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sebastianswallows · 6 months ago

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Nobody's Darling — 1. The Road

— PAIRING: Benny Cross x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: Benny comes across a girl walking alone in the middle of nowhere and offers her a ride to the nearest town. They stop at a motel.

— WARNINGS: none

— WORDCOUNT: 3.1k

— A/N: Hello, my dears! So yeah, I saw The Bikeriders because of Austin (and Tom Hardy) and of course I had to write something for it 😂 I've been labouring at it for the past two weeks lol This was meant to be a one-shot but it kept growing and I decided to split it into chapters. The plot is partly based on something that happened to me, namely I missed my stop and the bus drove me way out of the city before I realised what had happened 💀 Anyway, hope you enjoy it! 😘💕✨

Grey clouds floated across the sky. Fields of yellow and burnt grass rolled along like waves. A string of birds cut through the far horizon. The fading light of the sun seeped softly through the glass and warmed her cheek but she was happy to keep sleeping, caught in that special spot between awake and dreaming when her thoughts were peaceful, settled, and she could weave from them a pretty fantasy. The chill of a November evening didn’t quite make it into the bus but the windows were already fogging and the seats grew cold.

She woke up with a start when the wheels struck a hole in the ground and everything jolted.

“Where am I?” she groaned, squinting at the window. Her reflection frowned back but beyond it, she could see… nothing. She was in the middle of nowhere with only naked fields and swaying power lines around her. She checked her watch and her heart stopped.

“I should’ve been home by now. Oh no, I did not sleep through my stop,” she whispered to herself — but she did. “Wait! Driver!”

She got up and ran to the front, scrambling past all those empty seats, her jacket in one hand and purse flailing in the other. The driver gave her a bored expression as she leaned panting against the divider.

“Wait, please, I need to get off! Where are we?”

The man looked at her with all the serenity of an overworked drone in a dead-end job. He didn’t seem particularly alarmed to see her there, nor did he seem to care about her predicament.

“Halfway to the next town,” he mumbled as he started to slow down. “There’s another stop ‘bout a mile back.”

“Great…”

“Next bus comes tomorrow ‘round seven thirty.”

“Oh.”

She looked around again as if she could see something different from up here but it was all the same. The vastness of it frightened her and she half-wished she’d never woken up.

The driver pulled over at the side of the road and tilted the cap on his bald head, his teeth tight around a toothpick.

“You’ll be alright?”

“Yeah…” she said automatically. “Sure.”

He opened the door and her whole body began to tremble, the situation suddenly completely real. She gathered all her nerves and put one step in front of the other, and as soon as her feet were on the ground the bus started to move again, driving away.

The sun was dipping into a pool of pink and the birds that circled overhead were growing louder. She was alone in a darkening field with nothing in front of and behind her except for lamplight spilling yellow and pale over an empty road and dead grass all around. If she regretted getting off that bus, it was too late now.

“At least it was warm inside,” she muttered. “But I could never make it back in time for work tomorrow from the next town… Damn it.”

There was nothing left to do. She sighed to herself and started walking back. In her head, she tried to calculate how late it would be by the time she made it home but each result only scared her further.

“Best not to think about it,” she said. “Just keep walking…”

She hadn’t gone on such a hike since she was a little girl, and never far outside of town. She’d only walked through fields and meadows and the forest that stretched east. There was certainly no time for it since getting hired at the local newspaper, and she liked it that way. Her days were measured and predictable, her clothes were always clean, and nothing ever hurt her — except her back if she sat down writing for too long. She was scared now not just because she was alone and in the dark but because she’d never done a thing like this before. Her heels were unsteady on the crumbling tar and her purse felt heavy on her shoulder. Insects were singing in the grass and creatures rustled through it that she dared not think about. Were there snakes around here? Rats? She pulled her jacket tighter around herself.

After half an hour she came across the bus stop that the driver mentioned. The sign for it was half-chewed off and the wooden bench was worn and stained a sickly yellow beneath a flickering light. She considered for a moment sleeping there until the morning but then the ignominy hit her: to sleep on a dirty wooden bench under the flutter of moths and mosquitoes. To come home unwashed and stinky with her hair a mess and her stockings torn. And if any of the neighbours saw her… No. She walked past that bus stop and didn’t look back, and soon found herself surrounded by darkness again.

“You deserve it,” she muttered as she wrapped her arms around herself, her body ambling forward with none of the grace and poise she had half an hour before. “How could you fall asleep? You weren’t even that tired, and the bus ride is so noisy. You couldn’t wait another ten minutes to get home? Idiot, idiot…”

The walk back to the city was taking longer than she thought it would, and by eight o’clock she was still out there. The sky was sprinkled with stars and the wind was flitting gently through her hair and the creatures in the bushes were growing ever louder. If she weren’t so cold and terrified she might have felt exhausted. Her feet hurt and her back was bent under the weight of her purse and she hadn’t eaten since noon. But suddenly, in the distance, she saw a glint of something made of glass and metal — it was a phone booth. The joy that rushed through her wiped all her pain away and she hurried to reach it, nearly tripping. She felt halfway home as soon as she stepped inside its murky walls.

“Please work, please work, please please please.”

She picked up the receiver and held it on her shoulder as she opened the phone book and started leafing through for the nearest police station. They would be obliged to come and pick her up — that is if she could only explain where she was…

“Hello? Operator?” But no voice came from the other side. The tone was dead. “Operator?” she tried again, her voice growing shaky. “Hello? Anyone?”

As she kept tapping on the phone hook, desperate to reach someone, a bright light came peeking over the horizon from the direction she had just come from. It couldn’t have belonged to a car but whatever it was that approached her was fast and loud as all hell. She held her breath as she watched it getting bigger, brighter, closer. This was the only driver she’d seen the whole night and she was equal parts hopeful and horrified of just what it could be. After all, what kind of person would be out driving at this hour on a weekday?

She forgot about the telephone as she followed this strange light until it was close enough to blot out all the darkness. It blinded her for a moment but that thunderous rumble soon settled to a pur and it stopped on the other side of the road from her. When her eyes adjusted to the brightness she realised it was a motorcycle, thin and lean and silver.

Its rider propped himself against the ground on one long leg clad in blue jeans and reached into his pocket. He was tall and slender, his figure swathed in shadows, his motions simple but relaxed and almost elegant.

“It doesn’t work,” he said as he lit a cigarette. “Been broken for a while now.”

The flash of flame from his zippo lighter gave her a hint of his face. He was young, perhaps even younger than her, with full pink lips and a slight stubble, soft blue eyes, and a sprinkle of dirt like freckles on his face. There was a wildness to him and an air of gentleness as well, but his jacket was a dark denim and thick with patches, symbols that probably meant something to him — he must’ve belonged to some sort of “club”. She didn’t know much about bikers aside from what she read about them in the papers, but they’d always seemed to be a bunch of layabouts. Aside from drinking far too much and smoking she knew they got into trouble with the law, had fights, caused accidents, and were generally dangerous to be around.

“I’m… just trying to get to town,” she said in a wary voice.

“Well, I’m headed that way.”

She said nothing, her hand still frozen on the telephone.

“Want a ride?”

It was a tempting offer but one that made her shiver. She’d never been around a man like that, never even exchanged words with one, and everything that she expected from his kind — rudeness, lewdness, and a bad attitude — was suspiciously absent from him. He looked at her with those soft eyes, his long leg braced against the road, and waited. She should have accepted his offer, she should have just gotten on his bike and wrapped her arms around him, but… she couldn’t.

“No, thank you.”

He kept on smoking quietly and looked her up and down much as she’d done with him. She wondered what he saw… She was probably a pathetic sight and a strange kind of person to come across in such a place. When his eyes finally left her figure they strayed across the wilderness. There was nothing around them for miles, they both knew that, and other cars wouldn’t be around that road for hours.

“You know how far away you are?” he asked, rolling the cigarette between his fingers.

“I’ll be fine.”

“It’s a long walk.”

“I don’t want to…” She was about to say she didn’t want to ride all the way back with a stranger but instead said, “trouble you.”

He didn’t react at first, keeping that air of stillness about him that made her wonder what he thought. But after a few moments, he nodded and dropped the cigarette, crushed it underneath his boot, and with a leisurely motion mounted his bike once more and revved the engine up. Before she could say another word he’d already sped into the distance and left only a cloud of dust behind.

She almost felt sorry to see him go. Almost felt guilty too… She didn’t want her distrust of him to be so apparent or to cause offence, no matter what kind of a person he was. But she told herself he must’ve been a dangerous man and that she was better off alone than riding back to town with him. Well, she wouldn’t be riding back with anybody now… The telephone line was dead, just as he’d said. The wire must’ve been disconnected somewhere.

She wanted to cry. Instead, she began to walk once more, trudging through the dark.

The sky was as black as a curtain cast across a silent stage and against it lit from below the pale lights of interspersed lamps. The roaring of the bike got slowly lost in the road that lay before her and soon only her steps echoed to remind her of how alone she was. She watched the small light of the rider fade and hugged herself against the cold, holding the purse to her chest as if it could protect her. Her feet were hurting so much she worried they were bleeding and she considered taking them off until she looked down at the road and its uneven dirty tar. She closed her eyes even as she kept on walking, too tired to gaze out at the same old nothingness again.

But then she heard a roar floating on the wind and felt a tremble in her chest as if an earthquake was approaching, and when she opened her eyes again she saw that lone light making its way back to her. He seemed to ride back faster than he did as he was leaving and he reached her in no time at all. She slowed down to a stop and so did he, parking right beside her.

“Hey,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck in an awkward, boyish way. “Look, I’m sorry if I scared you earlier. But I can’t just leave you out here. You sure you don’t want to —”

“Alright,” she said, her voice already weak and weary. She was hungry and cold and scared that she’d never make it back to town that night. Too scared to refuse his help a second time. “Just… just get me to the edge of town. I can make my own way home from there.”

If he was surprised at how quickly she accepted now, he didn’t show it. He simply moved closer to the front of his seat and made space for her behind him.

She took a deep breath and approached him carefully as if he rode a beast, not something made of metal. It looked solid and precariously thin at once and yet he straddled it confidently. The saddle looked just big enough for two. She hopped on as best she could and tried to keep her legs together but when he looked at her over his shoulder he shook his head and laughed.

“Legs on either side,” he said. “You’ll fall off if you ride like that.”

“But, my skirt…”

He looked up and down her legs and she tried not to read too much into the way his eyes had darkened.

“Roll it up,” he said in a low and soothing voice. “Don’t worry. I won’t look.”

She held her breath as she rolled her skirt up high enough so that she could throw her other leg over the side. He waited while she settled into the position and planted her feet firmly.

“Ready? Hang on,” he said as he revved the engine up. “I’ll go real slow, alright?”

“A-alright…” she said as she placed her hands timidly around his waist.

But he didn’t go slow, at least not by her standards.

It was completely different to riding in a car, more visceral and real with no windows to protect her. She let out a little scream and clung to his body more tightly than she meant to, eyes falling shut, legs tightening around his bike. He smelled of gasoline and metal and several days’ worth of sweat cooled down by the chilly autumn night but he felt so solid in her arms, so firm and steady, even as the world flashed by. Eventually, she was brave enough to rest her cheek against his back and opened her eyes to look at the vacant countryside. It was a little frightening, as she expected, but peaceful too. As she fisted her hands in his jacket, right over his heart, she tried to peek over his shoulder but could just see the side of his face, focused and relaxed, and the white circle of the headlight. Somehow, that was enough for her. His hair tickled her forehead, feeling softer than it had any right to be, and she found herself smiling. There was something base and ancient in the way he smelled, the way he spoke, even in the way he moved. It was as if he had in him the blood-memory of an ancient Knight on armoured steed galloping alone and steadfast through the fields and woods of untamed lands.

The outskirts of town were much tamer than that, however, and before long they could see the faint lights of the outermost buildings, squalid flats, and blinking advertisements. When he started slowing down she felt herself breathe a sigh of relief. It must’ve tickled the back of his neck because he bent his head forward as if to get away — or to ask for more.

“Where are we?” she asked once the noise of the motorcycle died down.

“Marshal Avenue,” he said, easing the bike to the side of the road.

She didn’t know exactly where that was, but she guessed they were on the other side of town from where she lived. All along the street were boarded-up shops, derelict flats, and liquor stores. Across from where he parked was a building that looked to be about a hundred years old. She could hardly fathom walking home at that hour, especially through a neighbourhood like that, but it was better than being in the middle of nowhere.

“Well, thank you. For the ride.”

He lit another cigarette and dismounted the bike, rolling his broad shoulders to unwind. She got off quickly, scrambling to cover her legs in the crumpled skirt before he turned around and saw her. He gave her a look over his shoulder when he heard her fussing and slowly turned around.

“You sure you don’t want me to drive you home?”

“Yeah, I… I can walk from here.”

He looked at her and stayed quiet but there was something in his eyes behind that veil of smoke that made her curious about what he had to say. He simply nodded and turned toward that old building behind him. She hugged herself and looked up and down the street, waiting for him to say anything — to ask for money, to make fun of her for thinking she could make it home, to make a pass at her…

“Well, good night,” she said.

And as soon as she started walking away he spoke to her again.

“Hey, it’s kinda late. They got rooms upstairs.”

“What?” she asked, turning on her heels a bit unsteadily.

“Owner knows me,” he shrugged, crushing the cigarette beneath his boot and immediately lighting up another. “Could get you one for cheap.”

She shifted her weight from one foot to another and looked around pretending to think… but her eyes kept coming back to him. He puffed quietly away and gazed at her with no design behind those clear blue eyes, looking just as uncertain and awkward as she felt standing in the middle of the street. She didn’t want to trust him but a part of her responded in the same way that she did when she saw a homeless puppy.

“You mean, a room of my own?”

“Yeah.”

She looked from him to the large building again.

He could probably tell that she was torn because he helpfully supplied, “They got food too. Hungry?”

She was. It had been over twelve hours since she’d eaten or had anything to drink.

“I kind of am.”

“Me too,” he said. “Come on.”

#Benny Cross #The Bikeriders #Benny Cross x Reader #Benny Cross x You #Benny Cross imagine #Austin Butler #Austin Butler imagine #The Bikeriders Fanfiction #Benny The Bikeriders #sswallow;fanfics #fanfic;nobodysdarling #sswallow;made a thing

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littlefireball · 8 months ago

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ᴡʏ|ᴘᴏᴏʟ ꜱ*x (ᴍ)

ʙᴇꜱᴛ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ ᴡᴏᴏʏᴏᴜɴɢ x ʙᴇꜱᴛ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ꜱᴍᴜᴛ/ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ ᴛᴏ ʟᴏᴠᴇʀꜱ/ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴜʀʙᴀᴛᴇ/ᴡᴏᴏʏᴏᴜɴɢ ʜᴀꜱ ᴡᴇᴛ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ ᴏꜰ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ/ᴜɴᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ꜱᴇx/ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.3ᴋ

"Fuck!Y/N!" Wooyoung mind was full of erotic fantasies: you panting underneath him, repeatedly calling out his name; your warm and moist wall enveloping his large cock and occasionally sucking his shaft, making him excited. "Fuck~~" Feeling himself about to climax, Wooyoung increased the speed of his right hand, and finally, with a shout, he came all over the tissue. He gasped for air, slowly calming down and throwing away the tissue.

He couldn't even count how many times he had masturbated today. Ever since you appeared in front of him, his sexual desire had been like a wildfire, ceaseless. You and he were just friends, but his feelings for you clearly went beyond friendship. You were so beautiful─your smile always touched people's hearts, your gentle eyes exuded kindness and warmth. He had liked you for a long time, but he never dared to confess, afraid that you didn't like him back.

-----

"Wooyoung, wanna hang out with us?" Yunho knocked on the door.

"No, I'm going to sleep. Don't know why I'm so tired."

"Okay, rest well."

"I knew he wouldn't come! If you had said Y/N was going out with us, he would have definitely come out." Despite San intentionally speaking softly, Wooyoung could hear him loud and clear.

"Shhhh!! Don't be that loud! He will hear us!" Seonghwa quickly reminded them to be quiet.

"Tsk... those guys..." Wooyoung ignored the others outside and fell asleep, gradually entering dreamland.

-----

"Fuck!! Wooyoung!! You are so big!!" His cock entered your vagina, and a warm sensation drove him crazy.

"Oh! Y/N! You feel so good!" He started thrusting, pushing deep inside, hitting your soft flesh.

"Ahh!! Wooyoung! I'm gonna cum!" The passion inside you burst forth at the sound of your lover's nickname...

"!!!" He woke up suddenly from the dream, sweating profusely. "Did I...!?" He wiped his forehead and sighed, noticing his slight erection. He had already cum several times, and yet he still remained unsatisfied.

"What's wrong with me?"

He shook his head helplessly, realizing that his sexual desire was particularly strong today. But he had no interest in masturbating anymore; he just wanted to sleep and extinguish the burning desire. However, the erotic thoughts in his mind kept driving away the sleep, making it impossible for him to fall asleep again.

"Fine. Just go swimming!" If sleeping wouldn't work, he decided to do some exercise to tire himself out and hopefully make those thoughts disappear.

-----

He dove into the water, his head slightly tilted back, legs moving in a continuous swimming motion, arms stroking powerfully in alternating movements. The cool pool water helped him calm down, and his tense body finally relaxed.

"Ah, I should have come swimming earlier!" He sat by the pool to rest, raising his head to look at the moon hanging high in the sky, the stars dotted in the night sky like a captivating painting.

Just as he was immersed in the moment, a voice pulled him back to reality.

"Wooyoung?" He quickly turned around and saw you walking towards him step by step. Even though you were dressed simply in a T-shirt and shorts, you were still enchanting in Wooyoung's eyes.

"Y...Y/N?" He stammered, feeling guilty as if he had been caught doing something wrong.

"Why do you look at me as if you've seen a ghost?"

You smiled with confusion, sitting by the pool and dipping your feet in the water.

"More frightening than a ghost..." He muttered under his breath, deliberately lowering his voice so you couldn't hear him.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. By the way, why are you here? I thought you couldn't swim." He quickly changed the topic, lying down and pretending to be tired, afraid of you noticing his erection again.

"Can't sleep, so I decided to take a walk. I saw you when passing by the pool. How about you? Are you swimming so late at night?"

"Yeah, I can't sleep either, so I decided to come swimming."

"But there's no lifeguard now, right?"

"Shh!! Don't be so loud, it might cause trouble if we're found out!"

"Oh? So you sneaked in too?"

"Aren't you sneaking in as well?"

"But I don't swim." The two of you bantered like elementary school kids, the process was quite amusing, and the laughter echoed as if afraid that others couldn't hear it.

"I thought you would go out with Yunho and the others. Since we're here in the countryside for a rare vacation, shouldn't you go out and explore?" Wooyoung asked.

Yes, you and the four of them had come to the countryside for a vacation, enjoying the rare holidays.

"Aren't you also not going out with them?"

"I'm just tired."

"Oh? Do you get tired too? Aren't you the most energetic one?" Your joke made him blush and turn his head awkwardly.

"I...I'm going swimming, it's too cold lying down.

Watch him swimming gracefully and fluently. His body lines were soft and his muscles distinct, moving like a fish in the water. This made you unable to help but fall into his beauty. Like him, your insatiable desire ignited unconsciously.

"I look handsome, right?" His words brought you back to reality, and you blushed instantly, avoiding his gaze, not knowing how to respond.

"I noticed that you've been staring at me." He approached the pool again, revealing a charming smile.

"I...I...you're the only thing moving by the pool! Of course, I would naturally look at you!" He couldn't help but chuckle, your explanation was too cute. Embarrassed, you couldn't continue and decided to leave.

"Hey, where are you going?"

"To the room. I'm tired."

"Hey! Y/N- Watch out!"

As you hurriedly walked away, you lost your balance on the slippery ground and fell into the water. Your legs accidentally broke the water surface, creating a splash. You desperately tried to grab onto something around you but couldn't stabilize your body.

"Are you okay??" Wooyoung nervously helped you up.

"Cough- I was so scared." Out of nervousness and fear, you didn't hesitate to cling to Wooyoung's arms.

"Be careful next time, the ground is slippery."

"Hmm... my clothes are soaked, I have to change for a new set."

He unintentionally looked down at your wet upper body. Your chest pressed against his chest and your cleavage fully exposed. The wet white shirt clung to your skin, outlining your graceful curves, and even the sight of your bra was clear. Needless to say, his erect member pressed directly against your lower body, as if eagerly wanting to enter you.

"Fuck..." Wooyoung bit his lip, not knowing what to do, and tried to retract his hand from your waist, but touching your waist made him even more embarrassed.

You suddenly held onto his arms, not letting him go, and shyly bowed your head, softly saying, "Don't move...others might see..."

"Ah...I...you..." His thoughts couldn't function in the blurred mind, unable to form a complete sentence.

"And do you...need help too?" Wooyoung stared at your blushing cheeks, dumbfounded and unable to believe what he just heard. His eyes widened, his chin slightly dropped, and although he tried to close his mouth, his jaw naturally opened.

You didn't know where your confidence came from but didn't consider the possibility of him rejecting you outright and cutting ties with you as a loose woman.

Ah, you really are an idiot.

"Then how can you help me?" He tilted his head, his eyes teasing, and moved closer to you.

"Can I kiss you?" Ah, you've really gone crazy! How could you say something like that? Your mouth is always faster than your brain, blurting things out without thinking.

"I...I...am..." Just as you wanted to apologize, he unexpectedly kissed you.

You felt his soft lips gently cover yours, and a warm feeling surged in your heart. You couldn't help but open your lips, following his kiss. The two of you intertwined your tongues, your breaths overlapping, bringing an infinite sense of sweetness. His hands caressed your hair, stroking your cheeks, and then moved to your waist, creating an indescribable intimacy. Your hands slowly wrapped around his neck, drawing yourself closer to his body. You gradually became entangled, the kisses becoming deeper. The occasional bird chirps, the faint sound of the wind, gradually disappeared in their kiss, only the clear sound of your kissing lingering in your ears.

His hands moved along your waistline to the hem of your clothes, pulling it up. You followed his movements and raised your hands, letting him take off your T-shirt and casually throwing it on the shore.

"I've wanted this for so long."

"Me too." What? Did he really not mishear? An expression of disbelief appeared on his face again, and he couldn't help but kiss your lips. His hands caressed your back, and the cold touch gave you goosebumps but couldn't lower your body temperature.

"I want you, Wooyoung," you left his lips and whispered in his ear.

"But I don't have a condom."

"It's fine. I'll take the pill."

Your lips fiercely intertwined again, the passionate atmosphere evident in the fiery kiss. Your tongues entangled wildly, the kisses no longer gentle but filled with desire and fervor. He caressed your round buttocks, tracing circles along the lines, then moved to the waistband and pulled it down along with the underwear. Your lips momentarily parted from each other, and he lowered his swim trunks to his thighs, freeing his cock.

His size surprised you, the reddened and slightly purple glans still clearly visible on the water's surface. "Tell me if it hurts," you nodded in response, and he gently pressed against your lower body, easily sliding into your inner walls with the help of the water's flow.

"Fuck!! Wooyoung!! You are so big!!" The scene in his dreams came true: you were moaning underneath of him, calling out his name from time to time. When he thrusted, your mouth formed an 'O' shape, astonished by how amazing and well-fitted his size was for you. He lifted your legs to allow you to straddle his waist, fully adapting to each other.

"Please move, Young." Oh fuck! This turns him on harder. He thrusts forcefully, plunging deep with the assistance of the water's flow.

"Fuck! Wooyoung!!" He began thrusting. The speed wasn't fast or slow; the intensity was just right, not too strong to cause pain. The water followed his movements, occasionally splashing against the edge of the pool. You closed the distance between each other, the breaths spraying on your skin, the contrasting cold and hot sensations giving you goosebumps.

"Ah! Ah! Ah!" Your back arched, head resting against the edge of the pool, eyes tightly closed, feeling the satisfaction in your lower body.

"You feel so good, Y/N," he bent down, burying his head in your neck, licking away the dew on your skin, greedily inhaling your scent. His lips brushed against your neck, planting kisses on every inch of skin, occasionally nibbling and leaving crimson red marks. His cock hit your soft flesh without any error, causing your body to writhe with each thrust.

"Mmm~ Harder, please." Upon hearing your request, he braced his hands against the pool edge and began to accelerate and exert more force.

"Ah!! Fuck!!" His skin pressed against your buttocks, hitting without mercy. Your back collided with the cold wall, making a loud banging sound. You felt him penetrate deeper and deeper, the distance between the two of you getting narrower, and your legs bending more.

Your chests pressed tightly against each other, feeling each other's body temperature, breaths, and even hearing the pounding heartbeat clearly. With each deep penetration, you couldn't help but hold your breath.

"Ha! Ha! Emm-" You buried your head in his neck, eyes tightly closed, moaning softly. Unable to make loud noises, you could only make muffled sounds, but it was enough to excite Wooyoung.

Suddenly, he increased his speed, catching you off guard and causing you to moan loudly. "Ahh!! Fuck, Wooyoung!! Slow down!!"

"You don't want me to slow down, I know."

"Fuckkkk!!"

"Louder, my girl." You no longer cared if anyone heard, shouting loudly and clearly for anyone passing by to hear.

"Ah-!!" Wooyoung felt himself nearing climax, and his thrusts became sloppy and lost their rhythm.

"Fuck!" After both of you moaned loudly, you and Wooyoung reached climax together, and Wooyoung kissed your forehead before slowly pulling out of you.

"Was this okay for my first time?" Wooyoung eagerly anticipated your answer, his face filled with pride.

"Why are you so direct?" You lightly tapped his chest, shyly burying your face in his chest, pursing your lips, and softly said in his ear, "It was great."

He couldn't help but laugh out loud, his unrestrainable smile looking like that of a child, filled with pride.

"Let's go back? You must be cold." You nodded, and he kissed your lips again.

You both returned to the shore, and he thoughtfully wrapped towels around yourselves, holding onto your waist with one hand and embracing you tightly, intertwining your arms. He gathered his courage and decided to confess his feelings.

"Y/N? Can you be my girlfriend?" Upon hearing these long-awaited words, you couldn't contain your smile any longer, nodding vigorously.

"Yes."

He joyfully lifted you up and twirled you around, and you exclaimed in surprise. He put you back on the ground and pecked your cheek. Your arms wrapped around each other, deeply intertwined. Cheeks gently pressed against each other, the soft warmth and breath entwining, as if creating a small and safe island for the two of you. In this embrace, time seemed to stop, and the two of you became the entire world.

"I love you, Y/N."

"I love you more."

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez imagines #ateez wooyoung #ateez oneshot #ateez smut #ateez x female reader #ateez x reader #ateez x y/n

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m1ckeyb3rry · 7 months ago

Note

Hello! Recently read your latest Rin piece and fell in love with your writing style :)

If you’re up for it, could I request childhood friends with Hiori? Sorry it’s a little vague, but I love the direction you’ve taken other pieces and wanted to leave the details up to you! My only suggestion on a detail would be maybe sprinkling in some light angst about his parents/backstory.

Thank you for considering!

Synopsis: You spend the years of your youth with Yo Hiori, in a field that’s almost lonely as the two of you.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Hiori x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 6.7k

Content Warnings: childhood friends, hiori is vaguely suicidal and also vaguely homicidal, uhh i feel like i know nothing about him as a character so popping that sexy little ooc warning in there jic, open ending, lots of #nature, almost the entire story takes place in a field so idk, hiori is like. madly in love w reader but he’s nonchalant abt it

A/N: thank you so much anon that means a lot!! cherry tree rin and y/n are so silly (<- affectionate) i’m glad you enjoyed that fic 💖 one thing about me i love a good childhood friends to lovers trope especially with angst…hiori is another character i haven’t written a ton for so i hope i interpreted him correctly and that you like what i decided to do with your prompt!! ty for requesting 🫶🏻

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

The field across from your house was melancholic and desolate, an acre or so of rolling green that bled into trees at the edges. Although by all rights it should’ve been considered a picturesque place, no amount of beauty could take away from the abandoned atmosphere which had long ago settled over the land.

According to your parents, there had been plans for a grand mansion to be built in that location, but before drafts for its construction could be drawn up, the owner had died. The son who had inherited it had no use for the plot, but neither could he be brought to sell the place of his father’s dreams, so the land had sat empty and unused for years upon years.

People thought the area was cursed, and the general consensus was that it ought to be avoided, but your parents did not believe in things like curses and bad luck and whatnot, so they told you it was fine if you wanted to play there. You were a lonely child, prone to wandering off on your own anyways, and you supposed they must’ve reasoned to themselves that it’d be easier if you were close enough that you could run home should something happen.

You would sit in the middle of the field, far from any prying eyes, and you’d admire the blooming plants beneath your feet. It was not just grass — there were a million and one varieties of things growing in that wild place, and you would run your fingers along their leaves, doing your best not to frighten the animals and insects which called that field their home.

They grew accustomed to you with time, and instead of shying away, they invited you into their own world. The squirrels and chipmunks would dash out from their trees to scuttle around your feet and splayed hands, while the dormice would peek out of their burrows without fear, nibbling on whatever seeds they had gathered before settling in for the day. The larks would warble to you, and if you were in a particularly cheery mood, you’d whistle back to them, trying to imitate their melodies but always falling a little short.

The third time you went to the field, you found that someone had arrived before you. For a moment, you thought that he must be a ghost, for he stood in such stark contrast to everything you had come to know that there was no other reasonable explanation for it. He was spindly and pale like a skeleton, and his shaggy hair and eyes were the color of winter, such an unnatural shade compared to the viridian he was surrounded by.

You were contemplating running away when he turned around, his eyes widening when he saw you. In his hands was a soccer ball, and resting on the soccer ball was a large white butterfly, its lazily flapping wings shimmering like a whisper in the sunlight.

You were both silent for a moment, a soft breeze rustling through the field and sounding like a song that urged you towards him despite your misgivings. Tentatively, he held the ball out towards you, but the motion startled the butterfly, which abruptly took to the air, fluttering away before either of you could react.

“Who are you?” you said.

“Yo Hiori,” he said. “Who are you?”

“Y/N L/N,” you said. “I live in the house across the street.”

“We’re neighbors, then,” he said. “My house is a few doors down from yours. Do you come here often?”

“Yes,” you said. “Do you?”

He shook his head ruefully. “This is the first time. My parents think I’m practicing soccer right now.”

“You shouldn’t do that here,” you said, frowning at the thought of him kicking up dirt and slamming a ball around carelessly through your sanctuary. “Go somewhere else if you want to play something so reckless.”

“I don’t,” he said. You furrowed your brow. “Don’t want to practice soccer, I mean.”

“I see,” you said. “Well, this is a good place to run to if that’s the case. No one will come looking for you here.”

“Is that the truth?” he said. “Really?”

“Really,” you said. “Everyone thinks it’s cursed, but in truth, I think that that just means it’s blessed.”

“Ah,” Hiori said. “But do you mind?”

“Do I mind what?” you said.

“If I keep coming here,” he said. “When I want to run away.”

“It doesn’t belong to me. I suppose you could say I belong to it, but that’s neither here nor there. No, I can’t stop you, so why would I mind?” you said.

“Are you some sort of woodland fairy?” he said. You laughed aloud.

“I wish. Are you a ghost?” you said. He shook his head.

“Nope,” he said.

“Then I guess our claims to this place are equal,” you said. “Anyways, as long as you don’t disturb it too much, I won’t be angry. I’ll do the same for you, don’t worry.”

“I don’t care what you do to it,” he said. “I just want to go somewhere that’s quiet and I can be left alone.”

This much you could understand, and you thought that perhaps Hiori would grow to be an exception to your loneliness, or an addition to it. Not a cure, because that did not exist, but a person who could relish in his own solitude and share in that inexplicable sensation which was your greatest joy.

You never saw him anywhere but in that field. You weren’t sure if he even existed outside of its context, or if he was like the dormice and the larks, a skittish creature who made his home in those grassy divots and only appeared to greet you before running back off to hide once you were gone.

At first, he was even more reserved than the animals had been. Neither of you spoke, but somehow, it happened that you were always in the same place at the same time, and eventually, little by little, the two of you became dependent on one another’s presence. Your life before meeting Hiori was pale and lifeless in comparison to your life after, and the first time you both spoke as friends instead of strangers, you thought to yourself that you could never go back to the way you had previously been.

No longer did you whistle at birds and play with squirrels; instead, you sat across from Hiori and listened to him explain things like soccer and video games. You were not particularly interested in either of these subjects, but as long as it was Hiori, you didn’t mind hearing about them. It was the cadence of his voice you were concerned with, the rise and fall of his words, the soft inflections of each syllable.

You had never had a friend before. It was a personal choice rather than a failing; every person who tried to engage with you was met with the same disdain, for you found no appeal in any such clumsy attempts at camaraderie. In your childish mind, friendship ought to be hard-won and delicately kept, and so it remained that of all the people in the world, Hiori was the only one whose honest company you could prefer.

He was a forlorn and low-spirited boy, the winter to your bursting summer, but his coldness was the inviting sort, like a dusting of snow on a cluster of berries or frost on a forgotten bird’s nest. It did not ward you away but drew you in, your breath fogging in the air as you lay beside him and listened to him ramble on and on about whatever topics struck his fancy.

Sometimes he was prone to muteness, and on those occasions you took it upon yourself to intertwine your fingers with his, pulling him along behind you and naming every plant and tree and flower you passed by, greeting the tittering chipmunks and the cooing larks and the peeping rabbits. He would not say anything, but you knew he was listening, for he would smile slightly whenever you pointed at something he found particularly pleasing.

Every day, he would bring the soccer ball with him. He refused to put it down, but neither did he play with it or even acknowledge its existence; you sensed it vexed him, that it was the source or a symptom of the gloomy undercurrent which ran through his life, but he could not let it go, just like he could never truly be happy in any way that lasted.

“Y/N,” he said once, when you and he were lying on your backs in the grass and watching the clouds drift by. “If you could be any other creature, what would you be?”

“I don’t know,” you said, considering the question seriously. “Maybe a songbird. What about you?”

“I’d be one of those,” he said, pointing at a butterfly floating past. It was a common variety, nondescript and plain and white, but somehow made more beautiful by the ubiquity of its kind.

“Why?” you said.

“I’d live a short but carefree life, and then I would die before anyone could demand anything from me,” he said, smiling slightly and closing his eyes. “Plus, if I could be something as small and pretty as a butterfly in our meadow, then I would be able to spend my entire existence resting on your finger.”

Your meadow. You weren’t sure when it had gone from being a place you visited to a place you owned, but yes, the shift had definitely occurred. You and Hiori loved it, and so it was yours by that right alone. You reached out your hand, setting it on his heart and then closing your own eyes in a mirror of his position.

“I wouldn’t prefer that,” you said. Something cool and soft curled over your fingers; you knew without looking that it was Hiori’s own hand, which would always come to rest against yours like a magnet.

“Hm,” he said.

“I’d get used to you being there,” you explained. “And then one day you’d vanish and I’d be alone again.”

“Would you miss me?” he said.

“Very much,” you said.

“Nobody else would,” he admitted, though he still spoke in an even monotone. “I’d be replaced quickly. Someone just as talented or even better would take my place, and then it’d be like I was never there in the first place.”

“I’d miss you,” you insisted. “I don’t care about talent. You’re someone who’s irreplaceable to me.”

“I see,” he said. “Then I guess, if not a butterfly, I would also want to be a songbird. Like you.”

“We could fly around the world together,” you said.

“Yes,” he said. “The countries I’ve seen in my video games…we could go to them. If we were birds, we could.”

“Maybe we still can,” you said.

“We can’t,” he said. “My parents would never let me.”

“What about when we’re adults? They can’t tell you what to do then, so we can leave them behind and travel wherever we want,” you said.

“It’s a nice dream,” he said.

“Hold onto it,” you said. “That’s the only way it can ever come true.”

“Okay,” he said. “I will.”

Even as you and Hiori became older and made friends outside of one another, there was a sort of solace which only he could provide you and which in turn only you could provide him, so neither of you ever outgrew that field. The moment you got home from school, you’d drop your bag on the counter and run there as fast as you could, hoping to see him before he had to leave for soccer practice. And every time, without fail, he’d be there, waiting where he always was, his small smile widening when he saw you racing towards him.

The contents of your conversations changed, moving from games and plants to complaining about schoolwork and updating one another about your respective social lives and dramas — he went to a private academy for soccer, while you attended the public school that most kids your age went to — but the familiarity never diminished. If anything, it only increased, as any inhibitions you had had in your youths gradually fell away.

“Hiori! You’ll never believe it,” you said, moving his abandoned soccer ball aside and sitting across from him. He did not look up from the pieces of grass he was braiding together, but he nodded to indicate he was listening. “Remember those two guys I was telling you about?”

“The ones who had a crush on the same girl?” he said.

“Yup, those two,” you said. “They finally got into a fistfight over her! It was crazy.”

“Who won?” he said.

“The principal, because he broke up the brawl and suspended them both,” you said. “Thereby ruining their brief romance-novel-moment entirely.”

“That’s a pity,” he said with a snort. “I can’t imagine what possessed them to do something as stupid as beating each other up on school grounds.”

“Love makes people crazy,” you said dramatically, pressing the back of your hand to your forehead and collapsing backwards into the dirt. “You’ll understand when you feel it yourself, silly Hiori.”

“Huh?” he said.

“I mean, one day, you’ll fall madly in love with someone, and then you’ll be inclined to beat another person up for them,” you said.

“What if I already have?” he said. You shot up with a gasp.

“And you didn’t tell me? Who is it? Who, who? You can’t hide stuff like that!” you said.

“It was only a hypothetical,” he said. “There isn’t anyone. What about you? Are you madly in love with someone?”

“You’ll be the first to know when I am, but at the moment, I don’t find myself able to even tolerate any of the boys I go to school with! They’re all disgusting, immature, and insensitive. Just looking at them is enough to make me gag, so forget about falling in love!” you said.

“That sucks,” he said.

“Maybe I’ll be single forever,” you said. “I’ll live alone, with pets and a porch swing and a backyard just like this field, somewhere faraway where no one can find me.”

“What about me?” he said, taking your wrist and tying the braided grass around it like a bracelet.

“Well, I’ll tell you where I am, of course,” you said. “You’re the only one I would want as a visitor.”

“I’ll come every day,” he said.

“At that point, you might as well just live there with me,” you said, rolling your eyes. “It’d save you the time spent traveling back and forth.”

“Would you like me to?” he said. “I thought the point was for you to be alone.”

“If it’s you, then it wouldn’t be so bad,” you said. “Being with you is even better than being alone.”

The sun hit Hiori at the exact moment that he grinned at you, and in the back of your mind, where things were understood but not known, you recognized that of all the beings in that lovely place, he was far and away the loveliest.

A distant and rumbling thunder portended a storm on the day you learned who Hiori really was. He never went to the field if it was raining — there was no excuse for him to escape his home, and so, though you did not much mind the weather, you tended to keep to your room on those days as well. Today, though, the rain was still only a blot on the horizon, which meant you would have a precious few minutes with him before it began to pour and you had to leave again.

“Hey, Hiori,” you said. In an uncharacteristic move, he wasn’t holding onto the soccer ball; instead, it was on the ground, his foot resting atop it, his head bowed towards it and his hands balled into fists at his sides. He glanced up at you, and you were surprised to see that there was a dead, hollow quality to his eyes, which, though always placid and still, were never this shade of dark and dreary. “Is everything okay?”

“Have you ever wanted to kill someone?” he said.

“No,” you said immediately, taken aback. “Have you?”

“No,” he said. “Yes. I’m not sure. I don’t want to do it, but somehow, I want my parents to die.”

Another crack of thunder. You approached Hiori slowly, like he was a deer that would leap away the instant you were close enough to touch him. But he was not a deer, and he stayed preternaturally immobile, his harsh panting the only signal that he was a person and not a statue.

“Do you mean that?” you said when you were near enough to him that you could’ve embraced him if you wanted. “Is that really how you feel, Hiori?”

“Yes,” he said vehemently. “Yes, I mean it more than anything. Everything would be better if they would just die and leave me alone.”

He drew his leg back and slammed it into the ball. It streaked through the field, leaving a muddy rut in its wake, tearing up the grass and the flowers before crashing into a tree with a groan. You stared at the path of devastation it had wrought, wondering how such an innocent object could create such havoc, how such a simple act could have such irreversible consequences.

“That’s what soccer is,” he said when he had caught his breath and noticed your silence. “A tiring game you play to ruin yourself.”

“I thought you liked playing soccer,” you said. “You always told me how good you were at it.”

“Just because I’m good at it doesn’t mean I like it,” he said. “I hate it almost as much as I hate the people that make me play it.”

“Then why do you keep going?” you said. “Why don’t you quit?”

“Because I have to,” he said. “My parents gave birth to me so that I could play soccer and be the best at it. That’s the only role I know how to conform to, so how can I do anything but accept it?”

You wrapped one arm and then the other around his torso, leaning your temple against the dip of his collarbone, turning your back to the blight he had caused and holding onto him as lightning split the sky.

“Don’t ruin yourself,” you said. “Don’t betray who you are because other people tell you to. If you don’t want to play soccer, then don’t. Quit and leave it behind. Maybe everyone else will mock you, but would it be enough if I didn’t? If I alone swore not to think any less of you, then would you be able to do it?”

“No,” he said. Something dripped onto your head, and you thought it had started raining early until you realized that Hiori’s voice was catching on nothing, his heart beating as fast as a mouse’s. “No, it wouldn’t be enough. I have to play soccer.”

“Why?” you said.

“My parents,” he said. “If I don’t play soccer — no, if I’m not good at soccer, they’ll divorce. They’ll divorce and it’ll be my fault, so I have to keep doing it, because no matter how much I hate them, I can’t be — I can’t be the reason that they — that anything bad happens to them.”

The droplets came in quicker succession, but with a final clap of thunder, the sky opened to let the rain out, blurring the line between his tears and the natural precipitation which would’ve occurred whether or not you were there.

You didn’t know what to say to him, so you opted to say nothing, pressing into him for as long as you could before you both had to go, leaving one another behind as you were always forced to. Now, though, there was a proof of your existence in the shape of that ugly gash that his soccer ball had torn into the field, an alteration which was directly a consequence of your actions. In a season or two, it would be grown over, but for the time being, it cheered you to think that the world could no longer avoid acknowledging you, acknowledging that you and Hiori were real, that you were alive and belonged.

In your second year of high school, a boy in your class came up to you, stopped you in the hallway in front of everyone and thrust a bouquet of supermarket flowers into your hands. He asked you to read the attached card, and you obliged, though you had a feeling you already knew what it said.

As you had predicted, it was an invitation to have lunch with him sometime. His cheeks were red and his smile was wide as he waited for you to say yes, but all you could think of when you looked at him was Hiori. How would he feel about this turn of events? Would he be amused or jealous or unfazed entirely? Would it even matter to him? Why were you thinking of him at a time like this?

No, that last question was one you knew the answer to already. The reason why you were thinking of Hiori was the same reason you still went to that field to see him, even though you were far too old to play with mice and birds and clovers now. It was the same reason that you recoiled from any other boy who tried to talk to you — because they were not him, they could never be him. It was because — it was because —

Much to the consternation of the audience you had unwillingly gathered, you handed the card and flowers back to the boy, shaking your head as politely as you could. There was a demand for an explanation on the tip of his tongue, but you left before he could make it. The explanation was not one you wanted to share, so you covered your ears with your hands to drown out the insults he shouted after you and strode away before he could say anything worse.

Hiori was always the first to arrive and the last to leave, so it was no surprise that he was waiting for you where he always was. Today, though, you did not bother with formalities or welcomes or lighthearted questions. You paid no mind to his antsy demeanor, instead catching his hands between your own and squeezing them.

“Y/N—”

“Hiori—”

You both called out each other’s names at the same time, with the same urgency, though there was a layer of despair when he said Y/N, just as there was pleading infused into the way you murmured Hiori.

“You first,” he said, though he looked over your shoulder, staring towards the road instead of at you. “Quickly.”

“Okay,” you said. “A boy asked me out.”

“Oh,” he said, and when his gaze slid onto you, you noticed that for the first time, there was something flaring to life in the blank depths of his irises, a veritable maelstrom of unreadable emotions twisting together and blending into something entirely other than the stillness you had come to expect from him. “What did you say?”

“I refused,” you said. “I couldn’t date him, not in good conscience. Not when I like — not when there’s someone else.”

“Someone else?” he said. “Y/N, please hurry.”

“What’s the matter?” you said, letting go of his hands so that you could instead hold his face. “Hiori, what’s wrong? Did something happen? Are you in trouble with your soccer team? Is that stupid crow boy causing you problems?”

“What? No, no, Karasu’s not done anything worse than usual. It’s my parents, I think they’re growing suspicious of me, I’m afraid they’ll—”

“It’s you,” you said, cutting him short, his haste rubbing off on you. You weren’t sure whether it was his anxiety or your own or some sort of divine premonition, but you suddenly felt an impending doom, as if you had to speak at that exact instant or give up the chance to ever say it again. “Hiori, you’re the reason I said no. It’s because I like you.”

Hiori, who had carved his way into your heart on the very first day you met, who was fond of butterflies and songbirds, who was bashful like winter and gentle like dusk. How could you help it? Of course you liked him. That boy who had reached into the lonely chasm of your soul and ripped it out, turned it into something lighter and warmer and whole…how could you help falling for him?

“Me?” he said in disbelief. “But—”

“So this is where you go, Yo,” a stern voice said. Hiori inhaled sharply, and then he yanked away from you, shoving you behind him, though it was far too late. You knew who had finally found the two of you, and furthermore, there was no way she hadn’t seen you. “This doesn’t look like practicing soccer. How much time have you been wasting in this dump, with this fool of a girl?”

You peered around Hiori’s back, holding onto the hem of his shirt. Fear constricted your throat when you saw a woman who bore an uncanny resemblance to him standing before you, her hands on her hips, a dour expression on her face. Whatever had been sparkling in Hiori at your confession had abruptly disappeared, replaced by an even more severe version of himself.

“It’s not a big deal,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “We just met recently.”

“Not a big deal? Think about how much better at soccer you would be if you actually spent this time practicing instead of messing around! A few minutes every day is the difference between starting for a team and being a substitute, because a few minutes every day turns to hours every week, which turns into days lost every month! You should be ashamed of yourself,” his mother said, marching over and grabbing him by the collar, wrenching him away from you. “From now on, I’ll be supervising your additional practice time. As for you, young lady…don’t even think of coming near him again. He doesn’t need distractions like you getting in the way of his ultimate goal.”

“His ultimate goal?” you said, your audacity surprising even yourself. Without Hiori’s shadow to hide you, you were entirely naked and exposed, but somehow, you found the strength in you to speak up. “What, of being the world’s best soccer player? Have you ever stopped to consider that maybe he doesn’t want that anymore, if he ever did?”

His mother scowled at you. “You are a poison of the worst sort, if you have him doubting what he’s been aiming for since he was young. Stay away from my son. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

She dragged Hiori away before either of you could manage so much as a goodbye. It was the first time since you had met him that you found yourself alone in that field, which suddenly felt so vast that you finally understood why people thought it to be cursed. It had to be, because why else would it have given you Hiori and then taken him away with such a swiftness that it left you reeling?

For a week, you continued to go to the field, just in case he would magically be there, but it was a foregone conclusion that he would not be. Still, you waited, and though the larks sang their songs and the dormice chittered at you sweetly, nothing could set your spirits right when Hiori remained missing.

On the eighth day you spent without him, you didn’t even bother with the field. Instead, you knocked on every door of every house in your small neighborhood, continuing on until the one who answered was the same woman who had stolen Hiori from you.

She remembered you, her expression turning sour at your appearance, like you had shoved a lemon into her mouth. Shockingly, though, she did not slam the door in your face. She only cleared her throat before speaking in the most abrasive voice you had ever had the misfortune of hearing.

“What is it?” she said.

“Hiori — Yo, is he around? I just want to see him one last time. I’ll leave him alone after that if you refuse to budge, but at least let me say goodbye. I won’t ever distract him again if you give me that chance,” you said.

“If I gave you even the slightest leeway, you’d pounce upon it, won’t you? I’m not so daft. I’m sure that, if I let you in now, you’d never leave. In the end, though, it’s irrelevant. Yo’s gone,” she said.

“Gone?” you said. “What do you mean?”

“He’s participating in a soccer training camp called Blue Lock,” his mother said. “The way they raise their players is what his father and I been trying to impress upon him from the start, so we’re glad he made the choice himself to go. Now, he can focus on his own self-improvement instead of brief dalliances that would never last.”

Hiori was gone. There was a deep ache in you, and those words were its source, yet nonetheless, for him, you could only muster up pride. He had finally done it. He had flown somewhere free of the burdens his parents placed on him; to be sure, it was defined by the soccer he despised, but nonetheless he had made the decision to do it on his own. It belonged to him, and he had spent so long without anything to his name but a deserted green that you laughed as you sobbed, leaving him behind for good.

A long time passed before you saw him again, though you watched all of his matches on TV. He had become someone different and yet still familiar while in the Blue Lock program — he was sharper now, sharper and quicker, his eyes constantly burning in the same way they had on the day he had left you. Most notably, you thought that that childish love for soccer which he had had and then lost had blossomed again, now into a stable, unshakeable passion which no one, not even his parents, could take from him.

You had probably also changed, though of course it was harder to recognize it in yourself than in another person. But you were not so sparing with your offers of friendship anymore, and neither were you harsh to every boy who approached you. With Hiori gone, the only reservations you had were feeble and pointless, so you stopped saying no quite as often.

Nothing ever came of these school-type romances. Inevitably, you’d walk home and your eyes would stray to the spot where you had spent so much of your childhood with Hiori, whereupon you would pull out your phone and send a formulaic apology message. Sorry, but it’s not working. There’s nothing wrong with you, but I don’t think we’re a good match for each other. Thanks for taking me out. I really appreciate it.

The longer it became, the less frequently you thought about him. He turned into a memory, fuzzy around the edges with nostalgia and tinged with gold. He was someone you claimed to know around those with a more vested interest in soccer, but deep inside, you had accepted that your path had diverged from his a long time ago. You and Hiori weren’t meant to sit beside one another for eternity; he had been there when you needed him, but it was time for you to stand on your own, as he was clearly doing all of the way over in Blue Lock.

“I can’t believe you’ve finally graduated high school!” your mother said, sniffing as she took a million photos of you standing awkwardly, your diploma in your hands, your gown hanging loosely on your body and the pins holding up your cap jabbing into your scalp. “We’re so proud of you, dear.”

“Next stop, Tokyo!” your father said, swiping at the tears which rolled shamelessly down his cheeks.

You had been accepted into the University of Tokyo, and at the end of the summer, you would move into your own apartment, leagues away from everything you had known for your entire life. It was exciting, but it was also terrifying, because the thought of being all alone in the bustling metropolis still made you break into a cold sweat.

Now that you had officially graduated, it all seemed so much more real. Going to Tokyo, attending university, getting a job and supporting yourself…these were not dreams of a distant future but immediate and pressing concerns that weighed on you.

Once you became a university student and then an adult proper, you visited home less and less. You hardly had the time, and anyways there wasn’t much to do in that town, so instead your parents would take trips up to visit you when they missed you terribly — which was often. They would update you on the happenings of your neighbors, and you would take them to your favorite restaurants and attractions, like they were foreign tourists coming to the country for the first time.

“You know, they finally finished construction on that plot across from our house,” your mother said to you on one such visit, taking a sip of bubble tea to punctuate the outrageous statement. There were streaks of gray in her hair now, and far more lines on her face than there had been when you were younger, but she wore the signs of age with grace and dignity, so that they were weapons instead of faults.

“You never told me someone bought it,” you said. So that was that, then; the last remnants of your tender friendship with a boy you had not spoken to in years was all but destroyed now. It belonged to another person, who would make their own memories on the land, and the thought of two other people standing where you and Hiori once had caused a lump to arise in your throat. It was as much grief for the idyllic days of your childhood as it was for your former best friend. Both were lost to you now, and both you mourned in equal measure, though you knew no amount of crying would ever bring them back.

Perhaps there had been a window of time in which you might’ve been able to reconnect with Hiori, but the idea hadn’t crossed your mind until it was far too late, and you supposed it must’ve been the same for him. Or maybe he had, upon joining Blue Lock and becoming an international celebrity, forgotten about you entirely. It was a possibility, and no matter how much it stung, it was one you did not resent him for.

“Yes, it was a while ago. Apparently, he lived in the area when he was younger, but he left to pursue some athletic career? Anyways, now that he’s rich, he wanted to invest in some property close to home, so as soon as the previous owner died, he swooped in and bought the entire field up. You know, considering how much money he has, the house is downright quaint in its design,” your mother said, shaking her head. She had a penchant for gossip, and you could not count on two hands the amount of days you both had spent giggling with each other about silly, inconsequential matters. This, though, crossed the line — it wasn’t dumb gossip but legitimate news.

“Athletic career? Do you…do you happen to remember what sport?” you said.

“No idea,” your mother said. “Why?”

“Was it soccer?” you said. She choked on a pearl of boba. Absently, you leaned over and slapped her on the back to help dislodge it. She coughed and dabbed at her face with a napkin before nodding.

“Ah, yes, that sounds familiar!” she said. “I think that might be it.”

“I’m going to take the next few days off and visit you guys,” you said. It was a spur of the moment decision, but you could afford it, and something told you that what you would find would be far more valuable than another day at your boring, if not well-paying, job.

“Really? That’s wonderful! You’ll love how things have changed. The place has really come to life in the past couple of years,” she said.

The train ride home from Tokyo was just over two hours, and it ran through a familiar countryside, which you watched for the entire journey, smiling slightly whenever you rushed by a landmark you recognized. By the end, however, it seemed every sight was a landmark of some sort — not the nationally important ones, but the type that was personally significant. The many little places you had visited when you were young…even now, you recollected them with startling clarity.

Your father was delighted that you had returned home with your mother, and the whole house smelled like his cooking when you walked in through the front door. He must’ve begun preparing as soon as you had mentioned that you were coming back for a bit, and the grumble of your stomach warned you that you would regret it if you did not hold off on your investigation until after dinner.

You sat in the same chair you had once sat in and ate the same food you had once eaten. It was your favorite as a little girl, and your father served it to you personally, his lower lip trembling as he ladled two portions onto your plate instead of one. Hardly even a month had passed since he had seen you last, but he had always been an emotional man, bawling like a child at every reunion and separation alike.

The sun was setting when you excused yourself, placing your dishes in the sink and ducking outside under the pretense of needing a walk to digest your food. Well, it was only half a pretense — your father truly had fed you until you thought your stomach might split open, as was characteristic of his affection. You really did need to walk around so that your insides could settle, but more importantly than that, you wanted to confirm the theory which had been brewing in your mind since your mother had brought it up.

As she had said, there was a brand new house across from yours. It was nothing like the grand mansion that the original owner must’ve intended to sit on the land; it had a winsome yet unassuming charm to it, and it only took up about half of the field, while the rest of it had been left entirely alone, still green and wild like you recalled it to be. You were sure that if you looked close enough, you would find the dormice and the squirrels and the chipmunks and the larks exactly where you had left them as well, but you did not have the time nor the patience for that at present.

When you climbed the porch steps, you noticed that to the left of the door was a cushioned swing, atop which a tortoiseshell cat was dozing. At the sound of your footsteps, she opened one champagne-colored eye, but she did not seem to regard you as worthy of her attention, for she promptly closed it and returned to her rest.

Your fingers hesitated on the doorbell, resting on the button, too scared to press down. You didn’t know what you had to be afraid of, but for some reason, you were nervous, a pit forming in your stomach as you deliberated over what to do. Before you could make up your mind, the cat meowed at someone in greeting, jumping off of the swing with a light thud.

Spinning around, you saw that the owner of the house was standing at the bottom of the steps, the cat rubbing against his legs as he beamed up at you. Any lingering doubts of yours dissipated into nothingness at the instant you once again made eye contact with Yo Hiori; like a reflex, the corners of your mouth curved upwards in a fond greeting.

Like always, in his hands was a soccer ball, though more prominent than the ball itself was the butterfly which lay on it in repose. Its white wings were thin and quivering, but curiously, when Hiori held the ball out to you, it did not fly off, instead remaining stationary, waiting for you to reach out and take it.

#hiori x reader #hiori x y/n #hiori x you #hiori yo #bllk x reader #bllk #blue lock #childhood friends #reader insert #m1ckeyb3rry milestone #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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signoferoda · 9 months ago

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BRAVING THE SHADOW- HS

Summary- Harry’s son has night terrors and is in need of a child’s psychiatrist

The nightmares wouldn’t stop. They were on a constant repeat, night after night, plaguing Indis mind. Clowns with jagged teeth and glowing eyes chased him through darkened forests, their menacing laughs echoing in his ears. The ground beneath his feet felt like quicksand, threatening to swallow him whole with each step he took. He could run as fast as he could, but they still caught up to him.

In his dreams, the six year old was always alone. He would call out for his parents or his older brothers, but his voice would get lost in the void, unheard and unanswered. Fear gripped his heart, leaving him helpless in the face of his nightmares. The terror was so palpable that even when he woke, he could still feel his heart racing as if he actually had ran.

Every night was the same, the patterns repeating themselves, leaving Indi exhausted and afraid to close his eyes. He would lie in bed, wide awake, dreading the moment when sleep would claim him once more and plunge him into the depths of his subconscious fears. He tried to stay awake, to fight against the pull of sleep, but eventually, exhaustion would overcome him, and he would drift into fitful slumber.

From early on, Indi had decided that there was no escape from the horrors that awaited him in the darkness of his mind. It was as if his own mind had become a prison, trapping him in a never-ending cycle of fear and despair where each nightmare would take on new forms and shapes, each more terrifying than the last.

During a particularly scary night, Indi's night terrors worsened, tightening their hold on him with each passing moment. He jolted awake with a terrified cry, tears running down his face, frightened to spend another moment alone in his bedroom, the nightlight Harry put up his room doing nothing to help him.

Softly, Indi padded down the hallway, his small feet barely making a sound on the cold floor, his heart still pounding in his chest. He tried his best to be quiet, not wanting to disturb his older brothers who slept peacefully in their respective rooms. Once he reached the doorway of his parents' room, he paused, gathering his courage before gently pushing the wooden door open.

Inside, Harry and Y/N slept soundly, the only light in their room being the bright red numbers of their alarm clock. Indi approached the king sized bed, his bottom lip trembling as he hesitated for a moment before climbing in beside them. He tried his best to be quiet, not wanting to disturb his pregnant mother, whose rest was precious and very much needed. Indi was a worrier but also a nurturing soul. He knew y/n was having trouble getting enough sleep, the pregnancy being particularly hard on her.

Harry stirred awake, blinking away sleep as he felt the bed shift. His heart melted at the sight of his son, his tear-streaked face seeking comfort with him.

"Indi, buddy, what's wrong?" Harry whispered, his voice a comforting murmur in the stillness of the night.

Indi sniffled softly, trying to stifle his sobs as he climbed over Harry to nestle himself between his parents, seeking solace in the warmth of their embrace.

Y/N, stirred next, her maternal instincts instantly on high alert. She turned to see Indi nestled between her and Harry, his small form trembling with fear.

"What's the matter, lovebug?" she whispered, reaching out to stroke his hair gently. Although the other boys had their dads hair, Indi was all y/n. It made her smile as he seeked her comfort.

"I had a bad dream," Indi whispered, his voice barely audible.

Y/N wrapped her arms around Indi, pulling him close to her swollen belly so that he could feel the steady rhythm of the baby's movements beneath his touch, a comforting presence in the darkness of the night.

"It's okay, bug. You're safe now," she murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "We're here."

Harry squeezed Indi's small hand reassuringly, his heart aching at the thought of his son experiencing such fear. "We won't let anything happen to you, Indi. We promise."

With each soothing touch and whispered reassurance, the grip of fear began to loosen its hold on Indi's heart. He knew he would always find comfort in his parents arms so he let go, willing to fight his demons as he drifted off to sleep again. He made a silent vow to himself to be brave, not just for his sake, but for the sake of his soon-to-arrive baby sister. He knew he had to be big and strong for her.

A few days later, Harry and Y/N noticed that Indi's anxiety seemed to linger, dimming his usual playful spirit. Concerned for their son's well-being, they decided to seek professional help and make an appointment with a child psychiatrist.

As the morning of the appointment arrived, Harry and Y/N took on the delicate task of preparing Indi for his visit to the doctor. With tender hands and comforting words, they gently guided him through the morning routine, knowing the significance of the day ahead. Seated around the breakfast table, a hushed atmosphere enveloped the room, punctuated only by the clink of utensils. In a silent glance, Harry and Y/N affirmed their unwavering dedication to stand by Indi through his healing journey.

“Boys, why don’t you two go grab your school stuff whilst we talk to your brother” y/n began, smiling as Theo and Blake nodded and headed off to their rooms to grab their school bags. She nodded at Harry.

"Hey buddy," Harry began, his voice gentle, "Today we're going to visit a special doctor who knows a lot about helping kids feel better when they're feeling worried or scared."

Y/N reached out, placing a comforting hand on Indi's smaller hand. "It's perfectly normal to feel a little nervous, but we want you to know that we're right here beside you, okay? You're not alone in this."

Indi looked up at them, his eyes wide with uncertainty. "But what if the doctor doesn't understand?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Harry smiled reassuringly. "That's why we're going with you, champ. We'll all talk together, and the doctor will listen carefully to everything you have to say. She’s here to help, just like we are."

Y/N nodded in agreement. "And remember, lovebug, it's okay to share how you're feeling. This doctor is really good at figuring out how to make things better, but she need to know what's going on first."

Indi hesitated for a moment before nodding slowly, a small glimmer of hope flickering in his eyes. "Okay," he said softly, "I'll try."

Harry squeezed Indi's hand, his heart swelling with pride. "That's my brave boy," he said, his voice filled with warmth. "We'll get through this together, I promise."

As they entered the psychiatrist's office, Indi clung to his parents' hands, his anxiety heavy in the air. The waiting room was filled with colourful toys and books, but Indi seemed too preoccupied with his thoughts to pay them any attention.

Harry and Y/N sat beside him, offering quiet words of encouragement and support.

"Indi, lovie, it's going to be okay," Y/N whispered, her hand resting gently on his knee.

Harry squeezed Indi's shoulder reassuringly. "You're doing great, little man. We're all here for you."

Indi nodded, his eyes stayed fixated on the door across the room. Every creak of the floorboards made his heart race, anticipation and anxiety warring within him.

Finally, the door opened, and a warm smile greeted them. "Indi?" Dr. Fox called, her voice soft and inviting.

Indi took a deep breath and rose to his feet, his parents following close behind. He stepped into the office, his heart pounding in his chest as he settled into the chair opposite Dr. Fox’s desk, his feet swinging.

"Hello, Indi," Dr. Fox said warmly. "It's nice to meet you. How are you feeling today?"

Indi shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes fixed on the floor. "Okay, I guess," he mumbled, his voice barely audible.

"Can you tell me a little bit about what's been bothering you lately?" Dr Fox asked.

Indi shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his gaze fixed on the floor. "I keep having bad dreams," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Clowns and stuff."

Dr. Fox nodded understandingly. "It sounds like those dreams have been really scary for you. Can you tell me more about them?" Indi hesitated for a moment, looking towards his dad.

“I know it can be scary opening up. But remember that this is a safe space, Dr fox wants to help you buddy.” Harry spoke softly, ruffling his hair.

Dr. Fox nodded “you can take your time”

Indi nodded for a moment before slowly opening up about his nightmares. He described the monsters and clowns that haunted his sleep, the fear that gripped his heart, and the sense of helplessness that lingered long after he woke.Harry and Y/N listened intently, their hearts breaking at the thought of their son struggling with such overwhelming emotions.

As Indi spoke, Dr. Fox listened attentively, offering words of reassurance and validation. She asked gentle questions, guiding him through his emotions and helping him to make sense of his experiences.

"You're a very brave boy for sharing your feelings with us, Indi," Dr. Fox said, her voice filled with warmth and admiration. "It takes a lot of courage to talk about things that scare us." Indi nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Together, they discussed coping strategies and techniques to help Indi manage his anxiety, from deep breathing exercises to creating a calming bedtime routine.

"Sometimes, when we feel scared or anxious, our bodies forget to breathe," Dr. Fox explained. "Taking slow, deep breaths can help calm your mind and relax your body."

Indi nodded, his curiosity piqued. "Like this?" he asked, mimicking the slow inhales and exhales Dr. Fox demonstrated.

"That's perfect, Indi," Dr. Fox said with a smile. "You can practice this whenever you start to feel scared or overwhelmed. Your daddy and mummy can help” the couple nodded, reassuring Indi that they would help in any way they can.

They also talked about creating a bedtime routine that would help Indi feel safe and relaxed before going to sleep.

"Having a consistent routine can signal to your brain that it's time to wind down and relax," Dr. Fox explained. "You could try things like reading a book, taking a warm bath, or listening to calming music."

Indi nodded eagerly, already thinking about which of his dads songs he’d listen to before bed. “Daddy, I want to listen to Fine Line tonight” he exclaimed to his dad, excited to try these thing that would hopefully stop his night terrors.

“I’ll play it for yah, don’t worry bud” Harry smiled. With each new strategy, Harry could see that Indi felt a little more empowered, a little more capable of facing his fears.

By the end of the appointment, Indi seemed a little lighter, a small spark of hope flickering in his eyes. Dr. Fox commended him for his courage in sharing his feelings and reminded him that he was not alone in his struggles.

Leaving the psychiatrist's office, Harry, Y/N, and Indi strolled hand in hand, their worries lightened by the promise of professional guidance.

"Thank you for being so brave today, Indi," Y/N said, squeezing her son's hand affectionately."We're going to get through this together."

#dad!harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #dad!harry #harry styles fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n

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aislynn-wiley1999 · 10 months ago

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An Easy Decision

Sebastian x Reader One Shot

A year after graduating, Sebastian visits you unannounced and old memories stir.

Warnings: Smut, alcohol, making out, oral sex, PinV sex, explicit sexual content, strong language, Minors DNI!

Word Count: 4.4k

Read it on AO3 here! Check out my other stuff as well :)

There was no way to describe how you had been feeling for the past day, month, year. As a fresh adult in the world, life had been increasingly monotonous and usual. Nothing out of place, nothing exciting, nothing frightening, just plain. Hogwarts had been a dream the last three years, but now that you had to work you felt as though the magic had been sucked from your life.

It wasn’t just because of working and surviving, but because your social interactions had dwindled. Work was boring, but it was your own fault. You didn’t know what you wanted to do with your life yet, so you told yourself you had one single year to work in a shop and figure it out. That was in June, and now it is April. Time was running out, and you were scared shitless. Keeping in touch with friends from school proved harder than intended, and while you meant to send letters it became more and more difficult to find ambition. Which was particularly embarrassing, since Slytherin’s were meant to have a never ending supply of ambition.

It was a quiet Friday in the small garment shop, and you were looking forward to the weekend. Nothing out of the ordinary, other than perhaps how quiet the shop was. Sitting behind the counter, reading a book lazily, you glance up when the bell on the door rings.

“Welcome in-” you stop, staring aghast at the person who has walked in, before smiling at them and letting out a small laugh. Sebastian Sallow stood in the doorway, grinning sheepishly at you and your surprised expression. He was one of the few friends you tried to keep in contact with, despite being busy and unmotivated.

“What are you doing here?” you shout out as you walk out from behind the counter. He doesn’t say anything right away as you wrap your arms around him, engulfing him in a hug. You feel him press his head into the crook of your neck, and you squeeze him tightly.

“Figured I would take a little birthday trip down here, visit old friends. Wanted it to be a surprise,” he says, pulling away with a smile. “And I have come to kidnap you on the promise of drinks on me.”

“Oh gods, yes, happy birthday!” you tell him, trying to cover up the fact that you had forgotten. But yes, today was 17 April, and his birthday had only been a few days earlier. “How does it feel to be nineteen?”

He laughs, giving a shrug. “Underwhelming, if anything. Do you have much longer here for the day?” he asks, clearly eager to get out and drink. You shake your head, smiling. “Give me fifteen minutes to count the money and lock up. It’s almost five anyways, and then we can go!”

You busy yourself closing the small shop, glancing up at him with a smile every so often. It was such a delight to see him, after almost a year of being apart. He looked good, tall and confident, and you could tell that he had grown into himself in the last year. There were this lingering feelings for him, of course, when you received a letter or thought of him on occasion, but right now it was just good to see your friend.

With a turn and lock, you closed the shop and the two of you ventured out onto the high street in search of drinks. “I’m thinking that maybe we head somewhere small,” Sebastian said, leading the two of you down the street. You nod, eager to sit and talk and drink. He looked radiant almost, the glow of the low sun illuminating him and his smiling face, his freckles practically glowing. It felt like nothing had changed since the last time you were together, and you loved that.

There was a small corner pub that seemed to beckon him, and he quickly pulled you inside. It was a Friday, so there were few spaces to choose from in the pub, but the two of you found a tiny booth situated in one corner. He left you there to buy the first round of drinks, quickly returning with two pints. Scooting over the accommodate him, the two of you pressed against each other in the tiny space as you drank your drinks.

“Please let me buy the next round, since it’s your bloody birthday,” you say, laughing as he shakes his head no. “This is my treat, for showing up unannounced,” he says, taking a gulp of his drink. “How have things been for you? We really must try to write to each other more.”

It was true, the two of you maybe exchanged letters once a month now. Life had gotten busy, for you and probably for him as well. “I’m mainly just working, nothing exciting,” you say, and then giggle. “This is embarrassing, but I can’t remember the last time I was in a pub on a Friday night.”

“Do you not like going out anymore? We could have gone and just gotten dinner, or even just taken a walk,” he says, his tone concerned. You find these suggestions sweet, a reminder of how caring he can be when he wants to be.

“No, I just don’t have much of a social life, and it would be pretty depressing if I came to the pub alone on a weekend,” you say, taking a swig of your drink. The golden liquid blooms in your chest, creating a warmth inside you. Sebastian nods in an understanding way. “That you be pathetic,” he says, grinning.

You laugh, and he laughs, and it's as though you have not been apart for the past nine months. “What have you been up to?” you ask him, trying to give him a chance to speak. He shrugs. “Same as you, just working. I went to see Ominis yesterday, poor bastard was also not expecting me and is sick as a dog.”

That statement seemed to answer your lingering question about why it was just the two of you out tonight. Unless he planned on more people meeting you there later. “Is anyone else coming tonight?” you ask, trying to get an answer.

Sebastian’s smile wavers a bit, but only for a second. “Did you want other people to come?” he asks, almost trying to get an answer for himself. You shake your head, and he smiles. The two of you continue to drink your drinks, and soon you are staring at an empty cup.

Trying to fish out your wallet, he beats you to it and is at the bar in a flash. “Sebastian, I’m serious. Let me buy you at least one drink tonight as a celebration,” you protest as he comes back with full glasses. He only shakes his head, setting the drinks down.

“You can buy me one when I’m drunk,” he says, grinning. You don’t say anything, just sipping your drink while trying to hide your smile. You watch him out of the corner of my eye, how his throat moves when he swallows the alcohol. Perhaps it's the liquid running through your veins, but he looks better than he did in school. There was this new air of confidence surrounding you, and you wanted to say something bold but couldn’t bring yourself to it. Instead, you gulp the amber liquid in the hopes that the courage comes along the way.

“Woah! I didn’t actually mean that, neither of us need to get drunk before you buy me a drink,” Sebastian says, gently guiding the glass away from you. Giving him a funny look, you pull it back. “You don’t want to get drunk?”

He shakes his head, not smiling as big as he once was. “I don’t, not tonight, not with you.”

That makes you pause mid sip, thinking of all the ways his words could be interpreted. Looking at him, you furrow your eyebrows and hope he elaborates. Sebastian eyes you, looking shy and bashful in an instance. “Do you remember when we went to the Yule ball together last December?” he asks you.

You nod. Of course you did, even though the night hadn’t gone as planned. You had hoped that that was the night everything came full circle, that the two of you would get together. But instead, Sebastian drank too much and ended up throwing up in the bushes outside with you to witness it all. It was something the two of you laughed about later on, but you always felt disappointed.

“I wish I had kissed you that night,” he says, catching you completely off guard. “I regret drinking so much, but I was so nervous and wanted to feel confident, and I screwed it up. I screwed it up with you.”

Your mouth is half hanging open, not sure what to say. You are trying your best to process what he has just told you, just confessed, but you can’t for a minute. He waits expectantly for you to collect your thoughts and respond.

“So… you don’t want to get drunk tonight because… you want to kiss me?” you ask, feeling slow and out of touch. But when Sebastian laughs, it forces you to smile. “What?” you ask him, still smiling.

“I feel like wanting to kiss you is such an entry level requirement for everything else I want from you,” he says, his cheeks immediately turning red after saying that. Your’s go red as well, at what he could be implying. “But, I- why didn’t you say anything?” you ask, unsure of what else to say.

“I didn’t want to mess anything up. I would have rather stayed your friend than, I don’t know, have scared you off with a big confession,” he said quickly. You shake your head, trying to convince him otherwise. “I don’t think you understand how much I would have reciprocated that confession,” you say, smiling.

“And now?” he says, looking at you with a sense of uncertainty. The smile on your face becomes a shy one as you look at him, unsure of how to say everything that you want to say. “I think that I look at you now, and all those feelings seem to have stayed with me. Like nothing has changed even though it’s been nine months since we’ve had a conversation,” you say, speaking truthfully.

You don’t even get to look at the smile on his face for long before Sebastian leans in and presses a quick, soft kiss to your lips, pulling back after only a second. You instinctively lean forward as he pulls away, trying to catch his lips again, but he puts a hand on your arm. “Not here, in a pub surrounded by other people,” he says, his voice a whisper against your ear. You nod, understanding and agreeing. “Let’s go somewhere else, then.”

You nod. “I live with other people, though, and I have like, no privacy,” you tell him. He nods, and then continues. “I’m staying in an inn nearby,” he says, before shaking his head. You furrow your eyebrows in question, and he clarifies. “That just doesn’t seem right, me taking you to an inn. Not now, not after all this time.”

You shake your head at his words, not even having had that thought. “I just want to be near you, to make up for lost time.” The words out of your mouth surprise you with how bold they are, but you don’t back down.

“Let’s just walk around until the morning,” he says, grinning. You smile but you shake your head again. “Take me back with you. I promise, I don’t care where we are.”

He nods before standing up, offering you a hand. You let him pull you out of the booth, and hand in hand you leave the half empty pints on the table.

—-------------------------------------------

The inn room is small, with nothing but a bed, a lamp, and a chest of drawers. There is a small bathroom to the left, and you spot Sebastian’s bags on one side of the floor. The two of you stood a few feet away from each other, unsure of where to go from here. As comfortable as you were with each other, it was clear that neither of you wanted to jump into bed with each other right away.

“This is why I didn’t want to bring you back here,” Sebastian said suddenly, looking embarrassed. You shake your head. “I just don’t know where to start, and I want to do this, I do, but I can’t fathom where to begin,” you say flustered.

“Where to start? You don’t have to start or begin anything. I didn’t bring you here so you could perform or do anything for me. We can talk, or just stand here, or do whatever you want. Don’t feel pressured, and believe me, I’m probably more nervous being with you than you can imagine,” he says, running a hand through his hair with a smile.

His words bring a sense of ease to you, maybe just what you needed to hear at that moment. You step forward until you’re right in front of him, letting him take one of your hands. Gingerly, you stand on your tiptoes and brush a kiss to his lips, waiting for him to move into it. For a moment, the two of you stand nose to nose, and then he closes the gap between you.

The first few seconds are gentle and soft, testing the waters out for both of you. But soon, the movements of your lips become uncoordinated, desperate and fast. His hands find their way to your waist and you tangle yours in his hair. The two of you are standing, practically pulling the other person into them, trying to get as close as possible.

“Can we- go to- the bed?” you breathe out in between kisses. He nods, and you climb onto the bed, pulling his weight on top of you. You let him cradle you as he presses slow kisses to your lips, his pace changing. He stops and looks at you, staring up from underneath him. “We don’t have to do anything else,” he says, looking at your face for hesitation.

“I want to,” you tell him. “I really, really do.”

Sebastian has a look on his face that betrays both nerves and excitement. It’s the same look that he had when he asked you to the Yule ball, over a year ago. He nods again, before pressing another soft kiss to your lips. He pulls back again, looking at you, before attaching his lips to your neck. You sigh, and the soft noise seems to ignite something in his brain.

He rolls both of you over, you being on top of his body now. In one swift move, he maneuvers the two of you so that you are sitting up and straddling him on the bed. The two of you stare at each other for a moment before practically smashing your lips together. There is a sense of urgency as you move, hands exploring each other as lips and tongues move together.

You move your mouth, peppering light kisses along Sebastian’s jaw and down to his neck and you rock your body against him. He groans underneath you, your name leaving his lips as he rakes his hands over your back and down to your ass. Gripping you, he pulls you closer to him. Becoming impatient, you tug on his shirt in the hopes that he takes it off. The two of you break away for a moment, each tearing your own shirt over your body in a quick attempt to undress.

His hands come behind you, wanting to rid you of your bra, but he pauses. “Is this okay?” he asks, with a tone filled with concern. You press a light kiss to his lips, urging him to continue. “I promise I’ll say something if it’s not,” you breathe out, desperate for him to touch you. He seems to understand your urgency, and your bra is on the floor in the next second.

Sebastian stares at your chest, a look of marvel plastered on his face. In an instant, his lips are attached to your nipple, resulting in soft moans from you as you clutch his hair. “I need you, Sebastian,” you whisper as he sucks on the other nipple. He groans in response, pulling himself away from your chest.

You attempt to reach a hand in between the two of you to touch him through his pants, but he stands with you wrapped around him, turning so that he can lay you gently on the bed. He touches your skirt with a light hand, looking at you for any hesitation. You don’t speak, but instead start to gather your skirt so that it bunches around your waist. You look at him, your eyes doing their best to say fuck me, please. Without a single word, you shimmy out of your underwear and invite him in.

Sebastian practically buries his face in you. His mouth and tongue make these obscene sounds as he licks, sucks, kisses, and laps at every part of your sex. The noises mix with the moaning and babbling that emerge from your mouth, and you’re saying these things that you never thought you would say. Things like more, oh fuck, Sebastian, I need more.

His hands are gripping onto the soft flesh of your hips and ass, pulling you closer to him. It almost feels as though he wants to swallow you whole as he works you with his mouth and lips. One of his hands disappears, and then you feel his fingers working their way inside of you. Gasping, you clench around the two fingers he has in you, feeling so full already from him. He moans into you, vibrating your lower half as he starts to pump his fingers in you.

It’s too much, all too much. The way he is absolutely worshiping your body is going to cause you to explode. He’s curled his digits inside of you, his lips sucking like he can’t get enough, and you can feel your legs start to tremble. His name leaves your lips, and he does something extraordinary with his tongue that causes everything to shatter for you.

There’s no way to describe how good this all feels, except that perhaps you have touched the stars. He is still moving his fingers, his tongue, his lips, as you writhe and gasp on the bed. Once it becomes too much, you start to scoot away from his face, but he follows you with his hand.

“Oh god, it’s too much, please Sebastian,” you plead, shaking as he still pumps his hand into you. He’s watching you, his eyes dark and full of lust, as you try to move away from his hand. After a moment, he moves his hand and pulls his fingers out of you. You watched him, embarrassed, as he popped his fingers in his mouth. “Don’t do that,” you say, this shy feeling overcoming you.

“Why not? I just had my face buried in you,” he says, matter of factly, before grinning wickedly at you. You look down to where he is straining in his pants, and the desire to touch him overcomes you again. Sitting up slightly, you reach your hand out to the buttons on his pants.

He moves away from you, instead bending down to kiss you. “Please, let me touch you,” you say, reaching again for him. “I don’t want this to be over too quickly,” he says, cheeks running red.

There’s a pause as you consider what he’s saying, and you look at him with a question written on your face. “I want to fuck you properly, and I know I won’t last if you use your mouth on me,” he explains, now really looking embarrassed.

“Then do it,” you say, a sense of post-orgasm confidence running through you. You’re absolutely aching for him, and with your skirt hiked up and your flesh exposed you want him on you at this moment. There is a desire coursing through you, that only he can satisfy. “Please, Sebastian.”

Without another word, he climbs onto you and devours your lips in a needy kiss. Your bare core presses against his clothed erection, the sensation causing you to moan into his mouth. He immediately starts to grind himself against you, the two of you acting almost like crazed animals as you try to create a sense of friction.

“Take them off,” you say, fiddling with his pants again. This time, he stands and obliges. You watch as he removes his trousers and underclothes, and stare as he bares himself for you. Now there was no sense of hiding from him, no sense of unknown. You clenched around nothing as you watched him give his length two quick pumps, the thought of what to come already driving you insane.

“You know I’ve thought about this for a long time,” he says softly, climbing onto you again. “How I would take you, how you would look, what I would do to you. You’re perfect, absolutely perfect.” His head dips, kissing the outside of your breast. “And I want this to be perfect for you.”

“Sebastian,” you say, coming out more as a gasp than actual words. “Please, I think I might go insane if you don’t touch me.”

There is a hint of a smirk that comes over his face, and you feel him line your bodies up. His head bends down again to kiss you, whispering sweet things as he pulls his lips away. Gently, he slides himself into you, coaxing and teasing so that it causes you to feel every little bit. You both gasp in unison when he is fully inside you, a feeling of fullness and closeness like you had never experienced before.

He doesn’t move for a moment. “I want to hear everything that comes out of your mouth,” he says, commanding you. You nod, the feeling of him already leaving you dazed and delicious. Slowly, he pulls out. And then he pushes in again, slow and deep, and you can’t hold back.

There are these babbling words and sounds coming out of your mouth as he fucks you, rotating and snapping his hips. Words like fuck, oh god, please Sebastian, don’t stop, feels so good. Things you never imagined you would say, at least not before today. But now it feels natural as they tumble out, mixed with gasps and moans. You intentionally tighten slightly around him, and it brings noises and words from him. He’s calling you perfect, so good, an angel, beautiful, and everything else you could want to hear from him.

His thrusts are rhythmic, deep and precise. There is no great urgency between you, instead just relishing in the movements of each other. You bring your legs around his back, hands clawing at his back. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he says, his eyes shut as he moves in and out of you. All you can do is moan in response, no real thoughts left in your head.

But then you feel something else. Sebastian has slipped a sneaky hand in between you, pressing languid circles into your clit as he moves. He has started to get sloppy, his hips snapping with less of a rhythm, and you know he wants you to finish first. The combination of his hand and his length pumping in you cause you to arch away from the bed, his name coming out in gasps as you feel everything. You can feel yourself teetering on the edge of everything, and with one firm press into your clit you fall over.

Everything is on fire on your body, you can’t help it. You grab onto one of your breasts, needing to feel something more as you come. He is still saying things to you, things that only seem to drag out the feeling. “You’re doing so well, oh my god, you look so perfect,” he breathes out, his movement messy. You moan his name loudly one last time, and that’s it for him. He groans, thrusting three more times before collapsing on top of you.

Your legs are still wrapped around him as he buries his head into your hair. He lazily kisses your neck and jaw, as if he wants to taste your skin. Your fingers stroke his hair lightly, both of you breathing loudly and not really moving.

“Was that okay?” he asks suddenly, lifting his head up a bit to look at you.

“I feel like ‘okay’ is a massive understatement,” you tell him, a smile emerging on your face. He matches your smile, pressing a kiss to your lips.

“Why did you not want to bring me here originally?” you ask, causing him to drop his smile. Sebastian thinks for a moment, looking almost embarrassed.

“I just- I felt like you deserved more than the bed at an inn. And I have to go back home in two days, and it just didn’t feel right for you. For how I feel about you, the way I wanted you. But I’m glad you talked me down from thinking that,” he says, his smile returning. You nod, understanding what he means. “And how do you feel about me, or how do you want me?” you ask, almost shyly.

But Sebastian grins wider, and you feel foolish for asking. “I like you. It’s been hard, these last few months without you. And I think that we could be great together, that you should move closer to me or I should move closer to you. If you’ll have me, that is.”

You nod, a sense of relief flooding your mind. He lays his head back on you, and for a moment you say nothing. But then you remember something, and giggle. He lifts his head back up slightly, giving you a confused look.

“You’re still inside me,” you say, moving slightly. His eyes widen and he slips out of you gently, pressing a small kiss to your temple as he does so. He stands up, heading to the bathroom. Pausing in the doorway, he turns to look at you laid out naked on the bed. “So you’ll have me, then?” he asks you with a soft smile.

“Of course I will,” you say, it being one of the easiest decisions you’ve ever made. “Of course, Sebastian.”

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #slytherin #ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow oneshot #eventual smut #friends to lovers

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xtreklx · 1 year ago

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Nightmares ~ Ninja Turtles x reader

Scenario: bayverse Turtles x reader

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: SFW, angst + fluff

A/N: hey guys :3 thank u AGAIN for all of the love on my latest writing! it's so kind and also motivating for me, so keep an eye out for more! I just started a new job but I have a bunch of WIPs so it's rlly hard not to just sit and daydream during my shifts 🤭 but anyslay here's a little self-indulgent scenario for how the turtles would react to their partner having a nightmare. I thought of this after having a nightmare teehee. enjoy!!

__________

~ Leonardo ~

"Y/N? Wake up for me, princess."

You sat up with a start, your chest puffing up and down as heavy breaths left your body. At first, you could barely see what was around you, reality blending together with the horrifying dream you were in mere moments ago. But you came back to your senses as you looked around your bedroom and made eye contact with your boyfriend, who was sitting up next to you on your bed. He was watching you with worry on his face, ready to spring into action. It made your heart swell to see.

"Are you alright?" Leonardo asked you, his blue eyes boring into yours, and you nodded as your face scrunched up with incoming tears, letting your feelings of both fear and relief consume you. He wrapped his strong arms around you gently, pulling you into his lap and holding you against his plastron. You took deep, even breaths, trying to calm yourself down and keep the tears in, and he began to slowly rock you from side to side.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He softly inquired as his hand began to brush smooth strokes down the back of your head. You sighed into the movement, your eyes closing softly. "I don't think I really need to. It wasn't real; my anxiety is just getting the better of me, that's all."

You let out another sigh, the breath quivering slightly, before opening your eyes and looking up at your maskless boyfriend. His gaze was soft, his ocean irises etched with concern but understanding. He didn't say anything, but nodded at you, keeping you in his embrace. You reached your hand up to his cheek, stroking it softly.

"I'm just really scared of losing you. I don't know what I'd do," you whispered, voice cracking and fear taking over. You had unconsciously let go of the tears and allowed them to prick the corners of your eyes again. Leo's gaze hardened with a determination, pulling you impossibly closer to him. His hand moved to cup the underside of your chin, gesturing to look him in the eyes.

"I swear on my honor, princess: you will never have to find out."

~ Raphael ~

You yelped as you woke, your body giving a shake. You pushed yourself up slightly onto your elbows, frantic, and breathing heavily. The frightening nightmare was still in your system, but as you looked around, your mind slowly crept back to the real world. You were in your boyfriend's bedroom, the red covers of the bed you were on and the knitting table in the corner being a dead giveaway. As your mind relaxed, realizing that it had all just been a dream, you closed your eyes for a minute, breathing in and back out a deep sigh of relief.

You returned to reality through taking deep breaths, and you slowly reconnected with your senses; particularly, your hearing. In the background of your momentary freakout had been Raph's low snores, and they came back to you now, growing louder in your brain as you grew more aware of them. You couldn't help but let out a soft giggle. Obviously, nothing had disturbed your 'sleep-like-the-dead' boyfriend.

You slowly opened your eyes back up to look down at the source of the sound beside you. Raphael slept on his stomach to your right, his arms bent upwards at his sides and his head turned in your direction. Normally, when you slept next to each other, he liked having you pressed up against his side as he slept on his stomach, so that you were partly under his massive shell. He liked to say that this was because in any emergency you would be protected, but you knew that was just masquerading his desire to be as close to you as he could be. He was not very communicative at times, sure, but as your relationship grew, you learned how to read his silent admittances of love and desire.

In all of your nightmare commotion, you had moved away from him, so you scooted closer to his side now, laying on your side to face him. You peered up at his sleeping face from your position, maskless and truly at peace, despite the angry snoring implying otherwise. You smiled to yourself as you looked up at him, glad to know that he was getting some much needed sleep.

Suddenly, movement shocked you as Raph re-adjusted in his sleep, and his massive arm was thrown over your waist, tightening and pulling you impossibly closer. You didn't make a sound, hoping not to disturb his slumber, but his snores continued as he held you close.

You smiled to yourself again and focused on the sound of Raph's snores to lull you back to sleep, knowing that you were safe from all harm with him by your side.

~ Donatello ~

You gasped as you woke up, shivers still shaking your body. You came to your senses quickly, realizing that none of it had been real, that it all had been a dream. But it didn't stop the feelings of fear and pain from bubbling into reality with you. And it didn't help that the one person you needed most wasn't by your side, where they were supposed to be.

You sighed out of frustration as you got out of your boyfriend's bed, tears stinging and threatening to spill. You slowly stood up and made your way out of his bedroom towards his lab space. And there Donatello was, hunched in his desk chair, typing furiously away on his computer and glaring at the much-too-bright screens through his tortoise-shell glasses.

"Donnie," you called out to him, voice cracking as you rubbed your eyes, not as accustomed to the brightness as his were. The sound caught his attention immediately as he turned toward you, eye ridges furrowed. "What is it, dove?" You glared at him, frustrated, the sting at the corner of your eyes growing stronger.

"You're not in bed," you stated simply, sounding almost insulted. Despite your tone, Donnie could see the wear that sleep was having on you, and smiled at you softly. "I just need about twenty--"

"I had a nightmare." Your voice cracked again, and the tears did what tears do best. The smile fell off of Don's face as he opened his arms for you, and you stumbled into them as sobs raked your body. He lifted you slightly so that your legs straddled his lap as you cried into his collarbone. You wrapped your arms around his neck and burrowed your face further into his skin. He stroked your back, shushing you softly and whispering comforts into your ear. "It's alright, dove. You're here with me now, I have you."

Your sobs grew softer as he continued to pet you, softly rocking himself and you from side to side. You stayed like that for a few minutes more, and he smiled to himself again as your breathing continued to even, happy to see that you were starting to feel better. "Listen, let me finish up here and then I'll take us back to bed, okay? Does that sound like a good plan?"

You didn't answer, and as Donnie pulled you away from his chest, he saw that you had already cried yourself back to sleep. He chuckled to himself before replacing you, leaning forward to his computer to save his work before standing up from his desk chair, your form still wrapped around him.

~ Michelangelo ~

Michelangelo awoke with a groan, turning from his side to lay on his shell and rubbing his hands over his eyes. Something had just hit him in the face, causing him to wake up. He rolled back over to his side, deciding that it was nothing serious and about to go back to sleep, when the same small thing hit him on the plastron. Two more times.

He opened his eyes to see you thrashing around next to him in his bed, your face scrunched up as you mumbled incoherently. He stared at you for a moment as his groggy brain tried to process what was going on. You had to be sleeping, right? Is it a dream? He sat up on his side of the bed and was dumbstruck for a moment, unsure of what to do. What if he tried to wake you up and it didn't work? Would that make it worse? Or what if he woke you up and you got mad? That would definitely make it worse.

Mikey decided he had to find out, as your thrashing got more violent while he watched. He reached his large hand through your waving fists to reach your shoulder, softly trying to shake you awake. "Angelcakes? Wake up, babygirl," he spoke to you softly. It took a moment of shaking your shoulder, but you startled awake with a yelp, eyes wide and flickering around his bedroom before landing on him.

You sat up slightly so that you were leaning on your elbows, taking a deep breath. "Oh wow," you sighed out. "What a brutal nightmare. I haven't had a dream like that in ages." Your voice cracked as you spoke, partially from sleep and partially from the terrorizing images that wouldn't quite leave your brain yet.

Mikey's brow ridges furrowed for a moment. Out of all the turtle brothers, he was the one who went through nightmares the most often, and he knew exactly how you must be feeling. He watched as your eyes began to well up with tears, and it pained him to see you upset.

His large hands went to cradle your face, tough thumbs softly stroking the apples of your cheeks. "Hey, I'm here with you, angel. Nobody else, just me. No tears. Please?" He smiled at you softly as he whispered to you, before his face lit up. "Hey! Whaddya say we go get a midnight snack to get your mind off of it? Food is always good for clearing the mind~"

You couldn't help but chuckle, matching Mikey's dopey grin with one of your own. You cherished him so much; he always knew exactly how to cheer you up. "Let's do it," you responded to him. He got out of his bed and offered you his hand, guiding you into the kitchen and making you laugh at his jokes all the way. By the time you were chewing on a cold slice of pizza, you had forgotten what the dream was even about, all your focus on the sunshine boy in front of you.

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gaytamorfosi · 5 months ago

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What effect does this have on you?

🇬🇧 ("Che effetto ti fa?" Versione Inglese)

A frightening sense of dizziness won't let me be on this sultry August morning. A small taste of supernatural experience, it lasted a handful of minutes and it was enough. There's no turning back from something like this. That scene repeats itself incessantly before my eyes, my stomach churns and I feel like I'm lacking oxygen, like I'm on the verge of fainting. It is not a fleeting sensation, but a prolonged one, which has clouded my mind for hours while the room seems to slowly turn on itself.

I met Dario thanks to a mutual friend. I couldn't believe that a person with fantasies so similar to mine lived near me. For years I had considered my kinks as an absolutely private and intimate thing, not thinking that I would ever find someone with my same tastes who understood me fully. When I saw Dario, I was pleasantly surprised: he was very handsome, definitely out of my league. Gathering courage, I asked him out. I don't think a bald, overweight bear like me has much of a chance with a guy with a perfect body like Dario, but considering we had several things in common, I thought it was a great opportunity and stepped forward. I was surprised when he said yes; maybe I had a small chance with him.

Last night we went out together and had a wonderful evening. Time flew by and in an instant we found ourselves alone in my house. It was too good to be true. I asked myself if we would have sex, fearing I was rushing things too much: I didn't want to waste this precious opportunity; I really like him a lot.

“We ended up not talking about our fantasies,” he said. “What would you do if you were faced with a person who was actually capable of changing their appearance and becoming someone else?” I had never asked myself this question. "It's a hot fantasy, but I have no idea on how I would react in reality," I replied. At that point, Dario began to undress. I remained a few meters away, surprised and embarrassed. Left with only a pair of shorts on, Dario sank into the armchair and his massive, virile body began to shrink and rejuvenate. In a few seconds he had become a guy who was about twenty years old. I had dreamed of a scene like that many times, but living it was something else entirely. I was speechless in front of that impossible scene. "Don't you like Thomas?" he asked, reading the confusion in my eyes. "He's an English TikToker, as handsome as he is useless and arrogant."

That Thomas wasn't really my type, but I couldn't deny that he was a hot guy. In any case, all that came out of my mouth was an awkward, meaningless babble, and then silence fell. I hadn't yet wrapped my mind around the transformation when Dario's appearance changed again, this time replicating mine, in every way. The only difference was that Dario was standing there wearing only his shorts and with his legs wide open. "What effect does this have on you?" he asked. Once again I didn't know how to respond: it was a scenario I had never even imagined. A sense of excitement mixed with euphoria pervaded me. I had never found myself particularly attractive, but Dario's attitude in my body made it exciting, against all odds. Even before my head could make sense of all this, my body started sending me clear signals: seeing my self-confident copy made me hard. Like a mirror, Dario began to get excited in the same way, while smiling smugly.

I wonder what turned me on... The transformation itself? My reflection? The idea that someone could find me attractive enough to take my shape? I only know that when Dario got up from the chair and his lips touched mine, it was as if the world began to spin in reverse. From that moment on, nothing was the same as before; my heart remained in that room and Dario, by leaving, took with him every possibility of reasoning in a clear and coherent way, leaving me in this state. I never wanted to let him go again, but he promised he'd be back: "I just started rocking your world," he said before disappearing through the door.

#gay body swap #gay tf #gay transformation #gaytamorfosi #male tf #male transformation #male body swap #age swap #age progression #age regression #shrinking #gay male body swap #male muscle growth #gay body switch

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chiibi-chaan · 2 years ago

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Ryomen Sukuna//Obsession. Part 1.

Content warnings// NSFW (+18, minors dni), fem! afab! reader ('she' used as reader's pronoun), Sukuna being out of character , stalking, paranoia, stress leading to sleeping problems, taking sleeping pills (reader), non-con/dub-con, somnophilia, oral (f! receiving), marking (bite marks, hickeys). English is not my first language, I'm sorry if there are mistakes.

synopsis// She was nothing special, just a normal office worker, and yet, she attracted the attention of something she couldn't understand, something she could not even dream of, not even if this dream was a nightmare.

Word count//1.7k

A/N: I don’t really like the end so it’s possible that I’ll do a part 2, if you want it of course. If you have requests please make sure to read the rules beforehand.

Here is the part 2.

⚠︎︎there is dark content in this fiction, which I do not support in real life. Please, stay safe and do not read this if you feel that you could be uncomfortable.

JUJUTSU KAISEN MASTERLIST. MASTERLIST.

It was already late, or at least, late enough for the sky to be imbued with a hue of profound blue. Y/n stepped forward into the street that led to her house, swathed in a coat that provided her with some respite from the chill of the night. She didn't particularly like walking alone at night, but she wasn't overly concerned either, as she knew that the place where she lived was rather safe. Yet, on that particular night, a sense of unease crept upon her, her intuition whispered to her that something was not right, that the further she walked along the sidewalk's cobblestones, the more she felt like she was rushing headlong into the lion's den. Her body was taut, the hair on her arms bristling, while she held the keys to her house firmly in her hand. The absence of light in the street served to heighten her uneasy intuition. The street light had all gone dark, leaving her engulfed in pitch-blackness, with only the feeble moonlight illuminating her path. She kept walking, putting her uneasiness aside and finally reaching her house, opening her front door and then locking it as she stepped inside. She sighed, calming down a little now that she was in the safety of her house. She didn't even have the words to describe what she felt out there, she had the sensation of being scrutinized from all sides, as if eyes were tracking her every move and gesture, and she didn't feel safe at all, she felt like a prey chased by a beast; a beast taking pleasure in frightening her. But now she was safe once again, she was in her house, alone. Or at least, that's what she thought. She removed her coat and her shoes, walking barefoot to her bathroom, and as she looked at her own reflect in the mirror, she sighed again, wincing a little as she saw the dark circles under her eyes. She wrestled with sleep, and when she finally slipped into slumber, she was abruptly jolted awake by dreadful nightmares, as if her mind was being manipulated to show her these terrible things. She was tired, stressed by her work, by what happened earlier, and all she wanted, all she needed, was to sleep. She washed her face and quickly removed her clothes, taking a quick shower and putting on a big shirt and panties as pajamas. She didn't want to take sleeping pills, but she knew that she wouldn't find slumber this night either if she didn't. But what she didn't know, is that taking those pills, was the worst mistake she could ever make in her life, because with this simple action, she gave to the most evil being roaming this earth a chance to finally touch her freely, to finally be able to touch the object of his obsession.

She swallowed the sleeping pills before walking to her bedroom, sitting on the edge of her bed and closing her eyes briefly. Her eyelids felt already heavy and she sighed in relief, the pills apparently already working. she lied down under the bedsheets, falling asleep almost immediately after her head touched her pillow. After a few minutes, the room became suddenly colder, even though the windows were closed. A tall and muscular body appeared in the darkness of the bedroom, coming out of a corner and towering over her sleeping form. His red eyes glowed in the dark as he looked down at her, his lips stretched in an ominous smile while he brushed her cheek with his fingertips. He didn't know why he liked her that much, or why he waited all this time before claiming her, he could just have taken her away, keeping her captive in his domain, where no one would see her, or find her. But he didn't, because he liked to see her free, he liked her smile, and he knew that she wouldn't smile anymore if he took her away. Even if he was tormenting her, playing with both her mind and body, he let her keep some freedom, at least for now.

"...such an ignorant girl... were the nightmares I made you see to your taste? I made sure to let you see some good things sometimes..."

He leaned forwards, whispering with a deep yet low voice, his lips trailing along her jugular before kissing her pulse point. He sat on the edge of the bed, and cradled her face in his hand, his black nails brushing against her cheeks as he leaned down again, a small grunt escaping from his lips as he kissed her. His tongue slipped between her slightly parted lips, and his other hand gripped the headboard, his fingertips digging into the wood, making it crackle under the pressure. He pulled away from the kiss, letting go of her face and then removing the bedsheets covering her body. He licked his lips and smirked as he saw what she was wearing, his gaze trailing down her legs, before staring at her thighs, his hand gripping one of them and squeezing it. He spread her legs, giving himself room between them so that he could lay down comfortably, before pulling up her shirt, kissing and sucking on her skin, more marks blooming on her breasts and shoulders.

"I'm sure that you'll be frightened tomorrow, when you'll see that... But I have no other choice, Y/n... I have to claim your body, to mark it, if not... I will have to take your freedom away..."

He growled softly, his teeth digging into her neck just hard enough to leave a mark. She was in deep slumber, breathing faster from time to time or moaning quietly in her sleep, the faint sound being enough to make his cock hard and twitching in his pants. Sukuna kissed her again, his hands gripping her panties and tearing them apart, not even taking the time to just remove them; he needed her, he waited too long already. He knew that what he did was bad, but he was the embodiment of evil, he was a curse, the king of curses. However, he didn't want to hurt her either, so he made sure to be as gentle as he could, trying to control his strength as he held her. He held her thighs and pulled them over his shoulders, his head facing her cunt. He groaned quietly, his eyes closed briefly as he inhaled her scent. He was mesmerized by her. He was at the same level as a devil, he was a sin, he was the temptation, the snake manipulating the innocent; and yet, here he was, sinning himself in the comfort of between her thighs. He was obsessed, mad with desire, he roamed on this earth for as long as he could remember, he tasted more women that any men, he shared his bed with the prettiest women this world has ever seen, and yet, it's her who made him feel like he was drowning, like he was submerged and out of breath. She took his breath away the moment his eyes landed on her, and he was finally able to breath again now that he was touching her. He kissed her inner thigh and sucked on her skin, leaving more marks behind. His fingers held her thighs firmly, and he finally gave some attention to her cunt. He could hear her gasping and panting as he parted her folds with his tongue, collecting some of her slick and then sucking on her clit. He closed his eyes, holding her thighs a little harder and eating her out like a starving man. He groaned again, his eyes opening in slight surprise when he felt hands gripping his hair, pushing his mouth even harder against her dripping cunt. He looked at her with hooded eyes, grunting quietly and sucking harder on her clit, it seemed like she was half asleep, her eyes half opened and her fingers weakly tugging at his hair, her hips bucking slightly against his face.

"feeling good, pet?"

She whimpered quietly in response, clearly not in her right mind, her eyes glazed over as she fought to stay awake. He closed his eyes again, his big hands gripping the top of her thighs, making her grind against his face harder, his tongue slipping into her. She moaned a little louder, her clit throbbing against the tip of his nose and her fingers tightening their grip on his hair. Her mind was completely foggy, pleasure clouding her brain as she felt her body relax while he made her feel good, all the stress and the frustration she accumulated finally going away. Her back arched a little, and she bit her lip, feeling her orgasm building up deep in her belly.

"That's it, pet... relax and let me take care of you... Just let it all go..."

He grunted softly, his voice sounding so mesmerizing, so bewitching, that she couldn't help but give in to him, her thighs squeezing his head gently. Sukuna looked deep into her eyes, not even blinking as he made her climax on his skilled tongue. He let go of her thighs, letting them fall back down on the mattress, and got on his knees, leaning forwards and kissing her passionately, letting her taste herself on his tongue. His hand cupped the back of her neck, and he held her head close to his, his tongue exploring her mouth as he looked into her half closed eyes with his own hooded ones. He pulled away, slowly letting go of her neck, resting her head back down on her pillow. His fingers brushed some of her hair away from her face, before he stood up, stepping away from her bed, letting his body be engulfed by darkness.

"You're mine, angel... so don't forget what happened tonight, because I'll come back... to claim you as my queen."

#anime #x reader #jujutsu kaisen #manga #sukuna #sukuna smut #sukuna ryomen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #sukuna ryomen smut #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jjk smut #sukuna ryomen x reader #female reader

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goblinontour · 4 days ago

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I Want You Hard

part 6 | series masterlist

or was it him all along?

warnings: implied age gap, angst, smut (not a lot), blowjob, nightmares, (mild) violence, choking (not the sexy kind), weirdness, overthinking, suicidal ideation again, oh, and a bit of daddy kink

word count: 7.6k

Waking up wasn’t exactly pleasant for him. It meant another day of living. And he wasn’t particularly fond of that anymore. The monotony of survival grated on him, the heavy knowledge of his existence weighing like a noose that never fully tightened. But waking up to your warm mouth wrapped around his cock? That was something else.

A better alternative than the usual crack of his joints, the stiff twist of his neck he could never quite finish, leaving his body in a continuous state of dissatisfaction. He’d stretch and contort himself every morning, yanking at muscles and vertebrae as if trying to realign something deeper than just his body. Sometimes, when the frustration boiled over, he twisted his neck so hard it felt like a test of how far he could push before something gave.

There were always cracks, sharp and satisfying in their own way, but never the final one. Never the one that might end the dull, gnawing ache that had nothing to do with his bones and everything to do with the parts of him he couldn’t reach. He didn’t know if he wanted it to snap or if he just wanted the threat of it. Either way, it didn’t matter. The moment always passed, leaving him in the same place he started — alive, irritated, and dissatisfied.

He’d think, sometimes, in those hazy early hours when sleep still clung to him, about how fragile the human body really was. A quick twist, a little more pressure, and it could all be over. The thought didn’t frighten him. If anything, it calmed him, a reminder that the choice was always there.

But he never did. Not because of hope or fear, but because he didn’t deserve an ending. He deserved the cracks without the snap, the tension without the release. The perpetual discomfort was his penance, his way of carrying the weight. That of everything he’d done, of everything he hadn’t.

This — your tongue tracing every ridge and vein — this seemed like the best way to start his day. Waking up to your mouth wrapped around him, to the soft warmth of your body and the slick, obscene sounds you made as you worked him over — felt like a reprieve. A distraction, maybe, but one he wasn’t about to turn down. Your touch dulled the edge, smoothed over the cracks, made the weight just a little lighter. For now.

He hadn’t asked for it. He didn’t need to. You’d grown to know your place in his space. You orbited around him and, somehow, into the cold, dark recesses of his heart. Holding and loving. Taking. Enduring. Soothing him even when he didn’t deserve it. Confusing him in ways he could never articulate. And now, serving him like a little slut — his little slut.

“Keep sucking.” he groaned out, his teeth clenched. The words barely escaped his lips, still sticky and sealed from the spit that always collected in the corners of his mouth while he slept. You paused for a moment, looking up at him, and his gaze burned down at you. “Don’t stop.” he growled.

His hand came down, gripping the back of your head — not to force, not yet, but to guide, to remind you who was in control. You obeyed, lips sealing tighter around him, tongue flattening against the underside of his cock as you moved.

The sounds you made were so wet and so messy they echoed in the quiet room. He hated mornings, but now, he was beginning to hate the idea of this ending even more.

He watched you through half-lidded eyes, his head sinking deeper into the pillow. His thoughts were sluggish, still caught in that liminal space between dreams and wakefulness. There was something almost tender about the way you worked him over, but he didn’t want to admit that — not even to himself. Tenderness wasn’t something he deserved and it wasn’t something he wanted. Or so he told himself.

“Fuck…” he hissed, his hips jerking. “You like this, huh? Waking me up like this, sucking me off like the desperate little thing you are.” His words were harsh, but there was a warmth in them, a heat that betrayed the growing affection he couldn’t snuff out.

You hummed in response, the vibration shooting straight through him. His grip on your hair tightened, and his breath hitched. He was close already — how could he not be? When you were looking up at him like that, like he was the only thing that mattered in your little world? It was maddening.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” he groaned, his voice dropping into a gravelly timbre. His hips bucked again, harder this time, and you gagged slightly, your hands bracing against his thighs. “Take it all. Every fucking inch. Don’t you dare pull away.”

Gripping tightly at the roots, he pushed himself deeper into your throat. He watched you struggle, your lips stretched around him, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. It only made him harder. “Keep…keep sucking me.” he ordered, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “You keep doing that, and I’ll let you taste me as a reward, yeah? Taste my cum…you wanna taste my cum?”

You nodded around him, desperate and eager, your throat tightening as you hummed in response. “That’s my good girl.” he murmured, his hips starting to rock in a steady rhythm. “You’re so fucking perfect like this, you know that? On your knees, choking on me, looking so damn pretty with my cock in your mouth.”

He could feel your tongue pressing against him, your mouth working in sync with the movement of his hips, and it was driving him closer and closer to the edge. “You’re gonna swallow every drop Daddy’s gonna give you, aren’t you? Gonna take it all like the perfect little girl you are.”

You whimpered, your hands gripping his thighs tighter, and he couldn’t help but smirk. “That’s right, sweetheart. You love this…love being used like this.” His pace quickened, his breaths coming out in ragged gasps as he chased his release, knowing you were right there with him, ready to take everything he gave.

His mind wavered, teetering between the animalistic need to use you and an urge to ruin you so completely that no one else could ever piece you back together. The thought of it stirred something primal, clawing at the edges of his restraint. And yet, in the same breath, he imagined cradling you afterward, holding you against his chest like a precious, shattered thing, his whispered words — mine, mine, mine — the only softness he could offer.

Your hand, trembling but determined, slipped up his thigh, your fingertips grazing over the ridges of his muscles as if tracing the fault lines. You lingered there for a moment before sliding higher, brushing against the taut plane of his stomach, where the heat of him was palpable, radiating through the thin barrier of his skin that almost made you wish you could just rip into him. His breath hitched as your touch grew bolder, more insistent, and his hand moved instinctively to cover yours, engulfing it entirely. His palm was rough, calloused, and impossibly large against your smaller one, as if to remind you of the power he held over you, the power you willingly surrendered to him.

His grip tightened, just slightly, a silent command to stay there, to feel the way his body responded to you, twitching under the weight of his own conflicting desires. He wanted to break you and build you back up in the same moment, to destroy and preserve. Madness.

The room seemed to shrink around you, the air heavy with the storm of his thoughts and the weight of your touch. Every small movement felt amplified — the way your thumb repeatedly traced a slow circle over his belly, the way his fingers curled over yours, possessive and protective in equal measure. Unbearable. Yet neither of you moved to break it, the moment, the tension, caught in the fragile, twisted balance of wanting and being wanted.

For now, all he could do was watch you, your lips stretched wide around him, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked him down, your eyes never leaving his. It was too much. Too good. His release was building.

“Shit, sweetie, I’m gonna-” He didn’t finish the sentence, just held your head down as he came, spilling into your throat with a guttural moan that seemed to shake the very foundation of the room. His eyes squeezed shut, his jaw clenched so tight it ached, and for a moment, everything else disappeared — every dark thought, every regret, every ounce of self-loathing. There was only you, only this.

When he finally opened his eyes, you were still there, swallowing everything he gave you, your tongue flicking out to catch what had escaped. The sight of you like this — used, obedient, perfect — sent a shiver deep down and through his spine.

“Good girl.” he murmured, his voice softer now, though no less commanding. He pulled you up, his hand cradling your jaw as he stared into your eyes. “You’re too good to me, you know that?”

You smiled at that, just a small curve of your lips in the shyness. “I just like making you happy, Daddy.” you said quietly.

“Oh, girl…” he breathed, the words spilling out between ragged pants. His chest rose and fell unevenly, and you could feel the tremor in his muscles as his body seemed to sag beneath you. He looked wrecked — more so than you’d ever seen him — and yet, his hands still held you.

His thumb brushed along your jaw, tracing the edge of your cheekbone with an almost unbearable tenderness. His eyes, dark and glassy, roamed your face, committing every detail to memory. He didn’t say anything else for a long moment, just breathed you in, his thumb now sliding down to the curve of your lower lip, pressing lightly as if testing its softness.

You kissed the pad of his thumb instinctively, and something flickered in his expression — a mixture of vulnerability and hunger, the kind of look that made you feel like you were teetering on the edge of something dangerous.

“You’re something else, sweet-face.” he murmured. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You don’t get to decide that.” you whispered, your hands sliding up his arms, feeling the tension still coiled in his biceps.

His grip tightened, only slightly, his fingers digging into the curve of your hips, grounding himself in the warmth of you. He didn’t respond — not with words, anyway. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. His breath fanned over your lips, warm and uneven, and you felt the way his body sagged further, his strength momentarily giving way to weightlessness.

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was thick, heavy with meaning. But it wasn’t suffocating. His lack of words didn’t bother you — it never had. His hands, his touch, his presence — they spoke volumes more than his voice ever could. And right now, those hands were everything, holding you steady, reminding you that you were his and he was yours, in whatever twisted, imperfect way you’d found each other.

“Stay like this.” he muttered, his voice almost inaudible. The words were more for himself than for you. His fingers slid up your back, tracing the curve of your spine, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. “Just for a little longer.”

“‘m not going anywhere.” you said softly, your own hands now finding the back of his neck, your fingers threading through his hair. It felt greasy in between them.

He exhaled deeply, his breath shuddering as if the reassurance had drained something from him. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer, his touch no longer rough or demanding. For the first time, he looked at you like he didn’t know how he’d ever let you go. And for the first time, you thought you saw something in his eyes that wasn’t just hunger or possession — it was need. Raw and painful and entirely human.

You stayed like that, tangled together in the quiet, letting the moment stretch until it became something neither of you dared to break.

Sunlight streaked through the windows, chasing the cold from the corners of the room but not entirely succeeding. It just pooled on the wooden floor and cast everything in a soft, golden glow. It caught his hair just right, almost like it was kissing it, illuminating it like a halo that seemed almost ironic against the sharp focus of his expression. The sweater — his thick sweater — hung off your frame, swallowing you whole, its fabric brushing against your thighs as you stood there watching him. He’d thrown it over your shoulders earlier. The warmth of it was undeniable, but the chill in the room still found its way to your exposed skin, prickling against the contrast of his lingering scent embedded in the threads.

“Alexander?” you called, your voice light but insistent, breaking the steady rhythm of the blade scraping against the stone.

He didn’t look up. A low hum escaped his throat from where he sat cross-legged on the floor, acknowledging you but keeping his focus. His spine was straight, his shoulders loose, but his thighs gripped the sharpening stone tightly, keeping it in place as his hands moved with practiced precision, the motion almost hypnotic in its repetition of drawing the blade down with a sound that sent tiny shivers down your spine.

“Al?” you tried again, softer this time, testing.

His hands stilled mid-motion, the blade poised mid-drag, hovering just above the stone. The furrow in his brow deepened as he snapped his head toward you, his eyes sharp and questioning.

He hated how that name sounded coming from your lips. Too casual, too intimate, too much like you thought you knew him. Like you had some claim over him. It was dangerous, the way you wielded familiarity like a weapon, soft and subtle but no less sharp.

Al. The syllable grated against something inside him, an old wound he thought he’d buried deep. That name didn’t belong here, didn’t belong to you. It belonged to another life, another version of him, one that was long gone. Wasn’t it? And yet, hearing it from you — it didn’t just sting. It burned, seared its way through the walls he’d built and made him want to — what? Push you away? Pull you closer? He wasn’t so sure anymore.

You don’t know me, he thought bitterly, though the words felt hollow even in his own mind. Because you did know him, didn’t you? Or at least the pieces he’d allowed you to see. Maybe that was the real problem.

His fingers twitched against the blade, a faint tremor betraying the steadiness he usually prided himself on. He didn’t want to think about why you saying his name felt like a violation and a comfort all at once. Didn’t want to examine the way his chest tightened, how it wasn’t entirely…unpleasant.

Because if he started to unravel that thread, he wasn’t sure he’d like what he found at the other end.

“Why did you call me that?” His voice was low, steady, but there was something underneath it, something taut and wound too tight — disapproval, confusion, maybe both.

The suddenness of his reaction made your breath hitch. “I- what do you mean? It’s just…a nickname.” you said softly, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the sweater’s sleeve. “I just…thought it’d be okay. Isn’t it?”

His jaw tightened. He stared at you, the weight of his gaze making your chest feel heavier. His knuckles whitened around the handle of the blade as though the mere sound of your voice had disrupted something within him. He set it aside on the stone with deliberate precision, his gaze locking on you in a way that not only made you feel small, but like you’d stepped somewhere you shouldn’t have.

“No one calls me that.” he said finally, his tone quieter but no less intense. “Not like that.”

The way he said it made you feel like you’d…touched something fragile. You weren’t sure if he was angry or just…exposed.

“Why not?” you asked.

His lips pressed into a thin line, unflinching. “Because they don’t. And they won’t.”

Your fingers twitched at your sides, resisting the urge to retreat. “It’s just a name…”

“It’s not ‘just a name.’” He leaned forward slightly, the movement subtle but enough to make you feel threatened by his presence even from across the room. “You think you can just call me whatever you want? That you know me enough to-”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” you interrupted, your voice trembling slightly.

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “You didn’t mean it.” he repeated. “You don’t think, do you? You just…speak.”

The words stung, but there was something, some…a frustration that didn’t feel entirely aimed at you.

You dropped your gaze, the fabric of his sweater bunching under your grip as you kept twisting the hem in your fingers. “I just thought it’d be nice.” you murmured. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m sorry. I just-” you continued, taking a cautious step closer.

“Don’t.” he interrupted this time, his voice softening slightly as he looked away, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. “Just don’t.”

The silence stretched, the only sound audible being the faint scrape of the blade as he resumed his work, slower this time, less precise, the rhythm uneven. You wanted to press, to ask why it mattered so much, but the set of his jaw and the slight downturn of his lips warned you against it. Instead, you sat down on the edge of the chair nearest him, your hands tugging at the sleeves of his sweater that dwarfed you. The air felt heavier now, charged with something unspoken.

A soft brush against your ankle drew your attention.

The cat — Lulu — had wandered over, her sleek black fur catching the sunlight as she rubbed against you. You crouched down instinctively, your fingers running through her fur as she purred, her tail curling around your wrist.

“She likes you.” Alexander said suddenly, like he’d sensed it without even looking at you, or looking up at all.

“She’s sweet.” She leaned into your touch.

Alexander shifted slightly, adjusting back to his cross-legged position on the floor.

“She likes most people.” he said, his tone flat, almost indifferent. “Isn’t there some saying about animals being like their owners? She didn’t get that from me, but I guess…”

You glanced at him, your brows furrowing at the pause. “But you guess what?”

His mouth twitched, the corner lifting in a half-smile. “Maybe I’ve got a little softness somewhere, buried deep. You’d know better than me at this point.”

You let out a quiet laugh, the sound light and warm in the cool air of the room. “Is that your way of saying you like me?”

The scrape of the blade against the stone stilled again. He didn’t look up, but his hand tightened on the hilt of the knife, his knuckles going white for a brief second before he relaxed again.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, sweetie.” Sharp but he lacked the venom he might’ve carried in another moment. “I’m not the one petting my cat like she’s some kind of sacred treasure.”

You laughed again, a little louder this time, and the cat’s ears twitched at the sound. “Well, someone has to make up for your lack of affection.” you teased, scratching under the chin.

“I give affection.” he said, almost defensively. “You just don’t notice it.”

“Oh?” you said, raising a brow. “When exactly was that?”

He tilted his head, considering you for a moment before smirking faintly. “You’re wearing my sweater, aren’t you?”

You glanced down at yourself. “I meant towards Lulu. Plus, this doesn’t count.” you said. “You practically threw it at me.”

“And you didn’t give it back.” he shot back, his smirk widening. “Seems to me like you’re the clingy one here.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you stood. The cat stretched lazily at your feet, rubbing her head against your ankle before padding off toward the window. “You’re impossible, Alexander.”

“I know.” he said, leaning back on his hands as his eyes followed you. “But here you are.” He paused and glanced over his shoulder at you. “Wearing my stuff. Invading my space.” His gaze raked over you slowly, before his eyes flicked back up to meet yours. “Guess I must be doing something right.”

Your cheeks warmed under his scrutiny, but you didn’t look away. “Or maybe I’m just very patient.”

His grin widened. “Keep telling yourself that, sweets.” You opened your mouth to respond, but he held up a hand, silencing you. “Don’t. You’ll just say something else you’ll regret.”

“Does it bother you when I say your name?” you asked anyway, careful to keep your voice gentle.

He didn’t answer right away. But then he sighed.

“It’s not that.” he admitted. “It’s just…different when it’s…you.”

“Different how?”

He shook his head, a small, almost imperceptible shake. “It just is.”

“Okay.” you said simply, your voice light, almost breezy, as though the moment hadn’t just shifted into something unspoken and strange. But it had. You could feel it like a current beneath your skin, humming, pulling, insistent.

You didn’t push him further, though. You could tell — by the way his hands resumed their methodical motion, the blade dragging across the stone — that whatever it was, he wasn’t ready to put it into words. Maybe he didn’t even have the words.

Still, your eyes stayed on him, drawn like a moth to flame. The light from the window carved him in sharp shapes all over, shadows along the lines of his face, the hollow of his throat, the tension in his shoulders. You wanted to reach out, to smooth the furrow in his brow with your thumb, to ask him again — why does it bother you so much when I call you that? — but you didn’t.

He’d gotten all weird when you said it. It was just a name, wasn’t it? A nickname, nothing more. But the way he reacted…

You wished you could see inside him, to look past the carefully constructed exterior he wore. He was so good at keeping you at a distance, even when you were close enough to feel his breath on your skin. You’d caught glimpses, here and there — small, fleeting moments where his guard slipped, where something raw and vulnerable surfaced before he shoved it back down. But it was never enough.

He was a puzzle you couldn’t solve, a book with missing pages. And still, you couldn’t stop trying.

“Alexander?” you said softly, testing the feel of his full name on your tongue.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, unreadable. “What?”

“Nothing.” you said quickly, shaking your head.

“I’ve got a blade in my hand.” he said dryly, holding it up as if to make his point. “Don’t want to lose focus and end up bleeding all over the place.”

You smiled faintly, but the humor — if that’s what he meant it to come across as — didn’t land. You wanted to say more, to ask him why he was always so careful, so controlled, even in moments like this. You just nodded.

You wished he’d let you in. You wished he’d let you see him — really see him. But you knew better than to push. He wasn’t the kind of man you could coax or cajole into opening up. If he wanted to show you, he would. Until then, all you could do was wait.

“Al?”

“You’re here?”

I lifted my eyes to meet hers, and for a moment, I couldn’t believe it. Her silhouette blurred, bathed in the golden light that streamed through the windows, almost too perfect, too radiant to be real. But when she stepped closer and I felt the warmth of her arms wrapping around me, solid and grounding, just a moment, the ache in my chest loosened.

What day is it?

“Of course, honey. Where would I go?”

“Anywhere.” I whispered into her hair, breathing her in, the scent of her so familiar and intoxicating, grounding me in a way I hadn’t felt in ages. She smelled like home, like things I didn’t know how to name but never wanted to lose. My hands gripped her tighter, unwilling to let her slip away, even though a quiet voice in the back of my mind whispered that this wasn’t real.

“Not without you.”

Her voice was so soft, so certain, wrapping around me like the arms I couldn’t bring myself to release. It almost broke me.

“Oh, please. Never…never ever.” I murmured, the words escaping through a grin that felt too wide for my face. I pulled back just enough to see her face again, to remember the curve of her smile, the light in her eyes — her eyes, shining as if the sun itself lived inside her — but not far enough to lose the feeling of her in my grip. My hands stayed on her waist, refusing to let her go.

“She’s in the garden, picking flowers for you.” she said.

“For me?” My voice cracked, a strange mix of disbelief and hope cutting through my words.

“You know how much she adores you.”

“I know.”

I said it and nodded, but that feeling in my chest grew heavier again, the pain of something unnamed that pressed against my ribs, threatening to split me open. My gaze drifted toward the window, where the garden stretched out like something of a dreamscape. It was impossibly vibrant, every color too bright, too alive. And there she was — another figure, smaller, crouched among the flowers, her hands gathering blooms into a bundle.

I knew her. God, I knew her.

“She wanted to surprise you.” the figure in my arms whispered, her lips brushing against my ear. “She’s been waiting for you all morning.”

I tried to speak, but my throat felt tight, the words stuck somewhere between my heart and my mouth. Words tried to form and my tongue wouldn’t let them come alive. Something wasn’t right. Something about the scene felt too sharp, too vivid, as if it might all shatter if I looked too closely.

“Don’t you want to go to her?” she asked, tilting her head to catch my eyes.

I nodded again. My legs felt heavy. They wouldn’t move. My hands clenched against her waist. It felt as though letting her go would mean losing something vital. I was unwilling to release her warmth, even as my eyes remained fixed on the figure in the garden, her small hands busy arranging the flowers.

The blooms were red. Too red.

“She’s waiting, Al.”

But I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. The scene began to blur, the sunlight dimming, the vibrant colors bleeding together like a watercolor painting left out in the rain or paint washing down a drain. I tried to step forward, but my feet were rooted, heavy as stone. My chest tightened, the ache turning sharp, twisting like a blade inside of me.

“Al?” Her voice echoed, pulling at me, dragging me toward something I didn’t want to even see, much less face.

I blinked, and everything was gone.

I blinked, and then there was nothing but the dark and the sound of my own breathing.

That darkness hit like a wave, crushing and infinite, pressing in from all sides. My chest heaved, but the air I breathed felt thin, as if the void itself was swallowing it whole. The warmth was gone, replaced by a cold that sank into my bones.

I was alone.

I tried to call out, but my voice wouldn’t come. The silence was suffocating, thick and unyielding, and the ache in my chest grew unbearable. I reached out, blindly, desperately, but there was nothing to hold onto.

Just the dark.

And the sound of my own breathing.

Shallow and ragged, echoing back at me like a cruel reminder that I was still alive.

You didn’t feel him at first. He was quiet in the way only someone utterly consumed by their own torment could be. You didn’t feel him. Until you did. Like a curse of affliction poured down upon him, saturating every corner of the room, and now it was sinking, deeper and deeper, infecting. And you were here to see its symptoms showing, right before your eyes. It was suffocating, thick and cloying, and you felt it before you even opened your eyes. Something heavy and dark sat there waiting for you to wake up and witness its reign.

The change in his breathing was what woke you. So sharp and loud even with the lack of audibility. It was like he wasn’t even here anymore, like someone else was doing it for him — some foreign force that dragged air in and shoved it back out in violent bursts. Cries without tears, just the relentless pressing of lungs and dry, guttural sobs from the subconscious.

And then came the sound. It broke the already loud silence. It wasn’t just the sound of air moving in and out — it was something far more primal. A sound so raw and distant that for a moment, you weren’t even sure it really was him. It didn’t sound human, didn’t sound like it could come from the man lying beside you.

When you turned to him, the sight was worse than the sound. His body was a warzone of tension, his muscles rippling under his skin as if they were locked in battle. His chest rose and fell violently. The shallow gasps made his ribs stand out starkly beneath his damp skin. His head was buried in the pillow, but it wasn’t resting there — it was pressed down hard, as if he were trying to smother whatever demons had clawed their way into his subconscious.

And when you reached out, instinctively touching from where your fingers hovered just above his back, the moment you made contact with his skin, it was like you’d burned him, branded him with a hot iron rod. His muscles flinched so violently you could practically trace each separate one by sight, their spasms highlighting the structure of his back and shoulders in sharp, unforgiving detail. You didn’t even know enough about human anatomy to name them all, but, in that moment, you could’ve pointed out each one like you’d studied it for years or even decades.

He fought the pillow beneath him, dragging it down from underneath his head and crushing it against his chest. His arms twisted around it, his hands gripping in a vice grip, so tightly that his knuckles went bone-white, the veins in his forearms standing out in stark prominence, his fingers trembling as though he might rip the fabric apart. His back arched. His legs curled inward. His feet scraped against the sheets in an almost desperate crawl away from something that wasn’t even there. His mouth hung open, drooling onto the mattress. His breath came out in wet, choking sounds.

And when you said his name, you knew it was a mistake. You knew it before the word even left your mouth.

“Al?”

His body jerked, head snapping up like a puppet pulled by its strings. His eyes — wild, glassy, unseeing — searched the room. Looking for something, someone. His chest heaved, his breathing erratic, the veins in his neck standing out against his damp, sweat-slick skin. His lips parted, but no words came out, just the wet sounds from within his throat. For a moment, he looked at you, or through you — it was hard to tell. His gaze was unfocused, his expression a mask of confusion and something darker, something almost feral.

“Al?” you tried again, softer this time, like you were speaking to a wounded animal.

He froze.

Your voice left your lips, and the change in him was immediate. He moved without thought, without awareness, his body snapping into motion as though driven by something beyond his control. In an instant, he was above you, looming, a shadow blotting out the faint light of dawn filtering through the windows. It was like watching a storm descend, a force of nature too powerful to stop. One second he was distant, his head buried in some unseen hell, and the next, he was there.

His arm was at your neck before you could even process the shift, the pressure instant, brutal, and suffocating, pinning you to the mattress with a force that was more than terrifying. His head was buried down, out of sight, his face pressed into the curve of your shoulder as if he were hiding from something, from you- no, from himself. The weight of him was so unbearable pressing down on your chest. The sharp edge of his forearm against your throat stole what little breath you could muster.

He remained hidden, tucked low. You couldn’t see his face, but his breath came in jagged bursts, hot and damp against your skin, his chest heaving with every sharp inhale. The tension in him was so severe that he was trembling, every muscle in his body was trembling, all his strength pouring out of him in waves and into you.

He wasn’t there. Not really.

Your body reacted automatically, hands clawing at his back, your nails scraping down the length of him, but it was like fighting against stone. He didn’t feel it, or maybe he did, and it just didn’t matter. His arm pressed harder against your throat, cutting off the air entirely, and panic surged through you like ice in your veins.

Desperate, desperate attempts only for his grip to tighten. Your vision blurred, black spots blooming at the edges as your lungs screamed for air.

Your legs kicked out, thrashing against the mattress, the sheets tangling around you as you fought for something — anything. Hits went to his shoulders, his arms, his chest, trying to push him off, but he was immovable. Solid. The sharp sound of his breathing filled the room and covered yours, so loud and erratic it felt like it was vibrating through you.

You tried to call his name, but the sound was lost, caught in your throat as you choked on your own spit. Your hands pushed at his chest, weak and frantic, your nails continuing to scrape anywhere you could reach. It was no use. He was too far gone, too deep in whatever nightmare had swallowed him whole.

It was terrifying, yes, but there was something worse, something darker about the way he didn’t seem to be there. His body was here, crushing you, suffocating you, but his mind was elsewhere, trapped in some abyss you couldn’t reach. He wasn’t Alexander in that moment. He was something unrecognizable.

Your lungs burned from the lack of air. Any sound you tried to make was swallowed by the pressure against your throat, your voice reduced to a weak, strangled gasp. Your nails found his skin again, this time digging deeper, hard enough to draw blood, but still, he didn’t stop.

You could feel the tears on your face, mingling with the spit you choked on, the desperate, wet sounds of your struggle filling the air alongside his uneven breaths. It was unbearable. Everything about it. The weight of him, the crushing force, the suffocating panic that clawed at your chest.

And then, with the last ounce of strength you had, your hands found his face. Your fingers pressed against his cheeks, your thumbs digging into the sharp lines of his jaw as you forced his head up. Forced him to see you. His hair was damp against your palms, clinging to your skin as you pushed, as you gasped out his name, a broken, strangled sound that barely escaped your lips.

“Al-”

His eyes snapped open.

For a moment, they didn’t see you. They were wild, feral, and broken, so dark that they sent a shiver down your spine even as relief flooded your chest. But then they focused, locking onto yours, and everything shifted. When they focused, the change was instant again, as if snapped out of a trance.

His grip loosened, his arm dropping away from your neck like dead weight, the pressure vanishing so suddenly it left you coughing and choking on the air you dragged into your lungs. He scrambled back, his body jerking away from yours, his movements frantic, uncoordinated.

And then those eyes of his widened, horror flooding his expression as he looked down at you, taking in the red marks on your throat, the way you cradled your neck with trembling hands, the way your chest rose and fell as you gulped down oxygen. His mouth opened, but no sound came out, just a dry, choked rasp. Until-

“Oh god-”

He dropped onto his back, his hands clawing at his own chest, his throat, as though he were the one who couldn’t breathe. His body heaved with every ragged inhale, his head thrown back as he stared at the ceiling with wide, unblinking eyes.

“Oh god…” he gasped, his voice barely audible, broken. His chest was heaving, trying to breathe through the weight of what he’d just done. “Oh god, I- what did I-”

His hands flew to his face, covering it as his body shook, the tremors violent, uncontrollable. “I didn’t- oh god, I wasn’t- oh god!” he said again, louder this time, the words catching in his throat. His hands fisted in his hair, tugging hard enough to make his scalp burn, but he didn’t stop. “What did I- oh- I- I-”

He turned his head to look at you, his gaze filled with a mixture of guilt and terror so profound it made your stomach twist. “I didn’t- I wasn’t-”

You sat up slowly, every movement deliberate, careful, less because you were afraid he might snap again at the slightest provocation and more to not startle him in this fragile state. Your fingers touched your neck, tracing the tender, throbbing skin, and you winced at the pain. But you swallowed it down, pushing it aside as you looked at him.

“It’s okay.” you said, your voice raw, hoarse, barely more than a whisper, or rather a rasp. You reached out, your hand brushing against his arm, and he flinched, jerking away from your touch like it hurt. “It’s okay, Alexander. I’m okay.”

But you weren’t sure if you were trying to convince him or yourself.

“No!” he said, shaking his head, his hands still covering his face. “No, it’s not okay. I-”

“It is.” you insisted, your voice firmer this time, though it still trembled. “Alexander, look at me.”

He didn’t. His hands stayed where they were, his body curling in on itself as if trying to disappear. “I hurt you.” he said, barely there, muffled by his hands. “I could’ve…”

“But you didn’t.” you interrupted, leaning closer, your hand finding his and tugging gently. “You stopped. You’re here now. Look at me, Alexander.”

Slowly, hesitantly, he lowered his hands, his eyes meeting yours. They were filled with so much guilt, so much pain, it hurt more than anything the touch of his hands might’ve laid on you.

“I’m here.” you said softly, your fingers brushing against his. “I’m okay. We’re okay.”

His eyes narrowed, and for a split second, you thought he might lash out. But then his shoulders sagged, the tension in his body releasing all at once as he let out a shuddering exhale. His grip on the pillow loosened, his hands falling limp against the mattress.

But it wasn’t relief you saw on his face — it was something else. Resignation. And defeat.

“You were dreaming.” you said, your hand hovering above his back again, hesitant to touch him.

He didn’t respond.

“It’s okay.” you continued, your fingers brushing against his skin. This time, he didn’t flinch, though his muscles were still taut beneath your touch. “You’re here now. I’m here. Hey, it’s me.” you whispered. “I’m here.”

You seemed to reach him, though not entirely. His eyes flickered, recognition dawning slowly, like the sun struggling to break through a thick, oppressive fog. His expression changed. The wildness faded, replaced by something colder, harder. His jaw clenched, his teeth grinding together audibly. He turned his head away from you, his body curling further in.

“Go back to sleep.” he rasped.

“Al, I-”

“I said, go back to sleep.”

There was no anger in his tone, no sharpness, but it was crushing, the way he left no room for argument. Still, you couldn’t just leave him like this.

“I’m not going anywhere.” you said softly.

There was nothing but silence, broken only by the sound of his breathing — slowing. You thought maybe he was coming back to himself, grounding in the reality of your presence. But when he spoke again, his voice was so quiet it was almost swallowed by the stillness.

“Don’t…don’t say my name like that again.”

“Like what?” you asked, your hand stilling.

“Like you’re trying to save me.”

The words hit you like a blow. You didn’t know how to respond. You wanted to save him, of course you did. But you knew him too well by now. You knew he wouldn’t let you.

“I just want to help, Alexander.” you said finally, your voice soft, almost pleading for him to understand.

He let out a low, humorless laugh, his head turning slightly but not enough to face you. “Help?” he repeated, his tone bitter. “You can’t help me, darling. No one can.”

Your hand resumed its gentle motion on his back. “Maybe not,” you said, “but I can stay.”

He didn’t reply.

You stayed anyway, your hand tracing slow, soothing circles against his skin. His breathing evened out little by little, the tension in his body ebbing away in increments so small they were almost undetectable. His back, once tense and unyielding, softened ever so slightly, though his head remained turned away.

“Do you…” you hesitated, not wanting to push too hard, but unable to keep the question inside. “Do you want to talk about it?”

His body got caught between fight and flight. Then, finally, his voice came.

“Not now.” he said. “I can’t. Not now.”

“Okay.” you murmured.

The quiet stretched again, the kind that made time feel like it was spilling out into an endless void. His breathing steadied, but there was still something in it — an edge, a tremor, a ghost of whatever storm had taken him moments before.

“Can you…would you-” He stopped, swallowing hard, the words catching in his throat.

“What is it?” you asked gently, leaning closer, your voice soft enough to coax without crowding him.

He shook his head, his hair brushing against your arm like even this small movement pained him. “I don’t know how to ask.” he admitted.

“You don’t have to.” you said, your fingers tracing along the curve of his spine.

But he did. You saw it in the way his hands clenched at his sides — a man holding onto himself with all the strength he could muster, and still losing — until he whispered, “Will you hold me?”

Like a bird with broken wings. Fragile, hollow-boned, and trembling in your hands in the same way he’d hold them in his. His fingers worked with such precision, restoring lifeless creatures to some facsimile of beauty. How carefully he stitched and smoothed, as if his hands alone could defy death. Now, those same hands lay useless at his sides, like they’d forgotten how to fix anything — including himself.

Words felt clumsy in a moment like this, too blunt for something so tender. So you just held him. Your arms came around him, wrapping him in a cocoon of warmth and softness, careful not to press too hard.

It felt almost sacred, holding him like this. You felt him give way — leaning into you, his breath uneven and fluttering, just like the faint heartbeat of a bird resting right in your palm.

You wondered now if he saw himself in them, in the brokenness he tried to repair, in the stillness he tried to make beautiful.

His breath hitched again, a shudder running through him that you felt down to your bones. Your hands moved, smoothing over his back, his shoulders, to remind him that he was here, that he was whole, that he was yours to care for. Only this time around, it wasn’t about restoration or preservation. It was about keeping him alive and keeping him real, even when he felt like he was fading.

“It’s okay.” you whispered. “I’ve got you.”

You held him like he was something precious, something worth saving. Because to you…he was.

“I don’t think I know myself anymore.” he said suddenly. “I don’t even know what’s left of me. If there’s anything left at all.”

You held him tighter. “You’re still here.”

“Am I?” he asked, his voice cracking. “Because it doesn’t feel like it. It feels like I’m watching someone else, like I’m not real anymore. Like I’m just a ghost haunting my own body.”

You didn’t know what to say, what words could possibly bridge the gap between his despair and your love for him. Was it love? Was this what that felt like? So you didn’t speak. You left your touch to speak for everything you couldn’t.

“You shouldn’t stay.”

“I know.”

And still, you stayed.

a/n: This wasn’t really the plan at all, but that’s where my mind seemed to go while writing it. The last scene, I mean. Soooooo yeah. Not the end quite yet.

#alex turner #alex turner x reader #alex turner x fem!reader #alex turner x y/n #alex turner x you #alex turner x oc #alex turner angst #alex turner smut #alex turner fic #alex turner fanfic #smut #goblinontour #you’re so dark

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