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stuckyslut8 · 2 months ago

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DIY gone wrong ..

Pairing : congressman bucky x bunny hybrid! Reader (and a little suprise)

Summary : your grumpy and sleepy master makes you do everything by yourself, but then fucks you dumb once he understands his bunny can't do anything right.

Warning : smut, a little angst , dystopian au where hybrids are treated badly. Dark content. Dub con. Do not read if it makes you uncomfortable. 18+ . Minors dni. Edging, dark bucky, morally fucked reader . Bucky barnes is a pu**y whisperer , don't tell me otherwise.

(don't think there's any major thunderbolts spoilers ahead)

You waited for your master to come home after his job, of saving the world.He hadn't done a lot of superhero stuff since he became a congressman , somedays he was wondering if what he was doing was any good, most days he was exhausted from the politics and listening to the commentary from his rivals, or the media tearing his past apart, everyday there a new news article about him.

But through all those days he had once constant thing, his bunny, his pet, who always adored him no matter what , it didn't matter to you what his past was what his present was, all you cared for was him and that was all bucky needed, he thought it was a little selfish at first to keep you in this little bubble , to himself, you were free to go out of course (only to places Bucky had pre approved and only with bodygaurds), you were allowed to interact with anyone (only the people Bucky approved of course). But form the place where you came, the hybrid training facility as they called it, all the freedoms bcuky offered felt like heaven to you. You weren't a dumb bunny , he knew that too , you understood what he was doing and why he did that, it didn't matter to you cuz he was all you needed . But putting on this act of being a dumb little bunny got Bucky so hard , you loved having that power over him .

You had your own bed(which you shared with Bucky of course) , your own closet, your own art room, your own garden, your own kitchen, which you really enjoyed and you know Bucky did as well, when he would fuck you against the counter, or make you suck his cock. "So good bunny, such a good cock sucker my bunny is" .

"thank you daddy " your sometimes call him that , sometimes master, sometimes baby, sometimes bucky.

You were something bucky didn't know he needed in his life until he got you. More like steve has gifted him before his departure with the stones, to a past he'll grow old in with peggy. He knew Bucky needed someone to love and cherish him. He had handpicked you himself for Bucky, and even "tested" you a couple of times before handing you over to Bucky. No one at the facility had the spine to say no to captain rogers of course, they were eager to please him, he just saved the world after all, brought half the population back, he was a hero to all. Though hybrids were rare and not for everyone, America's best soldier deserved it.

"you're so perfect bunny" you remeber the blonde super soldier telling you, as he took you apart in your training room, "such a tight pussy, Bucky's gonna love it, and these perfect tits, I'm personally an ass man but bucky loves tits ," he smacked your ass before he pounded into you again, your voices muffled by the pillow , as you were facing ass up. "But this ass is perfect too, Bucky's gonna take you apart " , he pumped you full of his load, as your roomates watched in envy, of course any hybrid there would love to be picked by captain America himself, he was a sight for sore eyes. You were quite proud of yourself after that, watching the other hybrids face turn green of jealousy, good they deserve it for picking on you, making fun of you for failing your table manners class. "Such a good little bunny.." you could feel Steve's fingers pushing his cum back into your hole, "too bad can't have you myself too, but Bucky needs this and i gotta go back to peggy." You didn't hear a word coming out of his mouth, too lost in your last orgasmic bliss, this was better than any of the times you ever made yourself come. "You know your place , don't you bunny?" You only nod in response.

"you gonna make my Bucky happy bunny you understand? " Steve says , as he leads you to his car. Finally breathing in the air of freedom, goodbye that wretched hybrid facility, hello freedom.

So that was it ,one day you were the bunny of war veteran james Buchanan barnes, the former winter soldier ,the next day you were the bunny of Congressman barnes , you were his bunny but also his love as Bucky would call you. "My wife " he'd say sometimes , "the light of my life " . Bucky loved showing you off at the party's , you loved latching on his arm. You felt pride in having such a man.

But today was a little different. Tired was an understatement for Bucky's current state , he was exhausted beyond words could describe.

After saving the world from "bob" , he just wanted to sleep forever with his bunny by his side, of course. But it wasn't your plan for the night, you were all dressed up in your little lacy blue babydoll that Bucky loves so much, it was 40s style , custom made for you, Bucky loved dressing you up like a 40s housewife and was shameless about it. "My good little wife, know how to make your husband happy", he'd say when you'd cook something for him, or do any chores . He appreciated you, for every single thing you did. But today was so was exhausted that he told "not today bunny,put on your pjs ,we're gonna have an early night" he said.

And you obeyed, of course, but the thing is it's never happened before , what did you do wrong, was bucky tired of you, was he seeing someone else, was it that vile woman's secretary who kept calling bcuky the other day when you were riding him, feeding him your homemade cookies, rubbing his belly to feed him more. So many questions wandered through your mind, but Bucky was sound asleep next to you, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his flesh arm wrapped around your middle, you slowly lowered yourself onto him, humping your clothes pussy over his boxers, you tried to be subtle about it, but you couldn't , suddenly his hand on your hip stopped you.

"what are you doing bunny , though I told you to sleep."

"can't sleep bucky, I need you. " You whined. And of course Bucky couldn't say no to you but he was tired.

"fine just fuck yourself on my cock bunny, I'm tired ." He said with his eyes closed.

You did as he said, pulling your panties down , getting his leaky tip out of his boxers, you were confident you'd stretched yourself thoroughly, and lowered your pussy on his tip, it barely went in, you were struggling. You tried twisting and turning in his arms, how pathetic you looked, trying to take your husband's big cock, it was too big, it was his fault really, Bucky never bothered training you into how to do it yourself, he'd always take his time stretching you out himself, with his thick fingers, made sure you were ready before he put his thick member in , it was thicker than a normal one, due to the the serums enchantments of course , and you weren't the one to complain about the way it filled you so good , streched you just enough to make you see the stars.

But today, it was working to your complete disadvantage, you tried and tried to put it in your throbbing pussy. Bucky only got weary of your moments after a while, "what's going on you dumb bunny? Can't take my cock?" You shake you head , "i tried jamie , he just doesn't wanna go in". Bucky loved it when you spoke about his duck like that .

Bucky was already frustrated from everything that happened, and with you disturbing his sleep now, you were sure he was gonna fuck you like crazy, finally.

"can't do the one thing you're meant to do huh? Dumb bunny, always want daddy to do all the work." He said spreading your lips apart, rubbing your sensitive nub, make you whimper.

"yes daddy please, wanna take you , help me."

"my dumb bunny " he positioned you so you were face down in the pillows, your cunt spread open for this display, he gave your ass a couple of smacks, leaving his mark there. You moaned as the pleasure courses through you.

"you just don't know how to work my pretty pussy, do you bunny? " He asks you pumping his two fingers in and out of you at a steady phase.

"no daddy, she never listens to me"

"tsk tsk don't blame her bunny, she's a good girl, unlike you" *smack ,he rubbed your sore bottom soothingly, before *smack. "I know my prettty pussy, she always listens to me, unlike you brat, waking me up in the middle of the night by humping me?" He put his tongue in your hole, fucking you with it, swirling it around the right spots making your bakc arch, you were about to cum, he knew it, he pulled out just in time.

"daddy please i wanna cum" you said , knowing it was gonna get you into more trouble.

"shh don't wanna hear you, I was having a good time with my pretty pussy, I'll let her come when I want to, you shut up dumb bunny" he pressed your face into the pillow bt grabbing your neck.

"my pretty little bunny cunt, always tastes so sweet, no wonder steve picked you, this pussy was made for me " he showered your pussy with praises almost making you jealous. It was silly you thought how this man can turn you against your own pussy sometimes. "His pussy" you mentally corrected yourself.

" you can take me my pretty girl, your took me a million times before, are you nervous today is that why you're hesitant?" He whispered to your pussy, you would've almost thought he said those words to you, but you knew the difference between his sweet talk for you and his pussy.

"don't worry sweet girl, I've prepped you enough" he spit on your poor pussy, making it glisten , he used his fingers to push all the fluid inside your hole, he smeared some of it on his cock, before slamming into you, and your pussy didn't resist as he'd said. Traitor.

Bucky wasn't gentle, gripping your hips harsh enough to leave marks, he maneuvers your body in just the right way so he can thrust deeper. "There you go sweet girl, does my cock make you feel good, it's kissing all your right spots, i know, he missed you so much, my hands were never enough for him" fuck his dirty talk only made you wetter, if that was even possible, brought you to the edge. You thought he was gonna let you come but, he pulled out, leaving your pussy gasping for more.

"come on did you think I was gonna let you some so easily after the stunt you pulled bunny, no , I'm gona edge ya,over and over till you pass out , not gonna stop."

And he kept his word, bringing you so close to your release every time before he pulled out abruptly. He got his releases of course, he'd come in you so many times , he used his cum as lube to fuck you harder.

A few hours later, he finally decided to show mercy on you. "Come on my bunny girl, i think my sweet pussy deserves her reward for takign me so good ,let go for me, come for me "

Your walls clenched around him so tightly, scared he was gonna pull out again,but he didn't he let you have your release at boy it sent you to a state of pure ecstasy,you didn't even realise you squirted all over the sheets.

Bucky chuckled , pulling you into his arms, "you did so good for me bunny, so good for daddy, you made a mess , but you're gonna lick it off of the sheets like a good girl soon I know . You're so amazing, steve would be so proud." He pressed kiss to your forehead as you buried your face in his chest. This was home for both of you , two broken souls, who found each other. Credits to steve of course.

A/N : THIS is my first bunny hybrid fix btw! Do you need a prequel with more details about steve meeting bunny for the first time? Lmk.

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canyonmooncreations · 5 months ago

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Normalcy on a tough day with neighbor Simon

Simon moved in almost a year ago. Since then you’ve become friends, nothing more. Coffee here and there, shared meals, neighborly help with some DIY projects. It’s become familiar sense of comfort and consistency for the both of you.

Simon relishes in the domestic sound of your cabinets closing, footsteps throughout the day, and just the normalcy of your life. His concerns begins when he hears the lack of.

It’s been a day. One of those days where the solitude eats away at your heart and mind. One of those days where it feels pointless to keep going.

You get home from work thankful it’s the weekend. Your footsteps fall silent as your head straight to bed not even bothering with changing or dinner.

Simon is confused when he doesn’t hear the air fryer or the microwave. There’s no water running or closet closing. Your footsteps are gone as soon as they arrive, fallen short at your bedroom. There’s no FaceTime call to your friend you talk to daily. There’s no sound of your comfort show. There’s just silence.

You toss and turn over and over. The thoughts just don’t stop. You can’t help but let the tears fall. Your silent tears soon turn to sobs. You just can’t stop it.

Your missing footsteps are replaced with the sound of Simon’s as he paces his apartment. He knows something is wrong, he can hear something is wrong. But what’s he to do? Are you close enough for him to come knocking on your door? He thinks so. But what if you just want to be alone? What if you..

Before he can finish the thought, he’s at your door. He can’t just sit here and listen to you sob. You, someone he cares about so much. Someone who’s slowly wormed their way into his heart.

It’s a sight when you finally open the door. Work clothes a mess, makeup smeared, and face puffy.

No words are exchanged as you melt into his arms. His warmth inviting you to just let it all out. He carries you to the couch and sits with you in his arms. It goes on for a bit, you crying and him just holding you.

He eventually coaxes you into the bathroom, sitting you on the counter. He helps you change into your comfy clothes and wipes away today’s makeup. All the while his hands never leave you, his touch grounding you to reality. Showing you, you aren’t alone no matter how alone you feel.

He carries you gently to the bedroom and tucks you in.

All the normalcy you both crave, he created. He ran the air fryer, he washed up the dishes, and he turned on your comfort show.

He joins you in bed with your comfort food and holds both of your plates. You lean into his side as you both sit in silence enjoying your show.

After eating, you’ve wormed your way into his warmth again. Both of you falling asleep to the sound of the others jagged heartbeat.

That’s what you’ve grown to love about Simon. There doesn’t have to be all this talking and explaining. Just grounding touch and domestic normalcy.

Omg what? Another self indulgent depressing fic? Whoooooo wrote this???

#fanfic #call of duty #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader

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cinder-stella · 10 days ago

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𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐌𝐞𝐧 𝐀𝐭 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐭!

multiverse fluff, slice of life, comedy

<MDNI>toji,satoru,kento,choso,sukuna<MDNI>

Across countless timelines, you utter the same words, “We’re just getting one thing.”

Only one thing at home depot. Seems simple enough, right? Just in and out. No distractions.

In every timeline, the man beside you says, “Yeah, sure. Just one thing.”

That's a lie. They all lie.

──✿──

TOJI

Mission: Find a socket wrench.

You step inside Home Depot with Toji, hoping to buy a basic wrench. But then you blink and he’s gone. No explanation. No warning. Just the faint remnants of cologne that he sprayed on quickly before leaving the house.

You find him twenty minutes later in the Hunting & Outdoor section, crouching like a cryptid—his limbs too long and bulky to squat neatly. His shirt’s askew, hair tousled and he’s holding a roll of duct tape as if it’s speaking directly to him.

“This is the good kind,” he says without looking at you. “Industrial strength. Can restrain a grown man. Even hold a bumper on.”

"...We’re here for a wrench, Toji."

He ignores you and holds up a crowbar, testing the weight in his hand. “This one’s balanced. Nice grip. Could kill a guy.”

“That’s nice, sweetie. Definitely not alarming.”

You trail him as he tosses it into the cart alongside zip ties, work gloves and a beef jerky bag he’s already torn open and started eating. An employee clocks it from the corner of the aisle, starts to say something but then decides he values his life too much.

Toji pauses in front of a grill, stares at it like he’s yearning. “For the kid,” he mutters, tossing it in. “He’s gotta eat.”

You stare at the mountain of vaguely criminal hardware and protein snacks in the cart and run a hand down your face. “We came for a wrench. One.”

Toji shrugs. “And now we have a tactical advantage.”

You should’ve just ordered it online. “Alright, big guy. You’re paying.”

Toji swivels around with an eyebrow raised.

SATORU

Mission: Buy a shower head.

He walks in like he owns the place. As if the automatic doors opened just for him. Tall, smug, sunglasses indoors (as usual), and dressed like he’s on a luxurious trip instead of a store for plumbing fixtures.

“Now, this is a man’s store,” he announces, immediately drawing attention. “I love it.”

You sigh. “Satoru, please. Just one thing. We’re not here to mess around.”

He nods solemnly. “Of course. One thing. I’m laser focused.”

He is not.

Within five minutes, he’s critiquing paint swatches aloud like he’s on Project Runway. “This one says ‘murder in a pastel kitchen.’ This one screams ‘lower tax bracket.’ This one? Oh yeah, this one’s sexy. Like me.”

He strolls through the aisles with cocky grace, picking up tools and using them completely wrong on purpose.

He holds up two caulking guns like they’re pistols. “I could dual wield these,” he muses, making the sound and movements that actual guns make.

“Satoru.” You roll your eyes. “I’m so sorry,” you mutter to a nearby employee who seems just as annoyed.

At one point, he picks up a wood stain sample and says, “This one’s called ‘shit-brown in London.’ This one’s ‘porta potty walnut.’”

Eventually, you don’t know how, but he ends up wearing a tool belt and holding a pack of nails like he just came back from his blue collar job.

“How ya’ like me now?” he smirks and strikes a pose that looks eerily similar to Woody from Toy story.

“Not a lot,” you sigh.

In the end, you, in fact, don’t leave with a showerhead. but instead a novelty “#1 DIY DAD” mug and several useless gadgets.

“We should go to Lowe’s next.”

KENTO

Mission: Replace the leaky faucet.

Nanami enters Home Depot like he’s walking into a board meeting. Button-up shirt rolled at the sleeves, clipboard app open on his phone, and that furrow in his eyebrow that meant business.

“This should take no more than twenty minutes,” he says. “I’ve reviewed the layout online, and I know the exact model we need.”

On a completely sexual note, you loved seeing Kento in his sexy manly element. You fight the urge to bite your index finger and giggle like a school girl. “Ay, ay, captain.”

Ten minutes in, it seems like Kento hit a wall at high speed. He stands in the plumbing aisle staring at the different faucet models. The one he came for? Out of stock. The aisle signage? Mislabeled. The finishes? All brushed nickel when he clearly wanted chrome.

“Of course,” he mutters through clenched teeth. ““Every fixture here looks like it belongs in a chain restaurant bathroom from 2006.”

“What’s so wrong with brushed nickel? It’s a softer look,” you try input in a cheery tone.

He deadpans.

When an employee walks by and chirps, “Need help finding something?” Kento just breathes in slowly, as if it’s the poor employee's fault.

Eventually, you find him organizing a shelf that wasn’t crooked until he looked at it. He’s muttering about SKU numbers and poor inventory management like it’s the most important thing in the world.

“Babe. Honey. Sweetheart. We can just call a plumber,” you offer, gently.

He turns to you, jaw tight, voice level. “We are not letting a complete stranger touch our pipes. I’ll fix it myself or die trying.”

It’s kinda sexy…seeing him all worked up. Anyways, in the end you leave with a completely different faucet along with a pack of precision screwdrivers of course. Kento softly massages his temples in the driver’s seat.

You give him a kiss on the cheek. “You did great, champ.”

He doesn’t respond. But he does hold your hand the whole drive home.

CHOSO

Mission: Get one (1) bag of soil.

You tell Choso it’s just a quick stop. Grab soil, maybe a new pot. That’s it.

He nods solemnly. “Yeah. Got it.”

Well…Within five minutes of entering the garden section, he’s gone quiet. You briefly look around, thinking he’s wandered off but he was just kneeling by the succulents like they’ve been waiting for him.

He gently strokes a Mexican snowball. “This one’s thirsty,” he murmurs.

“Don’t they…store water?” you whisper.

“Thirsty emotionally.”

You try to stay focused. But every time you turn around, there’s a new plant in the cart. A string of pearls. Then a tiny bonsai. Then a pothos you’re pretty sure was dying until he whispered to it.

He picks up a discounted cactus—on its tag it reads, ‘Final Sale.’

Choso reads it, horrified. “They’re giving him away like he doesn’t matter.”

“He’ll be just fine. They’re very resilient, y'know.”

He stares right through you. Then he gently placed the cactus into the cart.

Somehow, you also now have three ceramic mushrooms, a gnome with moss on his hat, and a biodegradable watering can Choso swore would help the plants to grow.

“I don't think we have space for all this…” you huff.

He looks at you, completely serious. “I’ll make space.”

You did end up getting the soil. But also seven plants, a huge frog statue named Gorb and a bag of organic fertilizer.

At checkout, he pats the cart lovingly. “We’re a family now.”

RYOMEN

Mission: Buy a new toilet seat.

You should’ve gone alone.

You said it three times in the car. “We’re going in, we’re getting the toilet seat you broke, and we’re leaving.”

Ryomen nodded, “Sure, sure.”

Now he’s walking three steps ahead of you, dragging his hand along the displays like he’s inspecting the quality of weapons.

You try to steer him to the plumbing aisle but he keeps veering left. Obviously towards the chainsaws and other dangerous looking machinery.

That’s when it happens.

He makes eye contact with a kid. Maybe seven—rounds the corner with his mom’s cart. Toolbelt on and light-up Spider-Man sneakers.

Ryomen locks eyes with him. The kid looks back, unblinking.

There was mutual, immediate hatred.

You don’t know why and you don't ask. But you feel the air shift, the lights dim and somewhere, a wolf howls.

You whisper, “Please don’t start beef with a literal child.”

They pass each other. Ryomen bumps the cart just slightly.

The kid bumps it back harder.

“Ryomen,” you warn.

“He started it,” he growls back.

Eventually, you drag him to plumbing. He picks the most unnecessary toilet seat imaginable—heated, LED lights, Bluetooth connectivity, massage settings.

“Heated seats,” he says, tossing it in the cart. “I deserve luxury.”

You don’t even bother. You got what you came for.

Later, as you check out, you glance back towards the lumber aisle.

The kid is still there. Just staring.

Ryomen flips him off, ensuring that his mother was right there to see.

“Oh my god.” You grab his arm and quickly head to the front.

So, you did leave with the toilet seat and somehow an additional motion-sensor soap dispenser that Ryomen liked the sound of. Oh yeah, and an unspoken rivalry that will haunt one suburban child for the rest of his life.

Ryomen hums in the passenger seat. “I’ll see him again,” he says.

You don’t ask what that means.

──✿──

Somewhere in the multiverse, five versions of you all sigh at the same time.

You each mutter, with different levels of exhaustion, disbelief, and affection. “Next time…I’m going alone.”

But you surely won’t.

Because chaos aside, you do really love them.

…And to be fair you never really wanted just one thing.

ฅ^>⩊<^ ฅ

a/n: i rly enjoy this format. also taking a break from smut for a bit. lmk how u guys like it!

#jjk #jjk scenarios #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk kento #jujutsu kaisen kento #satoru gojo x reader #gojo fluff #toji fluff #fushiguro toji x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #choso kamo #choso fluff #jujutsu kaisen #ryomen fluff #jjk fluff #stelficz💭

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cherie-doll · 6 months ago

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Could you do like a scenecore reader that also dyes their hair? and cod men? Like dunno giving them a handmade bracelet I dunno? *pokes my fingers together*

-🪒(Reserving a Anon cause i'll be back!)

hii 🪒 anon!! glad you're reserving! and if anyone else wants to do the same then feel free to do so :D

ミ☆ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

Scenecore!Reader x COD Men

★ Price...

sometimes when he comes home he'll find you in the bathroom dying your hair, he loves seeing you do fun stuff with your hair and will even run to buy more box dye incase you run out or you got the wrong color (which happens often)

there's a hc that he was prob a punk or some sort of alternative when he was a teen so he's familiar with you customizing and diying your stuff

he also never thought to be into the scene subculture but he can't help but smile when you leave a handmade kandi bracelet for him, even if it looks a little out of place for him to wear, he doesn't care

he will put that on his wrist and wear it around like he wears his ring

★ Ghost...

it's funny when walking around together in public with the tall intimidating guy who's always wearing a face covering and dark clothing and then there's you, the bright clothes, the dyed and teased hair, arms covered in kandi bracelets looking like a rainbow vomited on you

they should really see your house... his side of the closet is almost the same outfits just different shades of dark colors and your side has possibly every color ever made

still, if people looked close enough they would be able to see the bracelet you made for him that just barely peeks out from underneath the sleeve of his jacket along with some jelly bracelets

people often assume Simon is some former goth dating the scene/scenecore

★ Soap...

you wonder why you ran out of dye so quickly when you need it, you had bought a couple new boxes of hair dye only to find them gone when you needed them, when you see Johnny it all makes sense; he had attempted dying his own hair

according to him he wanted to try wearing your hair extensions first but quickly realized they wouldn't stay in, you can't help but laugh at how his hair turned out, the front looks kinda good it actually surprises you, the back however...

when at a store he's actually the one hyping you up when you find something you could use to incorporate it into your look, he buys whatever for you and loves wearing matching kandi bracelets with you

his whole forearm will be covered in kandi and jelly bracelets he doesn't care he loves it!

★ Gaz...

he knows where you are in a store by the ton of jewelry you wear with charms and beads, or you might accidentally drop a bracelet or lose an earring leaving a trail he can follow to find you

ofc he knows to find you either in a thrift shop, in the jewelry section or where the box dye is at, he's quick to offer to buy anything you might want

he knows how much you love experimenting with your hair, maybe you like adding animal prints in your hair :D

in the car he likes to put your playlist on that will have you both vibing together throughout the entire car trip, poor soul to whoever is travelling with you tho

★ Roach...

loves wearing anything you gift him, especially if you customized it or made it yourself, he wants to feel included, often times when you're touching up on your hair or dying it again he'll sit in the bathroom with you

sometimes it takes a long time dying your hair, especially if you like to do prints on your hair because you're tired of your extensions falling out all the time :(

and the entire time he's sitting there keeping you company looking at you like this :D

he even helps you pick out which color you should do next when you can't decide!

he gets all giddy when you sit down and make kandi bracelets together <3 and then gift him the one you made and he gives you the one he made, so now you're wearing bracelets the other made!

★ Alejandro...

your style was definitely something new to him, due to the great war of emos vs punks in '08 in Mexico he assumed you were what he described a 'colorful emo', until you corrected him

he really likes it actually, he's seen how you manage to coordinate your outfits and even cut, dye and style your own hair, talk about being resourceful!

when your hair is freshly dyed, you'll wash it and go to sleep with it slightly damp, the next morning you wake up to find your pillow stained, it used to scare him real bad when you had it dyed red and he assumed the stain on the pillow was blood

★ Rudy...

he loves learning about what you're into, your interests are now his!!

he's also tried styling you before and he actually managed to do a pretty good job! you asked him how he did it and he mentioned he's seen you coordinate your outfits and so he was able to pick up off that

on his days off, he loves spending them with you and taking you to all the stores that have deals on their bundles so you can get a ton or new hair clips and silly accessories you end up trying on Rudy only to take a 0.5 pic of

and vice versa ^^ he loves taking pics of you in your outfits, in fact, on his phone lock screen he has you with your best outfit yet posing as his wallpaper, just to be smug he likes leaving his phone face up on the table just so that he can see that picture of you when a message lights up his screen

★ Phillip Graves...

won't ever ask you to "tone it down", it's your style and he thinks you should proudly wear it, you look unique and he personally loves it

he will definitely glare at anyone who scoffs or says a rude remark about you, especially if the area you live in is known to be more conservative, he loves seeing the look on people's faces when they see you walk past

sometimes his shadows like to tease him when they notice him wearing the bracelet you made for him, they keep saying it looks like some little kid made it but he quickly states that you made it for him

i can just imagine the whiplash when his playlist goes from his average dad rock/country music to your liked songs invading his phone when on shuffle, he might bop to it tho but won't ever admit it

★ Makarov...

he's told you multiple times he can just take you to get your hair professionally done, there is no need for you to buy cheap box dye for your hair but you like it better this way

this way you can add your own unique and personal touch to it that you love, and no professional hairstylist will be able to do it how you like it, he gives in and stops insisting after you remind him that every time

but he definitely loves your creative diy and style, he just wanted to make sure you weren't staining the bathroom towels with your box dye because you were too shy to ask him to take you to the hair salon but that's not the case :)

and he treasures the bracelets you gift him more than he does the expensive watches and jewelry he buys for himself

★ Keegan...

yk how kandi bracelets can say crazy stuff on them sometimes?

yeah so, the first time he noticed your bracelets and read some of the words you've arranged on there he was flabbergasted to say the least

you put diabolical phrases on his kandi bracelets when you make some for him, and when you put them on for him you make sure the words are upside down so HE doesn't notice it but the person who's in front of him will if they glance at it

it isn't until later when he takes them off that he notices they have sexual phrases, your favorite one for him to wear is one that says "suck me off"

★ König...

it took him a while to understand your texting whenever he peeked at your laptop when you left it open, he didn't really consider himself to be behind on trends until now even if it wasn't anything new but it was to him

he also doesn't know what half the references the words on your kandi bracelets mean either but he rolls with it anyways, you've probably told him before but you ramble on so much that he can only remember a handful of stuff you say

one of his favorite moments of the day are when he arrives home and you're just on your laptop scrolling and vibing to music, you even get up and dance to it inviting him to join you even if he's terrible at it but hey, at least you're having fun together :)

★ Horangi...

he knows how much you love thrifting for new clothes so he likes finding good thrift shops you can go crazy in and then show him the new outfits you put together with them, he also likes surprising you with brand/label clothes and items

you often feel guilty bc you know how expensive those brands can get but he insists on it, he loves you showing your colors and taking you out

he's even dyed his hair colors to match with you! you can't tell me he isn't a little into the alternative side as well, he's definitely expanded his style since he met you

you two even have your matching jewelry for almost every occasion that you've handmade when out on dates, like those places that are for couples to book so they can diy stuff together (if ykyk bc i forgot what they're called)

★ Nikto...

i can just imagine the first time you shuffled up to him and extended your hand to open it and he sees a colorful little bracelet there

he tilted his head, confused what you were offering to him, oh a bracelet? that little thing? it doesn't look like something he'd wear himself but... since you made it he slips it on, good thing the cord is elastic and stretchy therefore he can pull it through his burly, big hand

he shrugs but on the inside he feels his heart beat a little faster, later he forgets to take it off or you slip a bracelet in his duffel bag when he leaves another member will notice the colored kandi bracelet and ask about it

he's not in the slightest bit embarrassed to say it was you, no amount of teasing will make him take it off

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syoddeye · 3 months ago

Text

Organymede. Nikolai x android!Reader.

cw: body horror/self-surgery, diy top surgery, nasty nik, power imbalance, dirty deal, the world is built on vibes

The clinic isn’t clean. It isn’t cutting-edge. But it’s his, and it’s served him well.

The fluorescents overhead stutter, their light breaking in fits and starts, splashing the walls in jittering shadows. The workbenches are a mess of cast-off parts and tools gone blunt with use—spanners, haptic calibrators, a soldering iron crusted with old flux. A rust-bitten fan whirrs in the corner, fighting a losing battle against the smell and heat.

It smells of scorched metal and coolant, circuitry half-melted and wired back wrong. Beneath it, the organic. Faint, but unmistakable. Sweat soaked into the cracked leather chair, something sharp and coppery threading through the stench. Rarely does anything in Nikolai’s shop actually bleed, but sometimes it’s unavoidable.

He’s shutting down for the night, already halfway through stowing his tools when the door creaks open. He tenses immediately, a hand twitching near his hip. He doesn’t do walk-ins. Doesn’t take risks with unknowns. Everybody needs a referral.

And yet, one stands in his doorway.

Their silhouette is stark against the haze outside, rain clinging to their long coat. Eyes bouncing the unstable light back at him, glowing like an angel. They hesitate for only a moment before stepping inside, the door hissing shut behind them.

He makes a quick study, from their scuffed, mismatched boots to the rigid set of their shoulders. There’s no fear in their stance, but an energy. Urgency. Tension wound tight.

“You lost?”

They shake their head. “I need help. Please.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. Everyone who stumbles through his door needs help. But there’s something in the way they say it, a fraying edge to their plea, like a thread about to snap. It’s not panic, not the wild desperation of someone on the edge. A weariness. Exhaustion in a body that needs three hours of rest, max.

Then they move, shrugging off their outer layer. They’re topless underneath.

And he sees it.

He’s moving without thought, the pull of the mess in front of him magnetic in its mess.

Synthetic skin hewn apart, a square section of their chest peeled back to reveal the chassis beneath. The welds are crude, uneven—ugly. Globs of metal fused haphazardly where their chest plating should be smooth. Where it should be curved. A full panel of steel, excised and replaced with something ill-fitting, misaligned. Done by a hand that was determined, but not skilled. The skin’s edges are melted, curled where heat bit too deep. The metal beneath is scorched, the fusion messy, warped where it should be seamless. A clear lack of the proper tools.

Nikolai exhales slowly through his nose. He’s seen botched jobs before. Seen people desperate enough to pry themselves open and tinker. But this—

“Holy shit. You did this yourself?” he asks, hand outstretched and hovering.

They nod. “I had to.”

He doesn’t ask why. Shop policy.

His gaze flickers back to the damage. A mess, but not mindless. Sloppy, but not aimless. He pans downward and tells himself it’s just triage, an assessment of whether to take them to his chair. But there’s nothing clinical about the way he stares. The lines of their body, the smooth stretch of undamaged synth-skin, all of it tempts an unprofessional touch.

The waistband of their jeans, the twin seams of chrome vanishing beneath it. A sliver of green cotton peeking out. He swallows against the sudden tightness in his throat, then, without a word, he reaches out and keeps his hand north of their navel. Fingers ghosting over the damage.

The welds are still warm. Recent.

“This is shit work,” he mutters, distracting himself. He presses a thumb against the edge of where metal meets flesh, feeling the rough, uneven line. Then, his fingers move, tracing the jagged welds. “Lucky you did not kill yourself.”

A small puff of air escapes their lips, quiet, but he catches it. A whimper. Sensitive. So, they didn’t fuck up too badly.

“Are you in pain?”

He presses again. Another whimper. Fuck, it is a nice sound.

“Yes. Can you fix it?” their voice wavers.

Nikolai lets the question hang between them, and his hand rests on their breastplate, his thumb and forefinger bookending one of the welds. He could turn them away. He should. Doubts they have enough scratch, if any, to pay for what he needs to do to them. But there’s that desperation in their eyes.

It’s a resource that’s never in short supply. Always ripe for exploitation.

He lets himself wonder this time, lets the silence build while he considers it. Another long look, and he circles them slowly. His hand glides from the gaping wound in their chest, trailing along the side of their body then over their arm. Artificial muscle tensing under his touch.

When he moves behind them, his fingers land on their exposed shoulders, then draw a straight line down their spine. He pauses at the small divots just above their lower back. He feels the shiver before he sees it—a slight tremor that raises goosebumps.

Nikolai’s eyes widen.

So, they’re high-end. All the bells and whistles. A finely crafted machine.

His dick twitches at the thought of what other features his patient possesses. If they need any fluids topped-off.

For all the under-the-table work, for the shady deals, and the lives, organic and inorganic, he’s yanked back from the mouth of hell in this grimy little clinic of his—this is his reward. Must be.

A smirk curls the corner of his lip as he returns to their front. “Do you have somewhere to go, after this?”

“That’s irrelevant, isn’t it?”

Nik shrugs. “Do you think I will waste the effort on some work that is planning to take their stasis in a gutter?”

Their eyebrows raise. If they’re as advanced as Nikolai believes, their face probably heats, too.

They hesitate, mouth parting for a moment then snapping shut. Their eyes drop, then they shake their head once. “No,” they say, then lift their chin. “But I passed a motel on the way here. I thought I would–”

“The one on the corner?” Nikolai cuts in, amusement lacing his words. He chuckles when they nod, then clicks his tongue. “That place? You won’t wake up. At least, you won’t want to. The people running that place…Well, people tend to lose themselves there. Parts, anyway.”

Their hands lift instinctively, crossing over their chest in a defensive motion as though protecting their exposed frame. Their hands curve over the opposite shoulder, a flimsy shield. “Understood,” they murmur, then their gaze hardens as they lift it to meet his. “I will seek shelter elsewhere. Does this mean you will help me?”

This could be trouble. It is trouble. The kind of trouble that could make it a very bad idea to get involved. This is the definition of shitting where one eats. The possibility of someone looking for them has not strayed far from Nikolai’s mind since they let out that whimper. Of course, they could be an independent but—

Their chest aside—their skin, their hair? Clean and cared for. Their clothes were clearly stolen or dug out from the trash.

This is a kept droid. Whether it was fired, discarded, or ran away of its own accord…They found their way here. He found them.

Finders, keepers.

“Not for free.” Nikolai grins. “For a price.”

Their jaw tenses. “I anticipated a cost. What is the price?”

Nikolai almost laughs, but he bites it off, replacing it with a look that’s just as cruel. He gives them another deliberate once-over, lingering on the hack job they’ve done on themselves. They flounder under the weight of it, stiffening, their fingers twitching where they clutch themselves. He doesn’t need to say it out loud—they know as well as he does that they don’t have anything close to his base fee.

“If I could, perhaps, start a line of credit…?” they offer, testing.

Nikolai scoffs, sharp. “This is not a charity.”

The words land like a slap. They flinch, but they don’t argue. No pointless protests about fairness, no self-righteous anger. Instead, they look around, taking in the state of his clinic. Their gaze lingers on the stacks of outdated parts, the spare limbs, the implants bobbing in jars. They’re sizing it up. Calculating, the same way he did to them.

They’re close.

Their tongue darts out, wetting their lips. A sharp inhale. Then, “I…I could…”

“Yes?”

“Work it off?” They meekly suggest.

Nikolai lets the silence drag, watching them squirm before he repeats it back a syllable at a time. “Work off the debt.”

Right where he wants them.

“This,” he gestures vaguely at their chest, “this will not be cheap to fix. But I can do it and make you whole again. Even let you pick your nipples, special order. But the work you’re offering? It won’t be easy. Whatever it is you used to do, you might grow to miss it.”

“I won’t.” They answer immediately, a burst of nerve. Their arms uncross, shoulders squaring, as if daring him to doubt them. The plate they’d tried to smooth over gleams dully. A blank canvas.

Such a bold thing. Whatever drove them to carve themselves open like this, to rip out what they couldn’t stand to live with—it’ll follow them, he’s sure. A hunger curls deep in his gut at the thought of someone else snatching this prize up before he’s had his chance to play.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Please, help me.” They ask, stepping closer.

His gaze flicks to the sliver of green peeking above their waistband. His first order of business? A full inventory—of both the soft and the hardware.

He extends his hand, a show of goodwill, and they take it. It’s warm. Like the real thing.

Nikolai’s grin is all teeth.

“Okay, baby. I will.”

#nikolai cod #nikolai x reader #nikolai x you #whiffs of cyberpunk #dumb wordplay title because i cannot think of anything good

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ruselle · 3 months ago

Text

KISUN

"𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐲" 📺

₍ₘdₙᵢ ₛₘᵤₜ ₕₒₘₒₛₑₓᵤₐₗ₎

Sunoo and Ni-ki were curled up on the dorm couch, the room dimly lit by the flickering light of a horror movie playing on the TV. Sunoo had prepared some DIY snacks for them to enjoy while watching, carefully arranging them in a small bowl between them.

But somewhere between the jump scares and suspenseful silence, Ni-ki had mindlessly eaten every last bite.

It wasn’t until the screen flashed again that he noticed something felt off—Sunoo had gone unusually quiet.

Turning his head, Ni-ki asked, “What’s wrong?”

Instead of an answer, he was met with the sight of Sunoo’s lips pushed into a pout, his arms crossed and eyes fixed on the screen in a way that made it clear he was not enjoying himself.

“Oh… sorry. I ate all the snacks, didn’t I?” Ni-ki said, realization dawning too late.

“Whatever,” Sunoo mumbled, standing up abruptly. “This movie’s boring anyway. I’m going to my room.”

“Hyung, wait—” Ni-ki reached out, but Sunoo had already turned and was walking away. Ni-ki quickly got up to catch up to him, grabbing Sunoo’s wrist before he could disappear behind his door.

“Are you really bored… or are you just upset I ate all your snacks?” he asked, looking into Sunoo’s eyes.

Sunoo rolled his eyes. “Dumbass,” he muttered under his breath, tugging his wrist free as he walked into his room.

Ni-ki followed him in without hesitation. “You’re really upset just because I ate your snacks? Seriously, hyung?”

Sunoo plopped down on his bed, crossing his legs with a huff. “Yeah. Why not?”

Ni-ki moved to stand in front of him, his expression softening. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Oh yeah? How?” Sunoo asked, still pouting, though there was a flicker of curiosity in his eyes.

Without answering, Ni-ki leaned down and gently pulled Sunoo toward him, pressing a kiss to his lips. But this time, it wasn’t the rushed, rough kind they sometimes shared in stolen moments—it was soft. Slow. Deliberate.

A quiet apology in the form of a kiss.

One kiss turned into another… then another.

What started as a quiet apology slowly unraveled into something deeper, something neither of them said aloud—but both felt in the space between touches and breathless pauses.

Their clothes fell away piece by piece, forgotten on the floor, as they moved in sync, bodies pulled together like gravity had chosen them for each other.

The room was dim, quiet save for the soft rustle of sheets and the occasional, breathy moan that escaped Sunoo’s lips. Ni-ki’s movements were deep, steady, but unhurried—each motion intentional, his focus entirely on Sunoo. On every reaction he could pull from him. Every sigh. Every tremble.

Sunoo’s fingers curled against Ni-ki’s shoulder, his eyes fluttering shut as warmth bloomed low in his stomach. There was a tenderness in the way Ni-ki held him, kissed his neck, brushed his thumb along his side—like he was memorizing him, not just touching him.

“Ni-ki…” Sunoo whispered, voice fragile, overwhelmed.

“I’m here,” Ni-ki murmured back, lips ghosting over Sunoo’s cheek. “Just feel me.”

And he did

Every part of him ⇜(x ₗᵢₙₖ)

Sunoo’s chest rising and falling in soft, stuttered breaths. His eyes were half-lidded, lashes trembling as they fluttered with every thrust of Ni-ki’s hips.

He looked dazed—lost in it.

The kind of lost that wasn’t frantic, but deep. Pulled under, willingly

Sunoo’s back arched, fingers curling tight into the sheets as the pleasure crested hard. His body trembled in front of Ni-ki, thighs twitching as he cried out—a sound raw and broken, his mouth hanging open in a silent gasp before it melted into a whimper.

White streaks painted across the bedsheets, warm and sudden, his entire frame shuddering as the orgasm rolled through him like a wave too strong to fight.

But Ni-ki didn’t stop.

He stayed buried deep, hips rolling in a rhythm that had softened but didn’t let up, dragging Sunoo through every aftershock—through every flutter and twitch, refusing to let him come down too fast.

Sunoo vision hazy with pleasure, lips parted as he tried to catch his breath.

And then he felt it—that warmth. Sudden, thick, spreading deep inside.

A low, guttural moan rumbled from Ni-ki’s chest, his head falling back as his release hit. His fingers dug into Sunoo’s hips, holding him close like he couldn’t bear to let go, not even for a second.

He stayed there, panting, their skin sticky, their hearts pounding out of sync.

For a long moment, nothing moved but their breathing.

Then Ni-ki looked down at him, still catching his breath, eyes dark but soft around the edges.

“You okay?” he murmured, voice low and rough.

Sunoo nodded slowly, still dazed, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You really made up for those snacks,” he whispered.

Ni-ki laughed—quiet, breathless, and totally wrecked. “I’ll bring you ten bowls next time.”

End.

ᵃⁿᵒⁿ ᵃᶜᵗᵘᵃˡˡʸ ʳᵉqᵘᵉˢᵗ ᵗʰⁱˢ ᵇᵘᵗ ⁱᵈᵏ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ⁱˢ ⁱᵗ ⁿᵒʷ ˢᵒ ⁱ ᶜᵃⁿ'ᵗ ᵃⁿˢʷᵉʳ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʳᵉqᵘᵉˢᵗ ʰᵒᵖᵉ ᵗʰⁱˢ ʳᵉᵃᶜʰ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵃⁿᵒⁿ ᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ᵍⁱʳˡ⁽ᵒʳ ᵇᵒʸ⁾ ⁱ ᶜᵃⁿ'ᵗ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᶠⁱⁿᵈ ᵏⁱˢᵘⁿ ᵒʳ ˢᵘⁿᵏⁱ ᵗᵃᵍˢ ʰᵉʳᵉ😔

#enhypen smut #enhypen links #kim sunoo #enhypen niki #shipping #kpop #homosexual #smut #sunsun #heejake #sunki #kisun #nikisunoo #nishimura riki #jaywon #enhypen hard hours #member x member #enhypen ships #enhypen imagines

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arabe11as · 1 month ago

Text

Is it casual now?

listened to casual by Chappell Roan while writing this soz x sorry it’s soooo long i miss writing my book…˙◠˙

word count: 4.6K 😟

Warnings: Angst / Emotional distress, heartbreak, abandonment, minor conflict, mild language.

You were tucked into the corner of a dimly lit venue in Sheffield—one of those places with sticky floors, peeling gig posters on the walls, and a smell that lived somewhere between stale beer and teenage ambition. Your manager had sent over a last-minute message that morning: “Small band playing tonight—Arctic Monkeys. Might be worth your time. Just pop in, grab a few shots.” You hadn’t heard of them before, but you trusted your manager’s gut—he was rarely wrong about spotting the start of something.

You’d arrived early, camera bag slung over one shoulder, and now you were loitering near the edge of the bar, waiting for the band to appear from whatever backstage broom closet they were probably crammed into. The place was slowly filling out with groups of kids who looked like they’d spent all afternoon trying to look like they hadn’t tried at all—cheap leather jackets, Converse scuffed to hell, and eyeliner smudged with intention.

At the door, someone had been handing out homemade CDs—actual burned discs in slim plastic cases with a printed insert that looked like it had been done on someone’s mum’s printer. You held one in your hands now, examining it under the flickering overhead light. The cover was just a blurry photo of four lads—grainy, high contrast, no frills. On the back, a handwritten tracklist in smudged biro: “Fake Tales of San Francisco,” “Still Take You Home,” “From the Ritz to the Rubble.” You gave a half-laugh. It was charmingly DIY—earnest in that way only young musicians desperate to be heard could be.

You turned the disc over in your hand, already imagining what it might sound like. You lifted your camera, adjusting the settings out of habit. Something told you you’d want to get this right.

You heard the ripple of excitement sweep through the crowd like a wave, people shifting forward, craning their necks toward the stage. A group of girls near the front started squealing, clutching each other like something big was about to happen. You caught the movement near the side curtain—shadows and guitar necks—and immediately stepped toward the barrier.

“Photographer,” you said quickly to the security guy at the front, flashing your lanyard and hoping he wouldn’t ask too many questions. He gave you a once-over—grunted—and then nodded, letting you slip through the gap and crouch just in front of the barrier. Your knees were nearly touching the stage, and you could feel the crowd pulse behind you with restless energy.

And then they came out.

Four lads, barely older than some of the teenagers in the audience—maybe early 20s. There was a jittery kind of confidence to them, like they were still getting used to the idea of being looked at, of being heard.

Alex took center stage, guitar slung low, shaggy fringe falling into his eyes. He was all sharp cheekbones and wiry limbs, dressed in a denim jacket over a too-big T-shirt.

To his left was Jamie—lean, scrappy, with hair that looked like it had been cut with a kitchen knife and an attitude that radiated from his stance alone. His guitar hung slightly crooked, and he played like he didn’t care who was watching—fingers flying, head nodding to his own rhythm.

Nick was behind his bass, standing a little stiffer, like he was still finding his feet on stage. His expression was unreadable, but he kept glancing toward the drummer, like they shared some silent understanding underneath all the noise.

And Matt—back on the kit, tucked into the shadows and half-hidden by cymbals—looked like he was barely old enough to be out of school. But the way he held his sticks told a different story.

You raised your camera, framing the shot through the lens just as the first chord ripped through the speakers.

You can’t lie—you’d gone in expecting a bit of a mess. Four teenage lads from Sheffield playing a dive bar? You figured they’d be loud, a bit chaotic, maybe charming in that amateur sort of way, but probably not much else.

But the second they started playing, that assumption flew out the window.

They were good. Like—actually good.

Within minutes, security was plucking kids out of the crowd like weeds, hauling them down from crowd-surfing attempts. It was absolute chaos, the kind that only happens when a band unexpectedly nails it. You could feel the floor shake beneath you with every bass thump and drum kick.

Alex surprised you most. He was clearly nervous—fidgeting between songs, swallowing hard before stepping up to the mic, shifting on his feet like he wasn’t sure where to plant himself.

And he kept glancing your way.

At first, it felt accidental—just a flick of the eyes toward the lens. But then it happened again. And again. You held your camera steady, finger poised on the shutter, and he looked directly down the barrel of your lens as he sang a line. You caught it. The perfect shot. All attitude and vulnerability wrapped into one split second.

Maybe he was trying to anchor himself—focus on something solid in a room spinning with sound. Or maybe he just liked the idea of someone documenting this moment, freezing it in time. Whatever the reason, it worked.

You’d meant to just take a few shots and slip out quietly—grab enough for your portfolio, maybe send your manager a couple of half-decent edits to prove you’d showed up. That was the plan.

But the band sucked you in.

One song bled into the next, and before you knew it, the lights were flaring for the final chorus, the crowd screaming louder than the amps. You blinked, camera still in hand, and realized you’d stayed for the entire set. Voluntarily. You couldn’t remember the last time that happened.

Alex was grinning by the end, his nerves worn off, replaced with adrenaline and sweat. As he walked to the front of the stage for their last bow, he spotted you again—his gaze locking with yours for a brief moment, before slinging his guitar over his shoulder and following the others offstage, all four of them waving wildly as the crowd howled behind them.

You hung back by the barrier, chatting with one of the security guys, still reeling from the gig’s unexpected magic. The floor was littered with cups and CD inserts, the air thick with heat and leftover sound. You were half-listening when he nodded toward a side door behind you. “Crowd’ll take a while. You might as well go out the fire exit.”

You thanked him, slipping through the door with your gear slung over one shoulder. The hallway was narrow, lined with scuffed white walls and hand-drawn arrows pointing vaguely in different directions. You figured you’d find your way out eventually. How big could the place be?

Apparently, bigger than expected.

You took a wrong turn, then another, weaving past stacked flight cases and half-empty crates of bottled water. Your boots echoed against the concrete as you rounded a corner—and walked straight into someone.

You stumbled, camera swinging forward, fingers tightening just in time to stop it from crashing to the floor. The person jolted too, hands reflexively reaching out as you both stumbled back a step.

“Shit—sorry!” you gasped, heart thudding.

The boy blinked, steadying himself. You recognized him immediately.

It was Alex.

“You alright, love?” Alex said with a grin, reaching out a hand to steady you. His accent was thick, warm, unmistakably Sheffield.

You let out a breathy laugh, heart still racing from nearly dropping your gear. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

He glanced down at the camera hanging from your neck. “Your camera alright?”

“Yeah… I hope so,” you said, brushing your hand over the lens instinctively. It seemed okay. Mostly.

“Aye, you were just photographin’ us, weren’t ya?” he asked, eyes flicking from your camera to your face.

“Yes! Your set was amazing,” you said, still a bit breathless.

He chuckled, cheeks a bit pink from the lingering post-show flush. “Oh, cheers. Can I ’ave a look at your photos?”

Your stomach dropped just slightly—like someone had flicked a switch and the self-doubt started humming in the background. You weren’t even sure what you’d caught. The lighting was wild, they’d been moving constantly, and half the time you were too caught up in the music to even think about framing.

“Uh—yeah. Yeah! Sure,” you stammered, trying not to sound panicked. You flipped through the previews on your camera’s tiny screen, tilting it so he could see.

He leaned in close, one hand resting lightly against the wall beside you as he scrolled through the shots. You braced yourself for a polite nod or a quick “nice one” and a walk-off.

But he didn’t do that.

He stared at the photos for a few beats longer than expected, his brows lifting just slightly. “Bloody hell,” he said softly, pointing to one. “That one’s class. You proper caught Jamie there—look at his stupid face.” He laughed, then tapped another. “This one of me… that’s well good. I don’t usually like seein’ meself in photos, but that’s—yeah. That’s mint, that.”

You blinked, taken aback. That wasn’t a half-arsed compliment. That was real.

You smiled, the nerves in your chest loosening just a bit. “Thanks. Really.”

He looked up at you again, that same grin from the stage curling at the corners of his mouth. “You got a name, then? Or am I just gonna keep callin’ you ‘photographer’ in me head?”

“Y/N,” you said, offering your hand with a smile.

“Y/N!” he repeated, taking it with a firm but warm shake. “Nice to meet you. Lovely name, if you don’t mind me sayin’.”

You felt the flush rise in your cheeks before you could stop it. “Oh—no, it’s fine. Thank you very much, Alex.”

He gave you that grin again, the one that made it hard to tell if he was being cheeky or genuinely sweet. “Could you, uh, email me those photos?” he asked, scratching the back of his neck. “Wanna show me mum and dad ’em. Might finally prove I’m doin’ summat with meself.”

“Of course! What’s your email?” you asked, already pulling a pen and a dog-eared notepad from your jacket pocket.

He leaned against the wall, watching you with a faint smirk as he recited it, slowly enough for you to jot it down. “Perfect, Alex. I’ll edit them and get them over to you.”

“You’re a star,” he said, tapping the bit of paper to his chest. “Can’t wait to see ’em full size. You proper made us look cool, somehow.”

You laughed. “You were cool. That part didn’t take much editing.”

He looked at you then—not just glanced, but looked. Really looked. “You’ve got a bit of a spark about you, y’know that?” he said, head tilted slightly. “Like… you could be out there doin’ big stuff. Proper gigs, magazines ‘n all that.”

You weren’t used to compliments landing so directly. You blinked, feeling suddenly very aware of how close you were standing. “That’s kind of you to say.”

He shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Just callin’ it like I see it.”

You looked down at your watch. “Oh, I—I better get going. It’s getting late.”

“Yeah? You live local?” he asked, the grin fading into something more sincere. “I mean… it’s pitch black out there, and this area’s dodgy as owt after dark. I could walk you, if y’want. Don’t fancy the idea of you wanderin’ round with all that camera gear on your own.”

You hesitated for a beat, not sure if your stomach flipped because of the offer or because of him. Probably both.

“You sure you don’t mind?” you asked.

He held up his hands. “Swear down, it’s no bother. Be a good excuse to stretch me legs.”

You laughed, nodding. “Alright then. Lead the way, Mr. Rock Star.”

He chuckled, falling into step beside you as you headed toward the fire exit. “Careful, Y/N. Call me that again and I might start believin’ it.”

The walk back was surprisingly easy—quiet streets and low-lit houses, your breath curling in the air as the post-gig adrenaline slowly gave way to something gentler.

Alex walked close beside you, hands in his jacket pockets, shoulders hunched slightly against the chill. You chatted about nothing and everything: the setlist, his mum’s obsession with Yorkshire puddings, how Matt once tried to dye his hair with highlighter ink.

Turned out you didn’t live far from each other at all—just a few streets apart. You both laughed when you realised, exchanging exaggerated looks like fate had orchestrated this little detour.

As you reached your flat, you stopped at the door, fishing your keys from your pocket. “Well… this is me,” you said, smiling up at him.

He nodded, rocking on his heels slightly. “Right. Cheers for walkin’ me halfway home,” he joked.

You hesitated for half a second, then: “Do you want to come in for a cup of tea? It’s freezing out here.”

He blinked, as if surprised you asked, then his grin returned, slower this time. “Would love to. Be rude not to, wouldn’t it?”

Inside, your flat was small and warm, walls lined with mismatched prints and the faint scent of vanilla from a candle you’d forgotten to blow out before the gig. You flicked on the kettle and motioned for him to sit wherever.

Alex looked out of place on your little floral armchair, long legs awkwardly tucked in, but he seemed to relax quickly, eyes scanning the room curiously. “You got a proper eye for things, haven’t ya? Even your flat’s got that… artistic vibe. Dead cool.”

You handed him a mug and rolled your eyes playfully. “It’s just IKEA and impulse buys.”

He took a sip, then looked at you over the rim of his cup. “Still. Suits you.”

You sat across from him on the sofa, tucking your legs under yourself. “You’re very complimentary tonight.”

He shrugged, smirking. “Just tellin’ the truth. You’re—” He paused, suddenly hesitant, then muttered, “You’re really pretty, y’know.”

You blinked. “woah so now you think i’m pretty?”

His eyes widened slightly, as if he’d just realised he’d said it out loud. “I—uh… yes?”

You laughed, heat rising to your cheeks again. “You’re smooth, Alex. Really.”

He grinned, looking far too pleased with himself. “Think I’m doin’ alright, aren’t I?”

You tried to hide your smile behind your mug. But yeah—you’d say he was doing more than alright.

You were both curled up in your mismatched living room chairs, your tea long gone cold, but neither of you had noticed. Alex had been on a roll, spinning some ridiculous story about Jamie getting locked in a public toilet in Doncaster, and you couldn’t stop laughing—like, proper laughing, the kind that made your cheeks ache and your stomach hurt.

At some point, between the laughter and the low glow of the lamp, you realised he’d gone quiet.

You glanced over.

He was just… watching you. Softly. Eyes a little dazed like he was seeing something he hadn’t expected. His hand, once resting lazily on the armrest, had somehow made its way to yours—fingers lightly tracing along your knuckles, his thumb brushing the back of your hand like it belonged there.

You finally glanced at the clock.

Shit. It was late. “You should probably get going,” you said gently, trying not to sound like you wanted him to. You stood and reached for his empty mug. “I’ll wash this, then—”

But when you turned around in the kitchen doorway, he was right there.

Standing close—too close—tall and shadowed in the warm lamplight, his chest rising and falling a little slower than yours. You froze. You knew what he was about to do.

And you were scared.

Not of him—never of him. But of the weight behind it. Of what came next.

You’d seen his type before. Boys with guitars and fire in their bellies. Nobody to somebody in the blink of an eye. They always went to London. Or LA. They always left.

And you weren’t sure you could survive being someone a boy like that remembered once, fondly, from home.

Your faces were inches apart. You didn’t look him in the eye.

Then his hand came up, gentle and certain, fingers warm against your cheek, tilting your face to his.

“Alex,” you breathed, your hands finding their way around the back of his neck before you could stop them.

His voice was low, steady. “Say the word and I’ll leave.”

God, you wanted to. You wanted to keep your heart locked up and your head clear. But the word wouldn’t come.

Instead, you leaned in.

And so did he.

Your lips met softly, like the exhale of a thought you’d been holding in too long.

At first, the kiss was gentle—tentative, like neither of you wanted to scare it away. But then his hand slid from your cheek into your hair, and yours pulled him closer by the back of his neck, and suddenly it wasn’t gentle anymore.

Alex kissed like he meant it. Like he’d been holding back all night and finally gave himself permission to stop pretending.

His hands found your waist, gripping softly at first, then tighter, pulling you flush against him. His mouth moved hungrily against yours, hot and unrelenting, as if the quiet tension from earlier had snapped all at once.

He pressed you back against the kitchen counter, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, rough thumbs skimming warm skin. You gasped against his mouth, your own hands tangled in the fabric of his jacket, wanting nothing more than to disappear into him.

You didn’t want to stop. God, you didn’t.

But you forced yourself to, eventually—your heart racing, lips tingling, head spinning as you broke the kiss with a breathless laugh. You gently pushed him back, just enough to meet his eyes.

“Okay,” you whispered, trying to sound firm even as you were grinning, “it’s time for bed.”

He blinked, still a little dazed, then chuckled—low and hoarse. “Fair enough,” he murmured, brushing his thumb across your hip before finally stepping back. “Thanks for the tea. And, y’know… all the rest.”

You nodded, still flushed, still smiling. “Goodnight, Alex.”

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he said softly, stepping backwards toward the door. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

You didn’t trust yourself to say anything more, so you just nodded again and watched him disappear into the dark hallway, the door clicking shut behind him—leaving your flat quiet, your heart racing, and your lips still buzzing with the taste of him.

You must’ve fallen asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow—your dreams still blurred around the edges when your phone buzzed angrily on the bedside table. You groaned, blindly grabbing for it and squinting at the screen.

Your manager’s name flashed across it.

Shit.

You answered with a groggy, “Hello?”

“Y/N,” he said sharply—too sharply for this early. “Care to explain why I’ve got people telling me they saw you leaving the venue last night with Alex Turner?”

You sat up fast, blankets tangled around your legs. “Wait, what?”

“Don’t play dumb,” he snapped. “You were seen going out the fire exit with him. People talk. Venues talk. Bands talk. Why the hell are you interfering with a client?”

You rubbed your temples, heart now racing for a different reason. “It’s not like that. I was just walking home and he—he offered to walk with me. That’s it. We talked. Nothing professional was compromised.”

He snorted. “Come on. Do you think I’m an idiot?”

You exhaled sharply, trying to stay calm. “I wasn’t interfering. I did my job. I got the shots, I delivered them, and that’s all that matters.”

“It better be,” he said coldly. “Because if I see even a hint of anything more than that between you two, you’re done. I’m not risking the company’s credibility so you can play rockstar girlfriend. Got it?”

You sat there, phone pressed to your ear, jaw tight. “Crystal.”

“Good,” he said, then the line clicked dead.

You tossed the phone onto the bed, your stomach twisted in knots. Whatever last night had been… it clearly wasn’t staying quiet.

You moved on autopilot that morning, slamming cupboard doors a little too hard as the kettle boiled, trying to drown out the thoughts that wouldn’t shut up. You told yourself it was fine. You’d send the photos to the company archive, cc your manager, wipe your memory clean of any Alex Turner-shaped smirks or the way he’d kissed you like he meant it.

Last night didn’t happen.

Last night meant nothing.

You didn’t even flinch when the knock came at the door. You half-expected it, like the universe couldn’t resist testing your resolve.

You opened it, and there he was—Alex, all tousled hair and soft brown eyes, a hopeful smile on his face like he was trying to read your mood before stepping inside.

“Hi,” he said, voice warm.

You grabbed his jacket sleeve and yanked him inside before anyone saw.

“Excited to see me?” he teased, amused.

“No, I’m not,” you snapped, a little too fast, a little too sharp.

He blinked, smile fading. “What?”

You shut the door with a sigh and turned to face him, arms crossed tightly. “Alex—last night… nothing can happen between us.”

His brows pulled together. “Oh… I just… I dunno. I thought you were attractive. I wanted to get to know you more.”

You exhaled a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “I know your type, Alex.”

He stepped back slightly, like you’d shoved him. “And what the fuck does that mean?”

“It means I’ve seen this before,” you said, walking past him to pour the boiling water into your mug. “You’re fucking talented, Alex. You’re so fucking talented. Do you not see it?”

He scratched the back of his neck, uncomfortable. “Well… I’d hate to be big-headed.”

You turned to face him again. “Yeah, well, you have the voice of a fucking angel. I photographed a band last year that barely filled a pub. Now they’re on a world tour. They don’t even answer my emails anymore.”

“So?” he asked, voice low.

“So, I’m not going to be one of those girls from back home you forget about when you’re off in New York or Berlin or wherever the hell this thing takes you.”

He looked like he’d swallowed something sharp, but you pressed on.

“Plus—my manager saw me leave with you last night. And he’s not happy. He basically threatened to fire me.”

Alex stood there, stunned, mouth slightly open as if trying to find the right words. But none came.

“Fucking hell, Y/N,” Alex said, running a hand through his hair. “Last night was maybe my fifth gig ever.”

“Yeah,” you said, eyes locked on your tea as steam curled up between you, “and you’ll have a million more soon.”

He scoffed, stepping closer. “So what, I’m not allowed to have a life outside of that? Not allowed to like someone?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” you muttered, though your voice wavered.

“Then what are you saying?” he snapped. “Because it sounds a lot like you’ve already written me off. Like I’m some twat in a leather jacket who’s gonna get signed and forget your name.”

“I’m saying I can’t risk everything for a guy I barely know who might be halfway around the world in a year,” you said, voice sharper now. “I’m saying my job’s on the line. I’m saying I’ve worked too hard to get here to be told I’m ‘interfering with a client’ just because I kissed someone.”

Alex stared at you, stunned. “and what the fuck does this have to do with your manager?”

“He saw me leave with you,” you snapped. “And now he thinks I’m unprofessional. He threatened to fire me if I get involved.”

“So that’s it then?” he asked, incredulous. “Your twat of a manager decides who you can and can’t care about?”

You looked away.

“That’s not fair, Y/N. That’s not you,” he said, softer now, stepping in close again. “Last night wasn’t nothing. You know it wasn’t.”

You blinked hard, eyes stinging. “I don’t get to just follow my heart, Alex. I don’t get that luxury. Not in this job. Not in this world.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Just stood there, staring at you like he was memorising your face.

Then he said, quietly, “Maybe I’m not your client anymore. Maybe I’m just… a lad who really liked kissing you.”

He took a quiet step toward you—then another—until the distance between you melted like sugar in warm tea.

Now he stood inches away, cupping your face with both hands, thumbs brushing against the heat of your cheeks. His eyes were wide, vulnerable in a way that made your chest ache.

“I know you’re scared,” he said softly, his voice laced with something raw. “But I met a girl. A very talented girl. And I really, really like her.”

You inhaled sharply, eyes stinging, and dropped your gaze as your forehead pressed gently against his chest. His hoodie smelled like cheap deodorant and late-night air. You wrapped your arms around him, clinging like maybe you could slow time if you held tight enough.

His arms folded around you in return, steady and warm and safe. For a moment, you just stood there like that—his chin resting lightly on the top of your head, your heartbeat thudding against his ribs.

“I wish it were different,” you murmured against his chest.

He didn’t say anything. Just held you tighter.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him. “It’s not just about my manager. It’s about what happens after. When things take off for you. When you’re not just the lad from Sheffield anymore.”

He frowned. “You think I’ll change.”

“I think… you’ll have to,” you whispered. “And I think I’ll get left behind.”

Silence fell again. He opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, to promise you the world—but nothing came. Because maybe he knew you were right.

And that hurt even more.

You stepped back fully this time, arms falling to your sides. “I need to protect myself, Alex.”

He nodded once, slow and reluctant. “I get it.”

But the look in his eyes said he didn’t. Not really.

He lingered for a second longer, then slowly turned toward the door.

And as he stepped out into the hallway, your flat somehow felt colder than it had all winter.

And now… here you are. Years later. Sitting on your worn-out sofa, legs curled underneath you, a lukewarm cup of coffee forgotten on the table.

A glossy magazine sits open in your lap, and there he is. Alex. Page six.

Hair slicked back, a cigarette hanging artfully from his lips, dressed in something designer that costs more than your rent. His arm draped around some model with perfect teeth and dead eyes. A new girl. There’s always a new girl.

Every. Fucking. Year.

You slam the magazine shut so hard it nearly rips. Your chest is hot, burning like you’ve swallowed acid. You want to scream. You want to smash everything in your apartment—every frame on the wall, every dish in the sink, every memory that still clings to your ribs like it belongs there.

Because you were right.

You’d seen it all before.

And this time, it had happened to you.

Alex Turner: the boy who swore he wasn’t like the rest. The boy who said he really liked you. The boy who held your face and told you not to be scared.

He became everything you feared. And you weren’t special.

Just another stop on his way to somewhere bigger.

Somewhere better.

You breathe through your nose, jaw tight, tears burning at the corners of your eyes but refusing to fall. You won’t cry over him. Not again. Not now.

You stand, walk to the bin, and shove the magazine deep inside.

Out of sight, but never out of mind.

part 2 hHEHEHEEHEH?

#alex turner #arctic monkeys #alex turner fluff #alex turner smut #alex turner x reader #alex turner x y/n #angst #strangers to lovers to strangers

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