#while telling me ‘at least you’re self aware’ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

loveinhawkins · 2 months ago

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ao3

Robin’s double-triple-quadruple checking that Steve is okay—well, okay as he can be, gritting his teeth as Nancy wraps hastily made bandages around him—when she sees Eddie turn away out the corner of her eye.

She follows the movement unconsciously, but then she really looks, and at first she thinks it’s just this god-awful place draining the colour out of everything, but wow, he looks bad.

“Hey,” she says as brightly as she can, “you just checking out the scenery over here or…?”

Eddie shakes his head, and that immediately seems like a bad idea because his face gets even paler, which Robin didn’t even think was, like, possible.

“Just needed to—” he says faintly.

And that’s all he gets out before he weaves where he’s standing, and Robin reaches for him instinctively, grabs a hold of his hand; his palm is cold with sweat, and she suddenly finds herself thinking that the rumour going around a couple years ago, that Eddie passed out in the middle of a dissection in Biology, must have some truth in it.

“Okay, we’re okay!” she says quickly, and holds on as tight as she can. “We’re just gonna stand here and breathe.”

She says it a few more times, “We’re just gonna breathe,” and she’s got no idea if it’s the right thing to do or not, whether it’s just deeply annoying or making everything worse.

Eddie closes his eyes, and she worries about that initially, but the grip of his hand gets stronger, and he doesn’t sway again, and when he opens his eyes and looks at her, they’re clear and focused.

He squeezes her hand twice. “Thanks.”

He doesn’t let go, and he looks embarrassed about it, so Robin says that her sense of balance is so incredibly shit, and this is very helpful of him, thank you.

It works at least a little bit; he almost laughs. Then he swallows, and she can feel his urge to look back over despite himself. He stops the motion just in time.

“Is he—” His fingers twitch uneasily. “Is he okay?”

“Yes,” she says immediately.

She really hopes it doesn’t sound like she’s pacifying him. It’s just, she knows by now what to watch out for, she doesn’t even really need to be looking; an awareness of Steve in her periphery is enough.

She rushes to try and clarify, “Like, I know it seems like I was panicking with the rabies thing, I mean, I kinda was super panicking, but I got it all out my system, like I’m a worrier first and foremost, that’s my secret default emotion, you’re welcome, so when I say there’s nothing to worry about, obviously there are plenty of things to worry about, look where we are, but I promise nothing major currently in the Steve department, and I can tell you, like, instantly when that changes, it’s a sixth sense.”

Eddie blinks, looking slightly stunned. Shit, she forgets sometimes that it’s only really Steve who’s used to these monologues.

A big breath. “And I know it seems like I’m panicking because I’m rambling which—okay, that’s sometimes true, but in most cases—this one included, I swear!—me talking way too much just means I’m comfortable with whoever’s listening.” Eddie’s eyes widen. “So, um. Congratulations? Sorry? Take your pick. Does that, um, make sense?”

There’s a pause before Eddie replies—he’s probably still processing just how many words were thrown at him.

“I don’t think you talk too much,” he says in a taken aback kind of way. Then, “And yeah, sure, that makes sense. Just, uh, questioning your judgement.” A slight self-effacing smile. “I’m not typically the kinda guy folks are comfortable around.”

“Is it really so shocking?” Robin says, meaning it as a tease but—

“Yes,” Eddie says, and while he matches her tone, the word teeters between a joke and something vulnerable.

They both turn at a sudden grunt of exertion—Steve’s standing up, supporting himself with one hand leaning on the rock he’d fallen against. Nancy watches his movements with an anxious intensity; Robin follows her eyeline and notes with relief that the bleeding’s stopped.

“We can go to my house,” Nancy says like she’s trying to convince herself it’s a good idea. “There’ll—there must be some bandages or something just. Just in case.”

Steve lets go of the rock and stands up to his full height. It’s a deliberate show of reassurance, Robin thinks, as much for himself as it is for Nancy.

“Sure,” Steve says. “And guns too, right?”

Nancy’s startled into a laugh. For a second, the weight of concern leaves her face. “And guns,” she repeats.

Eddie catches Robin’s eye with an air of bewilderment. “Guns?” he mouths.

Robin nods.

Eddie looks, if possible, even more lost. Then his eyes slide away from Robin’s, and his expression changes; he starts to frown. At first Robin can’t tell what he’s noticed except that there can’t be any more blood, thank God, because he doesn’t look away. Then she sees it too as Steve takes a step forward with a nonchalant, “What are we waiting for? Let’s go,” like the determined normality of his voice can somehow hide the fact that he’s shivering.

Nancy bites her lip, looking like she’s come to the same unwelcome conclusion as Robin: that no matter what they say, it’ll just result in Steve arguing against it.

There’s a rustle off to the side. Robin glances over only in time to see a blur of denim; Steve catches it against his chest. Eddie’s vest.

“For your modesty, dude,” Eddie quips like it’s no big deal, but Robin can instantly sense the care he’s taken in how he’s said it, that he’s guessed intuitively about the kind of person Steve is: the kind who, when Robin once forgot her umbrella, shared his and made sure she was fully covered, despite him getting soaked in the process.

It’s like she can physically see the path that Eddie’s flippancy has opened up. This way Steve accepting the vest is just continuing the joke; he doesn’t need to admit that he actually needs it.

And it works. Steve expertly sidesteps around the vulnerability and shrugs on the vest, echoing Eddie’s levity right back at him.

“Oh, my modesty, sure. Well, in that case, don’t wanna offend you, dude.”

“You know me, propriety is my middle name.”

Steve laughs. He fiddles a little with one of the buttons on the vest then says lightly, as if an afterthought, “Didn’t know you cared.”

It still walks the line of a joke, but Robin can hear his sincerity, and from the look of surprise on Eddie’s face, so can he. And it’s not like Steve being genuine is a surprise to her, but—

The ground gives way beneath her feet; her stomach lurches as she loses her balance, and it’s only when she accidentally catches Eddie’s shoulder that she realises she’s not going to fall through an endless chasm, that the world is just shaking violently—still not a comforting prospect, but she’ll gladly take it over the alternative.

She barely has time to feel the relative relief before another shudder sends her straight to the ground; she’s too caught off guard to even protect her face with her hands. But her landing isn’t nearly as painful as it should be—as everything finally grows still, she finds the reason why: Eddie, who from the awkward twisted position of his legs looks like he was caught equally off guard, and yet he’s still managed to fling an arm around Robin, bracing to keep her from the worst of the impact.

“Did anyone touch the vines?” Nancy asks breathlessly.

Robin and Eddie shake their heads.

“Any, uh, particular reason why?” Eddie says in the tone of someone who’d really rather not find out.

“It’s a hive mind,” Steve and Nancy say simultaneously, in a very hive mind like way.

Robin hums the theme to The Twilight Zone; everyone laughs, some pressure finally released.

“So killer demon bats weren’t enough, we’ve gotta deal with booby traps too,” Eddie says.

Steve snorts. He glances childishly to Robin as if looking for approval; she rolls her eyes with an irrepressible smile. Seriously?

There’s a split second of disbelief before Eddie just grins in delight. “Real mature, Harrington.”

Steve shrugs. “Sorry, man,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. “Just providing what Dustin would’ve done.”

They sober slightly at the reminder that their group’s been split.

“You think they’ve figured out that we’re…?” Eddie wiggles his fingers vaguely. He’s slower at getting to his feet than everyone else had been—he’s still hunched over slightly, rubbing at his knee.

“They will,” Nancy says with conviction.

“Don’t underestimate them,” Steve says mildly.

“Oh, I’m not, believe me. They’re kinda terrifying.”

“Terrifying?” Nancy echoes, laughing again, right as Steve says, “Exactly.”

As if in response to their laughter, there’s a distant growl punctuated with ominous clicking. Steve and Nancy both go rigid, and Robin thinks of the night after Starcourt, when Steve stayed over at her place because neither of them wanted to be alone; and he told her how everything started for him, his voice tripping over the words like he was reliving it all over again: running back to Jonathan Byers’ house, hearing the snarl of a monster.

“Yeah, I’m all for going to the Wheeler sanctum,” Eddie says weakly.

But he doesn’t move initially, so Steve and Nancy end up leading the way. Steve repeatedly sweeps the beam of his flashlight back and forth, making sure that the path is lit up for everyone, and Robin wonders whether he’s so focused on that that he hasn’t yet noticed—

“You’re hurt,” she tells Eddie softly. She’s up and looped her arm through his without thinking—which is kind of a big deal considering she nearly threw up with nerves when dancing with a boy at her middle school Snow Ball—and she realises that, for once, she forgot to be nervous about it.

“It’s not that bad,” Eddie says dismissively, but she can feel him leaning on her so it must be at least a little bit bad. “Hey, we kinda even each other out like this, huh? Your balance is pretty good, actually.” He pauses, then, “I’m okay, promise, just didn’t wanna…” He shrugs, nods towards Steve. “Gotta prioritise, y’know?”

Robin doesn’t push back on it for now, just slows her pace so Eddie isn’t jostled. “Thank you,” she says instead, lowering her voice. She nods toward Steve too. “For the…”

“Style improvement? Yeah, you’re welcome.”

This time Robin only lets him get away with belittling it for so long; it’s important, she thinks, that he knows.

“I mean it. He wouldn’t have taken it if you hadn’t—he’s…” She sighs. The greatest Tammy Thompson impersonator. Stupidly funny. Serious, when he has to be. Caring. Selfless. My best friend. “Stubborn.”

Eddie laughs under his breath. “Oh, and you’re not? What the hell was that back there?” He drops into a gently mocking impression of her voice, “I made that shit up.”

“I was just being honest!”

“Way to give me a heart attack.” She feels him squeeze the crook of her elbow. “Don’t do it again.”

And there’s that balancing act again, joking but not. Robin hears it for what it is. Don’t leave me alone. She squeezes back.

“I won’t.”

She expects Eddie to change the subject quickly. Instead he laughs—smaller, sadder. “Shit, sorry. You must think I’m—”

“No,” she says firmly. “I don’t.”

Eddie looks down like he’s just watching his step, nothing more. But his hold around Robin’s arm tightens again. He clears his throat.

“Thanks, Buckley.”

“Hey, Robin, Eddie,” Steve calls; Robin feels Eddie jump. “There’s vines up ahead, like…” He turns around and indicates where with the flashlight. Then he catches Robin’s eye, knits his eyebrows slightly. You okay?

She smiles in reassurance before subtly tilting her head towards Eddie, wrinkles her nose.

Steve’s forehead relaxes. The tiniest nod. Yeah, I know. Got my eye on it.

Because of course he’d noticed the hurt knee despite Eddie’s attempt to hide it; Robin recalls now one of Steve’s rants about his time at school, how he’d often clock injuries during basketball games before the borderline neglectful coach.

And then she realises that Steve’s been walking backwards throughout their silent conversation, alternating between lighting the way for Nancy, and for her and Eddie.

She rolls her eyes, briefly draws a circle in the air with her finger. Now you’re just showing off.

Steve grins, waggles his eyebrows ridiculously. Oh, yeah? What’re you gonna do about it?

But he obligingly turns around, as Nancy gives him a sidelong, questioning look. He answers, too far away to hear, points behind him with his free hand like he’s explaining something. Then his hand goes to the vest, rubbing his thumb absentmindedly over the denim near the collar; Robin smiles.

“So, uh, how likely is it that I’m gonna get that back?” Eddie asks. He sounds amused, like he’s just noticed the same thing as Robin.

“Like, out of ten?” She pretends to think about it. “Two point five.”

Eddie snorts. “Wow, thanks.”

It’s a compliment, Eddie, she thinks, recalling the select few sweaters that Steve fiddles with in winter. He only does that with clothes he really loves.

“You’re not the first. He steals my sunglasses all the time.”

Eddie bursts out laughing. “Figures. He’d look good in anything, it’s so unfair.”

And it doesn’t sound serious; it’s said off the cuff, like it doesn’t have to mean anything. But Robin’s growing more certain that she can hear what’s hiding underneath—that, however hesitantly, she’s being tested.

“Yeah, but we’re not supposed to actually tell him that, he’ll never shut up about it.” As Eddie laughs, she elbows him gently, reaches across to tug at one of the zippers on his sleeve. “So are you providing a permanent service with your clothes? Cause I call dibs on your jacket.”

Eddie laughs again; the mix of disbelief and joy in the sound is familiar—Robin’s heard it come from herself not all that long ago. It takes a while to sink in, that friendship can be found so easily—an uncomplicated, earnest type of love once thought lost to kindergarten; it doesn’t have to hurt.

(“I didn’t need the truth serum to say it,” Robin had confessed during a terminally slow day at Family Video. “I think, deep down, I trusted you.”

“Oh,” Steve said softly and watched the rest of the movie they’d thrown on dewy-eyed.)

There’s a spring in Eddie’s step now despite the limp. He calls out like he’s on a summer hiking trail, “Are we there yet?”

Nancy chuckles. “No. Are you five?”

“Wheeler, I’m shocked that you’d repeat the baseless lies of the school faculty.”

Steve turns, his grin caught by the flashlight—and he looks younger suddenly, Robin thinks, like he’s in class, sneaking a look at someone in the seat behind.

“Wow, dude, I’m so sorry. Are you bored? I forgot to book the entertainment.”

“Did you, Steve?” Eddie asks, all innocence. “I thought you were the entertainment.”

And as they go back and forth, it’s as if the darkness of the woods can’t reach them anymore—as Steve starts a game of I spy, and Eddie encourages Nancy to come up with equally outlandish guesses, the two of them barely keeping their giggles under control, violets, vixen, velociraptor?

“Vines, you losers!” Steve says, still grinning, walking tall like he’s totally forgotten about his injury; and Eddie turns to Robin like that had been his aim all along, “Your turn, Buckley.”

Oh, you’ll fit right in, Robin says to herself before jumping into the game—as they all, at least for a little while, leave fear behind.

#an s4 scene rewrite #recontextualizing “for your modesty dude.”#pre steddie #eddie and robin fic #robin buckley fic #steve and robin fic #steddie #steddie fic #eddie and robin #steve and robin #steve and robin and eddie and nancy #robin buckley #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie

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ddarker-dreams · 5 months ago

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A Deal's a Deal.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, violence against minor characters, descriptions of anxiety, mentions of alcohol. Word count: 5k.

“... Sorry. This one’s no good either.”

Sighing dejectedly, you sink into your seat.

You can’t tell if your companion’s disappointed. He maintains a neutral countenance, betraying nothing of his inner thoughts. Still, you study him, awaiting some visual indication before moving the conversation forward. He must sense your intentions, for he catches your gaze and smiles.

“Should we call it a day? You look tired.”

“The hell? Isn’t it considered taboo to tell a lady she looks tired?” You grumble. “And here I thought you were Casanova incarnate. You’ve got to work on your charisma stats.”

Chrollo shrugs halfheartedly. “What point is there if you’re immune to my many charms?”

“Let’s be real — ‘many’ is overdoing it, a little humility won’t hurt. I commend your budding self-awareness, though. At least we’ve made progress on that front.”

He hums, offering no rebuttal. You realize that you’ve perked back up, reinvigorated by his goading. He certainly knows how to get people going. Among his defining features, that’s one of the first you recognized; his uncanny way of orchestrating favorable outcomes.

Sipping your preferred warm beverage, you canvass your surroundings.

The café’s less crowded than when you came in. There are still a few students typing away on their laptops while consuming a concerning amount of caffeine. In the corner sits an elderly couple, whose order you overheard by virtue of the volume it was placed at — “Give me a regular coffee. Straight black, none of that ‘appaccino, grand venti’ nonsense. Decaf for my wife.”

(You prayed for the barista’s sanity when he tried explaining the different ways ‘straight black’ could come).

“... I am losing my touch, aren’t I?” Chrollo murmurs. You snap your head in his direction, having temporarily forgotten his existence. “You prefer older men?”

You almost choke mid-sip. “Pleh…! That’s it, I’m retiring, good luck sorting your issues out.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“How I wish you were wrong,” you deadpan. Lifting his phone off the table, you scroll through its contents. There’s nothing new to look at. “An exorcist, huh? You’re positive that’s a real thing?”

“They exist. They’re just rare, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“I blame the Protestant Reformation.”

The skin beneath his eyes wrinkles. “... Cute.”

His compliment makes you frown.

“Quit it with the flattery, already.”

“Flattery implies a degree of insincerity, no?” He challenges. “You of all people should know when I’m being genuine.”

“You make it sound like I’m a walking polygraph.”

His lips part and close as he considers his response. “That isn’t how I view you.”

This guy’s clever with his word choice, you think. Too clever.

Disliking where this conversation might go, you redirect.

“This ‘Hunter’ site you’ve been using… is there any way for me to access it?”

“Feeling a bit impatient, are we?”

There’s a patronizing lilt to this tone that has you inhaling sharply. Closing your eyes, you ball your hands into fists, willing your agitated mind to relax. Your goal feels so close. This future you never believed possible dangles above your head, only to recede as if you were Tantalus whenever you grasp for it. Needling Chrollo won’t get you any closer, but at least it gives you something to do, mimicking progress.

“The Hunter site has various measures in place to prevent account sharing. You don’t want to end up on their radar,” Chrollo retrieves his phone and tucks it into his coat’s pocket. “While your enthusiasm’s admirable, I suggest you leave this part to me.”

You swallow thickly. “... Right.”

“Are you upset?”

“No, I’m not,” you rest your hands on your lap. “Just, y’know. Reminded that we’re from two different worlds.”

Outside the café’s windows, individuals from all walks of life bustle about. Some are on their phones, others chatting with friends, or holding their partner’s hands. It’s a picturesque display of normalcy. They’re likely thinking about what to have for dinner, when to set their alarm for the following day, if they can squeeze out of plans they halfheartedly agreed to over the weekend; you know this because you aspire to live the same way.

“You’re closer to mine than you think.”

A fervent disagreement blazes then turns to ash on your tongue. There’s an unidentifiable quality to his stare — neither kind nor outright malicious — almost clinical in its effort to elicit a reaction. You stir in your seat. Despite your time together, he’s as much an enigma as he’d been upon your first meeting. Charming and courteous, yet lacking genuine warmth, like a faux candle.

“Do you get some kick out of riling me up?”

“Maybe a little,” he admits. “Your expressive nature is endearing. I can’t help myself.”

His words resonate with such clarity that you can’t help but wish he’d been a little dishonest.

“I’m not a toy for you to entertain yourself with.”

His smile makes you squirm.

“I know you aren’t.”

“Then what—” you cut yourself off, fearing what might occur if you continue your original line of questioning. “Man, you’re exhausting to deal with. Has anyone ever told you that you have an awful personality?”

“Few get to be around me enough to comment on its quality.”

“I’m counting down the days until I’m no longer a member of that inner circle.”

Before Chrollo can respond, his phone audibly vibrates. Newfound excitement overwhelms you at the sound. He glances at the notification and nods, confirming your speculation. He places it in your eager hands. While you prepare, he steeples his fingers and leans forward, intrigued as always with your work.

You relax your breathing. This entire process is based on intuition, chasing after faint sensations until your desired outcome manifests. A pliable force thrums through you — what Chrollo refers to as ‘aura’ — awakening from its dormant state. Mindful of your public surroundings, you keep your dominant hand beneath the table. Where there was once nothing, a three-dimensional object rests snugly against your palm. Buttons of varying utility jut outward along its perimeter. This small item, shaped like a cassette recorder, stirs antipathy in your heart.

Holding down rewind, the cassette whirrs to life. You prepare to record the latest audio note sent in for analysis.

Instant Replay (One More Time!).

These past few months have seen your ability frequently leveraged. It was your personal conviction to refuse its use, lest paranoia eat away at you. However, freedom from this bondage necessitates further entanglement. You’ve parted with your long-standing morals, primed to pick through the syllables of others for your own purposes.

Right and wrong no longer concern you.

All you care about is surrendering this loathsome ability to the man sitting across the table.

The night air is unforgiving in its chill. It infiltrates your layers of clothing with laughable ease, seeping into your marrow and demanding that you shiver as recompense. Gritting your teeth, you pick up your pace, cursing the parking garage’s elevator for being out of order. You knew parking at your friend’s apartment complex was sparse, but this is a new record.

The heels of your shoes click against the concrete staircase as you rapidly ascend. A pale, yellowish hue illuminates your path, the lights occasionally flickering. The moon must be feeling shy tonight, for it hides behind thick, stationary clouds, refusing the world its silvery guidance.

Upon arriving on the third floor, you hear an ominous crackle in the distance.

The consequences are immediate. Intuition tells you to pause, goosebumps erupting over your flesh from head to toe. Darkness swallows your surroundings whole in inky blots. Blinking rapidly, your eyes struggle to adjust. You feel around for your phone and turn the flashlight on. The sudden loss of power perplexes you, did the building’s breaker trip? From what you can see, the rest of the street is unaffected.

You’re about to resume your journey when you feel something cold press against your temple.

“Don’t move,” a deep voice demands. The roar of a car’s engine echoes nearby, as does the hurried screech of tires. “Not so much as a fucking inch.”

Anxiety sets your every nerve aflame. You go stiff as a corpse, and perhaps you may have been mistaken for one, if not for the thunderous pounding of your heart. The moisture in your mouth dries up. Tortuous seconds drag on, devoid of any further commands. You’re ready to offer up your purse, wallet, or anything else he insists on, but he’s eerily silent.

A pair of approaching headlights blind you.

Is this more than a robbery? You struggle to comprehend the nightmarish events. The man holding you hostage radiates agitation, shifting his weight from foot to foot. In doing so, the barrel drags along your sweat-slicked skin. His apparent sloppiness has you weak in the knees — it’s your life hanging in the balance, why is he acting like the situation is reversed?

Abruptly, the vehicle veers off course, crashing into a line of parked cars. A terrible cacophony follows. Glass shatters, metal debris shrieks whilst scattering, and car alarms angrily sound in disunity. What you’re witnessing doesn’t feel like real life. Your disbelief is mutual, for the man holding you captive spews curses.

You hear a click by your side; the gun’s safety being disengaged.

“Shit!” He maneuvers you in the direction of the crash like you’re a shield. “There’s no way we were followed, no way, we did everything perfect—”

The man never finishes his sentence.

There’s a wet gurgle, then a wheeze, as something warm splatters on you from behind. Bile rises up your throat as the wretched noises continue. He must’ve fallen to the ground, for you no longer sense his lumbering presence, or feel the cold kiss of metal on your skin. Regardless, you refuse to budge. You squeeze your eyes shut and tremble wildly.

“There, there. You’re safe now. ♥” A rich baritone speaks from behind.

His declaration comes out discordant, belying the reassuring contents. You bristle at the new threat that’s presented itself. If what came before was a house cat, then this is an apex predator, the king of the jungle. The air around him feels oppressive, almost noxious. Even without a firearm directed at you, your panic reaches its zenith, soaring to heights untraversed.

“Hm? Still scared? Ah, that’s right,” he muses to himself. “Chrollo said you’re sensitive to dishonesty. This could be troublesome.”

“You… you know Chrollo?”

“So you’re not in a catatonic state — how reassuring.”

Slowly, you turn around, sensing a distinct lack of ill intent. Flashlight in hand, you try to make sense of what you witness. The scene that greets you is gruesome beyond your wildest expectations. The man who you assume held you at gunpoint has collapsed onto the ground, his jugular slit clean. Blood gushes from the wound like a geyser, forming a crimson puddle around his head. His eyes are wide, bloodshot, nearly bulging from the sockets. Liquids ooze from every visible orifice and a foul odor rises alongside them. This pitiful creature could’ve been your end. Instead, he met his, departing this world in abject terror.

Unexpectedly, his muscles twitch. Out of reflex, you jump back and yelp.

“Rest assured, he’s dead as a doornail.”

“Why…” you wet your dry lips, “What… what just…?”

While you stumble over your words, the building’s power makes a triumphant return. The lights flash intermittently, then go steady, allowing you an unobscured vantage point. Before you stands a tall, bizarrely dressed individual, with bright red hair. His beady, yellow eyes have a predatory gleam to them that he doesn’t bother suppressing. He holds a playing card in his claw-like hands, the three of spades.

It’s coated in fresh blood.

Your eyes fall to the fatal wound on your assailant's throat, the gears in your head turning.

You take a step back.

“Let’s try this again, shall we?” With a flick of his wrist, the offending card disappears, though its memory burns strong. “I’m Hisoka, Chrollo’s… colleague of sorts. Now, there’s no need to introduce yourself. I’m well acquainted with you. ♥”

Is that supposed to make you feel better?

You couldn’t hide your suspicion if you tried. At the very least, there’s no indication that was a lie. However, his familiarity with you is a double-edged sword. If he’s crafty, he can outmaneuver your ability. Dishonesty isn’t black and white, there are loopholes to avoiding your detection. For instance, one can remain purposefully oblivious, lie by omission, or speak in vague terms. These gray areas pass you by as if you lacked this ‘sixth sense’ to begin with.

He was lying when he said I’m safe now, you recall. But he doesn’t seem interested in harming me…? Something isn’t adding up.

After much deliberation, you ask, “So you just happened to run into me?”

“Nope. I’ve been following you,” he freely admits. Your aghast expression makes him laugh. “What’s the matter? You were baiting me for the truth, were you not? You’re welcome to have it. ♦”

In your heightened state of sensitivity, you sense multiple presences converging nearby. Security guards, if you had to guess. You weigh your options. If you stay here, you’ll undoubtedly be harassed for a story that explains the chaos. Telling the truth would land you in a straight jacket whereas deception guarantees cuffs. Leaving in your car is off the table too, you’d be dubbed an important witness. There’s no way you can claim you drove by the carnage without noticing anything.

“I can help get you out of this debacle,” he offers. “We’re both seeking the same end — the return of Chrollo’s Hatsu. The latest recording I’ve obtained is most promising. So, I’d rather we don’t continue this conversation in prison. ♣”

Hisoka takes a step forward and extends his hand.

The security guards are getting closer, you think. There’s no time left.

And so you make your choice.

You didn’t think places like these existed outside of the movies, or maybe you just don’t get around enough.

You’ve found yourself in what you can only describe as a biker’s bar. The decor is old-fashioned, slightly worn yet authentic. There are pool tables, too many televisions to count, and a functioning jukebox nestled in the corner. Rough-looking men wearing leather jackets make up the main clientele. Fortunately, it’s Hisoka who draws the most attention, his gaudy getup acting as a magnet for the eyes. No one pays you any mind.

For the second time this week, a weirdo treats you to drinks. The main difference is that this is a depressant and not a stimulant.

You take hearty sips to calm your nerves. All that happened feels so surreal, like a collection of grotesque images that would be blurred out in a documentary. This is exactly what you wanted to avoid. You want to be normal, untethered by the oddity that is Nen, the ‘world’ Chrollo inhabits. You decided long ago that nothing good can come from it. Maybe if you were more adventurous, prone to taking high risks for high rewards.

But you’re not.

Endless money, power, and influence don’t sound appealing. Sure, there’s an allure initially, until you consider reality. Lots of money means either lots of taxes or lots of tax evasion. You barely know what a W-2 form is, much less the hoops you’d have to jump through if your income exploded. Power and influence aren’t all they’re cracked up to be either. All that scheming to stay at the top would take away from what makes life truly worth living — reading Wikipedia articles and watching eight-hour-long videos analyzing a video game from two decades ago.

“Holy shit,” you press pause on the cassette recorder. “This Abengane guy’s the real deal.”

“Oh?”

“He’s familiar with getting rid o’ Nen. During his… huh, what’s it called again… oh. Yeah. Audition. Durin’ his audition for Greedy Island—”

“ —Greed Island.”

You wave his correction off.

“—Yeah, yeah, whatever. But, basically, he’s legit. How’d ya even come across this?”

“Magic. ♥”

You make a face. “Is everyone who uses Nen annoying?”

“Some more than others.”

Speak of the devil. Craning your neck, you’re met with piercing gray eyes. Unlike Hisoka, Chrollo isn’t dressed like he’s auditioning for the circus. Instead, he comes across as a guy who’s going to pitch the worst idea for a startup you’ve ever heard. He’s wearing a dark blazer with a gray turtleneck beneath it, along with white pants and black loafers. You’re about to make your joke known when something about Chrollo’s demeanor changes your mind. Intensity pours off him in waves, giving you pause.

“Good news, boss. We found your exorcist.”

The title Hisoka uses to refer to him has you tilting your head. He did refer to himself as Chrollo’s ‘colleague,’ but the word boss implies hierarchy.

“I heard,” Chrollo smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m surprised you’re not rushing back to Greed Island to track him down.”

He slides into the booth beside you while never looking away from Hisoka. The tension brewing in the air perplexes you. Shouldn’t this news be a cause for celebration? You’ve helped Chrollo search for a Nen exorcist for months now. Chrollo’s been searching for a Nen exorcist for months now. You’re uncertain what reaction you expected, but it certainly wasn’t this.

“All in due time. I’d hate to cut my time with your little assistant short.”

Hisoka makes a point of looking you up and down.

Somehow, Hisoka has made Chrollo seem normal by comparison. Disliking the attention, you reach for your drink, only to notice how light it is. Have you already drunk that much? While inspecting the near-empty glass, you realize the room’s starting to feel warm. The stress of what you endured must’ve impaired your judgment.

What time is it, anyway? Do I have work tomorrow?

Your watch reads 2:05 a.m.

Shit.

“I need— need to get going…”

“Why the rush?” Hisoka questions. “Things were just starting to get interesting. ♥”

You ignore him and stare Chrollo down, waiting for him to move aside so you can leave. Instead of getting up, he leans closer, pursing his lips. This is the closest you’ve ever been to him. Heat creeps over your face, from your cheeks to your ears. There’s no denying that the bastard’s handsome. Your friends love teasing you about him for that very reason. They never believe your insistence on having a ‘strictly platonic’ relationship, some even have bets for when you’ll end up together.

Maybe you would’ve considered it if you didn’t know about his Nen proficiency.

There aren’t any readily available statistics for Nen, but if you had to guess, you’d say most of the population is ignorant of its existence. People who do know about the Hunter’s Association consider it a private enterprise that specializes in exploration and taking on contract jobs. According to Chrollo, this is by design. You can barely go about your day pretending there aren’t superhumans roaming the planet, doing all sorts of crazy nonsense.

Society would plunge into chaos if the knowledge reached them.

You hear what sounds like your name coming from underwater.

Blinking sluggishly, you discover Chrollo’s hand on your shoulder. “Hm? What?”

“I’ve been calling your name,” he speaks languidly, likely for your benefit. “Are you alright?”

“Well…” you trail off, pondering the question. “... Mm, yeah, probably not. I gotta get home, and— god, my car— it’s still back there. I don’t want… I can’t…”

The anxiety you thought you buried resuscitates itself. It’s dull compared to earlier, yet your breathing grows shallow and your hands feel clammy. Your intenses churn like a parasite had been embedded inside. Everything feels far away, as if you’re in a dream, physically present yet mentally adrift.

You could’ve died.

You almost died.

You’d fought desperately to scrub your mind of this knowledge, but the bottle can only do so much.

“Say, Chrollo,” with a nearly imperceptible motion, Hisoka summons a playing card between his middle and pointer fingers. “If I were to slice her pretty neck, what would you do?”

The old-fashioned glass Hisoka had been sipping from cracks.

Pressure invades the air like a thick, heady fog, so tangible in its potency, that the chatter elsewhere dies down. The sudden silence allows for the clinging of billiard balls to reverberate throughout. Patrons glance around, vaguely aware that something is wrong, yet ultimately unable to identify the source. This primal sense of foreboding evaporates as swiftly as it arrives. The lively atmosphere reemerges, until all present seem to have forgotten anything unusual ever occurred.

Hisoka absentmindedly cleans up the glass shards, piling them into the corner while Chrollo drums his fingers along the table. Chrollo’s jaw is set and the skin between his eyes is pinched in contemplation.

Hisoka lets out an exaggerated sigh. “This is turning into a bore. I was confident you’d lose your cool, even if just a bit…”

“Pathetic.”

The unexpected vitriol has them both turning their heads in your direction. Chrollo blinks, while Hisoka tilts his head, staring at you owlishly.

He points to himself. “Me?”

“Yeah, you! You’re like— one of those birds, those showoff birds… dancing with your colorful feathers… ‘nd stuff…” your speech isn’t the most coherent, unaided by the irritation that’s boiling your blood. You leer at him, fed up with everything, especially whatever schemes he’s roped you into. A rough picture is presenting itself, one stroke at a time. To Hisoka, you’re nothing more than glorified bait. You don’t know if he played a role in engineering the evening’s events, but it wouldn’t be a surprise.

At the very least, he admitted to following you. Even if he was a third party, he could’ve disposed of the impending threat. Instead, he waited, exposing you to bloodshed for his own ends. You wish you could come up with a more scathing insult. Unfortunately, your temple is throbbing and clear enunciation grows harder as your body digests the liquor you inhaled.

Hisoka looks at Chrollo. “I’m a bird?”

“She’s calling your bluff,” Chrollo clarifies. “Had you intended to follow up on your threat, she’d know.”

You’re glad Chrollo realized what you were going for. The diatribe sounded better in your head. Nonetheless, he’s communicated the essence of things, lacking as it is in panache. Hisoka hums, eyeing you like you’d make for a fine appetizer before the main course.

“You must have kept that detail from me on purpose. What an intriguing ability. ♥”

Chrollo brushes aside his comment and refocuses his attention on you. “I’ll drive you home.”

“But my car—”

“I’ll handle it,” Chrollo reassures.

He slides out from the booth and stares at you expectantly. You get the sense that trying his patience isn’t a good idea; his encounter with Hisoka must have soured his mood. He helps steady you as you stand, securing his arm behind your back. Neither of you acknowledges Hisoka while making for the door, though you can feel his eyes tracking your every movement.

Upon emerging from the bar, the cool air you deplored earlier feels like a godsend. You hear cars rushing up and down the street, indicating the presence of a highway. Other than that, you don’t recognize the area. It’s a small, decrepit outlet, featuring shops plastered with neon signs and bars over the windows.

Chrollo ushers you in the direction of a black, unmarked McLaren.

“If you’re gonna do all that, at least get a less basic color… like pink…”

“I’ll give it some thought.”

Once you’re in the passenger seat, he fixes the strap of your purse and then buckles you in. It isn’t long until you’re on the road. He stays in the slow lane, mindful to avoid abrupt motions. You recline back and rest your head, hugging your arms close to your body. At the next red light, he sheds his coat, draping it over your person. The cashmere fabric is soft on your skin, embedded with his cologne and warmth. This, paired with the low hum of the engine has your eyelids growing heavy. You try resisting the temptation.

“Thank you.”

“Hm? For what?”

“... Are you serious?” you murmur. “For comin’ to get me.”

“Of course.”

Relief rushes over you as the surrounding area becomes recognizable. Traffic is nonexistent this time of night, it shouldn’t be but a few more minutes until you’re home. Then you can crash out on your bed and deal with the existential weight of reality in the morning. Work can fire you for all you care, you just want to sleep. If you were on your deathbed, you’re ninety percent positive they’d ask you to find shift coverage before you croaked.

Chrollo pulls into your apartment complex, parking as close to the entrance as he can.

You fiddle with your seatbelt, intending to make the rest of the trip by yourself.

He places his large, calloused hand over yours, preventing further progress.

“... Chrollo?”

He doesn’t respond. His thumb rubs slow, steady circles against your skin. You swallow a growing lump in your throat. He hasn’t been himself all night. Or, to be more precise, he’s showing you a side of himself he’s hitherto kept hidden. You always knew there was more to him than he let on. You never wanted to open that Pandora's box, lest your plans be jeopardized. Playing with fire has its risks, yet cauterizing your personal wounds took priority. You don’t know if you have the right to pray the rest of your being doesn’t go up in flames.

“I assume you’re aware of my fondness for you?”

“I— well…” you stumble over your words, then meekly ask, “Is now really a good time for this?”

Chrollo lowers his head and smiles. “No, I suppose not.”

An uncomfortable silence hangs in the air.

“One more question, then I’ll let you go,” he looks up at you through thick lashes, an enigmatic gleam passing over his eyes. “Do I frighten you?”

Your body tenses. He addresses you so softly, so sweetly, had you not witnessed his mouth moving, you would’ve mistaken his voice for belonging to another. Your facilities aren’t functional enough to properly process his query. Perhaps that’s the point — him cornering you at this vulnerable junction. You don’t get why. You don’t think you could even if you were sober.

Chrollo, for his part, seems to acknowledge he won’t get far in your current state.

Or maybe he gleaned his answer.

He lifts your hand to his lips, where he presses a lingering kiss. You can’t bring yourself to be the first to pull away. He lingers a while longer, as if stuck in a trance. When he does part, the skin tingles in his absence.

“I’ll be in touch.”

For the past week, you’ve carried on as if nothing ever happened.

It’s easier this way. There are instances where your performance is threatened, like when you ran across a news article detailing the ‘grisly murder of two men at a parking garage on 9th St,’ yet these lapses can be smoothed over. Ignore, distract, forget. This cycle lends you a credence of normalcy and eases you back into everyday life.

You haven’t seen Chrollo since that night. You suppose he’s preoccupied with his arrangements to meet the Nen exorcist. While you don’t know the specifics, you imagine he’ll have to meet this Abengane in person. In the recording, he addressed two men — named Battera and Tsezguerra — where he proved himself qualified to enter ‘Greed Island.’ Aside from a few anonymous forums, information on this mythical game is sparse. All you know is that the price is exorbitant and that Battera obsessively tracks down every copy available.

Wherever there’s Nen, things inevitably get weird, you think.

You begin tidying up your apartment. First is drying off the dishes, which saw their first use all week for a much-needed home-cooked meal. While doing so, your phone vibrates. You throw the damp rag down in a hurry and check the screen. All you find is a notification about your upcoming menstrual cycle. Sighing, you put your phone down on the counter.

Chrollo had been truthful when he promised to take your Hatsu for assisting in the return of his. A part of you is relieved by his absence; the other is frustrated. You want to get this over with. It’s like when you have an appointment later in the day and spend the time leading up to it in a limbo, not wanting to get involved in anything until the commitment is over. Is it possible he already took it? Curious, you hold your dominant hand out. You haven’t used Instant Replay since the night at the biker’s bar.

Aura surges through you, concentrating at the palm of your hand. Much to your disappointment, the light pink cassette tape appears. Maybe it no longer works? As a test, you rewind the recording of the audio Chrollo provided at the café. Once primed, you press play, listening attentively for certain cues.

“It is my great honor to profess that I, Lilith, can purge you of any ailment, even scourges derived from Nen — for a small donation of…”

The self-proclaimed Mistress of Panaceas sounds increasingly garbled as her lies surface. Clicking your tongue, you deactivate your ability. Everything remains operational. You don’t know what you expected, you’ve overheard the telltale sounds of lying the past few days. It just hasn’t been directed at you, which weakens the effect.

Will you really have to endure this the rest of your life?

Shortly into resuming your task, there’s a knock at your door.

You ignore it, not in the mood to deal with a neighbor asking for something. After thirty or so seconds, there’s another round of knocking. You suppress a groan. Why can’t the world sense that you’re moody and let you brood in peace? Trudging over, you try to put on a pleasant face, unwilling to lash out on others even if you’re in a terrible mood. Erring on the side of caution, you glance out the peephole.

Upon doing so, you almost lose your balance.

…

He must’ve decided he kept you waiting long enough.

#chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #hxh x reader #yandere hxh x reader #chrollo brainrot #my stuff

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radio-fmm · 30 days ago

Text

I hate cigarettes

Zoro x fem!reader

Just a sweet love confession

The air carried the ocean’s salt, mingling with the taste of tabaco form the cigarette between your lips. You hate smoking, you’ve never even craved one, still you hold onto it in an attempt to ground yourself, in hopes it’ll take away your thoughts with the smoke.

You hear footsteps, steady and hauntingly familiar that make you stiff. Zoro’s presence usually was comforting, like you knew nothing bad could happen around him, but lately it had the power to awaken a storm between you, making you stumble, hesitate, weak.

“Isn’t that supposed to calm you down?” He motions to the burning cigarette you still hold onto your dear life, shaking

“That’s what Sanji says… starting to believe he made it up”

Zoro hisses his teeth

You stomp on the cigarette and look back at the kitchens window, alive with your crewmates having dinner. Usopp renacts the fight he had earlier today as everyone laughs around the table, Luffy steals one of Nami’s grapes on her salad making Sanji kick him in the head

You smile

But your smile doesn’t reach your eyes like it’s supposed to, or at least that’s what Zoro notes. Lately you’ve been quieter, making yourself smaller around the swordsman, and he just can’t figure out why and it’s driving him insane

Because you are the opposite

When Zoro first met you he didn’t pay you any mind as he always does, but your apparently quiet nature made him gravitate towards your space because he felt at ease. After a while it turns out you weren’t exactly the quiet kind, trust granted him access to a new part of you, the real you. You were silly, obnoxious with the right people around, like the sun rising after a cold quiet night. You were loud when excited but quiet when you felt not so needed

That’s why your silence alarmed him, because it meant you weren’t comfortable and the thought of you not feeling anything close to safe around him was unnameable, even if Zoro was too shy to accept it he always searched for your approval and ‘need’– He wanted you to need him close.

It’s hilarious really, both of you are driving each other insane and you are oblivious about it. You are aware that what you’re doing it’s childish, but that feeling in the pit of your stomach, the ache in your heart that wears you down every time you see the swordsman is something you fear. You know you love him, you’ve always been someone really self aware but that doesn’t make it any easier, you don’t want to mess this up, you wouldn’t be able to keep living if that ever happened. It’s tearing you apart, and Zoro just stands there and lets it all happen like right now, because he doesn’t really know what to say or do

What a sad combination

Something the swordsman however, doesn’t get a lot of credit for it’s his emotional intelligence, this– mingling with a sixth sense when it comes to all matters you cancelled out his shy nature

So that’s how now he scoots over to you on the railing, steady but soft as if to not scare you more

“Are you gonna tell me what’s going on?”

His voice it’s a little stern but careful, you look over and you know you can’t scape it, your heart speeds up making everything hazy.

You stand defeated, still no answer as it hangs on the tip of your tongue, afraid but eager.

“Don’t have another option do I?” He chuckles, a little sinister but affectionately, he likes being known by you. You used to be that way too, before your insecurities sabotaged you

“It’s not that big of a deal”

“If it has you sulking it cannot be nothing”

“I’m not sulking”

“You are”

“Am not”

“You, are stalling”

You glare, without any bite to it. He glares back standing on business

“It has nothing to do with you Zoro, I just… am too afraid to face something”

His eyes never leave you as he sits with your words for a minute, before answering without an ounce of hesitation in his tone

“You’re brave and smart, I’m sure you can figure it out yourself. But, if you need any help you know you can always count on me”

Now you feel a little bad. His compliment craves itself into your heart and his desperation to keep you close maddening. It’s both unlike him but also so true to himself

The torture wasn’t gonna take you anywhere, it was just going hurt forever until it becomes painful to even wake in the morning to see your swordsman lay with someone else

“I hate cigarettes” you state with a painful sigh

Zoro crooks his brow and scowls confused

“Then why-“

“and you, Zoro?”

He blinks, a hand runs trough his green hair a little desperate. He had a whole speech prepared but he underestimated your ability to rant about whatever you wanted

“I don’t care ab-“

At the end of the day what is love but the soul naked? Better a love unrequited than a love never spoken

In an instant, you take advantage of his brain short circuiting to crash your lips into his. It’s desperate and almost pleading, you stand on your tiptoes and latch your hands onto his shirt, afraid to let go and have to see his face with horror etched onto it. Zoro for the second time in his life, stumbles– he is losing his mind, baffled but also thankful. The feeling of your lips in his just feels right

His hands move on their own accord, one falling onto your hip the other holding the back of your head to lock your face in his rougher

He’s hungry for it, like after a long day of training he gets to have dessert.

You shake in his hold but he catches you– every time

You end the kiss to take in a long breath, you find his eyes already on you and a smirk forming on his red lips

“So, that’s what’s up?” He teases and you try to scape his unrelenting hold but of course fail

“Don’t be mean”

“Am not”

“Zoro”

You stand there, soul bare and he can’t really name the feeling that blooms form his heart. It’s all consuming, addicting and sugar sweet, something he never thought would find at least in this lifetime, not for him to hold with his calloused hands

He says your name back like a promise and kisses your hand to lock it in

“Don’t ever dim your light for me again”

You smile and kiss him silly again

Masterlist

#one piece #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro roronoa #roronoa zoro x y/n #opla zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x you #zoro x y/n #zoro x you #zoro x reader #one piece roronoa zoro #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece x reader #zoro fluff #one piece fluff

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all-purpose-dish-soap · 1 year ago

Note

your shark mer 141 and mer remora fic is one of the only things keeping me sane during finals week so please please please dump all of your thoughts on us because your writing style is so good and i can’t get enough!!!!!!!

thank you!! i sincerely hope finals are going/did go well for you! you should treat yourself with a little something if/when you're finished :)

and the shark mer 141 are always happy to be of service <3

37 / 1k / part 2 of shark mer Ghost tolerating remora mer reader

...

"But I'm fine!"

“You’re not. Look at you. You’re half-asleep.”

You’re not tired, you’re hungry. You shift against him, listless and unable to voice your needs. It's not that you're unwilling to do so--it's that you can't. It doesn't occur to you. Your kind doesn't survive by acting needy around a host.

Ghost notices your silent resistance. You’re weak--too tired, too hungry, too used to taking care of yourself--and still stubborn enough to keep your mouth shut anyway. He bites back a growl of irritation. It would be easier to fight. At least then he could shout it out of you. But no--instead you’re a tired lump in his hand, and your silence doesn’t give him anywhere to push back.

He's got one arm looped around you and both of your hands grasped in one of his. He only carries you like this, holding you by the wrists, when you accompanying him isn't up for debate. When you're being particularly fussy about it, he drags you by the wrists as if your arms were leads.

You don't relish that thought right now. You finally just bow your head, tucking it against his chest in submission.

He feels the change in your body language when you surrender to his control. He notices the way you go almost limp against him. Good. That almost puts the hungry, prowling animal in him to rest. Almost.

It’s a hard thing to explain--the gnawing dissatisfaction he felt watching you comb through the sand, small and alone on the ocean floor. The protective, possessive feeling that took root in his stomach.

It made him want to bite you all over. Not just to punish you, but to warn any other lurking thing who might confuse your loneliness for attainability. Not that he'd ever express the impulse to do so.

"Are you coming back to hunt again?" you ask him.

“Why? Do you miss me that much?”

You huff. "You didn't eat enough."

His fingers tighten around your wrists. You either have an inappropriate sense of humor or no self-awareness whatsoever.

“You're in a mouthy mood, huh?” he remarks tersely. “Must be even more tired than you look.”

He’s not stupid. He knows why you invited yourself along on his hunting trip. But he’s not going to coddle you while you shy away from the issue.

He glances up towards the coral reef, considering. If he brings you straight home, you'll just go back to ignoring your obvious needs. But he won’t let you wander the sea floor like some starving bottom-feeder. And he knows better than to hunt for you—you always refuse fresh kills.

The ones Ghost offers, at least. You seem willing enough to take fresh kills from Gaz.

Pisses him off.

You open your eyes when Ghost changes course and heads for a small cove carpeted in sandbanks. He dumps you unceremoniously into the soft sand. You look around, then at him.

"Stay right here." His tone brooks no argument. He swims off with an irritated lash of his tail before you can ask him why. You're left alone, moonlight curling across the surface of the water far above you and across the sand at your fins. Watching it makes your eyelids grow heavy.

You wake with a start when he returns. He holds in one clawed hand a fish. A live one.

He comes to rest on the edge of the sandbank. He doesn't speak, merely watching with a critical eye as you shake the sand from your scales and rouse yourself back into full consciousness. Then he holds out the live fish to you.

"Eat."

You frown but reach for it. Right as you lay your hands on it, it darts away. You jump in surprise, but one look at Ghost's face tells you he expected exactly that to happen. He can’t stop a small, satisfied smirk from curving his lips. That was exactly the reaction he wanted, and now you’re staring at him with six different accusations on the tip of your tongue.

His eyes fix on you with that smug, condescending look in his gaze. "Didn't Price teach you how to hunt for yourself?"

"Yes," you snap. You push yourself off the sand and dart after the fish, catching nothing but water again.

“Clearly not well.”

You strike out again. And come up empty. Again.

He huffs a laugh. You turn on him. "What's the point of this? You're the one who was going hunting."

He leans back, propping his weight on his elbows as he eyes you. Every failed lunge and dart bring him more satisfaction. "The point is that you should be able to feed yourself," he retorts. "You're too dependent, sweetheart. You’d starve in a koi pond."

You’d love nothing more than to tell him where exactly he can shove his stupid fish, but it’s far too mentally taxing for you to refuse outright. Instead, you cross your arms in a way that just as clearly says I'm not doing that.

Ghost’s eyes glimmer. He isn’t having it.

He pushes himself off the sand and swims toward you, pushing you back against the bank when he crowds himself over your smaller frame.

"You know” —his expression is downright patronizing— “refusing an order is a bad move. Bad things happen to disobedient pets."

"It didn't sound like an order," you mutter, avoiding his eyes.

He grabs your jaw and forces eye contact. "Sure as hell wasn't a suggestion, sweetheart. If you're not gonna ask for food when you need it, you're gonna learn to hunt." His eyes are hard, and that smug, self-satisfied demeanor is buried far underneath. "You learn or I make you learn. What do you say?"

You swallow. "Thank you for catching me such a nice practice fish?"

"Good pet." He releases your jaw.

He moves back onto the sand, propping himself on his elbows once more as he leans back. His black eyes linger on you, and you feel a chill.

"Now go."

...

part 1 / [part 2]

more mer au / more Ghost / masterlist tag

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ghostyuri · 6 months ago

Text

eyes without a face

please click! happy 2025 :]!! may this year bring u so much joy i love you

pairing…ellie williams x fem!reader x abby anderson

in which…your relationship with abby doesn’t stop ellie from liking you.

before you read…angst. modern au. pathetic losertron 5000 ellie :[ this is just me really wanting to write #that scene from tpobaw which is a warning within itself. truth or dare trope. established messy relationship with abby. dina gets mistreated by ellie </3 did i mention ellie is a loser

it’s not hard to make ellie uncomfortable.

throw her in a crowded party or put her in a room where you’re clinging to abby, and it’s done. easy. like now. her eyes are betraying her, not daring to blink or look away, while abby’s whispering shit in your ear that has you giggling sweetly.

she can’t hear you, the music and chatter are way too loud, but she already knows what the noise sounds like. it’s when she makes a stupid geeky pun as you’re studying in her dorm, that the light laughter turns her face beet red— another thing that’s not hard to earn from ellie.

not from you, at least.

when your fingertips trace her fern tattoo, leaf to leaf, ellie holding her breath and arm in place. showing up to hang out in one of her hoodies you have assumed are yours by now, she’ll let you believe it, because she doesn’t want to change it.

telling her how smart she is. how funny she is. and some vulnerable, teary-eyed, post-argument with your girlfriend nights, how you wish abby were more like her.

compassionate...understanding...kind. things your girlfriend lacks, you had told her. it was one of the more severe arguments and surely said out of resentment, but ellie secretly and happily took it as a win.

if she was blunt, free from nerves that taunt her regularly, ellie would agree. maybe free you from her. become a villain to abby and her friends, the loved group that already despises ellie and her too close proximity to you, and her entire ‘no good’ existence.

but she would be your hero. that’s how she would like to think of herself— but ellie is very self-aware and knows that’s not a reality in any universe. her confidence is nonexistent, and reaching out to you would be reaching for the stars. two things she will only dream of.

you’re with her, that ellie cannot change that. she shouldn’t even be so fucking invested in you or your relationship.

she almost has her own, after all. sort of. it’s complicated, her and dina never put a label on what they were. she couldn’t use the term ‘distraction’ without seeming like the biggest jackass in history, but that is what she is.

searching for the qualities that you beautifully possess, in an entirely different person, and being disappointed she cannot find them. ellie feels bad about it, but somewhere in between those guilty thoughts, she wonders if it’s the same for you.

if you looked at abby and tried to find her in there somewhere, if the same sad realization that they were nothing alike, and you're with the wrong person, hits you as it does her.

shamefully, the idea makes ellie happy.

watching abby lead you away, out of her eyesight, did not make her happy.

“got us drinks,” dina chirps, plopping down onto the couch beside ellie, the auburn-haired girl honestly not noticing dina had ever left in the first place. she hasn't been paying attention to much besides you.

“thanks,” ellie makes sure to tell her, taking the red solo cup, sniffing it, and scrunching her face. the fuck is in that punch? she doesn’t know, but the brunette doesn’t seem to mind, sipping while nodding her head to the beat of the music playing throughout the house.

ellie, trying to be normal, shows a smile and brings the cup to her lips, gulping down the harsh alcohol all at once. she hates it, and she’s surprised she doesn’t throw it up immediately.

“thirsty?” dina jokes, earning an awkward chuckle from ellie, who is still eyeing the crowd before her, waiting for your reappearance.

maybe it will be without her, and she can finally talk to you alone, free from the prying and judgmental eyes of your damn girlfriend. she could barely even greet you when she arrived, the blonde's arm wrapped around your shoulder, subtly pulling you away after ellie got a ‘hi,’ in. asshole.

she will never know what you see in her. why you complain about her one night and then fuck her the next. she understands you with everything, besides your relations with her— unless she is your distraction. she’s hot and everyone with working eyes can tell. you two look great together, but you don’t work great together. not in ellie’s opinion, anyway.

ellie starts to drift now, the muffled noise of whatever story dina was telling and the noisy crowd blending, a headache of a symphony. or perhaps it’s the vile drink already hurting her head. or both and she should just ask dina if they could leave this stupid fucking party.

then she sees you. alone, visibly upset, locking eyes with her for a split second, but that’s all she needs. you don’t stay still, you’re walking away once more, but ellie thinks of it as an invitation. you liked to be with her when you were sad, even if ellie sucked at processing emotions, or giving any sort of advice regarding them.

you noticed this when she kept her mouth shut after ranting about something wrong abby had done, and poor ellie just didn’t know what to say. she never seemed to. you didn’t take issue with it, because the most important thing was, that she listened to you. she let you sob and held you in her always welcoming arms. it was enough for you, and why you’ll always appreciate ellie’s friendship.

you find yourself in the snowy backyard, colorful lights thrown messily on a large tree that young adults stand beneath, smoking a joint. you’d join them if you had the energy to be around people, but your previously high spirits had now gone. it was something little-- but the little nitpicky things somehow always led to a dramatic feud with your girlfriend.

you let out a deep sigh, taking a few steps away from the door and leaning on the house, everything a bit more quiet. your thoughts aren’t, though, not until you see her from your perpetual vision, making her way toward you. her gaze is heavy, examining you and keeping a small distance as she also leans against the brick exterior.

“something happen?” ellie asks, knowing both the answer and the cause.

“what do you think?”

“right…” ellie nods, face flushing red at your bitter sarcasm, which you regret immediately. all she’s trying to do is help. ellie doesn’t take it to heart, though, recovering quickly with a joke. half joke. “want me to beat her up?”

it earns a light chuckle from you, ellie smiling to herself as result.

“no…no…she just…never mind.”

she chews her lip, keeping her focus on her scribbled converse, wishing you would elaborate. not because she specifically wants to hear about what happened, but so you would. you would say the words aloud, rehashing it, rethinking where your relationship stands with her. that’s what ellie wants most.

“i understand,” ellie says, a safe response. much safer than where she’s about to lead this conversation.

“where is she?”

“hm? i don’t know?” you ask back, confused about abby’s whereabouts being relevant to right now. you don’t even care, you don’t want to see her. you turn to ellie, “why?”

she opens her mouth, then shuts it, and opens it again.

“i mean…if my girlfriend and i fought at some stupid party…i wouldn’t leave her alone…” ellie speaks quietly, nervously, fiddling with her fingers, “especially you…”

you don’t get the last part. not how ellie wants you to, green eyes parting from her shoes and to your face, waiting for a reaction— for the realization that you’re standing out in the cold with her, not your girlfriend, who is seemingly pretending nothing happened while mingling with her group of ghouls.

but after letting her comment linger, you laugh slightly. “isn’t your girlfriend alone in there right now?”

“she’s not my—” ellie corrects you too damn fast, gulping, “we’re just friends.”

just friends. dina would probably wear that desolated frown if she heard ellie say that, the brunette was more interested in ellie than ellie to her, it makes sense ellie could never really help you with your relationship.

she was struggling with hers, or whatever she had going on with dina. you just hope she’s happy, and being taken care of, and feeling loved. you wouldn’t know, she doesn’t talk to you about any of that. like it’s too personal, but nothing was ever too personal between you and ellie. you hadn’t thought so.

“well, your friend is probably wondering where you are…you should go back in.”

“i want to be with you.”

again, she speaks too fast. you’re looking at her with unreadable eyes, and it makes her feel weird.

“i-i want to make sure you’re okay,” ellie adds, your lips curling into a soft smile that turns her pupils heart-shaped. always so selfless, putting you before her or anyone else.

you're not surrounded with many people like that, like ellie, making you feel like a priority instead of a burden. wanting to be with you, instead of feeling like she needs to simply because you're not okay. she's the sweetest girl you know.

“you’re my favorite friend, you know that?” ouch.

ouch ouch ouch. yeah, that’s what she is, but when you say it it sounds wrong. as if it’s diminishing what she truly is to you, which is so much more than that cursed f word. and still, she smiles, only half fake. at least she’s your favorite something, she thinks.

“dina is a lucky girl.”

the words take ellie back for a moment, mouth parting slightly despite not having a thing to say. it’s almost teasing her, surely not intentionally, but ellie would forget about dina— or any single person if you had wanted her to. if you wanted her. do you?

there’s a comfortable beat of silence between you two, the snow now beginning to fall lightly. it doesn’t bother you, but you do shiver, and ellie takes notice. she’s already peeling her brown trucker jacket off before you could protest, knowing if abby had seen it, it would start another fight.

abby thinks you’re closer than you should be, and if you truly believed it was solely a concern because of your relationship, you’d be a respectful partner and listen to her complaints. but it’s not.

it’s personal, a vendetta against ellie and everything that she was that you admired. a loser with hardly any friends, a nerd that doesn’t even belong to this party tonight, a freak that’s obsessed with you...abby wasn’t kind to her.

you defend her, but usually, it makes it worse. you couldn’t fix that— them. especially because it’s mutual, though ellie never flat-out said anything cruel about abby. she just never said anything nice either.

“thank you,” you tell ellie as her jacket engulfs you with warmth, and the spicy scent of sandalwood that you only associate with her. it makes you feel like you’re being hugged tightly by her.

it’s the perfect moment. the party is dying down, and the muffled chatter is even quieter. everything is hushed currently, the blanket of snow coating the ground making sure of it. it’s so peaceful— and intimate. maybe even romantic, ellie mesmerized by how beautiful you appear next to her.

she was always amazed by winter images, how the pale snow has a magical contrast to whatever object is in focus. and right now you look like an angel, one she'll be sure to draw in her journal when she gets the chance. immortalizing a nice memory while also impressing you. a win-win.

and the moment is interrupted. “there you are!”

both of your heads turn to dina, an enthusiastic smile on her face as she approaches you both. she notices ellie’s jacket on you, but unlike abby, dina doesn’t care. she had started messing with ellie well aware of her close relationship with you, actually finding it adorable how much ellie cared for you. dina thinks she’s a great friend; that’s it.

“here i am,” ellie responds, showing a tight-lipped smile. a cup is given to her from dina, the brunette then looking to you. “do you want mine?” she motions to the drink in her hands, “i would’ve brought another but—”

“oh— no, designated driver,” you inform her, dina letting out a quiet ‘oh,’ in return.

“okay, well,” dina redirects the topic, eyes drifting to ellie, “they are playing truth or dare and i want you to play with me.”

“i don’t—” “c’monnn.”

dina places her hand on the sleeve of ellie’s flannel, a gentle grip on her forearm as she attempts to pull her away. from you. ellie really doesn’t want to leave, especially to play a stupid fucking no-good game with people she barely knew, but her feet are already moving with dina.

“have fun,” you tease ellie, catching the rolling of her eyes.

then you’re lonely, again, and you despise it.

you accept the defeat of who will apologize first, pushing yourself off the wall and going inside the house. the music is turned off, a few people talking from the living room, and you scan the area hoping to see her.

you don’t— it’s her friends, a few faces you’re not too familiar with, plus ellie and dina. your eyes meet with ellie’s first, sitting on the wooden floor crisscrossed like a child. then her eyes drift behind you.

“hey.”

abby’s voice nearly makes you jump, hip brushing against yours as she stands next to you. she takes in the same sight, people giggling in a circle on the ground, while ellie williams is staring at her lap, appearing so out of place. abby snorts quietly to herself— you pay no mind to it.

“hey,” you copy, shifting out of the doorway and slipping into the kitchen, not wanting this conversation to be held in front of everyone, and ellie. she follows, somehow only now noticing the jacket that doesn’t belong to you clinging to your body. she forces herself to drop it for the time being.

“i didn’t mean to cause a fight. was stupid,” she apologizes without apologizing, folding her arms, bomber jacket tightening around her biceps. she’s right, it was stupid, so stupid you don’t even remember the exact reasoning, as it was so insignificant— a reason to just let it go.

“it’s fine, baby,” you reassure both her and subconsciously yourself, closing the gap between you two. her head is lowered, still feeling unsure about it, not looking you in the eye.

your soft hand cradled her jaw, tilting it upward, finally meeting those stormy irises of hers. they seem so distant, like you cannot look through her and understand anything she is feeling— or thinking. you can’t help but wonder if it’s due to the slowly fleeting tension, or something more. something too much to unpack in a house party.

your lip twitches, “we’re okay.”

abby accepts that, as do you.

the room over is suddenly and loudly in an uproar, abby and you sharing an exchanged look, knowing it was probably something very stupid— and probably abby’s friends. your friends.

“they’re having fun,” abby points on the obvious, a switch in her demeanor that you recognize. she’s tipsy and hungry for you.

you sigh her name when her hands find your sides, dipping her head into your neck to kiss the area. she's taking advantage of the empty kitchen, subtly walking you into the nearest counter, still devoted to the soft flesh of your throat.

you give in, shutting your eyes in bliss for a split moment, before the room over is once again in a loud fit of laughter. it’s too distracting for a make out session.

“let's just—” you gently push her away, ignoring the groan that came with it, “—join them.”

“wha—”

you pull her with you to the other room, dragging her to where ellie sits, and inserting yourselves in the game of truth or dare.

you, of course, next to her, knees nearly brushing, while abby is on the other side of you, a gap between you. the women meet eyes briefly, but leave it at that.

ellie is agitated— she feels hot, not in a good way. maybe it’s the mysterious alcohol, or maybe it’s the fact abby is by your side again. a sight she already dreads, but now, after you made it abundantly clear she had upset you, and you just move on from it. it was easy, and so hard for ellie to witness again and again and again.

dina puts her hand on her thigh, squeezing as she chuckles, bringing ellie back from her dire mind. she tries to mirror everyone else in the room, a bleak smile that doesn't make it obvious she's not enjoying her time here.

this is boring. she doesn't care about someone being dared to suck the toe of another or having to reveal some dumb secret from a truth. she cares about you— yet looking in your direction only bothers her; the girl next to you bothers her.

ellie hates this.

“earth to ellie,” her head snaps to the direction of the voice, recognizing it as one of your better friends made through abby, nora. “truth or dare?”

“i— uh,” she wants to say truth, but she means to say truth, but it doesn’t leave her lips. “d-dare.”

you’re surprised. she's surprised. ellie is often shy in settings like these, especially around your friends where she feels the need to watch everything she says and does. luckily, she's cheered on, everyone expecting her to play it safe, or in meaner terms, be a pussy.

you’re also glad ellie’s fate is in the hands of someone you trust, someone who wasn’t harsh on ellie or your friendship with her. it’s an easy dare, something that doesn’t embarrass her at all, and make her the laughing stock.

“i dare you to…” nora speaks, looking between ellie and dina, “kiss the prettiest girl in the room.”

such an easy dare, it’s almost lame, those aware of ellie and dina being a duo now, groaning to themselves.

but ellie doesn’t do anything.

she’s frozen, not even looking in dina’s direction, but rather yours. you think she’s searching your eyes for courage, but you don’t know what for. this shouldn’t be difficult. seconds are passing, everyone waiting for her to get it over with so they can continue the game.

just kiss her.

ellie can’t. she can’t break eye contact with you. and it’s not hard to understand why that is, your cheeks burning up while the rest of the room seems to go dead silent; also realizing what was playing out before them.

“i’m…i’m sorry,” she speaks hardly above a whisper, low mumblings from around her that embarrass her even more. judgement. it is possibly the worst thing she could’ve done, an awkward tension now between her and dina, and you and her. ellie wasn’t working up the courage to kiss dina in the first place. it was you.

but she wouldn’t do that— only in her head, watching the scene play out while everyone is watching her.

ellie quickly gets up, muttering something you don’t catch, and swiftly walks away. she heads to the front door, everyone’s short attention span already moving on, continuing the game. you cannot.

you stand up, a hand on yours holding you in place, preventing you from moving. you look down at abby and her pleading eyes, letting them do the talking. don’t follow her. stay.

you don’t. you retreat your hand, glancing at a distracted dina who was sipping on her drink, probably trying to ignore what ellie had just done, and you leave the living room.

you too exit the house, spotting ellie approach her truck across the street. you call her name out, the woman hardly turning her head over her shoulder, continuing to get inside the red vehicle. you understand she doesn’t want to show her face now, but she cannot hide from you. no, this has to be addressed.

even if you don’t really know what to say, or how to say it. you jog to her car, welcoming yourself inside, boring your eyes into her, while hers are on the windshield, snowflakes coating the glass.

“what was that, ellie?” you ask her, a soft tone as if you’re trying to understand her, rather than pass judgment. she’s sensitive, and she’s also shown empathy to you in times you’ve made mistakes. but that’s the problem— it wasn’t a mistake. she wanted to kiss you. there was no doubt about it.

“i’m with abby,” you continue when she stays quiet, “and you’re with—”

“no, i’m fucking not,” ellie cuts you off before her name leaves your lips, finally finding the strength to look at you. her brows are lowered, shaking her head, visibly irritated. “we aren’t— i don’t want —i want you.”

there it is. you mentally flinch at the confession, a confirmation on her feelings for you; something that cannot be undone and now will haunt you moving forward. it’s not like you can say the words back, because what you said is true. you are with abby.

your friendship with ellie is a friendship. you sigh her name, lowering your head. for some reason, ellie had hoped this moment would come and it would be different. something out of a coming-of-age film, you coming to terms with feelings she’d like to pretend you had for her. abandoning your girlfriend for her.

but you’re too sweet, and that simply is not happening.

“you...you know that i love you.”

she makes it worse. it has been said between you several times, but not like this. she means it in an entirely different, much deeper, meaning.

you don’t reply.

her brows tilt down, tears beginning to form as her body feels on fire. she’s not overcome with pure sadness, she’s frustrated. really fucking frustrated and confused and feeling alone with the feelings, wondering why you’re so calm— like you don’t care.

she thought you did, but she thinks lots of things about you. the idea that maybe, just maybe, it was mutual. you treated her like it was, you made her feel the most loved compared to everyone else in her life, because you knew the most.

the things that brought her joy, that you went out of your way to fill her life with.

a trading card from ebay. a vinyl she spoke about once. her gas station order after getting high together. the kindest things done with the purest intentions, and nothing more. she’s not ungrateful— she just doesn’t get it. she doesn’t want to.

“y-you can’t not feel something,” ellie sounds like she’s trying to convince you, stages of grief already settling inside her. denial, lots of it.

“ellie—” “you can’t.”

“i don’t,” you rush the words out, voice raising an almost unnoticeable level, but still makes ellie sink into her seat. those building tears are now free, a silent cry while she watches you, avoiding to look at her.

“i’m with abby,” you repeat, wondering why it feels like more of a reminder to yourself, than ellie. why it seems like a shield, protecting some sort of lie, or a truth. you take it further, “there was…never…anything between us…”

she talks beneath her breath, “fucking bullshit.”

“ellie.”

“you’re a liar,” ellie doesn’t care for the stern tone in which you spoke her name, a dark cloud of negative emotions hanging over her head. “she’s not fucking here and you’re trying to spare her feelings…what about me?”

you finally look at her, her glossy green eyes appearing so desperate. like you’re her life line. her heart in your hands. but you can’t give in, or give her what she’s yearning for. you cannot give yourself to ellie.

“you’re my best friend, ellie,” you say, watching whatever light leave her eyes at the comment, “and i love you…just not…”

you stop.

ellie holds her breath. a car honks in the distance. an intoxicated person shouts something inaudible. a chill from the cool wind seeps into her truck. the world is moving quickly while everything feels in slow motion for you. then she swallows thickly, “right.”

she wipes her tears, and you take off her jacket that was still on your body, holding it in your lap momentarily. your fingers trace the fabric, a small gulp before you speak in the quietest voice, “you should go…i need to get back before she gets mad.”

there’s a short, dry, scoff laugh from the girl beside you. “wouldn’t want that,” she mutters, “who would you run and cry to?”

there’s venom on her tongue that you’re not familiar with, hell, ellie doesn’t even know where it came from, biting her lip when you look at her with wide eyes; a cold stare that is equivalent to spitting in her face.

“i’m sorry—”

“i’ll tell them you were being stupid. they’ll forget about it next week.”

you had cut her off, a monotone voice that she despises. you open the car door, exiting despite ellie using your name, not wanting the night to end like this. the winter air sends chills down your spine, and yet it’s more comfortable than sharing the same space as ellie in her truck.

“y/n—”

“drive safe.”

her mouth hangs open, watching you shut the car door and walk away, no hesitation or looking back.

you return to the house, to your girlfriend, while she sits lonely in her pickup truck, not being able to turn on the engine. she can’t move. all she can do is cry; but she’s freezing and the tears feel like frost.

she wishes she had you to wipe them away, as she did for you.

#-insertcatemoji #ellie williams x reader #abby anderson x reader #the last of us fanfic #tlou fanfic #wlw fanfic #ellie x reader #abby x reader #ellie williams fanfic #abby anderson fanfic #ellie williams angst #abby anderson angst #ellie x reader x abby #ellie williams x reader x abby anderson #why are you still reading this? do you want me??

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usedpidemo · 9 months ago

Text

Diplopia (Itzy Chaeryeong)

You don’t recognize these roads anymore.

Uncertainty continues to cloud your mind as you closely follow the car in front. Most days, it’s the typical van housing the stars—down to the model, the wheels, the black paint job. In your time following them, the vehicle never changed, to the point where you have the plate number on speed dial.

Tonight is different. Instead of the usual activities, be it a fansign, festival or radio program, you’re following her home.

—————

The moment you step forward to have your album signed, the four girls’ eyes immediately light up.

It isn’t the usual fan excitement idols have to put on in public. Instead, an excited energy coming from a place of recognizing something familiar—someone that they’re close with.

Except you’re neither family nor friend. By all accounts, you’re just another fan completely indistinguishable from the rest.

Even as they’re preoccupied with catering to the others’ requests, they’re exchanging glances, whispers among one another.

You take a seat in front of Yeji, the first in line, curious.

“What’s going on? Am I missing something?”

She brushes it off nonchalantly, only casually smiling, a professional in masking her facade. “Not much. Just happy to see you,” she says, before adding her signature on the page and sending you off.

Same question, same result when it comes to Lia. You could have sworn they were all eyeing you intently moments ago.

Even the charismatic Yuna is playing coy with you.

To be fair on their end, this is the fourth time this promotional cycle that you’re doing this song and dance. And there’s some within that crowd who are basically seeing them every other day. You’re not the most egregious fan in that audience.

“What’s going on? Am I missing something?” you ask Ryujin, confused by her humorous expression, a stark contrast. The others didn’t budge in the slightest when you tried questioning them, only telling you the same thing: that your presence makes them happy.

Fortunately, Ryujin is in the business of self-sabotage today.

“Ask Chaery—ow!” is her reply before getting cut off by a swift elbow to the rib from her seatmate, Yuna. She starts laughing along too.

“Christ—will you shut up? You’re gonna ruin the surprise! Wait—ah shit.”

Yuna realizes the mistake she’s made, and she can only grin and blush in embarrassment, falling face down on the table. To the untrained eye, it’s an amusing scene. None of the audience, not even the ones beside you understand what the commotion is about other than typical member to member playfulness and tomfoolery.

Finally, you come face to face with Chaeryeong, unbothered relative to the others. Her eyes light up upon recognizing you once again.

“Ryu can’t help herself, huh,” Chaeryeong remarks teasingly, her brows crinkling in playful annoyance at her senior as you slide forward the album. Shifting her quiet, unassuming frown into a subtle grin, she adds her respective signature, slipping a thin sticky note beneath the signed page. “Secret’s out. Check it once the fansign’s done. I’ll be waiting.”

Curiosity immediately gets the better of you as you try flipping the page, only to be stopped by Chaeryeong’s slap of your hand.

Well aware of the cameras and her audience, she maintains character while whispering a warning to you, a secret only shared between two close acquaintances: “After the fansign, dum dum. Don’t make me regret this. The managers don’t know.”

“Can you at least give me a hint?” you ask, your nosiness growing bigger by the second.

She leans forward, her eyes glinting with anticipation. Noticing the camera hanging from your neck, she points her finger forward, saying, “Make sure you hold on to that camera for me, will you?”

The managers and staff lead you back into the audience. Her eyes don’t linger as you’re dragged away, focusing on the next fan in line, acting like this conversation never happened.

—————

For the most part, the rest of the fansign proceeds as usual, with you taking your usual pictures of the members—especially Chaeryeong. Most of your gallery is dedicated to her. Apart from a few fleeting moments of shared eye contact with your camera, she pays no attention to you, posing primarily for everyone else.

Finally, the members bid farewell and leave to the back. As you and the other fans are guided out of the auditorium, you open the newly signed album, peeling the sticky note wedged on the photobook.Two important instructions are written in cursive, strictly meant to be read by you and only you alone:

> Look out for a gray four door once the vans drive by. Follow me

> DON’T TELL ANYONE OR BRING ANYONE ELSE

Heading outside, you and the crowd watch several black vans driving off, presumably containing the members. Being that it’s already nightfall and with the cars having heavily tinted windows, no one can call their attention aimlessly trying to wave them goodbye.

For a good minute or two, you thought you were being played. As the crowd disperses, another vehicle stops at the red light, perfectly fitting the description given on the note. It passes by completely unnoticed and undetected—except by you.

You anticipate the car to drive away too, and it does—until it pulls over to the side in the distance, far enough to be overlooked by everyone else.

And then you remember something else from that note, a third instruction:

> P.S. Only five minutes or else I’m leaving without you

Thankfully, you’ve parked your own car right in front of the theater, a walk across the street away. Getting out proves to take longer as several other vehicles are trying to leave at the same time as you. You’ve never been more tempted to blast that horn; this is more stressful than the usual late afternoon traffic jam. There’s a greater sense of urgency. Higher, more personal stakes. Every second wasted waiting in line is another second separating you from Chaeryeong.

Even after escaping the parking area, there’s the red lights. One after another, you’re forced to stop, slowing your already short sprints. More time being wasted. To make matters worse, the road you’re taking is glaringly quiet. You’re cursing these signs, cursing the government for stalling for time, as if their primary design and purpose is to fuck you up.

You end up running past these lights, unable to take another second longer. No one’s stopping you, nor is there anyone in the vicinity who can. There are cameras catching you breaking the law, but you don’t care anymore.

Mercifully, the car is still there, sitting idle with the lights on. Pulling up beside the vehicle, you flash your blinkers, roll the windows down, hoping she recognizes you. You earn no reaction, instead the car merely drives off, leaving you to follow close behind.

The next hour and a half has been spent driving and driving. Passing through avenues then motorways, you’re leaving the city far behind in your rearview mirror, until you’re the only pair of cars traveling along a quiet suburban neighborhood. Considering they’re wrapping their latest promotional cycle today, logic would dictate that the group stay together a little more before dispersing, but you didn’t expect them to branch off right away.

No wonder the members were already sharing vacation plans and destinations earlier.

Cruising past one street after another, every townhouse looks the same, down to the layout, dimensions, everything. Based on all the utterly dark interiors, it’s safe to say barely anyone lives here.

Even some of the apartments you’ve been in look nicer compared to how barren and lifeless this neighborhood is.

It’s not the first thing that comes to mind when you think of celebrity homes.

Eventually, the car ahead pulls into a driveway of a distinctly nicer villa, one that has moderately rich written all over it. Anyone can tell that a celebrity, or at the very least, some wealthy person retreats here, but perhaps that’s the point: you’re in the heart of the suburbs, free from the fast-paced chaos of city living.

From the driver’s seat, someone emerges. You can recognize that familiar sharp glare. It’s none other than Chaeryeong herself.

She’s staring in your direction, at your car. Though you’ve been following her tail closely throughout the lengthy drive, you pulled back once she pulled into the driveway, leaving quite a considerable amount of space to maintain privacy. Then, she walks in. Lights open throughout her house, the only home brightly illuminated on this street.

Figuring that it’s an invitation, you pull up directly in front of her house.

Rolling your window down, you take the camera resting on the passenger seat. Shaky fingers right on the trigger, her house in center view, you end up not taking a single picture. Not for lack of storage, but rather an unwillingness to have something personal in your collection. The girl who shows out in the public eye is one thing, but addresses and private homes are entirely separate matters.

You feel it’s best to keep those two aspects apart.

You end up putting the camera away, curious about its purpose, about what she really meant about the need for it.

Staring up at her villa, you finally spot her again. Chaeryeong’s standing near the balcony, curtains open, giving you a clear view of her figure from the side, as well as her profile. Even from a distance, you recognize all the details about her. So incredibly pretty. She doesn’t seem to notice your presence outside nor does she bother to care.

Still in her fansign wear, her last performance outfit, consisting only of jeans, a skimpy top, and a thick jacket. Going against your oath, you try reaching for the camera again, but you suddenly stop.

To your surprise, she slips the jacket off, revealing her bare shoulders.

Your eyes widen, then your jaw slowly drops. She fiddles with her jeans before walking out of sight, much to your dismay.

Now you realize the purpose. What a wasted opportunity. And yet, you’ve already taken dozens of mental pictures off that little show alone. This is meant to be for your eyes only.

Looking on, Chaeryeong reemerges into view, this time strutting around the living room. She’s hardly wearing clothes, only covered by skimpy black lace, matching colored suspenders holding up thigh high stockings. The windows are just as open, curtains similarly drawn back, granting you full access to her unbelievably tight, slender body.

She puts down a platter of snacks on the coffee table before taking one from the pile, holding it up for display.

Your mouth is watering, craving not the delicacy in her hand—but for her.

The first snack she gives a slow, deliberate lick. A popsicle. Her tongue slowly glides up the frozen morsel, stimulating your mind, leaving nothing to the imagination. She repeats the motion a few more times before taking it into her mouth with an intentional hollowing of her cheeks, eventually sucking and munching down on the treat. All while flaunting her toned figure as if it were a photoshoot, which is probably what the camera was meant for. Your hands are nowhere close, instead pulling on the zipper of your pants, moving of their own accord.

Even though she doesn’t seem to pay attention to you, she clearly knows what she’s doing.

Next, she takes the second snack, one with a much more obvious connotation: a banana. She playfully wonders what to do, slapping it across her cheek before peeling the cover and eating from the exposed tip. She positions the fruit in a way that it's tilted up, mirroring the growing tent in your pants. Her fingers coil around the sides, her eyes fluttering close as she slowly indulges on the snack, slowly driving the length into her mouth till it’s completely consumed.

It may have only been a minute, maybe less, but you can imagine how the sensation would linger. Maybe hours.

Finally she grabs the last snack: a hotdog. She lays back on the couch, crossing her leg as she casually nibbles away, foregoing her natural seductiveness for a quick bite before wiping all the crumbs off her finger before getting up and leaving.

Meanwhile, you’ve spent the whole time just watching her in awe, utterly speechless.You don’t regret not taking a single photo, knowing this little private scene is permanently seared into your memories.

You can never look at Chaeryeong the same way ever again.

Moments later, the front door swings wide open, with Chaeryeong standing there in all her glory. She stares you down, her gaze sharp and hypnotic, before walking away without uttering a word.

You fell under her spell a long time ago. Now you’re following her like a moth to a flame.

Without care for guest etiquette, you enter the house, losing sight of Chaeryeong as you continue to struggle with your trousers. Looking left and right, you try to find her to no avail, when suddenly you’re dragged into one of the rooms, feeling a tugging, inescapable tug on your arms.

“Did you enjoy my little show?” she whispers, tone sultry, a leg naturally wrapping around yours. She’s breathing on your neck, softly nibbling your skin.

Cornering you, you fall backwards and onto the couch.

It’s a different couch, different room, with the curtains covered, hidden away from the outside world.

You merely glance up, still utterly speechless. Her sexy glow is on full display, feeling herself like she always has, perhaps even more so in private than in front of the flashing cameras. Based on her subdued reaction, this isn’t the first time she’s seen this exact reaction.

“Where’s your camera?” Chaeryeong quickly changes conversation right as you’re about to hit your tipping point, her hands gripped to your knees, leaning forward and closing the gap between you two, her sharp glare freezing you in place. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you holding it just now. What did I tell you earlier?”

“Shit, I—I didn’t think this would happen,” you sputter, swallowing your throat. Even blinking proves to be impossible under her suffocating control.

Chaeryeong narrows her eyes. Stares right into your soul. Her usually soft, little smile on her lips disappears in real time. You can feel her nails dig sharply through the fabric of your trousers, scratching you. Deathly silence permeates longer than you can imagine. It’s a terrifying position to be in.

She bites on her lower lip, thinking of what to do.

Then, the idea hits her like lightning.

“I’m normally a lot more ruthless towards people like you. I mean, simple instructions. Hold onto that camera. Easy! A kid could do it without a second thought. Why can’t you?”

If you could open your mouth right now, you would justify that it was under extraordinary circumstances—such as this one—but you recognize the wrong answer could send you to an early demise.

“I would ask you to leave and tell you to forget this ever happened. But since I’m in a good mood today, I will let it slide tonight.”

You still can’t breathe a sigh of relief; her ironclad grip has spread to your crotch.

As soon as your lips quirk ever so slightly, her nails burrow deeper into your skin, almost forcing you out from your seat and yielding out a cry of pain that could have been ear shattering, if not for your self-restraint. “However—I can’t let you go completely unpunished. You must face the consequences for disobeying me. Got it?”

“Got it,” you spit, frantically nodding along, begging through your eyes for her to loosen the grip as the pain becomes unbearable. She acquiesces, drawing her hands back.

Now you can actually breathe.

But the freedom lasts for merely a moment. Chaeryeong struts around the room, putting on music through some speakers, her hips swaying in a natural yet hypnotic rhythm. From behind, you get a close-up view of her plump ass peeking through an incredibly thin thong. She then returns to you, shoves you back against the couch before squatting down on your lap in an abrupt manner, leaving you gasping for air.

“Just because I let you watch doesn’t mean you have to be a sitting duck,” she says, grinding her hips slowly against your helpless erection, aching and throbbing beneath your pants. Sultry as it sounds, it’s a serious matter, one with so much on the line. “You didn’t seem all that lazy when you were taking pictures of me earlier. What happened? Do I look too sexy for you now?”

Chaeryeong lifts herself off you again, her waist and flat tummy presenting themselves in your face. You try to grab, but she quickly sideswipes you, teasing and playful. She spins around, her plump cheeks raised up in your direction—and then she smothers you on the couch.

Pulling back, she looks over her shoulder, completely by surprise, gyrating her hips, giving you exactly what you want. “Well? Are you just gonna sit there or what?”

Truthfully, yeah. You can sit back and admire her in this position all night long.

As you try to dive headfirst into her plump cheeks, she lunges forward, leaving you sucking on air. She then grabs you by the chin, tilting your face up. There’s a contemptuous, disgusted air on her face, judging your patheticness. The contrast between you couldn’t be any more clear. She’s so well refined, even in her most risque appearance. Meanwhile, you look hungry, down horrendous, foaming at the mouth—literally.

“Maybe I really should take a girl home one of these days,” she mutters to herself, thinking of other ways to drag you down. “But since you’re tired, I’ll spare you the extra effort, sleepy head.”

Chaeryeong shoves you down on the couch, lifting your legs off the ground and onto the sofa’s arm. The control she has on you cannot be any more overstated. Crouching on her fours, arching her back, she hovers atop you with a coy smile. Sexiness looks natural on her, but behind that fatal sultry attitude, her idol sensibility rears its familiar head, perfectly balancing the line between entertaining an imaginary audience and one person.

It’s a lovely, surprisingly sweet view before the lights completely go out.

Climbing over your defenseless body, her thighs close in between your face. Slamming down without care, pressure builds—and builds—until you’re kicking and squirming. She hears your muffled cries, your helpless groans, and mocks back, not letting up.

“What’s that? Can’t hear you over the sound of your tongue shoved up my pussy.”

At first, everything proves to be a struggle. You have no control over your movement, hands included. She’s forcing you to bear the weight of the world: countless hours of practice, interviews, and fanservice, including now. If she wanted, she could crush you with her thighs alone, and she wishes she could; she’s not going to outright tell you. Mercifully, upon closer inspection, she’s wearing the thinnest line of panties imaginable, it barely qualifies as underwear.

With the meager space you’re graciously provided, you slip your tongue between the narrow line between fabric and skin–and Chaeryeong keens.

Even her little cries are as pretty as her too.

The edges of her nails dig into the fabric of the couch, barely scraping your arms. She hisses sharply as you gradually acclimate to the tension she’s forcing on you, burying your tongue into her aching core. Her nectar tastes incredible, like water in the desert. You’d tell her that if you weren’t so preoccupied taking all this glistening sheen generously into your hungry, greedy mouth. The way her body trembles, quivers with every little touch, every swipe at her throbbing cunt, setting off one fire after another, it’s enough to drag her down with you.

“Oh—fucking shit—fuck—”

Her thighs hunker down, reinforcing the already airtight lock you’re imprisoned in between her legs. She’s one wrong move away from snapping your neck by sheer force alone if you weren’t dying from asphyxiation already. It proves to be nothing but a mild inconvenience. You’re hungrily eating out her intoxicating cunt, drinking away at her alarming flow of juices, maintaining a pace that feels just right.

Desperately trying to find some semblance of stability, she rolls her hips, but that only worsens her state—and better for you.

Gripped to the sofa’s headrest and on the cushions, the friction makes it easier to make a grander mess of her. You match her frantic pace, lapping away at her folds without a care, a retaliation of sorts. Her cunt is an addicting vice you can't get enough of, regardless of her juices spilling relentlessly past your mouth.

Overwhelmed by the pleasurable sensation coursing throughout her lithe body, Chaeryeong twists and contorts into a stretched out figure of limbs and cries. Furniture is easily replaceable. The position you’re in happens once in a lifetime. This idol, whom you’ve dedicated your personality and entire life around, meeting her dozens of times and taken countless photos of for the world to see, is now reduced into a helpless, melting pile of flesh and moans, keening in ecstasy, her echoes bouncing endlessly in the comfort of her personal home, and it’s all thanks to you.

Very few can say they’ve made Lee Chaeryeong cum.

“Fuck!”

A single word is all she manages, and it’s perfect.

Letting out this thunderous cry, her body goes rigid and tense, as if something has snapped within her. Right then and there, a fresh wave of arousal gushes over your face, falling all at once.

The throbbing never ends. You lap it all up. Every last drop.

Despite the endless amount of slick you’ve consumed and time drinking from her well, it’s not enough. You’re left wanting more.

“Jesus—” she mutters, heaving between deep breaths, slowly peeling herself off you then collapsing to the floor. “I didn’t think you’d be this good.”

Despite her orgasm ripping through her body to shreds, Chaeryeong is the first to recover. She surveys the damage. Slick all over your pressurized face, so much more on the couch, your tongue actively licking up whatever mess it can clean, which doesn’t go far.

There’s no shame on your lips when she looks at you. Contentment is etched on your lips. You could die happily right then and there.

Her cheeks are completely flush, taken completely aback by your effort. Her panties are in tatters, utterly soaked, more valuable being thrown away than as actual clothing. “Maybe you’re not as bad as I thought.”

Satisfied as you are, her gentle, sincere compliment makes your heart race faster than the pressure being crushed beneath her ass.

But the sweetness lasts only for a moment. She can’t settle down. There’s so much you have left to give—and she’s going to force everything out till you’re an empty husk. You’re only getting started.

“Get up,” she says, less of a command and more a call to action, lifting you off the sticky couch with her resounding strength, leaving you behind to stand on your two wobbly feet. “Now strip.”

Her words seemingly fly through deaf ears. You stare aimlessly back, stuck in a neverending daze, unable to come to your senses. Chaeryeong is not having any of that, glaring you down with piercing daggers. The night is fleeting; time is of the essence.

She pulls you by the hand and drags you to the bar counter across the room, facing you to remove your shirt in a few swift motions. The pants come off faster, already unbuttoned and unzipped, leaving only your boxers.

“Fucking slow fuck,” she spits, nearly ripping your undergarment while pulling down, giving your now freed cock a punishing, ironclad squeeze, forcing an agonizing groan from your lips. “Just because you did one thing right, you think you can have it your way now? Pathetic.”

Chaeryeong drops to her knees, pressing her tongue against the tip of your throbbing cock. The brief, feathery contact is enough to send mind numbing chills down your spine. It’s no surprise that when she takes you into her mouth, you almost crumble immediately. The feeling is too overwhelming, you don’t even get a glimpse of the filthy sight.

It shouldn’t be this dangerous.

The pull on her long, raven hair happens impulsively, as if you had some control—which you desperately need.

A flick of her tongue here, a swirl there—Chaeryeong is a meticulous worker, slowly picking you apart in calculated, intricately designed moves. Every little thing she does is performed like there’s so much weight behind them, no different from dancing and singing on stage. It’s all in the little details: the tilt of her head, the satisfactory hum from her lips, the cold, unforgiving glare she gives when she’s sucking you dry, seeking your approval, refusing any answer other than ‘fuck yes.’

If you could function as normal, you would reason to her that you’re relishing the moment, savoring every second—but she seems to have your mind read like a book.

“Thank your lucky stars you seem to have everything I need.” She slides her tongue up your length, kissing the tip again. You’ve been off the ground ever since with no way back down. “Good ass mouth, big fucking cock—”

She suddenly stops when you tug on her hair again; it’s a harsh pull. Momentum grinds to a complete halt. Your heart drops at the realization. You anticipate her to retaliate appropriately, especially when she rises from her knees.

Instead, she mostly relents, but not without gripping your balls tightly, yielding another heavy groan out of you. A warning.

“You wanna pull on this hair? Fine. I’ll give you this one then.”

Spinning away from you, Chaeryeong unhooks her bra, tossing it aside to be forgotten. Leaning forward, she bends over the counter, back arched, ass up, her swollen lips in clear view. Her favorite position.

She doesn’t need to say a word to tell you what to do.

The invitation leaves you more hesitant than excited. You’ve realized just how frightening Chaeryeong can be. That is why you’ve been relatively silent and are quietly following along since entering her house.

Looking over her shoulder, knowing she isn’t railed at this point, her eyes glare at you with a raging fury, one borne of annoyance, as if you were testing her patience—and you are, to some degree. “Where’s that fucking bravado, huh? I’m letting you hit this pussy from behind, and now you don’t wanna do it?”

“Well—”

“Zip it. Now you want to talk?” She snaps, facing you again to grab your cock. Pressing your shaft up and down the entrance of her folds, she grits her teeth, gasping and sighing. Staring daggers into your soul, she continues between deep breaths, “Look at this,” she says, pertaining to your cock, slick with her saliva, slowly entering her dripping cunt with her guidance. “It’s not rocket science. Does this look challenging to you? Never had sex with anyone before?”

You can only shake your head, as much as you want to refute. Her house, her rules.

Chaeryeong slams her eyes shut as your cock impales her to the hilt. She’s leaning back on the counter, screaming out loud to prove her point. “See? Not—that—difficult.” she whines, her aching cunt stretching against your cock, engulfing you in suffocating heat. Slowly pulling you back like a sword plunged to your abdomen, you watch helplessly as your shaft reappears, lathered in slick and saliva, with time moving at a dangerously slow pace.

She hurls you forward that you’re leaning together on the counter, your naked bodies creating irresistible friction. It’s not as romantic as the movies or shows make it out to be.

“Stop staring at me like that.” Chaeryeong pushes you away before turning around, irate from perceiving you, having to guide you through your first sex session. “Just—fuck me already, dip shit.”

Grabbing her by the waist, you take your sweet time to admire her delicately crafted curves and her supple ass, bright red from crushing your face. Still, it only serves to upset her; she can’t stop herself from making snarky remarks about you. “Pretending like you want to appreciate me now when you’ve been jerking to all those photos you’ve taken of me. As if I don’t know—”

She suddenly yelps, her body dragged forward on the counter as you enter her from behind like she wanted it: hard and fast.

“Never thought you’d be such a mouthful Chaery,” you comment, hooking an arm around her shoulder, the invigorating warmth of her pussy making you shudder. “And I always saw you as the quiet one.”

“Just because—you’re fucking me—doesn’t mean—” Chaeryeong struggles to get her point across as you get into a steady rhythm, your hips crashing into hers, her ass creating this wet, audible wave as you pound her. “Ah—oh fuck—”

“Doesn’t mean what, Chaery?” you hiss against her ear, giving her ass a rightful slap.

She lifts her head, her hands gripped on the table’s surface, keening—and moaning.

“I—ah—this feels so fucking big inside me—”

You lean forward, whispering in her ear, before giving her ass cheek a well-deserved slap that ripples through the room. “This is nowhere near my first. Didn’t you hear me and Yuna backstage that one time? I should have known something was up the second she was blushing at me.”

“One time? Shit—I guess I forgot—o-oh fuck—dammit Yuna—”

“It’s on me for not figuring out everything right away,” you remark, holding her tight as your personal lifeboat, pushing yourself deep into her, foregoing any sort of foreplay or pleasantry for hard, relentless pounding. “Not the first time I’ve been inside an idol’s house and left with their panties, either.”

Chaeryeong is unable to respond, mostly due to your cock rendering her speechless, reducing her to a pliable mess of moans and screams. Her fingers drag across the wooden surface of the counter as you take her body to use at your leisure. You have absolute control, a stark contrast to where you were only mere minutes ago, and you’re going to reinforce your authority.

To think you were scared of her. The real Chaeryeong is right in front of you. Ass up, face down, bent over, screaming all sorts of profanities and lewdities that would have burned at the stake.

You’ve got her raven locks wrapped around one hand, the other on her ass. It’s a difficult balancing act. One minute you’re pulling on her hair between thrusts, making her cry out in pain and pleasure, the next you’re slapping her ass in retaliation for her attitude, having seen just how easily she folds at the slightest touch, whether it be your mouth or your cock. Either action leaves you so addicted, you have to remind yourself to slow down and focus on the important matter at hand: fucking her.

It shouldn’t be said, but here it is: her pussy is so intoxicatingly tight. Even with how copiously wet you are, gliding in and out of her feels like an impossible challenge. To make matters worse, she meets your every thrust with the crash of her hips, sending you further down a dizzying spiral. Chaeryeong loves it—loves the feeling of both dishing out punishment and receiving it. You pull on her hair again, another reminder of who’s currently in command, but you both know that’s not gonna last long.

Especially when you feel so close—your own undoing happening a lot sooner than you hoped.

Still, she feels so good that it’s not any bit worth stopping—not that she’d ever want that, anyway. You’re resorting to other measures to keep some semblance of control alive: you’re squeezing her chest, feeling her taut nipples,lifting her leg off the ground, biting on her nape—anything to stave your mind off the very thought of cumming, because any sign of weakness is her opportunity to ruin you.

“Are you gonna cum yet?” Chaeryeong asks—innocent in sound, but in your heart, a taunt. A challenge.

You respond by slamming into her cunt like you always have: rough and merciless. She’s your toy, after all.

Her echoes remain louder than your grunts and moans. It’s a good thing her neighbors are completely nonexistent. The houses around might as well not be there.

So much runway to fuck, to cry out in pleasure.

“Almost,” you shamefully admit, against your own wishes—and to her delight. “This fucking pussy—Chaery—oh my God—”

You seize her by throat and face her down on the counter, your thrusts unceasing, unrelenting. You’re winding down; the end is in sight. She smells of sweat, sex, and active perfume from earlier, and it’s a perfect concoction. Slapping away at her ass, watching it ripple with each hit and thrust, her back arching in new, twisting angles, your cock perfectly sandwiched between her slick folds, you’re taking all the mental pictures you can get before this lovely view disappears for good. It really is a damn shame, but here’s your silver lining: no camera can truly capture how glorious this scene looks, especially from your eyes.

“Gonna cum,” you sputter, pouring on the vicious strikes on Chaeryeong’s supple cheeks, desperate to cling on. You can’t deny it any longer; your body is in absolute rapture, begging for release.

“That’s it. Use my fucking pussy,” she snaps, her voice airy and hoarse from all the moaning and screaming. “Fuck all your cum into me. Don’t waste a single drop.”

You have no intention to, especially with a cunt that’s so tight, so hot, it’s practically inviting you to unload everything.

And so with a handful of strokes, you finally fold. Burying deep inside her wanton cunt, your cock throbs violently, blasting thick shot after shot of sticky, white cum just as she wanted. Chaeryeong’s name burns through your lips like a permanent mark as you climax. The release feels more like a consequence than relief. She’s something you can’t clean yourself of—and probably never will. A stain that will follow you for the rest of your life.

Still, she welcomes you with open arms. Her pussy milks you worth of every little drop, squeezing and quivering in your wake. You end up letting go of everything: her hair, her waist, your entire load. The only thing willing to stay is your cock impaled deep inside her soaked cunt, but even that thin connection snaps. Even though she’s bent over, having taken all the pounding, pulling, and punishing, she’s the one that ends up on top.

Pervading silence fills the house, in place of the unrelenting noise. Slumping forward, you lay on top of Chaeryeong, meeting her in the middle: your bodies intertwined, filled and satisfied.

Brushing her hair aside for a better look at her sweaty, flushed profile, you both look into each other’s glazed eyes with a warm smile. You prepare to give her a kiss, when suddenly, little footsteps can be heard.

Someone’s standing in the hallway.

Her voice echoes throughout the house. “You left the front door open again, sis. You should really close them before going down on your guests.”

A woman stops directly in front of your room, her appearance cut close in Chaeryeong’s image. The girl beneath you waves at her with an innocent smile. The pornographic position you’re in is anything but.

She doesn’t look too surprised.

“Fucking me wasn’t enough, huh? You just had to fuck my sister too.”

Climbing up the stairs, Chaeyeon sighs wistfully, exhausted from her own busy activities. Chaeryeong slips away from underneath, following her sister closely. She can’t help but shoot a playful grin at you upon realizing your secret.

“I’ll fire up the showers. You can join us if you want.”

—————

The shower wasn’t meant to provide some form of reprieve. In reality, it’s an excuse to keep the fire burning, especially down in your loins.

The faintest contact leaves you weak, nearly crumbling to your knees as you join the two women in the shower, leaving you open for their enjoyment. Even with the hot water pouring over you, you remain frozen in place, trapped beyond saving. The Lee sisters take you in as a guest should be: with all the touching, kissing, and teasing you so desperately crave. Running water fills in background noise as the two siblings drop to their knees, taking one side for themselves, each with a stake in your cock.

You get hard again. Impossible not to be when they seem to have a gauge of what makes you tick. Two girls who have firsthand experience handling your cock in their mouth: one who can effortlessly go through the motions, the other still fresh and eager to find new ways to break you in half. Both tilting up with a pair of lust-filled eyes, eager to get your approval. They don’t really need it; you had already given them your soul the moment you walked into their house.

“Fucking hell,” you manage to groan out—your eyes and head rolling all the way back as far as they can—as the two sisters take turns filling their hungry mouths with cock deep down their throats. The girls each let out a satisfactory hum of their own, pumping and squeezing you for a share of your load, certain you’ve still got plenty for two. To think you were insatiable when it came to eating out Chaeryeong’s pussy and ass. It was only scratching the surface of how rapacious they can be.

Even with all the space the showers provided, you still feel small before Chaeyeon and Chaeryeong. More importantly, it was clear that, in their eyes, you were mainly an outlet of release and nothing else.

“Was he always like this?” Chaeryeong watches her elder sibling busy pumping your shaft away with her deft fingers, drawing more cum out of you, making up for lost time. Watching you this vulnerable—this whipped—makes you all the more intriguing in her eyes.

“Sure enough, yeah.” Chaeyeon laughs. It wasn’t that long ago you were held in a position like this: same girl, same scenario, but in a bathroom stall of all places. Now in the comfort of their home, you were clear to let out all that pent-up desire with cries of pleasure. You moan her name like it’s a prayer, and both girls chuckle at your wanton cry.

“How long?”

“Since I debuted solo. He’s always present in my fansigns. Didn’t he tell you?” Chaeyeon gives this cheeky look to her younger sister, an approving nod. “One time he told me he was now following this girl group, and I asked him who it was. Didn’t specify anything. I should have known right from the start.”

“Wasn’t only me he was fucking, I just found out,” Chaeryeong remarks, tone degrading. You’d be so red with shame right now, if it already weren’t the case. Whether it’s because of the steam or their unpredictable touch is up for interpretation. “And no, he’s never brought it up. I’m just finding out right now. But if so, he gets around—and he gets around good.”

“If there’s anyone you should trust, it’s me. He thinks he’s clever hiding this from you. I can hear that moan of his a mile away.” Chaeyeon smiles as she turns off the water, your bodies barely touching soap and shampoo, focused on leaving kisses and scratch marks instead. The soap in your eyes forced them shut to tell what’s happening, other than their near-indistinguishable voices and the blurriest of movements. All you know is their presence creeping up when you least expect it. “Come along, dear.”

Before you know it, you find yourself shoved onto a flat yet bouncy surface. A bed. It rumbles for a few moments before you feel your body tearing apart. In the midst of this uncertain commotion, their combined laughs and whispers fill the air.

“Open your eyes, baby.”

Even when you can hardly tell who’s giving the command, you comply. Lo and behold, your arms are stretched and tied on opposite ends of the headboard. Your legs are spread wide, your cock glistening with spit and sheen, hard for the second time. The Lee sisters are kneeling on parallel sides of their own, around the edges, laughing at your precarious, defenseless position.

It’s in your instincts to try and break loose. Of course, it fails miserably. Their laugh grows more uncontrollable and hearty.

“Not a chance. We’ve covered all bases so that even if you escape, you’re not making it far.” Chaeryeong speaks with a heightened air of arrogance.

You furl your brows. “What? What do you mean—escape?”

“Don’t even try to run,” says Chaeyeon. “You—you’re not going to run?”

As if that was ever part of your plan.

“Why would I ever? I like you both!”

You’re speaking the truth, and it might just end up saving your life.

“I don’t think he’s buying it. You know, maybe he just really wants us.” Chaeryeong tries to whisper in her sister’s ear, but you can still hear it all.

Chaeyeon nods. “You might be right.”

The older sibling crawls up the bed, tracing a path to your neck with her nails, leaving a lengthy trail on your skin. It’s as every bit sexy and seductive as the first time, even more when she’s completely bare. Chaeryeong mimics her, her arch more eye-popping. The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree when it comes to their bloodline. “Since you want to stay, I propose a little game. Are you with me?”

“Yes,” you nod, tense and nervous, sweating starting to pour down your face.

“Let’s play a game I’d like to call, ‘Guess the Sibling.’ I’m gonna place a blindfold and you’re gonna have to guess who’s bouncing on this cock,” Chaeyeon continues, going down your chest and giving your erection a playful slap. A little more force and she could have ended you. Mercifully, it’s only one flick. “If you guess right, then you get the rest of the night with us. Use us any way you want. But if you don’t—”

“—Then we’re gonna have our way with you,” Chaeryeong interjects. “And trust me, you wouldn’t want us to have our way with you.”

“What did I get myself into?” you mutter, wondering if the situation you’re in is a consequence of your actions. You’re not a bad person, per say; even the two girls would admit this. You’re just like any other fan—mostly: enjoying their songs, spending alarming amounts of money into merch and events, buying your way into fansigns, and taking photographs of the idols you love. You’re so spoiled, you end up sharing that love with others.

At best, this was stuff of urban legend, of myths, of over the top fantasies. None of this was meant to happen.

Yet here you are, tied up on a bed by your two favorite idols in the world, ready to be used like a toy for their personal use—and pleasure. In the little time you’ve personally known these two, you didn’t expect them to be this obscene and assertive. You won’t be able to look at them the same way after this—if you can even get out alive.

Chaeyeon wraps a thick cloth around your eyes, completely blocking your vision. The last thing you see is Chaeryeong kneeling before you, spreading them wide, rubbing her hands up and down your legs.

“I would say good luck, but I’d like to think you’re familiar with us that this should be easy for you,” Chaeyeon remarks before giving you a quick peck on the cheek. “Look at that. Your friend over here is a little too excited.”

You wince at the airy touch. Unsurprisingly, you can’t tell what’s going on, guided only by familiar sensations, patterns and recognizable sounds. Still, you can’t really tell their voices apart. It doesn’t help that they both have long flowing dark hair either.

Taking this deep breath, anxious about what’s about to happen, they still catch you off-guard. You scream a guttural cry, feeling the weight of the world crash on your hips. “Oh f-fuck!”

Right there, you hear a sharp, ear-piercing whine—a shout that rips through the bedroom. Your cock is bulging through something far tighter than normal. Not even your previous experiences with Chaeyeon ever went this far. “O-oh shit! S-so fucking—tight!”

“You heard her. Deeper, babe.”

Your hips move instinctively, as if activated by her voice. Either of them works. They live in your mind rent-free. It’s only natural to follow them like your life depends on it, and considering your situation, it’s quite literal.

Despite how slick and wet you are, it proves to be a struggle at first. It resists, pushing back as hard as it can, but you don’t relent. Feels good enough to be worth saving. An impossible challenge at first, you eventually feel it—your tip sinking deeper into her hole, inch by inch. As it penetrates the girl on top of you, her whine climbs a pitch higher, then higher, until she’s outright shrieking.

“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit—so fucking big, so fucking big—”

She’s running her words fast, as if her mouth’s aimlessly mashing on a keyboard. The same harsh feeling stretches through her tight, smaller hole, until eventually you bury yourself to the hilt, and she keens.

“Oh my God—o-oh God—fuck!”

She struggles to acclimate to the new presence deep in her ass. She can’t stop it, nor can she ever hope to contain it. There’s only person who’d want it this bad from behind.

“Feels good, right Chaeryeong?” you guess, gritting through your teeth as the suffocating sensation also overwhelms your senses.

Right then and there, she begins to move. Lifting herself off you, dragging her plump cheeks along with brute force, threatening to tear your cock off too—until she squats down on your hips and creates much needed friction on your end.

There’s no denial or direct admission, but you know in your heart of hearts that you’ve won. The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree when it comes to the Lee siblings. Both dangerously hot sisters with toned bodies worth admiring and worshiping. Such a shame that your hands are bed bound right now, otherwise you’d be all over them. Chaeyeon or Chaeryeong, it doesn’t matter—they’re equally deserving of every lick, every touch, every thrust out of you.

For now, you will have to settle with her ass.

“Harder—a little more—right there—” she manages to spit between hip thrusts and grinds. You happily oblige, relishing the sensation of her tight hole, vigorously flexing and pulsing against your cock. She moves frantically, as if desperate to shake you off. All the more reasons to be loose and free, so you can feel her slinky waist with your bare hands. Still, she’s compliant enough to keep bouncing on your lap, drowning in her own ecstasy to care about comfort, only more pleasure.

“God, this ass feels so fucking amazing—Chaery—” you tell her, a statement so obvious, but worth saying regardless. The slick, satisfying sound of flesh slapping flesh bouncing off the four walls, the shockwaves of her skin rippling on your groin, and her elated, blissful moans more than makes up for the lack of sight. And perhaps if you can cum sooner, you can see the light at the end of the tunnel quicker.

But it’s not enough. Chaeryeong can—and will—drain you of all your worth, especially at the frantic pace she’s going. Her ass owns your cock with a vice grip; again, she feels incredible, and you’re bound to each other, down to your souls.

There’s only one way you’re getting out.

“Get on top of me, Chaen.” You call to her, knowing she’s lurking around the room. You can also tell that she’s eager to get her share of cock.

Chaeryeong continues to bounce relentlessly, , your pace leisured and measured for maximum longevity. She lingers for a few moments, till you feel that weight on your lap suddenly disappear without cause.

“My turn,” says Chaeyeon, landing her tight asshole straight onto your cock. No preamble, no preparation, just crashing out. This time, with a much smoother, more effortless entry compared to her sister’s. She lets out this whiny, feathery moan in response to being filled for the first time, with you only mildly groaning in response.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” you remark.

“I don’t think so.”

“Yes you are.”

The room goes silent for a moment—except for the heavy breaths of one collapsed Chaeryeong.

Light immediately pervades your newly freed eyes, having the blindfold taken away. On your right, Chaeryeong slumps on the bed face down ass up, her puckered hole glistening and freshly leaking. A bottle falls off the edge and onto the floor. Elsewhere, Chaeyeon’s body rests on your waist, your cock buried deep inside her tighter entrance, clearly demanding your attention.

Except she’s completely facing away from you.

“Was she—”

“Yes.” Chaeyeon sounds annoyed—devastated even—that you’ve managed to outsmart her at her own game. “I can’t believe you really went after my sister. Was I not enough for you?”

“You are. It always meant to be you two from the start. You’re both hot.”

She sighs.

“Can you at least—at least—fill my ass up?” Chaeyeon looks over her shoulder, frowning. “Please let me have one over her.”

“What do you mean? I’ve given you everything,” you reply, recounting all your previous experiences with her. “Backstage, in your apartment, in your car—hell, even in a goddamn public bathroom stall. What else do you want from me?”

Just as Chaeyeon is about to open her mouth, her sister interrupts. Voice hoarse and cracking, she says, “Just go. You were his first. You deserve it.”

“Yeah, you heard her. I don’t mind. Besides, I’ve got the rest of the night to take her as I please, right? Like you said?”

There’s not much else to say. You can see the faintest smile on her lips as she looks away.

Likewise, your smile fades when she lifts herself and slams into you, hard. Filling her needy, wanton hole with your cock. Just off this one swift motion alone, you recognize that Chaeyeon is much more desperate.

Using all that pent-up need and desire as fuel to power every ram onto your cock. Her mark lingers on—far longer than Chaeryeong’s. It’s much more personal. You can feel how badly she wants you—needs you—beyond sexual pretense. The idea of you taken away by the one other person she loves the most—it sets her off, motivates her to prove that she’s worth more.

Unlike the playful and fun Chaeryeong, every thrust, every roll, every grind Chaeyeon does is intimate, passionate. Pounding into her tight ass, you can see pleasure course throughout her body, trembling in one violent aftershock after another. She’s uttering these little pleas, gentle desires while riding you hard. “More—like that—please—please—don’t stop—please—”

Chaeyeon knows you’re the one responsible for making her feel this way, make her feel all sorts of emotions. Love, hate, jealousy, anxiety—they’re only scratching the surface of just how much you mean to her. She’s unraveling, and fast. The only way she can find release is, as you expect, through you. An outlet for all her feelings.

You’re quite literally stretching her out, both physically and emotionally.

As you watch your first love fall apart like this, you can’t help but feel remorse. Chaeyeon is pretty, and so is her sister. They’re the splitting image of each other, and you wouldn’t feel like a fool for mixing them apart, despite the repeated statements from them not being twins. It’s only because of your strange obsession with the two that you can tell them apart.

That, and your complicated relationship with Chaeyeon, as idol and fan.

Ultimately, she can take it. She’s been through a lot, way more than anyone else you know, and she’ll get back up again. Including now.

So it stands to reason that she can take your pounding better than anyone else.

Gripping her hands on your knees, she rides you vigorously, dictating the pace, without much care for comfort. The clench is asphyxiating, borderline inescapable, but you’re still gliding in and out effortlessly, watching your cock disappear and reappear in her ass. As the flesh ripples and slams down with each thrust, the lewd sight alone is enough to upend you prematurely, if not for your resolve keeping you fastened to the earth.

“God—you’re too good, Chaen—” you hiss, closing your eyes in a last-ditch effort to avert your thoughts elsewhere. Anywhere but her ass and the tension suffocating you—but it’s not enough. The sloppy, wet sound of your bodies colliding penetrates even the most fortified parts of your ears.

“So fucking good, right?” Chaeyeon tries to straighten her voice in an effort to assert herself, only to find it crack, much like her idol facade. “Say it—I’m better than Chaeryeong. Say it!”

Even though her sister is lying beside you, every word is spoken loud and clear. You’re terrified.

“Do I have to repeat myself, baby? Say it!”

You don’t really have a choice. She’s riding you hard and fast, threatening to pull the plug two different ways, one far more unsatisfying than the other.

“Say it!”

“You’re better! Better than Chaery!” you shout, matching her erratic pace, dangerously treading on the line of no return.

It finally sets Chaeyeon off—and ultimately ends her.

Everything rolls into one emphatic word.

“Fuck!”

Her body goes rigid, fingers still gripped to your skin as she unravels on top of you. She’s screaming your name up to the sky—or in this case, the ceiling—and she cums. Hard. Freely flowing clear slick gushes around and past your cock, shredding through the last of your already broken defenses, urging you to let go.

Through the madness, you’re still relentlessly pumping into her, until you’ve fallen back into darkness again. It’s what she would have wanted.

Impaled to the hilt, you let out the deepest groan from the depths of your stomach as you cum into Chaeyeon’s ass. Blast after blast, you shamelessly empty every last drop inside her tight, sensitive hole, partly relieved—but mostly frustrated because your hands aren’t gripped to her supple flesh right now, ensuring she receives it all.

Despite her orgasm shredding through her body till now, she lifts herself off you in a single swift motion, much to your agony and despair. Resting on the edge of the bed, she’s positively glistening from her ass, dripping and leaking with your cum.

You helplessly watch your cock throb and throb till it withers again.

“God,” is the only word Chaeyeon can muster after everything, still unwilling to face you directly. Chaeryeong lazily rolls out of bed to rejoin her, resting her head on her shoulder, their hands intertwining.

Silence fills the room after a tense, lengthy period of sex. None of you are willing to break it.

You can only wonder what’s on Chaeyeon’s mind.

After a while, the two sisters get up and try to leave the bedroom, presumably to clean up—but not before stopping and realizing the elephant in the room.

They’re a far cry from when you first gazed your eyes on them. As you watch Chaeyeon and Chaeryeong free you from their binds, there’s this tired expression in their eyes. Not the typical post-coital gaze you’re all too familiar with; there’s a sense that they’re just about done—with everything.

Including you.

Chaeyeon offers you the same invite she gave previously when she first saw you with her sister in the living room. “Join us if you want to clean up. I’ll fire up the showers.”

—————

You pretty much spend the next hour doing that.

Beneath the running water, your bodies are cuddled up together, hardly cleaning up as intended.

Chaeyeon’s softly embracing you from behind, while Chaeryeong’s right in front of you, her chest pressed against yours. Both women lazily rest their head on your shoulders, their fingers tracing lines all over your skin. Beneath all the soap and shampoo lie kiss marks, nail scratches, and everything else in between to make you theirs.

They’re not asking for much, only for you to stay.

You first give Chaeyeon a kiss on her forehead, then Chaeryeong on her cheek.

Perhaps you’ll find a way to make room for both.

You have the rest of the night to figure that out.

—————

(A/N: Fuck yeah hiding a threesome as a surprise tactic/for shock value. I had a version of this that I scrapped during my slump month but decided to revisit it. It's been a long while since I've done one of those fan x idol stories. Sometimes you just want to write shameless pwp, but even this ended up taking a rather unexpected and emotional turn. Yikes. And it's all because I forgot to add one kink. Glad Itzy are five again, title track kinda lukewarm on. Thank you for reading!)

#kpop smut #itzy smut #chaeryeong smut #itzy #chaeryeong

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omnitrash · 16 days ago

Note

I’m loving the self aware dmc!

I can’t help but imagine how funny it would be tho if reader modded the game. Like the characters expect things to go as usual but suddenly Dante is in a maid dress, Vergil has the plastic chair and Nero is shirtless or smth.

Like their trying to keep a straight face and act according ten script but Dante is a few moments away from breaking at seeing Vergil sitting ominously on a plastic lawn chair with the Yamato now also changed to look like an anime body pillow.

You’re so right anon. And thank you so much for the idea!! So, once again, enjoy everyone!!

—————————————————————————

Self Aware Dmc! - Mods!

‘_’ - thoughts

“_” dialogue

You’d never thought about using mods, and neither did the cast think you would. It wasn’t until you a friend of yours convinced you to and helped you install them that you managed to do so and once you did, the cast noticed a few…interesting changes. Like for example:

“…Dante…why are you in a maid dress??” Nero asked, staring at his uncle in great confusion as they met outside Urizen’s throne while ignoring Lady and Trish laughing at them. He wasn’t wearing that in the last time you started the game started, was he??

“You tell me, kid…why are you in a wedding dress? Did ‘ya leave Kyrie and the little sweetheart at the altar?” The younger son of Sparda shot back with a smirk, though he was just as confused as anyone else. Why a maid dress of all things?! And why was the shirt so fucking short?!

…though he could admit, the thigh highs suited him…maybe his little sweetheart’s sense of style wasn’t all that bad. Not that he doubted them.

“Oh shut up, old man. At least my dress looks better. You look like a stripper” Nero sneered, huffing as he fixed the sweetheart collar of his dress. He didn’t know how he’d fight in this stupid gown but he guess it wasn’t that bad. At least it wasn’t ugly…he just didn’t want to think about Nico’s reaction to this.

Meanwhile, V was struggling to deal with his familiars. Griffon specifically because the stupid bird wouldn’t stop laughing at him.

“BAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA! Nice outfit, doll! HA-!!” The bird guffawed, much to the man’s embarrassment. He supposed it wasn’t bad, the outfit itself was rather elegant…in a dollish sense. Lolita, was it? The black and white dress was frilly but oddly elegant and refined. The parasol it included wasn’t so awful either…it suited his style…if he was a woman.

Of course, Lady and Trish weren’t off the hook either but their outfits weren’t as embarrassing to wear as it was for the three men. The two women were dressed in suits, with Lady having the sleeves of her dress shirt rolled up and Trish fully keeping her outfit in a more classier way. You really had a knack for playing dress up, didn’t you?

“Lo-…looking good Dante…” Lady snickered, barely calming down from her laughing fit as Trish smirked in the behind her.

“She’s right y’know? The little spark didn’t do half bad with our outfits” Trish pointed out with an amused huff, fixing her gold tie as she adjusted her collar.

“Yeah yeah, whatever. Laugh it up you two” The legendary devil hunter grumbled before letting out a sigh and picking up Rebellion. “Welp, no use in thinking too much of this. We got a show to run” Dante sighed, ignoring Nero’s protests in the back as the game picked off from where you left off.

—————————————————————————

The game was almost over, and boy was Dante tired. Fighting in this maid dress was…something. The small heels didn’t help either. But at this point, he couldn’t help but wonder if his brother would be wearing something too.

‘Welp, I’m almost at the top anyway…guess I’ll find out soon enough’ He thought, walking up to the top of the demonic tree before seeing his silhouette in the distance.

“Yo Vergil! Your portal opening days are over!…Give me the Yama-“ He stopped himself as he finally registered his brother’s appearance.

First of all, Vergil was sitting on a plastic lawn chair unlike the small throne he made of his own originally, he was holding a body pillow of some anime girl instead of the Yamato and to top it all of? He was wearing a bunny suit. Bunny ears, tail, heels, fishnets stockings and all.

Before Dante could say a word -like both brothers knew he would- Vergil quickly adjusted the games code so that the current cutscene would continue like normal for you. And just in time too because as soon as he did, Dante burst out laughing.

“HA- what?! What are you wearing there, big bro?! Gonna hop on over here?! Gonna pillow fight me to death?! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!” Dante guffawed, now completely losing any embarrassment he felt over wearing this silly maid outfit. Especially after seeing what his brother was wearing.

“Shut up. What about you, huh? Going to sweep me off with a little broom, little brother? Clean up my mess like a good little maid?” Vergil sneered, though he himself was horribly embarrassed. This stupid suit didn’t cover much of anything! Just what were you thinking with these mods?! The fact that everyone else wasn’t spared from these outfits changes like him was the only thing that helped him power through this…he much preferred the black dress he had as V. At least he was properly covered in that.

“Oh fuck off, I look amazing. You’re just jealous of me” Dante smirked, though he was a bit irked from his remarks.

“Let’s fight-“

“Let’s fight!-“

“aaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH-“

And after a few failed attempts of fighting and dying to Vergil -fighting him with both Dante and then Nero (who got sent a raised eyebrow from his father and in return, got a muffled guffaw from his son after seeing their respective outfits), and as the credits rolled, all they heard from you was-

“…I have nothing to say for myself. I don’t regret a single thing and I would do this again…just like I’d do them in those outfits. They’re so fine, good lord-“

….you really had no shame, did you?

But they couldn’t help but wonder how’d you look in these outfits instead…they wouldn’t be able to keep their hands to themselves, they fear-

#dmc nero #dmc lady #dmc dante #devil may cry 5 #vergil devil may cry #yandere devil may cry #self aware devil may cry #self aware dmc #dmc vergil #dmc trish #dmc kyrie #kyrie x you #nero x you #dante x you #vergil x you #lady x you #devil may cry x you #dmc imagine #devil may cry x reader

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mmirx · 3 months ago

Text

AFTERTHOUGHT ⋆⑅˚₊

Who were you if not unremarkable? You had finally come into terms that you are someone who was meant to stay in everyone’s shadow, but not until you met Caleb, or so you thought.

cw/tags: PART 3 of this, university au, non-mc reader, frat guy caleb (but not really important), angst, jealousy, self-loathing (please just lmk if i missed more cw, i just cant identify more as of now)

note: idk what im doing lmao kidding nway, wrote this in one sitting bcs it was the only chance i had after the loooong week i had. alsoooo, i take it back, i might make this longer bcs i haven't explored some parts in the previous chapters. PLUS THANK YOU GUYS FOR READINGGGG!!!

word count: 1.7k

You’re at your breaking point—or at least you were weeks ago. Now, you weren’t even sure what prompted you to fill your schedule to no end; leaving no room for any sort of self-care at all. But, you were adamant in accepting the truth that it was not the answer to the hole that Caleb left you.

Nothing can ever fill the part that he took from you the moment you let him in your life because he wasn’t just any bystander that you knew would leave you. When you thought that you were finally worth being a recipient of one’s genuine attention was the moment you should’ve known that you have once again been defeated by the nature of love itself. He curated a room in your life. One that you thought you were the center of almost letting yourself believe that someone is capable of doing that for you.

But now, you weren’t sure at all, no you were, but for the fact that he wouldn’t do anything that deep for you.

The reason? Well, she’s standing in front of you right now. Eyes filled with worry and hint of anger while refusing to let you speak. However, you knew why, mad at you for cutting your connection with them—not completely—by deactivating your social media accounts, and even going as far as ignoring messages and calls with your ‘previous’ number. But you can’t just disregard your own sake to ‘bring back old times,’ her own words to keep up a dramatic flair.

“What? Like four weeks ago?” she retorted after hearing your reasoning about being busy with the conference. MC was right—it ended a month ago, and you were aware of the fact that you haven’t been with her for more than a month.

“I know, I know but I took up a new volunteering gig…”you said trying your best to muster up a half lie. It’s true though that you joined a volunteering group, but they haven’t even demanded an hour of your life. How were you supposed to tell her that you’ve been neglecting her because of Caleb? Her literal childhood bestfriend?

You stared at her profoundly, and if you weren’t, you would’ve missed the moment she hesitated to say something. What was that?

“Come with me,” she said in a beat, grabbing your wrist, “don’t try to run away this time, got it?”

“Where–” trying to loosen her grip–“are you taking me?”

Of course, in her true nature, she ignored you. You knew that you didn’t have a chance to flee this, so like a trolley, you let her drag you in God knows where.

Walking for minutes across the campus didn’t feel as irksome as it once used to be. The sun was also present with wind as its companion. Looking around, you realized that maybe you were too busy trying to distract yourself in a way that your body probably hates you for now. Completely oblivious of the fact that you missed out the times that the sun had waited for you.

Your optimism didn’t last very long though.

Holding your wrist on one hand and taking her phone out on the other hand, your heart almost jumped out the moment she uttered his name. What in the fresh hell?

You heard how she hissed his name accompanied with insults that were somehow out of character of her because they were said as if she dipped them out personally from hell.

“MC!” you shouted with eyes unintentionally widening. “Is he coming with us?”

But to no avail, she waved her hand dismissing you as if you. You couldn't help yourself to roll your eyes at her. She was literally insisting to spend time with you a moment ago, and now she’s dismissing you because of him? Well, that sounded bitter of you.

Curiosity growing as they spoke, you were about to ask what they’re talking about but—

“Alright, let’s go,” MC cut you off with no intention of letting you ask questions. It was weird, a moment ago she seemed okay, but she looks pissed right now. You knew that she’s hiding her annoyance, it almost made you laugh, where did her acting skills go?

However, it made you wonder, what happened when you were busy trying to avoid them? Did a ‘progress’ finally take place when you were gone? Maybe Caleb didn’t even notice your absence—he might have been grateful too that there’s one less person to divide MC’s attention from him. If that is so, then it’s high time for you to get a grip and move on.

Your mind wandered to possible scenarios that happened between them during the last few weeks. It makes your stomach turn upside down. As if something has flipped your organs intentionally to rattle you for being stupid enough to like someone, and you hate it. You’re human and you know you’re bound to fall in love with someone, but at the same, at your bestfriend? Really? Were you even his bestfriend?

Like a bell, you were again reminded of what you heard weeks ago.

No, you weren’t his bestfriend, just a mere someone he didn’t even know how he managed to tolerate.

I don't even know how I managed to put up with her.

What you hated even more is that if he really did feel that way, why act as if you’ve meant something bigger in his life? As if you were a significant chapter in his life. As if one that he needed to make sure to be appreciated by himself and every person in the story of his.

Busy with your inner monologue—about the sole reason you ended up with an unhealthy way of coping in life healthy for the system that exploits you but not for your own body—you didn’t realize where you were now.

Looking around, it’s the hidden part of the campus where you used to frequent with the two of them. You can feel it—something good isn’t about to happen. One that you spent weeks trying to ward off.

“MC…” you called her attention, noticing how busy she was trying to spot something, “please tell me he’s not here.”

You wanted her to lie because at least that’d bring you comfort even for a moment. The air suddenly felt like it was meant to bring suffocation. Your hands torn between emitting heat to ward off the cold that the weather brought or bringing a feeling of dampness with sweat that you’d always hated. Either way, you felt revulsion towards anything at the moment.

MC was looking at you as if she was silently asking for your forgiveness. Her eyes trying to tell a code that you couldn’t decipher. But you couldn't muster any kind words, at least not until she puts her plea for forgiveness in words. Then—

A voice came from behind you. One that you haven’t heard for weeks calling your name like a prayer. At that moment, you hated how your body responded to his call. His eyes wandered on you as if finally making up for the moments that he’d been deprived of the privilege of setting eyes on it.

It took all your strength to not shift away your gaze from him.

But you had to face MC, “What’s this?” you asked laced with rage rather than confusion while pointing at Caleb. “And I thought, it was you actually wanting us to spend time together.”

“Well, for starters, I don’t see an issue with me bringing you here to see Caleb? You’ve been avoiding us, and now, you’re mad?”

“I wasn’t but I certainly am now!”

“It was my idea,” Caleb interjected, “don’t be mad at her, she wasn’t at fault.”

Still protecting her?

“No, I’m not done with her. MC, trying to be a good samaritan?” your voice dripped with sarcasm. “Helping us make up? If we were thirteen, that would be cute, but for fuck’s sake we’re pushing mid-twenties, so it’s just plain stupid.”

You didn’t miss how her eyes flickered with pain and if your heart was’t throbbing with anger right now, you would’ve reached out her hands to apologize. But how can you, in this state, think rationally?

“I’m sorry. I understand your anger but I needed to.” You hated how even in moments like this, she’ll be the ever-so-nice person that she is. “I’m leaving, please, talk.”

With that, you didn’t try to stop her because what’s the point in trying? This was their plan.

“Don’t blame her, I insisted on her doing this,” Caleb said, taking you out of your own mind. It infuriated you because what is he truly planning to get from this?

He didn’t see you as someone who’s worthy of his affection. He made that clear when you heard him talking with his friends. That was enough to repel you from his life. Plus the fact that you have been slipping away from him.

What you couldn’t put your fingers on right now is why does it feel like his gaze at you in this moment is trying to tell you a different story?

“You’re avoiding me,” he said, more of an accusement than a statement.

“If I am?” you tested him. Suddenly, you were back with your habit of biting the inside of your mouth when you’re nervous. Little did you know, he noticed that, because he knows you as if he’d study the book of your life—wanting to be a part of it in a way where he’ll never be written out.

“Why?” he begged, voice dripping with desperation that made your skin crawl. “Tell me what I did.”

“I’d beg heaven just for you to forgive me.” You averted your gaze from his as you pondered how you hated how convincing he sounded. You hated every moment of it because all of a sudden you were back where you were a few months ago. Silently cursing yourself for being weak from everything that he does, you didn’t get a chance to speak at all.

Missing every wave of emotions on his face, you kept your mouth shut, not knowing what to say because it all felt unreal.

“Anything, just don’t tell me you’re with someone.”

What?

tag(s): @justpassingdontworry @jadeymeciela @i-messed-up-big-time @rxelarailuj @albatrossblues

#love and deepspace caleb #lads caleb #lnds caleb #caleb lads #lnd caleb #caleb x reader #caleb x you #caleb x y/n #caleb x mc #caleb angst

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arabella0001 · 6 months ago

Text

i writed like 2 days for this beloved man

kisuke doesn’t reveal his bankai often, lucky for you, he’s got plenty of other things he’s more willing to show

anime: bleach

pairings: kisuke urahara x reader

synopsis: curiosity killed the cat

warnings: long, a lot of tessing, edging, fingering, oral (male receiving), light rough sex, after care

You’ve always been aware of Kisuke.

He’s not the kind of man you can easily ignore. Whether it was that sly smile constantly tugging at his lips that makes him appearing carefree, his strategic mind always masking his true intentions or his frequently teasins others—expecially you. Kisuke Urahara had an irritating talent for making you blush. And as much as you found that part of him infuriatingly attractive, you never thought it was anything more than a game to him.

Why would it be? He’s teased you so many times it feels like second nature—just a harmless habit he indulged in because he could.

So you never let yourself think too much about him that way. It was easier to brush it off, to assume that was just who he was. Expecially when you’re not the only person he does this to.

But you’ve been working at Kisuke’s shop long enough to know when something’s up, like deflection from his true reasons.

His usual antics are predictable—constant teasing, sly remarks—but today feels different. His presence is present more, his touches wandering a little longer than usual, and the way his eyes track you isn’t just casual. It’s calculated.

You try to ignore it. It’s probably nothing.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself until he slides up behind you while you’re reorganizing shelves. His hand finds your shoulder, fingers snaking lazily around it.

His breath is warm against your ear, the flirtatious edge unmistakable.

“Well, well… look at you. Working so hard today. I hardly recognize you”

You fumble with the item in your hand, nearly dropping it. He’s too close—too casual about the way he leans in, his chest almost brushing your back. Is not like your touch deprived, but you’re not used to it, and his attractive persona and unconventional charm doesn’t help either.

“I-I just want to finish up quickly,” you stammer, trying not to sound as flustered as you feel. “The faster I finish, the sooner I can get home.”

“Oh? In a hurry, are we?” His voice dips lower, humor lacing around every word.

You feel his gaze on you, unwavering, even as you force yourself to focus on the shelves.

Kisuke steps in closer, his arm brushing against yours as he pretends to help by reaching for something—his fingers grazing yours. If you believe in coincidences, that is.

“Home’s nice and all,” he murmurs, voice quiet enough that it feels just for you. “But I can’t help but wonder… no date waiting for you?”

Your breath catches. You edge back, pretending to adjust a box. Why he is suddenly interested in this kind of answears?

Kisuke sees right through it, of course.

“A date?” you scoff, trying to recover. “Like I have time for that. I barely keep up with work here, let alone everything else.”

His smug smile widens. “Ah, yes. The ever-dedicated worker. Sacrificing love for labor. How tragic.” And you barely contain to don’t roll your eyes at that.

He leans in slightly. “A shame, really. I would’ve thought you’d have a long line of admirers by now.”

Your cheeks flush despite your best efforts, and you curse inwardly.

“I—I need a break,” you mutter, practically fleeing outside before he can say anything else.

His chuckle follows you out. “Take your time. I’ll be here if you miss me’’

You exhale, pacing just outside the shop.

What the hell is he doing today? Is he bored? Is he messing with you?

But after a few minutes, you manage to cool off. You tell yourself you’re imagining things, you need to just mind your business.

When you step back inside, Kisuke is laughing with the others, his usual breezy self. He’s chatting with Tessai and Jinta, but his eyes flicker toward you briefly—so brief it’s almost dismissible. Almost.

The day winds down, but the weight of his gaze follows you. Every now and then, when he thinks you aren’t paying attention, you catch him watching.

Evening comes, and after the last customer leaves, you finally snap.

“What’s your deal, Kisuke?” you blurt, arms crossing as you glare at him from across the room.

He pauses, leaning lazily against the counter. His hat tilts forward, shadowing his green eyes, but that damn grin remains.

“Deal?” he echoes, tapping his chin. “I’m just admiring your craftsmanship. Can’t a humble shop owner appreciate his employee’s dedication?”

You narrow your eyes, not buying it. “You never watch me like this.”

Kisuke chuckles, but the glint in his eye sharpens. “Well, you did say you wanted me to stop hiding behind jokes. I’m just giving you what you asked for.”

He steps forward. One step. Then another.

You retreat instinctively until your back brushes the wall. His hand lifts, palm flattening against the wall beside your head, caging you in.

You swallow hard, your eyes stretched in surprise. “Kisuke—”

“Oh?” His eyes flicker, and the usual playfulness deepens into something heavier, unsettling. “That’s the second time you’ve said my name like that. I’m starting to think you like this.”

His face looms over yours, his breath fanning across your lips.

“Well?” His voice lowers, teasing but firm. “Didn’t you ask me to stop playing around?”

Your pulse quickens. Heat rises in your chest. You didn’t see this coming at all.

“I… didn’t see expect this… whatever this is,” you admit, voice quieter than intended.

Kisuke hums softly, his thumb brushing the edge of your jaw, tilting your face up just enough to catch his eyes hidden behind the brim of his hat.

“Expect?” he repeats, the word rolling lazily off his tongue. “Sweet thing, I live to defy expectations.”

His gaze drops to your lips—smooth and slow. You notice. And he knows you notice.

His hand slips lower, fingers grazing your hip. Light enough to make you shudder, unrushed enough to know exactly what he’s doing.

Your eyes flick between his lips and his unreadable gaze. “You drive me insane,” you murmur, frustration blending with something else.

“I noticed,” he says easily, arrogant while tilting his head. “So… what are we going to do about it?”

You think for a moment and then.

You kiss him.

His response is immediate. One hand slides to the small of your back, tugging you body against him as his lips part against yours. The kiss deepens—measured but heated, his tongue teasing its way into your mouth, coaxing a quiet moan from you.

There’s a moment where his teasing pauses, lips parting as his head tilts back slightly.His fingers tangle in your hair, pulling just enough to tilt your head further. He swallows every sound you make, his grip on your waist tightening.

You gasp when his lips trail down, nipping at the soft skin of your neck. A low, rumbling hum escapes his throat, as if savoring the way you feel beneath him.

“Sensitive, aren’t we?” Kisuke chuckles against your skin, lips brushing just below your ear. His hand drifts lower, fingers teasing the curve of your thigh.

“Kisuke…” you manage, your voice shaky.

“Oh, I like the way you say my name,” he murmurs, his lips tracing your pulse. “But I think you can do better.”

His hand inches higher. There’s weight behind his touch, but it’s not rushed—it’s the slow, savoring kind of touch, as if he’s in no hurry to reach the finish line.

You groan softly, pressing closer. “Touch me.”

Kisuke’s breath hitches faintly. His smirk returns, curling lazily against your neck.

“Touch you?” he echoes, fingers skating just beneath the hem of your shirt. “My, my. Forward tonight, aren’t we?”

But he doesn’t stop.

His fingers deftly unbutton your pants and slip inside, finding your already dampened panties. He rubs slow circles over your sensitive flesh, making you gasp into the kiss.

"Tsk tsk… Someone’s more responsive than I expected. Should I take credit for this?’’ he teases, nipping at your lower lip before trailing kisses along your jawline.

He pulls back just enough to gaze into your flushed face, a mysterious smile playing on his own lips.

“We wouldn’t want to cause a scene—at least, not here. Shall we?”

With a flick of his wrist, the store's security charms disappear, leaving the two of you alone amidst the shelves of Soul Society merchandise.

Your legs tremble as he continues to tease you through your underwear, the sensation of his fingers on your most intimate area driving you wild with need. You almost hate how your body reacts to him.

At his words, you glance around the shop, a mix of excitement and uncertainty coursing through you.

Noticing your glance, he let out a low scoff, fingers never ceasing their maddening caress. "Oh, don't worry, dear. No one will disturb us. These charms ensure our privacy."

He leans in close again as he whispers,’’Let’s take this somewhere more… accommodatin, hmm?’’

With a effortless motion, he lifts you onto the counter, the cold glass beneath your thighs a stark contrast to the heat building within you. His hands immediately resume their exploration, this time slipping beneath your skirt to push your panties aside.

"Such a responsive little thing, aren't you?" he muses, his thumb circling your clit as his big fingers delve deeper, stroking your slick inner walls.

You moan loudly, unable to hold back the pleasure as he touches you so intimately. Your hips buck against his hand instinctively, craving more friction.

"Oh god, Kisuke... Please... I need..."you whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders as you cling to him desperately.

The way he's playing with your body, the filthy and teasing words spilling from his lips, you can feel the coil of tension in your pussy tightening, ready to snap at any moment.

"Just... Just make me come," you so close to begging, your voice trembling with desire "I can't take anymore..."

Kisuke's cheeky smirk widens as he watches your reactions, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Feeling a bit overwhelmed, hmm? Can't handle a little teasing?"

He slows his movements, letting his fingers just graze your sensitive spots, stoking the flames of craving rather than quenching them, looking at your submissive look, whimpering for release. He smirks at you, taking your mouth in an intense kiss, his movements low and precise, driving you mad.

He bite your lip and you moan, you can’t take it anymore.

“I hate you” you barely managed to let it out.

With a sudden shift, he resumes his previous rhythm, his fingers plunging deep and fast, hitting that exact spot inside you that left you trembeling.

"Ah… such harsh words for someone trembling under me." Kisuke’s chuckle vibrates against your skin, low and rich, the sound curling around you like smoke. "I must be doing something right to earn that kind of praise."

He drags his tongue along the curve of your throat again, lingering when he reaches the soft thrum of your pulse, his hand grabbing your hair with a light tug making you gasp.

"I wonder if you even realize how much you give away… Naughty thing, getting this worked up over a little attention."

He pulls back just enough to catch your gaze, eyes gleaming with that familiar glint of trouble. "Don’t worry, Y/N. I don’t mind. In fact…" He leans in, brushing his lips just barely over yours. "I find it rather endearing."

You can’t understand how his teasing words make you so aroused, your legs tremble so hard while your vision start blurring.

“Kisuke oh my—“

As your orgasm crashes over you, Kisuke's fingers continue their relentless strokes, prolonging your climax until you're writhing and sobbing with pleasure. Only when your spasms begin to subside does he slow, then withdraw his fingers from your still-quivering pussy.

He brings them to his lips, sucking your essence clean with a satisfied hum. Kisuke smooths down your skirt with practiced ease, his hands on you thighs "There we go—neat and presentable"

His tone is light, but the wicked gleam in his eyes betrays him. It’s as if he hadn’t just left you shaken and undone.

Without waiting for an answer, Kisuke pulls you to your feet gently, guiding you through the dimly-lit shop by your hands until you reach the tucked-away corner of his personal space. The faint scent of sandalwood lingers in the air, grounding yet evidently his.

His gaze flickers with desire as he eases you onto the couch, standing over you with a quiet intensity. "Now, let’s see… where were we?"

Kisuke’s fingers ghost over your skin as he undoes your clothing piece by piece, his movements deliberate but unhurried.

"Ah… what a sight," he muses, trailing a fingertip down the curve of your collarbone, his finger circling your swollen peck, hardening in his wake. “Almost as captivating as the hidden gems of this shop. But I must admit…" His eyes catch yours, glinting with something darker. "You’re far more tempting."

His hands continue their exploratory journey, tracing the curves of your body with a gentle firmness.

Kisuke’s fingers trace delicate patterns over your sensitive skin, your arms and waist, your thighs and hips, drawing out soft whimpers and gasps that only seem to fuel his amusement.

"Oh, I hear you loud and clear, darling. But let’t have a little patience…" his lips hover near your ear, his voice a velvety purr.

With a lazy flick of his wrist, your skirt slips to the floor, pooling at your feet. Kisuke steps back just slightly, his gaze roaming over you, drinking in the sight with a dangerous glint dancing behind his half-lidded eyes making you flusttered.

"Mmm… now that’s a view worth savoring." His fingers ghost along the edge of your lace panties, knuckles grazing your hips as if testing the boundaries of his self-control. "Let’s see what other secrets you’re hiding, shall we? I think these curves deserve a little more… attention."

His hand lingers, not moving further just yet, letting the weight of his words—and his gaze—sink into you.

Your cheek flush under his intense gaze “Your turn now” Kisuke's eyes still flash with amusement as you boldly strip him bare, revealing his lean, toned physique. He doesn't resist, instead leaning back to allow you full access.

"Well now, isn't this a surprise? The tables have turned, haven't they?" he remarks, his voice tinged with fascination intrigue.

As your hands wander across his body, eager and curious, Kisuke’s gaze never wavers.

His muscles tense beneath your palms, subtle but telling. His body responds instinctively, hips canting forward with a deliberate slowness that lets him draw out every second of pleasure.

"Careful now, Y/N… you might unearth secrets even I’ve forgotten I was hiding."

His hands slide effortlessly to your hips, fingers pressing in just enough to remind you who’s leading this dance. With a gentle tug, he pulls you against him, the heat between you igniting like a slow burn.

The heat of his body envelops you, and you can feel the hardness of his arousal pressing insistently against your belly.

"Now, why don't you show me what else you're capable of, my little explorer?" he whisper, tilting his head just enough to brush his lips over the corner of your mouth

Kisuke's breath hitches as your lips and tongue trail a scorching path down his torso, his muscles tensing beneath your touch. He threads his fingers through your hair, guiding you lower.

“Mmm… careful now, Y/N. You're treading dangerous ground," Kisuke muses, his voice low and laced with desire. "Once you start something like this… stopping isn’t so simple."

His warning is light, but there’s no real intention behind it. He makes no move to dissuade you, his gaze fixed intently as you sink to your knees before him. His eyes widen slightly, that flirtatious glint tempered by something far more primal.

"Oh? Bold as ever…" he murmurs, his head tilting slightly, the smirk tugging at his lips betraying just how much he’s enjoying this. "Tell me, my curious little kitten—" his hips shift forward, just enough to tempt, "—will you strike now, or are you going to let your prey squirm a little longer?"

The challenge hangs between you, thick and electric, his gaze unrelenting as he waits for your next move.

You look up at him shyly, your eyes locked with his as you wrap your fingers around his rigid cock, giving it a slow squeeze.

Kisuke's eyes roll back, a low groan rumbling in his chest as your hand closes around his throbbing member. A shaky exhale slips through gritted teeth, and for once, the usual witty remarks are replaced by quiet, indulgent groans.

He rocks his hips, subtly thrusting into your grasp, seeking more of that exquisite pressure. The sight of your flushed cheeks and lust-filled eyes only fuels his arousal. His pupils dilate, lingering on your errotic position as if committing the image to memory.

"Look at you, so bold and daring," he praises, his voice strained with pleasure.

With a fluid motion, he guides your head closer, the tip of his erection brushing against your parted lips. "Why don't you put that clever mouth of yoursto use, hmm?´’ He tilts his head slightly as he watches your reaction unfold. "No pressure, of course… but I’d hate to think all that potential is going to waste."

Kisuke's breath catches in his throat as you take him into your mouth, his hips rocking in a slow, deliberate rhythm. "Well, well, looks like someone's eager to please—mmm”

His gaze lingers, drinking in every reaction you give, clearly savoring the effect he has on you. He felt your throat muscles flutter around his cock, the vibration of your muffed moans make it so hard for him to control himself.

His eyes narrow slightly, his usual demanour unexpected slipping into something more untamed, running his fingers through your hair, guiding you to take him deeper, he is panting as your tongue swirls around the sensitive head of his cock—it was pure eroticism.

Kisuke's gaze bores into you, his expression a mix of playful smugness and intense focus. He's clearly enjoying the sensation, but there's an undercurrent of something more – a challenge, a game of cat and mouse.

Kisuke's breath hitches again as you increase your efforts, his grip on your hair tightening reflexively, his knuckles turning white.

He press forward hitting the back of your mouth. He held still for a moment, savoring the sensation of being deepthroated by you. He tries to maintain his composure, but the intensity of your oral attentions and you innocent flushed cheecks is quickly eroding his defenses.

"Hah... Y/N, you naughty minx," he manages to gasp out between clenched teeth, his hips beginning to piston faster. "If you keep that up, I won't be responsible for my actions."

Despite his warning, Kisuke allows himself to surrender to the pleasure, his movements becoming more erratic and forceful. His groans make clear he won't last much longer under your skilled onslaught.

He decided to pull out before is too late, panting heavily. He lifts you onto the plush couch, his hands roaming your curves with a possessive touch while you still recover, face ravished and your voice more hoarse.

“Time for the main event, my dear. Are you ready to see what this old fox is truly capable of?" his eyes is searching yours, looking for consent “May I continue?”

Seeing you nod immediately, he settles between your thighs, his hard length nudging against your entrance. With a wicked grin, he teases you with shallow thrusts, barely penetrating you before withdrawing making you whimper.

Kisuke's fingers dig into your hips as he grips them, holding you in place as he lines himself up once more. This time, he drives forward with a smooth, powerful stroke making you moan loudly as he fills you completely, your nails digging into his back.

“Ahhh—“ Kisuke's lips curve into a triumphant smirk as he feels you stretch around him, your inner walls clenching tightly around his invading length.

His back arches subtly, muscles rippling beneath your touch. He stills for a moment, savoring the feeling of being buried so deeply inside you, making him gasp. There’s a hitch in his rhythm, as if even he can’t maintain the act when it feels this good.

"Oh, I think the gods are very pleased indeed," he teases, his voice low and rough with satisfaction. "To think, I was worried you might not be able to handle me after all."

With a subtle shift of his hips, Kisuke begins to move, setting a languid, sensual rhythm that has you panting, writhing beneath him. His hands roam your body, caressing and exploring every inch of skin he can reach.

You can’t even control your moans, bucking your hips to meet his deep thrusts

“Fuck fuck fuck—“

Kisuke's eyes glint with delight as he listens to your impassioned cries, his hips snapping against yours with increased urgency. His teeth graze your earlobe, breath hot against your skin. "Don’t worry. I’ll give you exactly what you need”

Kisuke's hands slide down to hold your thighs, spreading them wider as he picks up speed, driving into you with long, deep strokes that have you teetering on the edge of ecstasy.

“Mmmm…you are too big” Kisuke's smirk widens at your indirect praise, his chest puffing up with masculine pride. "Of course I am, dear. After all, I am a master of my craft."

He punctuates his statement with a particularly forceful thrust, grinding against your sensitive clit as he bottoms out inside you. "But size isn't everything, now is it? It's how I wield it that truly matters."

Kisuke's fingers dig into your thighs, holding you steady as he continues to pound into you with relentless precision, each stroke hitting that perfect spot deep within. A soft groan escapes him, muffled against the curve of your neck, and his fingers flex—digging in just enough to leave faint marks in their wake.

Kisuke's smile widen as he watches you writhe beneath him"Oh, you're enjoying this, aren't you? Getting so nicely worked up on my cock.

He rolls his hips, grinding against you with a tantalizing slowness that has you arching off the couch. "I must admit, I'm rather fond of seeing you like this - all flushed and desperate for release. It's quite...flattering, really."

Kisuke's hands skim down your sides, his fingertips dancing along your ribs in a maddeningly light touch.

Your whole body trembeling with the effort of holding back you orgasm “Kisuke…please harder—“

Kisuke's eyebrows shoot up in mock surprise at your plea, a wicked gleam entering his eye. “Harder, you say? Oh, but where's the fun in that, my dear?"

He slows his pace to a teasing crawl, his cock dragging deliciously against your sensitive inner walls. “You know, some people might call this torture. But I prefer to think of it as...extended pleasure."

Kisuke's hands tighten your hips, pulling you onto him with a sudden, brutal thrust that has you crying out in a combination with pleasure and agony. "There, does that hit the spot? Or would you like me to continue our delightful game?”

As you let out a piercing scream, Kisuke's eyes lock onto yours, his gaze intense and unyielding. He doesn't break eye contact as he plunges deep, his thick length stretching you to the limit. He presses his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged but steady, as his lips curl into a faint smirk.

“Such a beautiful sound, ,Y/N he murmurs while his hips begin to move again, each thrust precise and powerful, designed to drive you wild with pleasure. His hands roam your body, fingers tracing patterns on your skin as he pours all his focus into bringing you to the brink and beyond.

Kisuke’s lips curl into a knowing smile as he senses your impending climax, his eyes never leaving yours.

His hips snap forward with a particularly deep, forceful thrust as he aims to send you hurtling over the edge “Don’t hold back now… I’m enjoying the show."

Kisuke's fingers flex against your skin, his movements become more urgent, driven by the need to bring you to completion and savor the rush of your release.

Kisuke's expression shifts from playful to utterly focused, his eyes burning with intensity as he watches you unravel beneath him and for a fleeting moment, you feel the raw, unfiltered need behind his touch.

With a final, powerful thrust, he buries himself inside you, his own orgasm crashing over him in tandem with yours. Kisuke's hips jerk erratically as he spills deep inside you, his hot seed painting your inner walls as he rides out the aftershocks.

Kisuke’s breathing slows, but the satisfied grin on his lips remains as if permanently etched there. His blond hair falls messily over his eyes, though the sharp glint behind them remains as he leans back just enough to meet your gaze.

“Well, well… I’d say that was time well spent,” he muses, voice low and lazy, but pleased with himself. “You look like you’ve had your fill. Though, I wouldn’t mind another round of applause for my efforts.”

His words drip with a harmless humour, but there’s something softer beneath it—something he won’t name, even if you asked.

Kisuke stretches out on the couch beside you, one arm props his head up, while the other lazily draws faint shapes along the curve of your hip, like he’s absentmindedly tracing a map only he can read.

“You know,” he drawls, “for someone who claims not to trust me, you seem awfully comfortable right now. I’d almost say you like having me around.”

His gaze flickers to yours, watching for that telltale flicker of embarrassment he so dearly loves to coax out of you.

Kisuke’s chest still rises and falls against you, slow and deliberate, but there’s an alertness in his posture. He’s aware—always aware—and the slight downturn of your eyes doesn’t escape him. His fingers pause for half a second before resuming their lazy path.

“Well, you’re certainly more relaxed now,” he notes, watching you with that familiar sharpness. His hand shifts, brushing a stray lock of hair from your damp forehead, tucking it behind your ear with careful precision. “Though, if this was your master plan to seduce me, I have to say… you could’ve just asked.” Your cheeck blush at his remark

“I hate to admit but indeed i’m relaxed” Your voice carry a playful cadence, but you catch his gaze lingers too long for it to be entirely superficial. You know him well enough to recognize it—he’s watching for something.

“This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?” you shoot back, though your voice lacks its usual bite. You feel raw—too exposed under his gaze. It’s unfamiliar, needing something more than teasing remarks.

Kisuke laughs softly, but there’s a subtle shift in his expression. His hand doesn’t leave your hair, fingers threading through the strands with a gentleness that feels almost foreign coming from him.

“My plan? Ohoho, I wish I could take credit for such a clever scheme,” he purrs, but the usual exaggerated flair is dialed back. “No, I just happen to be exceptionally gifted at identifying tension. And relieving it.”

His arm curls around your waist, pulling you just close enough for his nose to brush against your temple. He doesn’t press for more; the gesture is light, easy, like breathing. Kisuke smells faintly of sandalwood and something sharper—like incense that hasn’t quite burned out.

“Relax,” he murmurs against your hair, voice dropping into something softer. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Your body sinks into his chest almost involuntarily, and for once, Kisuke lets the silence hang between you. His fingers resume their slow path along your spine, tracing patterns that feel more like grounding than teasing.

“See?” he hums after a long pause, lips curving against the top of your head. “Much better. And you didn’t even have to buy me dinner first.”

You huff quietly against his chest, shifting enough to glare up at him, though the heat behind it doesn’t land.

“You can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Not when you make it this easy,” he replies without hesitation, flashing that trademark grin—the one that somehow manages to be both irritating and devastatingly charming in equal measure.

You bury your face against him with a muffled groan, and Kisuke’s laughter rumbles beneath your ear, quiet but genuine. His hand moves to cup the back of your head, cradling it as though the gesture requires no thought at all.

“You’re dangerous,” you murmur into his shirt, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

“Oh, I know,” Kisuke replies smoothly. “I’ve been told it’s part of my charm.”

You sigh, half-annoyed, half-amused—because of course he’d say that. But his hand hasn’t left your back, and the warmth pooling in your chest tells you that maybe, just maybe, he does know exactly what you need.

After a few moments, you shift slightly. “Will you walk me home?”

Kisuke hums, tilting his head to glance down at you, his eyes half-lidded but alert.

“Walk you home?” he echoes, tapping a finger against his chin as if in deep thought. “Mmm, tempting. But then I’d have to give up this incredibly comfortable spot I’ve secured for myself.”

You lift your head just enough to squint at him. “Kisuke—”

“Or…” he interrupts smoothly, lips curving as his gaze sharpens with that familiar playful glint. “You could stay the night. Much less effort. And far safer for both of us.”

You arch a brow at him. “For both of us?”

Kisuke’s grin widens, shameless. “Oh yes. I’m very fragile, you know. I’d sleep much better with you here to protect me.”

Despite yourself, a quiet chuckle escapes your lips. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” He leans closer, his breath brushing your cheek. “And I promise to behave. Well… mostly.”

His smirk is impossible to resist, but something in his tone—something subtle, beneath the teasing—feels sincere enough to ease whatever lingering vulnerability lingers in your chest.

“…Alright. Thank you.”

Kisuke pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, eyes softening as he presses a light kiss to your forehead.

“No need to thank me, darling,” he murmurs, already tugging the blanket over you both with the finesse of someone who planned this outcome all along. “Now, get comfortable. I expect payment in the form of breakfast tomorrow.”

You roll your eyes, but your body presses closer all the same, the comfort of his presence settling over you like second nature.

“Fine. But I’m not making you anything fancy.”

Kisuke cackles softly, tucking you against him with ease.

“That’s alright,” he replies, lips grazing your temple one last time. “You’re all the sweetness I need.”

another smut with bleach

aizenxuraharaxreader

aizenxreader

a small appreciation for: @apocalypsesushi-chan

398 notes · View notes

aperrywilliams · 3 months ago

Text

Only If It Makes Sense (Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader)

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Author Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader.

Summary: You are struggling to write your report about the last case. There are a lot of things going on in your head lately, and your boyfriend, Spencer, has already noticed. An open conversation with him in the breakroom can be very clarifying for you and maybe the little push you need to think about what’s next in your life.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: More comfort than hurt. Nothing too heavy, I think. There is some reference to a gruesome case (no details given). There is a mention of the reader being pointed with a gun (once). The reader is overthinking a lot.

A/N: A self-indulgent fic, just because I need a boyfriend like Spencer Reid telling me everything is going to be okay.

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Flipping between statements transcription and evidence photos, your eyes can't focus enough to see what you need to complete the last case report. It's useless. You have been trying for the past three hours to finish it, but you can’t. Flashes about what happened to the victims and how difficult it was to catch the unsub flood your mind. Your mind replays the way the unsub talked to you when he was pointing his gun at you.

‘You think you’re better than me, uh? Do you think if you put me away, you’ll sleep better tonight? You’re wrong. You’re the one trapped here, not me. I’m doing what I want; you are doing what others want you to do. And it doesn't matter how long you keep doing this, you’ll always feel empty.’

You glance at the clock on your desk. It's almost 5, and you are not close to being done. Sighing in frustration, you stand and make a beeline to the breakroom. A coffee seems to be a good idea and a needed distraction.

While waiting for the fresh pot to be ready, your eyes are fixed on the dark liquid slowly brewing, drop by drop.

Why this case has affected you that much? It's not something you have ever seen before. You have worked on many gruesome cases in the past twelve years with the BAU. It's safe to say things can’t surprise you much these days, but for some reason, in the past months, you haven't felt like handling the job the way you used to.

Between the lack of motivation some days and the boost of excessive impetus on others, you still can’t pinpoint what’s wrong.

Your mind goes to that warehouse again:

‘...And it doesn't matter how long you keep doing this, you’ll always feel empty.’

The unsub is wrong. He has to be wrong. You don't feel empty. You don’t feel trapped. You love what you do. The BAU has been your life because you chose it to be.

“I think it's ready.”

Your mind comes back to the present the moment Spencer’s voice reaches your ears. You notice Spencer is right; the pot stopped brewing. There are no drops dipping anymore.

“Oh. Yeah. Thanks.” You mumble, quickly grabbing your mug to fill it with the precious liquid. With a tight lip smile, you offer to do the same with the cup in his hands. Spencer nods and reaches it for you.

Spencer watches your moves carefully without saying a word. He’s been analyzing you for a while now. Of course, he has noticed your change of behavior: frequent quietness, excessive overthinking, and constant retreatment. Spencer has picked on all of it, not only because he is a genius or an excellent profiler. He also happens to have known you since you joined the team more than a decade ago and has been your boyfriend for the past three years. So yeah, he has noticed.

You’re very aware he knows something is off. But you can’t bring yourself to address it with him. Not out of distrust or trying to hide something from him. The fact you are not sure about what’s happening makes you bury it in the back of your head and act like there is nothing to worry about. Maybe it will go away if you ignore it. At least, that is what you thought would happen. Weeks later, you are not so sure anymore.

“Do you need help with your report?”

His offer doesn't surprise you. It's not uncommon for Spencer to offer help with anything he thinks can lift some weight from you. You do the same for him every chance you get. But this time, you would have hoped he didn't catch your struggle.

“Uh. No, baby. I - I’ll finish it soon. Thank you, though. Actually, you can go home if you’re done. I’ll go after finishing and handing the report to Emily.” You try to sound convinced and reassuring. You know Spencer worries, and you love how considerate he is to you, but this is your job and your problem. He doesn't deserve to be the fixer of everything that happens to you. It’s not fair.

“You haven’t moved past the first page,” he says matter-of-factly. It's not accusatory. It's not mocking. It's a fact that supports the reality that you are not even close to being done, and he wants to help.

You huff a laugh. “Well, I know it's not my best performance, but I’ll survive,” you wink at him, trying to light the mood.

Sarcasm. That’s another component of your toolbox used to deal with things that overwhelm you.

Spencer is clever enough to know he can’t just confront you right away. You are as stubborn as he is, so if he pushes too hard, you’ll close in your shell. He opts for a different approach.

“Love, I know you will,” he says after sipping his coffee. “But I wanted us to go home together. I really don’t mind waiting or helping you to finish it if you’re okay with it.”

And this is where your dilemma arises: accept Spencer's offer, which will lead him to realize you have done nothing yet, and you’ll have to confess you're not okay, and he’ll want to talk about it, or refuse and hurt your boyfriend's feelings by not letting him help. Damn Spencer.

Your smile falters, followed by a deep sigh.

“I barely started it,” you admit, sort of embarrassed. “And I don’t know why it has taken me so long.”

Spencer’s eyes are nothing but understanding. He kindly points to a chair for you to take as he reaches for another for himself. You plop on the seat, tighten the grasp of your mug, and pout like a child before being lectured.

“What is bothering you, baby? It's the case?” Spencer asks, resting his hand on your knee to encourage you to relax your posture.

“No. I mean - yes. This case was awful,” you grimace, and Spencer matches your expression. You don't need to say details to agree that it was one of the most gruesome in a long time.

“It really was,” he concedes. “But that’s not all, isn’t it?” You nod. It's kind of useless to try to deny it. “Love, you know you can tell me anything,” Spencer reassures you. You nod again, sipping your coffee as you collect your thoughts, then setting the cup over the table.

“I have been thinking-” you start. “For a while now. I mean, thinking about this case, all the cases, you know?”

It is difficult to put into words something you don’t even fully comprehend yourself, but Spencer is patient and understanding. Also, above all, he knows you damn well. That's why you may have been afraid to bring it up with him.

You’re scared you would confirm something you already know in your gut but have not acknowledged in your brain.

“You have been in your head a lot lately. Is that about?”

“Yeah. Although I can't say it's something particular,” you explain. “If that makes sense.”

You feel like you are stumbling over your words and thoughts.

“What bothers you about it? Because it looks like you feel frustrated. Why?”

That's a good way to put it. You were going to say conflicted or overwhelmed, but frustrated suits better, you think, in this case. You have always admired Spencer and his ability to use words.

“Because - because I feel like I can’t do this job anymore,” you blurt out plainly, without warning. You expect Spencer to be scandalized, or disappointed, or both. You are a bit about yourself, to be honest. But Spencer doesn't even flinch. At most, he hums like you are saying something he has already anticipated.

“Is that so? Why do you think you can’t?”

It's weird having this conversation in the same place where you’re feeling off. It's almost as if you’re betraying the same job you have been doing for more than a decade. Spencer notices your hesitation. “We can talk at home if you feel uncomfortable right now. I don’t think Emily would mind having your report tomorrow instead of tonight.”

Surely, Emily wouldn’t mind, but something doesn't let you just leave the conversation on standby. For some reason, you feel the need to stay.

You shake your head no and stand from your spot, stopping to glance through the breakroom’s window. It gives a good view of the bullpen. You can see Luke's feet resting at his desk as he banters with Garcia, who is perched by his side. You see as JJ says goodbye for the day, bag in hand, and Tara exits Emily’s office, ready to go home, too. Matt is already gone, and Rossi is locked in his own office.

“I’m not saying they don’t get affected by what we do. I know everybody has their battles and their ways of handling them. But they look like they’re doing fine. And I know I used to feel and look that way, too.”

Spencer watches you carefully in respectful silence. He knows you need to unravel to clarify your head, and for it, you need to say what’s in your mind.

“And now? I feel like I lost my place here. And I’m not blaming anyone but me for it. It's just I can’t see the big picture anymore. I’m not cut for this anymore. And I’m wasting everybody’s time with me failing here.”

For Spencer, here’s where he draws the line. You can have doubts and overthink your present and future, but he won’t let you think you are not good at your job because it’s far from the truth.

“Hey,” he stands and approaches so you can turn from the window to look at him. “You are not failing, okay? Everyone can make mistakes here. All of us have made mistakes working here. Need I remind you who got arrested in Mexico two years ago?”

You roll your eyes. “Spencer, that’s different. A psychopath targeted you.”

“And I let my guard down,” he supplies. “But, I’m bringing this up because even though we could have made other choices working on cases, that does not make us bad at the job. Especially you.”

“Especially me? What do you mean?”

“Yes. Especially you. Come on, I have never seen someone so clever, tenacious, and so connected to people’s feelings doing this job.” You huff a mid chuckle.

“That’s your way of saying I’m stubborn?”

Spencer shakes his head in amusement. You never lose a chance to make a comeback.

“You can deflect joking about it, but I’m telling the truth.”

It seems that cracking jokes will not make Spencer drop the subject so quickly.

“Okay, so - if you’re right about what you said, why I’m seeing this from a different perspective?” You cross your arms over your chest, and Spencer feels your defensiveness.

“Well, due to the fact you asked me, I would say the problem is not you can’t do this job anymore; the problem is you don’t want to do this job anymore.”

You take in his words for a moment. It never occurred to you there was a possibility of not wanting to be a profiler. When the idea of joining the FBI settled in your mind at a young age, the BAU turned into your primary goal. And when you finally made it, you always thought it was where you belonged and that you would die doing this job.

Why would you feel different now?

“I do want to keep doing this,” you defend. “I mean, I’m doing something worthy for someone. We save lives; we’re trying to make a difference.”

Spencer nods, his hand finding yours to bring it to his lips. After lovingly kissing your palm, he keeps his hold to lead you to sit on the sofa settled in the corner.

Almost everyone left for the day, so the probability of someone walking on you both there is very low at this hour.

“I get what you say. That’s a huge motivation for us to do what we do, and I always have admired you for it. About the way you think about this job, like something with a purpose,” he says, softly stroking your hand.

“But there is a ‘but,’ right?” you anticipate, and Spencer gives you a reassuring smile.

“Have I ever told you what Morgan said to me when he left the BAU?”

You purse your lips, trying to remember it. “About leaving so he could be there for his son?” you ask, and Spencer nods.

“Yeah, that. But there is more to it. When I asked him what the difference was between his situation and JJ's or Hotch’s, he told me the main difference wasn’t in the things around them; it was in the way things still keep making sense or not. He wasn’t talking about the impact of doing or not something on others but on yourself.”

Your eyes go downcast to your lap. That is what’s happening to you? Does your job not make sense to you anymore?

“That means-”

“Baby,” Spencer continues, sensing what conclusion you are drawing right now. “It's not about selfishness; it is about being honest with you. You feel conflicted because you are scared of wanting something different and wanting something different means making changes you’re afraid to make. I get it; I usually feel the same about changes; you already know that. But I also think you know things are not going to be the way they used to be, and your heart is telling you to do something about it.”

Spencer is right. It's the way you feel, but the implications of acting about it scare you.

“But what if I’m reading this wrong? If the whole ordeal is only me being insecure because I’m not performing the way I used to? What if I’m overreacting?”

Spencer, who has been playing with your fingers because he knows it comforts you, stops his motion to interlace his fingers with yours giving a soft squeeze.

“Is that so? I’m sure you know it's not that.”

Do you really know? Maybe you do in your heart, but your mind runs thousands of scenarios in which you’re wrong and mess everything up.

“What do I do?” You finally ask. It's a mid-rhetorical and mid-actual question.

“What do you want to do?” he asks back. You groan, pulling your hands off his grasp.

“Jesus, Spencer. Don’t help me this much, okay?”

Spencer chuckles. He knows you are not really mad at him.

“I know you have been thinking about it. Everyone had at some point. Me included.”

You know the idea has been around for a while. You secretly have entertained new scenarios, new things to do, and new experiences, none of which involve staying at the BAU.

A lump forms in your throat. The realization you feared to face is in front of you. Unavoidable.

“You know?” you start. “I always thought the moment I would consider leaving the team would be after a big revelation, a big something. Not a slow building up of inner undetermined nonconformities.”

Spencer shakes his head. “Don’t go so hard on yourself. You say it like it’s only a whim when it’s not.”

You huff. “Isn’t? It's not me running from my commitment to the team? From the things that really matter in life?”

“And you don’t matter? The things you feel don’t matter? My love, to make a decision thinking of you is the bravest thing you can do, believe me. No one should think less of you for doing it, and if they do, fuck them.”

Your eyes widen.

“Did you just say ‘fuck’?”

“Is that really what caught your attention about everything I said?” Spencer asks in disbelief, and you shrug.

“Sorry. I couldn't just let it go unnoticed.”

Spencer is about to say something to protest, but you continue talking. “But okay, okay. I really get your point. It doesn't make it easy to follow, though.”

“I know it's not easy, but it makes sense to you?”

Hell, it does. You exhale sharply.

“Yeah. It makes sense.”

Your thoughts go to the day you crossed those glass doors for the first time, your first case, the first time you had to talk down an unsub. You think about the people you have seen leave and the ones who joined, the drinks at O'Keefe, the not-so-healthy food, and the excessive coffee intake. It's funny that, in almost all of those moments, Spencer has been there in one way or another. You are grateful to the BAU. You have learned, given, and received.

It's scary to think how things will change after you leave, but you know it's time for another chapter in your life.

Treacherous tears start to roll down. Spencer quickly notices.

“Hey, baby. It’s okay,” he coos, wrapping his arms around you to pull you into a tight embrace.

“I know what I have to do, but I’m still scared,” you admit, muffling your words in Spencer’s chest.

“My love, you are not alone in this, okay?” he kisses the top of your head.

Spencer’s voice whispers sweet nothings that are so soothing that you have no choice but to melt into his arms. You don’t know if you alone would have reached the determination to admit it's time to move on.

When you feel composed enough, you part to look up at him. Your cheeks are flushed and tear-stained. Spencer looks at you back with just love in his eyes, as if you are hanging the moon.

“Things will change, you know?” you point, and Spencer nods, not faltering the grip of his arms around you.

“I suppose they will.”

“We won’t be working together anymore,” you continue, and Spencer lets out a melancholic sigh.

”And if you want to know, I’ll miss you like crazy. But as long as you are happy, I’ll be satisfied.”

“You mean that?” You ask him, voice small with emotion.

“Of course I mean it. I love you, and I’ll do everything in my power to see you happy. Even if it means not having you around 24/7.”

This is another proof of Spencer's unconditional love. For him, your happiness is beyond any logistic patch on the road. Somedays, you can’t believe that man is yours.

“Fuck. I’m so damn lucky to have you,” you blurt out, and Spencer's lips curve into a smirk.

“Who’s cursing now, uh?”

You roll your eyes at his comeback. “Shut up.”

A genuine laugh escapes you both and fills the breakroom. You feel relieved and mostly lighter. The dilemma never had to do with you not having options as you thought at the beginning. On the contrary, it involved broadening one's view and considering new alternatives.

“Can we go home now?” Spencer asks, and you sigh.

“I have a report to finish,” you remind him, but before Spencer’s shoulders slump in disappointment, you continue. “But I could use some help to finish it, you know?”

Spencer narrows his eyes at you, faking contemplation of your petition.

“What I’m getting if I kindly offer to help?”

You scoff. “A happy girlfriend is not enough?”

Spencer’s grin is wide. “It’s more than enough, actually.”

After pecking your lips, he grabs your hand to stand from the couch and walks with you back to your desk. So you can finish what will be your last case report working with the BAU.

------------------

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid comfort #spencer reid x bau!reader #dr. spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #aperrywilliams

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minisugakoobies · 3 months ago

Note

Hello 💛 can i ask story for Hongjoong with 'what if I hurt you?' and 'this is a one time thing'? 💛💛💛 thank you

Anon, I'm so sorry this took forever - I had it written but I didn't have the time to post it - but you're not here for my excuses, you're here for some Hongjoong. I hope you like where the prompts took me! 💕

Pairing: Vampire!Hongjoong x Reader (AFAB) Genre: smut, established relationship, Vampire!AU Rating: M (18+) Warnings: unprotected sex, biting, drinking blood, Hongjoong overindulges a little but reader is okay, aftercare Word Count: 896 words **********

Hongjoong sits beneath you, admiring your kiss-swollen lips. He loves the dark stain that still clings there, a stark contrast against the paleness of his mouth as he pulls you closer to kiss you again. You’ve already left your mark all over his face, but he’s eager for more.

His tongue slides over yours with urgency, and you moan, lips parting to let him explore, digging your fingernails into his shoulders. You’ve been riding him for a while now, fucking slowly with lazy rolls of your hips, and he’s starting to get twitchy. His thighs flex with suppressed energy, the tension in his legs evident as he holds himself back.

He does this every time the two of you are like this. It’s impressive, really, his self-control - the way he keeps himself in check at all times, even in his basest state. Even if you wish he’d give in and let go for once.

You break away from his kiss and lean back. Once Hongjoong’s gaze is locked on yours, you tip your head to the side. Immediately his eyes are drawn to your exposed neck, just as you knew they’d be.

“Please,” you whisper, “please, Joongie.”

He shuts his eyes and groans. Doesn’t need to ask you what you’re pleading him to do, because this isn’t the first time you’ve had this conversation. “Baby, I’m - mmmmm - I can’t.”

You rock back and forth, breathing deep through your nose for a few seconds before you speak. “Yes, you can. But more importantly, you want to.”

This is where he tells you again for the nth time that he can’t bite you, can’t drink from you, because he can’t risk losing control. Except tonight, he changes the script.

“What if I hurt you?”

“You won’t,” you reply, trying not to get too excited, trying not to leap at the first sign that his resolve might be slipping. “I trust you. Please. I wanna feel what it’s like - with you.”

Being bitten by a vamp is a euphoric experience, especially if there is a bond between the vampire and its prey (or partner). At least, that’s what you’ve been told. Hongjoong has so far refused to indulge you in finding out.

“Just a taste,” you say, and Hongjoong hums in response, staring at where your pulse pounds beneath the thin skin of your throat.

He runs his fingers lightly over your neck. He’s weakening. His nose nuzzles beneath your jaw as he takes a lungful of your scent. There’s a low rumble, a growl trapped in his chest. You can’t stifle a whine, and that pushes Hongjoong to make up his mind.

“This is a one time thing,” he intones seriously, and you nod but he stops you with a hand on your cheek. He kisses your neck once, twice, and then there’s a sharp sting and then -

And then there’s nothing but bliss. Every beat of your heart sends his venom surging through your veins until your entire body sings with a hazy pleasure. Hongjoong’s cock throbs inside you as he laps up his first taste, and you cry out, surprised by how quickly you come, and how hard, the intensity blanking out your mind.

Your limbs are too loose and heavy to support. You melt against your lover as he drinks from you and fucks you at the same time. Each stroke of his cock prolongs your ecstasy, and you float along on an infinite wave, barely aware of the life flowing from you.

Your pussy clenches and clenches and Hongjoong groans loudly.

“Babe - baby,” he sputters, but that’s all he says, distracted by the blood trailing down your collarbones, desperate to lick up every drop. His hands squeeze your thighs while he empties himself deep inside your womb.

You whimper, burning alive, intoxicated by the pain and the pleasure. Hongjoong doesn’t release you, hasn’t gotten his fill, and as he swallows another mouthful, it briefly occurs to you that this could be your last moment on this earth, lost to your boyfriend’s insatiable desires. But just as your lust-addled mind has dimly accepted your fate, Hongjoong lets out an agitated grunt and tears himself away.

He wipes an arm over his lips. Now they match yours, you think dazedly.

“Baby? Ah, shit.”

Hongjoong cradles your face, thumbs stroking over your cheeks as he tries to make sure you’re okay. You can feel his gaze on yours, but you can only focus on the crimson smears around his mouth.

“Are you okay? Say something.”

You manage a weak, “Something,” and Hongjoong laughs, more out of relief than amusement. He kisses your forehead, then your nose, and your lips, before bowing his head over your neck again.

When his tongue swipes over your wounds, coating them with healing saliva, your climax finally crests. You sigh, and slump further against him, succumbing to sudden exhaustion. It’s the human body’s normal reaction to the loss of a vampire’s venom - the crash after the high.

Your eyes refuse to stay open, not even when you feel the wipe of a cold wet towel over your warm skin. When Hongjoong settles into bed next to you, you turn, and nestle up against him, humming as he slips an arm around you.

“Told you,” you whisper.

He laughs again, this time full of joy, and kisses your forehead. “Gloat tomorrow. Sleep now.”

#ateez smut #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #hongjoong smut #ateez x reader #hongjoong x reader #ateez hard hours #hongjoong fanfic #ateez fanfic #asks #anon #hongjoong

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endorphins-assembly-line · 4 months ago

Text

Jealous!Xavier x Reader

|| 18+ || MDNI || NSFW under the cut!||

Xavier's jealousy rears its head again, he wants to lay claim to you.

a/n: this is my first time actually uploading a fic, they're usually just self indulgent stuff ^^ hope you enjoy

Xavier wouldn’t describe himself as a selfish person outside of discussing you. He thrives off of the fact that no matter whoever lingers in your day to day they’ll never see you like this.

His thighs littered with hickeys and lipstick stains leading up to his cock slick with precum, they’ll never see you with your eyes blown and fucked out— they will never see you after round after round of overstimulation from him being between your thighs.

This night was no different.

You could see his impatience in his lidded gaze towards you as your lithe fingers wrap around his cock. Tentative pumps as you watched his furrow brow soften

a soft sigh leaving his lips, until you kiss his tip, thumbing at his slit

When you see him visibly tense it’s intoxicating. Not used to seeing him be this pliant, not for long at least.

You knew you had the habit of dragging stuff out to rile him up but his composure couldn't be held. Whether it was meeting up with coworkers that you knew he would sneer at, or with Charlie you were aware of how he would prefer to destress— how to know he was yours; one of those many ways is cumming down your throat.

“You’re stalling” He says as his hand cradles the back of your head grasping a fistfull of your hair

“If you won't do this properly, I’ll remind you how this usually goes.”

“But—“ his lips curl to a smile while your mouth is agape in anticipation to be full. “You have to beg for this, beg to finish what you started, beg for me to defile that mouth of yours.” Your hands falling to their sides, Xavier takes hold of himself slapping it against your cheek before telling you to say ‘Ah’ as if you were at the doctor.

“At this rate your face will be filthier than your mouth.”

Xavier says with a faux pout, “We can’t have that can we? We need you to use your words so you can apologize to me properly for even talking to someone else.”

Tapping his cock onto your tongue, the weight alone making a soft plap at each fall, beads of his arousal spilling out.

an almost silent plea was let out by you.

“not enough” his hips slightly bucking further into your mouth. Shallow thrusts enough to make you gag but not enough to adjust,

you knew better

“Better speak up before you’re unintelligible. Would hate for your apology to be muffled.” “Im sorry for talking to Charlie for so long. I need this, I need you. I want you and only you.”

Thats all it takes for Xavier to fully bottom out in your mouth, the tip hitting the back of your throat— his base being enveloped by your tongue, your cheeks hollowing, even your nose being buried in his blonde happy trail.

It only made his grip on your hair getting tighter. Xavier dragging your head at an agonizingly slow but deep pace, the room being filled with the obscene, shameless wet sounds of him slipping in and out. “Tap on my thigh if this is too much okay?”

Picking up the pace from languid to fervent, spit dripping from your lips to gathering at your chin, your tongue lolled to fully adjust, your throat was reflexively clenching— moans vibrating around him, your eyes lightly rolled before resigning to closing them tight.

Thoughts running rampant as the tension in you builds, the wet spot in your panties growing.

He was a sight to behold when you caught glimpses, wonderfully soft features contorting with pleasure, the way his v-line framed his hips perfectly, every vein in his skillful hands down to his callouses.

Taking in one more look at you was enough it was finally enough, those pouty swollen lips that he saw his length disappear into one more time before halting his hips forcefully being held with your jaw slack you feel Xaviers cum paint your throat; swallowing around him releases a shudder you barely knew he was capable of. Aftershocks of his orgasm leading to him mumbling a myriad of praisles. Mainly laying claim to ownership. his love, all his.

#xavier love and deepspace #xavier lads #lads smut #love and deepspace smut #xavier x mc #xavier x you #xavier x y/n #xavier x reader #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader

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lovesickchoi · 5 months ago

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34+35 PROMPTS

“i have sex with you a lot in my head.”

“don’t go on that date”

PAIRING: soobin x reader

GENRE: smut

WARNINGS: friends to lovers, riding, lowkey switch!reader and switch!soobin

WC: 2.1k

The passive aggression in Soobin’s voice when you told him you had a date tonight was unmistakable.

“Maybe this one won’t be a total failure,” he spoke, not giving you so much as a glance up from his phone.

Your head craned to look at him next to you on the couch, his own eyes still trained on whatever he was doing on his phone. He wouldn’t dare look up at you, for he knew your ears must’ve been red with anger. But Soobin didn’t care—at least he didn’t want you to think he did.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” No answer. “Hello earth to Soobin?”

Throwing his phone onto the coffee table, he slowly turns his body to face you like it was the most difficult task in the world. “What do you want me to say?” he says, shrugging with his hands.

“You act like this every time i tell you I’m going on a date. Can’t you maybe, I don’t know, be a supportive roommate for once?”

Soobin rolled his eyes at your words. It certainly wasn’t the first time you two have had this conversation. “Don’t even start. I’m always supportive of you. All i’m trying to say is that you keep going on dates with shitty guys and they never turn out successful. Why can’t you just focus on yourself for a while instead of always having to see someone?”

“You say that as if you don’t hook up with strangers every chance you get,” you spit back at him, furious with what he was saying.

“I know that! but at least I’m self aware.” Soobin hated the way your eyes noticeably filled with tears as his words hung in the air.

The truth was soobin did care. In fact, he cared so much that his feelings for you would often times blur the lines between best friends and something more. You were right about his abundant hookups—which you had to endure as Soobin’s roommate—but what you didn’t know was that they were a mere distraction from the fact that you were always dating people who weren’t him. He longed for the day he could finally be the one taking you out.

Soobin knew he must’ve struck a chord the way you wouldn’t meet his eyes anymore, choosing not to fight back. He hated himself for it. He hated the way he took his frustration out on you. it wasn’t your fault, he knew that, and yet he let you start walking away from him.

Wiping a tear aggressively from your eye before it could drip down your cheek. You stood up and brushed your pants off, doing your best to keep your cool. “Well if you’re done telling me how to live my life since you’re such a saint,” silence ensued. not a word from Soobin. “I have to go get ready.”

You eventually vanished into your room, hesitating at the door frame momentarily. Maybe a part of you had hoped Soobin would have more to say deep down. But your shoulders dropped in disappointment seeing he hadn’t left his position from the living room.

This wasn’t even the first time you and Soobin had it out like this. Different dates and hookups coming in and out of you and Soobin’s rather small shared space made it hard to keep your personal lives private. You’d begun to think it had become a competition of some sorts.

The two of you had always too busy playing roommate with one another, both ignoring the obvious sentiment beneath your frustrations. It was truly agonizing for you both, yet somehow you’d convinced yourselves it was easier this way.

So, with every last ounce of hope drained from you, you finished throwing yourself together for your date. Perfect mini skirt and blouse, perfect makeup, perfect hair. everything perfect except the frown that stared back at you in the mirror.

You were praying that Soobin had been hiding away in his room as you made your way through the apartment. Grabbing your coat, your purse, and your keys, you believed you were in the clear opening the front door.

That was until an out of breath Soobin, seemingly out of nowhere, slammed the door shut. His hand rested against the door above your head as he towered over you, chest heaving from his sudden movement. “Don’t go on that date.”

You look up at him in disarray. “Soobin i’m not having this conversation with you again.”

“No, you don’t understand. I dont want you to go on that date.” He looked more serious than he’d been before.

You crossed your arms over your chest. “And why shouldn’t I?”

Soobin opted not to give you a verbal answer. Instead, he hooked an arm around your waist, spinning you so your back was now flush against the door. His other hand protecting your head as his bent down to kiss you.

And he really kissed you. Like this would be his one and only opportunity to do so. Soobin’s eyebrows scrunched with emotion, savoring the feeling of your soft lips on his despite you not having kissed him back.

You didn’t believe this was actually happening. it felt like something out of a movie. And after so many terrible dates and relationships, you were starting to believe something so good wasn’t meant for you.

But feeling soobin beginning to second guess himself and pull away brought you too your senses. Hell—this was everything you wanted and more.

Feverishly, you dropped your purse and coat off your shoulders. Reaching up to grab soobin’s face in both your hands, your forced his lips to stay on yours.

You could feel Soobin relax against you, smiling into the kiss. In one quick movement his hands were underneath your thighs and lifting your legs around his waist. You finally allowed your lips to part, tongue meshing so needily with his. You wanted this just as bad as he did.

You wanted nothing more than to continue kissing his perfect lips, but something in you needed to hear his voice to ensure once again that this was real. Gripping his hair, you pull his face away from yours. He groaned at the feeling which left you all too excited.

“And what the fuck is this exactly?” you mutter quietly, only half joking.

Soobin chuckles, his boyish dimples making an appearance. “This… this is the reason you cant go on that date. I’m done playing pretend with you. I’m done acting like I’m not in love with you. I’m done watching you go on dates with these guys who won’t treat you half as good as I would.” He pauses, releasing his hold and letting you stand on your own now. “I’m done fucking random people and pretending that they’re you.”

You’re not exactly sure how you both got there, but before you know it soobin had you stripped down to nothing but your undergarments. You straddled him on the living room couch, only his boxers and your underwear separating you at this point.

Soobin’s hands feverishly ran across your body. not an inch of your skin would go untouched by him. He sat back in disbelief watching you take total control. It was better than anything he’d imagined.

You hiss at every roll of your hips, feeling his length pressing hard against the soaked spot of your underwear. You pressed sloppy kisses across his neck, taking in his sweet scent. Soobin didn’t think he could be anymore addicted to you as he traced his fingers across your skin.

“You know,” Soobin speaks up. His words slurred as he could barely focus on anything other than the way your cleavage spilled out of your lacey bra, grazing against his bare chest with every roll of your hips. “I have sex with you alot in my head.” He smirked up at you, eyes so fucked out behind his tousled hair.

You could literally feel your ovaries twitching at his words. If only you or him had been bolder to make a move sooner. “Well it’s about time you got it out of your head,” you whisper, pressing a last kiss to the base of his throat.

You stood up momentarily, urging Soobin to lift his hips so you could pull his boxers down with his help. Finally coming back down to straddle him again, you shiver feeling him pulling your underwear to the side. His fingers were slender and cold to the touch, and you wanted nothing more than to ride him right then.

Soobin falters for a moment, hearing a slight buzzing coming from your purse. It was your phone ringing persistently. he couldn’t ignore it. Soobin tried to catch your gaze, but you were too fixated on where your hips were about to meet his.

“I’m pretty sure that’s your date calling wondering where you’re-“ You didn’t let Soobin finish his words as you sat yourself all the way down on his dick without warning. “Fuck!” he yelled, gripping your hips for support.

You wrapped your arms around his neck wasting no time to ride soobin at an even pace. “Oh my god,” you whined out. “you’re so fucking big Soobin.”

Soobin let out a throaty groan hearing your words. he watched you bounce so effortlessly in both pleasure and disbelief. Your lewd moans mixed with his filled the room—your shared apartment. The place where you’d both been dancing around what you truly desired. Eachother.

Some time went on with you both like this, and Soobin enjoyed watching you get yourself off at his expense. But all the times he’d imagined finally getting to have you how he liked, this was not it.

He suddenly gripped your ass, halting your movement completely. “Binnie please,” you whined out, trying desperately to fuck yourself against him some more. soobin twitched inside of you at the nickname and your neediness.

“Fuck, princess.” he spoke lowly, wiping some of your sweat-matted hair from your forehead. It was a sweet gesture that made your heart race even more, if that were possible. “I’m sorry, but this is not what my first time fucking you looked like in my head.”

Soobin left you no time to respond before lifting you and placing your back gently on the couch where you could lay down. He eagerly laid on top of you, pressing your knees into your chest so your legs were now resting over his shoulders.

Soobin glanced over your body in absolute awe. “Been dying to see you all spread open like this for me,” Soobin basically moaned his words. seeing your leaking folds so up close and how easily bendable you were for him. It was enough to make him lose it.

“Finish the job, Binnie,” you tease him, running your own fingers over your clit. That was all it took for soobin to begin slamming into you repeatedly. this position allowed him to have total control over you, unlike before. He trapped your body beneath his weight, hitting the right spot just perfectly with each thrust.

He rested his lips against yours as he fucked you into the couch. Profanities spilling from him the closer his was, naturally pulling you nearer to the edge yourself. “I’m gonna cum so fucking hard,” you moan, almost as a warning. Soobin could tell by the moans escaping your lips and the way you clawed at his biceps, begging to come undone.

He went in and out of you at an electric pace. Soobin was persistent, and wouldn’t let up until he knew you were satisfied. eventually, all at once, a white hot orgasm overtook every ounce of your being. You body shook against soobin’s, calling out his name in a string of whiney moans. this was enough for Soobin to arrive shortly after you—the tears prodding at the corners of your eyes, the tinted pink of your cheeks, the way your mouth remained slighly open even after you came. Slow, high pitched breaths leaving your lips from the overstimulation. How could he not cum after that sight?

Pulling out, begrudgingly so, soobing finished on your stomach. He groaned feeling your hand reaching down to finish him off, helping him ride out his orgasm. Soobin couldn’t help but think how perfect you were for eachother. He released your legs slowly, massaging your sore hips from being held up for so long.

“That was long overdue,” Soobin is the first one to break the silence. He felt butterflies erupting in his stomach at the way you laughed at his joke.

“I couldn’t agree more.” you smiled, reaching up to kiss his lips softly this time. Your stomach begins to growl at your sudden movement, and you realize how hungry you’d been this entire time. “You know,” you chuckle, playing with soobin’s hair. “I was technically supposed to be eating dinner like an hour ago.”

A huge smile makes its way across soobin’s face. “Let’s get cleaned up. And go put something nice on. I’m taking you on a real first date.” he pecks your lips once more and pauses before saying, “Also your last first date.”

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