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ventismacchiato · 10 days ago

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15 stuck with you — call me by your name !

scaramouche x gender neutral reader

YOUR POINT OF VIEW

The universe had blessed you with great looks, being a well rounded idol, and a great personality. But you couldn’t have it all, which was why your inability to cook was a great target for your bandmates to bully you for.

Which is why, of course, you found yourself in this stupid situation. You stood there partnered with Scara, attempting to make pizza. You’d both lost the clearly rigged game of flipping a coin, so you both were stuck making dinner whilst everyone else got to take a dip in the ocean.

Scara, as usual, had already taken charge. His hands worked expertly as he kneaded the dough he prepared, as though he’d done this a thousand times before. You, on the other hand, stared at the array of ingredients in front of you, unsure where to even begin. You wanted to figure it out on your own, but the doubt gnawed at you. Asking Scara for help wasn’t exactly appealing.

You took a guess and reached for the cheese, only to feel a firm grip on your wrist.

“Make a sauce,” Scaramouche said, his voice flat as he moved your hands to the tomatoes. Without waiting for a response, he let go and turned back to the dough.

“Make a sauce…” you muttered under your breath, staring at the tomatoes in front of you. A knife. A tomato. You could do this, right?

Hesitantly, you picked up a tomato and a knife, trying to summon the courage to start. You glanced at Scara to see if you were on the right track, but he barely spared you a glance.

“Cut it. Season it. Mash it,” he listed, barely even pausing to look up.

You nodded to yourself, the motion almost robotic. You cut the tomato into halves, then quarters, feeling like you were somehow messing up. You caught yourself giving glances to Scara after doing every step, and with every insult that didn’t make its way out of his lips you knew you were on the right track.

There was a quiet rhythm settling between you two now, no arguing, no jabs, just the soft sound of knives against cutting boards and the occasional thump of dough being punched down.

It’s been the most peaceful you two have been all week, or all year, really. You could see how focused he was on the dough, and that meant his brain was occupied with something other than thinking of new ways to mock you.

When you were done with the sauce and began spreading it on the dough, you glanced over at Scara, unsure of your technique. As you moved the spoon in circles, trying to make it look smooth, you caught him staring at you from the corner of your eye.

“You’re doing it wrong,” he muttered, his tone absent of any usual bite.

Your hand froze mid-motion, your chest tightening slightly. You braced for a snide comment or sarcastic remark, but instead, he simply pointed at the dough.

“Don’t spread it so thin. You’ll burn the edges. Keep it thicker in the middle.” His voice was still flat, but there was no teasing, no mockery. Weird.

You swallowed the brief pang of annoyance that usually came with being corrected by him. Instead, you tried to follow his instructions, spreading the sauce a bit thicker in the center as he suggested.

As much as you hated to admit it, there was something oddly pleasant about this quiet exchange. You were cooking. Actually cooking. With him. Instead of your usual encounters with him where you were always trying to perform better, this felt strange. It didn’t feel like you were rivals right now.

You were just two people making pizza.

Just as you were about to start on the toppings, you reached for the oven door, but your hand brushed against the hot metal. A sharp pain shot up your arm, and you yanked your hand back with a hiss.

“Idiot,” Scaramouche muttered, but his voice didn’t have its usual venom. He turned to you, his eyes briefly flashing with something else.

Before you could say anything, he grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand under the cold stream of water at the sink.

“You really are stupid,” he grumbled, the concern underlying his words more noticeable now, “How do you fuck up so easily?”

You winced as the cold water hit your skin, but the sting of the burn seemed to lessen a little, even though your face was heating up from his proximity.

“Let me do the cooking,” he muttered, still holding your wrist firmly, his gaze flicking over to the pizza dough. “You're too clumsy in the kitchen.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you just sighed, defeated, as you let him take over the pizzamaking process.

Once the pizza was finally in the oven, you hopped up to sit on the counter, feeling oddly tired from all the cooking, or lack thereof you’d done. Scaramouche, on the other hand, got started on setting up the teapot. You didn’t understand how he had the energy.

“Should we call for the others while we wait?” you asked, looking at him.

He didn’t even look up, sifting through the tea bags the kitchen had. “Nah,” he said, his voice calm. “It’ll ruin my peace.”

You blinked, momentarily stunned. You’d only asked out of politeness, expecting him to agree immediately. Normally, he couldn’t get away fast enough when you two were alone in a room. The idea of staying alone with you, let alone willingly, was something he seemed allergic to. But now, he seemed content as he pulled out two mugs for the tea.

“Want some?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder as he prepared your cup.

“Sure,” you hummed.

He slid your mug towards you, then leaned against the counter opposite yours. You carefully picked up your mug, blowing on the hot surface before taking a sip. You didn’t need to burn yourself again in front of your rival.

Scaramouche’s eyes followed you from where he stood, half-lidded as he took a sip of his own tea. The kitchen was small, he was only a few inches away from being able to reach out and touch your knees if he wanted to. Not that you wanted him to, but he could.

“Don’t leave the bag in there too long,” he said, his voice low. “It’ll taste bitter.”

You look over to him, surprised at how casual he was, “Will you take it out for me?” you asked without thinking.

The words came out flirtier than you intended. Maybe it was the dim kitchen lights, or the soft sound of waves crashing against the shore. But there it was. You felt a strange, subtle pull in the air between you.

He walked over, practically stepping between your legs as he reached across to remove the bag for you. “You prefer it sweet, don’t you?”

Your eyes locked, a heartbeat passing between you.

“Sometimes,” you answered, your voice quieter than you’d planned. “Maybe try something bitter once in a while,” he replied.

The kitchen fell silent for a moment. Your chest felt tight, like you were standing on the edge of something you didn’t fully understand.

Then, as if the universe decided to intervene, Yae’s voice crackled over the speakers, breaking the tension. “What the hell are we talking about?”

The tension shattered. You both jumped slightly, and the oven dinged just in time. Scaramouche pulled back quickly, moving to retrieve the pizza. Meanwhile, you stared at the dregs of your tea, expecting them to give you an answer like in Harry Potter. Instead you sat there wondering what the fuck just happened.

SCARA’S POINT OF VIEW

“Scara~,” Yae’s voice singsongs over the speakers, breaking through the otherwise peaceful atmosphere. “You’re awfully nice today.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes as he points the knife in the direction of the speakers, though he’s pretty sure he’s way off. “Shut up,” he mutters, mostly to himself. Yae wasn’t here, but it felt good to direct the annoyance somewhere.

“You are so far off,” you comment from beside him, reaching over to help him cut the pizza toppings. Your fingers brush his briefly, and for a moment, he can’t quite place why that feels…different. Like it shouldn't feel like this, but it does.

He doesn’t say anything, just focusing on the task at hand, but his thoughts drift—just a little. When was the last time he felt okay with someone else in his space, without wanting to rush away? Usually, when you were close, he'd find any excuse to distance himself, but today? Today was different. He hated how soft it made him feel.

“You know, I never asked,” you murmur, voice suddenly quieter. “Why does your mom call you Kuni?”

Scaramouche freezes for a moment, the knife hovering above the pizza. He hadn’t expected that question, not from you. Of course, you’d be curious, everyone always was. But still, it felt strange to hear it out loud.

Usually, he would’ve told you to mind your own business. But he finds himself answering.

“That’s my first name, Kunikuzushi” he says, trying to keep his tone casual, as if this wasn’t something only a few people knew, “I go by my middle name now.”

He’s sure you’ll leave it at that, like most people do. Most people weren’t interested in the reasons behind it. But you don't just let it go. Instead, you nod thoughtfully, your voice playful when you reply.

“A shame. Kuni’s a pretty name.”

Scaramouche doesn't know what to say to that, so he doesn’t. His gaze shifts to you, catching your expression for a fleeting moment. You weren’t mocking him, not like everyone else. The way you said it, almost affectionate, it made something tighten in his chest.

He starts to walk past you, distracted by the sudden urge to leave. He doesn’t want to be here, doesn’t want to think about his past, his mother, or the name that still stings in the back of his mind. He’s always been Scaramouche. Always.

But then, your voice calls after him.

“Scara,” you say, drawing his attention, “Should I cut these?”

He pauses, his heart thumping harder in his chest for no reason at all. The way you say his name sounds so…different. Not like a taunt. Not like the sharp jab he’s used to hearing from you. Just your voice, and his name, and something about that makes his mouth go dry.

“Call me Kuni,” he says suddenly, before his brain can stop him. His tone is lower, quieter than usual. He’s not sure what he’s expecting from you—maybe a laugh, maybe a teasing remark. But when he looks at you, you just blink, confused for a moment.

“What?” you ask, clearly surprised.

“Call me Kuni,” he repeats, and this time, there’s something softer in his eyes. “When it’s just us.”

Your expression shifts, and he feels something flicker in the air between you two. It’s not the same tension he’s used to, but it’s almost like the opposite. Warmer, maybe.

You finally nod, the corners of your mouth twitching up as you respond with a simple, “Okay, Kuni.”

He doesn’t know why it feels like his chest has just opened up, but hearing you say it, so easily, without hesitation…it makes his throat tighten. He almost wants to ask you to say it again, just to feel that warmth again.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he looks away quickly, feeling the familiar sourness rise in his chest. The name, Kuni, used to make him think of nothing but anger. Of his mother’s voice, sharp and laced with disappointment. How she used to yell it at him when he messed up.

It was a name filled with failure. So, eventually he stopped associating himself with it. He was nobody’s failure except his own.

But when you said it, it sounded different.

Softer. Warmer.

It felt like he was himself again.

He doesn’t know how to deal with that yet, and it’ll probably bite him in the ass later. He doesn’t know how to handle the way your words make the old wounds feel less jagged.

But maybe he’ll let you call him Kuni a little longer. Just this once.

[00:00:15] COUPLE'S INTERVIEW TWO, TAKE TWO

YAE: Hi guys!

[XIAO NODS HIS HEAD IN GREETING]

[KAZUHA SMILES]

YAE: I'll skip past introductions and dive right into it. Xiao, Kazuha, is there something you want to tell us?

[JEAN AUDIBLY GROANS]

JEAN: Yae!

[YAE WAVES JEAN OFF BEHIND CAMERA]

XIAO: Tell you what?

YAE: You know.

[KAZUHA LOOKS AT YAE CONFUSED]

JEAN: Yae…

YAE: We know that you've been dating for years! Cat's out of the bag! Xiao's out of the closet!

JEAN, GASPING: Yae! Stop that!

XIAO: [EXHALES IN DEFEAT] No, it's okay, Jean. It was a little funny.

KAZUHA: [SMILES APOLOGETICALLY] How did you know?

YAE: I watched one too many conspiracy TikToks and it all started to make sense.

XIAO: You sound crazy.

YAE: But I was right!

KAZUHA: What now? Are we kicked off the show?

YAE: OMG, no! You're staying! Pretend to court each other again!

XIAO: Why?

YAE: Because! Wouldn't it be fun? Nice? Pretend to fall in love again and prank your friends? A deal you can't refuse!

[JEAN AUDIBLY SIGHS AGAIN]

[XIAO AND KAZUHA LOOK AT EACH OTHER]

KAZUHA: [SHRUGS] Could be fun?

XIAO, FONDLY: Could be fun.

[THE PAIR CONTINUE TO STARE AT EACH OTHER SMILING]

JEAN: Cut!

[00:00:00] TEA INTERVIEW ONE, TAKE ONE

YAE: So Scara. Or should I say…

SCARAMOUCHE: Don’t even.

YAE: [HIDES HER FACE BEHIND THE SCRIPT] SCARA. WE ALL HEARD IT. YOU LET YN CALL YOU KUNI.

SCARAMOUCHE: So?

YAE: So? SO?

SCARAMOUCHE: It’s just a nickname. Not a big deal.

YAE: If it’s not a big deal then can I call you Kuni?

SCARAMOUCHE: No.

YAE: Yeah, that’s what I thought. I didn’t know you had a soft side.

SCARAMOUCHE: [RAISES AN EYEBROW] I don’t.

YAE: [LAUGHS] Really? ‘Cause you just let someone call you by your first name—in front of cameras, no less. I think that counts as soft.

SCARAMOUCHE: [TONGUE IN CHEEK] Well, I don’t consider it soft.

YAE: [SMIRKS] Sure, sure. But if it’s just a name, why doesn’t anyone else get to use it?

SCARAMOUCHE: No comment.

YAE: Well I tried! CUT!

stuck with you!

masterlist — prev | next

btw since ppl keep asking when he says bitter he means himself…! he’s implying yn usually prefers ppl who r sweet,,come on guys walk with me and read between the lines </3

short chapter cus this was supposed to be the second half of the last chapter!!

also as usual any photos of yn don’t depict gender, race, or body type!! so pls don’t come for me it’s just for the pose

pls comment or send me an ask if u enjoyed i need motivation 🤗

comment on the MASTERLIST if i can use ur user as a fan in the au!

synopsis — after the disaster that was the live award show, where you and scaramouche got into an argument on stage after both of your groups got a tie for top artists, your guys' PR teams have been in shambles trying to scrape up your mess. that's when the idea to send you both off with some other idols to a remote location for a survival dating show to mend your public image comes up. before you know it your bags are packed and you’re on a plane to a remote island. the only obligation is you need to end up with scaramouche at the end of the show, whether you end up liking him or not doesn’t matter to your managers as long as the show’s ratings stay high. whatever you do in between to get there is up to you!

notes — keep it in ur pants guys daddy kai gave you two updates in a week 😊😊

taglist — @na1lea @cindywasneverhere @lunavixia @aestherin @mlaakai @camvrin @retiredmommylover @iheartpieck @cartierfiles @loveariel @silly-ez @mochipls @pomeiu @flowerypesky @creammpuff @boxdisappeared @kissingkzuha @webbywill @kazusboyfriend @s3xpistolss @bunns-wonderland @lordbugs @localgirlywithnolife @kosumos @danfelions @featuredtofu @pinxeajin @haeunoo @scaradooche @pglt19 @chemiru @childesbabygirl @simonisferal @shutingstar @ttalgi @esuz @tokkishouse @kitsuvil @scarasmood @ihearttori @nomurahayami @starringyau @androxphobic @reivelmin @animeobsessed56 @femaholicc @vi0let-writes @izayumi-chan @aloflapse @migorengeaterrr

#scaramouche x you #scaramouche x reader smau #scaramouche x yn #scaramouche x gender neutral reader #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x male reader #scaramouche x y/n #genshin smau #scaramouche genshin x reader #genshin x reader #stuck with you smau

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droopycoquette · 6 months ago

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Ridin' or Nothin' || Benny Cross x Reader

Summary: A little exchange of services

Warnings: hella fluff, angst, suggestive content

Word count: 5.1k

|*|

You had been watching him, that much you could admit. Your eyes always caught him on the road, riding around with the wind in his hair. Sometimes you’d even see him walking around with a cigarette tucked between his slightly chapped lips, he was rarely without one. He exuded a sense of danger that both intrigued and scared you. But there was something about the way he moved, rough yet graceful, that made your heart skip a beat whenever he passed by. However, you never dared to approach him, always hiding in the background observing.

You didn’t mind, it was comfortable.

The town was small so it was easy to watch him. Easy to find him even because he was always in the same places. Bar, road, gas station, and occasionally grocery store. That last one was rare though. When you saw him across the aisle looking at bread, you thought you were hallucinating.

It was a rather strange sight; he looked so out of place. A tall, blonde biker in a grocery store with mothers and children, casually looking at bread. You would have giggled if you weren’t so nervous. Your lips slightly parted as you lost motor control of your body, the bag of rolls you held falling out of your hands.

“Shoot,” you muttered as you quickly bent down to pick them, trying to prevent the weird looks from staying on you.

You chuckled nervously as you rose up, giving timid looks to the grandmas and moms looking at you.

“Hello dear,” a high-pitched voice greeted cheerfully, forcing you to shift focus.

Turning around, you came face to face with Mrs. Leonard, a regular at your family’s bakery. She was an older lady having several grandkids that she loved to gush about. But, despite being older, she still had strength that astounded you greatly. You weren’t surprised to see her here, just bummed that she was here now, the only time you had seen biker boy here.

“Hello, Mrs. Leonard,” you smiled. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Oh, likewise,” she smiled back sweetly. “What are you doing looking at rolls, sweety? I couldn’t imagine buying rolls here when I could have yours to eat for free.”

You smile at her compliment, your ears warming.

“I was simply looking. I’m actually looking for ingredients. I’m trying a new recipe for a raspberry curd cake. How’s your son? I heard he’s back in town.”

“That sounds mighty tasty. And oh, he is just wonderful. It’s so nice to see my grandkids. Ya know, ever since they moved to California-”

And she was off. You liked Mrs. Leonard, truly you did, but you could never get used to her never-ending monologues about who-knows-what. She was a cute old lady, though.

As she spoke, you moved to put the rolls back on the shelf, and when you turned to look back at the biker, he was gone. A small crease in between your eyebrows developed as your bottom lip found its way between your teeth. You nibbled on it as you felt disappointment wash over you. However, you quickly masked it with a well-practised smile.

As you wandered the store next to the old lady, your mind wandered back to the handsome biker who had been standing right across the aisle. You perked up slightly as you realised that that was the closest you had ever been to him. You could practically smell the gasoline and cologne that wafted off of him. You had even seen the small freckles on his face and took note of his faint sun-kissed cheeks, just the slightest bit of pink.

This was also the first time you’d seen him without a cigarette.

You felt a tug at the corner of your lips that only stopped when you rubbed it away.

“Dear? Hello? Bun!”

Your eyes snapped to Mrs. Leonard, hearing the nickname given to you by your family.

“Are you alright, bun,” she asked, placing a hand over yours. “You’re awfully quiet.”

“Oh. Yes ma’am. I’m quite alright, just a bit tired is all. No need to worry. What was that you were saying?”

“Oh, yes! Monti, the dreadful boy has been tearing at-”

Her story continued on until you had finished checking out and had to part ways. And when your back hit the seat of your car you let out the biggest sigh of the week. What was supposed to have been a ten-minute grocery run for fresh raspberries and lemon juice had turned into a 45-minute gossiping session. The energy that was supposed to be used to bake that new raspberry curd cake had been exerted to try to keep up with Mrs. Leonard. Now, you’d have to pull from nothing.

Your head slammed into the steering wheel with a groan that was quickly replaced with a yelp when your car horn went off. People entering and exiting the store turned to look at your car in confusion and slight offence.

“Sorry,” you chuckled timidly.

|*|

The next day rolled around, and you were excited to put out your new Raspberry Delight, which is what you had decided to call your new cake. You had been experimenting with this cake for the past two weeks, figuring out what to layer, and how sweet the raspberry curd should be. Should they have a raspberry jam? Was that too much? Perhaps, a layer of crumble? But, last night, you had perfected everything and had gotten the green light from both your mother and your father to sell.

You had decided to sell it in these cute mason jars and had personally tied the little maroon bows on it. You were setting out the last of the baked goods into the little window by the register when the doorbell rang, letting you know that someone had entered the store.

“Good morning,” you greeted cheerfully, from below the register, setting the dirty trays there.

“Good morning,” a gruff voice spoke.

You stood abruptly.

He was here.

Tall, dark, and handsome was here…right in front of you.

You, who probably has flour all over her and who is sweating from the ovens.

“What can I get for you today,” you say softly, looking down and wiping your hands on your apron.

“I couldn’t help but overhear you yesterday, about the raspberry…something cake. It sounded mighty good and I thought I would come by and get it before it sold out.”

“You were listening,” you let out, surprised.

“I sure was missy. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of something so tasty,” he admits with a sly smile.

You couldn’t help but giggle at his statement.

“Okay, one Raspberry Delight, anything else?”

“Is there anything else you would recommend?”

As you let yourself think, the man let himself look at you. You didn’t notice, but the biker’s eyes never left you and one thing he noticed was that your eyes never met his. He didn’t like that. He wanted to look at him. He needed you to look at him.

He saw your eyes light up as you thought of something, making the man smile. And just as you were about to speak, a sharp voice interrupted

“Excuse me.”

The sharpness in your mother’s tone made you bite at the inside of your cheek.

“Good morning, ma’am,” the man smiled politely, despite her cold demeanour.

“We don’t serve customers like you,” your mother bit.

You knew your mother’s opinion on the growing biker gang in town. Your father and your mother both thought that the group of men were a bunch of bums who had no right to be causing such a fuss. They hated The Vandals, almost as much as satan. You recalled nights at the dinner table where your father's anger had boiled over, making him claim to do awful things to the biker gang. What’s worse, your mother had egged him on.

The man’s smile faltered at your mother’s words, but he recovered quickly.

“I just wanted to buy a cake,” he said calmly.

You could see the tension in his posture, the way his eyes flickered between your mother and you.

“Mom,” you said softly. “You always say business is business.”

“Well, this is MY business,” she snapped. “And I reserve the right to refuse service. Get out of my store.”

You felt a mix of emotions swirling inside you - frustration at your mother’s closed-mindedness, and sympathy for the man standing in front of you.

Your eyes met his, and you hoped that he could understand the apology. He nodded towards you, and you watched his jaw feather in annoyance. You felt your heart drop at the realisation that he might blame you.

“I’ll take my leave then,” he said, walking away as he took a cigarette out of the box.

“Yeah, you go on now,” your mother sneered, causing you to flinch.

He didn’t respond as the doorbell dinged.

You watched as the man walked away, his back straight and his steps purposeful. You couldn't shake off the feeling of guilt weighing heavily on your shoulders.

You swallowed in disappointment in yourself and your lack of ability to stand up to your mother and in your mother for her lack of empathy and kindness.

“Don’t you ever talk to them folks again? Ya hear?”

“But-”

“I don’t want to hear it,” she cut you off. “You so much as go near them, and I’ll make sure you don’t leave the house again. You understand me, girl.”

You just looked down, and your mother took that as a yes. She went back to the kitchen, muttering obscenities under her breath, and you went back to setting up for the day, now with a heavy heart.

As the day went on, you found it difficult to concentrate on the daily operations of the bakery. Your hands moved mechanically as you went through the motions of baking, but your heart was heavy with a mix of curiosity and guilt. Each served customer was a reminder of the one you couldn’t serve, the very one you wanted to the most.

“Hey,” your dad said softly. “What’s going on in your head bun?”

“Oh, nothing,” you smiled sweetly, perfectly masking your growing frustration with your parents, the town, and life in general. “Just a little tired is all. I stayed up late trying to come up with a new thing to work on and now that the raspberry cake is done I need something new. I’m going to go make a new batch of the Raspberry Delights.”

You tightened the scarf around your head as you walked back to the kitchen to grab the fresh tray of cookies that needed icing.

“Okay,” your dad called. “But focus! We don’t need you burning yourself again because you were off in Neverland.”

You knew he was joking, but it did nothing but jab the knife a little deeper.

As you began making the base for the cake, you found yourself wondering why you bothered to stay. It was your baked goods in the window, and yet, it was their name on the sign, getting the money, and it was them making fun of you.

Every time you brought up the fact that you wanted a portion of the profits because they were selling your ideas, they had a fit and said, “Your baking isn’t even that good. Since you now have a couple of things in the window, you think you can call the shots, huh? Is that what it is? Well, maybe we’ll just take them out.”

It was empty threats, and you knew it was, your items were some of the best sellers, but it never stopped the fear that entered your system. However, the thought that you might never leave and be stuck here with parents who don’t respect you or your creations scared you more.

A newfound determination lit up in your gut as you baked.

That evening, after closing up, you told your parents you wanted to work on a new pastry that you’d been thinking about and that you’d meet them at home. They had been hesitant but let you stay in the end, telling you to be careful on your way back. You waited a good 20 minutes to make sure they weren’t coming back before gathering up your things and the two freshly made Raspberry Delight jars and locking up the store.

The cool night air brushed against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine, your heartbeat quickening. You hopped on your bike and threw your bag in the basket, careful not to break the glass before you took off down the road. Even a couple of blocks down, you could hear the rumble of engines and the faint sound of laughter from the home of the town’s biker gang.

As you approached the bar, you hesitated, hopping off your bike that suddenly felt childish next to the rows of motorcycles. You could hear the whooping and hollering of the men inside and jumped when you heard the sound of shattering glass followed by laughter.

Your breath left you in small huffs as the chilly night air nipped at your cheeks. The two jars in your bag hit each other softly, causing a ‘clink’ to echo through the empty space. It also caused a surge of resolve. You jogged up to the doors before the newfound confidence disappeared and opened them gently. You entered the bar without making a sound and closed the doors even softer than you had opened them.

The dimly lit bar was crowded with rowdy bikers, their denim jackets adorned with patches and studs that allowed the light to glint off of them. The air is thick with the scent of smoke, sweat, and alcohol. As you stood there, taking it all in, you could also smell the distinct scent of leather and engine oil.

As you make your way through the crowd, you try to avoid making eye contact, feeling small and out of place.

Don’t draw attention. Don’t draw attention. Don’t draw attention. Don’t draw attention.

That mantra in your head continued as you hugged your bag close and made yourself small. Navigating the crowded bar proved to be rather difficult, especially when you were trying not to hit anyone. A plethora of ‘sorry’ and ‘excuse me’ left your lips before you reached an empty table in the back. You sit your bag down and allowed yourself to breathe as best you could anyway, the taste of smoke filled your mouth, making it dry and slightly bitter. You try to swallow, but the air feels too thick and heavy to allow it.

The dim, hazy lighting of the bar, combined with the smoke from cigarettes and the bodies, made it difficult to see clearly. People pressed close together, their limbs hitting one another.

You stuck out like a sore thumb. You had worn a corduroy skirt that day and, if that wasn’t bad enough, a pastel blue halter accompanied it. If ‘Look at Me’ had a mascot, it’d be you.

The tips of your ears burned as your eyes scanned the crowd of bikers. Normally, you could find tall and blonde easily but, in this crowd, it was like trying to find a needle in a needle stack.

However, after about 10 minutes of searching, you found him near the pool table. His eyes fixed on the green felt with an intensity that you could feel from all the way across the room.

You allowed yourself to just stare, taking in his rugged appearance that finally seemed to fit into his surroundings. His arms were on full display, and the light caught the ridges of his muscles in a sinfully perfect way. His hair was tousled and swooped up as if the wind had permanently swept it there. The thought made you giggle. You took in his tattoos, his rings, and the grease stains his shirt housed. The stains alone sent you to a whole daydream.

Visions of him fixing a motorcycle, his muscles moving seamlessly as he worked. His focus fixed on the machinery, understanding the beauty and power of the bike, and knowing exactly what it needed. A playful smile on his lips as he caressed the engine. The sunlight catching the sweat glistening on his skin, highlighting every curve and ridge of his body. His strong hands, covered in grease, as he worked with precision and finesse. The occasional grunt or sigh as he exerts force in just the right places. Every now and then, he let out a satisfied chuckle as he successfully fixes a part.

Before you knew it, you had replaced the motorcycle.

You let out a squeak at your own imagination. Causing heads to turn towards you. For once, you didn’t notice because you were too busy mentally beating yourself.

You had to give him these cakes before you embarrassed yourself even more.

You took a deep breath to steady your nerves before making your way over to him, each step feeling heavier with the weight of uncertainty.

As you approached, he finally tore his gaze away from the pool table and locked eyes with you. There was a flicker of surprise in his expression, quickly masked by a guarded demeanour. You could sense the tension in his posture as you stood before him, unsure of how he would react to your presence.

He walked toward you, cue stick in hand. His piercing blue eyes bore into yours as he got closer.

“Can I help you with something, sweetheart,” he asked, his gruff voice filling your senses. He leaned against the cue stick, bringing him closer to you. Even hunched over he looked down at you, you had never felt so small.

"I... I brought you these," you stammered out, holding out the two jars of Raspberry Delights towards him. "What happened at the bakery earlier wasn't right and I’m ashamed that I just stood by and let it happen. Please accept them as an apology."

He studied you for a moment, his face contorting slightly as a myriad of emotions flickered. Finally, he reached out and took the jars from your shaky hands.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his gaze softening.

You nodded with a smile, clasping your hands together and letting out a breath of relief. You rocked back and forth on your feet as you realised that you hadn’t planned out a conversation in your head. You had no clue what to say to the man standing in front of you.

As you struggled to find the right words, only two came out:

“Okay bye.”

You were moving before you could register, bolting out of the crowded bar and into the crisp air of the night. You allowed yourself to breathe in deeply, filling your lungs fully for the first time since you entered the bar. It was also easier to breathe without him being near.

You swallowed as you stood straight up and shuffled towards your bike. Your lip found its place between your teeth while you replayed the interaction in your head. You shrunk into yourself at how you acted. You had dreamed of an interaction with tall and blond for months, given him numerous names that never seemed to fit. You had thought about wowing him with a quick tongue and a perfected sense of humour. But, when it came down to it, you chickened out. You literally ran away.

You reached your bike, which now seemed extra childish coming out of the bar. Now that you think about it, you’ve never been so close to a motorcycle before, only looking from afar. The need to inspect the bike tugged at your heart. It didn’t take much for you to give in.

You reached out and let your fingertips graze the frame of the bike, collecting the dirt that had found a home on the metal. Your eyes trailed the winding metal of the interior, wondering what each thing did. You could smell the gasoline and faintly taste metal on the tip of your tongue, and you smiled at its slight sweetness.

“You like bikes?”

Your hands flinched back as if the bike itself had spoken and your eyes went to the voice.

“Um,” you stuttered as you were met with tall and blond. “I, uh, I don’t have an opinion on them. They’re pretty though.”

“Pretty?” he chuckled, flicking the butt of the cigarette to the ground.

“Mmhmm. I’ve never seen one up close before. I apologise for touching them, it won’t happen again.”

“Calm down,” he smiled. “You look like I’m about to cut your hand off.”

You swallowed thickly and dusted off the dirt your fingertips had collected.

“Come here.”

His tone was friendly and inviting yet commanding, so you followed him over to a particular motorcycle that he leaned against.

“This one’s yours?” you asked/stated.

He just smiled a crooked smile and nodded.

“You can inspect to your heart's content, little miss.”

You feel a familiar tug at your lips as you let yourself circle the bike. It was a lot nicer than the last one, in your opinion. The black colour of the fenders matched tall and blonde, and the framework looked well-loved. You allowed your fingers to touch the bike, letting them trail down the seat until they reached the end of the bike and fell off.

“Hey, listen,” his voice making you snap your eyes to him. “How ‘bout as payment for the cakes, I take you on a ride?”

Your heart jumped into your throat, “Oh, I could never. I’m happy to watch from a distance.”

“Oh,” he feigned a pout as you walked back to where he was leaning. “Well then miss, I hate to say this but I can’t accept these.”

He pulled out a jar from each of his pockets and presented them to you.

“What?” you looked at the cakes and then back at him, offence displaying itself on your features.

“You heard me,” he smirked. “It wouldn’t be right. You put an awful lotta work into these cakes, you can’t just be given ‘em away.”

You bit your lip at the predicament in frustration and furrowed your eyebrows. The tall man raised an eyebrow and fought a smile that told you he was enjoying this.

“So, you’re saying if I let you give me a ride…you’ll take the cakes?”

“Yes I am, miss,” he confirms. “It would be my pleasure.”

An internal battle raged in you, but all you had to do was glance at the look on his face. The thrill of the unknown mingled with the warmth of his smile was enough to make your heart race. His eyes housed a genuine want, a need, and far be it from you to deny him. The “battle” was over before it even started.

“Fine, yeah, okay,” you relented.

His grin widened as he got on and gestured for you to hop on behind him. You couldn’t contain the flutter of excitement as you settled onto the motorcycle. The engine roared to life beneath you, vibrating with power and promise, mirroring your heartbeat.

“Hold on to me,” he instructed.

You swallowed before wrapping your arms around him gingerly, really your arms formed a ring around him, not touching him at all.

“You’ll need to hold on a little tighter, miss,” he chuckled.

Slowly, your arms tightened around him, a little too slow for him apparently because he kicked off suddenly causing you to grip him harshly.

“You jerk,” you shouted, as the wind nipped against your skin.

You couldn’t hear it but could feel the laugh the man in front of you let out, his strong back convulsing in a familiar rhythm. Your cheek was pressed against the denim of his jacket, and you could feel the warmth radiating from him. Lights and corn fields passed by in a blurry mix, and soon the stars were the only thing you could see clearly.

His rythmatic breathing brought a smile to your lips, and you could picture the look of pure serenity on his face. His cologne mixed with cigarettes and gasoline became one you already missed as you breathed in deeply, savouring every moment.

You understood now, the feeling The Vandals sought out, it was peace. It was forgetting everything and giving it all to the road ahead of them. The thrill of speed coursed through your veins, exhilarating and freeing. You held on to the man in front of you, feeling the powerful rumble of the motorcycle beneath you as it devoured the distance.

Every now and again he would look back to check on you, and every time you’d give him the same reassuring nod that let him know you were doing okay.

As you rode deeper into the night, a sense of liberation washed over you. The worries and insecurities that had plagued your mind earlier faded into the background, replaced by a sense of adventure and possibility. The road stretched out before you like an endless ribbon, beckoning you to explore its twists and turns.

However, it was over too soon. Before long, you had found your way back to the biker gang’s bar.

He finally came to a stop in a small open space, the engine purring to a halt. You untangled yourself from him, stepping off the bike with shaky legs.

You turned to face him, his silhouette illuminated by the soft glow of the moon. His eyes bore into yours, a mix of mystery and need.

“Thank you,” you beamed. “That was wonderful.”

“My pleasure miss,” he grins back, a hint of sadness flashing across his face as he got off the bike.

“I’m jealous,” you admitted, watching as took off his gloves. “You get to do that every day.”

“You could too,” he says before he could catch himself, leaning against it. “If you wanted to.”

“That would be amazing,” you say, rocking back and forth on your toes in thought.

The man smiled at your frame, admiring the way you could disappear into your head at the drop of a hat.

“Oh,” you snapped out of your reverie, shocking the man before you. “Now you have to eat the cake.”

“What,” he deadpanned.

“You have to eat the cake,” you repeated. “I kept my end of the deal now you keep yours.”

“I don’t have a-”

“Here,” you say, pulling a spoon from your bag.

“I don’t know where that spoon had been,” he smirks.

“Can you just try it,” you mumbled. “I want to see if you like it.”

He couldn’t say no to you even if he wanted to.

Putting the spoon in his mouth, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out one of the jars of Raspberry Delights. As he twists it open he swears he sees your eyes widen, and he has to stop himself from blushing at your eagerness.

You're practically bouncing while you watch him dip the spoon into the cake and put it to his lips. You hold your breath as he takes it in.

His brows furrow before he breaks out into a smile.

“That’s fucking delicious,” he lets out. “It's not too sweet, which I like.”

He watches as you glow brighter at the compliments.

“I’m glad you like it,” you sigh, looking at the ground in shyness.

“I love it, little miss,” he corrects, as he takes another spoonful of the raspberry cake into his mouth. “Now, I’m jealous. You get to eat these all the time.”

“I can fix that,” you giggle, and before you can think you're cleaning the corner of his mouth with your thumb lovingly.

As you begin to retract your hand, he grabs hold of it, keeping your hand on his face. His eyes watched you intently. There was a raw intensity in them, a fire that burned bright against the darkness. His rough fingers smoothed out yours so that you were caressing his face, his hand still covering yours.

You were so shocked and entranced by the touch that you didn’t notice his tongue darting out to clean your thumb.

A yelp echoed through the night as he sucked on the leftover raspberry cream, your skin prickling with a sudden heat. His eyes remained trained on yours, a twinge of playfulness circling his irises. He observed your gaze fall to where his tongue connected with your finger. He watched as your lips parted in concentration and curiosity.

He loved that look, the eagerness in your eyes to see what would happen next. He also loved the power you gave him in the moment, the trust you gave him to guide you.

He wanted more. He craved more. He craved you.

Your eyes flickered to his as he released your hand and reached out to caress your face. The rough calluses of his hand actually felt nice against your soft cheeks and, unconsciously, you leaned into it. The gesture brought a loving smile to his face.

He set the jar of raspberry cake on the back of his bike and let his hand fall to the small of your waist, pulling you closer. The gasp you let out only fueled his growing need for you. Your chest rose and fell against him and you felt the tips of your ears beginning to burn. The focus in his gaze made you feel like the only girl in the world, and that terrified you. At that moment, the only thing you wanted to do at that moment was look down or away from him, but the hand on your cheek didn’t allow it.

“Can I kiss you miss?” he breathed out, already bringing you closer.

“Please,” you let out, surprising yourself.

He didn't waste another second and closed the gap between you, his lips meeting yours in a fervent, intoxicating kiss. The world around you seemed to fade away as you melted into each other, a whirlwind of passion and desire consuming every inch of your being.

His kiss was like nothing you had ever experienced before, a mixture of roughness and tenderness that sent shivers down your spine. You found yourself lost in the moment, your hands instinctively clinging onto his jacket as he deepened the kiss, his demeanour shifting from playful to intense.

As the kiss lingered, time seemed to stand still. It was just the two of you, wrapped up in each other's arms beneath the moonlit sky. The night air crackled with electricity, and you could feel the heat radiating between you as if it were its own entity.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were left breathless and flushed, your chests rising and falling in sync. His eyes bore into yours, lips falling into a smile.

“I’m, uh, I’m Benny,” he stuttered, his cheeks becoming a slight pink.

“Hello Benny,” you giggle at his sudden show of shyness. “Everyone calls me Bun.”

|*|

A/n: first time writing for Austin!! Feedback is welcomed. Hope you enjoyed!!

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #benny cross #benny cross x reader #the bikeriders #the bikeriders x reader

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sluts4matt · 9 months ago

Text

BEACH VLOG

pairing: soft!matt x latina!reader

summary: vlogging a day at the beach with your boyfriend and his brothers is always fun. until matt starts getting handsy and you guys have to go away from the two.

warnings: SMUT, fingering, pet names, tons of praising, public, no actual p in v, fluff tbh

word count: 1079

author's note: i really hope i did your request justice @kscutzzzz, might be the softest thing i've written so far tbh

"look at this shell," you say to nick who points the vlog camera at you. your body was clad in a black two-piece bathing suit, the fabric hugging your honey-colored skin nicely. matt and chris come up behind the two of you, giggling like morons.

a small grin tugs at your lips feeling matt's arms snake around your waist. your finger traced the tattoos on his left arm. "a shell?" the brunette questions, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. "yes, yes," you babble like a child, "a pretty shell."

you turn in the boy's grasp, the camera still recording the two of you. his arms hugged your waist as he looked down at you. you brought the shell in between the two of you, showing it to him with innocent eyes. "see?"

matt nods, "it's beautiful." you grin, leaning up to peck his lips before wiggling out of his grasp and running back to where you got it from. "awe, so cute," chris mocked while nick cooed, the two brothers looking at matt.

"still don't understand how you bagged that at the ripe age of fifteen," chris chuckles, watching you run towards the shore. you had always been a bit weird, never in a bad way though.

the way you giggled at the smallest of things, and the way your voice would change to sounding like a child when you were excited had always made matt's heart flutter. and it still did even after five years.

"she's amazing," matt simply states, watching you bend over, the black bikini bottoms accentuating your ass. his mouth practically watered. "gonna marry her someday," matt mumbles before walking towards you.

"what are you doing baby?" he asks, watching as you scrape your feet around the wet sand and examine the ground. "looking for more shells, wanna help?" you ask, giving him the cutest puppy dog look.

matt grins, nodding his head. the two of you began to search around the sandy floor, and matt would be lying if he said he wasn't looking up every so often to sneak a glance at you.

you bent over a lot, giving him the perfect view of your cleavage. god, he wanted nothing more than to rip that thing off of you and fuck you right here in the ocean. "oh look, i found a starfish," you exclaim, pointing at the sea creature that occupied an underwater rock and making a 'yay' noise.

"good job babe," matt compliments, and you give him a proud grin. you were the sweetest girl in the world, and the fact that you were his made his ego rise.

"how about we swim now, hm?" matt suggests, and you nod eagerly. he grins, picking you up by your hips with ease, and carrying you deeper into the water.

your legs wrap around his waist as the cold water touches your toes. "cold," you squeal, burying your face in his neck. "don't worry baby, you'll get used to it," matt reassures.

matt was right, after a few seconds, the water didn't feel as cold as it first did. you let him carry you behind a few rocks, hiding your two bodies from the eyes of the public. "so pretty angel," he whispers, setting you down, placing his hands on your cheeks as he peppers your lips with kisses.

you let him, giggling softly. your fingers played with the hairs on his neck. "you look so pretty in this," he whispers, kissing down to your neck and biting the spot between your neck and shoulder.

your hand came up to his head, gripping the hair on his head. he sucks a hickey onto your neck before moving down to your collarbones.

"so pretty for me, my pretty baby," he whispers against your skin, one of his hands dropping down to the bottom half of your bathing suit. "gonna make you feel good," matt mumbles, rubbing his middle and ring finger against the crotch of your bathing suit.

"mhm," you squeak, an arm wrapped around his neck for support. "you want that, pretty girl?" he asks, continuing to rub his fingers against you. "yes, please," you whimper, pushing your hips against his hand.

"my girl is so pretty and polite, such a good girl for me," he praises, slipping his fingers past the hem of your bottoms. he rubs his fingers up and down your folds, his fingers easily collecting the wetness.

"all this just from me?" he teases, and you nod, a small whimper leaving your lips. "so perfect, angel. gonna finger you now, okay?" he tells you, and you nod.

matt was the sweetest boy, always making sure you were comfortable before doing anything.

he slips a finger inside of you, his mouth going to suck marks into your neck that would definitely get questioned later by the boys. "more," you breathe, your nails digging into his shoulders.

his hand goes to cover your mouth and his nose nudges your ear before he's whispering. "quiet baby, can't let anyone know what we're doing," he shushes, adding another finger.

you moan against his hand, and he presses kisses against your jaw. his fingers pump in and out of you slowly, trying not to be rough.

his fingers curl and he presses against a spot inside of you that has you seeing stars. your grip on his shoulder tightens and you press your hips down against his fingers, silently asking him to keep touching you there.

"you like that baby? like it when i touch that spot?" he asks, continuing to rub his fingers against it. you nod quickly, and his thumb circles your clit. your eyes slip closed and your head lolls forward, resting on his shoulder.

your orgasm creeps up on you, and you can't find yourself to warn matt. the pleasure becomes too much and you're letting out a strangled cry against his hand, and your thighs shaking.

he helps you ride out your high, slowing his movements and pressing kisses along your neck and jaw. "my good girl, you did so well," he coos, pulling his fingers from your heat and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"thank you," you mumble, your head still buried in the crook of his neck. "i love you," he mutters against your hair, and you can't help but grin. "i love you too, but if we don't leave this place soon, they'll come looking for us," you giggle.

tag list:

@hysteria-things @tillies33ssss @soimightlikeoldmen69 @sturniolossss @freshsturns @lily-strnlo @etvar12 @iloveurgf @sstvrnioloo @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloa @chrryclouds @sturniolho

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aetiologies · 5 months ago

Text

could you be tender? / zayne

summary. he desires so violently and yet he waits.

tags. a heartbreaking amount of pining like give this man a break, he is a YEARNER, he is quite literally obsessed with the mc but not in a weird way, kind of angsty but it does get better i swear, suggestive comments, making-out, implied smut at the very end.

note. pulled out the high school level biology knowledge for this one. inspired by this quote from anaïs nin and the black pumas on repeat.

wc. 2k words

Zayne had no intention in changing who he came to be. They say patience is a virtue only few are fortunate enough to possess, and though this may run true, he believes it to be otherwise.

It was neither a blessing nor a curse as it simply just… existed, living within him like a permanent encryption of genetic code, for better or for worse. The gods made him like this–so be it. Neither a genetic defect nor a simple computational error placed down by his own DNA polymerase could change the fact that patience was a slow digging knife into his gut. It inched deeper and deeper, slicing through layers of skin and connective tissue until it punctured through vital organs and dug into the very marrow of his bones.

Through the layers of ice so thoroughly fogged to the point of inconceivability, to you it may have looked miles deep, but in reality it was nothing but a fragile wall of glass. The simple blessing of your touch, no matter how delicate and gentle it may be, it was more than enough to splinter a crack in his countenance.

He wondered if you could see it. The look in his eyes, the desire of which was so inherently violent, the curiosity of you seeing such a thing after years of being by your side was only a delusion—a mere semblance of his pitiful hope.

You slept so soundly upon his bed, shoulders finally relaxed for once. You had been so awfully tense since your grandmother’s passing and the receival of her letters that even successfully inviting you over for dinner and a movie was a miracle. Though, you fell into slumber long before the ending credits of the film even arrived.

Zayne wondered if this was the same worry that often plagued you when you saw the fatigue tainting his under eyes after long surgery-filled shifts.

You cared about him. He cared about you too, perhaps a little too much. He became a doctor for you after all, but that was a detail you didn’t have to know—shouldn’t know, rather. Zayne was a long time family friend of yours, but he was your primary care physician first and you were his patient.

It could never be anything more than that.

That became his mantra since the start of his rather laborious career, and an even more extensive job of hiding his feelings from you.

It was kind of stupid, really. A grown man closer to the age of thirty than twenty, have fought a handful of wanderers, and one of the best cardio-thoracic surgeons in Linkon, was afraid.

Zayne laughed at himself, a short palpable huff for the ridiculousness of it all, but it was enough to cause you to stir in your sleep.

A groan escaped your lips as your eyes fluttered open, turning over your shoulder to see Zayne perched at the end of the bed with his back towards you. Confusion washed over your face then when you noticed your surroundings. Your cheeks flushed crimson then, bright even in the dim lighting. This was not the living room you recalled yourself to be in.

“Zayne—”

“Had to move you before you got a stiff neck again,” he muttered the words over his shoulder.

Now that you were awake and talking, all of a sudden his own whirlwind of thoughts were lost into the backwards oblivion of his mind again. As if the past ten minutes of him building assurance was just another thought in the wind.

He sighed, finally tossing you a look when a small grin tugged at the corners of your lips. His heavy beating heart quickens.

This is where he praised his patience rather than curse it. It was moments like this where his heart swelled just by the mere look of you, how even in dim lighting the minute details in your expression was as clear as day. It did not matter whether you had just woken up from a slumber with marks and lines of his bedsheets imprinted on your cheek as a sign of well rest or if you had dirt and blood splattered across your face from intense battle. You always had been beautiful to him and this time was no different.

If Zayne hadn’t known any better, he would have already made his way over to you and held you within his arms until you inevitably fell back asleep.

But alas… he did know better after all.

“You should’ve picked the movie,” he conceded, a look of defeat painted in his expression.

“It wasn’t that boring,” you reasoned, though unsuccessfully, the smallest hint of a smile appeared on Zayne’s peach-tinted lips. “Then again, you should’ve seen it coming when you decided to put on a black-and-white silent film, but I digress.”

Zayne clicked his tongue, head shaking in a playful disapproval. “And to think you’d appreciate such fine cinema,” He readjusted himself on the bed as he said so. He was completely facing you now and just an arm’s reach away.

You ignored the darker thoughts that lingered in the back of your mind if someone were to walk in and see the position the two of you were in then.

“Just because a movie is old, doesn’t automatically mean it’s good, you know.”

“And just because you didn’t understand the movie, doesn’t mean it was bad, either.”

A rising smirk melted upon your lips, eyes glued upon the man in front of you still in his work clothes of a starched white button-down and his black trousers. Not even a single hair was out of place and you often wondered whether or not you could make a mess out of this man.

“Why did you stay, Zayne?” you asked, breaking the silence that fell for a few odd beats.

He did not answer right away. It was as you expected as you watched his own thoughts scramble to piece together a coherent string of words behind those icy dark eyes of his.

His gaze flickers away, “just wanted to make sure you were okay while you slept.”

An easy answer, to be fair, but the most obvious one he could justify. It was neither a lie nor was it the full truth, just simply an embellished rebuttal to hopefully satiate your ever rising noisiness.

“I can take care of myself, but I appreciate it nonetheless.”

“I wasn’t expecting to stay until you woke up.” The words fell from his tongue before he could stop himself. You could see the grimace in his furrowed brow.

Zayne often prided himself in only speaking when he needed to. And within those very few words far and between, he always knew what to say and what to keep to himself no matter who he was speaking to. So, of course out of all people, you were the only one capable of watching him stumble over his words.

You cocked your head, “how come?”

“Got stuck in my own thoughts, that’s all.” He hummed.

“Do you do that often?” You damn well knew the answer to that question and Zayne only flickered you a look knowing the same. It seemed as if you wanted to rile him up today.

No matter, as patience was his virtue for today. And perhaps for the rest of his life.

“Only on special occasions,” he joked as his eyes met yours again.

“Our movie nights are a special occasion to you?” You mused as a chuckle leaves you. “I’m honored.”

“Is it not for you?” Zayne shot back. “Anything that has to do with you is a special occasion in my book.”

Pink dusted the apples of your cheeks, but you looked away and hopefully fast enough for Zayne to miss. And maybe he did, but one thing is for sure is that he most definitely did not miss the clear view of your red-tipped ears when you turned.

Zayne feigned a laugh and tried his awful best to suppress the smile that threatened to plaster his face.

Clearing your throat, you look back towards him, sitting up a bit higher now that you pulled yourself together.

“Tell me then,” you continued, “tell me what you were thinking about.”

His brows furrowed, “I believe thoughts are meant to be private.”

“Not all the time,” you argued with a look on your visage he could not quite pinpoint. “If anything, I share my thoughts with you all the time.”

Zayne leaned back as curiosity laced his words. “Oh, really? Enlighten me, then.”

You smiled, basically a reflex in your nature as your pulse quickened. You leaned closer, the gap between you deteriorated by the inch. You paused and your gaze fell upon his lips for the umpteenth time tonight. Reflex, again. Hesitance gripped at your neck but the words were not lost to you, “I dreamt of you…” you swallowed, though Zayne’s expression was as still as ice.

Perhaps you had finally rendered the man speechless as to you, it would have been a flawless and ever-sought-after victory, but rather you could see his calculated thoughts in his irises—dark and dilated. You would have been sucked into the black hole of him if you weren’t careful.

You watched as his Adam's apple bobbed. A swallow, a nervous habit, a sign of weakness, a clearing in the woods.

“Was I in a panda suit again?” he replied in a hushed voice.

You shook your head.

“Then what?”

“I can’t spare any more details, unfortunately.” You leaned back, regaining that space but Zayne only follows suit and shrinks that gap once more.

“Why?”

“It’s your turn now,” you pointed out. “It’s only fair.”

Zayne pursed his lips together, and yet he does not pull away, he does not cower. Instead, he stayed, hand pressing into the mattress right by your leg as if to test the waters. You had every opportunity to move away, to stop what this was from happening and yet the chance was never taken.

To have presented him with such a favorable circumstance made him wonder if his wishes were finally granted. That someone watching above decided that this was the moment for him to stop waiting and to want more.

His eyes dart to your mouth, a perfectly innocuous and coincidental look. But the corner of your lips twitch and Zayne finds himself reaching for you.

At first it was a light touch, barely grazing you with his cold fingertips as they brushed against your chin, then up your jaw, until he found purchase with your cheek in the palm of his hand. You leaned into his touch, a habit you never knew you had as he pulled you in closer.

Zayne’s thumb lined the perimeter of your plump lips, brushing over the corner as it twitched again.

“I think you know,” he sighed.

And just like his fingers, Zayne’s lips just barely brush against yours. A tease if anything, and you wanted nothing more than to curse this man and his goddamn patience. His habit was anything but a blessing as you ignored all the restraint you had built up over the years and kissed him.

Properly this time.

His hands are on your face as if they were made to be there, perfect puzzle pieces nuzzled together as he kisses you back, deeper and deeper. You moan into his mouth, muffled between your lips as he hungrily devoured your lips.

Your fingers found themselves coursing through his dark locks, messing his neatly parted hair but Zayne concluded he had not a single care in the world now that he finally had you in his arms.

Your exploring fingers eventually made their way towards his neck, earning a sharp exhale from him before they wrapped around his tie.

You bring him forward, falling back onto the mattress with him on top of you. Zayne pulls away for a brief moment, devouring the sight of you and your hair splayed all over his pillows. It was just as he imagined again and again, alone in his bed with a never ending ache he could not satiate unless he succumbed to the tug and pull of his hand.

“I thought of us,” He says once his lips find yours again. His words were a mere whisper now, “and being tender like this.”

He desired so violently for you, but now his patience is nowhere to be seen.

He tugged at his tie.

Zayne could no longer wait.

#🪩 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ lnds #love and deepspace #lnds zayne #lnds x reader #lnds angst #lnds fluff #zayne x reader #zayne love and deepspace #lads zayne #l&ds zayne #zayne x mc #zayne fluff #zayne angst #love and deepspace scenarios #lnds scenarios

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nothomegal · 1 year ago

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ITS CHRISTMAS EVE (or at least where I live bc timezones) and I would like to gove Pyramid Head smoochies under mistletoe pls 😌

Aww I was having this idea too! And since it's Christmas allow me to bless you with a drawing!...

...And a lilttle one-shot!

"Mistletoe"

(Pyramid Head x GN Reader)

Warning: suggestive implications by the end, but mostly fluff!

Word Count: 1k

Christmas was always a funny holiday for (Y/N). Either because they never truly felt connected to it or because they haven't felt the 'magic of Christmas' since childhood. Don't get me wrong, they would still put some decorations when they could, but ever since they came to Silent Hill such tradition was lost.

Not like they mind it too much though, they already have the absolute best gift and company they could ever ask for! Just tell me, who in their right mind would be upset about having a nearly 8ft tall demi-god creature as your forever partner? You have to be chronically insane to turn down such blessing!

And speaking of the creature, (Y/N)'s daydream was interrupted when a large hand curled around their arm and stopped them. They shoot a curious glance to their lover, who was already looking at whatever got his attention.

Right above them, placed on the old metallic door frame with, what they suppose is duct tape, were hangign a bunch of oddly shaped pieces of paper. Some pieces where green, others painted green, and all of them where kept together with a piece of damaged red cloth that was tied as a bow.

(Y/N) stares at that weird construction with furrowed brows, really trying to grasp what the hell they're looking at. Pyra was still as well, but his head tilted towards his human as he curiously observes their reaction. Seems like they too have no clue what is this-.

However, (Y/N) manages to make out the shape of it and instantly burst out laughing.

—"No way! No way someone actually made one!"— you say between laughs.

The beast simply observes them, letting out a low wondering rumble. Is that another pointless joke humans have? (Y/N) is laughing hard so it must be something very funny or very stupid.

After the laughter had ceased, (Y/N) takes a look at their monster and suddenly remember what he wanted in the first place. Oh, right. They were supposed to explain what is that.

—"Okay, okay."— you say between giggles as you point at the object. —"That thing over there is supposed to be a mistletoe. Remember when I told you about Christmas and how people decorate that one fuzzy tree? Well, this thing is also kinda a Christmas tradition. People hang it somewhere high and when two step or pass underneath it, they have to kiss."—

While (Y/N) explains, Pyra listens to them carefully. But the second they mention the kiss part, the air between them shifts and becomes... Odd. And Pyra himself still, way too still.

(Y/N) of course feels the change, and is quick to start clarifying.

—"But of course, it's optional. It's not like you're forced to kiss anyone. If anything, I never did! So I suppose this will remain as a silly tradition some-"—

Their speech is replaced by a tiny gasp when the monster suddenly grabs their jaw, gently lifting and moving their gaze where he needed. Their eyes narrow slightly when they noticed a tongue peek out from his helmet and slowly, almost shily, wiggle towards their face.

—"Aww. What a polite guy."— you chuckle as a little blush creeps on your cheeks. —"Well of course I'll give you a kiss."—

Ever since they introduced this new method of showing affection, it wasn't rare to witness Pyra ask for a 'kiss' once or twice. It's kinda funny to see how shy he gets, always taking it slow and giving them enough time to stop or pull away. Do they do that? Nuh-uh! Do they think it feels gross? Weird, yes. But (Y/N) is deranged so it's fine.

The pink muscle soon presses against their lips, and they respond by giving it a kiss while holding it in place gently, totally unbothered by its wet and slippery texture. They could feel Pyra practically melt into the gesture, he does it every time. It's small, but is the closest they can get to an actual kiss, and the intimacy and specialness of it seems to get the beast to his very core.

After some second, when (Y/N) attempts to lean back, a pair of big arms gets a hold around them, cementing them in place completely and pulling them closer to the monster. The said beast lets out a low menacing growl as his tongue licks their cheek and part of the jaw. The message was clear...

M̵̞͔̥̏̌̊o̷͕͒̓͑ͅŗ̷̭̝̓̾e̵̠̤͓̅̒̋.

He wanted more.

Despite the apparentaly hostile growls, (Y/N) showed no intimidation and simply chuckled as they roll their eyes.

—"Someone is feeling frisky, huh?"—

Another, and a bit louder, growl resonated from inside the beast's helmet. His grip around them tightening and the tongue sliding along their lips, almost begging for them to kiss it again.

—"Calm down tiger. We both know if we continue you'll get too carried on."— you coo, sliding one of your hands along one side of his helmet.

He groans with certain displeasure, but his grip soon losens as he slightly tilts his head into their touch, yet he doesn't let go neither.

—"If you're really feeling like doing it then let's go somewhere else. You don't want anyone to see me naked, don't you?"—

This time their answer is no longuer a growl or a sound, but the same pair of big hands lighting their form up and swinging over a broad shoulder.

Before starting to walk however, the monster reaches up and snatches the little paper mistletoe. (Y/N) of course notices that and can't hold back the little laugh.

—"Well well, see you really liked this particular tradition."—

They get no response as the monster resumes his walking. But the small squeeze on one of their thighs was enough proof to know that they got it right and it won't be the last time the see the little item.

After this little interaction, and probably after what's about to come, (Y/N) doubts to ever be able to feel that magic of Christmas again.

However, they realize that they still experienced something new. The magic of the mistletoe.

Is that an actual thing? Who knows.

But it worked on Pyra so it must be a thing, right?

It worked well after all.

...Too well.

#nothomegal ask reply #nothomegal art #nothomegal fic #nothomegal oneshot #pyramid head #pyramid head x reader #pyramid head x y/n #gn y/n #gn reader #happy holidays y'all ❤️#slasher fluff

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demonvibez · 3 months ago

Text

Waking Up with You

Characters: Lucifer x Shy GN Reader Word Count: 2k+ Rating: Teen Tags: fluff, kissing, suggestive moments A/N: This was requested by a friend, and it was too cute to pass up. Hope y'all like!

Your sleepy eyes slowly flutter open, the night's dreams fading into obscurity as your eyes focus on your surroundings. Letting out a tiny yawn, you push yourself up a bit to have a look around. With nothing but the flickering light of a distant candle, you gaze down at the handsome demon beneath you, his arms loosely gripping you as you lay on his chest. It was your first time spending the night with Lucifer - nothing too scandalous though, for he knows how timid you are, and has been taking things slow in your relationship together. Last night was pretty much perfect - of course the Avatar of Pride would plan the perfect date for you. He was able to bribe his brothers to leave for the night - with threat of punishment if they misbehave - and proceeded to cook the most romantic meal for you both. A moonlit dinner in the garden, just the two of you - and it's then that he gently takes you by the hand, and asks you to spend the night with him. The look in his crimson eyes and soft tone of his voice - which he reserves for only you - and you know you can trust him completely.

And that's how you found yourself in the arms of the Morningstar so early in the day. You can't stop yourself from admiring him - for like the painting above his bed, he truly is a work of art. His raven hair lightly brushed back out of his face, revealing peaceful eyes deep in slumber. His flawless skin like a smooth marble, and you swear in your mind you think you can see him actually smiling in his sleep. You wonder for a moment if it's effortless - he is asleep, after all. Then again, he is Lucifer - ever meticulous and prideful, maybe he would try to maintain decorum, even while unconscious. Even so, he truly is picturesque - if only you could take his picture. You know you’d wake him if you tried, though - you'll have to commit this sight to memory.

You can't help but to bite your lip as your eyes drift downwards to the rest of his body - the way his sleep shirt only has two buttons done, the rest falling open to reveal his chiseled features. You can see why he was Father's favorite - he sure took his time crafting such perfection. You can't help the way your fingers lightly ghost over the contours of his abs, so tempting to touch. Your hand hovers, but you don't want to disturb his sleep. So you hesitate. That is, until you hear a light chuckle.

"Curious, are we?" He has that tone which you can tell means he is smirking. Caught a bit off guard, you can't help the small jump scare he gives you - a tiny yelp leaving your lips and a ferocious blush flooding your cheeks. Your eyes widen and you immediately reach down for the grey silk sheets and pull them over your head, hiding under them.

"Uhhh…I'm sorry, that was weird. How long have you been awake," you ask, your already sheepish voice muffled by being buried under bedding. Lucifer tightens his arms around you, looking down at your form with a certain sense of amusement.

How long had he been awake? Well, certainly longer than you had. He had actually been laying there for quite a while, keeping his eyes closed and simply enjoying the moment. At first because he didn't want to move from this embrace with you, but then he felt you stirring, and wanted to see what you would do. He eventually peaked his eyes open to find you looking at him in wonder - and he finds himself looking at you the same way. You're just so adorable, so precious, so endearing. So perfect in all of your own ways, that he actually finds himself feeling grateful once again. Maybe fate hasn't turned it's back on him after all. It's once he saw you contemplating whether or not you should touch him, that he could no longer keep up his sleepy rouse.

And now, he feels he misses your face already.

"Nonsense, my love. Please don't ever hide yourself from me." he says, both literally and figuratively. You can hide yourself from the rest of the world, but never from him. Sure, it may be partially due to his pride, but it is also because he cares for you so deeply - because he already loves the parts of you that have opened up to him. He is eager to continue peeling back the layers, getting to know the real you, the human with the most beautiful soul he's ever seen. So of course he's not going to let you just hide away from him - especially while he holds you in his arms. Using his strength to pull the sheet off of the bed, he tosses it off of the edge. Finally, he is able to gaze into your kind human eyes.

"There you are." That tender smile he reserves for only you pulls at his cheeks. "I've been awake for sometime now, and I did not wish to disturb you. So I may have feigned my slumber for a bit longer to keep you in my arms. However, I had no idea when you would awaken - or that I would find you admiring me in such a way," he teases, his voice low and his signature smirk making a comeback. You go to hide your face against his chest, only for Lucifer to lightly grab hold of your chin. His thumb gently strokes your cheek as he reassures you that you have nothing to be embarrassed about - it's just the two of you here, in your own private little paradise.

You melt into his touch, his words, and you both find yourselves leaning in, your lips colliding - gentle at first, but slowly growing in intensity. Your little human hands grip the loose fabric of his pajama shirt, and now suddenly the Avatar finds himself lightly blushing - whether it's the kiss itself, or the reminder that you wore his dress shirt to bed, he's unsure. He's just glad you're too shy to tease him about it. You pull away for air, and now you're the one letting out a chuckle.

"What's got you blushing, Luci? Hmmm?!" Or maybe not, about you teasing him - but you're both laughing as you lightly poke his cheek. You always manage to find a way to surprise him - to show him little glimpses of yourself that you don't show to anyone else. Maybe that's why the two of you are so perfect for each other. He lightly grabs your wrist, before pressing a kiss to the tip of your finger.

"Only you could, my dear." And you swear you see his eyes sparkle as he leans in to steal yet another kiss from your soft lips. Your hand gently cups his cheek, and the warmth of your touch illuminates his demonic soul. For a brief moment he wonders how he could find such a slice of heaven so far down below - how he could continue to be blessed after being condemned. Pushing those thoughts aside, he deepens the kiss, the little noises you’re making letting him know you’re enjoying it too. Those little sounds are music to his ears - and knowing he’s the only one that gets to hear such a beautiful song makes his heart swell that much more.

Your hands move down his torso, searching for those two annoying little buttons at the bottom of his sleep shirt. You fiddle with them a bit, unable to undo them without breaking away. Lucifer beats you to the punch, breaking the kiss but still hovering your lips with his own.

Just as he’s about to tease you for wanting more of him, a loud banging at the door shatters your peaceful existence together. He puts a finger to his lips, motioning for you to stay silent. Maybe if the two of you ignore it, the problem will just go away - wishful thinking. A louder bang, followed by Mammon and Satan shouting from the hallway, makes it clear that will not be the case. How could they possibly be home already?! While Greed shouts for more money (and Wrath does his best to pester the Eldest), you feel Lucifer’s muscles tense beneath you. His eyes roll at his brother's demands, his jaw clenching as he tells you he will be back in a moment through gritted teeth and a fake smile. That deadly smile. That deadly, sadistic smile that has but one meaning: retribution. Thankfully it isn't for you, but you can only imagine the fate of the brothers that actually will receive it.

He quickly presses a kiss to the top of your head before climbing out of bed. Buttoning up his shirt as he crosses the room to the door, he slips out into the hallway, making sure the door is firmly closed behind him. You’re not exactly sure what he says to his brothers, as you can’t make out his words. You just hear his low tone coming through the door, along with his angry aura. Probably something about them being strung up from the ceiling together - you’re sure you’ll find out later.

You hear a few crashing sounds, your eyes widening - you can imagine the fight currently erupting between your lover and his younger brothers. You’re not fond of these sibling fights between them - you usually stay out of it, trying your best to just fade into the shadows. It's simply more rational for you to step in once everyone has calmed themselves, even if only slightly.

For a moment you wonder what sort of mood Lucifer may return in, and the thought makes you want to pick the sheets back up off the floor and hide under them again - if only you could both return to the serenity of waking up in each other’s arms.

Sliding to the edge of the bed, you are about to reach for the discarded sheet when the door suddenly opens. Lucifer walks back in, and you notice he is casually chatting on the phone - he doesn’t seem angry at all. You’re unsure who he's talking to, at first - but as the conversation continues, he returns to sit next to you on the bed, and you can hear Lord Diavolo’s booming laugh on the other end of the call.

While he was out arguing with his brothers in the hallway, he had an epiphany - he wasn’t going to let anything ruin his day with you. So he called the Future King to ask about sending his brothers to the Castle and taking the day off. He wasn’t too specific about telling his plans, but Diavolo was happy to oblige him regardless - plus, the Prince put it together on his own, and he’d never deny his best friend.

“Once again, thank Barbatos for me for taking my brothers off of my hands today. And thank you as well, Lord Diavolo. Let me know if they’re too much troub-“ and you hear Diavolo cutting him off, saying the two of them have it handled - and something about the brothers ‘rat-catching in the labyrinth.’ The thought of such a task gives you a slight shiver, having to hunt rats in such a cold, dark maze. You instinctively move closer to Lucifer, wrapping your arms around him and hiding your face against his shoulder. The feeling of you pressing into his side signals him to wrap up the call, and he does as such before tossing his DDD onto the nightstand. You peek up at him, a certain innocence in your eyes as you rest your cheek on his shoulder. Eyes that could start the Second Celestial War. He almost gets lost in them - until you gently break the silence.

“What was that all about?”

“Just making sure we can enjoy the rest of our day together in peace,” he says, now taking the arm you are resting against and wrapping it around you instead, pulling you closer into him. “Now…where were we,” he murmurs, his smirk devious yet playful. That bright blush he loves so much returns to your cheeks once again, and of course he stops you before you’re able to hide your face. He knows you too well.

Another kiss he cannot resist, passion thick in the air as you resume the loving embrace you had both entered earlier. Your hands begin to roam again, pulling at the bottom of his pajama shirt, and he breaks the kiss to discard it for you. His pride immeasurable as he sees the way you’re looking at him, shimmers of both love and lust as you take in the demon before you.

Sin looks really good on you, but he doesn't want to get ahead of himself.

Taking your hand in his, he presses a soft kiss to your knuckles and promises that whatever you want do to next, it is all up to you. Whatever you may desire, he will respect it and make it come true. If you want to take things slowly, that’s fine by him - he has all the time in the world for you, the one human who has captivated his heart.

And just as he is about to settle back down, assuming you will choose to wait - you surprise him yet again, your lips crashing onto his, your hands pulling at what’s left of his pajamas.

Maybe you’re not as shy as he thinks...

· demonvibez ♡ 2024 · do not copy, repost or modify · · comments, reblogs and likes are deeply appreciated! ♡ ·

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coconutdays · 3 months ago

Text

bed chem

s. part one! of frat president Toji Zenin being your school crush and you his ! this is the same Toji from my Seat Taker universe hehe

toji zenin has rescinded himself to the thought that you are too pure for him. its not some sort of pervy thing where he think you'd be a prude to bed or boring to talk to, but it pains him to think about bringing his not so innocent ways into the life of the girl that's always got a soft smile in her eyes when she's speaking to anyone and wearing the most put together outfits.

he knows you notice him during the overlap of time that both of you spend studying in the school library. every time he heads out before you for class, there's a fleeting moment of eye contact he makes with you before he looks away as if he couldn't care less.

but you don't know this and simply hold some shame that he always catches you looking at him when he leaves, never choosing to give you a smile in return or any sort of positive reaction. all you know is that you get extremely nervous when you end up on an elevator with him and other university students, squished up right in front of him.

his chest hits your back and you pray to god that he can't hear or feel your heart pounding

unbeknownst to you, toji pays no mind to that and is too busy resisting the urge to roll his eyes back in pleasure over the rich smell of your perfume.

when the elevator door opens, much to his horrible luck, toji sees the idiot of his fellow frat member Satoru and his best friend Suguru standing in front of the entrance.

the forced look of carelessness in the frat president's face is no deterrent to his pledge, who smirks knowingly at you and him, even going as far as letting his gaze wander on you as you usher out like a small mouse.

the symbiotic duo start walking with toji, who can't resist the curt sentence that leaves his mouth.

"weren't you idiots going down."

"ah we were but I just wanted to know since when you were screwing the hottie from my math class." the white haired pomeranian speaks in a breathy tone, smile evident even though toji wasn't looking at him

"fuck off. i haven't been screwing anyone."

"then what's up with the boner." satoru bites back, "and the whole 'very obviously being aware of each other but ignoring it' thing?"

toji almost walks into a table, gruffly asking "that girl's in your math class?"

"affirmative."

"forget about her then.” the president tosses his backpack on a table and moves to take out his laptop from it

“Is that my frat prez asking?” Satoru fake pouts

A single mean look his way and Satoru smirks, “fine mr prez” before retreating

A couple weeks later the same fiend struts into their fraternity's private gym, interrupting Toji's jiu jitsu training session

"you owe me that bulk pack of toblerone we saw at Costco." he whistles while swinging his phone around

sweaty, toji peaks over his brows, "the hell, why would I."

one very calculated and perhaps spoiled toss, and toji seamlessly catches satoru's phone

"I did get some help from the weird kid with glasses who suggested we all make a group chat to study for the mid-term together." satoru sighed dreamily, "but there she is, in all her hotness."

what toji was looking back at, was your instagram profile, in all its beauty

god, he didn't know you could smile like that

and that's your name

toji didn't even realize how long he had been staring until satoru yanked the phone away from him and clicked a few buttons on his phone

"jeez, prez if you were into her that bad why didn't you go up to her already," he says before stuffing his phone back into his pocket, "I sent you her profile so you can stalk and stare all you want."

later when he's in bed and doing his regular phone scroll, he takes the time to fully inspect your profile

he's subconsciously grateful for the opportunity now because he's never gotten to stare at you this much before. it enables him to further fall for you, much to his dismay.

you’re beautiful and sexy and pretty and everything good.

and there’s more on your stories

he’s viewing your first highlight. sucking in a breath at every picture because he can’t stand how good looking you are.

he needs you bad

you in a pink dress, you in a pretty yellow blouse, you in a sexy black dress, you in red kitten heels, you in skintight jeans, you in todays short denim skirt

wait, today?

his eyes zoom to when you posted that

3 hours ago

fuck

#toji thirst #fushiguro toji x reader #toji zenin x you #toji zenin x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #toji smut #toji fluff #jjk x you

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machveil · 3 months ago

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hey, i noticed you normally do straight pairing but i had a thought that might be fun m!reader is a curious soldier working with monster!konig to the point where he wants to see how his tentacles feel on him. starts innocently with his hands and arms but it gets more intimate; tentacle on his chest, thighs...

I didn’t forget this was in my draft folder, I didn’t forget this was—

CW: m!reader, groping, suggestive

years as colleagues and being close friends with Monster!König left you wondering about his more eldritch body parts. it wasn’t a secret that the man had monstrous limbs, strong and agile while on the battlefield - considered to be weapons, an extension of his body used for destruction

oh, but you’re a curious guy, it’s in your nature. thoughts running through your head when you see his tentacles reach out from under his hood - ‘what do they feel like?’, ‘how strong are they really?’, ‘would they feel cool or hot against my skin’. would König be weirded out by your innermost thoughts regarding him? you couldn’t say

it took a lot to build up the nerve to ask him. you were practically sweating bullets when he stood in front of you, icy gaze cast down as you asked if you could feel his appendages. you cringed a little when he chuckled - were you going too far? but when he replied it felt like the wind had been knocked out of you, “Ja, the barracks. You know where my room is.”. that was all he said before he walked off, leaving you awe struck that… yeah, you’d get to feel his tentacles

he didn’t say when, just that he’d be in his room. you figured you’d wait til dark, give yourself a little more privacy under the veil of night. you paced outside his door for a good minute, are you sure you want this? obviously, yes, you’d been imagining his tentacles on you since you met him

when you finally stopped pacing, glancing up at his door, all it took was a deep breath before you knocked. a simple ‘come in’ as an answer, you swallowed as you opened his door. there, on his bed - looking almost comically large - sat König, hooded and staring at you, “I was starting to think you’d be too scared to come, Kleiner Soldat.”

when he patted his thigh, gesturing for you to come over, you could hardly breathe. closing the door behind you, just as you were about to walk towards him, he tuts, “Ah— lock the door, schatz.”, accent thick as he spoke lowly. lock the door? for privacy, that’s what you told yourself as you flicked the lock, breathing out when you hear the little click

when you finally walk over to him, nervous as he takes your hand, he looks at you, “Was? Waiting for an invitation? Sit.”, he chuckles, though his command sounds a little rougher. he’s sturdy, comfortable as you awkwardly sit down on his thigh. there’s a moment of silence where he simply looks at you, perched on his leg

“Sorry if this is weird— I’ve just always wanted to know what… those felt like.”, you say, voice strained as you break the silence. there’s a brief moment before König rests his hands on your hips - moving you to straddle his thigh rather than siting side-saddle, “It’s okay, I understand. I know how you get, liebe.”

it’s true, ignoring your curiosity aimed at his tentacles, you always seemed to be interested in one thing or another. König was fond of it, always listening to your little facts and ramblings. back to his chest, he hums, “Hold your hands out, don’t look back.”

that caught your attention, and you did as you were told. hands up in front of you, your eyes widen as familiar fabric is placed in your grasp. his sniper hood. the shock of it almost gets you, already turning your head to ask what he’s doing - but he stops you, his hand coming up to gently grip your chin, turning you to face forward again, “Already ignoring my commands? That’s alright, I’ll let that slide,”, he huffs, leaning a little closer to you, “It won’t happen again, right?”

you can barely manage an ‘okay’ when you feel something touch your bicep. smooth, slick, little suckers lining the underside. oh god, firm muscle coiling around your upper arm. that same sensation at the nape of your neck, dipping just below your shirts collar, “This is what you wanted, liebe?”, voice a little condescending as he speaks

his hands move from your hips to the tops of your thighs, grip firm. in the same place his hands had been, you feel more limbs reach out for you, snug against your waist - ever so slightly constricting. he’s practically pawing at your thighs when your breath hitches, a tentacle drifting down towards your stomach, resting where your shirt stops and pants start. and when it pokes down, just barely grazing your skin, König’s hands shift towards your inner thighs

“Tell me, Mein kurioses Spielzeug, where should I touch you? Hm?”

#CW: google translate #big man monster!könig and his average joe bed #konig #könig #monster!konig #könig cod #könig call of duty #könig x male reader #könig x m!reader #könig headcanons #cod #cod thoughts #call of duty #hit post

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bonny-kookoo · 1 year ago

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Ahhhh .. I love the Someone Older couple already !! Could we maybe get a drabble, where YN takes care of JK after his accident?

Of course!

Jungkooks house is.. huge.

But it also feels a little stale almost, like an apartment you'd find on pinterest or those websites that sell furniture. Like a display home, not being lived in.

There are some traces of him here and there, but no solid proof that it's him who's made those little hints happen- there's no personality to most of the decoration or even the furniture.

You're trying your best to help, and he's grateful. Even though you have to ask a lot, mostly where what is placed, you're still taking a good amount of weight off his shoulders.

He's eating slowly, mostly because he can't move his arm very quickly due to the bruising still, but even if he could, he wants to savor this. Not even a day of you staying over, and he's already noticed the faint smell of your bodywash lingering in his main bathroom. Your sweater on his couch. Your shoes at the door.

You're filling up his empty house with something alive. Something warm to contrast the white walls.

"Are you cold?" He asks as he notices the way you keep rubbing your socked feet against one another beneath the table.

"The tiles are cold." You say, and he chuckles.

"Gotta get you some slippers then." He suggests, and you shrug.

"Maybe." You agree. Does he want to just make you comfortable, or is he hinting at something more permanent? "Where do I sleep tonight?" You wonder, watching him finish his plate as he leans back, stretching for a second- painful face to go along with it, muscles still aching badly.

"Next to me, preferably." He shrugs after he gives up trying to have his stiff muscles relax. "But you can also take the guest room, if you'd like." Jungkook tells you, giving you another option just in case.

You feel a bit conflicted.

Will he compare you to what he knew with Evelyn if you sleep in the same bed she has before? Will he remember the things they both had, the happy times when they had cuddled or made love, and start reflecting on what this is now instead? It's weird. You want to be close to him, but not in the same spot he used to love another woman.

You're so selfish.

"I uhm.." You're not sure how to properly explain your problem, involuntarily glancing over to a coat left on the hanger near the front door, and Jungkook chuckles.

"She hated this house." He says. "She never liked it. Was angry at me for months when I bought it despite her distaste for it." Jungkook explains. "I got.. rid of most of the furniture and redesigned it all after she left."

"Huh?" You wonder, surprised.

"I just didn't want her anymore. I was hurt." He shrugs. "But in every.. object so to say, I saw a glimpse of her. Mocking me." He confesses. "And I couldn't stand it."

"So you.. threw out the furniture?" You wonder, and he laughs.

"Sold it, to be more precise." He corrects gently. "But yes. That's why it now looks so.."

"Sterile." You mumble, and he nods.

"I didn't want anything like what used to be in here. A complete opposite." He says, before he looks at the coat near the front door. "That coat by the way isn't hers. It's Taehyung's wife's." He says, watching fondly how you become a bit shy at being found out like that.

"I.. oh." You simply nod a bit awkwardly, when his hand reaches out to hold yours on the table.

"She forgot it months ago, Tae never picked it up." He chuckles. "And my bedroom has.. never seen anyone ever in it but me." He further teases, making your eyes snap up to his own, a strange, boyish excitement almost in his gaze.

"I think it's time to change that, don't you think?"

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook imagine #bts jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook imagines #jungkook imagines #jeon jungkook fanfic #bts jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader

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bratphilia · 1 year ago

Text

— burn (w. afton)

note ✧.*‎ part two of the self indulgent william fics!! think of this as a double feature. anyways this is my first time writing william and the reader as a married couple even though its barely glossed over, and not some taboo/scandalous relationship!! so enjoy :3

pairing ✧.*‎‎ steve raglan / william afton x reader

cw ✧.*‎‎ oral sex (f receiving), face sitting, bondage, squirting

taglist ✧.*‎‎ @dilfity, @iikyutee, @kissingrhi, @jen-parker, @kathxstuff, @papyrus-the-poet, @lowballbread, @cecelovesbooks, @bluebearieally, @cybunii, @van-van, @iamunabletothinkofablogname, @1ncidentdropout, @ice-echo26@, officially-a-simp13, @all4kura, @el-sol-sale-de-nuevo, @littlexstarlightx, @samlow23

synopsis ✧.*‎ you convince your husband not to shave quite yet.

"ah, shit," comes william's voice from the bathroom in your shared room. you perk your head up and peer over to see him standing in front of the mirror with a small amount of shaving cream spilled on the counter.

you slide off the bed and walk his direction, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your head on the side of his torso. he remains unmoving, stoic as the humming of an electric razor comes to life. "maintenance time?"

"absolutely," he sighs, checking his beard out in the mirror. he let it grow too far, in his opinion, but you on the other hand craved it. was it weird? possibly, to someone outside of your relationship, but who cares. every time he kissed you lately, his beard scratched your cheek and chin, making you grow so weak in the knees you could only stand with his support holding you up.

"well, i like it. maybe you should keep it a little while longer," you suggest hopefully.

william simply gives a short laugh. "i know that you like it. you have that cute little look in your eyes again."

you self-consciously look in the mirror, searching for whatever "cute look" he was implying you had, only to find your reflection staring back at you, most noticeably your pupils dilated in desire. fuck, you needed him. you decide to make it a game. "you won't do anything, though, so it doesn't matter. go on, shave," you say with a dismissive wave of your hand and turn your heel to walk away.

"oh, i won't do anything?" he challenges. you give a noncommittal "mm-mm" in response as you climb back on the bed.

a beat passes. "get back over here and give me your wrists."

that immediately grabs your attention. you try not to jump and spring forward, but nonchalantly approach him with a blank face, wrists held out for him. the shaving cream and now turned off razor is left abandoned somewhere on the counter. he undoes his belt and wraps it around your wrists, securing the clasp tightly. he pulls you closely so he can practically growl in your ear, "i'm going to go lay down on the bed then you're going to come over and sit on my face, got that?"

you inhale deeply, suddenly finding yourself short of air. "yes."

william situates himself on the bed, casually rest his hands behind his head. he turns his head towards you; your move. you pad over and climb on the bed, straddling him and shimmying your way forward on your knees. he decides to help you out and quicken the process by grasping your hips and practically lifting you onto his face.

you try to reach forward onto the bedframe, only for your hands to meet a defeating tug against his belt. you were completely at his disposal. he dives in, smothering his face in between your thighs. he doesn't even use his mouth at first, just teasing you with his facial hair alone. it leaves a burning sensation in its wake and you moan desperately, fingers flexing against the leather bounding you.

"fuck!" you cry once his tongue enters your weeping hole. he pulls it out and relentlessly laps up and down your slit. his finger tips dig into your hips in a death grip, almost totally halting any bucking motions you could try to make. he just holds you against his face, expecting you to take what he gives you.

william groans against you in unison with your sinfully loud moans. the vibrations only add to the stimulation he gives you. he sucks your clit into his mouth and you swear you see stars. he pulls it with his lips so that your hood drags out ever so slightly and you're almost close.

before you can react, he pulls you off his face. you groan, disappointed in the loss of stimulation. "don't be so sad, baby," he says. "lay on the bed, yeah? can you do that for me, sweet thing?"

"mhm," you mumble, shakily resting on the spot next to him and he repositions himself on his knees on the bed. your own knees are tilted upwards expectantly.

he instantly takes matters into his own hands and lifts your legs up to your stomach. "keep them there," he tells you in a commanding tone.

you feel your core pulse at his words and throw your head back when his mouth returns. without warning, he sucked your clit without remorse. unrelentlessly flicking your pearl with the tip of his tongue with a method only he understands.

you cry out helplessly once more once his impossibly long tongue slips inside of you once more. he thrusts it in and out, fucking you with it while you shake in his grasp. your curses and begging comes out as incoherent babbles as his mouth works its magic on you, effectively rendering you weak.

he releases your legs from his hold and tries to spread your lips apart to give him more, but stops when you try to close your legs. "do i need to bind your legs together too?" you shake your head no and incessantly apologize, wanting nothing more but for his mouth back on you. "keep being good for me and you'll get to come."

"okay," you whisper.

you wish he would talk to you more in that gruff voice of his, but this treatment is more than enough. plus, his mouth is a bit too preoccupied right now so you'll take what you can get.

"feel that honey?" he emphasizes by shaking his head, knowing damn well you can barely speak. "thighs all red from my beard. poor baby."

when he sucks his clit into his mouth again, suctioning it earnestly is when you're tipped over the edge before you can realize it. william, who usually makes you ask to come before doing so, isn't complaining, though. your orgasm has his face dripping. he looks up at you, eyebrow quirked.

"'m sorry, daddy," you say in a small voice. "couldn't help it." he simply leans up to kiss you, allowing you to taste yourself on his face.

#fnaf #fnaf x reader #five nights at freddy's #william afton #fnaf smut #steve raglan #william afton x reader #william afton smut

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anon-sect · 4 months ago

Note

I saw you posted transformation with celebrities and you recently posted a transformation into feets, litterraly become part of someone else. Can you transform me into Benji Krol's dick please? I would give anything to become his.

Picture source: internet

Calvin was a huge fan of Benji Krol ever since the early days of his YouTube and Tik Tok videos. He watched all of them at least twice, including the new ones. He was so excited when he heard that Benji was doing a contest where the winner would get to meet him in person and be a part of one of his videos. With the famous Tik Tikor having tons of fans, his chances of winning were very slim, but he would try anyway.

A month later, Benji announced the winner of the contest via one of his videos using the handle of the winner. Benji would be sending the information where they would meet via the handle's email. Calvin couldn't believe that he was the winner out of thousands of others who entered. One hour later, he saw he had received an email from Benji, congratulating him and sending him the information he needed. Calvin was super excited and couldn't wait.

It was three days later that Calvin met Benji in person. He saw that he was indeed a cool person. After a great conversation, he did a crazy video with Benji. He promised after editing it, he would post it online.

"There is one more thing that you won, also." Benji commented as he came back in the room with two drinks in his hands. He handed one to Calvin.

"What else did I win?" Calvin asked as he sipped down the drink. It had a fruity taste, and he loved it. He quickly finished and placed the glass on the table. He saw Benji smiling.

"Oh, it's something very special." Benji replied, looking at Calvin.

Calvin saw Benji looking at him as though he was waiting on something. He suddenly felt extremely drowsy. It was like he couldn't fight his sleep. He just simply passed out without realizing it.

Several hours later, Calvin woke up from his slumber. He was in some dark place that also felt a little sweaty. He tried to speak but had no conventional mouth to say any words. He tried to move, but all motion was that of twitching around. He was so confused. The last thing he remembered was chatting with Benji on the couch. He continued to try to move, but it was much. His whole body felt weird. He felt like he was attached to something he couldn't break free from.

Benji felt his dick twitching in his pants underwear and shorts. "Oh, you are finally awake. Your prize you won is the to be the extra inches on my dick. You and my dick are one now." He laughed as he felt his dick twitching even more than before. "I suggest you calm down. It's permanent. You are mine, and you aren't going anywhere." He added as he posed to take a selfie picture in the mirror. He was satisfied with his contest. One of his fans was now a member of his body.

Calvin couldn't believe what happened to him, but suddenly, his thoughts were being changed. He was Benji's dick. He did like watching his videos. Now, he could be with him 24/7365. He couldn't believe his luck. This was not a curse but a blessing. This was where he was meant to be. And there was no better place than to be a permanent member on Benji's body.

#inanimate transformation #shrinkage #tf story #dick transformation #benji krol #willing permanent transformation

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nolita-fairytale · 2 years ago

Text

comfort & chaos | carmy berzatto x fem!reader | chapter five: called you again

summary: you and carmy try your best to repair the relationship... but it only leads to distance. you both make the mistake thinkin' the other is better of without you. (the five times carmen berzatto fell in love with you a little and the one time he finally told you)

warnings: angst, death, grief, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns, drinking & smoking, suggestive language

word count: 3.5k

listen to: supercut - lorde | speechless - lady gaga | call me back - young the giant | called you again - lizzy mcalpine

a/n: while i felt like i was dropping an emotional bomb on you with the last chapter, i didn't know it would have such an emotional impact. i just wanted to share that i write so much from my own experiences -- perhaps why some of the chapters feel so realistic. anyways, thank you for all of your kind words in regards to the last chapter. i didn't want to write the phone call, since after this part, 'make my heart surrender' begins / i write a bit of it in that story / it really made for a spicy dramatic ending.

on another note: it's me, hi! i broke my own heart writing this. high key like... i feel like i'm going through a breakup right now (i'm not). the next part will be a big time jump: it takes place after right after 'make my heart surrender' ends, where reader has just moved to chicago for carmy so you'll be glad to hear that i'm done hurting you and myself.

read: chapter four

April 2022

“Seriously, Carmy. I can’t thank you enough. You really saved the day,” Maya harps, reminding Carmy for the 100th time today that he single-handedly saved Passover.

“It’s nothin’ really,'' Carmy mumbles with a shrug. “I’m uh… gonna finish cleaning up in the kitchen. Shouldn’t take long.”

“Sure I can’t help?” Maya asks, giving him one last chance to say ‘yes.’

“No, it’s all good. I got a whole system,” he explains, a reassuring look in his eyes.

“Of course,” Maya replies, bowing out of the conversation.

She walks through her home towards the open double terrace doors that lead out onto the patio. You’re outside, shifted to one side of the large outdoor dining table, your focus unbroken as you stack empty plates, one on top of the other.

“Hey,” you say to her, a warm nostalgia about the way the spring air kisses your bare shoulders.

“So… Carmy really came through,” she starts, watching you for your reaction.

“Yeah, he did,” you reply simply, as if it’s just fact.

Maya half expects for you to say more, but she knows it’s been weird between the two of you since you slept together. She’s not sure why, but she’s always rooted for Carmy. Perhaps because you light up every time he’s around – every time you talk about him. Perhaps because she sees the way he looks at you, especially when he thinks you’re not looking. Because, even though he’s deeply imperfect, you’re good for him – and he, you.

“It’s all for you, you know,” she says, growing bolder in her reminder.

Her words stop you in your tracks. You stop working on the pile of dishes you’re creating, taking a moment to look up at your friend.

“Why do you think that?” you ask quietly.

“Because he took the night off to be here,” she answers, checking to make sure Carmy isn’t listening. “I mean, when have any of us seen him take any time off? He’s not doing it for me. I just think… it seems like he’s really making an effort to mend things.”

You nod slowly, processing what she’s just said. Carmy, in an effort to try to mend things, had joined you for a drink with some of your mutual friends from the restaurant. As Maya had lamented about the caterer falling through for her Passover dinner, he’d more than eagerly offered to step in, surprising all of you.

“Maybe,” you shrug, trying not to get your hopes up. “I don’t know. It’s still not the way it used to be.”

“Well of course it’s not!” Maya exclaims with a laugh. She sighs out your name, shaking her head as she continues. “You guys are… of course that would change things.”

“I think it’s just going to take a while…” you explain, your voice soft. “I uh. I should take these in.”

You collect your pile of dishes, heading back inside into the kitchen. You know you’re avoiding having the conversation with Maya, but the distance between you and Carmy has been so tough on you. It wasn’t until you took some space from him that you realized just how big of a part he’d been playing in your life. And now, he was grieving, and you’d both crossed the line that had complicated things.

It all just felt… messy.

As you enter the kitchen, you see Carmy standing there. He’s staged the kitchen for the most efficient dishwashing: one half of the sink is filled with to sanitize, the other to rinse, before loading up the dishwasher. You place the first stack of plates down on the kitchen island, making a sound that doesn’t even seem to grab Carmy’s attention. He doesn’t turn to you, doesn’t acknowledge the sound, so you decide to keep moving things in from outside instead.

You’ve managed to get all of the dirty dishes from the terrace into the kitchen, Carmy giving you a nod as he’d instructed you to place them down on the counter for him.

You put your focus on packing up leftovers in deli containers and making sure all the food that needed to be has been put away. Carmy’s loaded up the dishwasher but he’s got at least a dozen wine glasses that he knows need to be hand washed. You notice that he’s taking a break, pushing yourself to ask him, as if it’s going to be your only chance to.

“How are you?” you say, instantly regretting it as the words come out of your mouth.

He shrugs, unsure of how to answer the question, leaning up against the kitchen counter. You think it’s the only answer you’re going to get as he crosses his arms across his chest. You continue packing up the equipment that you and Carmy have brought over, while he manages to steal a few glances when he thinks you’re not looking.

He’s not sure what to say.

Hell, he doesn’t even know how he feels about it.

But something inside him is begging him to tell you – as if telling you will give him some kind of resolution. Like he’ll know what to do. Like telling you will bring him the comfort he’s so desperately been craving.

He opens his mouth to say something, noticing that you’ve kept yourself busy – almost as if you’re trying to stay out of his way.

He hates this.

He hates that you feel you have to tiptoe around him.

“Mikey left me the restaurant,” he confesses, the words tumbling out of his mouth like five hundred pounds of bricks.

“Oh wow,” you gasp, taking in what he’s said.

He nods, pausing before he speaks again. And it’s the first time he’s said it out loud to anyone:

“I think it’s time for me to go home.”

You don’t say anything back, because you’re not sure what to say back. You know he hadn’t gone home for the funeral, despite your insistence.

Why now? What did this mean? What would this mean? And when did he find out about the restaurant? You can’t help but feel like everything's falling apart, like this is the end. While you know he has to go home – you’re honestly surprised it’s taken him so long to come to this conclusion – it’s impossible not to feel your heart shattering into pieces.

Carmy was going to leave. You were going to stay. And you didn’t know where that left the two of you.

“Can I help – with the wine glasses?” you ask, focusing on the task at hand.

Focusing on the glasses may be the only thing that keeps you from crying.

“Yeah,” he nods, and you know it’s his way of trying to connect.

You work quietly, the only sounds in the background are the dinner party playlist that’s playing on a loop through the home’s speakers. You wash and Carmy dries, knocking out the remaining dishes that need to be hand washed, before packing up to go. Maya, of course, thanks Carmy again and again, while her partner, Patrick, compliments the meal, letting Carmy know he’s got to get some cooking tips from him.

As the two of you walk out of the door, brown paper bags loaded up with empty delis and equipment that you brought over to the house, Carmy stops before either of you can go your separate ways.

“Can I walk you home?” Carmy asks you, a hopeful look in his eyes.

You nod, “Yeah.”

May

Hope you’re doing okay. How’s home?

It’s about the third text you’ve sent to Carmy since he left New York. After letting you know he’d made it safely, you hadn’t heard from him at all. Sure it’s only been a couple of weeks, but it’s like as soon as he let you know he’d made it safe, he’d cut you off cold. To say that you’re angry would be an understatement.

You’re really fucking pissed off.

And you also know that underneath all that anger, is a fuck ton of hurt that you’d really rather not acknowledge – that you’re not ready to feel yet.

You don’t know how he’s able to turn it off – just pretend that the last two and half years haven’t been significant. That you haven’t practically been attached at the hip since the lockdown. That you’re not best friends who also just so happen to maybe be in love with each other.

Somehow, Liz has coaxed you out after a long night at the restaurant for a round of drinks with your coworkers. Something about a need to blow off some steam. Only a round has turned into many, and you just might have had one too many to forget about the searing pain you feel when you think about the fact that you may never hear from Carmy again. You’re waiting for your next drink at the bar, making a mental note that this has to be your last.

“How’s Berzatto these days?” you hear a voice ask, turning your head as you realize someone’s joined you at the bar.

“Uh.. yeah, I think he’s been really busy. You know… with the family restaurant. Getting adjusted, you know?” you lie to Nate, pretending that you’ve been in contact with him.

Nothing would sting more than to admit to Nate fucking Walker that Carmy’s ghosted you.

Nate laughs cooly, with a shake of his head.

“He hasn’t called you, has he?” he asks.

You don’t answer. But your silence is the only answer Nate needs to confirm his suspicions.

“Listen, can we just talk about something else?” you dismiss him, watching as the bartender returns with your drink.

The rest of your friends have started a game of pool, but you’re not in the mood for it tonight. Nate asks you to sit, so you do. You hate to admit it, but the attention feels nice, especially with how much you miss Carmy. It burns in your chest tonight, leaving you breathless. You’d rather be numb than feel this much pain.

You’re not sure how the conversation turns back to Carmy after an hour or so of conversation with Nate. Even though you said you didn’t want to talk about him. Even though you can see that Nate’s tired of hearing about him. You can’t help yourself when it comes to Carmy. Every little thing reminds you of him, and he just keeps coming up like word vomit.

“I thought you said you didn’t want to talk about him,” Nate reminds you.

You shake your head, “I don’t!”

Nate shoots you a look, before shaking his head, making sure to polish off the last of his drink.

“He’s an idiot,” Nate scoffs with an eye roll.

“Don’t say that,” you relent.

“I mean it. He’s a fuckin’ idiot!” he exclaims again, turning much more serious.

“Nate!” you protest lightly.

“I mean it,” he repeats himself, holding piercing eye contact with you.

Nate waits a beat, his eyes flickering from your lips back to your eyes as he leans in, lowering his voice.

“He couldn’t even see a good thing when had it,” he croons, leaning in towards you. You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or the fact that you just want to feel wanted, but you feel woozy – hazy, you’re head spinning with lust as you contemplate kissing him.

“Not even when it was right in front of him,” he adds, his lips so very close to yours.

Nate’s always been good looking. Your eyes flicker to his full lips and deep brown eyes as he towers over you from where he sits, knowing that he wants to kiss you. He’s just the kind of guy that knows he’s good looking – something you find terribly annoying.

“You’re so beautiful. I’m sorry that he can’t see it,” he practically whispers against your lips, so close that all the blood rushes to your head.

It just feels good to be wanted, to be seen. So you surge forward, closing the gap between you. As you press your lips against his, you can feel Nate smiling into the kiss. He’s a smug bastard, but tonight, you don’t care. You entertain the kiss for a little longer. At this point, you could care less that you’ve garnered the attention of some of your coworkers, that you’re just making out with Nate fucking Walker out in the open for everyone to see.

“You wanna go somewhere else? My place is around the corner,” he murmurs into the kiss.

“Sure,” you agree, you breath catching in your throat.

“C’mon,” he encourages you, with a nod towards the door.

Revenge, or the last of your gin cocktail, burns in your throat as you make a deal with the devil, following Nate out of the bar.

June

Carmy’s phone buzzes again, catching his attention as he takes another drag from his cigarette. He’s got one missed call from Sugar, a voicemail, and a text with a link to that meeting she won’t stop nagging him to go to. He’s just about to put his phone back in his pocket as it buzzes again.

He looks down.

Shit.

Fuck.

It’s a text from you.

His heart stops beating for a moment, just for a second, and he freezes.

Came across this article in the New Yorker about denim & rock n roll. Made me think of you.

Carmy’s eyes scan over the title: From the Working Class to a Fashion Statement: John Lennon, Elvis Presley, & Other Icons That Brought Denim to the Mainstream. There’s a lump in his throat. He’s been so focused on the restaurant, so focused on fixing it, that it’s been easy to compartmentalize, push any thought of you out of his mind. But as his thumb hovers over the article, daring to open it, he can picture it all so vividly. His head is filled with the image of you walking down Bowery, a few paces in front of him, clad in your favorite denim jacket of his as you tell him to ‘hurry up.’

And just for a moment, it feels so real. He can practically smell the New York City air. He can hear your laugh as you bump into him in the small walkways of each mom-and-pop dumpling shop. He can almost feel your skin brush against his as you scoot by him on the way to your table.

It becomes harder to push the thoughts of you out of his mind, the sobering reality that it’s been at least a month and a half since he’s talked to you.

She’s better off without me. Without this. Without all of this chaos, he thinks to himself.

He hadn’t called, hadn’t texted, hadn’t been in touch on purpose, and he had to admit, it was killing him. There were days where all he wanted to do was call you, ask how you were doing – days where the only thing that would bring him comfort was imagining you running your fingers through his hair while he bitched about the restaurant. Days where he wanted nothing more than to curl up on the couch with you while you forced him to watch some violent action movie, and he’d watch you in awe. He’d call you a psychopath, when in reality, he was just in shock that someone like you could want to be around someone like him.

Carmy wonders if you miss him – if it’s killing you too.

But he doubts it.

You’re a fucking mess, he thinks to himself, coming to conclusion that you’re better off without him. Without all of this… mess… grief… chaos.

What would he even say?

Sorry I'm such a prick.

I don't know what the fuck I'm doing here.

I love you.

It becomes progressively easier to push his thoughts of you out of his mind, as he hyper-fixates on what needs to be done today: outsource bread, read over Sydney’s report because she’s probably right about the budget…. And what the fuck is KBL electric anyways?

Now that the impulse is gone to text you back, Carmy shoves his phone into his pocket, shaking his head as he finishes his cigarette and reminds himself again:

You’re better off without him.

August

“I don’t understand,” the exec chef says to you, his voice monotone. Something wild stirring behind his eyes in response to the notice that you’ve just given him.

“My heart’s not in it,” you explain, hesitantly. “And I know you accept nothing less than perfection. I just… need some time to figure things out.”

“You’re not going to find another job like this,” he reminds you, coldly.

You nod your head in response. You thought he’d say that.

“I understand, chef,” you reply, using your tone of professionalism in your voice as a barrier.

“I told her we could reevaluate in a month. I’m open to a rehire, should after your sabbatical, you come to the conclusion that here is where you need to be,” the head pastry chef adds.

Sabbatical.

Your head pastry chef is the only one using that word, as if they expect that you’ll come back. As if this is just a break.

But it’s not a break to you. It’s a much needed change.

Your exec chef thinks it over, his lips pressed together in a thin line.

“You’re an exceptional pastry chef, but your lack of commitment worries me,” he states plainly. “You’ll have to interview again.”

“I understand, chef,” you repeat yourself.

The conversation goes like this: you keep your cool, wanting nothing more than to get the conversation over it. It’s a daunting thing – quitting your dream job – enough as it is. Your head pastry chef fights for you, while the exec chef continues on his ego trip, as if you’re not sitting right in front of him. It’s not hard to tune him out. There’s a feeling inside of you, something telling you that you won’t be back, so the hoops he’s creating for you to jump through don’t seem to matter.

Your feet hit the pavement as soon as the conversation is over, and you can’t get out of the restaurant fast enough. Dinner service prep had already begun, and as you’d left, you understood there would be questions, rumors, strange looks from your coworkers. But you knew this was right.

Your heart hadn’t been in it for a while.

Not since it left and moved to Chicago and decided not to call you back.

You feel lost.

It’s not just Carmy. It’s not just the big changes and shifts you’re experiencing. It’s everything. You don’t know what the hell it is you want. And you’re brave enough to go searching for it.

You want nothing more than to call Carmy, to send him a text, for him to yell at you for quitting the job you both held in such high regard and tell you that you’re making a mistake. But the sting of the last time he ignored your call a few weeks ago stops you from picking up the phone.

Maybe he was only meant to be in your life for that chapter.

Maybe, as you leave the restaurant behind, you’ll be able to let go of him too.

Soon-To-Be Fall

It had only been a few weeks since you’d quit the restaurant, in those few weeks, for the first time in a long time, you were at peace. You’d gotten loads of calls and texts: a ‘just want to check in’ from your head pastry chef, a ‘you doin’ okay?’ from Tim, and a series of ‘can’t take no for an answer’ texts from Nate that you have no plans to answer.

The past few weeks have been filled with quiet. You’re enjoying your time, and you’re doing a whole lot of thinking about what it is you really want. You spend your Tuesday afternoon deep cleaning your apartment and listening to some of your comfort albums. It feels good to get to live slowly for once. It’s soon-to-be-Fall, even if the heat seems to be sticking around in New York City as of late.

You hear a ping coming from your phone as you close up the container filled with sanitizing wipes that you’ve been using. Making your way over to your small studio kitchen, you see a text from Liz.

Liz: I have the day off. Drinks & catching up?

You: Yeah. 7 pm?

Liz: Perf. I have restaurant goss. 👀

You chuckle in response to her text. Just as you’re preparing to type out a response, your phone buzzes again as a call comes through.

‘Carmy.’

Carmy is calling you.

Holy fuck.

It’s as if all the blood in your body rushes to your head and you have to try not to drop your phone. As it continues to ring, for a split second, you think about not answering. What if you didn’t? Send him to voicemail just like he’s done to you? But your curiosity gets the best of you as your thumb hovers over the ‘answer’ button. Had he heard? Was that what this was about?

You answer the call before you can talk yourself out of it, immediately putting it on speaker.

“Hi,” you say, your voice shaking a little.

And it’s as if all your troubles melt away as you hear his voice.

“Hi,” he replies.

a/n: hello! yes, by popular demand i'll be writing the phone call as a drabble. however, my first series i wrote about carmy, 'make my heart surrender' picks up right where this chapter leaves off. chapter six will take places after that story, so for those of you that have not, feel free to read it while we wait (w baited breath of course) for the final chapter of this one.

read: chapter six

taglist: @allthefandomstogether @gaysludge @sobshoney @harrysmatcha @starbritestarlite @tpwkkmila @cool-girl-is-hot @nunya7394 @galaxyprincess51-blog @carmensberzattos @blue-weekends @rexorangecouny @ridingthehotmessexpress @the-nursery @strawberryalicia @astronautelilanded @veryplatoniccircunstances @fonteyn

#carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto #carmy x oc #the bear hulu #the bear fx #jeremy allen white #carmen 'carmy' berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto headcanon #the bear headcanon #carmy berzatto imagines #carmy berzatto fluff #comfort and chaos

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juuuulez · 1 year ago

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📰 | part five: capulet.

info: Carl Grimes x Saviour! Reader, slow burn, enemies to lovers, loosely following canon, allusions to drugs (pills), implied mental illness, gun violence sorta, FINALLY references to Romeo and Juliet.

summary: Carl hijacks some trucks, and finds himself wound up at the Sanctuary. You decide to take pity on him, but he has other plans.

Okay FINALLY this is done! Back to teenagers who hate eachother, and typical threats/arguing. Definitely leaning more into the feels though… next chapter is already written, so I’ll publish it tomorrow!

The ride home went as it always did: long and boring.

At the half hour mark, you were already sick of Simon’s whistling. But it was better than riding with any other sub-par follower, who would likely subject you to weird comments or suggestions.

So, you fell asleep. The constant movement helped aid you into a somewhat peaceful rest, one you’d been craving for a long time. All this new tension just gave you ten times more responsibilities, and though you told your father you could handle it, the toll was starting to show.

That was, until you were rudely awakened.

Gunshots, shouting. Everyone was quick to jump out, investigate the problem.

No, no. Not gunshots. Machine gun. Dear, God.

Likely a fault of your own ruthless design, you didn’t actually carry a gun. Instead you clutched the metal baseball bat harshly between your fingers, shoving past the other Saviours to inspect what exactly has happened.

Should you be shocked, or scared? Frightened, or ready to put him in his place?

Because Carl stared directly at you. The machine gun was propped over your shoulder, the culprit to the few bodies now lying at your feet. His one eye looked down the sight, trained on you. Ready, waiting.

Was he stupid? Or.. smart?

Even though this appeared to be a colossal mistake, you felt an ounce of respect for the action, for attempting to take charge rather than spew around empty threats. Nonetheless, you didn’t dare move.

“Holy shit!” Negan was already poking fun at a situation that wasn’t amusing in the slightest. Usually, his presence would provide you some semblance of comfort, but right now, you only felt increasingly uneasy.

He continued to tease and prod at Carl, comments about how he looked badass with that machine gun. Sure, it may be true, but amongst the conversation Carl didn’t let his scope move from where you were standing.

“Stop it.” You hiss to Negan, voice lowered into a slight whisper, though you don’t deny that Carl can still hear it.

Your father turns to you, that trademark grin still on his face, not prepared to let up. “Oh, he ain’t gonna hurt you, darlin’.” He promises, but you shoot him a look, a silent conveyance that says not now.

“Go get this shit inside, why don’t you?” Negan instead suggests, giving you an out. There’s a moment before you move, not exactly hesitation, just weighing whether or not Carl intends to let you go this easily.

Luckily, he does, and you scurry back towards the Sanctuary to deal with the contents of the trucks.

This cannot be real.

Somebody was going to die, you could feel it.

You doubt it would be Carl, you couldn’t imagine Negan doing that. Maybe Rick was finally in for it. Or maybe another poor follower, killed simply to get across a message.

Whatever happened, you didn’t really want to be there for it, not now. Not today.

Surely you deserved just one day off? One seemingly peaceful day. Just a moment to breathe, because this lifestyle was certainly not suited for a teenage girl. If you didn’t receive a moment of salvation soon, you’d explode, and it sure won’t be pretty.

So, you sorted the rest of the materials gained from Hilltop.. and by sorted, you told other people where to put them. You made sure that Dwight could go collect the bodies, to which he reluctantly agreed, not without a snide comment.

Ice Queen.

That’s what he called you, and you hated it.

“Whatever you say, Ice Queen.”

At least it was better than the demeaning princess you’d sometimes get, which tasted foul within the mouth of anybody but your father. Or girl, woman, as if you had no identity at all.

It didn’t matter anyways.

There was no more avoiding it, you’d better face the music.

You absentmindedly chewed on your bottom lip, finally pushing down the handle to Negan’s office, letting the large wooden door swing open. Please, God, don’t let there be blood.

Thankfully, everybody was in one piece.

Sure, Carl looked dejected where he was sitting on the couch, his hat and bandage gone, staring at the ground. Negan still held Lucille, though it didn’t appear threatening, instead simply dangling at his side.

“Just who I wanted to see!” Negan announces your presence, ushering you closer into the room. He stands behind you, placing both gloved hands on your shoulders, letting you tower over Carl. It’s obvious that he quite enjoys the power dynamic.

“Now, I’ve got a pretty huge goddamn mess to clean up,” He begins, “Crying mothers to console, and what not. So, doll, why don’t you escort this little shit down to the prison, let him sit pretty in a cell until we head up to Alexandria?”

You clench your jaw, internally rolling your eyes at the idea of travelling again. But of course, you had stakes in this scenario, you had to contribute.

“Sure,” You agree, and choose to wholly not acknowledge Carl, turning to give Negan a small smile before making your way to the door again, “Radio me when you’re ready.”

As you trudge down the hallway, with Carl following suite a few steps behind, he comes to the realisation that something is up.

The big bad wolf is off her game.

If anything, this is his chance to strike. Sure, maybe the whole truck-hijacking plan didn’t work out, but this could be a golden opportunity.

Maybe the real way to break down a man’s defences was through his daughter.

Three corners, and one flight of stairs upwards. Carl can’t help but wonder where you’re taking him, if not the prison cells. This certainly doesn’t look like prison cells. Only one door sits along the corridor, painted the same monotonous grey colour as the walls, sans a shiny gold handle with a lock on it.

You push open the door with a brazen sigh, clearly somewhat relieved to be away from the conflict that followed the inner-workings of the Sanctuary. Still partially ignoring Carl, you opt to take your jacket off, letting it fall onto the back of a chair.

This must be your bedroom.

It’s sizeable, much larger than any rooms back at Alexandria. A queen bed sits adjacent to the doorway, drawers pushed against the wall with rows and rows of photographs and other little trinkets. It looks… strangely girly, which feels unsettling. Pink sheets, pink pillows. The walls have been painted a soft eggshell white. It juxtaposes your entire personality.

Fortunately, you’ve finally decided to acknowledge Carl.

“Can’t be fucked walking down to the cells,” You justify, fiddling with something on the desk, looking rather serious about it. “Just sit somewhere. Don’t touch anything.”

But Carl has already started to explore, particularly interested in the various frames along your dresser. Maybe something could help guide him in the right direction, any tidbit of information that will signal on how to take you down.

Two stand out to him, one of a young woman who’s smiling at the camera, another of a small infant. Mother and child.

He chooses to ignore that for now, not wanting to dwell on the implications this brought to the table. Another photo, larger, contained what appeared to be a girls baseball team.

Looking closer, he can make out two faces amongst the crowd. God, this is making him feel sick.

So he abandons this venture, taking another peak backwards to ensure that you’re still occupied. Which you are, albeit now speaking into a small radio, to a voice he cannot recognise. But you list off numbers in a frustrated tone, to which he decides must be something routine and insignificant.

Now, Carl pokes around your bedside table. The top is clean, aside from a lamp and a singular copy of a play he hasn’t read. Romeo and Juliet. Who knew you were into that stuff?

Quietly as possible, he opens the top drawer, to reveal a stash of what appears to be chocolates. Most of them are in little shiny wrappers, and he wonders where you acquired such a large amount of them. Stealing from other communities, he spitefully chalks it up to.

The second drawer rattles as he slides it open, causing Carl to hold his breath, sparing a sideways glance to confirm that you’re still working. If anything, your temper only seems to rise the longer this conversation goes on for. Still, he peaks into the drawer, finding the source of the rattling noise to be plastic, orange bottles.

Jesus.

Not caring to read their labels, or plague his mind with anything regarding the suspicious pills, Carl quickly closes the drawer in order to move onto the next one, and the bottom of the wooden dresser.

And it contained the jackpot he was looking for.

A seemingly untouched, shiny handgun.

Just sitting there, shut away. For emergencies, he deducted. Well, if this didn’t count as an emergency, than he didn’t know what did.

So Carl let’s the weight of the handgun fill his palm, letting his fingers slide across the cool metal. He flicks the safety off, intending to check the chamber before you’re already turning around, the radio still held to your mouth. He manages to raise the weapon quick enough, before you have time to react.

You appear to be less of a trained soldier, and more of a deer in headlights.

“Give me a minute.” You mutter into the radio, and even when the voice on the other side continues to talk, you switch it off.

Silence fills the space between you. Carl stands next to your drawer, on the other side of the queen bed, with you slowly approaching, stepping away from the desk.

“Stop moving.” He commands, keeping the gun trained steady on your figure, not wanting to risk any unsuspected plays.

You obey, jaw clenched. Even with the tension between the two of you, for whatever reason, you don’t look Carl in the eye. Your gaze is trained somewhere on his forehead, he can tell, and it causes something else to bubble inside of him.

Is it respect? A twinge of gratefulness, that you are choosing not to inspect his open wound in a slightly vulnerable moment, without his bandage. Or is he angry? Because you’re better than this. Above pity.

“So, what?” You begin talking, tone slow and calculated, contrasting how pent up you’d sounded over the radio. “Gonna shoot me?”

Carl tries not to let his emotions become evident on his face, aside from that unconscious tick of his jaw. “Haven’t decided yet.”

It’s painfully similar to when you’d met, back at the Satellite station. Where your people had been murdered. No, assassinated.

24 in their sleep.

Mostly men, some women. No children.

Could have been one child, had you been asleep. If you were, would Carl have killed you, too?

“Well, you should do it.”

He doesn’t know what to make of that.

You seem deadly serious, yet Carl can’t help but assume you’re taunting him, underestimating how much he wants this. Like you’re trying to push him to the edge, string him out, then return unscathed.

Not anymore.

Carl squares his shoulders, like a bird of prey, glaring down at his victim. But you don’t move, and so he sucks in a breath, and finally does it. All it took was one tiny squeeze of the trigger, and he’s almost tempted to close his eye, not wanting to see the consequences of his rage.

Nothing happens.

There’s a tiny click from the gun, but nothing ejects. He lowers it, staring at the grey metal before regaining his senses, clicking the safety back on and opening the chamber.

“What the fuck is your problem?” You’re already talking, yelling, finally approaching Carl, where you snatch the empty gun from his hand and throw it back down on the dresser.

This time it’s his turn to avoid your gaze.

“Hey!” You persevere, and as Carl tries to turn away, you’re swiftly reaching up to grasp his face in your hand, cold fingers pressing into the plush skin of his cheeks. This time, you don’t shy away from looking directly at him, glaring another hole into his blue eye.

“I could’a locked you up, and I didn’t, dickwad!” You yell at him, all that frustration resurfacing now that the little facade has dropped. Carl doesn’t even try to squirm from your harsh grip. “And you repay me by tryna’ shoot me? Not only that, but you think I’m stupid enough to keep a loaded gun, in an unlocked drawer?”

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled, words muffled by your hand grasping his face. For once, he actually sounds genuinely guilty, but you only scoff at the weak admission.

At least you’re looking at him again.

It appears that you’re about to yell at him again, another round of scolding, something about him being ignorant or illogical, but then the abandoned radio is going off again, and Carl certainly recognises this voice.

Negan.

“Truck’s ready, doll.”

You swear again, loudly and uncaring of the somewhat frightening outburst, and Carl is realising how much he’s fucked up. Even at your lowest, you are always one step ahead. There’s no such thing as being off your game, not when your entire life consists of this back-and-forth, maintaining control over so many people.

He’s just some over confident teenager, you’re… you.

You say something into the radio, but he’s zoned out, until you pick up the bat once more and are addressing him again.

“Do I need to handcuff you, or what?” You sneer, and though it comes across as a snide remark, it proves to be a genuine question with how your hand rests above another set of drawers.

Carl shakes his head, still feeling a little shameful, but your persistent stare indicates this will not suffice. “No.” He finally mumbles.

You roll your eyes at the act of submission, clipping the radio into your belt and already making a beeline for the door again. This time, you leave the jacket behind, and Carl catches a glimpse of the way your forearms flex under the iron-grip you have on the bat.

Pay attention.

#carl grimes x reader #the walking dead x reader #twd x reader #carl grimes #negan smith x reader #twd x you #carl grimes x you #negan smith #the walking dead

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jinnie-ret · 1 year ago

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Could you write a - stray kids x fem! ninth member, who is gyaru and other idols, look at her weird for it?

For context, Gyaru is a Japanese fashion subculture. The term gyaru is a Japanese transliteration of the English slang word gal. The term for gyaru was introduced in Japan by the American jeans company Lee, who introduced a new line of jeans to their brand Wrangler

gyaru, jjang yeppeuda

stray kids x ninth member!reader (platonic)

genre: fluff, angst (little)

content warnings: none

word count: 0.9k

summary: despite her normal confidence in owning her aesthetic, y/n begins to feel uncomfortable when she feels the judging stares of other idols

I just love love love how you gave me some background info, that was so sweet of you! I hope you enjoy!

Requested by: @moe-kyun-kyun

MAIN MASTERLIST

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Y/N was the only Japanese member in the group and loved to show off her culture, whether this was through the language, the food, or her style. The latter was something she had received hate about in the past, due to her non conforming style, Gyaru. Y/N specifically indulged into the Rokku subculture, loving the edgy rock aesthetic which the stylists at JYP were quite happy with as well, considering Stray Kids often pulled off fierce looks on stage. Stays soon got to learn more about the Gyaru style, and when they learnt the history behind it and that it was breaking down the typical beauty standards of dark hair and fair skin, they could only applaud the example that Y/N was setting. To not care.

With her bleached hair, false eyelashes that stood out more with the white eyeshadow around her eyes, Y/N felt badass. Not to mention the leather elements incorporated into her outfit that created semblance with what her other members were wearing too.

"Wahh, Y/N you look so cool," Jeongin gasped as he looked at her outfit. Being someone who was into fashion himself, albeit a casual neutral style, he was always interested to see what she'd be wearing.

"Thanks Jeonginnie!" Y/N smiled, taking a seat next to him as they all found where they'd be sat amongst other idols at the awards show.

That sentiment of not caring though, was slipping away. Being one of the first groups seated wouldn't normally be a bad thing, but all Y/N could focus on was the eyes that stuck to her as they walked past, the only comfort being when Twice or ITZY waved a hello to them all.

"You good, Y/Nnie?" Hyunjin patted her shoulder to gain her attention. He had easily observed her antsy behaviour, her leg bouncing up and down, and her hand fiddling with the multiple bracelets that occupied her opposite arm.

"They're all giving me weird looks," Y/N muttered, feeling disheartened. She couldn't help but look around feeling paranoid, and the other members noticed, catching her expression from the other end of the table.

"Here, swap seats with me, Rocky," Chan suggested, about to stand. Rocky was a nickname only he seemed to use for her, connecting her fighting attitude with the one Sylvester Stallone played in an old movie, as well as her obvious Rokku aesthetic.

"No, no, I don't want to cause a scene," Y/N shook her head subtley.

"You won't, just pretend we're talking about something," Changbin added on, and so Y/N nodded and swapped seats with Chan, moving more to the back end of their table rather than being near the other groups.

"Okay, I do feel better now," Y/N nodded with a sigh of relief.

"Good," Minho simply said and patted her knee before paying attention to the stage again.

"And the winner of Most Popular Group, 2022 is... Stray Kids!" the hosts of the awards began clapping as fans cheered wildly for the group as they headed on stage.

Y/N caught eyes with Felix from across the table as they look at each other with the biggest grins on their faces. Dread returned however when they went on stage. She had just moved out of the way so that she didn't have to face the judgemental stares of other idols, but now she was dead center in front of them, as well as the rest of the audience too.

"It's ok, Y/N, don't let it bother you, you never normally do," Seungmin whispered into her ear as Chan began his speech. She nodded thankfully.

"...and I also want to give a big thanks to our staff! Our stylists have given us amazing outfits, especially tonight," Chan winked at Y/N a hint of smugness in his voice as he indirectly told the other kpop stars to mind their own business.

The group went backstage for a moment with their award and Y/N thankfully hugged Chan.

"Thank you, I saw what you did there."

"I think everyone did, our leader has a habit of dissing our haters," Jisung patted Chan on the shoulders, feeling hyped up from winning.

"Woah, Stays clearly noticed too haha, they're already spamming Twitter," Hyunjin held up his phone as everyone gathered around to see.

"'Best leader Chan', and oh, they've put the video too!" Felix tapped on the video and they watched themselves win the award.

"I still can't believe we won, wow!" Changbin shook his head, clearly in shock.

"We deserve it, we worked hard this year," Y/N commented, initiating a group hug between them all.

Later on that evening, as they headed home, Y/N was sat next to Minho and Seungmin at the back of the car.

"You were in your head today," Minho commented as he stared out of the window.

"Me?" Y/N double checked he was talking about her, as he hummed in response and continued talking.

"I could tell, Y/Nnie, but you can't let them see it bothers you. Then they win," he turned to her this time.

"I know, it's just, this is how I express myself and when other people think I'm weird it gets to me sometimes," Y/N sighed, leaning her head back against the car seat.

"We're all weird, but if everyone thinks you're weird they've got another thing coming when they get to know the rest of us, especially Minho hyung," Seungmin joked from the other side of you.

"You're so lucky our precious Y/N is sat between us right now, Seungmin-ah," Minho smiled through gritted teeth, but the interaction made Y/N giggled and they were glad to cheer her up a bit.

tagged: @skz-streamer @kiraisastay @hannahhbahng @backintomykpopphaseagain @sakufilms @hanjiquokkaaa @arloo00 @dunno-wut-to-do @splat00z @cheesemonky

#skz #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids #skz fluff #skz angst #straykids imagines #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #skz fic #skz ninth #skz ninth imagines #skz ninth member imagines #skz ninth member #skz 9th member reader #skz 9th member #stray kids ninth #stray kids ninth member #stray kids 9th member

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