it sits between them.

She offers him a quiet thank you, devoid of a smile.

"Can I ask you something, now? The way I see it, it's my turn," Bucky hums in approval, "What's going on in that head of yours?" Bucky is thrown by the question and it hangs in the stale air. "Let me rephrase, because I'm not asking about the shit you come here to talk to Dr. Raynor about. What do you think about when you're not avenging or chitchatting with the good doctor?"

Bucky's thoughts flash through his mind quickly, the nightmares and the amends he has left to make. He thinks about Steve, and he thinks about Sam. He thinks about the community Sam has built with his family and the way they take care of each other. He thinks about how he lacks all of that. The family, the community, the honor. But mostly, he thinks about her and the way her eyes crinkle and that one time her hair was braided back and the way he could see her whole face for the very first time.

"I like the weather," He says simply, sitting himself down on the floor to meet her level.

"The weather?" She asks him, leaning towards him curiously.

Specks of dust flutter through the air, visible only through the glow of the flashlight. Each speck seems to dance in the tension around them, her question going unanswered for a few beats before he sighs in an attempt to relieve the strain building in his ribcage.

"Yeah, the weather. It seems to be the only thing I really understand anymore. That, and I like the rain," He concludes with a hand tugging through the mess of hair atop his head. He can't tell her that the sun doesn't come close to shining as bright as she does, so he settles with liking the rain. It seems more than honest. She tries to hold back a giggle at his answer. The causal air of it and the simplicity of the choice he has made. She doesn't push the topic further, not truly believing that he often thinks of the weather. But she knows better than to challenge the fact.

Maybe if they were in a different universe, or following a different timeline. One that they may be able to reach out in and dust their fingertips over if it weren't for the fabric of space time holding them firmly in place. Maybe, one universe over, just to the left of where they sit now, they are still sitting together, but not on the floor of a government sanctioned medical facility, but in a cafe.

They sit together, knees touching underneath the small bistro table in the corner of the cramped cafe. He calls her 'sunshine', because she is. She calls him 'lover', and he hates it in the way to say that he has never loved being called something more.

Their fingers are intertwined on the table top, not caring who sees them together. Bucky would be drinking coffee, something with actual flavor because he would actually let himself enjoy it. She still drinks black coffee because it makes her soul feel at home. They both wear genuine smiles, talking and laughing, enjoying each other's company. Definitely somewhere between date fifteen and twenty, planning their lives side by side but not yet together.

In the timeline on their right they are together, in their apartment. Sunny, that's what he calls her there, is painting the walls sage green. James, sits in the middle of the room attempting to build a coffee table that they purchased from IKEA earlier that week. He grumbles about missing pieces, rummaging through the little plastic baggies and Sunny just laughs at him.

She walks over and dabs a bit of the paint on his nose; both of their faces end up covered in green by the time they are done locking lips. They lay on the floor, surrounded by half finished projects, completely head over heels in love with one another.

She has no idea about the ring he has hidden in his sock drawer, or the way his heart beats just a little bit faster every time she goes into that drawer to steal a pair of his socks just because she claims they are more comfortable than her own. He really needs to find a new hiding spot, but he has been so caught up in the life they are creating he really hasn't bothered to think of a better place.

There is another universe about an arms length away where they are meeting for the first time. One where Bucky is quicker to forgive himself and more gentle with his own soul, with himself. She hasn't been given a nickname here, at least not yet. They cross paths on the train- she is stepping off and Bucky steps on. Their knuckles graze over each other, both turning to whisper an apology just as the doors shut.

They lock eyes and Bucky offers her a kind smile, one that has come easy to him for years now. She offers a small smile in return, one that is much more shy and reserved than the one she has just received. Just then, the train begins to pull away, their lives once again headed in separate directions.

She watches as the train pulls away, eyes still on the brunet, feet planted firmly in place. Bucky starts walking towards the back of the train, eyes still fixed on the woman who holds his attention like a vice. When he finally makes it to the end of the train, he is left with nothing to do but offer her a wave and a smile. She returns it in kind.

But here and now they sit in the darkness, a storm raging outside, leaving them trapped inside with nothing but each others company and the glow of the flashlight between them. Neither one has been brave enough to speak for a little while. They have made themselves comfortable on the floor and in the shared silence.

Bucky can't help but think about how beautiful she is. The way that she lights up the room with nothing more than her presence. He mulls over the fact that he took so long to talk to her, and the tightness in his chest seems to linger the longer he beats himself up for it. He twiddles with his fingers, fidgeting where he sits. He is almost dry now but his boots are still soaked through, squelching when he moves. She pretends not to notice it, stifling a laugh with the heel of her hand pressed firmly against her lips.

"I think I'm going to call you Solntse," He says absentmindedly, more to himself and maybe the room than to her directly. "Yeah, Solntse, it suits you."

"What does that mean, Mr. Barnes?" Solntse questions him, peering through the harsh beam of the flashlight.

"It means sun. It's Russian. And please, call me Bucky, or hell, I'll even take James, but please quit calling me Mr. Barnes," He speaks candidly, rubbing over his face with his flesh hand. He pulled off his gloves a few minutes ago, the action going unnoticed.

"Okay, Bucky. Russian sun it is," Solntse chuckles, crossing her ankles out in front of her.

"That is, if you don't mind- I guess I should've asked first," Bucky attempts to backtrack, fumbling over his words as the embarrassment wells inside him. A blush begins to bloom over Solntse's face and neck, a raspberry hue covering her skin.

"I don't mind, Buck, truly. Plus they say you can't pick your own nickname. It goes against the whole point of having a nickname," She chuckles, a smile spread wide across her face as the pink tint begins to fade. She doesn't know what comes over her but she crawls over to Bucky, plopping herself down in the spot next to him. Bucky can't help the way his heart quickens at he movements, the proximity of her body to his and the scent of her perfume make him dizzy.

They sit next to each other like that for a while, the silence taking over again. It's not too long after they are plunged back into darkness, the flashlight in front of them shutting off without warning. The sudden darkness catches Solntse by surprise, causing her to jump and let out a little yip of surprise. She grabs onto Bucky, hands wrapping around his metal arm, squeezing tightly. It all happens in a split second; each party feeling a complete and sudden shift in the air around them.

They turn to face one another, noses almost brushing. Solntse can feel the deep blush burning on her skin again, the heat taking over her senses. Bucky lets a small chuckle escape him. It sounds full and comforting, even if it is at her own expense.

"You're safe, doll, I've got you," Bucky whispers, pulling her as close as he can in their current position. Solntse can feel the way his fingertips dip into her flesh, the feeling grounding her in the moment, to him and his closeness. She squeezes him back.

"Thank you," She whispers, voice barely audible. A smirk slips onto Bucky's slips and it goes unnoticed by Solntse until she leans forwards and closes the gap between them. The movement is clumsy in the dark, their noses bumping together at first.

The kiss is slow and sweet, lips mingling together as if they have a thousand times before- and they have in the universes that surround them. The way their lips move together is not new to the universes else where, and neither is the way Bucky moves to pull her into his lap, her knees finding purchase on either side of his thighs. He tangles his hands in her hair the same way he always has and always will. She pulls at the lapels of his jacket all the same. The newness of it all sparking tingles beneath their fingertips, reverberating all over their bodies and the way they mingle together in this place, in this now.

She pulls back from his lips, just mere millimeters, far enough to cause a small whimper to leave Bucky. "I think about the weather too," She confesses, the meaning just as deep to her as it had been to him, even if he thought she hadn't originally picked up on that fact.

"Let me take you somewhere, anywhere you want to go. Coffee, food, drinks, hell I'll take you anywhere, just say the word," He almost pleads, but the words come out more smooth than needy.

"I have a shift to finish, and you still have an appointment, but you can pick me up from my place tonight," She punctuates her sentence with a brush of her lips against his, "And you can take me to get a pizza and beer on draft and we can talk more."

"About the weather?" He questions her, smirk across his lips.

"Yes, about the weather." She confirms just before closing the gap between them again.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x fem reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes goes to therapy #marvel x reader

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4joonkookie · 1 year

Text

Neighbors

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Words: 3K (A solid 50/50 of build-up vs. smut) Summary: You make a move on your noisy neighbor, but things really get going when there's a blackout. Notes: Chapter 9 of THIS. Catch yourself up or don't and just enjoy the smut.

Tags: see story for tags, SMUT, noisy neighbors, boy-next-door, college flashback, roommates, getting eaten RIGHT for the first time, JK's voice is so pretty, canon-ish JK behavior, beefy JK, oral sex, riding, protected sex, blackout, fire escape.

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You study peacefully when the voices start. The neighbors are having company over, amplifying their existing nuisance.

It starts with the dull hum of laughing, trash-talking, and playing video games. Soon, the dull hum will become a vibrating roar through the walls.

Ugh. I just want to study, you think, rolling your eyes.

It's the umpteenth time since they’ve moved in. The building is full of students and parties can be found on any floor at any time, but don't students also study?

You approach the wall and pound your fist on it in frustration. They repeat your rhythm on the other side like it’s a game, cackling through the cheap drywall.

Assholes.

You grab your laptop and head to the library, resisting the urge to go over and curse them out.

Your roommate peeks her head out of her bedroom as you open the front door.

“Where are you going?” She asks.

“The library,” you say.

“I'm coming with you,” she says, grabbing her things. “They’re so fucking loud.”

ღღღ

The worst part is, that’s just the living room. Today, the noise lingers through the walls of the shower.

As you rinse off, a singing voice carries through. You roll your eyes, trying to tune it out. Only… the more you listen to it, the nicer it is. You find yourself forgiving his contribution to the noise in the living room.

The voice moves to the bedroom, so you do, too. Music starts playing on the other side of the wall and the voice continues singing along. An encore.

Then, the voice is gone, and it's just music.

It’s fine until you sit down to study and the song never settles. It keeps changing ten seconds into every song.

Who does this? Just pick a song and stick with it.

The shuffle of songs and the lack of vocal trance are a distraction. Once again, you admit defeat and head to the library.

ღღღ

Another Saturday night, another party.

When the next doorbell rings with visitors, you climb out to the fire escape to sit on the steps and study. It’s too late to go to the library and you just want to be settled in for the night.

You huff out, annoyed, but find that it’s nice. It’s not stuffy or cramped like the library. There’s fresh air and ambient noise. The hum of bros is faint enough through the adjoining window of that apartment to be less disturbing.

You work for a few hours when the fire alarm goes off in the next apartment.

The window opens and smoke billows out along with the bitter smell of burning food. You get a whiff in your lungs and cough, standing from where you sat on the ladder steps. A man hangs outside, waving the smoke out.

“Is there a fire?” You ask.

“No, sorry,” he says. You can hardly see him through the cloud of smoke. “Someone in here doesn't know how to use a damn microwave.

You back away and roll your eyes, cursing the inability to get a moment's peace. The smoke clears, and he steps outside.

“What are you doing out here?”

You recognize his voice right away. That voice. It’s smooth and mellow and light and bright all at once.

“It’s the only quiet place to study,” you snark. “You guys are so loud.”

“It’s Saturday,” he defends.

“It’s not just today, it’s nearly every day since you guys moved in,” you say, hating the twinge of whine in your voice.

“Why haven't you said anything?”

“Does the banging on the wall not count?”

He chuckles in realization and it’s infuriating. And really cute. “That's you,” he realizes out loud.

He’s gorgeous. Muscular, with a few tats hiding beneath his t-shirt sleeve, making it that much harder to be annoyed with him.

“Yeah,” you say, embarrassed. “That’s me.”

He takes a step closer. “Are you also the one that turns on the blender at 6 am every day?”

You blush. “That's also me,” you say. “Noisy breakfast smoothie. You didn't say anything either,” you antagonize.

“It's an old building. The walls are paper thin. You have to live, right?” He softens. “Besides, I don’t mind. I’ve usually snoozed my alarm 4 or 5 times by then and it's the final push I need to get up.”

You laugh, feeling your guard fall. “You have a nice voice,” you say, looking down at your feet. “I hear you in the shower sometimes.”

He gets shy, looking down. “I didn't know you could hear that.”

“It’s pretty,” you say, feeling the hearts form in your eyes now that there’s a face attached to this voice. “But when you listen to music, what’s with the constant shuffle? I mean, do you ever listen to a song, start to finish?”

He laughs, getting embarrassed again. “I don't know. It's like I start listening and I like it and I feel the vibe and let it flow through me. Once I get a feel for it, I’m ready for the next one.”

You exchange names and you’re confident enough to stand, showing off the ratty t-shirt and fabric shorts that leave your ass cheeks peeking out from underneath.

His eyes drift down, sensing your exposed skin in the air. It gives you a boost of confidence as your eyes take each other in.

Can’t believe you’re out here with this stranger, drawn completely in. He takes a pen from behind your ear and gets a gentle grasp on your forearm, turning it slightly. He writes a phone number on your arm.

“You can always text me if it’s too loud. You shouldn’t have to hide out on the fire escape just to study.” His doe eyes open wide beneath his lashes. “I’ll tell them to try to keep it down. But it’s Saturday, so no promises.”

There’s no chance of getting any studying done, maybe ever again knowing that the likes of him are on the other side of that wall. You think of anything to keep him outside before he steps into his window.

“Hey.”

He turns back to look at you.

“Want to keep me company? You look out at the city landscape and twinkling lights. "It’s nice out."

He thinks for a moment. Then he looks down, and the air gets awkward. “You know, I should really get inside,” he says.

And your face burns with embarrassment and confusion.

“See you later,” you say. You watch him re-enter his window and hope you never see him again.

ღღღ

You spend more time over the next few weeks studying on the fire escape just because.

Occasionally, you catch JK coming and going for a long run. He doesn’t see you from the ground as you’re many flights up.

Despite not wanting to see him again and the shame and embarrassment of misreading the whole interaction, it's just a matter of time before you hear him again. Singing in the shower, playing his music. Even when he’s loud with the others, you’re only able to tune into that voice.

Luckily, the window next door hasn’t opened again.

You’re studying and the sun has long set when suddenly, it all goes dark, inside and out. It’s pitch black and you turn on your phone flashlight.

“Shit,” you mutter to yourself, wondering how long the power will be out.

It’s then when the window opens and JK’s head peeks out, candle in hand. A layer of transparent colored wax sits at the top. It’s been burning for a while now. The lavender and vanilla scents waft into your nostrils.

“Hey,” he says, stretching his neck to see if the entrance to your bedroom is pitch black, too.

“It’s out for blocks,” you say, and your stomach tightens, feeling uneasy with him around.

He climbs out and approaches, standing next to you and looking out over the balcony. Goosebumps rise on your skin.

“Here again, huh? I told you to text me,” he says, appearing way more confident than the shy guy from your last encounter.

“There wasn’t any noise, it's just kind of nice out here. And less crowded than the library. And I can wear my pajamas,” you add.

He lifts your textbook, holding the candle up and scouring the title.

“Well, it makes sense why I’ve never seen you at school. We’re on the opposite ends of campus.”

He speaks like he wants you to ask more questions, eyes glued to you like a second opportunity. He’s so close and seems glad he stumbled upon you again.

“Sometimes I'm out here and I see you go for a run and you don’t come back for hours.”

“I run to the gym, work out, and run back.”

“When do you find time to study?”

“I don’t. But, for what I want to do, being healthy will help.”

He looks at you, scanning your face in the candlelight.

It’s obvious now. Nothing to be questioned, but you still remember the heat of the embarrassment when he chose to go inside that last time.

He takes a step closer, leaning in.

“Are you… ok in the dark?” he asks.

“Yeah, I'm okay,” you say, knowing you’re only ok as long as your half-dead phone battery holds out. No emergency candles or supplies to mention.

He’s close enough to smell again and your heart pounds against your chest. It’s dark. A little dangerous.

“Do you mind some company?” He asks, eyes drifting down to your mouth.

“I don’t mind,” you whisper. He leans in close and you speak before your lips meet. “Why didn’t you stay the first time?” you ask, unable to help yourself.

He takes a deep breath, clearing his throat. “Because I found a beautiful woman in a vulnerable spot. Private. Studying. In her pajamas. I just didn’t want to be weird.” He takes a step closer. “And you make me kind of nervous, so I'm glad I have another chance.”

You laugh, feeling your heart pound, secretly grateful he feels this way too. “Why do I make you nervous?” You whisper.

“Because for the past few weeks, all I can think about is my neighbor. And she’s been my neighbor for months, but I didn’t know she looked like this. And that she can hear me doing everything.” His voice is soft, forbidding, wrapping you up. “And I'm caught halfway between picking up and moving just for peace of mind and just," his voice drifts off and he twirls a strand of your hair around his finger. "Wishing the wall wasn’t there.”

You take a deep breath, feeling yourself fall deep. “The wall isn’t here now,” you say, closing the space between your lips.

His hands immediately make their way to cup your ass, running up your waist and through your hair, hands exploring every inch of you he can’t see.

You do the same, gliding your hands up his shirt and feeling the ridges of the stomach, drawing him closer. The stairs press against your back and you wince while loving the feeling of him between your legs.

Reach your hand down to where the fabric of his shorts is tented, getting a grip on his hard length and letting it rub between your thighs. He gasps and presses his cock to you.

You lace a hand with him and guide him as you both climb into your bedroom window. He sets the candle down and gets both hands on you.

He groans when he slips his hands beneath the waistband of your shorts and feels no underwear. He gets his hands under your ass cheeks, groping and feeling his fingers slip. He rubs at your slicked opening and presses against it. Your eyes roll back as you push your hips to him.

“Fuck, how long have you been this wet?” He says, his warm breath hitting your face. His voice is deeper now, darker.

“Before you stepped outside,” you say. “When I was just wishing you'd show up.”

He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your shorts and pulls them down to your ankles. He whispers. “Get on the bed.” You hear him wrestle with his own shirt in the dark.

You walk backward until the mattress touches behind your knees and lay back. He crawls above you, kissing over your breasts and expertly slipping two fingers inside your pussy, causing you to gasp.

He drags them out and moves wetness over your clit. You see stars at his rough rhythm.

“Slower,” you guide, touching his wrist. And he does, slowing his fingers, but not letting up any pressure.

“Like this?” He says you nod, forgetting he can’t see you. He takes the signal from your moans and circles his fingers, occasionally slipping them inside. The lewd squelching is somehow more emphatic in the dark.

“Can I taste you?” He asks, through a panting breath.

“Pleeease,” you moan, blissed out already. Can’t believe how eager you are. You can’t really come from being eaten out, but when he brings it up, you know it’s all you want.

His warm breath hovers over your pussy and he goes right to the source, lapping at your opening and swiping his fingers to feed himself.

It’s titillating to be actually eaten, hearing his delighted noises. Strange almost, especially in the dark. You stop thinking about it when he latches his mouth around your clit.

It’s nothing like you’ve ever experienced. Usually, it’s a tongue flapping randomly and wildly over you with little effect. Like they're just guessing.

There is no guessing here. He’s swallowing, taking the whole of your flesh in his mouth and sucking. Your thighs shake uncontrollably. Another first.

He hooks an arm around your thigh and then his tongue starts, never letting off his suction, still sucking and releasing while never moving his lips away, gently running his tongue over the sensitive bud.

You squirm and moan, uncaring and unaware of the sounds you’re making. He finally lets off.

“Stay still for me?” And you freeze, willing to do anything to get his mouth on you like that again.

You anticipate his lips again but feel fingers plunge deep inside instead. He keeps them buried down to the webbing of his fingers, pulsing and pressing to the deepest part of you.

Then, his mouth, bringing that precious suction that makes your muscle quiver. Even the vibrator doesn’t get this reaction.

Everything burns at your core as you teeter on the edge. Gripping at the sheets, you bear down against him. He moans and the vibrations send you over the edge.

He never stops his pace, staying with your body as you come.

Coming down, you feel the mattress bowing as he grinds into the mattress, giving himself an enticing friction and feeling good for himself.

He rises up to your face, placing his skilled tongue right in your mouth. “Mph. I need to fuck you,” he groans. “Do you have?_”

“Yeah,” you say, before he can finish the sentence. You lean up and fumble in the darkness to pull a condom from the nightstand.

“Lay back,” you whisper with a hand on his chest, the darkness giving you a certain confidence. You climb on top of him, nerves still shaky.

He reaches for the wrapper in your hand, but you pull it away. You drag your fingertips over his shaft and stroke over him a few times, cupping his balls, feeling his breath hitch and feeling even more sensation in the darkness.

You open the wrapper and place the rubber on his tip, rolling it down with your hands until it's covered.

He groans, pulling you down to kiss and prodding his tongue inside. You spread your thighs over his lap and he grips hard as you slide down onto him, digging nails into the flesh of your ass. He’s happy to be inside you twice, bucking his hips up.

You let him stretch inside you, starting a rhythm and rolling your hips. It feels incredible. Sensations moving from your swollen pussy and out to your fingertips. He runs his hands up your chest, feeling the weight of your tits in his hands.

It's then when the lights come on, bright and harsh. You look up, blinded and distracted. Embarrassed.

He takes your chin in his hand and forces your eyes on him. “Don’t stop fucking me,” he says, pulling your hips over his, getting you moving again, reminding you of what you need. “Please, don’t stop fucking me,” he whines.

You nod and grind on him, feeling him press against your walls. The sound is lewd and wet as you circle your hips, barely rising on his shaft. He watches you, eyes surveying your body as you move with his hands on your hips. Finally taking you in.

He's so hot. Dark, sweaty hair sticks to his face. The faint light in the room allows his tattoos to be exposed. The sweat beads and pools between his chest and abs, tapering down to his little waist where your bodies are hot and connected. There’s simply too much for your eyes to take in.

“God, you're gorgeous,” he says.

“That's just what I was thinking,” you say, running your hands over his tight abs in response.

He put the pads of his fingers on your clit and you gasp, still sensitive from your orgasm. He barely moves them, just presses them against your clit as you grind and move and bounce.

He takes a deep breath, trying to hold back his own orgasm.

The pressure is too good, combined with the feeling of him pressed inside you to the deepest point. You can’t recognize the sounds coming from your mouth or explain the way your hips buck and grind above him.

“Oh my god,” he whines, and it's so hot. He loses himself as you cream and tighten around him, riding out another intense orgasm.

“Don't stop,” he moans. “Don't stop, ple_”

And you must muster everything to keep your body moving and grinding.

His jaw goes slack, head thrown back. You drag nails over his chest, acknowledging the goosebumps rising on his skin as he throbs inside.

He releases the grip on your hips and you collapse on top of him. Panting and catching your breath, he leans up, carefully tying off the condom.

You look at each other and laugh through your breath. He kisses you, running his hand through your hair. Drunk on each other.

There's laughter and commotion on the other side of the wall, and he appears surprised.

“Is this what it sounds like?" He asks, banging on the wall to his roommates on the other side.

Coming Up... Taehyung ;)

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yourlocaldisneyvillain · 1 year

Text

...the unholy flames of ♥kink!week♥ burn brightly... (don't know what kink week is? click here!)

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

∼ the unholy week nears its end, and today we venture into the murky waters of dubious consent — what monsters await us there? ∼

∼ day six brings us our beloved villain ♥ Captain Phasma ♥ ∼

∼ tags and the fic are under the cut ∼

♥ i've worked very hard on this series — it was a huge project to undertake and i would very much appreciate if you left me comments with your thoughts and impressions — you already know they make my heart sing ♥ (AO3 link — i prefer it to tumblr vastly)

tags: #rape/non-con elements #tentacle rape #tentacles #tentacle sex #tentacle monsters #dubious consent #extremely dubious consent #face-fucking #triple penetration #double penetration #anal sex #power dynamics #power struggle #choking #fainting #dom/sub #forced submission #rape #multiple orgasms #kink!week

easy prey (clicking on the title will lead you to ao3)

Captain Phasma sometimes manages to catch a breath in-between missions. Sometimes, she has a night off, and sometimes, on such nights, she lets herself blow off some steam — always, she does it by picking up a pretty thing, usually at a bar, and having some fun with her. She has a type she usually goes for — she prefers a pretty, human(oid) female that appreciates a firm hand.

She isn’t too picky, however, after weeks spent aboard a stuffy spaceship.

She’d never been to this bar — nor this planet. She doesn’t know much about this part of the galaxy, nor does she care to learn. Her plan for tonight is to hang out by the bar, get reasonably tipsy, and see if there’s a pretty girl she could have a good time with.

It doesn’t take long to spot her.

She’s gorgeous. Long, wavy hair down to her waist, dark, glowing skin so smooth it doesn’t look real, full lips that are made to appear ever plumper with glittery lipgloss, broad shoulders, skimpy bright blue dress that looks almost neon against her skin tone and barely covers anything. She’s just the right balance between muscular and soft. She dances alone with a drink in hand, paying no attention to the swarm of people trying to approach her and talk to her. She firmly pushes away anyone who tries to grind against her or gets too handsy.

Phasma needs to have her.

She waits until the girl gets bored of dancing and goes to the bar to buy another drink. The girl leans on the bar as she waits, her bare, toned back partially turned to Phasma.

“Not interested in a good time?” Phasma asks.

The girl turns towards her. Phasma is immediately struck by how unnaturally — how beautifully — blue her eyes are. If Phasma knew — or cared — about particular colour shades, she’d call them ultramarine blue. They are accentuated by glittery eyeshadow, and seem to shine in a way that’s just slightly unnerving and uncanny, indicating she might not be quite human, despite appearing so — but Phasma doesn’t care to analyse her genealogy. The girl seems human enough for activities that Phasma has in mind.

The girl smiles. “Not with those desperate bastards over there, that’s for sure.”

Her teeth are pearly white and shiny, and perhaps a bit sharper than Phasma had expected — but her voice is smooth, melodious and lilting, and Phasma forgets all about the teeth. She wants to hear more of that voice, wants to make this girl moan her name — or, preferably, her title.

“If you’re tired of desperate bastards groping you on the dance floor, you could sit here with me — have a nice chat.”

The girl eyes Phasma up and down, lingering on her muscular arms before looking her in the eye and smiling even brighter. Her blue eyes and her sharp teeth seem to shine in the dim light — the visual is a bit eerie. Phasma feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, but she doesn’t think anything of it, distracted by lust and the pleasant fuzziness from all the alcohol she’d already had.

“And I suppose you’ll only grope me if I ask nicely?” the girl asks, sitting down on the stool next to Phasma.

“Ah, see? We already understand each other very well.”

The girl laughs. Her laugh is like a babbling brook, bright and melodious.

“I might ask you that later — but first, I’d like a name.”

Phasma isn’t keen on giving her actual name to one-night-stands.

“You may call me Captain,” she says, taking a sip of her drink.

“And are you a captain?” the girl asks with an amused glint in her eye, shifting on her chair.

It is in that moment her drink arrives. Before the girl can react, Phasma pulls out a crisp bill from her pocket and pays for the drink. She never breaks eye contact.

“I am.”

The girl takes a sip of her drink — some sort of sugary concoction that’s probably stronger than it looks. She nibbles on the pink, neon straw. “I could believe that.”

“And what should I call you?” Phasma asks.

The girl grins mischievously, straw in her mouth. “You could call me Lucy, but you could also call me something else, if you prefer.”

“Lucy is a lovely name.”

There is no way in hell her name is Lucy — but then again, Phasma’s name isn’t exactly Captain, either. She can understand the desire to keep one’s identity private, and she can appreciate a girl with a brain — even if the dumb ones are way easier to bed.

This one will probably be way more fun, though.

“So, Captain,” she purrs, raising her hand to caress Phasma’s bicep. “Wanna continue this pleasant conversation somewhere more private?”

Phasma is a bit taken aback by how eager the girl seems to be all of a sudden, especially since she seemed so disinterested in physical contact on the dance floor. Usually it takes a bit more flirting, and usually Phasma is the one to suggest going somewhere quieter — no girl wants to seem easy, after all.

Phasma doesn’t need to be asked twice, though.

She towers over Lucy as they walk through the crowd, enjoying how much smaller the girl is compared to her. She puts her hand on the small of her back — her skin is smooth like marble, but way hotter.

As soon as they exit the bar and step onto the dark alleyway, Phasma pins her against the wall and kisses her. Lucy nips on her lip with her sharp teeth and draws blood. Phasma enjoys it.

Easy prey, she thinks as they head towards Lucy’s residence.

It never crosses her mind that Lucy might be thinking the same thing.

Something about Lucy isn’t quite right — and Phasma, unfortunately, only becomes aware of that once they’re making out on Lucy’s couch.

Phasma is straddling her, pinning her wrists down with one hand, and the other one she runs over her throat before lightly squeezing. Lucy whimpers.

“Like being choked like a filthy slut, hm?” Phasma asks. Lucy shakes her head. “No? You’re out of luck then, pretty girl, because I enjoy that very much.”

She squeezes again — not too hard, but enough to let her know who’s in charge. She feels herself getting wet at the sight of Lucy squirming underneath her. The straps of her skimpy dress slid down and one of her nipples is exposed — it’s dark and pretty and perfect. Phasma can’t wait to put it in her mouth. Oh, she’ll love fucking this pretty thing.

Lucy is noticeably smaller than her, and a head shorter — she shouldn’t be able to throw Phasma off of her like she weighs nothing — nor climb on top of her and pin her down so she can’t move an inch — and not for the lack of trying.

And yet.

“Had enough of your little power trip?” Lucy says, smiling, and her teeth somehow seem sharper than before. Her blue eyes are glowing. She gives Phasma a look that makes all the hairs on her body stand up — predatory, lecherous, hungry.

She holds Phasma’s wrists down in the same fashion Phasma held hers moments ago, her long hair tickling Phasma’s neck. Phasma tries to throw her off of herself, but finds that she can’t — Lucy’s grip is iron. She keeps squirming, but Lucy doesn’t even break a sweat as she holds her down.

“You can’t escape, handsome thing,” Lucy purrs. Phasma stares at the glitter on her lips — remnants of her now smudged lipgloss.

“Fuck,” she says, giving up on trying to escape Lucy’s grip. There isn’t much else to say.

“Yes, that’s what I’m about to do,” Lucy chuckles, then surges forward and pushes her tongue into Phasma’s mouth. Phasma makes a guttural noise as Lucy kisses her and assaults her mouth with her tongue — a tongue that, now that Phasma thinks about it, feels a bit too smooth, and is perhaps just a bit too long. The girl isn’t human, that much is clear, but Phasma has no idea what she is.

“Like being choked, Captain?” Lucy purrs, breaking the kiss, her breath hot in Phasma’s mouth.

Before Phasma can react in any way there is a tentacle wrapped around her neck.

For a couple of seconds, Phasma can’t breathe. The tentacle feels smooth and slimy and slick, with little suction cups latching onto the skin of her neck hard enough to bruise. Her eyes widen in horror when she sees more of them appear above her. They seem to be sprouting from Lucy’s back, eight of them — thick, dark blue and glistening, with pink, fleshy suction cups.

Lucy releases the hold on Phasma’s neck, and Phasma gasps for air. The suckers painfully tug on her skin as Lucy removes the tentacle. It feels like getting a dozen hickeys all at once. Phasma hisses in pain.

“I love dominant women,” Lucy whispers in Phasma’s ear. “I love how helpless they look as I fuck them, and I love it even more when they realise they fucking love it.”

She licks Phasma’s neck, cleans up the slick left on it from the tentacle. Phasma actually enjoys the sensation, and would perhaps enjoy it even more if she wasn’t distracted by the fleshy blue and pink tentacles wiggling around her. She stares at them, wrists pinned down, frozen, as Lucy kisses her neck.

“Like them?” Lucy asks. Phasma can feel her grin into her neck.

They are horrifying, gross and slimy, but there is something mesmerising about the way they move — and they are attached to the most beautiful creature Phasma’s ever seen — that certainly makes a difference.

“Feel them,” Lucy purrs and pulls on Phasma’s wrists, bringing them behind her back. Phasma tries pulling back, but Lucy’s grip on her wrists is too strong. She guides Phasma’s hands to slide along the tentacles. Phasma’s entire body tenses up. “Mmm, that feels really good, you know,” Lucy murmurs into her ear, licking and placing lazy kisses onto it.

The slick tentacles and the sticky, bulbous suckers are unlike anything she’s ever touched. They feel weird, but not unpleasant — and mixed with Lucy’s hot kisses on her ear and her soft body pressed against Phasma’s, it’s… it’s…

Phasma settles on confusing.

“You must have thought I’d be such easy prey,” Lucy whispers as she grinds her hips into Phasma’s and slams her arms back onto the couch. “Pretty girl you could throw around a bit, get some frustration out on, hm? Have a quick, dirty orgasm while you choke me. And if you accidentally squeezed too hard, who’d know?”

“I wouldn’t kill you,” Phasma says, trying to keep her voice level, not wanting it to show how much she’s affected by Lucy grinding on her, the feeling of Lucy’s tits against her own, Lucy’s tongue on her ear. It’s not exactly a lie — she wouldn't kill her on purpose. If it happened accidentally, however…

Well — she wouldn’t dwell on the life of a pretty whore from a bar.

“How generous. Perhaps I won’t kill you either, then. It would ruin the mood just a little bit.” She takes Phasma’s lower lip between her teeth and bites on it, drawing blood. Phasma sucks in a sharp breath. “I’d much prefer to fuck and humiliate you. It’ll be super hot. I promise you’ll love it.”

Phasma feels both relieved that she probably won’t get killed tonight and completely horrified at the prospect of what this girl — this creature — might do to her instead. She wistfully thinks of her blaster, left by the door as they entered the apartment. Oh, what a fool she was to think she wouldn’t need it in a makeout session with a pretty alien.

Lucy seems to notice the dread in Phasma’s eyes, because she laughs, showing all of her sharp teeth. Her laugh is lovely sound — one that Phasma still finds charming. She wonders if the girl is some sort of siren-like creature.

Lucy caresses Phasma’s cheek — not with her hand, as she is still pinning Phasma’s wrists down — but with one of her tentacles. Phasma shivers at the feeling of the slimy, slick limb on her face leaving a wet trail of sludge.

“Afraid, hm?”

“No,” Phasma spits out. She’d rather die than admit to fear.

Lucy chuckles. “I can tell you’re a crazy bitch. And you know what?” She leans in closer. “It takes one to know one,” she whispers, and then laughs — it send chills down Phasma’s spine.

“I’d say you happened to meet your match, but I could eat you for breakfast without even blinking. Now, my advice for you would be to try to relax and enjoy yourself. It hurts more if you’re all tight,” she purrs and crashes her lips into Phasma’s again, forcing her tongue into Phasma’s mouth. It’s definitely too long for a human tongue, and she sticks it so far down Phasma’s throat that she gags.

“Aww, not a good gag reflex?” Lucy coos, breaking the kiss. “Poor thing. Let me give you a little treat as a reward.”

She sits up on Phasma’s lap, and before Phasma can use the fact that her wrists aren’t being held down anymore, Lucy replaces her hands with tentacles. Two wrap around her wrists, and two slide under her shirt, groping her tits over her sports-bra, wetting the fabric and leaving a disgusting trail of sludge on it. The suckers latch onto her skin — it feels bizarre — but she doesn’t dwell on the sensation too long. Her attention is taken by Lucy making a show of removing her dress, slowly sliding the straps down her shoulders. One of her nipples is already out from all the grinding and wrestling on the couch, but the other she reveals slowly — painfully slowly — letting the silky fabric slide down her perfect, round tit. Phasma watches her, mesmerised. Lucy is the prettiest thing she’s ever seen.

Lucy maintains eye contact with her as she undresses, ultramarine eyes sparkling in the dark apartment, plump lips curled into a wicked smirk. There’s glitter on her face from all the smudged makeup, and her long, wavy hair falls onto her shoulders in beautiful, fluffy tresses. Her dress now pools around her soft belly, and rides up her thighs. She isn’t wearing anything underneath, and Phasma can catch a glimpse of dark hair between her legs. She can feel the heat radiating from there against her own pelvis.

Lucy lazily starts rolling her hips into Phasma’s. Phasma’s eyes wonder up towards Lucy’s exposed tits that are lightly bouncing up and down as she grinds against her — perfect, round, soft tits, with small, dark nipples that she wants — needs — to have in her mouth. She watches, spellbound, mouth agape.

There is, however, a disturbing addition to the otherwise very arousing visual — the tentacles — slick, thick, deep blue and soft pink limbs that sprout from Lucy’s back and sides, four of them floating around her, and four pinning Phasma down and groping her over her bra. Phasma is only able to feel so much over the thick fabric strapping her tits down tight, but it still feels surprisingly good — better than Phasma would like to admit. And as she watches the alien goddess grind her hips on top of her, slimy tentacles surrounding her like a halo, tits bouncing, plump lips parted and smirking, she can’t deny it.

It turns her on.

She feels the wetness pool between her own thighs, and she's frustrated that she can’t do anything about it. She isn’t used to being helpless — or pinned down. She squirms underneath Lucy, unsure of what she’s really trying to do — escape, get some friction between her legs, or gain some semblance of control.

“Poor baby,” Lucy says, smiling wickedly. “Craving some attention, hm?”

Phasma is pissed. Nobody dares talk down at her like that — and if they do, she makes sure they never talk again. She squirms some more, exasperated, trying to sit up, and she almost manages — but then the tentacles slam her down into the couch, and she realises she was only able to get up even a little because Lucy let her. She’s fuming — Lucy is toying with her like a cat with its prey. Phasma tries kicking her legs, but that does precisely nothing.

“Fuck,” she grunts in frustration, and Lucy laughs. That bitch is laughing at her. Phasma thinks about blowing her head up with her blaster, and then each of the tentacles. She imagines how they’d twitch and fall down, limp and lifeless.

“You’re so cute when you can’t get what you want,” Lucy chuckles, then rips her dress from her torso in one swift move, throwing it on the floor. Phasma is so mad she doesn’t even register the fact that Lucy is now naked on top of her. She’s seething with rage, her vision blurring.

“You fucking bitch,” Phasma says through her teeth, “I’ll fucking kill you—”

“Ah-ah,” Lucy interrupts her. “You might wanna keep your pretty mouth shut, Captain. I’m the one who could kill you, after all.”

Phasma cries out in frustration, but then there’s a slimy, thick tentacle in her mouth. She almost gags on it. She tries to scream, but the only thing coming out of her mouth are muffled groans. She throws her head left and right, trying to get the thing out of her mouth, but there’s no way she can manage that. Tears fill her eyes. The sensation of sludgy, sticky suckers latching onto her tongue disgusts her. She tries screaming and squirming some more, but to no avail. Finally, she stills, realising her defeat. She’s breathing heavily, trying not to gag.

“All done with your little tantrum?”

Phasma just stares at those stunning, glowing, blue orbs mocking her, her chest heaving and her eyes wide.

“Good. Now, stay still while I undress you,” she says, as if Phasma could do anything other than obey.

Phasma stays as still as she can, but she’s shaking, unable to help herself. She feels her cheeks burn with shame and disgust for her own helplessness.

Lucy undresses her almost gently — using her hands, thankfully. First she removes Phasma’s boots, then she undoes her belt.

“Lift,” she says, and Phasma lifts her hips. Lucy pulls down her pants, then her underwear. Phasma trembles the entire time.

“Awww, don’t be scared, pretty captain.” She kisses Phasma’s knees, then up her thighs, strokes her legs and hips almost reassuringly. “You’re gonna get fucked so well — you’ll love it.”

Phasma just stares at her, hyperaware of the slimy tentacle in her mouth. Dread weighs down her stomach. She’s unable to do or say anything.

“I’ll free your mouth to remove your shirt now, hm? And if you’re good and stay quiet I won’t gag you again. Nod if you understand.”

Phasma nods. She tries not to think about the tentacle shifting in her mouth as she does so.

“Good girl,” Lucy says, and Phasma somehow manages to refrain from recoiling at the phrase.

The suckers tug painfully onto her tongue, releasing with little pops as Lucy pulls out the tentacle. Phasma lets out a throaty whimper and furrows her brows in pain. Once the limb is out of her mouth, she moves her jaw and winces at the sludge it left behind — not enough to spit out, but enough to be gross. She swallows bits of it. It’s salty.

“Like that, hm?” Lucy taunts her as she hooks her fingers under Phasma’s shirt. “Up.”

Phasma sits up and Lucy pulls the shirt over her head. “Stay.” She removes Phasma’s bra.

Phasma is fuming with rage at being talked to like a dog, but she says nothing — just closes her eyes and inhales deeply, trying to calm down. She is completely naked now. She can’t remember the last time she felt so exposed, so vulnerable.

“Open your eyes, Captain. Look at me.”

Phasma does as she’s told. She gives Lucy a look full of hate.

“So easily provoked,” Lucy chuckles. “Come ‘ere.”

She kisses Phasma — surprisingly gently. She nibbles on her lip, caresses her neck and runs her fingers over the short hair at the back of Phasma’s head. She presses herself flush against Phasma and wraps her legs around Phasma’s hips. Her breasts feel soft against’s Phasma’s own as she slowly grinds against her.

They make out for a while, and it almost feels normal, as if they’re just two naked women kissing instead of an alien and a war criminal playing a sick power game — with one side most definitely winning.

After a couple of minutes, Phasma slowly starts to relax into Lucy’s touch. She can’t resist her soft curves — she runs her hands over her breasts, grabs her hips — firmly, but not too hard, aware she’s not the one in control here. She’s very careful not to touch the tentacles.

Lucy, however, doesn’t hold back from exploring Phasma’s body — and Phasma must admit it feels nice. She usually isn’t very keen on letting people pleasure her, as it requires giving up too much control — but since any semblance of control she may have felt in this situation is long gone, she finds that she enjoys being touched for once. Lucy drags her fingernails across Phasma’s back, fondles and squeezes her tits, her hips, her legs, her ass, runs her hands over Phasma’s muscular arms and taut stomach. She seems to really like Phasma’s muscles, and Phasma can’t help but feel just a little bit smug about that.

Lucy quickly catches onto the fact that Phasma enjoys a bit of pain — she tortures and teases her by digging her nails into Phasma’s skin, biting her neck and her tits, leaving painful hickeys, slapping her face, tits and ass. Phasma feels herself go red with humiliation when Lucy spanks her really hard as she's kissing her, making her let out an embarrassing, needy whimper into her mouth.

“You’re just a needy whore, aren’t you? You just need someone to spank and fuck you properly,” Lucy murmurs and Phasma’s hand flies towards Lucy’s neck on instinct, anger and humiliation filling her, but Lucy just laughs and catches her wrist, bringing it down. “You could use those in a more productive way,” she says, smirking, and guides Phasma’s hands towards her tentacles, making her caress the place where the sludgy limbs sprout from her skin.

“Mmm, yes, do that,” Lucy purrs.

Phasma hasn’t really got a choice, so she does as she’s told. She massages the tentacles, runs her hands over Lucy’s waist and back, sludge coating her fingers, and Lucy stars producing sinful moans that make Phasma grow instantly wet — not that the previous activities haven’t already riled her up. Much to her horror, she realises she doesn’t find touching the tentacles that gross — not when it makes Lucy moan like that.

Lucy grinds her hips into Phasma’s, her movements growing more urgent and desperate by the second, and Phasma does the same. They dryhump on the couch, both moaning and grunting and groping each other, not concerned with being gentle.

Phasma craves Lucy’s pretty tits in her mouth, and she decides to grant herself that wish — Lucy lets her. Phasma sucks and bites on her nipples, moans at the feeling of the soft, heavy tit in her mouth. However, when she tries sliding her hand between Lucy’s thighs, Lucy slaps it away.

“I think we’ve had enough foreplay,” she says and roughly pushes Phasma down onto the couch.

Phasma is almost okay with Lucy fucking her at this point — she’s wet and turned on and Lucy is so attractive Phasma could forgive her most things. She even feels herself growing excited by the idea of Lucy’s fingers inside of her.

However, when instead of Lucy’s hands she feels Lucy’s tentacles on her body — wrapping around her arms and torso, spreading her legs apart, grabbing her tits, squeezing and latching onto her skin — a horrifying realisation hits her.

Lucy won’t use her hands to fuck her.

Lucy is sitting on the couch, back prettily arched, hand between her legs. She’s a beautiful and terrifying vision — the most alluring monster. Her smooth, dark skin glistens with sludge and sweat, her lips are parted, and her face and neck are full of makeup glitter. Her piercing blue eyes glow in the dark, and her round tits and soft belly look enticing enough to bite. Blue and pink tentacles wiggle around her — horrid, thick, disgusting, sludgy limbs.

The tentacles wrap around Phasma’s tits and squeeze — Phasma suppresses a moan . They caress her torso, her neck, latch onto her skin, give her painful hickeys. They keep her legs spread and hold her arms firmly in place. One of the tentacles slowly makes its way up Phasma’s legs.

The tentacle touches the inside of her thigh. Phasma would recoil if she could move — instead, her stomach muscles spasm. “No,” she says, as the tentacle slides up her thigh. “No, no, no—”

The tentacle touches her vulva. Sticky suckers latch onto Phasma’s skin, onto her clit, and she cries out in pleasure, pain and horror. “Fuck,” she cries through gritted teeth.

“Feels good, hm?” Lucy asks, voice breathy and gaze hooded as she touches herself. “My handsome captain. I’m gonna fuck you so well.”

She slides the tentacle down towards Phasma’s entrance. Phasma wonders if that thing can even fit inside of her. She squeezes her eyes shut and braces herself for the pain of being stretched out — but the tentacle slides further down, over her pussy lips and towards her ass — and then she feels it probe around a much tighter hole.

“No,” Phasma says, squirming as the tentacle pushes against her muscles. “No, stop — stop! Stop!”

She knows there’s no stopping what’s about to happen, but she fights it anyway, squirming and screaming. She tenses up when she feels the tip of the tentacle push inside of her. The thing is sludgy and slick enough that it doesn’t burn and sting too badly — but it still hurts.

“My advice would be to relax, Captain. It’ll hurt much more if you’re tense,” Lucy says, voice thick and breathy, as she rubs her own clit. “Fuck, you look so pretty like this.”

Phasma hates to admit she’s right — the smartest thing would be to relax as much as she can, if she doesn’t want it to hurt much more than it needs to. Taking a deep breath, she does her best to unclench her muscles. She feels the tentacle slide a bit further in and she grimaces, but doesn’t tense up again, instead letting it slowly fill her. It stings, and it feels wrong — but then the tentacle touches a good spot and she moans. It starts slowly sliding in and out of her. She’s breathing heavily, trying not to make any more embarrassing sounds — but then it suddenly picks up the pace and starts pounding into her, and she cries out in pleasure and pain.

Before she can get used to the feeling of being fucked, another tentacle slides into her pussy without warning, filling her and painfully stretching her. “Fuck!” she cries.

She’s being fucked in both holes — it hurts and it burns, and she can feel the two tentacles touch over her inner walls. The slimy suckers provide a different sensation than the smooth, slick part of the tentacle, and Phasma hates how good the different texture feels. One of the suckers latches onto her clit, and then Phasma can’t hold back her moans anymore. With each thrust she lets out a puff of air and a whine. Her cheeks and chest burn in shame — but then Lucy fucks her harder and the suckers latch onto her nipples, and she forgets all about shame. Delicious pleasure overwhelms her.

Lucy continues to touch herself as she watches her. The air is filled with moans and cries and wet noise of tentacles pounding into Phasma, as well as the slick sound of Lucy rubbing her own pussy.

“Does it feel good, hm?” Lucy asks, her voice breathy. “Tell me.”

Phasma doesn’t have it in her to form a coherent sentence — she just whines as the both tentacles keep hitting the right spots. That, combined with the sucking on her clit and nipples, makes her unable to think about anything else except the orgasm that is starting to build deep inside her belly. She’s never experienced anything quite like this. Tears are streaming down her face and she’s producing sounds she never thought she was capable of making. Her entire body tingles with pleasure.

Then, Lucy stops.

Phasma is breathing heavily, frustrated by not getting enough stimulation to keep the delicious pleasure building. She still, however, considers herself above begging. She avoids looking Lucy in the eyes, her shame too deep — but Lucy will have none of that. A tentacle grabs Phasma’s chin and forces her head towards Lucy. Phasma closes her eyes.

“Look at me.”

Phasma slowly opens her eyes and meets Lucy’s bright blue ones that are shining with lust. She looks absolutely beautiful, and somehow ethereal — she’s almost glowing in the dark room.

“Wanna come?” she asks her. Phasma is silent. “Tell me, slut.”

Phasma makes a quick and practical decision in about a couple of seconds — she figures that since she’s already completely and utterly humiliated, she could at least get an orgasm out of it.

It still isn’t easy to say it.

“Yes,” she manages to utter. She doesn’t recognise her own desperate and raspy voice.

“Then beg.”

They stare each other down for a moment. Phasma knows she’s lost — she disregards the last bits of dignity left in her and begs.

“Please,” she breathes out, barely audible.

“Louder.”

Phasma averts her gaze. “Ah-ah, look at me.”

Phasma obeys and begs again, this time louder. “Please.”

“Say, I need you to fuck me like a filthy slut.”

Phasma takes in a shaky breath. She struggles to maintain eye contact, but forces herself to do it nonetheless. “I—I need you to… fuck me…. like a filthy slut,” she utters, her voice breaking. Her cheeks burn and her stomach twists with humiliation.

Phasma will never admit it to anyone — you could hold her at gunpoint and she’d deny it — but there’s something erotic about giving up control — about letting yourself be somebody you aren’t, somebody who begs to be treated like a filthy slut. She’s never been fucked like this before, and she didn’t think she’d enjoy it — she’s never craved it, never fantasised about anything of the sort.

And yet.

Lucy grins, and it’s downright evil. “Well — since you’re begging, Captain.”

Without further warning, Lucy starts fucking her harder than before. Tentacles slide in and out of her, suckers latch onto her body, her clit, her nipples. She whines and moans, unable to help herself, but then a tentacle is forced into her mouth again and it muffles her desperate sounds. Phasma is almost grateful for it — she can’t bear listening to her own embarrassing cries.

Lucy rubs her own clit, brows furrowed in pleasure, beads of sweat dripping down her face and chest. She lets out quiet little huffs as she works herself towards her own release. Phasma watches her, and feels an orgasm build in her belly again, deep and potent. She gags on the tentacle, completely helpless as it fucks her mouth relentlessly. She feels the burning sting of her holes being stretched, revels in the delicious pleasure of her clit and nipples being sucked. She can’t move, she can’t scream — she can only watch Lucy cry out and come around her own fingers, before she herself tips over the edge of ecstasy.

The orgasm washes over her like a wave. She would scream if she could, but instead she just grunts and convulses, her eyes rolling back in her head. She shakes and trembles, and Lucy doesn’t stop — instead she fucks her into another orgasm.

Phasma is vaguely aware of a sticky tentacle wrapping around her neck and squeezing — she can’t breathe for a couple of seconds, and then she can again — and then she comes even harder than before. Somewhere around her third orgasm Lucy squeezes onto her neck a bit too hard and too long, and Phasma loses consciousness.

When she comes to, she doesn’t know where she is. She’s in pain, her head is throbbing, and she feels nauseous.

She lies on the floor for a while, fighting the urge to throw up. She rolls onto her side, pressing her aching body against the hard concrete and hissing in pain. She blinks furiously, trying to stay conscious and clear her vision.

A neon sign catches her attention, and she blinks some more to try and read it. She quickly realises it’s the sign in front of the bar in which all of this started. It’s not the dead of the night anymore, however — dawn is breaking.

She somehow manages to lift herself from the floor and not throw up. Her head is pounding, every muscle in her body hurts, and she can barely walk. She’s sore from the fucking. She’s relieved to see she’s in the clothes she came here in, even if they’re wrinkled and dirty and have dried tentacle slime on it.

And she’s, of course, also relieved that she’s still alive — she figured the girl wouldn't kill her, but she couldn't tell for sure. What a stupid way to go it would have been.

She looks at her wrists. They have disturbing looking hickeys on them — rows of purple dots in the shape of tentacle suckers — she figures the rest of her body probably looks similar. There’s also makeup glitter on her hands. She shudders.

Somehow she manages to get back to the ship. Nobody dares ask questions.

She spends the entirety of that day in a hot bath, fuming with rage, grunting in pain, trying to fully remove makeup glitter from her skin with little success, and thinking about the best orgasms of her life.

A year later, she’s on the same planet again — and yet again, she has some free time before a mission. Before she can overthink it, she finds herself in the same bar.

She doesn’t know why she does it. There’s no way that thing will be here again.

When she catches Lucy’s gaze in the crowd, her belly tingles with excitement.

“Missed me, Captain?” she purrs as they dance, bodies pressed flush against each other.

Phasma grabs her face and kisses her.

She comes several times that night. When she wakes up unconscious in the alleyway again, she swears not to do this ever again.

And she doesn’t.

...

Not until the next time she comes to town.

big thanks to lovely @opheliauniverse for editing <3

taglist (let me know if you want to be added or removed!): @dumbasslesbi @bychrissi @scream-queenlover @muffintopxs @bigolgay @gwenslucifer @weemswife @yourhauntedhead @carnivorousflowers @i-have-insane-that-i-am-paper @softshrimpy @willowshadenox @syrenacrainn @weemssapphic @dianneking @imprincipalweemspet @kimiinou @ninelesbien @i-love-nerdy-stuff @eveymay @myzzjolanda @pluied-ete @brienneswife @gwenzone @principal-weems09 @inlovewithalcinadimitrescu @gela123 @emilynissangtr @gwendolinechristieiscute @h-doodles @winterfireblond @alexusonfire @larissaoftarthweems @a-queen-and-her-throne @bikergurl5 @salems-spaghettios @theflashesoflove @catechristiesstuff @vendocrap8008 @billiedeansbitch @coffeemelko @lilfartbox1 @amateurwritescm @daydream-cement @kaymariesworld @sicklygrlsicklygrl @wh0re4women @rippersz

#kink!week #7 days of kink #captain phasma #captain phasma x original female character #gwendoline christie #i will produce my own garbage and also consume it #star wars sequel trilogy

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likeawildthing · 2 years

Note

I just wondered, what's your evening closing routine?

Absolutely! Since daylight savings time, darkness has pretty much aligned with my work schedule. And I work from home most of the time so work/home boundaries are super important. Since I started working from my couch, even more so. I started a short closing routine to transition from work to evening — it mostly involves the senses and soft, warm vibes.

Put laptop, mouse, accessories away in a basket so they aren’t visible until tomorrow.

Close all the blinds and curtains, even if there is a little residual light left. I am embracing night and declaring the transition for myself!

Change into evening clothes — soft, cozy, usually fluffy, different from daytime soft and cozy clothes to signal night.

Turn the lamps on. Always anti-overhead lights, I have lamps throughout the bottom floor of my house. They emit a super warm glow throughout the bottom floor. Even when I go to bed, I use lamplight and not overhead light.

Light a scented candle in the kitchen while I’m cooking.

Turn on music — I have been favoring post-modern jukebox, jazz, and Christmas carols during the holidays. The music stays on while I cook dinner, eat, and do clean up.

Bring candle into living room. Think about time to or from winter solstice. To me, thinking of it in these terms has reminded me of the seasonality which has made the darkness easier to bear. Tomorrow will be two full weeks of longer days!

Have a variety of soft blankets to snuggle with.

Embrace the low activity time of year. This is a season of scaling back, resting, and regenerating for most animals. Why not for us, too? I like to try to fill this time with things that bring me joy but might take less energy than, say, gardening or jogging.

Only then do I get on my phone and I engage with online. This is the point that I might scroll, watch tv, or listen to a podcast. If I am reading or working on a project, I will put the fireplace YouTube video or Netflix channel on.

This might only be 20 minutes if dinner is short. And you can adapt it any which way , less or more. As simple as cozy clothes, a light, and a song. The general idea is engaging your senses, embracing night, and connecting mindfully to the idea that this is a season with purpose. That reflection has ultimately been the practice they has changed my mindset and kept SAD at bay this year. In the week leading up to solstice, I lit a taper candle for an hour each night.

A few other winter practices that keep me engaged with nature:

I watch the sunrise or early morning hour for about 5 minutes out of my eastern facing window.

Because I work at home most days, I choose to work in my living room which is sunnier in winter. I also have a simple prism that refracts rainbows on sunny afternoons — I call it gay o’clock.

I open the windows for 15-60 minutes every morning if it’s above 0. Even if it’s 20, the fresh air is invigorating and helps the house feel less stuffy. If it’s too cold, I put bird tv for cats on YouTube for an hour or so. Bird song really does engage our parasympathetic nervous symptom and reduce anxiety, even if we only listen for 5 minutes. A sound app can also do this for you!

When I am driving I tend to take the scenic route even if it adds a few minutes to my trip.

I take advantage of the nice days and go out when I can.

#winter #winter depression

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rowany · 1 year

Text

Warmth on a winter's night~

(R.A.B x Y/N) 2.8K Words.

-Summary: trying to get some fresh air from a ball, Regulus and Y/N have a deep conversation far into the snow covered garden of the Black Mansion.

-Contains: dark academia/royalty romance, fluff, kissing, implied queer Sirius, slight angst, She/Her pronouns, longing stares,

-Song: Beving: Ala, Joep Beving

🌙🤍🕯️❄️

3rd Person POV.

The chandeliers hung high above the dancing crowd. People moved in sync as they glided across the room while classical music rang out from the acentric vinyl player. Couples spun and looked upon one another while the lights gave the room a faint, white hue creating an elegant atmosphere. Candles floated far above the crowd slowly swaying as if they were mimicking the guests who were waltzing below them. The tall, and exquisite windows gave only a faint light from the full moon; the stars ghosted behind the gloomy snow clouds soon to pour upon the Black residency.

A large mural of a Roman painting was the background of Regulus Black as he gently pressed his back to the wall. Regulus was never exactly the social type, at least not at this large of an event. It was the winter solstice and the Black Family was known for their Winterfest Ball. Regulus was enjoying the music and simply observing the guests gliding across the smooth marble floor, a small part of him wished to have a partner to dance with but tried to deny his longings when Sirius was pestering him to dance earlier in the night.

Sirius was the center of attention at balls, at least among the youthful ladies who wished to snog him. Sirius would tempt them with his lush black hair and chivalrous personality but he never dared to actually go through with the snogging. Regulus watched as Sirius moved from a fair blonde girl to a more beautiful, and warm girl who looked at Sirius as if she saw a familiar sight before her.

“Good evening Sirius, how is the night treating you?” The girl spoke with a soft demeanor and danced with such grace Regulus couldn’t help but be enthralled by her.

“A good evening to you too, Y/N. The night is treating me oh so well I’ve almost been whisked away by many fair maidens.” Sirius could hardly contain his laughter at his posh language, Y/N always loved to act like they were royalty at balls to keep the mood light. Balls usually were fun for everyone except the Black children, if they made any mistake their parents would reprimand them for making a fool of their families name. Sirius used to be on edge every time he was at a ball but since he met Y/N he began to enjoy them.

“You always have fair maidens wanting to snog you!” A cheeky smile spread across her face as Sirius twirled her towards Regulus and quickly pulled her back in. Regulus recognized her but not exactly sure how. At first he just assumed it was one of Sirius flings but she seemed to stay longer than any of his previous girls, she seemed to actually enjoy being around Sirius not just for his pretty face.

Regulus watched as they continued to dance together so in sync it was almost hard to watch without wishing to be Sirius.

Regulus POV.

Sirius had spun the girl towards me and without even thinking about it I began to move towards the tall arch way opening into the hallway. I didn’t want to loiter here anymore wishing I was with a beautiful girl or anyone for that matter.

I dodged and weaved through the tides of couples dancing and slid past my parents undetected. I just needed some fresh air and a moment of silence. The music, the talking, and the stuffy air all became too much for me. I always get overwhelmed when I’m at balls, it’s just too much.

Getting to the arch way I took a sharp right, almost speed walking through the hallway and out the back patio doors. I continued to walk down the stairs off the dark patio, the ground felt cold under me. I stuffed my hands in my trouser pockets as the frost tried to nip at them. I always loved the winter, it was so quiet outside with most animals migrating or hiding in their homes. The sun usually wasn't bright, giving the outside world a dull look but I liked the “dull” look, I found it almost comforting. I just continued walking, lost in thought not listening to the footsteps that followed my own. I slowed down when I came to a willow tree with branches stretching wide with long strings of leaves hanging down.

“Regulus?” Someone touched my shoulder lightly, I turned towards them to realize who it was.

“Y/N? What are you doing out here?”

Y/N POV.

Sirius had been dancing with me for what seemed like ages, I could barely feel my feet in my heels I decided to wear. The ball had been quite exhausting so far, I enjoyed the people but after dancing for so long and constantly being surrounded by people in the stuffy ballroom I just wanted some fresh air honestly.

“SIRIUS! I'M GOING TO GO GET SOME AIR!” I had to yell over the music as it had somehow become louder and louder throughout the night. Sirius just gave me a nod and pointed towards the archway, then gestured to the right. I'd only been in the main part of the Black mansion for balls but I spent most of my summer sneaking into Sirius’ bedroom during the night when he needed someone to talk to. His parents were royally strict and hated their children having fun it seemed. They only cared for their children to uphold their family name and after that they neglected them without even another glance.

I followed where Sirius pointed and saw two tall, smudgeless, dark glass patio doors. When I walked up to the doors my eyes caught a glimpse of what looked like a dark figure, it must be a shadow from the ballroom. As I pulled open the door the cold hit my face quickly with a gust of freezing air. I wrapped my arms around me and walked down the patio stairs, through the garden. I could see fresh footprints in the snow as I walked, following them. The strides they took were large, hard to keep up with. In the garden there were lowly lit lamp posts illuminating the dark foliage of the Black’s garden. It had wilted roses with many dark boxwood bushes forming a twisty pathway. A ghastly tall viburnum bush had dark crimson berries growing, oddly tempting.

I continued my stroll through the garden at a quicker pace, I felt as if I was being pulled through the garden by twine tied around my waist. The snow made a soft squeak when I walked. I glanced forward trying to not become distracted by the greenery surrounding me, a large willow tree came into my view towards what seemed like the end of the pathway I had been following. A figure soon came into view as they moved in front of the tree’s droopy leaves. They had a slim build with incredibly dark hair that laid just below their chin, soft curls forming throughout their hair. The dark suit they wore had caught some snow as they walked, the small white flakes now decorated their suit and shoes while the majority of the flakes adorned their hair. They hadn’t noticed me as I walked closer, I reached my hand out to touch their shoulder. I didn’t want to scare them.

Regulus POV.

I turned quickly around towards who I now know to be Y/N, my brother’s best friend. I looked at her gown, realizing she was who Sirius was last dancing with before I left. All of my questions, well almost all had been answered. Sirius danced with her the longest because she wasn’t flirting with him, they were just messing around. I felt relieved in a way that my jealousy was over his best friend, not a new hook up. I always liked Y/N, she was fun and never seemed to care about anyone's opinions about her, I wish to be that carefree some day. Her face held a happy smile, a real smile. Her face was flushed from the cold I assume and her hair contained a snow globe worth of snow flakes. She was always very pretty but now she looked so naturally gorgeous it was hard to tear my eyes away from the masterpiece before me known as Y/N L/N.

“Y/N? What are you doing out here?” I realized how long I had been staring so I knew I had to speak before I made things awkward like I always do.

“I could ask you the same question Regulus, I just needed some air and I’m guessing you did too?” She always could see through me, even from how little we spoke she knew what I was thinking better than I did most of the time.

“Yeah, the ballroom always gets too warm for me, much prefer the cold.”

“It’s always so hot in there isn’t it?” Y/N’s face shifted into an understanding smile as she lightly laughed, she was such a fluid, expressional person I always enjoyed her presence.

“I don’t know how Sirius does it.” I let the words slip past my lips before even realizing what I said or who would hear.

“Does what? Dance for hours or get every girl to swoon for him.” She had begun to walk towards the tree and sit down on one of the large roots growing out of the tree, she seemed content with her seat.

“Precisely.” I answered her but I stayed still, I didn’t know if I should sit with her or if I’d make her uncomfortable with the proximity.

“You know I sat here so you would sit with me, I just look lonely now.” She let out a small huff as if disappointed by the lack of me next to her.

“S-Sorry, I just assumed you didn’t want me near you.” I quickly moved to sit by her, I could smell her soft vanilla perfume and feel the warmth radiate off of her.

“What? Why would I even think that Regulus, you’re not that terrible to be around, might even say I enjoy your presence.” Y/N let out the most gorgeous laugh, I just wanted to tape the sound and listen to it over and over again.

“I don’t know, I'm sorry for assuming, I won’t do it again.” My head fell slightly not wanting to see her face, I always apologize for my actions no matter how small, it’s what you must to do to survive as a Black child.

“You don’t have to talk to me like I’m your mother, I’m not going to get upset at you Regulus, you’re safe with me.” I felt like I wanted to tear up, no one has told me anything so comforting before. I looked at her and just smiled.

Y/N POV.

A real smile graced Regulus’ lips, I couldn’t contain my own smile.

“I didn’t know you had dimples-” Regulus’ eyes seemed glazed over, I couldn’t tell with what. “they fit you well.” I wished to just capture a photo of Regulus right now, curls tousled from the wind, flushed cheeks and nose, soft eyes, he just looked so perfect. Regulus didn’t answer, he just looked towards the ground. He wore classy black Oxfords while I wore my black heeled mary janes. They oddly matched but in their own way sorta like me and Regulus. Regulus was so form fitting whilst I was in some ways rambunctious, I never apologize for being a free spirit but it’s hard not to be self conscious compared to all the proper young ladies who attend the balls. Sometimes I wish I was more classy or proper so I wouldn’t be looked down upon.

“Are you okay?” I turned to look at Regulus just to be met with his deep gray eyes, they reminded me of storm clouds with the different shades of grays and blacks. He wore a worried expression, I hoped he wasn’t overthinking again.

“Yeah, just lost in thought. It’s so quiet it’s hard to not just be in your own world.”

“I think that’s why I must like the quiet.” Regulus smiled and looked back down at our shoes, I wondered if he was thinking about me like I was thinking of him.

“What are you thinking about?” His question caught me off guard, I didn’t know if I should tell him what I was really hung up on or not.

“Um, it’s kinda hard to explain I guess.”

“Just say something and I’ll try and piece it together, I know how hard it is to convey what’s going through your head sometimes.”

“You know how you don’t know how Sirius does what he does?-“ Regulus gave a small nod, fully looking at me, his full attention on me. I could feel myself warm up under his gaze, even with how cold it was outside. “I feel that way about most girls my age, I don’t know how they can be so modest and forgiving. I feel like I’m too human sometimes, too unapologetically myself.” A small sigh left my lips and I watched as it changed into a mist like smoke.

“I like how you are, I don’t think you should apologize for being you, you’re lovely.” Regulus’ words made me want to melt right then and there. He had a confused look on his face, like a puppy learning what being sad was but not understanding.

“I’m not too much? I know Sirius can keep up with me but I feel like everyone else just wants me to be quiet.”

“You’re the only person I don’t want to be quiet, Y/N.” I looked at Regulus who was already looking at me, I felt my heart beat a little quicker and my face get warmer. I looked back down at our shoes, smiling. I felt Regulus shift next to me but just looked forward now, admiring the plants surrounding us.

A plush jacket fell onto my shoulders as Regulus readjusted it, “Y-You were shaking, didn’t want you to get cold.” His lips were slightly curled into a smile, his gray eyes seemed even more gorgeous than minutes ago. His soft curls fell perfectly onto his forehead, his nose and cheeks pinker now.

“You’re so gorgeous Regulus.” He looked deep into my eyes as I looked into his, I never wanted this moment to end. His small smile turned into a sweet, loving smirk. Regulus seemed much closer to me now than when he first sat down. His jacket lay comfortably around me, his cologne faintly on his jacket collar just enough to get a small hint of it occasionally. I felt very safe around him, a different type of feeling from being around Sirius. It had stopped snowing by now so the moon light shone onto Regulus’ face making his features look ethereal.

“Can I kiss you?” The words uttered so quietly out my mouth I didn’t even think he heard me till I was met with his lips gently pressing onto mine. His lips were soft and plush. He tasted like champagne and a small hint of sweets Sirius had stolen early in the night. I put one of my hands in his hair and the other rested on his chest just above his heart. The kiss was gentle yet longing as if it had been long time coming. Regulus hands were cupping my cheeks as he leaned into the kiss.

We slowly pulled away to catch our breaths, our eyes never leaving each other.

“You’re gorgeous too, Y/N.” Regulus complimented a smile plastered on his face like he had won the lottery.

Regulus POV

She kissed me, the most beautiful and courageous girl I’ve ever met kissed me, Regulus Black. I could barely speak. I just wanted to kiss her over and over again till I couldn’t anymore. She looked amazing wrapped up in my jacket and her lips plump from me kissing her. I could die right here and die the happiest man to live.

“I love being out here with you but It’s really getting cold.” She stood up gracefully and reached a hand out for me to take. I grabbed her hand and began to walk with her through the garden, hand in hand. Her hands were just as soft as her lips and felt warm somehow.

“Your hands are so warm, how?” She gave me a puzzled look and then a smile worth melting for.

“I’ve always just been a warm person.” A small laugh left her lips and I couldn’t help but smile.

“I’ve always been cold, we match in a way.”

“We do match.” We both were smiling like love sick teenagers which we in fact were. I couldn’t help it, she was holding my hand and it felt so right.

She was the warmth I had always longed for.

#regulus black x reader #regulus black #regulus black x y/n #regulus black x you #sirius orion black #sirius black #sirius and regulus #regulus being regulus #regulus fanfiction #fanfic #x reader #dark acadamia aesthetic #royalty #ballroom #marauders #black family #harry potter

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nixytea · 2 years

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sober | p.sh (drabble)

in which you bump into your dreaded ex at a new year’s party. mentions of drinking, alcohol and parties etc, characters are of legal age. i feel like i need to add this but ive never drunk a drop of alcohol in my life, bear with me.

it’s times like this you wish you’d listened to your gut instinct.

here you are, standing outside the front door of jay park’s family mansion. even from inside your friend’s car, you could already hear the pounding music two streets away. and now that you’re here, the noise is starting to give you a headache. but hey, it wasn’t every day you’d celebrate the coming of a new year, right? “c’mon, y/n, just this once. please?” your friends had practically begged you to tag along, and against your better judgement you’d agreed.

as you step through the doorway, the supposed host of the party approaches your group. only slightly inebriated, jake sim has a barely noticeable off-kilter walk. “hey guys. hey y/n, surprised you’d show your face around here. not that you’re not allowed to be here, of course, but isn’t it kinda awkward to show up to a party co-hosted by your ex?” his words are pretty coherent, albeit a little too curious, but you can attribute that to the alcohol in his system.

by now, the pulsing red lights have left you dazed, and it’s all you can do to keep your focus on jake and not the sweaty mass of bodies dancing around you. “just because i came here doesn’t mean i have to see him.”

jake chuckles, slapping you on the back as he hands you a plastic cup. “right, i forget sometimes. you’re the one who tolerated park sunghoon for more than a year. a force to be reckoned with, huh? go grab some punch and loosen up a little. you could use it.” he retreats into the crowd, his steps steadier than before.

when you turn around, your friends are already gone. “well, here’s to a great night,” you mumble, tipping the plastic cup into your mouth. the drink has the slight zing of alcohol mixed in, and it gives you the much-needed fuzziness you need to get through the night. today marks the start of a new year, one where you don’t have to give park sunghoon the time of day.

a quick glance around the room is all you need to confirm that your friends have indeed disappeared into mangled knot of arms and legs that are partygoers, and you probably won’t find them until the night’s over. no matter, you know the layout of the place like the back of your hand.

the party is in full swing as you move towards the tables where two huge punch bowls are set up. it’s where most of the partygoers are congregated, milling around like they just can’t get enough of the drinks. there’s a platter of snacks too, stuff like cupcakes (who eats cupcakes with cheap beer?) and finger food. you have to admit, the food looks highly unlikely to give you food poisoning on top of a massive hangover the following day.

the attendance is good, you decide as you glance around our of sheer boredom. to the left, you see choi yeonjun and his ride-or-die soobin. one looks more dressed for the occasion than the other, no surprise there. across the room, your lab partner yunjin’s giggling at a joke someone made. everyone looks thrilled to be here tonight, and for some reason that just makes your mood even worse.

by now, the air’s starting to get a little too stuffy for you, what with all the dancing going on. you peek at your wristwatch, the minute hand barely past 10. ten minutes to midnight. ten minutes to a new year. ten minutes to a fresh start.

normally, at parties like this the second floor is off limits. you can’t imagine the boys wanting to clean the bedrooms aside from the expansive first floor, and it’s just a terrible idea in general to let a bunch of drunk college-age weirdos run around their potentially messy rooms full of papers and other important stuff. still, you suppose jay won’t mind. his best buddy might’ve broken things off with you, but you and your ex’s friends were still on pretty good terms. it’s not like he’d have to worry about you messing up the place, right?

tossing your cup into the nearest bin, you quickly weave through the crowd, until you finally reach the small staircase leading up to the next floor. your hand drags across the railing as you make your way up, a slight burn on your fingertips due to the rough surface of the wood.

you hated to admit it, but this place still felt like a second home to you. up until recently, you’d been frequenting this place. and though the unfamiliar atmosphere you’d attributed to the party ticked you off a little, the closer you got to the top of the stairs the better you were feeling. memories of the little moments spent here drifted into your mind with every step, all containing a certain boy with the pretty-

no. not today.

swallowing the thick lump in your throat from trying to shove the desire to reminisce away, you quicken your steps towards the last door at the end of the hallway. sunghoon’s room. well, it was technically one of many guest rooms in this excessively large house, but jay had given his best buddies a room since it was way closer to campus than any place sunghoon and jake could rent. besides, it was free, and to broke college students barely getting by it was a good deal.

pushing the door open, an explicable feeling washes over you. hints of his cologne lingered in the air. a large black hoodie is draped over the backrest of a chair, the matching desk strewn with what would seem normal to anyone else: worksheets, notes, an overflowing pencil case. but to you? every single object is a precious memory to you. textbooks, the ones he’d carried by hand to class along with yours, proudly showing off your name scribbled across the cover. “it’s my girlfriend’s,” he would say gleefully to anyone who would listen. a set of highlighters, one of them with significantly less ink from him lending it to you every time you studied together. how he found out it was your favourite colour, you never knew.

and now here it is, everything from the past two years laid out for you to see. you suppose the room was a little like you: full of traces, signs that he’d been there before, but he himself was nowhere to be seen. a painful reminder that no, none of this is yours anymore.

well, he’d left you one thing. one good thing about his room, other than the ideal location deep inside the mansion, was that it came with a small balcony. you used to go up there every time you visited. sunghoon had once told you it was his safe space, when everything got too much, when he needed a little bubble away from the rest of the world. the first time he brought you there was the first time you’d told him you loved him, and the first time you’d seen him get all flustered. now, it’s a sort of happy place to you as well.

forget getting over park sunghoon. how could anyone erase a whole existence of someone being in their life? those three words had left you with a raw, gaping hole in your heart, along with all the memories he’d made with you. so how could he have walked away, when there could have been so much more?

“stupid little me, all obsessed over a stupid little boy,” you mumble to yourself, shoving open the door to the balcony. you sigh, stepping towards the railing, letting the breeze cool you off.

“what are you doing here?”

you jump, the all-too familiar voice catching you off guard as you turn to face the very cause of your problems. there he is, in his full glory. the one and only park sunghoon.

his cheeks are slightly redder than you remember, a contrast to his typical ghostly pallor. you notice his gaze is turned away from you, as though he’s refusing to spare you a glance at all, but you still manage to see the glassy eyes from one too many drinks. he’s always been responsible, you think to yourself, always excusing himself somewhere to sober up whenever he needs.

“oh, i thought you were downstairs entertaining your party guests. i'll leave now." yet as you turn to leave, you don’t miss the opportunity to steal a quick glance at sunghoon's face for what might very well be the last time, nor do you miss the hesitant grimace that crosses his features.

just as you are about to step back into the warm room, a warm hand wraps itself around your wrist gently, the pressure soft but insistent all at once. "wait. you...i suppose you can stay here for a while longer. you wanted to get away from the party, didn't you?" the slight tremble in sunghoon's voice doesn’t go unnoticed by you, despite it being foreign to you. awkwardness wasn’t something that had existed between you two up until now, and now that it does you’re just...lost.

you tug your arm out of his grasp. "you know, i've been hoping for you to speak to you for so long. but now that you did, i don't even know what to say to you.” everything you'd imagined yourself yelling at him, every curse you'd wanted to hurl at him, every plea you'd crafted in your head to beg him to stay just a little longer, all that didn't even matter anymore. "jay, jake, my friends, they've all told me multiple times since that day that you were the jerk. that i hadn't done anything wrong, and that you were just being selfish. that maybe, you'd found someone else and decided i wasn't enough for you.

but for the past two weeks your schedule hasn't changed. you still go to the same classes, see the same people, do the same things, just without me. was i a hindrance to you? did i mess things up?” by now, the words that fly out of your mouth are things you don’t even know you wanted to say. is this what people mean when they talk about bottled-up stuff spilling out all at once?

judging by the guilt that flashes in sunghoon’s eyes, you’re not the only one who’s been contemplating everything. still, he managed to disguise it well, his once pleading tone hardening. “for someone who claims to have nothing to say, you sure just gave me a whole lecture. things just weren’t working out, okay? simple as that.”

“weren’t working out? sunghoon, whenever things weren’t working out we worked them out ourselves, we’d…i dunno, talk it over or something. did i-what’d i do that was so bad you thought it couldn’t be fixed?” you’ve imagined this moment, even dreamt about it in your sleep. but nothing could have prepared you for the way sunghoon refuses to even look at you, let alone say the words you wish he would.

sunghoon purses his lips, as if carefully picking what to say. after a bout of silence, he sighs, elbows rocking him back and forth on the railing. “clearly there’s something you want to hear. you want to know why, right?”

“as if that weren’t obvious enough.”

wiping his hands against the icy metal, sunghoon shakes his head. without warning, his fingers snatch your waist towards him, the coolness of his fingertips bleeding through the fabric of your shirt. before you know it, he leads you out of the room, back into the corridor you came from. the pulsing lights are m back again, your whole body vibrating along with them. the music only grows louder, but you barely hear a thing as sunghoon presses you up on the wall. near enough to feel the atmosphere, but not near enough to be seen.

sunghoon’s slender hand trails your jaw, thumb caressing your cheek. the look on his face is odd as he steps closer, every inch of his face drawing nearer to yours, and you curse your racing heart because just for a moment there you swear you see a hint of longing crack through his cold stare.

in the back of your clouded mind, you realise the countdown has started, the crimson lights pulsing more rhythmically in sync with the chorus of overhyped, sleep deprived youngsters.

“five, four, three, two-”

and he swoops in.

you haven’t had much to drink, but it’s as though you’ve plunged underwater, your head and hearing fuzzy as your brain tries to register the fact that the same guy who broke things off just two weeks prior was standing before you, kissing you as if you were about to disappear. your knees start to give out, but it’s okay because he has his hand on the outline of your waist, which fits as if it’s the missing piece to a jigsaw puzzle. it’s really stupid for you to be trying to say everything you couldn’t in a single moment you know is going to end eventually, and yet…

park sunghoon tastes of cheap booze and strawberries, like the lip balm you left behind when he handed you your things and told you to leave. and no matter how bitter the memory, your mind is preoccupied by the way he holds you so carefully as if you might fall to pieces in his grasp. it goes against everything you believe it to be.

when he finally pulls away, his eyes are glazed over, uncertainty beginning to peek through as he straightens himself, straightening the fabric of his shirt. the warmth on your waist disappears all too soon, and immediately you know what is to come.

“this is enough of an answer, isn’t it? you’re a smart girl, you’ll get it. see you around at school, y/n.” and with that, he swivels away from you, and as you stare into blank space you can hear his footsteps thumping down the stairs mingling with the cheers and well-wishes of the guests.

you slump to the ground, fingers reaching for your lips as you trace the outline of the places he’d touched. away from the now-faint chatter of the crowd, you have to wonder if it was all a vivid dream, where you’d only seen what you wanted to see. yet as you turn around to look in a small mirror along the hallway, all it takes is your dishevelled reflection peering back at you with a hollow stare to know it was real.

what have i done?

willing away the tears threatening to well in your eyes, you gather your things and make a run for the door. today was meant to be the mark of a fresh start without him. the day you learned to let him go.

but the black hoodie tucked into your bag says otherwise.

by the time sunghoon reaches the ground floor, his friends are already beginning to usher people out, jay mostly doing the work as jake rushes upstairs to check on the rooms. sunghoon ignores the weird stare jay gives him when you sprint past him towards the door without a second glance. it’s exhausting, having to play this game of cat-and-mouse with both you and his friends every day.

jake comes walking down the stairs, a trash bag in hand as he sweeps the floor for any leftover rubbish. as if sunghoon can’t see, jake gestures towards your fading silhouette, while jay shrugs back.

the cleanup proceeds in silence, all three too tired to even talk. that is, until jake grabs sunghoon by the shoulder. “dude, you’re not sneaky. i saw you with her by the staircase while we were downstairs.”

sunghoon huffs, shaking jake’s hand off and bending over to pick up a fallen plastic cup to avoid the disapproving glares of his best friends. “picked the wrong angle, huh? won’t make the same mistake again.” but he knows he’s said the wrong thing the moment it comes out of his mouth.

in a flash, his collar is scrunched up in jay’s fist, and sunghoon’s mind begins to swirl as he is shaken back and forth. “is that all you have to say?! you hurt your girlfriend of two years for what you insist was ‘no reason at all’, and now jake catches you sneaking around with her again? in what world is that acceptable?”

sunghoon’s vision glazes over, the words driving a stake in his chest. he’d love to argue back, but he knows they’re right. what he’s done to you is completely undeserved on your part, and he’ll hate himself for that for the rest of his life knowing you got away. and yet…

“sunghoon, why won’t you tell her already?” the pleading tone in jake’s voice is clear, and the guilt brewing in sunghoon’s heart only intensifies. “if you’d talked it out with her, she wouldn’t ask you to break things off-”

“it’s precisely because she wouldn’t break things off that i have to do it myself.” the grip on sunghoon’s collar loosens, as jay eyes him in confusion. “did i miss something? no, i definitely did. why would breaking up with y/n even do anything good?”

no. this is the exact conversation sunghoon didn’t want to have. he didn’t know how jake found out earlier, but now that even jay has asked it seems inescapable. “it’s…i just don’t want to hold her back, okay? can we not talk about this?” he knows the words will sting, not just on his tongue, but the people by his side. he’s hurt both the love of his life and the people he considers his brothers, and he’s torn open wounds into your heart that will take more than an apology to heal.

but he’s park sunghoon, and if he needs to do something, he will at all costs. because he doesn’t know how he’ll be able to live life having to watch you slowly drift from him, knowing he can’t give you anything that would be of value to you, no matter how desperately you cling to each other. and yes, he may be leaving his friends behind to pick up the pieces for him. he’s park sunghoon, and he’ll never let himself do anything irresponsible in the long run, even when he’s tipsy. that kiss wasn’t a mistake, it was a parting gift to the girl he was willing to let go of at the cost of…everything, to him at least.

jay seems to see the exact things sunghoon doesn’t want him to, but it works as the iron grip on his collar is released. “i still don’t think it’s right, but you’ve had a long night. we’ll continue this tomorrow, so clear the tables and take a shower. you didn’t even drink much but i can smell it on you.”

sunghoon wants to argue back, but as the world sways, the image of your glassy, broken eyes entering his mind, he falls silent. because he knows no matter how tipsy he was during the party, from the very moment he saw you in that balcony he’d been completely sober. and maybe…

maybe you’d been too.

aaaa what was this??? it was supposed to be a <1k fic lol. i didn’t even bother checking the wc (i don’t dare to). mm i think it’s quite obvious im basing my knowledge of drinking on the many fics and manhwas i’ve read…so i’m extremely open to any comments lol. originally i was gonna have hoon and y/n get back tgt at the end but i guess not?? edit: yall i’m so sorry to whoever is confused here’s the context: hoon n yn were in a r/s for two years and he suddenly dumped yn, yn tried to get over him at a new year’s party but bumps into him anyway, yn is still confused and that unnecessary prose at the end is hoon’s reason for dumping yn (he doesnt want their r/s to hold yn back which is kinda stupid the longer i think abt it but the whole point was to make hoon do smth stupid ig AHAHAA) im really really sorry i really need to start giving more context😭😭😭 really needa remind myself i dont have telepathy, it made sense in my head but that’s precisely why it won’t to anyone reading this…

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jjtheresidentbaby · 1 year

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Hi, I don't know if you've already done this before, but what about a Stiles bedroom headcanon post? They're always so fun to read about!! :D Tyy!

– ☀️

🫧Little Stiles Bedroom Headcanons 🫧 ➢ event masterlist

1. What kind of bed do they sleep in? What size is it?

- his bed is a full size with a very squishy mattress that he can sink into

2. How many pillows do they sleep with? What’s the color of their pillows?

- two normal pillows with matching pillow cases to his comforter and a bunch of stuffies that get used as pillows

3. How many blankets do they sleep with? What colors are they?

- he has a blue flannel comforter but also a couple throw blankets! there’s one that’s Halloween themed, a blue one that matches his comforter, a wolf pattern one per Scott and a purple one that matches one Allison has

4. Where do they keep their clothes? How are their clothes organized?

- he has a dark wood dresser that he keeps all his clothes in but they aren’t organized in the slightest. the only rule he does follow is all his little clothes/gear stays in the bottom drawer so it doesn’t get lost and so he can reach it without needing to stand while he’s regressed. he prefers to crawl around the floor & having things easy to reach makes his life 10x easier

5. What kind of light sources do they have? How many do they have? Why?

- he has his main light but rarely uses that when he’s regressed, he opts for one of the galaxy projectors he has or the leds he has lining his room or some fairy lights that Allison gave him. there’s also nightlights he flicks on each night, he has a wolf one that’s his favorite, but he’s grown quite a collection after being gifted them by the pack & Noah

6. What colors are their bedroom walls?

- they’re blue just like in canon!

7. What does their bedroom look like? What kind of furniture do they have in there? How big is it?

- it’s the same set up as canon! bed in the corner, nightshade next to it, his dresser near the foot of his bed, and his desk on the other side of the room. though he did end up buying a bookshelf second hand to hold all the lord books and other things he’s accumulated over the years, he keeps books for when he’s little on the bottom shelf so they don’t get grouped in with the rest of the serious topic books

8. What kind of floor does their bedroom have? What color?

- a light gray carpet, it’s a pretty nice texture so when he’s little he likes to play on the floor

9. Do they have any toys? Do they sleep with any of them?

- he has quite a few toys. most of them are geared toward the baby side of things as that’s the age range stiles regresses to, he has one of those baby Nintendo switch games that he likes to press the buttons on, most times he’s too small to actually play the game like it’s meant to be played but pressing random buttons holds his attention. he also has a plethora of stuffed animals, most of them are gifts from people from the pack, the ones he sleeps with are two bunny’s (one from theo & one from lydia)

10. Do they have any rugs? If so, what color are they?

- nope, since he has carpet he has no use for a rug

11. Are there any decorative elements to their bedroom? What are they? Why?

- he has a bunch of posters above his bed of different band’s & musicians that he likes, there’s also some video game promo posters up that the video store gave him after they were done with them. he has a board filled with pictures of the pack & his family, when he’s regressed and a caregiver is there with him he likes to show them all the pictures he has. then of course he has his clear board that he uses to piece together whatever situation the pack has found themselves in, it almost always has something written on it

12. What are some of the things they do in their bedroom?

- literally everything. researching, homework, playing games, trying to relax, pacing around cause he’s stressed, everything & anything happens in that bedroom. though if he’s small he does try to limit the stress and will cover up his researching stuff with a blanket so he won’t be tempted to try and figure things out when he’s supposed to be having his ‘small time’ as Scott calls it. he also keeps a box of teethers & pacifiers in his room that probably ends up dumped over his bed when he’s regressed and is in the middle of another task (noahs given up on trying to keep them organized), his favorite type of teethers are the ones that are water filled and can be frozen so they’re hard or left unfrozen and squishy to bite on

13. Do they share their bedroom with anyone. If so, who?

- nope! the only people he really lets stay in his room are Scott, Malia, Allison, Lydia, and eventually Theo, he likes his space to be his space (unless people need to come over to research & whatnot)

#☀️ anon #jj headcanons #jj events #teen wolf agere #little!stiles #stiles stilinski

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cheeriecherrymain · 2 years

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The Bottom Of The Inkwell [Chapter 1]

Pairing: Viktor x fem!Reader Chapter Warnings: a little bit of swearing Chapter Rating: T Proofread: no beta we die like men Chapter Summary: On your thirteenth birthday, you sneak away from home so you can wander around Piltover by yourself. You find a very unusual shop, full of very unusual items - one of which you take home, and discover it has an incredible ability.

You wander happily down the streets of Piltover, looking into every shop window as you pass. Shiny things, fancy things, trinkets of all shapes and sizes.

Your parents would never let you have any of it, but you don’t really care. You have your father’s wallet tucked away in your shoulderbag, and he’s none the wiser. You like to think of it as petty revenge for nearly being forced to sit through some stuffy party filled with snotty guests that you didn’t even know.

Your mother had sent you up to your room an hour ago - she undoubtedly knew you’d escaped from the house. Over the balcony railing, and down the rose trellis. You had a couple cuts on your hands and legs from the thorns, but in your opinion, it was well worth it.

Neither of your caretakers would risk any kind of uproar within the community, as alerting the enforcers to the predicament was sure to do.

It meant you had the entire day to be on your own, away from prying eyes and propriety.

And who knows? Maybe you’d find a little something to take home with you.

But as you pass each shop, the prospect seems dimmer. Sure, the things on sale were pretty and enticing, but none of it was anything you really wanted. You had clothes, you had toys, you had crafts and hobbies and lessons of every kind. You had all the stuff being displayed.

Even the snacks you stop to order from street vendors throughout the day are the same. Same spices, same doughs, same vegetables.

You want something different, and you’ll spend the entire day searching, if you have to.

—

And your search does end up taking most of the day.

By the time you find a strange little shop, the sun is nearly completely set, and the streetlights are starting to come on.

The little store doesn’t blend in with the buildings surrounding it, yet somehow you’d nearly passed it by. It almost seemed to suck up the light around it, refusing to illuminate beyond what you might describe as an eerie purple glow.

You’re pretty close to the edge of Piltover, but not quite in the undercity. You might meet some weird people lingering around the area, but none so outright dangerous as those a couple blocks over.

Surely you’d be fine, right?

You try to look confident as you wander over to the large windows in the front of the shop, displaying all kinds of baubles and knickknacks - most of which you’d never seen before. Some of them hang from the ceiling, others are stuck to the glass. Some have designs carved into them, while others are plain.

The thing that excites you the most, though, is how no two things are the same. They all look hand crafted, or at the very least, one of a kind.

It’s exactly what you’ve been seeking.

You make a beeline for the front door, quietly pushing it open to peek your head inside.

It’s dim, but more visible than the exterior. Little lamps are dotted around the aisles to provide enough luminance to view the products, as well as set up by what you assume is the payment counter.

“Hello?” you call, glancing up as a little bell rings above your head. The sound seems horribly out of place in such a quiet establishment, making you wince as it chimes again behind you.

“Hello?” you ask again, a little louder.

You can’t hear anyone moving around - no sigh of breathing or distance footsteps. The floors don’t creak, and there are no voices from anywhere nearby. It’s like the entire place is completely empty, save for you.

Had you misjudged the status of the shop? Did someone forget to lock the front door before retiring for the night?

A part of you worries that you might technically be trespassing on private property. Your parents would be furious if you were to get caught doing such a thing. Your neighbors, their friends, would scorn them - ostracize them for having such an unruly daughter! We’ve given you everything, they’d say. And this is what you give to us in return!

Suddenly, you’re not so worried about being there.

Plus, it’s not like you’re planning on stealing anything. You have money in your bag! As much as you’d like to hassle your parents, you don’t actually want to get in trouble with the law. Chaotic as your life is, you still enjoyed having the privileges you do, and you wouldn’t risk losing it.

So you make sure to be as casual as possible while you peruse the merchandise.

You’re not sure what half the things on the shelves are used for, if they’re used for anything at all. Some of them might just be fancy paperweights, for all you know. But looking at the prices on the tags, you’re not sure why paperweights would be so damn expensive.

You recognize a couple other things, though. An old hair comb, carved from…bone? Perhaps ivory. You can’t tell. It’s smooth and sturdy, and each of the teeth look distinct from one another: handmade. Even more interesting is the iridescent gem embedded on the handle, which casts the faintest bit of light.

You’ve never seen such a thing before.

But as you make your way down each aisle, you begin to see them a lot more.

Each item seems to have some kind of glowing crystal or polished rock embedded in it, all giving off the same subtle glow. Some of them are green, some purple and blue, some yellow, pink, even red and orange.

Your fingers wander across each item, feeling the different textures and embossing, playing with the weight of some items in your hands.

Until you see it.

It.

You make an immediate beeline to it, almost as if it’s summoning you and whispering your name right into the shell of your ear. It’s stunning, magical even! A silver box with intricate designs welded and carved into it, long and slender and perfectly symmetrical. You can’t see one of those little stones you’d been noticing all over the place, but the entire exterior seems to pulse with the same eerie glow as the exterior of the shop.

And when you touch it?

It’s warm.

You know there has to be some kind of strange phenomena going on, to have such heat radiating from what should be cold metal, but you can’t think of it. Perhaps your tutors had taught such things to you at a point, but there was rarely an occurrence where they could interest you well enough to pay attention.

You lift the box off the shelves and gently pry the lid open, revealing the treasure inside. The thing you’d been searching for all day, the thing that had been drawing you closer.

The most alluring, most exquisite obsidian pen you’ve ever laid eyes on.

Nestled delicately in a dark velvet mould, it almost seems to twinkle in the dim light of the shop. For a moment, you swear you can see stars gleaming within the cold volcanic glass, but you’re certain it’s got to be a trick of the eye.

There are several more dips in the cushion, beside the pen: each holding shining nibs made of an unknown metal - your first guess would have been silver, but they shimmer so pale that they’re nearly translucent. You don’t know much about calligraphy, but you’re certain that pen tips weren’t supposed to look like that.

But then, nothing about the set seems normal to you.

Not even the inkwell, which you think at first is the only plain thing in the box, but upon further inspection, you’re proven wrong. There are no designs embossed or carved into the little pot, but when you look a little closer…yes. You can definitely see stars glimmering in the black onyx it’s carved from.

What puzzles you, though, is the extra dip in the velvet pillow - symmetrical to the size and shape of the pen, and laid close to its side.

But empty.

You glance around a little bit, to see if maybe there’s another pen somewhere. The box had to have been a set at one point, surely, but maybe the shop owner had tried to get more attention on it by setting a piece elsewhere?

But no matter how much you look around, you can’t find the second pen. It’s a shame, really, because you’re certain it would have been as lovely as the first, but it won’t stop you from buying what’s left.

You close the box again, making sure the latch clicks shut, and quietly make your way to the counter.

You’d been in the store for nearly twenty minutes by that point, and there was still not a soul appearing. No sound, no hint of another person in the vicinity.

“Excuse me?” you call over the desk, leaning forward as much as your body will allow, to try and get a glimpse into the back of the establishment. The door is tilted and narrow, and shrouded mostly by a dark curtain, unchanging in the silence.

“Hello?” you ask again, “I’d like to buy something, please.” But there’s no answer.

You chew the inside of your cheek in apprehension.

No one would know, you think, immediately followed by a wave of guilt.

But if your father found out that you left behind so much money on something so old, and dusty…he’d be furious. He’d confiscate it without a second thought!

You haven’t even touched the pen, and yet the idea of not having it is…entirely nauseating. Like some precious heirloom passed through your family for generations - you can’t bear the thought of parting from it.

Do it, your mind whispers, and you, with one more quick glance around the shop, are powerless against the temptation. You head carefully towards the exit, keeping your head held high and your posture confident. No one would know.

You leave the shop as quietly as you came. No one shouts from behind you, no one chases after you in a flurry of angry words and flailing hands.

You slip the box into your shoulderbag, carefully not to knock it or dent it, and then head for home.

—

As expected, your parents are naught but furious upon your arrival. The moment you walk in through the front door, they’re on you, chastising you for leaving and embarrassing the family, scolding you for being a young lady on her own in the city.

“Do you know how much shame you’ve brought upon us?!” your mother hisses, grasping you hard by the shoulders. “The neighbours, our superiors, think us unfit parents! If we cannot control a single unruly girl, then how can we possibly be trusted with anything of value!”

You cross your arms over your chest, bristling.

“I don’t like the stupid neighbours!” you argue, shaking your mother’s hands off you. “They’re snotty and spoiled, and they’re boring. I don’t give a shit what they think-”

“Language,” your father intejects, earning glares from both you and his wife.

“We have given you everything, you insolent child!” your mother says lowly, as she pinches your chin hard between her thumb and forefinger. “Everything you could ever want! And this is how you repay us? By shaming our family name?”

You wiggle in her grasp.

“You’re grounded,” she says, “and you’ll stay in your room until I say otherwise. The maids will bring your meals, and your tutors will see to your studies.”

You stomp your foot, and your mother glares death at you.

“Go.”

—

You slam your bedroom door shut in hapless rage, and grab one of your desk chairs to prop beneath the handle. If they wanted you in your room, then they’d get it - you’d stay there for as long as you wanted, as long as you possibly could, and no one would be able to do anything about it.

You’d starve to death, if you wanted to.

You wondered if they’d even notice you were gone.

“They would,” you sniffle, sliding the bag off your shoulder as you wipe at your eyes. “They just wouldn’t care.”

You plop down at your desk, and fold your arms on the desk. As the day weighs heavier and heavier on your mind, you sulk more and more. It had been such a nice afternoon, in your opinion. The sun had been bright, the sky had been blue, the temperature had been blessedly mild, but not scorching. You’d even obtained a gift for yourself.

It had been perfect, really.

Until you’d come home.

With a scowl, you pull the silver box out of your satchel, and set it carefully on your desk while you fetch a notebook.

A special notebook, that you kept hidden in the secret compartment built into your desk. With a soft leather cover that brings you comfort as you stroke your fingers over, you smile.

You’d gotten it last year, from one of your nannies. Your favourite nanny. She paid the most attention to you, growing up - she’d listened to you, and helped you learn. She’d taught you to be kind to those less fortunate than you, and to use your power for good. She’d lent you an ear while you aired your woes, and she’d addressed you with gentleness that you’d never known from your parents.

She’d also encouraged you, in all your interests. Your mother wanted you to be a well rounded lady, but your nanny? She had seen your passions, and taught you how to flourish.

She had been perfect, and you loved her very much.

Your parents, on the other hand, hadn’t cared much for her. They thought she was too soft on you, and that she was leading you down the wrong path. They had been generous in their reprimands, but eventually, after she had shown no change in behaviour, they’d relieved her of her duties.

Sacked her, and sent her away.

The notebook had been a parting gift.

I won’t be able to make it to your birthday, my sweet, she had told you. So take this, and fill it with those wonderful tales you make. Or with your thoughts. Just don’t stop writing, no matter what.

And then she was gone.

You’d been putting off using it for a year, never knowing if any of your stories would be good enough to use such a gift for. They were all half-baked and unfinished, and you often found yourself losing passion before completing them.

You didn’t want to waste such a gift.

But as you open the silver box and pull out the obsidian pen, you think that perhaps now is the right time to use it. Such a brilliant writing tool would most definitely bring you ample ideas, and would make your stories more exciting!

But as soon as you turn to the first page, dip your new pen in ink, and set towards the paper…you freeze. As if every idea has suddenly been expelled from your mind.

Just scribble something, you tell yourself sternly, As long as you never stop writing. Doesn’t matter what it is.

You take a deep breath.

You still your shaking hand.

You press the tip of the pen down.

And you write.

You detail your day in great excess, recounting your adventure across the city. You write about the strange people you met, and the foods you’d ordered, all the way down to the type of sauce. You scrawl tidy letters about the strange shop you’d located, and about all the interesting things you’d found inside.

You leave out the part about stealing the pen, just in case your parents ever find your journal.

You also write about how you’d been scolded so harshly. How you felt like an utter disappointment to your family, but how you couldn’t possibly imagine yourself happy in the life they wanted you to have.

I know I’m lucky to be able to have a home, you jot, but I wish I had more freedom. I wish I could just be myself, and explore my interests, without being so utterly suffocated by their ideals. I don’t care about what their snobby friends think of me, nor do I care about meeting their stupid friends’ sons, so my mother can set us up to be married one day. I just wish I could have real friends for once - people who like me for who I am as a person, and not for what they could gain.

You sigh deeply, and set your pen down.

As if any of that would ever happen, you think, blinking away tears. Wishing isn’t going to get me anywhere-

You pause mid-thought, and squint at the paper.

Was that…was that there a moment ago?

You rub your finger over the ink of the words, but it doesn’t smudge. In fact, you can’t even feel the indents on the paper where a pen would have pressed - you didn’t even write that sentence.

Did you?

If you had, you were surely more tired than you’d thought you were-

There it was again!

You watch with rapt fascination as words begin to scrawl out beneath your journal entry, seemingly out of thin air. The hand is distinctly different from your own, messier and more blocky, and there are little ink explosions here and there from pressing too hard.

That’s a shit way to end a day, the sentence says. Sorry your mom and dad aren’t very good.

You smile ever so slightly at the condolences, and watch as another sentence begins to appear.

I do have one question, though. Who are you, and why is your writing appearing in my notebook?

#viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #The Bottom Of The Inkwell #it gets more exciting i promise #this one is gonna be slower to update i think

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