#you hear my stolen lullabies | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

onlyswan · 1 year ago

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summary: in which you drive jungkook mad but you make his heart beat.

idol!jungkook x f!reader, est. relationship / fluff, suggestive, a pinch of angst / word count: 5k

content/warnings: tried sumn different so this is mainly from jungkook’s pov :D !! drummer!oc ur so cool & i’m stealing u from ur bf 🏃— mention of a 10 yr age gap between jk & a guy who likes oc (he’s hella pissed off) ; mentions of (car) s^x ; allusion to a bl^wj^b ; jk just got home from tour & oc is tipsy, needy, & dramatic as hell T_T ; oc /briefly/ touches jk while he’s driving & he /nearly/ loses his shit & crashes the car (he doesn’t) (i’m kidding) + to the anon who wanted to jk’s cheek scar to get a kissy here u go 🥺

> in which masterlist!

note: oc is so shot glass of tears coded especially in this… i’m glad i’m posting this after golden came out just so i could say it 🥰 this takes place after this drabble sooo the end of oct 2018 <3 if u’ve read the prev drabble too, this was when jk said those exact words in the past 🥺 wrote this in the middle of hell week so i was half out of my mind :'] as always feedback & reblogs rrr always appreciated !! 🥺

—

jungkook loves the sound of rain— the gentle knocks on every surface of the earth has always been a lullaby even during daylight.

tonight is a different story, however. it is defeaning, terrifying even. he can barely see what is infront of him, spare the occasional headlights blazing across the slippery roads. his umbrella is being stolen away by the harsh gusts of wind and the mud stains on his sneakers are well-hidden by the plain black.

and yes, he is tired; and yes, this is hard, but that is the end of it.

you’re exactly where you told him you’d wait, far behind the edge of the roof where the rainwater falls from and splashes on the ground. you stand out in his blue oversized shirt, one that he purposely left behind in your closet so he could have something else to wear when he sleeps over.

you’re too busy typing on your phone to see him crossing the parking lot; he feels his very own vibrate in the pocket of his sweatpants. however, his giddy smile fades when a man exits through the entrance door and approaches you with a red umbrella. his strides become slightly hurried then, as he watches you politely decline it with that heart-fluttering smile of yours everybody adores.

“oh no, really, i’m fine. you might need it later! my boyfriend is already coming to pick me up anyway.”

jungkook acts cool. he tucks his hand in the pocket of his sweatpants, tries to make himself appear bigger because he realizes that he would be inches shorter than the man if not for the platforms of his shoes.

“____, baby!”

upon hearing your name coming from the lips of your lover, your face lights up even brighter.

“jungkook!”

you greet him with an embrace, jumping into his arms before he can properly set down his umbrella on the ground.

“yah, yah-yah! be careful!” he chuckles as he wraps his arms around your waist to catch you, peering down to check how high your boots are for you to be running and jumping around freely.

“hey, i’m going back inside- there’s more customers coming in. make it home safe, alright?”

the stranger tries to catch your attention, and jungkook’s protectiveness swiftly kicks in when he lays a hand on you and slides it down to your lower back. your boyfriend turns you away from the unprompted touch by pulling your body closer to his side, and he is unable to control how his eyebrows knit together in annoyance.

he wasn’t planning on giving much thought to the presence of a man around you. he knows better than that. but he has never heard about this one, which raises the question of who the fuck is he to freely touch you like that?

“oh- alright! thank you, jun!”

“you better take care of ____, man. it’s dangerous around here during this time.”

he receives a rather heavy and condescending pat on the shoulder, and so, with his annoyance bubbling worse, he wears a passive aggressive smile on his face.

“yeah, of course i am,”

jun’s nostrils flare as he witnesses you sneakily slide your hands underneath jungkook’s hoodie in search of warmth.

“i’m here now, so there’s no need to worry about my girlfriend anymore.”

he nods, then forces himself to smile. “that’s good, then.”

“yeah, thanks. we’re leaving.”

“oh, okay. have a nice night!”

“you too,”

he turns on his heel and returns inside the busy establishment— but not before jungkook made sure that he saw the bruises on his knuckles that he got from his boxing sessions.

his jaw clenches as he glares at the door.

is he being petty? sure, to hell with that. he doesn’t care. he’s always been one to trust his gut, and he has a bad feeling.

he is met by a love-drunk smile when his undivided attention is at last given to you, in the form of fond eyes and affectionate strokes of your hair.

“who was that?”

“eh, new bartender,” you shrug with disinterest. “hm, i think he’s 31…? he’s nice but he keeps talking about wrestling.”

he raises an eyebrow at the mention of his age, while your lips form a sad pout.

what the hell? he thought he would be 25 at most.

“the tv has been in the same channel for the past two weeks because of him. it’s all i’ve been seeing! i don’t like it-” you whine in distress, quite frankly, a little traumatized.

an endeared smile is coaxed out of him at your adorableness, how your speech is a little slurred and how you’re looking at him like you’re begging him to do something about it.

“makes me nervous,”

his dominant hand closes into a fist.

if he only he had known. should’ve fucking punched the guy, give him a taste of what he seems to be a huge fan of.

“let’s watch something calming when we get home, how about that?”

you nod your head, eyes that twinkle with eagerness fluttering shut when he leans in for a much awaited kiss. how sweet, he feels a little more alive than before. he can smell it, even taste it— the peach margarita you started sipping on before the band’s first set. concocted by jun, he presumes. he pulls away with a small smile, licking his lips for the traces of you that clung to him.

out of the blue, you burst into a fit of giggles, weak knees buckling as your weight crashes on him.

“i missed you!”

“babe, are you seriously drunk?” he chuckles, holding you with a secure grip around your torso.

“maaaybe tipsy…? i was pretending not to be.” you stand on your tip-toes to nuzzle your face against his neck, mumbling sheepishly. “only trust you.”

—

“i should’ve accepted the umbrella.” you grunt childishly, body going limp on jungkook’s back, except for the arm holding up the umbrella that shields the both of you from the pouring rain.

“yah!” he scolds you, clearly not pleased with the words that just came from your mouth. “what does that mean?”

“i’m embarrassed! they’re probably feeling bad for you.”

the last sentence comes out as a whisper, pertaining to the side glances you’ve been attracting from strangers as you make your way to your boyfriend’s car.

unfortunately, he had to park somewhere far because the restobar’s parking lot was already full.

you jokingly complained about staining your white boots with dirt and mud, but you instantly regretted it when he bent down, signalling you to ride on his back without an ounce of hesitation.

“our shoulders always get wet when we share an umbrella,” he said. “if i carry you, wouldn’t it be better?”

“embarrassing? some would even say romantic!”

something peculiar happens then— when your lips ghost over his left cheek, planting an affectionate kiss there that lasts for seconds. you pull away with a smacking sound, giggly and bubbly, might be his favorite version of you.

“i love you,” you hum, grasping the umbrella upright before it could tip over.

he doesn’t know if you did it on purpose or not, kissing him precisely where his scar is, but his heart jumps in his chest when he feels it begin to throb.

as if the wound from his childhood has come alive. as if, once again, he is bleeding as he glares at his older brother, and he still wants to play games on the computer oblivious to the fact that it would leave a permanent scar, a brand new landmark on his body.

you mistake his silence for something else.

you frown, warm breath tickling his neck as you quietly ask. “are you still mad at me?”

he sighs, vision landing on the ground as his walking pace slows down. “no? i was wrong. i shouldn’t have questioned your decision in the first place… why would i be mad?”

you started playing the drums for your friend’s band two months ago, just as soon as he left for tour. you volunteered after witnessing how distraught they were when their drummer vanished without a trace. he learned that it used to be a hobby of yours from childhood until early teenage years, playing the drums, but it was robbed from you when your father took his instruments with him when he abandoned your home for another.

he was pleasantly surprised when he learned about it, recounted all the times your hands and fingers were drumming on any sort of surface and his head naturally bopped to the beat, but then again, you never brought it up.

isn’t ____ so cool? he would proudly say when he flaunts you to his friends, even the protocol team, who have never seen him so happy.

three times a week, from nine in the evening until midnight, your phone was propped up on an empty table infront of the stage, and him, on the other side of the globe, excitedly watched you from backstage while he was getting ready for their own show. some other times, he was in his hotel room, or the private jet. his patience has been tested by crappy wifi, nosy and noisy people, and his earphones that stopped working while you looked insanely attractive grooving to ‘why’d you only call me when you’re high?’ as you effortlessly played the drums. he showered you with compliments as you did for him. you’re working hard so he must do the same.

he arrived home from tour the other day, spent the rest of its hours sleeping. yesterday, he waited for you at school and then at work like a lost puppy, slept on your bed (if he’s being honest, the two of you didn’t do much sleeping) then woke up at 9am for work.

and he tried his best, he really did, to get out of the company early enough to catch you playing a song or two. after all, it was your last day at the job.

much as you enjoyed reconnecting with an old flame— loved the overflowing tips that came from those who were amazed by your talent (well, there were also those who were just trying to get into your pants), the moment that the old drummer got down on his knees begging to be taken back by his best friends, just like how you became a part of the band, you voluntarily stepped down.

jungkook didn’t agree with this decision. he didn’t understand why you’d sacrifice something that makes you happy for a person who fucked up and wasted what they had. you went back and forth over it on the phone until you cried, told him that it wasn’t easy for you, and he couldn’t hold you in his arms or kiss your face. he could only apologize, and it even felt insincere doing it through a screen.

maybe he’s only relieved that you no longer need to be around a man an entire decade older than he is, who is obviously interested in you and serves you alcohol drinks. no, that doesn’t sit right with him. he needs jun, or whatever the fuck his true name is, to stay very far away from his baby.

“i’m just sad that i never got to watch you perform in person.”

you rest your cheek on his shoulder, heavy eyelids slowly blinking as the headlights of a black van blindsides you.

what the fuck. too bright.

“me too…”

—

“i’m bored,” you release a dramatic sigh, stealing a glimpse of jungkook at the driver’s seat, just to see if you caught his attention like you intended.

his eyes are trained on the dashboard, however, focused on the navigation guide displayed on his phone. he isn’t very familiar with this part of the city. it took him more than an hour to arrive at the address you sent him, including the time he spent in the middle of traffic.

“forty-eight minutes, then we can do whatever you want.”

“whatever i want?”

he slows down the car, briefly turning his head to find you expectantly looking at him with wide, hopeful eyes.

“of course,” he laughs, taking one hand off the wheel to squish your cheeks together. “just tell me what it is, baby.”

he doesn’t catch the sad look that flashes across your face after you lose his touch.

“then i’ll tell you when i figure out what i want,” you say quietly.

“i thought you already had something in mind?”

“nope,” you answer with yet another sigh.

you choose to stare out the window in silence, body completely slumping into your seat in defeat.

jungkook’s senses are sharp, or he likes to believe so. “are you okay?”

“i’m okay,”

“you sure?”

“hmm,” you hum curtly, and then you close your eyes, so he decides not to press further despite wanting to.

he meets a red traffic light not long after that. and so, he hurriedly grabs the black fleece blanket in the backseat. he envelopes you in it, crossing the distance between you to softly press his lips onto yours for a goodnight kiss. he feels you respond, albeit lazily, and he smirks cockily when you lift yourself up to chase him for one more, please— desperately, to get your fill of goodnight kisses from the many nights that you missed it.

the time seems to tick excruciatingly slow now that you’re quiet. a minute is multiplied by a hundred. the steady rhythm of your breathing keeps him sane throughout dark avenues and encounters with reckless drivers of the midnight scene.

he missed you. he missed you so much, and he knows that you’re tired from university, and tutoring high school students in english, and playing the drums for more than two hours… but he selfishly wishes that you’re awake right now so he can make up for the two months that you were apart.

be careful of what you wish for, they said.

jungkook should know better by now.

“i can’t sleep,” he hears you whisper in a dulcet tone that indirectly tells him you’re in need of some love… but he isn’t given the chance to act upon that request because you’re already all over what it is that you need.

he swallows thickly, glancing down at your hand that has somehow found its way to his inner thigh— zeroing in on your red nails, can feel them faintly grazing his skin.

you’re so pretty. everywhere.

even when naked and bare.

no, especially. it’s all he can think about.

he can draw you from memory.

“____,” he utters your name through gritted teeth, heart beginning to race a thousand miles per second in his chest.

the effect of your teasing touch is instantaneous, slowly inching closer and closer to where his growing erection is. his eyes remain focused on the road, but he fears that he’ll start thinking with his dick soon if you carry on with this act a few seconds longer.

“shit, not now, baby- please- not while i’m driving.”

your bottom lip is caught between your teeth, poorly concealing a self-satisfied smirk, and you pretend not to hear a single word from his plea.

a minx, that’s what you are, always causing trouble and blurring lines in his eyes.

“____, i’m not joking around. don’t make me mad-”

his warning is cut short by-

“fuck… fuck,” he curses, filter flying out the window once he feels you tracing the outline of his hard-on, the feather-light touch of your fingers smoothly gliding across the fabric of his sweatpants, and he completely loses it when your soft palm caresses his cock, so gentle that it feels almost innocent.

okay, so he couldn’t feel it because you weren’t skin-to-skin, but he knows that your hands are soft, can feel his imagination running wilder because he has memorized the way they feel on most parts of his body.

you’re so incredibly nasty and evil for this— squeezing him lightly, taking advantage of how sensitive he’s gotten, making him tremble as pleasure shoots up his spine. his breath stutters in his lungs and he unconsciously pushes harder on the gas.

and although it means fighting every fiber of his being that painfully yearns for more, he seizes your wrist in an iron grip, placing your hand over the gearstick while his sits heavy on top of yours.

“____! behave! you’re going to get us killed!”

he watches you jut out your bottom lip through the rearview mirror, eyes hazy with lust staring down at where your hand used to be, and then his handsome face. he is evidently flushed, honey skin dusted with a rosy pink. all the way to the tips of his ears, down to his neck.

while he’s driving? really?

doesn’t this only happen in wet dreams?

you are not real.

“then pull over,” you plead. “please?”

he releases a shaky breath. you’re always so needy with alcohol in your system, drove him into total insanity while he couldn’t be here to give you what you wanted.

“no, you need to learn how to be patient… told you we can do whatever you want when we get home, right?”

wrong move.

the silence returns, and just when he thought that you went back to your journey to slumber, the sound of your sniffles fill the car.

jungkook’s heart breaks into a million pieces.

also, he wants to slam his head against the steering wheel.

you make it so fucking hard to resist you; you always get what you want. it becomes much harder when he is the subject of your desire and he loves being loved.

“haven’t i been patient enough…? i missed you so much.”

“and i missed you too!” he brings your intertwined hands to his lips, pressing them on your skin. “fuck, you have no idea how much… please, don’t cry.”

“then pull over,” you stubbornly insist, and he is so close to driving this car into a lamp post. “fuck me at the backseat.”

“can’t,” he mumbles, sounding almost pained, and he is. he wants you so bad, it hurts. “we’re going to have to do it without protection.”

“what do you mean?” you exclaim.

you rip your hand away from his, not wasting time in unlocking the glove compartment, and a sound of sheer disappointment escapes from your mouth as you collapse back on your seat.

“jungkook, i hate you!”

“well right now i hate myself too!” he cries out in frustration. “i didn’t have the time to buy more, okay?”

“and there’s not one in your wallet?”

“babe, are you serious?!”

“what?!”

somehow, his hands still expertly swivels the steering wheel as the car meets a curve.

but he feels dizzy. the ghost of your touch is still there, a promise of carnal pleasure unfulfilled.

“stop the car,” you say out of the blue, rather calmly, and that terrifies the shit out of him.

he swallows the lump in his throat, eyes switching between you and the road in panic. “huh?”

“i said stop the car, i’m stepping out.”

“babe, come on,” he moans, ruined and tormented. he reaches for your hand but you scoot further away from him, and he ignores the way his heart drops to his stomach as he kneads your exposed thigh instead. “please, don’t be like this. i just got home.”

“jungkook! if you don’t let me get off this car right now, i swear!”

the urgency embedded in your threatening voice leaves your boyfriend with no choice but to pull over to the side of the street as soon as he gets the chance.

he carries on to unbuckle his seatbelt.

“baby, stop being stu-”

he tries to reach for you, but he is rudely ignored as you hop off the car and slam the door shut on his face.

“…bborn…”

he blinks.

he inhales. he exhales.

and then he buries his face in his hands to scream… as quietly as possible.

“what the fuck was in that margarita?!”

—

jungkook steps out of the car worried sick about you. now wearing a black bucket hat, his head whips in different directions in search for the familiar shape of your body, your hair, your shirt that is his, anything.

his arm rests on top of the car door, the other on the roof, fingers drumming on it anxiously as he chews on his bottom lip.

there are mostly restaurants here, it seems. some are already closed, some are still lights on. not far away, he hears a karaoke place bursting with music and laughter. he looks up and he finds that the night sky remains barren of stars; there’s no guidance from the heavens that will lead him to you.

except for the sound of your sweet voice calling out his name.

he turns around, and he knows it’s going to sound extremely silly, but damn, you make his life feel like a movie— because you’re jogging towards him, and the universe begins moving in slow motion. perhaps it is to prevent him from falling on his knees in relief, because he genuinely thought that you already went home on your own like the stubborn brat that you are.

“____, where did you go?! you can’t just run off like that! seriously, that was not nice!”

“i forgot my wallet!” you squeal as you halt infront of him, slapping your forehead as a way to scold yourself. “i found a hotteok cart!”

his anger quickly dissipitates. he scans your face, mouth agape in bewilderment.

you, screaming at him to stop the car because there was a sighting of your favorite snack? makes sense.

he dishes out the wallet from his pocket. “wha- i thought you… you didn’t have money?”

you shake your head to answer his question.

“then how are you already eating?”

you take another bite from the hot hotteok you’re holding in a paper cup, and then you shrug.

“i was already eating when i realized it,” you point at yourself, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “so he let me run back here. does it look like this face would steal?”

“you’re impossible!” he bursts out laughing, the unique sound of his joy harmonizing with the mundane noises of the city.

he is thoroughly amused and in awe of your undeniable charm never failing to work its magic. if you just gave it a shot, you might be even better at him at his job.

you’re pliant as he captures your wrist, tugging you away with him so he can lock the car.

“i bought three, by the way.” you note as the two of you start walking, with you clinging to his side. “the last three then mister can go home.”

you put the hotteok near his mouth, and he pauses to take a big bite. “have you even had dinner?”

“just the four margaritas- they were yummy! or was it five?”

he clicks his tongue in disappointment, but he doesn’t get to say anything more about it because you’ve reached the hotteok cart, and he’s already handing the vendor the money.

“thank you!” he bows his head politely as he accepts the remaining two you mentioned earlier, handing them over to you.

“no, this is yours.” you speak with tenderness, giving back one of the cups to him. “then we’ll split the third one. it’s really good!”

the vendor secretly watches the interaction with a fond smile as he packs up to finally, finally end his long day working at the busy streets of seoul.

—

you’re sat together on the hood of jungkook’s car as you share a midnight snack. with caring hands, you rip the hotteok apart in perfect halves, offering the other to your lover. he accepts it in between his teeth.

“do you want drums as your christmas gift?”

“love,” you search for the words to say as you chew the food in your mouth. “i can barely fit in my apartment. where am i going to put a drum set…? not to mention that i can’t even cry without my neighbor hearing it.”

his shoulders drop in dejection, and you rub your boyfriend’s back in an attempt to comfort him.

“you must really want to see me play, don’t you?”

“i’m dying to,” he says in pure jungkook fashion, tone dramatic and thick with an accent that is entirely his. “i can’t believe there were regulars who saw you every night, while i, your boyfriend, didn’t even see you once…! even that fucking bartender… this- this can’t be right! do you think this makes sense? no, right?”

“aw, my baby,” you coo at him, jutting out your bottom lip as you tenderly cup his face.

“i don’t trust him, by the way,” he scoffs. “as much as possible, stay away from him when you visit, alright…? if i see him touching you one more time, i don’t know what i’ll end up doing to him.”

“i don’t like him either,” you giggle. “so that’s easy.”

he stares at your bloodshot eyes. damn it, you haven’t sobered up.

“____, i’m serious. he’s weird. i’m worried about you but i can’t always be here to protect you.”

you blink at him innocently. “i am too! serious!”

“you promise me?”

“i promise!”

he nods, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he gets lost in the sea of his own thoughts. “i should talk to your friends about this, too. is that okay?”

“if that will ease your mind,” you half-smile, heart fluttering in your chest because you feel so cherished.

comfortable silence follows suit.

the hotteok is still soft and warm and sweet. if your love had to be delivered to his doorstep, it would in the form of your favorite food.

he sighs to gain more of your sympathy, basking in the attention he’s receiving from you. he missed this. he missed you. he sounds like a broken record, but it’s true.

“come ooon, don’t be sad! i’ll make it up to you! but it’s a surprise!”

“surprise?” he eyes you with suspicion. “what surprise?”

“just trust me, alright?”

you poke his cheek where his dimples are, and you witness them pop out as he copies your contagious smile.

“can i make a guess?”

“nope!”

you fit the remaining piece of your hotteok in your mouth, jumping off the hood of the car. you stand before him as you wipe your hands clean with a small paper napkin.

“don’t you dare. if you guess it right then my plans will be ruined!”

—

you’re back on the passenger seat to travel the remaining twenty-seven minutes to your apartment.

jungkook melts into the tenderness of your touch as he drives. you’re tracing the toned muscles of his arms; stroking his hair, his face, and the smell of the sticky brown sugar from the hotteok still lingers on your skin.

“when are you going to start getting tattoos?” you wonder out loud as he intertwines your fingers together on top of his thigh. “i think you’d look so pretty.”

“i’m planning on it.”

his heart skips a beat at the thought of you remembering that he wants his skin artfully inked as you absentmindedly distracted yourself with it.

he licks his lips, smiling as he looks over at you. “you really think so? pretty?”

“hm, hot, too,” you stick your tongue out playfully, and he snorts out a laugh. “but as long as you’re happy, then nothing else matters.”

“of course- wait, yah! you still need to eat dinner.” he reminds you once he recognizes the path you’re taking.

a grocery store is not more than a kilometer away, if his memory serves him right.

“what do you want? i don’t mind cooking.”

“for you to fuck me, that’s what i want. you won’t mind that, too?”

oh my fucking god.

he wishes you were passed out drunk instead so he wouldn’t have to suffer this battle between self-control and his insatiable appetite for you.

“baby, aren’t you still sore from this morning?”

“a little,” he notices you squeezing your thighs together from his peripheral, and along with it, the bruises on your knees from when you worshipped his body last night. “but i want you.”

your giggles in reaction to him frustratedly running his fingers through his hair seems to only fuel the dirty thoughts in his head. he uncomfortably shifts in his seat to adjust himself.

“can you just bring it up when we get near your house? you’re killing me over here!”

“but why? i’m having fun.” you bring your tangled hands over to your side, peppering the back of his hand with innocent kisses. “i love you. you’re so cute.”

“are you… are you seriously calling me cute after what you just asked me to fuck you?”

his disbelief is challenged by your amusement.

“why not? being one dimensional? boring. being different things all at once? sexy.”

jungkook doesn’t need to see you play the drums to know that you are the only one capable of making his heart beat like this. to feel it pounding, it turns out there’s another way besides performing, he can just be alone with you. a different type of addictive exhilaration. he isn’t at the top of the world; he free falls as it revolves around you.

you always know the right words to say, because right now, he is preening. he’s wearing a big smile, the kind that looks like he’s laughing, but he’s not— almost. the kind that reaches his eyes, shapes them into little crescent moons.

how did he get so lucky?

rehearsals in the morning be damned, he will be fucking you good all night.

you make a noise of confusion when the car swerves into the trees at the side of the road.

“what are we doing here?”

jungkook only spares you a glance. “get in the backseat, baby.”

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

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#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook drabble #jungkook one shot #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts fluff #bts reaction #bts imagine #bts fanfic

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comfortless · 11 months ago

Note

hades! konig and persephone! reader

content/warnings: 18+ minors do not interact. abduction, voyeurism, dubcon, not very explicit smut.

notes: this has been on my mind for an eternity actually thank you sweet anon for finally encouraging me to write it out! if you celebrate, merry christmas! and if not consider this just a lil gift for absolutely no reason apart from for being my first Kö request. 💕

A hollow grows within him the moment his gaze meets hers. A chance crossing whilst collecting a rare offering of fruit laid out just for him. Most mortals wouldn’t beckon his attention, and the gods often left him just as well. He knows better than to take insult and become reckless, though… recklessness comes as easily as breathing when his stare settles on her across the glade. She twirls in silent dance, pirouetting carefully as if to avoid crushing the nature that springs up, brushing against her soles. Her voice picks up in a song when she notes the figure watching her from a distance, her cadence no less beautiful than any choir despite the flighty waver in her tone.

When the nymphs rise up from the stream to listen, he stands transfixed for a moment as they pull her in with them for a more elaborate dance, voices all melding until they break into a chorus of giggles and stories.

It should have been left at that.

She walks an earth made for her; flowers blossoming beneath her bare soles, each root extending for just a chance to brush against tender flesh, a breeze that flits gently against her hair. The daughter of Demeter, something unattainable, too precious to be dirtied by the howling abyss below her feet.

He is tethered to darkness and unknowns, an enigma with dried blood beneath his fingernails; the only songs he hears are screams. He’s since stolen flowers from the meadows she dances in. Beautiful peonies and soft green things that smell sweet. Flowers don’t bloom in the dark, they wither and dry.

Days are spent in melancholic longing, nights his roaring grief melds with the wailing of lost souls. Ugly and tainted noises that he dreams will reach her ears, that she will come to him with her lashes wet with tears, wrap him in her arms and quiet all but her own voice as she tells him that he’s more beautiful than her rivers and her blooms.

Yet, she never does.

König takes it upon himself to walk the land of mortals, teemed with life and pleasures more often now. He pulls himself from below with unnatural fire behind his eyes, a horrible, yearning abyss in place of the feathery, clumsy love that he’s watched so many others allow for themselves.

She notices him while he watches her bathe amongst the nymphs, stood upright and imposing beneath the shade of a tree. Each time, while the nymphs shy away with giggles and hands curled over their breasts, she merely keeps her eyes on him; lips-parted and pulse raging. He knows, would swear by it, that his obsession is not entirely one-sided.

Once, she chooses to wave at him, a demure flick of her wrist while his stare remains fixed upon her. The droplets of water from the curve of her neck, down to the swell of her breasts and the pebbled nipples there— down, further into the water that envelopes her and sends his mind to flicker, a roaring flame building from his chest to his groin.

All of his frustrations pale and cower at the fantasy that he just may be able to grant himself the liberty of sinking into something writhing and warm from just one, simple gesture.

He knows he’s fucked, because his first thought after the lullaby of attraction subsides is to poke her just a little; prod her and see what makes her cry the hardest, blanket her in the shadow of himself and pick her apart like a vulture to a cadaver, do things to her that no man ever has or should. It’s not right, and he has to force himself to turn away, the fabric of the veil obscuring his face as he slinks back into the dark where he belongs. Away from the untouchable maiden who seems to haunt him endlessly with her teasing.

The giggles and splashes of the nymphs whisper through the air like the chirping of birds. Though, one voice stands out above the rest of the noise, causes him to halt in his tracks.

“Why does he never speak to us?”

Her voice, so sweet, asking about him when she should be speaking of nothing but the beauty surrounding her, the warmth of the sun and never the cold darkness of the moon.

It’s eating away at him, he realizes, when he can no longer satisfy himself. Nights lain in a haze, staring up at blackened walls with his length in hand. All it takes is the memory of wet lashes and a soft smile, usually. Her beauty is enough to bring even him to his knees, yet, he finds himself instead on the brink of hysteria the first night he finds a vision of her is not sufficient enough to reach the brilliant white haze of a climax.

The thought of stealing her away from her world of beauty to drag her down into the dark with him fills him with both elation and a terrible guilt. Zeus himself is no different; the thought shouldn’t warrant a seeping coldness in his veins, nor should it have caused him to spill his seed into his hand with only a mere flick of the pad of his thumb over his tip, yet it accomplishes both. A waste, when it should be buried deep inside of his beloved.

It takes only two nights for him to plot, to have Gaia choose to favor him, and on the third day the Narcissus flower blooms, pretty and golden. It echoes false promises, softness and beauty beyond even the daughter of Demeter’s imaginations. She will hate him, she will. Her very soul will sour the moment she lays her eyes on him next, but eventually… she will come to understand, return his love with a whisper of her own. Lightly, at best, but it would still be more than he had ever known.

He watches the roots of the plant from below, a pinprick of warm light shining down. The thumps of footsteps overhead, shaking down loose soil like raindrops, giggles like crackling thunder. She’s roaming about with her nymphs again, gentle with her and all of her beauty. After watching her for so very long, he’s more than certain they will be braiding the flowers and falling asleep after fits of laughter with the taste of fruit on their tongues. Only, she’s condemned herself by being so predictable. She will fall, not into soft grasses with a woman’s arms thrown over her, but directly into his own. She won’t eat the fruit of the earth, but drink his wine and allow him to lose himself in her flesh, bedded down against the pelts of beasts and blackened out by shadows.

The wait isn’t long. Her voice breaks through the quiet of the earth below her feet, seems to light up even the space between the two of them as her footfalls halt only several paces away.

“Look at this one!,” she calls out.

Several steps follow after her as one of the ladies of the river comes to join her. He imagines the smile on his beloved’s face, the way her body curves as she kneels down to his trap and his fingers twitch in anticipation of what’s to come.

“Maybe not that one, sweet,” the nymph warns. “There are prettier ones by the bank.”

König can feel his jaw tighten, eyelids pausing to narrow up at the small light as he tries, forces himself to believe that this was fated. She wouldn’t turn away— she couldn’t.

“No... just look at it. We’ve not seen one so lovely since last spring.”

“What if someone else planted it for themselves?”

“But… I want it.”

She sounds so pitiful, so gentle, and he can feel that swell of heat curling inside of him again. The urge to simply love her feels all-consuming with each word that passes from her mouth.

The two above giggle to themselves at her mischief, before finally, the roots begin to move from a gentle tug above. In a matter of seconds, the entire plant has been uprooted. For a daughter of nature to not long for its beauty would be unrealistic, yet he still exhales his relief. The earth riots beneath the women’s feet, splintering cracks and loud discordance echo through the valley. The nymph’s shrieks join the disarray as her featherlight footfalls lead her far, far away from what belongs to him: the dark, the rot, and now her.

With so little time to react, she falls headfirst into the abyss, clutching the narcissus tightly between her soft breasts. Waiting arms are raised to the glimpse of sun and beauty to catch her as he pulls her tightly against his chest, tucks her head against a broad shoulder and grasps at her waist. Whatever he had imagined her flesh to feel like paled in comparison to her warmth, the softness that gives with each press of a digit that makes her tense beneath his touch.

She’s crying, shaking, terrified as she weakly raises her head and offers him a smile. It’s the kind of smile that screams savior, and he can’t bring himself to correct her. No one has ever looked at him with such tenderness.

Everything quiets the moment she looks up to him like that, after condemning herself to him as though she knows nothing of men and gods. She looks at him like he’s an angel, in turn he bites his tongue so hard he can feel the pinpricks of blood and soreness blossom from the wound. He knows he isn’t good, but the heavens have got their filth, too.

“Thank you.” She speaks in a whisper as the world above falls back into place, blanketing them both in shadow and the scent of soil and brimstone. Politeness seems unnecessary, now, though he places her gently onto her feet.

He’s far too mesmerized to stop himself from dropping to his knees in front of her and trailing a hand from her knee to her thigh, squeezing flesh so warm that the very feeling lingers pleasantly against his palm.

If a god couldn’t pluck him from this emptiness and set him on a right path, perhaps a goddess could, as he has always imagined. It’s only confirmed the instant he realizes she isn’t flinching away from his touch.

“I didn’t save you,” he explains calmly.

He’s struck down titans, claimed rulership over the underworld, and yet nothing has made him feel smaller than the fretful look in her eyes as she looks down to him kneeling before her like little more than a common man. As if to provide comfort, selfishly to himself, his massive hands drift higher to rest on her hips still wet with river water and blades of grass clinging to her just as he has longed to do. For what’s felt like an eternity of waiting, of pining, only to have it end with something as simple as a flower.

“I brought you here.”

She’s still beautiful when she cries; a palm is clasped over her mouth, eyes swimming as she trembles in his grip. Of course, she knows what this is about without ever having to ask, yet she still does as if to plead him to tell her that her thoughts are all wrong— that she’s safe and will return to her lovely friends, to her mother that would assuredly be worried sick and furious.

The rise to his feet feels like a mile long stretch, whilst he keeps her caged between the dirty wall and the vast expanse of chest. He shushes her with a gentle tone, wipes her tears away with the ghosting of fingertips before pushing up the veil covering his face to lie claim to her mouth as though his very life depended upon it. Perhaps it did. Though he did not fear Demeter, nor his brothers should she call upon them, he feared not having this ethereal, gentle thing at his side. He feared the creep of loneliness that ravaged his bed each night.

She sighs against his mouth, but does not reciprocate. Everything about her is tense and stressed, a wild mare preparing to kick out for the first time. His tongue lolls out to lap against her soft lips, just twice before he forces himself to part from her.

His beloved brushes away stray tears from her cheeks with the meat of her palms, shivering just a little as she tries to force herself to straighten up, appear braver despite the way she teeters on the edge of falling apart so easily before him. The heavy gaze of obsession fixed upon his face turns further predacious when she apologizes for not being able to help herself in response.

“I didn’t know it was yours,” she explains, holding out the ruined flower to him in one, shaking hand. She protests in her own way, eternally kind, but it all falls on deaf ears as he brushes the petals from her palm and takes her up into his arms again. With an arm beneath the backs of her knees and the other wrapped tightly around her middle, he leads her deeper into the underworld.

A mere taste wouldn’t do.

Her protests are nothing more than soft sniffles when he does take her to his bed of pelts, her arm even thrown over his shoulder as her body presses tightly to him. He thinks for only a moment that he could take his time, stop this all before she truly does grow to loathe him, but the descent into the bed only fortifies his resolve; his belief that this gentle woman of the earth, who smells of magnolia and clear waters belonged entirely to him. For now and forevermore.

“You are to be my wife.”

That quiets her for a moment, her eyes finally meeting his once more as he hovers over her, a palm to either side of her head. She has a mind to shyly curl her hand against her chest then, centered between her breasts which rise and fall with each flighty breath. It’s not panic, but more— curiosity, a misleading thing that he takes to be acceptance until she graces him with a mere murmur of her voice again.

“I don’t belong here.”

König knows that she doesn’t belong in a place like this, for all her grace to be lost to the cold, the rot; his kingdom is nothing but a wasteland riddled with the dead and subjects who take up the mantle of cruelty in his stead. The thought of actually allowing her to go instills rage and melancholy so quickly, he curls his fingers into the fur below to keep himself from flinching.

“You will.”

A digit reaches to trail across her bottom lip, tentative, but the need to touch overwhelms him past the point of caring for much else. To his amazement, she still does not push him away.

“How could that be?”

He doesn’t respond.

More than bedding her, a matter more pressing pushes to the forefront of his mind. Though he knows the likelihood of anyone being aware of her disappearance is nonexistent, a mere whisper from the beaks of crows by this time, he would do well to ensure that she wasn’t leaving. Just as every other soul resigned to dwell here with him, she too would remain.

“You’re famished,” he whispers the suggestion as he splays a palm out over her bare abdomen, only backing away enough to allow her a small length of space between them.

Her concerned stare shoots from his palm to his veil in an instant before she weakly nods her head and props herself up on her elbows.

“Quite… yes.”

She allows herself to be pulled into his lap without a fuss, doesn’t make mention of the hardened cock beneath her. His mind is swimming with the fantasies that kept him tame on so many nights without her as he presses his nose against her temple. A shallow intake of breath, and her lips part readily for him as he pushes the sweet pomegranate seed into her mouth, savoring the brush of her tongue against his fingertip. She eats without thought, never knowing how she’s tethered herself to his plane.

There’s an offering of sweet wine followed by a gathering of honeysuckle for her to sip the nectar from as well before he’s convinced she’s pliant enough. Despite the desire raging within him for all of this time, he would not be cruel to her. The thought of hurting this sweet, little dream doesn’t excite him. It’s her love that he wants, not her anguish.

He lies her back with sweet whispers, gentle caresses as he listens to her murmurs in response. She speaks of the stories only small creatures would know; the way the winds change and the rivers flood, the prettiest places she’s been. No fruit has ever tasted sweeter to her than the pomegranate, and nothing has ever filled him with such emotion as the moment he penetrates her.

He speaks to her through it, tries to, whilst he’s overcome with a pleasure that assuredly no other has ever had the blessing of. She affixes herself perfectly to him, clinging to him as he takes her with gentle thrusts. Gritted teeth and barely contained grunts are met with dulcet mewls as her hands reach for his. His heart aches, truly, at the knowledge that she isn’t meant for this place; his kingdom is nothing but suffering, and she belongs beneath the sun in meadows of flowers. His last thrust is deep, reminds him of the places he dares not tread often, the domains of his brothers, pillow soft clouds and a heaven far above, lost to him.

It’s her consoling him when he fills her to bursting with his seed— delicate arms curling around his head, cradling him against her breasts as she silenced the tears he hadn’t even realized he had shed. He had damned her, yet her soul had not soured; not all flowers withered in the dark.

The endless night is easier on his beloved after the first. She visits with the other souls and comes to him for comfort when the screams and cries in the darkness become too much to bear. She’s less fragile than he had anticipated when she demands he bring her home, and those demands so often end with little else than König taking her into his arms to lead her elsewhere. The underworld can be beautiful too, when seated upon a throne being hand fed by a man that knows little more than to blanket her in as much softness as he can muster. He tells her of the titanomachy, of the white tree, of anything to keep her entertained. His tongue does not shy from telling her that he loves her, too, often met with a shy glance or a soft giggle. Not outright disdain, and for now it feels enough.

She cries often, in longing for her mother and her friends, though never over this love she had never sought herself. Her loneliness only fuels her need for comfort. Selfishly, he believes that he’s saved the night she willingly wraps her arms around him, pulls him close and falls asleep nestled against his chest.

— — —

With the reliance on mortal offerings and Demeter’s anguish having been brought to light with seasons of failed harvests, it was only a matter of time before she was forced away from him. The months without her feel dreadful and empty, but he doesn’t dare disturb her while she walks the earth at her mother’s side. The agreement was beneficial for all of the gods and goddesses, and he knew better than to tread upon it by rushing to her like little more than a pleading dog. When winter took hold, bathing the lands in its icy touch and withering the plants she cherished and freezing over the rivers her nymphs played in, she would return to him as she must.

Each time is different. His beloved is not simply a thoughtless vessel as many of his subordinates. She is the most incredible thing he’s ever had the joy of meeting.

When she returns in tears, calling to him for his comfort he does not hesitate to kiss them all away and remind her that her summers will return and everything above will be just as it was on the day that he brought her below.

Sometimes, she’s angry, jealous even. She asks him often why he doesn’t come to see her while she’s away. He is her husband, after all. Was there anyone else in which he spent his nights with? Someone fairer than even she? The satisfaction of seating her on his cock, satisfying her as she does him on their shared throne far out rivals even ruling the domain itself. He would do anything to prove to her that she was his only; the sole thing he even thought of whilst her mind was filled with new songs and tales from the nymphs she spent her time away with.

Never has she returned with a gift.

Yet, she stumbles back into his realm clutching a small satchel, dripping with the scent of a juice sweet and familiar. A pleasant smile paints her features as she seats herself next to him on the throne. The bench of marble felt far too vast and dreadful to hold someone so delicate, the sight is something he’s grown accustomed to; emptiness is replaced with familiarity seeing her interact with anything here. It may not be home to her, but something in the way she looks to him— as she always had with tenderness, makes him question if a part of her sees him as home.

“I’ve brought something back for you,” she chimes as she pats her thigh.

Each time was different, but it had never been like this before.

He pulls himself to her side before slumping down to rest his head against her, tracing his fingertips along the length of her leg as his gaze drops almost sheepishly.

“Did you?”

She hums in reply, plucking one of the seeds from the satchel before slipping her hand beneath the veil to feed him. His lips part as he takes in the flavor of the aril, the honeyed taste almost akin to the look in her eyes.

“Just like…” She trails off for a moment as she lowers her head to press a kiss to the cheek of his veiled face. The delicate laugh that follows is unlike any he’s heard from her prior, it’s unique, saved solely for him.

“The six that I fed to you?” He asks her quietly, as he pulls himself away from her to meet her eyes directly. The air around them feels thick, loosely charged with a feeling that he can’t quite place; an intensity that he’s never felt before. Any groaning or wailing off in the abyss is silent now, just quiet words spoken.

Things have always felt warmer since her descent, but he’s learned to not expect anything more than she was willing to give. Still, hope cinches his heart tighter than it ever did prior. Even in battle, slaying his father alongside his brothers, he had never felt his heart race the way it does now.

She nods her head, opening up the satchel just wide enough to reveal the other five arils.

“I don’t think that I understand.”

“You should.”

He mulls over that for a moment before the fog finally clears. Any doubt that he had is remedied by a mere two words. He stares at her dumbly, searching her eyes for any hint that this is some horrible, cruel trick; that the implication is something he’s horribly misunderstood.

She couldn’t possibly come to love him… could she?

“To tie you to me,” she says softly.

The smile remains on her face when she closes the distance to kiss him. Not over the veil, but beneath it this time.

Her descent was one of a selfish longing, and his felt as though he was plunging into a world of flowers.

#König x reader #konig x reader #könig x you #konig x you #König #konig #cod fanfiction #konig fanfiction #cod fanfic

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arabellas · 1 year ago

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and I still talk to you when I'm screaming at the sky and when you can't sleep at night you hear my stolen lullabies

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games: the ballad of songbirds and snakes #thgedit #tbosas #tbosasedit #lucy gray baird #coriolanus snow #movieedit #filmedit #dailyflicks #cinematv #chewieblog #filmtv #televisiongifs #tusercora #nessa007 #useraurore #mine #when digital version of the movie comes out it's over for you all i have too many edit ideas

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after-witch · 12 days ago

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You Never Come Back, Not All the Way [Yandere Shigaraki x Reader]

Title: You Never Come Back, Not All the Way [Yandere Shigaraki x Reader]

Synopsis: You haven't thrown up in months, but all you want to do is eat. Part of the It's My Party series.

Word count: 2500ish

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, graphic eating disorder behavior including internal thoughts & actions

Outside, the world is moving and shaking, or so you hear. Villain attacks, media censorship, frightened people that don’t want to stay out late at night.

All of this is told to you by Tomura, who murmurs these things at an almost lullaby pace at night. Like it should lull you to sleep to know that he is (or he thinks he is) closer to his goal than ever before.

Inside, none of that matters. Attacks, heroes, villains, none of it makes a dent. All you can think about--all you know for certain in this capsule of a room you’re kept in is--

You want food.

No, not just food. You want something rich and hearty. Something you can dip into chili or stew, something that will pair well with watching a cooking challenge show or a scene from a restaurant in a movie.

Bread would be nice. Nice bread would be even nicer.

Not stale sandwich bread found in dumpsters or last-chance cheap brand pre-sliced white bread that was priced down to practically nothing (and it was stolen before it made its way to your plate, anyway).

But real bread, the kind you buy in loaves, the kind you can rip into hunks before spreading rich butter on it. The kind you stick on top of a bowl of stew so that it gets soft and the butter melts into the bread a little bit.

The kind you dip into a stew, sopping up all the delicious rich beef and hearty vegetables before taking a big, chewy bite.

Oh, fuck. Just one loaf of that kind of bread, please.

It would be bliss.

If you asked, Tomura might try to get it for you. “Try” being the key word. You’d probably get a dented can of beef stew and one of those pre-sliced loaves of “French bread” that was always too soft and tasteless to really be satisfying.

That’s what your life is, at the moment. Always having to settle for not-quite-the-same; settle for things that aren’t what you wanted but you’ll take them because it’s as close as you’ll get.

It’s not fair. None of it is.

For another more pertinent example, you would also really love to throw up right now.

Yes, yes, you’re supposed to be recovering. You’re not supposed to want to do that anymore. Tomura sits on you and distracts you and tells you that he likes you, so you don’t need to worry about things like weight. (He doesn’t get, no matter how much you try to tell him, that it’s not about how you look. Not really. It’s about what’s inside, literally, and you want to rip it all out.)

You think it’s the hunger that makes you want to throw up. Ironically enough. You’re not starving, exactly, but Tomura doesn’t exactly have an abundance of food. It’s not just you that needs to get fed, but the rest of the “League,” too.

So those little hunger pangs that used to make you crow when you achieved them on purpose are now, instead, frustrating you. Making you sad. Making you feel weak.

Making you want to eat.

Right now--

You’d love to stuff your face with as much food as possible (the thought of ordering multiple pizzas comes to mind, or making a vat of something rich, spaghetti or a stew, and devouring it one night) and puke it out into the toilet.

You’d love to feel the rush of adrenaline when you’re mid-session, the lightness that comes from emptying the contents of your stomach and watching it flush away. That feeling of power (however fake, and you know it’s so fucking fake, you’re not in control and never have been) that flushes your chest while vomit swirls down the toilet.

But you can’t, for various reasons.

One, the toilet here is very unreliable. It clogs sometimes with just a little pee and paper, never mind what it might do with thick clumps of carb-heavy vomit. You’ve had to convince Tomura regarding the concept of a “courtesy flush,” something you never want to relive again on pain of death.

Two, you don’t have enough food to actually binge and purge. There’s no abundance of food like there used to be, before he kidnapped you. So the act would just leave you empty, empty, empty--with nothing to fill it with later. Whether you keep it down the second time or not.

You just have to settle for not-quite-the-same. Which, at the moment, means chewing a muffin topped with possibly just-about-to-turn butter as slowly as possible. Savoring it. Imagining that you’re back home and you have an entire tray to eat.

In reality, you have just three, and they’re supposed to last you all day. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Combined with pre-cooked egg cups that taste smelly when you microwave them, and a few scattered bags of chips. But chips and eggs aren’t great for this not-quite-the-same activity. The texture isn’t the same… chips get stuck in your teeth, and there’s nothing satisfying about chewing an egg.

So a muffin it is.

You chew slowly, licking at your teeth with every bite so that the muffin doesn’t stick as much to your molars. The slowness, the solitude, gives you too much time to think.

How long has it been since you threw up, anyway? Tomura (a small part of your brain says: you’re calling him Tomura? This nasty villain who has kidnapped you and wants to destroy life as you know it--you’re calling him Tomura?!”) went from positioning himself in front of the bathroom door to laying on you to keeping a watchful eye whenever you eat a decent meal.

But even his watchful eye had more or less vanished, since you’ve been eating and�� doing nothing after.

And now, he trusts you to be alone. Even with food. Even with meals. Like he doesn’t even consider the idea that you’ll do it, because you haven’t, and you haven’t really wanted to, not in the same way, not-quite-and-all-that.

He trusts that you’re getting better. And some part of you is, but not in a way that leaves you feeling good. It’s a way that leaves you feeling--what? Pathetic? Like you’ve lost? Like you gave away something about yourself that made you better (it didn’t--it doesn’t) and now you’re just some good little moron who eats and keeps it inside.

And it makes you feel empty. Not in the way you like.

You just feel so hollow, whether he’s here, whether he’s not. Whether he watches you after you eat or doesn’t bother to look or leaves you alone, trusting that you’ll be fine.

You’re alone right now, in fact, aren’t you? Until late tonight, if he comes back when he says he will.

The thought hits you too hard, and your hand pauses, half-eaten muffin trembling in mid-air.

He’s not here. He won’t be back for a long time. You could eat this muffin. You could wash it down with sink water, then eat the rest of the muffins, and all of the microwave egg meals, and every bag of half-eaten chips in this messy room, and then lean over the toilet and--

Before you know it, the heavy temptation has you sitting in front of the toilet, knees pressed hard against the tile. The half-eaten muffin is still in your hand, and you hold it up, tasting the clumpy crumbles stuck to the bottom of your front teeth.

The familiar scent of the bathroom, the feel of the hard tile pressing against your knees, almost makes puke come up on instinct.

But, fuck, it’s been so long since you did it. You’ve been so good.

What if…

What if you just don’t puke? That would be okay. It would be safer. You wouldn’t get dizzy, and he wouldn’t be able to smell the vomit, there’d be no chance he’ll find the splashback under the rim and get pissed off afterwards.

Because you’d just be chewing and spitting it out, right? No biggie.

So--you chew. Chew and chew until the crumbs are all wet and stuck together. Then you lean forward, open your mouth, and push it out with your tongue; the clumpy mess slides into the toilet with a splash.

It’s a comforting, familiar feeling. The scent of toilet water, your knees pressed against the floor, the splash of technically undigested food hitting the water.

You take another bite. And do it again. And again.

You don’t even hear the door to his room unlocking--the thunk of the lock covered, perhaps, by the splash of another lump into the toilet. You don’t hear him call your name. You don’t hear him walk, slow then faster, to the bathroom--

You don’t see his expression when he first stands in the doorway, seeing you kneeling before the toilet, mostly-gone muffin in hand, small mounds of food resting in the toilet bowl.

You only see his expression once he’s got four fingers wrapped around your upper arm--his pinky flies out at the last moment--and he yanks you up so hard you drop the muffin to the ground. He doesn’t waste time tugging you out of the bathroom, your socked feet slipping on the floor, and he doesn’t let go until he’s got you flung onto the mattress.

There are a few moments where the world feels topsy turvy, all buzzing and strange, before Tomura begins to pick at his neck and spits out the words, tinged with months of worn-out patience--

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

It makes your guts feel weak; it drains every ounce of high you got from spitting down to your toes, where it fizzles to nothing. Really, truly--

You wish he would have just slapped you, instead.

Tears sting your eyes and you sit up straighter on the mattress, pretending something like dignity.

“What’s wrong with you?” His eyes widen and his fingers still at your tone. Not angry, like he might have expected. But worse than that: low and guttural and hurt. “You kidnapped me! You don’t let me--you don’t let me do what I want, I can’t talk to anyone, I can’t even…” And the words go unsaid. You can’t even puke up your own damn food.

Whatever words might have come next are lost when you simply begin to cry. Low, stupid, whimpering cries, the kind that choke up anything else you’d like to say. A nasty, ugly cry that you know makes you look awful.

And just like that, his own attitude clicks and shifts, and he’s kneeling on the mattress at your side. Rough knuckles rub against your tears and he mumbles apologies that all blur into one big “Hey-shit-I’m-sorry-I-was-too-rough-you’re-okay-fuck-hey-calm-down.”

It’s not until he pulls you close to his chest, forcing your cheek against it, that you can begin to calm down. It’s a ritual. Something done before, earlier on in your kidnapping. Not for a while, not until now, when all your awful thoughts come rushing back like a wave on an abandoned beach.

“I don’t want anyone to hurt you,” he says, quietly, when you’ve stopped crying enough to let him be heard. “If you’re here, no one can hurt you. So that’s why…” He doesn’t finish, and he doesn’t need to; he’s told you all this before.

If he hadn’t caught you throwing up, maybe he wouldn’t have kidnapped you at all. Or maybe he would have but a month down the line, or two months, a year. You could’ve enjoyed freedom just a bit longer.

Doesn’t matter, because he did catch you, and you are kidnapped, and you’re here now, on his mattress, getting comfort from his touch and words.

Sniffles are childish as hell, you think, even as you sniffle and rub your nose.

“I didn’t throw up,” you mumble. Against you, he stills. You move your head back to look up at him and he looks at you like he’s about to say “Do you think I’m stupid?”

Before you can actually say it, you lick some food from the back of your teeth and move back a little more, intent on the truth.

“I was just chewing it. And spitting it out.” Somehow you keep eye contact with him--maybe because it feels right to explain it. To try to make him understand that it’s not like you were throwing up. He should be happy, even, that you were doing something like this instead. “It’s not a big deal,” you throw out, almost lightly, a half-laugh catching the edge of the last word.

Tomura looks at you like it is, in fact, a big deal.

Which means you won’t be able to do it and I mean, fuck, you didn’t really think he’d be okay with it--you’re not that stupid. Not that naive. Just desperate, you think. Desperate for something to make you feel better when your mood takes this inevitable turn down food-control-food-control-food-control road.

All of it makes you want to cry again. It makes those stupid tears come back to the corners of your eyes, making your eyes feel all bulging and warm. It makes your mouth quiver, as you begin your pathetic complaint.

“It’s not fair. I can’t do anything--I should be able to do this.” You gesture towards the bathroom, towards the mess you’ve left in there. Towards your chewed-up food in the toilet bowl. “I can’t live where I want or eat what I want or go to a movie or talk to my friends or--or--” There is an endless list of things you can no longer do, but Tomura doesn’t let you list them. Instead he gets off the bed.

It makes you stop crying, at least. If only out of surprise.

“That’s enough,” is what he says, voice strained, tired. The edge of patience is a thin one, apparently. You watch from the mattress as he walks into the bathroom; hear the toilet flushing, the sink running.

He comes back into the bedroom with a damp towel. There’s no gentleness as he, without an ounce of warning, straddles you against the mattress and wipes up your mouth.

“Tomu--” you begin, spluttering between wipes. “What--I don’t--you can’t--”

But he ignores you until your face is cleaned, until it feels refreshed if not scrubbed a bit raw. He drops the wash cloth on the floor--you cringe, thinking about how you’ll have to pick it up later--and keeps you pinned against the bed.

His hair falls towards you, framing his face, ghosting against your scrubbed skin. He’s tired. You’re tired. It shows in the way he speaks now, in the way you give in without another struggle.

“You gonna do it again?”

You bite your cheek, tasting a bit of leftover muffin glob, and shake your head.

“What game do you want to play?”

You blink at Tomura and don’t have an actual answer. He doesn’t usually let you pick the games. Especially when it’s a two-player game, and he’s usually picking the ones that make him look the best. Or so you assume; he’d denied it, when you felt lighthearted enough to make the jab once before.

“Why?” He frowns, and you press. “I mean. You usually pick.”

He shrugs. “Just decided you can pick it tonight. Tomorrow, too. If you want.”

Oh. It all slides together, like a children’s puzzle.

You don’t have a lot of choices in your life, anymore. You don’t pick where you live or who touches you or who you talk to or what you can eat. But tonight--tonight you get to pick what game you’ll spend the next few hours playing, before you tell Tomura it’s late and you want to go to bed.

Your choice. For a few hours.

He’s throwing you a lifeline, or he imagines he is.

It’s not much.

But you have to take it for what it’s worth--which is, in the grand scheme of your little world, is a lot.

#yandere shigaraki #yandere tomura shigaraki #yandere bnha #tw eating disorder #afterwitch writes #yandere #read the notes on this 'un

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koqabear · 1 year ago

Note

song equation for the 2K event!!(congrats🙇)

daniel ceaser, do you like me?+ soobin+ smut= fwb!soobin but he’s your best friend’s ex who she’s still not over😵

♫: Daniel Ceasar, Do You Like Me? // [2K Masterlist]

“Parties aren’t that much fun to attend to anymore, especially when you’re only there to tend to your broken-hearted friend. But there’s always ways to entertain yourself, ways that rely on a certain someone you’re meant to despise.”

soobin x fem!reader // wc: 4.0K // fwb au, angst, college au but it’s not rlly important, smut, MDNI.

warnings: it’s a rlly messy situation, neither soobin or the mc are good people !! mentions of alcohol, dom!soobin, sub!mc, fingering, biting, orgasm control(?), dry humping, breast play, hair pulling, multiple orgasms, pet names (good girl, pretty thing, etc.), cum eating, overstimulation, slight handjob, protected sex (from me??? what.) soobin is big 🥱, slight manhandling? degrading, praise, aftercare, lmk if i forgot anything !

notes: soobin’s a lil sassy in this one idk guys… i dedicate this to a certain someone who challenged me by saying i neglect soobin (i do tbh.) so. this ones for you ‼️🤣 i’ve seriously been wanting to get my hands on this request from the moment i got it, i love this song sm thank you for sending this anon !! ur mind is insane!!!

This is wrong. It’s wrong, horrible, a break of every code that comes with a friendship— but it’s also sweet, enticing, thrilling, feeling as though the breath has been stolen from your lungs as Soobin presses you further against the wall, hands wandering down the hem of your dress and his small, breathy groans enough to drown out the rest of the noise from the party downstairs.

You didn’t want to be here in the first place; your friend had been the one to drag you here, begging for your company and asking you to be the designated driver as she spent the night drinking and partying her sorrows away— attempting to pretend that she’s fine, that she’s healed, that her heart still isn’t broken by the man whose fingers are trailing up your inner thighs— and you had agreed, telling her that she was better off alone only to slip into some random bedroom with the man you said was definitely not worth her time.

But he’s worth yours. You wanted him from the very moment you saw him, pining from afar and letting three years pass by as you watched him transform from a shy freshman to what he is now; alluring, addicting, intoxicating, your lips parting with ease and your body left at his mercy as you allow him to kiss, suck, and explore wherever he wants.

It wasn’t your fault you had feelings for him. But it was your fault that you let yourself push those said feelings to the side for your friend, resigned to longing glances and tense interactions whenever you two were alone— of course, it wasn’t long before he picked up on those feelings as well.

“How long will you be staying tonight?” Soobin whispers teasingly into your ear, pouty lips latching onto the spot just under it; your curl slightly into him at the sensation, hands holding onto his shoulders and your back feeling the slight vibrations that comes from the bass of the music against the wall. But it’s all muffled to you, your hearing only attuned to Soobin’s words and voice, the deep lullaby that teases you for your weakness, “you watching over her this time too?”

“Fuck— yeah,” you admit, feeling a twist of guilt in your stomach, “I’m the designated driver.”

That guilt is immediately wiped out by a harsh pleasure; Soobin’s fingers are slow and lithe as they run up and down your slit, feeling the way your panties become soaked with your arousal; pads of his fingers slowing to press on your clit, your legs spread open by one of his own as he corners you in with ease, continuing to litter kisses along the column of your throat leisurely.

“Such a shame you’re stuck babysitting her all the time,” he coos softly, pressing a kiss to your cheek before he’s pushing your panties to the side, feeling the way you shiver at his cold fingers running up and down your folds, collecting the arousal that gathers there before circling at your clit; rubbing in rhythmic circles at an agonizingly slow pace that he knows drives you crazy, holding back a coy smile at the way your brows twitch, hips stuttering toward him in need of more, “If not, I would’ve loved to take you back to my place and fuck you properly.”

His words are dangerous territory. You don’t go to his place, and he certainly doesn’t go to yours— it’s always been like this, secret hookups in convenient places you know you won’t get caught; a quickie in a random bedroom at a party, a sneaky handjob under the table of a library, a night where you let yourself destress in his car when you’re supposed to be on your way to hang out with a friend.

All of it has been quick, lustful, surface-level; nothing that would lead to cuddles under the safety of his sheets, or the smell of your shampoo after he decided to quickly shower at your place, or anything that could give you the slight semblance of domesticity— no possibility of seeing a future with him, of having anything that runs deeper than the touch of his skin on yours.

Sometimes, you hate yourself for setting such boundaries. Sometimes, you wish you were self-destructive enough to push past the barrier that deemed you as friends with benefits (if you could even use the term “friends” with him) and go into something that was more than that, something that was more meaningful than the way you only allowed yourself to spent thirty minutes max with him alone, before you had to go check up on your best friend and make sure she hadn’t begun to drunkenly wish for Soobin to come back into her life.

“You know, I only wanted you from the start,” he had told you once, the words dream-like and saccharine sweet as he confessed it quietly to you, your head too dazed from the feeling of him inside you to process it properly; burying the secret beneath harsh thrusts that left your mind blank, not expecting the confession to stick to you like glue regardless. And you had thought of every time Soobin would only leave parties at the same time you did, would be eager to tag along with your friend if you were there as well, all those moments your friend thought were for her the complete opposite.

And it shattered your heart. But it also made it soar, made your face heat up to know he’s had eyes on you all along, forced to back off once he thought you weren’t interested—- but you were, and you were simply holding back for the sake of your friend.

“Not happening,” is all you can sigh into his mouth, allowing him to kiss you lazily, teeth sinking playfully into your lip before his tongue is darting out to soothe the pain; his fingers prod at your entrance teasingly, ring and middle finger entering slowly to feel you squeeze around him, only to pull out again. And he’s whining softly against your lips like wounded puppy, as though he wasn’t the one making you fall apart by letting his fingers sink slowly into you, curling slowly and pressing against your sweet spot as he kept a warm hand on your waist; dress bunched up under his palm, trying to keep you still as he begins to wind you up with ease.

“Why not?” he asks, leaving your mouth and planting a soft kiss at the corner of your lip; on your jaw, trailing back until he’s gotten to the column of your neck, aiming for all the spots that make you as sensitive as the feeling of him slowly pumping his fingers into your cunt does, “I like you, you like me…”

His fingers are able to reach spots you could only dream of; spots that have you letting out choked whines and grabbing on his forearm desperately, hips attempting to buck and match his pace, only to be restrained by the bruising grip of his hand on you.

You’re trying to not pay attention to his ramblings— something you’ve found him doing a lot more often than you’d like, constantly being lured into temptations that should not be tasted— instead, you pay attention to the way his palm grinds against your clit and the growing sounds of your arousal as he thrusts his fingers into you, calculated and teasing as he slows down the moment you begin to get close.

“It works out, doesn’t it?” you’re tuning back into his words reluctantly, unable to whine for him to stop being such a tease as he continues, “Wouldn’t you just wanna… have one day where we’re not rushing?”

He’s quickening his pace again; your breath is stuttering at the feeling of his hard cock against you, letting out a pathetic whine at the way he begins to rut against you, slow and teasing as he rolls his hips into you, as though he were fucking you instead.

“I’d take such good care of you,” he groans, listening to the way your breath is beginning to become ragged, lips continuing their descent from your neck to your collarbones, where he lets his teeth graze against the skin that’s being shown for a moment, “Really take my time with you…finally have you all to myself for once.”

“Soobin…” you say, an air of uncertainty to your tone— but Soobin is in complete disregard of it, needy hands pulling at the top of your dress to get access to your breasts— his free hand is slipping under the cup your bra while his mouth attaches to your nipple, pulling out a broken moan from you and threading your fingers through his hair subconsciously; his palm is pressing against your clit, making your walls clench around his fingers and causing him to laugh softly against your skin.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, beginning to rub quick circles on your clit with his thumb instead; listening to the way you keen and react to his touch immediately, your body buzzing with pent up pleasure that’s waiting to snap and release. “Don’t you like me?”

“I…” you’re trailing off without meaning to; it’s hard to concentrate with the way Soobin fucks you with his fingers so expertly, his breath fanning on your sensitive nipple with every soft moan he lets out; still rutting against you, his hand going back down to your hips to press you closer against him— you feel caged in by him, his fingers digging into your skin as he lets out a soft hmm? that urges you to answer his question and snaps you out of your reverie.

“Do you?” he asks again, slowing his pace to try and clear your mind, teasing you as he continues to rub soft circles on your clit— you nod frantically, breathing out a soft Soobin, please, that he doesn’t pay attention to— instead, he comes back up to capture your lips for a kiss, harsh and frantic as he bites your lip coyly; the whine you let out is enough for him to pull away with a soft sigh.

“Tell me. I wanna hear it from you.”

He’s picking up his pace the moment you open your mouth to speak; a choked whine cutting off your words, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers begin to pump into you ruthlessly, the wet sounds making your face feel hot and mind blank as you let your mouth run, not paying attention to what you say.

“I— I like you, I really like you,” you cry, the pleasure building to such an intensity that you feel tears pricking at your eyes, “you’re all I think about, Soobin— ugh, fuck— need you, want you to fuck me, wanna cum, please? Wanna feel you inside me, ‘m close— ah, Soobin please—”

Your words get cut off with a sharp cry; your body freezes up and is left for Soobin to control as he talks you through it all, cooing soft praise and reassurance in your ear as he presses soft kisses on your jaw— words soft and sweet, making your head spin and cunt clench around his fingers a little tighter— my good girl, so perfect for me, pretty thing, feel so good…

Soobin thinks he could cum just like this; your face is flushed and pretty as you look at him with glassy eyes, hips grinding into his hand as he continues to softly fuck you with his fingers, watching the way you jolt and whimper from the sensation— his cock is pathetically hard and leaking in his pants, practically throbbing as he continues to rut against you— but then he remembers your cute begging, unable to resist to such a request as he finally pulls away from you, fingers slowly pulling out of your cunt as he glances down to see the mess he’s made of you.

You can only watch and let out a weak sigh as you watch him slip his glistening fingers into his mouth, tongue curling around the digits and cleaning them entirely as he groans at the taste— your face feels like it’s on fire, and his eyes never leaves yours as his pretty lips slowly wrap around them.

He’s undoing his jeans quicker than you can process; bringing you in for another sweet kiss, your hand wandering to wrap around his cock as you feel him hiss into your mouth— hips bucking slowly to the pace you’ve set for him, tip sticky and leaking as you swipe a thumb over it and spread the precum along the rest of his length.

“Condom,” you say breathlessly, feeling the way Soobin’s hands have found purchase on your waist again; slotting himself between your legs and standing impossibly close, enough to feel his wet tip touching your inner thigh— and he moans softly, the sensitive feeling of your warm skin enough to leave him dazed and responding a bit late to your words.

“Fuck— right, right,” he groans softly, biting at his lip as he pats around his pockets; and by the way his brows knit together and he hesitantly reaches into his front pockets, you can already guess what he’s thinking— because you find yourself thinking it as well.

You want to feel him without that thin layer of protection; want to feel the raw friction, wishing for nothing more but for him to fill you and have you leaking around his cock— but as you roll on the condom for him with a deft hand, you know that this is for the best— a small reminder of what you two are, that you can never truly get comfortable around each other.

“Shit, so wet for me,” he says softly, teasing you as he runs his cock up and down your entrance; grinding softly against your clit, listening to your every whimper and whine keenly before he begins to tease his tip at your entrance— you’re both hissing at the stretch, always eager to feel the way he stretches you open, cunt never truly used to it no matter how many times you do this.

You’re letting out a sigh of content the moment he slides inside you; feeling his hands guide your hips into meeting him halfway, his soft moans and breaths fanning across your neck as his lips begin to suck at your neck again; you have half the mind to thread your fingers through his hair and tug slightly, muttering a soft no marks, Soobin, that has him huffing in disappointment.

“And why not?” he asks, beginning to move his hips slowly; cock touching all your sensitive places so sweetly, as though it was the only thing he knew how to do, “you can just say it was from a random hookup— nothing wrong with that.”

God, he’s insufferable; he follows your request as he pulls away from his spot in the crook of your neck, pace beginning to build as he watches the way you fall apart on his cock; thick and big, always leaving your legs shaking as he holds your hips in place, one hand sliding down to grab your thigh and bring it up around his waist, as though you were nothing but a cute toy for him to fuck— your hands hold onto his broad shoulders for stability, nails digging into his skin through his thin tee as you simply shake your head with the last bit of coherency you have.

“Aren’t you tired of sneaking around so much? Of having all these odd things we just can’t do when we’re literally—” he punctuates his words with a harsh thrust that has you yelping pathetically, “fucking, while you’re supposed to be babysitting your friend?”

Your face burns at his words— he’s struck a nerve and he knows it, especially with the way your nails bite at his skin a little more than they already were— but even though you try to get angry at him, though you try to say something, you can’t, not with the way he’s fucking you so good that you can’t form a simple sentence.

“We could be at my place right now— you wouldn't've had to go to this— fuck, this lame party in the first place, we could’ve just… hah, hung out at my place, let me take care of you.”

His words send butterflies through your stomach— and it’s exactly why you let out a soft no, we can’t, at his words, the very idea of venturing into something more intimate making you weak in the knees— and he frowns, his grip becoming a bit bruising as his hips snap against yours, the sounds of skin against skin filling the room and rivaling the music that pours through from outside.

“So what, is this better for you?” he asks meanly, voice darkening at the way you can barely keep up with his pace, too fucked out to process his words fast enough, “do you enjoy having to face your friend after we’re done?”

His words have you seething out a harsh fuck you in response; a hand leaves his shoulder to find itself tangled in his hair, pulling at it harshly before you’re bringing him closer to you— your waterline is lined with tears and your face is flushed as you give him a half-hearted glare.

“Soobin, just shut up,” you grit out, watching the way his eyes narrow and harden in response— his hand has found its way back to your clit, circling it in a way that has you clenching around his cock and moaning pathetically.

“Pretty thing just wants to get fucked then? Wanna cum?” he coos, feeling the way your body has begun to tense at his ministrations, unable to answer him from how good you feel, “come on then, use me sweet thing, wanna— wanna feel it, know you can do it, filthy thing only knows how to come to me when you’re needy, isn’t that right?”

Your thighs are slick and your body is tensing from the feeling of Soobin towering over you, feeling as though he’s everywhere at once; his dark voice whispering endless filth into your ear, his breathy moans brushing against your skin and making you shiver with a small cry— his fingers dig a little into you, keeping your bucking hips still and forcing your body to cum again; pressing you firmly into the wall as you do, feeling the way your thighs tense and quiver under his hold as he lets you ride it out with slow and deep thrusts; pretty voice humming praise into your ear, settling your shaking body as he tells you thaaaat’s it, good girl, so pretty when you cum.

You’re panting weakly into the air as your body finally comes down— but Soobin is still hard inside you, the feeling of your clenching and tight walls around him only encouraging to continue chasing his high— and you let him, leaning your head against the wall and watching with lidded eyes as he continues to fuck you, brows knitting at the sensitivity.

He’s close, and your body is becoming more and more sensitive the longer he fucks you; crying softly with every thrust of his cock, letting out choked whimpers every time his tip bumps against your sweet spot— and you let him, let his hands wander and lips suck gently at your skin, not enough to leave marks but enough to have your back arching and legs shaking once more.

His pace is picking up, becoming sloppy, and you think he’s about to cum— only for him to stutter to a stop at the sound of your ringtone, your eyes widening as you look over at the table next to you that you threw it on; your friend’s contact name lights up the screen.

“Answer it,” Soobin says roughly, voice slightly strained from how good you feel around him— your eyes widen as you shake your head no frantically, only to watch in horror as Soobin reaches for the phone for you; you can feel your blood grow cold the moment he answers the call and presses your phone firmly against your ear— in a panic, you grab a hold of it yourself.

“He—hello?”

Your friend is asking you where you are— she wants to leave, she doesn’t feel well, asking if you can take her home— she’s drunk and you can barely focus on her slurred words, Soobin’s unpredictable pace returning as he goes back to fucking you; the wet sounds are enough to have your eyes widening in panic, biting your lip and reaching out to slap a hand on top of Soobin’s mouth. He lets you, staring at you with dark eyes as his thrusts become rougher, choosing to aim for the specific spots he knows drive you crazy; a stray tear falls from your eyes from the effort of having to hold in your sounds.

“Where— are you— hmmm?” you’re lucky your friend is wasted. She doesn’t pick up on your struggle to articulate your words, telling you that she’s been sitting outside on the porch trying to contact you— you wince, partly at her words, and partly because Soobin is noticeable close, frantically rutting into you as muffled moans sound against the palm of your hand; clearly more dramatic than usual, wanting to be heard as you can feel his lips part against your hand, the messy drool building up on the corners of his lips as you wince.

“Okay, I’ll—” Soobin cums with a particularly loud groan and a thrust that lets him bottom out; he’s entirely inside you as he lets his head rest on your shoulder, the feeling so sudden it has you cutting yourself off in order to bite your lip pathetically— still caged in and left at Soobin’s mercy as he plants soft kisses along your shoulders, cock still moving ever-so-slightly as you finally find the courage to speak.

“I’ll be there in a bit.”

You hang up after hearing her drunken okay.

It’s silent. It’s tense, and you’re unsure of what to say, and slightly afraid of what Soobin will say. Instead, he pulls away without a word; slides out of you with nothing but a soft wince, taking off the condom and tucking himself in quietly— you can only stand and watch as he turns to the private bathroom of the bedroom, tossing the used condom in the trash before you hear the sound of the sink running; you can’t help but cringe at the awkwardness of it all.

“You okay?” he asks once he finally emerges, raising a brow at the way you seem surprised at his comment— only for your eyes to fall at the towel in his hands, face heating up at the way he slowly approaches you, crowding your space once more.

He’s cleaning you up without another word; even when you try to get the rag from him, try to do it yourself, he doesn’t let you— his touch is tender and has your heart racing, your mind trying to get yourself to calm down the moment your eyes meet; a cold reminder of where you are, of the reality of it all.

Soobin doesn’t let you stick to this reality for long; not with the way he’s fixing your clothes carefully and pulling you in for a soft kiss, hands running up and down your body as he mutters a soft so perfect— and you’re snapping out of it once more, pushing against his chest with a firm hand.

“Soobin, please,” you say quietly, unable to meet his eyes as you stare down at the floor instead. You hear him let out a tired sigh.

“We can’t keep this up forever,” is all he says, voice so quiet you have to strain to hear him, “You’ll have to pick a side eventually.”

That much is obvious to you; and though it hurts to meet his gaze, hurts to see the way his eyes hold a sense of longing that you haven’t allowed yourself to reveal, you refuse to acknowledge his comment.

“I have to go to my friend.”

His face is painted with disappointment.

“Sure.”

You’re quick to go to push past him and go to the door— his voice stops you before you can even turn the knob.

“See you later?”

His voice has that soft rumble that always makes you shiver without fail— and despite your better judgment, you nod your head.

“Yeah.”

And the cycle continues.

#txt fanfic #txt fanfiction #txt imagines #txt oneshots #txt ff #txt x reader #txt smut #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #soobin smut #soobin ff #soobin imagines #soobin oneshot #soobin x reader #[2k event!]#[song equations]#[nsfw]

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avelinexl · 2 years ago

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“¡Mireu!” exclamo con emoción al llegar a la mesa de la cafetería del hospital donde solían almorzar juntos aunque en las últimas semanas no habia sido posible con tanto trabajo que habían tenido. “Espero que tengas muchas cosas que contarme que he tenido el turno más lento de la historia y he estado a punto de dormirme en mi silla más veces de las que quiero admitir” ríe suavemente al tomar asiento a su lado dejar su comida sobre la mesa. “Anoche hornee y te traje una rebanada de pastel, es de chocolate” @h-mireu

#lo prometido es deuda ;3 aquí esta el st #los puse en el hospital bc es su lugar de encuentro para los chismes HAHAHA #♡ ━ you hear my stolen lullabies [ interacciones. ]#h mireu

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sadbeautifutragic · 2 years ago

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And I still talk to you When I'm screaming at the sky And when you can't sleep at night You hear my stolen lullabies ↳ Eras Tour Series Part 2/?

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scwheeler · 2 years ago

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🩸🔪 ˖ ࣪⊹ — ‘MY TEARS RICOCHET’

pairing: ethan landry x reader

summary: miscommunication leads to the loss of ethan’s only lover and much regret

warning: blood, violence, stabbing, death

authors note: i’m a swiftie !! (lyrics are in italics)

i didn't have it in myself to go with grace

you sucked in air through your teeth as coldness took over your body. carefully your eyes drifted downwards to your stomach where a black object was. out of adrenaline, the pain didnt kick it until a few moments later. your body shivered in response to the sharp knife cutting through your skin and embedding itself into the side of your stomach.

you looked up, straight at your killer. the dark lights of the room making it almost impossible to identify who it was. but you saw the mask. the black and white ghostface mask that had been on the news nonstop since the late nineties.

'cause when i’d fight, you used to tell me i was brave

after running around the room to get away, fate finally caught up to you. even though you fought and fought, throwing lamps and chairs over the room to slow down your killer, it was inevitable.

the mask that your friends had warned you about. the one tara had gotten stabbed by, but survived. looking around for help you realized your unfortunate fate. there was no escape, no help.

and if i’m dead to you, why are you at the wake?

your killer didnt even stab you with the knife all the way. they stopped at two-thirds and you could feel their body tense up, almost regretting their decision.

your back was pressed hard against the wall and you reached around to keep yourself up but failed. your legs have out and you slid down to the cold hard floor while your killer stood there with a hand out where the knife had been. now the knife was skewed into your abdomen as you tried not to scream in pain.

biting your tongue, tears streamed down your face. you heard a heavy breathes coming from above. there was a gasp, a moment of surprise and regret following with a small whisper, “y/n..?”

cursing my name, wishing i stayed

look at how my tears ricochet

you put pressure on your wound and refused to pull out the knife since you watched all those survival tip youtube videos with mindy. she had taught you to never take it out or else you’d immediately bleed out. you remembered tara and anika laughing and joking that it was ridiculous. that it would never happen.

and i can go anywhere i want

the shadowy figure in front of you crouched down, kneeling before you. slowly they lifted their mask and revealed such a familiar face. the face that would remind you of home. the face you would kiss before going to sleep. the face would give you such comfort and love.

with blood rising in your throat, “ethan?”

anywhere i want, just not home

the same face that was now sitting before you with blood on his hands. your blood.

and you can aim for my heart, go for blood

but you would still miss me in your bones

ethan landry was reaching for your wound. the one he inflicted. you couldn’t believe your eyes and wanted to run away, avoid this confrontation but it was too late. he was inching forward but instead of the harsh interactions from earlier.

he was back to himself. handling with care and with a face of worry. “oh my god…fuck,” he whispered and panicked over the blood leaking down to the floor.

and i still talk to you (when i’m screaming at the sky)

and when you can't sleep at night (you hear my stolen lullabies)

“no no you weren’t supposed to be here,” he muttered and tears started to form in his eyes. you could’ve laughed at the irony. your own boyfriend stabbing you after swearing he would protect you. suddenly the pain wore off and your body felt an uncomfortable lack of warmth with chills running down your back.

all of your weight was leaning on the wall behind you and your head followed. your hands fell to the ground and no more pressure was tended to wound except ethan’s. his efforts of trying to revive you were useless.

i didn't have it in myself to go with grace

he saw your phone tossed a few inches away and grabbed it, hurrying to call 911. he didn’t even realize he was still in the ghostface outfit or the blood that stained his hands.

the specks of blood on his face were getting washed off by the tears slipping from his eyes. “jus—just hold on! please y/n don’t give up…s-stay awake!” he pleaded and waited for the opposite end to pick up.

and so the battleships will sink beneath the waves

“hello this is 911, how can i help you?” the operator said. “my girlfriend needs help! her name is y/n y/l/n, she needs an ambulance she’s dying! she’s been stabbed please!” he shouted and continued to explain but your ears were drowning out the noise.

as your eyes roamed the room, the bright lights on the ceiling were making your eyes sensitive. you looked away and felt your vision blur. ethan noticed your limp body fading away, as his grip became firm as he let go of the phone.

you had to kill me, but it killed you just the same

cursing my name, wishing i stayed

his attention completely fixed on you. “no y/n! fuck fuck fuck please just stay with me! they’re coming!”

your eyes shut and ethan shook your body but there was no response. there were sirens outside already but he could tell it was too late and you were gone. as much as he didn’t want to believe it, he held your body close to his.

you turned into your worst fears

his grief poured out in a flood of uncontrollable tears as he continued to pull you closer even though you already were. the hugs shared between you and ethan were for warmth and comfort, when one of you passed a test, leaving for a weekend trip, winning a game of just dance, or when he would instantly be knocking at your front door when you needed a shoulder to cry on.

but this was different.

there was no reciprocation and ethan was alone. his throat was tight and his breaths were short with his heavy sobs tearing through his chest. his voice was quavering and shaky, “this is all quinn’s fault—no no it’s my fault. you weren’t in this, this isn’t your fault—i’m sorry.”

and you're tossing out blame, drunk on this pain

crossing out the good years

your unresponsive body relaxed in ethan’s arms and you felt at peace. while your head fell back, a tear slipped from your eye and trailed down your cheek.

and you're cursing my name, wishing i stayed

ethan ignored the footsteps of the police charging in and the sirens getting louder. his sobs flooded his ears and his cries turned into whimpers. the lingering sadness strangled his throat and he burrowed his head into your shoulder.

look at how my tears ricochet

this time he needed a shoulder to cry on.

#*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧scwheeler #ethan landry x you #scream #ethan landry x reader #chad meeks martin #ethan landry #scream six #scream imagine #ethan landry x y/n #ethan landry fic #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry headcannon #ghostface #mindy meeks martin #my tears ricochet #taylor swift

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