#strangers in the night album | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

urhoneycombwitch · 4 months

Text

common tongue of you lovin' me

🍯 honey flavour: touchstarved loverboy smut

🐝 the bees: Eddie x reader

wc: 2.5k

content warnings: nervous Eddie, touchstarved R, smut, dry humping (is it actually dry if they’re both wet…?), cumming in pants, one (1) use of the word “daddy”, light use of the miscommunication trope

foreword: based on THIS anon everyone say THANKS anon. R and Eddie are in their early 20’s, R is on a gap year from college (so me), they’re in a new relationship with each other, I’m writing this while blasted on edibles idk what else to say 0_o

____

By nature, Eddie Munson is not a shy person.

Even though his dark reputation in Hawkins hasn’t been completely erased, he still manages to make friends wherever he goes through sheer force of personality. It’s like a magic trick, one that you never get tired of- he’ll pause in the middle of grocery stores to make faces at a baby in a stroller, getting belly laughs out of a stranger’s kid in less than ten seconds while still holding your hand down the aisle. One second he’s right behind you in the record store, looking over your shoulder as you browsed, and the next he’ll be on one knee charming a elementary school-aged kid into getting the latest Dio album.

You’ve seen him flirt his way out of speeding tickets with Hopper, for christ’s sake.

Eddie isn’t shy by any stretch of the imagination, so after three months of nothing but chaste kisses and quiet hand-holding, you’re left to assume he actually wants to take things slow with you.

He’s been nothing but a gentleman, in these early days of dating- the most action you’ve gotten from him was unintentional. On your third date, a dollop of his ice cream landed on your lap when he used the cone to gesture, which led him to manically grabbing napkins out of his dashboard to wipe at your skirt while you laughed it off. The second he’d brushed against your bare thigh he snapped his hands back like he’d touched a live wire, hastily heaping on apologies, leaving you to allay his nerves while wiping at the stain yourself.

Which, whatever. It’s fine. It’s not like you’re complaining about him being respectful, per se, it’s just that it’s getting harder and harder (hah) to pretend like you don’t wanna fuck him. The feeling between your thighs only seems to increase in intensity when he gives you one of those precious little hand kisses at the end of a date, or a closed-mouth peck before he drives off into the night.

Unfortunately for you and your wet dreams, Eddie Munson has the most edible body you’ve ever seen. Biceps bulging through those form-fitting tees he likes to wear, rounded nose and strong jaw outlined by that cloud of soft black hair, those lithe hips…

Hips that you’re openly staring at from across the room as you sit quietly on Eddie’s couch. He’s reaching up to grab a mug from the cabinet, his Metallica tee pulling up out of his dark denim at the motion, flashing a stripe of his pale lower back.

You feel like a Victorian maid seeing ankle for the first time. You subtly press your thighs together under your short tartan skirt as Eddie moves around the kitchen, talking animatedly about the start of his upcoming campaign.

“I haven’t decided yet if I’m gonna go easy on the little shits or not,” he says, metal spoon clinking against ceramic as he mixes hot chocolate powder. “It’s Max’s first session as an official player, and I don’t wanna scare her off but I do have a reputation to uphold.”

“Yeah,” you agree, giving him a knowing smile as he crosses the room to pass you your mug- “You’re a DM most fearsome. Can’t let them off the hook too easily.”

Eddie blooms under your praise, wiggling his eyebrows with familiar cockiness as he settles on the cushion beside you. “Gotta keep Hawkins' finest in line. It’s a tough gig but I did swear an oath, after all.”

You smile around a sip of hot cocoa, then reach over to set your mug on the coffee table. Eddie has been sat in his usual manner (knees far enough apart to be taking up his whole seat, arm draped casually on the back of the couch) but the second your knee knocks against his, he adjusts himself stiffly, drawing his arm back with a nervous throat-clearing and a murmured “sorry”.

Normally you’d let it go, not wanting to push the issue past the point of his comfortability. But it’s been Three. Months. Of this. And you wanna test the waters, just a little.

“Sorry for what?” You ask, rotating to face him, your shoulders almost-but-not-quite touching.

He’d doing an uncanny impression of a deer caught in headlights, blinking at you with those doey brown eyes, stuttering his way through a weak explanation- “Uh… uh. Sorry for being- f-for touching you?”

There’s a lift at the end of his sentence, one that you mirror with a tilt of your own brow, a playful challenge. “You don’t have to apologize for touching me, Eddie. I’m your girlfriend.”

He chuckles, a nervous edge bleeding around the sound. The curls around his face dance with the head shake he gives. “No, of course, yeah, I know that.”

“Do you?” You scoot closer, a kick of assertiveness giving you the courage to press your leg against his.

“Uh huh.” He’s gazing openly now at the bare skin of your thigh, like he’s waiting to see if it'll burn a hole into his denim.

When you gently lift his hand and place it on the skin that he’s looking at, you hear him gulp, audibly.

So he does want to touch you. Interesting.

You know for a fact Eddie’s not a virgin. Back in high school, you’d both dated around your respective circles, gossip surrounding escapades in the Munson Van circulating back to you through mutual friends. When he’d asked you out a few months previous, you’d happily accepted, wanting to take full advantage of your interim gap year from college. For the first few weeks, you’d chalked his near-celibate behavior up to nerves.

But now, you’ve got him squirming with just a thigh touch. So maybe… he’s waiting for you to make the first move?

Fuck testing the waters- you’re gonna dive in head-first.

You swing your leg over his lap, kneeling on the outside of his hips. His hands automatically go to your waist, and he lets out a little “Oh” as you rest your arms around his shoulders.

“You gonna kiss your girlfriend?” you whisper, forehead crushing into his bangs as you wrap a hand around the back of his neck.

Eddie looks up at you like he’s seeing a full moon for the first time, eyes sparkling with want. “Yeah,” he rasps, angling his face up to kiss you.

It’s soft, at first, like it always has been. His plush lips softly move against yours, breaking for air once, twice; when he kisses you with that same softness for a third time you press your tongue to the seam between his lips.

He lets you in with a little noise, low in the back of his throat as you lick into his mouth. His hands twitch on your hips as your tongues twine, slight movements in his own hips creating a ripple effect.

When the hard seam of his jeans bumps against the warmth of your cunt, you both gasp, your hand at the back of his neck tightening.

“We should probably, um-” he’s panting against your mouth, grip flexing between hard and soft- “I mean, if you wanna stop…”

“I don’t wanna stop. Do you wanna stop?” you ask, equally out of breath.

“Fuck no,” he rasps again, in that smoke-salt voice, and this time when he kisses you it’s with one hand at the back of your head and the other pulling your hips to meet his.

The noises from the wet slide of your mouths are turning you on more than you care to admit, and you’re sure he can feel the damp patch that’s soaking through your panties as the crotch of his jeans make contact again. Which normally would make you feel really self-conscious, if it weren’t for the fact that Eddie’s hard as a rock underneath you, the bulge in his pants thickening with each roll of your hips.

You drop your kisses down, exploring where you haven’t been able to before: against his cheek, his jaw, stopping just behind his ear. Unable to help yourself, you graze your teeth against the velvet skin there, and he jolts beneath you with a small yelp.

“Sorry,” you whisper, still a touch mirthful but soothing your tongue over the mark.

Eddie brushes his thumb across the back of your neck as you continue your path down the column of his throat. “Now who’s sayin’ sorry for no reason. Baby, I’m begging you to do that again.”

So you do, this time at the junction where his neck and shoulder meet, grinning against his skin when he groans and bucks his hips up.

Around your hickey-making, he’s choking out words that you just manage to string together. “I wanna… make you feel- christ, sweetheart- good too, wanna make it good for you-”

When you sit up to see his face, he looks absolutely wrecked- rosy flush in his cheeks, lips swollen and kiss-bitten, pupils blown so big his eyes are nearly black with lust.

“You are making me feel good,” you assure him, pulling the hand he’s got on your neck down to where the end of your skirt sits, pausing before your next move. “You want me to prove it?”

He nods, and you guide him into the warmth of your thighs, letting his fingers graze the stickiness that’s been steadily soaking through the fabric.

Eddie inhales sharply, moans out, “Fuck, honey”, and when his thumb finds your clit you sink down into his touch, stomach tightening with the shock of arousal coursing through you.

He’s watching your face intently as he slowly circles your clit, gauging your reactions, pressing in a bit harder and faster when the pace change makes you cry out.

Feeling doubly exposed with his eye contact and hand against your core, you try making a joke to diffuse some of the tension as the pad of his finger moves against you in steady rhythm. “Still thinkin’ about stopping?”

“A train could crash through that wall and it wouldn’t stop me for a second,” Eddie says, resolute and getting a little braver, kissing his own path across your throat, nibbling at a spot that makes your clit pulse beneath his fingertip and your cunt clench around nothing.

Goddamn, he’s a quick learner. In less than two minutes he’s got you so close to the edge, squirming around his touch, that you have to grab his wrist and still his fingers between your thighs.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. You can feel his breath punching up down up, your breasts pushed up against his chest from the way your body was trying to coil in on itself.

“Nothing,” you assure him, and now it’s your turn to falter around your words. “I just- maybe can I… I wanna get o-off at the same time. If you want. And I’m really, really close.”

Eddie’s head falls back against the couch with a thunk, eyes scrunching shut as if in concentration, a strung-out whine leaving his throat. “Hang on. Give me a second.”

He’s still got his hand on your clothed pussy, and you can’t help but giggle once he blinks back to the present, dazed- “Christ. You can’t say shit like that, baby, I almost came in my jeans.”

You give him a condescending little pout, accented with another twist of your hips. “Well maybe that’s what I want.”

“Give you anything,” Eddie replies, unabashedly babbling now as you adjust yourself in his lap. “Anything you want, sweetheart. It’s yours. All yours.”

He helps you maneuver into a new angle: now, your drenched core can rub freely against his thigh, while your knee in the socket of his hip means he can rut his cock along the flat of your leg.

When you move experimentally in shallow circles on his thigh, the newly-gained friction lights up your throbbing clit. Soon, all pretenses melt away as you both find your rhythm again, little grunts and pants filling the air.

“Feel good, angel? That’s it,” Eddie encourages, slipping his hand under your skirt to grope at the meat of your ass, helping your movements along as he chases his own pleasure with a rocking grind against your leg. “Take what you need. Lemme get you there. Please, please…”

His whines spur you on, one of your hands shooting out to clutch at the back of the couch beside his head while the other anchors itself on his opposing bicep. “Fuck, Eddie, keep talking like that, ‘m so close…”

“Talk to you all day,” he heaves out, “you make me so fucking hard, princess. You feel how hard I am for you? God, you’re so wet, that’s so fucking hot…”

You should have expected that bravado and charm you’ve seen these last few years to naturally be carried over into his sex life, but god, not in your wettest of dreams could you have imagined the mouth on him.

The combination of his dirty talk and thigh between your legs is bringing you right up to that edge again, toes curling in anticipation, cunt starting to flutter erratically with every thrust.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come…” your head rolls back on its hinge, eyes flickering shut as Eddie fumbles to catch at your clit again, movements becoming sloppy.

“C’mon, pretty baby, let go.” He’s sucking another mark into your neck between his praises, teeth catching- “Let me see you come, honey, be a good girl for daddy…”

“Jesus FUCKING christ” is all you manage to grit out before you’re tipping over the edge into orgasm, all your muscles bearing down into the bright point of pleasure, high sob winding its way from your throat.

Eddie keeps kneading at your spasming clit as you ride it out on his thigh, even as he lets out a series of short, keening whimpers, even as his cock jerks against your leg into his own release.

You sag into his waiting arms, tittering lightly against his neck as you both work on catching your collective breaths.

“Holy shit, and I was really starting to think you actually didn’t want to fuck me.” You laugh in relief.

His hand pauses mid-stroke up the slope of your back, sounding genuinely aghast when he asks “Why the fuck would you think that?”

You straighten in his arms with an incredulous stare. “Uh, maybe because you acted like a monk that I was corrupting every time I even breathed near you?”

Eddie covers his eyes with his hands, heels to sockets, groaning- “Fuck, honey, I was tryn’a be respectful. You’re telling me we could’ve been doing this sooner?”

You reach to soothe your palms over the length of his forearms, equally fond and serious when you say “I’m telling you I absolutely would have slept with you on the first date.”

He makes a strangled, pained noise before you continue- “You described to me in detail the entire mating cycle of a bat, and then walked directly into a trash can by accident. How did you expect me to wait on jumping your bones?”

He lets you take his hands, enveloping them in your own and bringing them to your chest, pressing your lips affectionately to each ring.

He whispers, “Can I ask you something?”

When you look up at him again, he says, with sincerity, “Can I see your tits next time?”

You hide your laughter into the crook of his neck.

________

guys i cannot stress how high I am is this even any good plz perceive me

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson x you #e.m. thots from lu #drabble #smut #mdni

5K notes · View notes

sandiegokpop · 1 year

Text

can yall believe that this year will be 2PM's 15th fifteenth FIFTEENTH year since debut....🤯 2PM.. 15 yrs... then-then that means it's been 16 yrs since I gradua-🔫

#clearly yall can tell that I'm elderly & have no time or patience for yall shenanigans lol #2pm #thats really wïld to me like time flies too fxckn fast after you hit 25 =/#my OG loves being og legends #i just can't let them go tho like where's the new album cut the acting gigs lets come back together now #*throws the bat signal in the night sky*#AUTOBOTS ASSEMBLE #like wut what do i have to do lmao #::throws 2pm hand signal to strangers on the street::#chansung #junho #wooyoung #nichkhun #taecyeon #jun. k

1 note · View note

xenosyte · 1 year

Text

Nothing in the halo 1 ost even made it to my top 10 im such a fucking fake fan

#only ONE song from halo 1 made it to top 20 #under the cover of night which is the only right choice im not taking any questions on that #so much stranger things tho omg u can tell s4 dropped this year #alao HOW DID KATE BUSH RUNNIN UP THAT HILL SURPASS THE ENTIRE HALO CE OST #jfc how much did i listen to that song when it came out #as per usual tho my top 1 genre qas video game soundtracks tho and that will just never change #not even for dnd reasons i just go real fucking hard to video game soundtracks #i did get top 0.5% listener for Home tho so uh #shout out to Home they make dope chillwave/synthwave musix #i love their album Odyssey #decay and resonance being my fave obviously

0 notes

crispy-armpit · 1 year

Text

✧ 𝖇𝖎𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝖋𝖆𝖓 ✧

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ʀᴏᴄᴋꜱᴛᴀʀ x ɪᴅᴏʟ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

☆⋆｡🎧𖦹 °✩ 🎸⋆⸜♩ - PART 2

⭒ 𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘶𝘮𝘱 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘶𝘱-𝘢𝘯𝘥-𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳-𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘋𝘦𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘴. 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘩; 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺.

⭒ 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵: 𝘨𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, (𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘥)𝘺𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧-𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘮/𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 (𝘯𝘰𝘵 on 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳), 𝘬𝘯𝘪𝘧𝘦, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥, 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘶𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴, 𝘫𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘰𝘯𝘦-𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘺, 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘮 + 𝘴𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘮(?)

⭒ 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 1,420

⭒ a/n: my first story! hope this is satisfactory :) sorry if my writing is difficult to understand or cringy!!

will you venture down this path?

every few months your manager tells you to attend a celebrity fundraiser gala. 2 years ago you'd never know that these events were only breeding grounds for filthy scandals. now here you are, standing in the corners of a dark ballroom with stars dangling from the ceiling.

you are an idol, the embodiment of purity and song. another puppet forced to take on a false persona of endless joy, most would say. but you? you actually loved the spotlight. to you, that persona is your truth. you bathe in the attention and love of others, you live for it.

so why weren't you with the crowd? why not be in the centre of it all? it's because he was there. he was stealing the place you've shed blood, sweat, and tears for with such ease. effortlessly charming everyone even with that poker face. Deimos. a miracle rockstar who rose in fame shortly after your debut. instantly landing himself in the top #5 leaderboard after the release of his first album.

you were both from the same agency. you've seen him around the company building a couple of times, more frequently during your early pre-debut years. you'd pass brief glances at each other whenever you crossed paths in the hallways or practice rooms. you couldn't understand where your anger and envy emerged from despite never talking to him before.

maybe it was his obnoxious grin?

the fact he surpassed your fame within a shorter time?

his voice that hypnotises even you?

or the copious amount of money he sends during your ig live, begging you to notice the anonymous user?

he had shorter hair back then, dyed a different colour. now he has more accessories, a bigger build, longer hair, and dull eyes that only seemed to brighten whenever you catch him staring at you. you noticed he still stood at around 6'5 (195 cm), even taller with his black platform boots.

you'd try to send telepathic brain frequencies and (not so) intimidating glares at him, seeing if his blank face would falter (it didn't). instead, it made him glance in your direction. your frustration increases, and you blow a raspberry at him without thinking clearly... his reaction? an amused smirk.

instant embarrassment rises to your head. unable to handle the atmosphere inside the room, you immediately run out into the hallway. your brain begins to fuzz up, and you're not thinking clearly- you don't know if it's from the alcohol or the pure shame of blowing a raspberry at him. what are you? a preschooler?

blind to your surroundings, you don't notice the hulking figure walking towards you at full speed. calming yourself, you turn back to the ballroom to end the night. only to bump your face into a sturdy chest, that was not so covered by the tight, black button-up shirt of your rival (his nips were barely out).

you profusely apologise to the stranger until you look up to meet the heterochromatic eyes of Deimos. black and gold with slits, like a feline. and like a feline, his presence was threatening. this was the closest you've ever been to him and you can't help but think that people are blind. why do people crowd around him like he's an oasis? the way his eyes lit up a little too bright, and his face contorts into that of a devoted lover brought no comfort to you.

why does he look like that?

"y/n," he finally pants out, "y/n... you're looking at me."

what the fuck?

"i'm your biggest fan."

backing up uncomfortably, you slowly process his words before replying.

"...you are?"

if Deimos had a tail, it'd be wagging like crazy right now.

"yeah... i've been a fan since your performance at the spring festival. not sure if you remember but..." he trails off.

the spring festival? i don't remember going to any spri- holy shit.

3 years ago. you sang a duet at the town's spring festival with a friend, back then you weren't even a trainee yet. so how coincidental is it that the Deimos was watching you from somewhere in the crowd? that you both ended up in the same agency?

wait. does this mean.... Deimos adores me? as a fan? my fan?

this was too good to be true. your rival, the hottest star among stars, absolutely smitten by you? claiming to be your fan? your ego has never been higher. you decide to indulge him with a conversation.

surprisingly, the conversation was deeply meaningful. you found common interests with him- you shared favourite songs, media, and hobbies... "woman after my own heart," he snickers. soon, any past resentment towards him just.. washes away. gone, buried.

you naturally gravitate towards each other, like the earth and the apple from a tree, a pull. how long has it been since you've enjoyed talking to someone like this? has your bitter envy prevented you from forming a raw friendship with him all this time?

it feels surreal. he asks you for an autograph to commemorate the celebration of a blooming friendship and you agree, asking him if he had a pen and paper. he chuckles and says no, opting to whisk you away into an empty room. not creepy at all.

inside the room, he sits you down on the bed and searches his pockets for an object. you grow curious until he unsheathes out... a combat knife. shitshitshit- he's going to kill me! i knew this was suspicious-

he casually offers you the blade.

"use this." he says while untucking his shirt.

you stare at him as he had grown a second head, "...what?"

he nonchalantly replies while displaying his lower right abdomen, "to write? y'know, your autograph?"

it's official. you were absolutely fucking terrified of Deimos. he tells you to carve out your name on his body as if he was asking for a pack of ketchup at mcdonalds!! you were getting queasy, mind running though all the possible scenarios and options to get out of this.

"you not backing up now are you, songbird?"

his eyes bear holes into your body.

"c'mon, you can't leave me in the edge me like this... just...."

he gently grabs your wrist that held the knife, carefully guiding it to his abdomen. being touched so softly by his scarred, calloused hands made your breathing ragged. he lovingly rubs stars into your forearms as he lightly plunges the tip of the knife into his skin.

you could stab him. you could stab his knife deep into his chest and run away. but what would that mean for you in the future? if you got caught, your career would crumble, sentenced to jail, humiliated and resented by the public. and if you did get away with it, guilt would eat away at your blood-soaked hands forever.

Deimos notices your visible discomfort and tenderly caresses your hair down to your cheeks, wiping away tears you didn't know you had shed. "shh shh... i'm sorry, so so sorry, songbird. you're so kind for not wanting to hurt me... i'll never ask again after this, alright? claim me."

he was so charming. even in this situation.

he presses the knife further into his lower abdomen, drawing blood. you gasp, stuttering out your words "...just my initial, okay?" you look up, he seems disappointed but gives you a genuine smile and nods. you put more pressure onto the hilt of the knife this time, his skin bleeds, not enough to be fatal but enough to scar.

you place your other hand on his toned waist, and you can feel him shivering as the ends of his hair trickle the crown of your head. you finish carving out your initial, dropping the knife on the ground and backing up to look at your work.

it was messy, the blood dripped down to his pants and you swore you felt your heart get... t i n g l e s? he proudly admires your work, pulling down his shirt back in place, still untucked.

Deimos kneels down at the edge of the bed, taking your hands and cupping them on his cheeks. turning his head to tenderly kiss your palm and inhale in the scent.

he looks up at you adoringly with the widest smile on his face, "thank you, songbird. it's very pretty." pulling himself closer to your face, you exchange an unexpectedly passionate kiss, in which your reciprocate. hungry for any form of comfort.

rival-turned-biggest-fan, Deimos smirks into the kiss.

the gravitational pull.

4K notes · View notes

lyralit · 19 days

Text

"life is good right now" prompts

running through the rain and friends not shrinking away at a hug

pressed flowers on the windowsill

legs tangled into each other, living quietly in each others' presence

raised brows of acknowledgement in the hallways

curved smiles and side looks

falling into a system without needing to speak

late nights and eager whispers

blasting an album you've tried before, disliked, and now love

late nights and early mornings but with a sense of purpose

talking to strangers over little things you love

seeing your friends do well

talking to an old friend you haven't spoken to in a while

finding conversation where you couldn't before

letting go of feelings and letting whatever comes your away come gently

starting to anticipate things again

starting to feel happy again

#lyralit #writing ideas #maybe about life rn maybe not #writerblr #creative writing #writblr #writing prompts #writers block #writing #writers #romanticism #romanticizing life #romanticizing my own life

605 notes · View notes

strawberrysainz · 9 months

Text

i can see you. max verstappen (18+)

“ you brush past me in the hallway / and you don't think i, i, i can see ya, do ya? ”

max verstappen x fem!wolff!reader

smut. don’t interact if you’re under 18. alcohol consumption, profanity.

Your eyes follow the box of gum being passed around in the car. You sit in the left backseat; the blacked out car is filled with four Mercedes employees that are painful strangers.

The girl next to you offers you a stick of the gum, which you accept gratefully. It’s Saturday morning, and your elbows bump against hers as you try to adjust your earphones.

The Fleetwood Mac album floats through your ears, bringing forward memories of being a little kid dancing in someone’s room to the CD. You must’ve been in between your mom and dad then. You tense slightly at the memory, and the rapid German that fills the car from the other four makes you feel soothed.

Entering the paddock, some summery song is floating through your AirPods, and the tune is hitting different today so you smile.

The photographers obviously take the opportunity that your smile brings to snap pictures (you’re usually grumpy) and you’re standing in front of Red Bull’s garage talking to some girls who work there that you clubbed with a while back when he walks out, brushing past, his fingers accidentally grazing your forearm.

You feel full of fire as you look away from the group to look at him and his eyes meet yours, looking back. The moment is interrupted by your mother calling on the phone, and you excuse yourself to go back to Mercedes’ motorhome.

🎱☕️🏎️💌

You two meet again in Austria.

This time you nod back when he walks past, nodding, and Christian Horner shouts something to Susie that has her fake laughing.

He wins the sprint race, and you catch a glimpse of him after, holding the trophy up in celebration in the paddock. He’s smiling widely, eyes full of laughter, and you’re not. You’re a blur of dark hair and dark eyes and a dismissive look across the pathway and he’s staring and you’re turning away, feeling burned.

That Sunday night (he wins the race) you find each other for a split second in the club; you’re talking to some guy and he yaps your ear off while you stare at him across the dance floor.

Then Max turns around and finds your face amongst the masses, indifferent before turning back.

You nod to the empty air.

🎱☕️🏎️💌

At Silverstone you’re much happier below the podium, and Lando pours champagne directly on your head from above as you screech.

Max watches.

You’re hugging Lewis afterwards when those icy eyes are on you again, and a feeling races through you as you turn around to shake his hand amicably. A bolt of energy rushes through you as his hand grasps yours, and you’re not sure what he says above the noise but you smile and say ‘well done’ like your father raised you.

🎱☕️🏎️💋

Budapest is warm. You see him on Wednesday night on the river.

You’re donning a short skirt and a strappy top, eager to curb the discomfort of the heat.

Lando had organised a boat trip down the Danube and invited you, some other drivers and his friends and all of their partners.

You don’t expect to see Max there; but you’re silly for doing so, because they’re close, aren’t they.

You’ve got an Aperol Spritz when he taps your upper thigh when you walk past and you look down, eyes wide, and he gestures for you to sit next to him.

You sit down on the cushion, legs folding beneath you gracefully as you have this urge to shift the skirt a little bit up your thighs innocently.

His gaze is heavy and intense as he trails it from your exposed thighs to your face, and you look at him neutrally, chatting about some paddock gossip, and to your surprise he acts as if nothing had happened, and indulges in your stupid small talk.

The Aperol disappears and you’re a bit buzzed.

“Your dad spoke to me about you the other day,” he says bluntly, and your lips quirk.

“Really? About what?”

He smirks.

You laugh.

🎱☕️🏎️💋

You’ve convinced him to get a beer in his system an hour later, and your head is resting on your hand, hair falling down as you listen to him talk about his cats.

Carlos comes to join then, and whatever he had going on with you disappears as he talks with the two of you.

You flirt with Carlos anyway, annoyed with the lack of action on his part.

Carlos gladly reciprocates, hand gliding up a thigh after you ask dumb questions and you bite a lip, eyes dark, and Max looks furious.

You lean in to whisper something in Carlos’ ear, red lipstick leaving a mark on his cheek when Max excuses himself and you move closer to the Spaniard, waving goodbye with a smirk on your face.

🎱☕️🏎️💋

You don’t kiss Carlos when the night ends, and you wave him a goodbye, turning to go, when you feel Max’s hand around your wrist.

You turn around and roll your eyes, beginning to walk to the Uber. Max doesn’t say anything, just gets in with you. You choose the middle seat, childishly brushing your bare thigh against his jeans.

You notice he’s screwing his eyes shut, physically refraining from something.

You feel like a teenager trying to seduce a guy and it’s working, you suppose, when you tuck your hair behind your ear, exposing your neck, and he stiffens.

Ten minutes later, at the back entrance of the hotel, you slide out, thanking the driver, and turn to look at Max with your eyebrows raised. He huffs and walks to you, shoving you against the wall.

His lips go to your neck, and you’re still, and he’s kissing you then, hard and intense, and your legs are weak when he slides a hand up your thigh.

You break away, pulling him away inside.

🎱☕️🏎️💋

Stumbling into the hotel room clumsily, he’s pushing you against the bathroom door, and you’re staring at his body against yours in the mirror, and he’s murmuring what a dirty girl you are and you’re shivering with excitement.

“Fuck you,” you whisper when he’s pulling off your top and bra, and he’s laughing incredulously when he’s leaning down and you’re moaning when he starts to brush his thumb against your nipple, and you’re all wriggly when you pull off his shirt and trace his stomach, eyes lidded.

Your eyes go down to his boxers where the outline of his cock is clear and you pull it out, thick and firm, the tip weeping as you brush it and he moans loudly, and he’s kissing you desperately and you’re so wet.

His fingers slide under your skirt and pull down your panties, and he glides his fingertips over your pussy quickly before you’re whining when he nudges your clit, and he’s kissing you again. Your back arches against the door.

He pushes into you and you’re both a mix of curses and delicious moans, and after a moment he begins to move, fast, and after a minute or so you’re screaming his name as he slams into you again and again.

He comes quickly; you smirk as his hips stutter, and his fingers find your clit before you’re begging him for things you can’t explain, and with a minute of his fingers circling your clit roughly, the thickness of his fingertips nudging you over and over with some kind of horrible preciseness, you come, hard. All over his hand. He’s kissing your neck again and again, and you’re staring at him for the first time clearly, this man you know nothing about, and his hand grips your hair as he kisses you again, and you feel alive.

🎱☕️🏎️💋

He’s waiting for you in a passage the next day, and you smile with a spring in your step as you walk straight past, hand touching his for a moment, watching him walk away in your peripheral.

Liked by landonorris, susiewolff and 127,356 others

yourinstagram Bye bye Budapest x

View all comments (3,987)

🎱☕️🏎️💋

part 2? thoughts? let me knooowww xxxx

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #f1 x you #max verstappen imagine #f1 x reader #f1 smut #max verstappen smut #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen drabble #max verstappen fic #f1 one shot #f1 fic #f1 #f1 smau #Spotify

2K notes · View notes

landosjpg · 3 months

Text

champagne problems | ln

the one where your boyfriend asks you to marry him, but you’re not on the same page.

lando norris x fem!reader

word count: ~1.1k

warnings: if you know what the song is about i don’t think this needs any warnings… but basically rejected marriage proposal, heartbreak and falling out of love

note: part one of this blurb series i’m doing right now. not proofread & also (it has nothing to do with this but) OMG NEW TAYLOR ALBUM THIS APRIL I’M SO EXCITED!!!!

you took a deep, shaky breath the moment the door slammed shut and you were left alone in the hotel room lando had booked for the weekend.

the weekend getaway he was so excited about now ruined, and you were the only one to blame.

he had decided to book the first train back to monaco that very same night, not wanting to spend one single second next to you. and as much as it hurt you, you couldn’t really blame him.

not after breaking his heart the way you did.

he had planned everything in detail, made sure it was perfect. after a triple header, he had insisted you two needed a little vacation from all the noise of the city.

but what you didn’t know at that moment is that he had been planning that getaway for months, with only one purpose.

and that’s how you found yourself all alone in the hotel he had booked, with your thoughts suffocating you and nowhere to go. and you guessed lando was sitting with his pain, surrounded by sleeping strangers that had no idea about the aching pain in his heart; on his way to what you had once called your home.

୨୧

everything was right that very same morning.

you woke up late, wrapped in your boyfriend’s arms and nothing else mattered when he tenderly kissed your lips.

“i’m excited for today,” he whispered into your ear, making a shiver run down your spine.

he had told you his plan for the day a million times the previous night, and you weren’t sure why he was so excited about a simple date. but you didn’t think too much about it.

he’d had a tough couple of weeks, so maybe just the thought of having lunch with you somewhere by the sea was exciting enough for him.

and it was all going smoothly, just as he had planned.

you left the room with your hand in his and drove to the nice little restaurant with a pretty sea view. giggles and soft kisses were exchanged between the pasta and wine, and it was just perfect.

it was also perfect when, walking along the coast with your fingers intertwined, you found a lookout with the most beautiful sight of the city.

not that lando had planned that too, of course.

you dropped his hand and walked closer to the railing, admiring the breathtaking view in front of you. while he admired the view in front of him.

the skirt of your dress swayed in the breeze as his hand reached for his pocket. the ring his mum had gave him when he first told her his plans sitting patiently in the velvety box that his shaky fingers held.

he had dreamed about that moment a thousand times before, imagining every possible scenario.

but nothing could had prepared him for the expression on your face when you turned around and saw him in one knee.

you were speechless.

and he knew you well enough to know that it wasn’t a good kind of speechless. the shock on your face was clear, and his suspicions were confirmed when you tried to utter something, but nothing came out of your lips.

“love?” he cooed with a little smile, attempting to get you to say something.

he was trying to convince himself that he was just too nervous and most likely reading your silence wrong. but you could see the hurt in his eyes as he accepted your unspoken answer.

and you felt your heart break into pieces when he got on two knees and his free hand reached for your waist.

“please,” his voice was still low and gentle, hiding his true feelings.

he fucking begged, and you still couldn’t give him an answer.

not the answer he wanted, at least.

“i… i’m not ready,” you sighed after what felt like forever.

the walk back to the hotel was uncomfortably long. after your answer, he stood up and started walking away. you followed him, catching up to him and walking side by side in just a matter of minutes.

but your arms were now crossed under your chest, his hands on his pocket. it was nothing like a few hour before.

you felt like complete strangers, and with each step he could feel the love of his life slip further away. he knew by heart the speech he had repeated a million times in front of the mirror for when you said yes, but now he was left dazed, at a complete loss of words.

the silence broke as his phone rang in his pocket, and he quickly went to answer.

“how did it go?” you could overhear his mum’s excitement as he picked up.

“she said no,” he simply answered, his voice a murmur. and he sniffed, and that’s when you noticed that he had been crying all the way from the lookout. “can i call back later?”

he didn’t say another word as you got to the hotel, but neither did you. you checked your phone, only to find out that everyone was asking about it.

he had told everyone. and you weren’t brave enough to face the reality and break the news just yet.

you and lando had been dating since you two were just teenagers, and almost eight years later, marriage was clearly the next step.

you were made for each other, your friends and family were sure of that one thing; your relationship perfect to everyone’s eyes.

but you had never really considered the possibility of lando asking you to marry him. not so soon.

and when you saw him kneeling in front of you, it hit you.

lando was all you knew. you had grown together, and you had learned everything about love with him; the good and the bad. and maybe you had just grown used to the feeling. to him.

and perhaps it wasn’t that stirring feeling anymore, but just pure habit. you felt comfortable, so you stayed.

“why?” he asked in a whisper, loud enough for you to hear. lost in your own thoughts, you had no idea of how long the silence had been settled between you two.

you had curled yourself in the sofa in the corner of the room when you arrived, and lando was sitting in the edge of bed, teary eyes still looking at the ring.

“i don’t know,” was the only thing you could say.

you didn’t know what had happened, and you didn’t know when either. surely, you wouldn’t know why.

it just didn’t feel the same anymore.

“i’m going back tonight,” he sighed as he stood up and started packing his things back in his suitcase.

and you knew he was going back to your shared apartment, but it was no longer your home.

cause there was no more you.

#lando norris #lando norris fluff #lando norris smut #lando norris blurb #lando norris drabble #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #f1 x reader #ln4 imagine #ln4 x reader #ln4 fic

652 notes · View notes

verstappen-cult · 2 months

Text

LESTAPPEN ★ MASTERLIST

╰► CONTENT:

[ BACK TO MAIN MASTERLIST ]

here you’ll find the links to all my max verstappen x fem!reader x charles leclerc works! excluding the ones that are in charles and max’s individual masterlists. you can find drabbles, one-shots and series. masterlist constantly being updated.

01. BLURBS & DRABBLES

TAKING CARE OF YOU AFTER A NIGHT OUT

“i like to know i make girls jealous.” you say without an ounce of regret, looking between your boyfriends. why would you feel ashamed, right? “and i like to know i’m the only one to have you both.”

CHARLES GETS THE FLU

charles gets the flu gets all dramatic about it so max and the both have to take care of him and it's just pure fluff and chaos.

ADORABLE MEET CUTE

meet cute between lestappen and reader at a library.

NOT THE IDEAL BIRTHDAY | PART TWO

max totally blanks on your birthday plans and it’s not pretty.

SKINCARE ROUTINE

the boys want to help you with your skincare routine.

GIVING MAX’S LIP FRECKLE A LITTLE BIT OF LOVE

“You have a freckle on your lip.” You say, gaze glued to that little thing that screams at you to kiss it, and lick it, and show it some love.

YOUR BOYS BEING JEALOUS OF OLLIE

just asking the boys to take care of ollie on f1 debut. they can’t help but feel a little jealous over an eighteen year old boy.

TAKING CARE OF YOU DURING A NIGHT OUT

You lean against the car, pouting for what feels like the hundredth time in the night. “Can we go to McDonald’s?”

COZY MORNINGS

Waking up in your boyfriends’ arms is your favorite thing in the world. Even if most of the time you’re being crushed between them and feeling too warm to the point of sweating.

HAVING A SORE THROAT

the boys take care of you and act as your voice.

TAKING CARE OF YOU AFTER SURGERY

you had surgery recently and your boys are a little too intense when it comes to taking care of you.

KNIGHTS IN SHINNING ARMOR

after your mother says some hurtful things to you, your boys come to your rescue.

FLOWERS IN HER HAIR

what is like being in a relationship with max and charles while being a florist.

ATTENDING A WEDDING

just yours, max and charles thoughts on marriage and your future together.

JEALOUS BOYS

the boys reacting to a stranger hitting on you.

POST BREAK-UP

bumping into max and charles at a club after you broke up with them.

MEETING JIMMY AND SASSY

you and charles just wanted them to like you, if you cheated to make that happen, well, it’s not your fault.

WRITING A SONG

you usually wake up in the middle of the night to write. little do you know that charles and max like to lie away listening to you and your process.

GLASSES

max and charles see you wearing glasses for the first time.

02. ONE-SHOTS

CHASING HEARTS

you’ve been friends with max and charles for quite a while now, but as much as you’ve tried you just can’t keep denying your true feelings anymore. so, what happens when they came knocking on your door demanding an explanation?

IN A WORLD OF BOYS, THEY’RE GENTLEMEN (smau)

people always like to jump into conclusions and you are the internet’s newest victim, the ‘slut playing with two boys’. little do they know, there’s more to the story.

03. MOODBOARDS

YOUR CAMERA ROLL IF MAX AND CHARLES WERE YOUR BOYFRIENDS

dancing in the dimly lit kitchen. special album called ‘my boys’ in your phone filled with photos of your boyfriends. supporting them every weekend even if you’re not at the paddock…

04. SERIES

LOADING. . .

#max verstappen x reader #charles leclerc x reader #lestappen x reader #poly!f1 #charles leclerc fluff #max verstappen fluff

447 notes · View notes

kentopedia · 5 months

Text

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ WAS I SUCH A FOOL? — NANAMI KENTO

summary . . . two years after breaking up with nanami kento, he shows up at your concert

contents . . . 70s rock band, NSFW 18+, fem!reader, brief discussion of drug and alcohol addiction, exes, singer!reader x drummer!nanami, rival bands, secret relationships, infidelity, reader is in a relationship with toji, smut, piv, creampie, “angry” sex, angst, complicated relationships — 7.5k

notes . . . inspired by many things, including silver springs by fleetwood mac, daisy jones & the six and nana <3 so if you like any of those things and kento, this is for you!

It was the final stretch of your tour.

A finale that led to the conclusion of months spent in nothing but a cloud, one where you lingered only on the outskirts of your memory. Hazy traces of drawn-out celebrations, sweaty sex in the bathrooms during a house party, camera flashes from paparazzi—they were the only glimpses that you got from the weeks that had gone by, images that weren’t quite cohesive.

There had been days where you didn’t quite remember your name, stumbled over the recollections of the night before, the weeks before, but you didn’t mind so much. It would all be fine, as long as you never forgot your lyrics up on the stage, where millions of eyes watched your every move carefully, would judge you for even the most minor slip-up.

You could forgive yourself for almost anything, but you’d rather die than embarrass yourself in front of them, your fans, the only ones whose love you had left.

The list of people you’d disappointed in your life couldn’t be condensed; even those who spared their affection like it was a necessity held some shred of bitterness towards you. They couldn’t be blamed, really. Not when your life was one to scorn, and you were a dying star, burning bright and burning fast.

Still, you couldn’t think of a better way to live life. The warmth of drugs and alcohol and the music spared you from surviving every day in misery.

Of course, singing seemed to do the trick better than anything. It was more of a high than anything else had ever been, and the way you felt on stage was close to the same sort of love you’d felt two years ago. The adoration of fans was innocent enough to fill the void in your gaping heart.

You clasped your hand around the microphone, closing your eyes as you leaned forward, sultrily singing the rhythm before you would come to the crescendo at the end of your song.

Years of work had led up to this—the grandeur of singing to a venue filled to the brim with fans, each of them knowing the words to your creation. Every crack in the audience was taken by a body, one rank with sweat, contributing to the thick air, cloaked in smoke. A crowd of people that seemed undesirable, and yet, they tolerated the smell, the feeling of a stranger pressed up against their backside, just for a few moments of seeing their favorite album played live.

They were here for all of you. A band that was never supposed to make it this far, and yet, held the number one single in the country, a few gold records, and covers on magazines that some could only dream of being in.

Yet, with your ego the size of the sun, and the dreamy haze that you put yourself in, you couldn’t help but feel like the crowd was always rooting for you. Hearts formed in their eyes as they watched you sway behind the microphone, and it brought a smile to your lips, one that always came with the rush of performing.

The words you wrote took you elsewhere, transported you to a place where you could truly spill your soul out, your ink on the page as permanent as the mark you’d leave on the world. You were important, weren’t you? Maybe not in the way you wanted to be, but still in a way that mattered.

The bass played steadily behind you, strumming, deepening, sinking into your veins. Although you focused, it was easy to forget yourself and where you were. The lines and the chords were too familiar from all your late night practices, from the cigarettes you’d shared in bed with Toji Fushiguro, who played the bass like he bled honey.

The lyrics you’d penned from your very own hand, sang deeply from your diaphragm, always led to a flash of memories in your mind like a film screen, each word punctuating another moment in your life that had pushed you into a mess of a woman.

Toji’s name might have been next to yours on the songwriting credits, but this song, the one you belted, belonged to you and you alone. It put you on display, stripped you bare; if anyone really bothered to search deep enough, they’d see you for what you were.

They’d see that, contrary to the opinion of the public, these songs were not about Toji at all.

A tear dripped off your lashes, and you clenched your jaw, refusing to let sadness overpower the anger that you should’ve felt towards the man you’d left behind. For months, you’d blamed yourself—but it had taken two to weave the web of hurt that still ensnared you.

Shaking off the despair, you stared out into the crowd, digging deep into your lungs for the breath that would sustain the powerful note, the punctuation of your song, the climax of the pain and fury you’d never get rid of. The lingering emotion that had you questioning if you’d been the one to ruin the best thing you’d ever had, or if, perhaps, you’d just been bad for each other all along.

You traced your gaze through the faces, soaking in the love in their expressions, the praise that came with their reactions to your lyrics. How that sort of love didn’t make you feel whole, but it certainly put you back together in a way that made you believe you weren’t so broken anymore either.

Then—the world stuttered, momentarily, halting to a screech as brown eyes, just as steadfast and tender as you remembered, stared over dark glasses.

You fell behind in the song, just a note, a pause that lasted less than a second. Your lips turned dry as your heart fell down to the floor, dropping into your stomach, twisting your insides. You almost convinced yourself it was an illusion, until he blinked, shifting, though not uncomfortably, disguised just enough so that no one else in the crowd knew who he was but you.

Nanami Kento, there, right before your very eyes. It was the first time you’d seen him in person since you’d split up two years ago—a breakup that would’ve made the headlines for weeks, if anyone had known about it.

You squeezed the microphone harder, the sound in your voice dripping with emotion, raw and raspy, but in a way that was beautiful. You’d never sang like this before, but the muse of your song, the man you always wrote about, stood before you.

Kento didn’t look much different—but you wouldn’t have noticed the changes anyways. You saw him in the papers constantly, unable to avoid him as much as you were certain he was unable to avoid you.

You sang the few notes of the song; Toji brought you to a crescendo, and your voice nearly cracked from rage, the breath ripped from your lungs as Kento dared to watch you with pity at the mess you’d made of yourself. After all this time, you couldn’t stand to see that sort of compassion on his face.

The lights suddenly seemed too bright, the crowd too wild, Kento’s eyes too deep and sad and unreflective of those around him.

One of your other bandmates closed out your evening, and though the crowd demanded an encore, you refused to get back on the stage, couldn’t do it even if you tried. The contents of your stomach emptied out right as you stepped out of their sight.

“Shit!” one of the stagehands shouted, jumping out of your way as you heaved again, wiping your eyes. There was another round of cursing, and sure, they were used to stars indulging too much in things they shouldn’t, but that wasn’t the only reason for you vomiting all over the floor.

“Hey, hey,” a voice said, calming and steady as a hand traced up your spine, rubbing soothing circles. “Everything okay, baby? Need some water?” Toji was concerned, deep eyes scanning your face for any signs of weakness.

You shook him off, and Toji whispered to another one of the men over his shoulder, telling them to close the final curtain. Even though you wanted to protest, you wiped your mouth, and accepted the water that a dark-haired woman had rushed to you.

“I’m fine, Toji,” you said, breathing heavily, wondering if there was any ounce of truth to your words. Nanami’s appearance had been the last thing you’d expected, and you didn’t want anyone to notice, out of the fear that someone would start digging into your past with him.

You could only hope that your shared glimpse had gone unnoticed, a plethora of emotions spelled out there, ones that you’d been horrible at hiding.

Toji directed the stagehands around, dragging your manager over, even as their conversation fell on your lifeless ears. Everything sounded like static, and you didn’t want to speak, sweaty and hot, a panic rising up in you.

“I’m going to the dressing room,” you said, needing to get away from the shouting, the wave of anxiety that was arising. It was quickly becoming too much; even Toji’s presence was too much. “I’ll meet you back at the hotel.”

“You want me to stay with you?” Toji asked, his eyes flashing with an emotion you couldn’t discern, perhaps possessiveness, perhaps something else. He’d always been more jealous than you would’ve liked, but his presence was a comfort from time to time.

Not now, though.

Shaking your head, you drew away from him, Toji’s large palm falling off the small of your back. “I’m fine, really.” Nothing you said could’ve convinced him completely, and you didn’t bother. Instead, you left the stage without listening to the rest of his protests, climbing down the stairs and disappearing out of view.

Surprisingly, he let you go. After nearly four years of sharing a band, it seemed Toji Fushiguro was starting to understand you.

The truth was, with your shaky hands and the rampant nervousness that seemed to heighten only after a show, you knew you needed something. Toji had forced you to flush everything that you’d kept locked up, but you always kept a back-up, just in case, for times where the music wasn’t enough.

You went to the dressing room, hands shaking at your sides as you tried to regain some control of your breathing, rid the rancid taste from your mouth. There was still a box of cigarettes in your pocket, and you lit one, the smoke easing some of the emotions that spun wild circles in your chest.

As you returned backstage, your bodyguard, Itadori, a young man that you’d hired on the spot, smiled softly, falling away from the door to the dressing room. There had been too many close calls, too many incidents in recent years that you didn’t want a repeat of. Ever since you’d gotten enough money to hire proper security, you’d put it in Itadori’s pocket.

“Anyone try to sneak back here?” you asked; you’d heard horror stories of fans trying to steal items, even trash, things like used tissues with snot dripping off it. It’d been a nightmare of yours since you first started going on tour.

Itadori shook his head, and let you in, released you into a room that wasn’t quite silent, but was better, worlds better, than the blaze of music that had followed you off the stage, bursting your eardrums. Sometimes, you forgot how loud it truly was out there. The ring in your ears and the deafening quiet were the sole reminders of the difference in sound after the shows.

You smoked to the end of the cigarette, filling the room with a cloud as you calmed yourself, rummaging through your bag for the spare bottle of pills that you’d hidden away from Toji. For emergencies only, you’d promised yourself.

And, well, this was certainly one of those times.

Without any water, you swallowed it, feeling a lump in your throat before it slid down, dissolving into your stomach. You’d wait for it to take effect before you left, called a car. Perhaps, you’d be able to forget this evening had ever happened. You’d go back into the studio in a couple weeks, start on your next album, and this would all just be a dream. Surely, you convince yourself of that.

There were just a few weeks left in the year anyways. You’d be able to put it all behind you, and maybe, you’d be a new person in the new year. A stupid idea, but a hopeful one, and one that would propel you through the holidays, the end of the tour, and the rest of your life.

A sound on the other side of the door caught your attention, a conversation taking place that you hadn’t heard at first. Hushed voices, under frustrated breaths. For a moment, you couldn’t register that it was Kento’s words that were rushing through the cracks in the plaster, the wood-paneled door, but it shouldn’t have come as any surprise to you.

He’d been the one to seek you out. Why would he come all this way just to watch you play, without so much as a conversation? You’d been a fool to think otherwise, that you could escape the grasp that the blonde man always seemed to have around you.

“Please, Itadori. I know you remember me. Don’t treat me like a stranger.” Kento sighed heavily, the irritation leaking into his voice as he lowered the tone. “Just let me talk to her.”

“You can’t be back here,” Yuuji answered, but the hesitation in his tone had you wondering if he was contemplating the opposite.

After all, Yuuji had been the only one to know about you and Kento; it was hard to keep it a secret from someone who was around you almost always. It was why you trusted him so sincerely. He’d never spilled the truth to anyone, even when he could’ve made thousands with a story like that.

“I just need to see her.” Desperate, almost. The strain of the syllabus tugged at your chest, and though you willed him away, the other part of you, still rancid with sentimental emotions for your ex-lover, begged him to keep pushing. To stand out there until you couldn’t hide any longer.

“I’m sorry, Nanami. I am, but you’re not authorized. I don’t want to let you in without her permission, and she hasn’t given me that.”

Kento took a long breath, and didn’t say anything for a moment. His voice went even quieter, and you pressed your ear against the door, straining to hear it. Even the slight inflections of the sighs in his chest had something unfurling within your stomach, comforting and familiar. “Fine.” A shuffling, closer to the door, his shoes against the wood, before his words were nearer to your ear. “I’m sure she’s in there listening to every word anyways. Running as usual.”

There was no response from Itadori. You could hear the self-satisfaction in Kento’s voice, and he could probably see your shadow under the door, sense you just inches away, somehow.

You exhaled, and snuffed out the cigarette. Then, you threw the door open.

Even knowing he’d be there, the sight of Kento still caught you off-guard, but this time, you anticipated it, and remained composed. He stood with his arms crossed, the corners of his lips pulling up smugly, like he’d know that snide remark would be enough, because he’d always known you better than anyone.

“What the fuck do you want?” you said, narrowing your eyes, darting them all over his face. Still as handsome as you remembered. “You’re not supposed to be back here.”

“You should fire your security team,” Kento said simply, pushing past Yuuji to barge his way into the dressing room. With judgmental brown eyes, he glanced around it, even though you were certain he’d played at this venue before, knew exactly what secrets hid in this room. “They accepted my bribe way too quickly.”

You stared at him, slammed the door behind you, hopeful that the sounds of the crowd that still rampaged would be enough to drown out your conversation. “Right.” A bitter laugh escaped you, the door rattling on its hinges. “You must feel pretty proud of yourself right now.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far.” Kento’s eyebrows raised, and finally, he stopped perusing the room, crossing his arms over his chest to stare at you. “I know we haven’t seen each other in a while, but I haven’t changed much.”

What he meant was that he was still an honest man, despite the backwards practices and corruption of the world the two of you lived in. Nanami Kento was a specimen in the scene of music, someone a bit too perfect, seemingly too straight-laced, serious almost to a fault in front of a crowd. He lost himself in the songs, just as you did, but he held himself with some sort of dignity.

Maybe, for that reason, it never made sense for you to be together, anyways. Not when you were an endearing mess, and he was the leader of your band’s closest competition. The group that Toji hated almost as much as the family he’d run away from.

It should’ve been obvious that the two of you were doomed from the start.

“You can’t just show up, Kento, and demand a conversation. I haven’t talked to you in two years for a reason. Do you really think I want to see you?”

“I don’t know.” His eyes narrowed, matching your anger. “You let me in, didn’t you?”

“Because you’re pissing me off, and you’re a stubborn asshole who won’t leave until you get what you want.” Stalking towards him, you poked your finger in the middle of his chest, the touch doing nothing to move him, so strong and statuesque. “Jesus. Nanami fucking Kento, bribing security members, just to talk to me.” You laughed bitterly, a snort leaving you. “After two years, you really must be desperate.”

There wasn’t any sincerity, and the laugh he returned was hard and mirthless. “I see time has made you kinder.”

“Fuck off.” You were dangerously close to him, your hand splaying across his broad chest, the scent of him as familiar as ever, his mouth so near your own. It was infuriating how comfortable this felt, how you could slip back into time with him in a way you’d never been able to with Toji. “I never wanted to see you again. Don’t come back to ruin my life. I don’t deserve that.”

You shoved at him again, and again he didn’t move, his frame hard beneath your palm.

Kento grabbed your wrist as you tried to pull away, his already deep irises darkening. “Funny. That’s funny.” He searched you for something, and he was sure to find it, even as you schooled your expression into something neutral. It was too hard to hide from him—that’s why you’d run in the first place. “I remember being the one that was left with no explanation. I wanted to marry you, but you disappeared without even a word. Did I deserve that?”

Though his words didn’t crack, they came close to breaking at the end of the sentence. The silence was sharp, deadly, almost as if you could reach out and touch it. But you didn’t. Kento’s soul-searching gaze dissuaded you from any movement.

“That’s what you think?” You shook your head, yanking your wrist free as you took a step back. Laughter bubbled out of you, and the anger made it sound crazed, like something that wasn’t quite your own. “You think it was my fault.”

“Wasn’t it?”

You scoffed once more. “Please. You never would’ve married me. All our time and work would’ve been wasted. Your band means everything to you, and I refused to let either of us drown for something as stupid as love.”

A beat passed as Kento faltered, conflict twisting his expression before the frustration pulled back, tied up with a fiery bow. “Stupid?” He was cornering you, crowding you to the side of the room. You hadn’t registered your feet moving, but in just a few, quick steps, your back had hit the wall with a thump, his breath fanning across your nose. “That’s what you thought it was? Just a waste of time?”

“Maybe.” you spat, raising your voice, pushing at his shoulders. “Maybe I just wanted someone better than you.”

“Well, then, I hope you’ve fucking found it,” Kento’s hands shook at his sides, his eyes twitching with anger. “I hope you’re happy.”

“I am.”

“Good.” Heavy breaths left him. Somehow, he seemed relieved, as if he thought you’d be the one still holding on, when it was him that had shown up unannounced, staring at you with stars in his eyes. “That’s good. You can hate me all you want, but I want you to be happy. I want you to move on.”

“God, Kento,” you said, rolling your eyes. “It’s been two years—”

“I’m getting married.”

The remark slammed against you, the guarded expression dropping from your face to reveal one of utter bewilderment. For a moment, fleeting as it was, you had no protection against Nanami Kento, who caught it smoothly, the stricken glaze of your eyes, the way your lips had parted without any words to dispel.

Semi-satisfaction reflected in his own, finally stripping you bare, allowing him to see the truth for what it was—and it was a truth you weren’t sure you’d even accepted yourself.

“You’re right,” you finally said, and though only a second had passed before you schooled your features back into an impassive position, a second was too long for a man who knew you so sincerely. “I don’t care, Nanami.”

Kento blinked.

Gaining the upper hand, you tried to skirt around him, cowering away from his knowing glare, but you couldn’t go anywhere. Kento pinned his hands to the wall beside your head, looking at you through his lower lashes, as if he’d known you would try to escape him.

Heat bounced between your bodies, the space boiling, passion and rage and a hundred scarlet emotions twisting up in the air you exhaled. Would Toji have been able to read the conflict that manifested between your brows, the way your irises had changed colors, fading into a gradient of listless melancholy?

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that.” Kento said, harsh, cruel, but nothing less than the truth.

“Is that so?” Your face was forced dangerously close to his own once more, inches between you. “You wanted a different reaction?” A glimpse in his guarded features, and you wondered how anyone could say Nanami was stoic man, when he wore a thousand different emotions on his sleeve. “I’m sorry you deluded yourself into thinking I’d still be in love with you.”

“Right.” Kento’s nose brushed against your own, his eyes so dark. Still, there were flecks of gold visible, just barely, only when you were this close. “All those songs on the radio, all those lyrics you’re getting paid millions for… Those aren’t about me?” he demanded, shaking his head, his expression pinched. “You think I’m an idiot? I know. I know, and you can pretend all you want, but you can’t pretend like you’re not the one who fucked it all up.”

You scowled, but neither of you moved. “Get out of here, Kento.”

“No,” he said, breathing heavily, the movement of his tongue over his lip short-circuiting your competence. “Tell me why.”

“Get out,” you said through gritted teeth.

His face was more severe than you’d ever seen it before, cheekbones sharper from his pinched jaw. “No,” he repeated, glowering down at you, speaking slower, punctuating his words. “Tell me why.”

“I—” but you couldn’t think straight with his mouth that close to yours, his eyes penetrating your soul, so angry, but not without their usual sweetness. No one had ever loved you the way Nanami had, and you were a fool, but he deserved better than you. He deserved the love he’d wanted, to not settle for someone who wanted fame more than she wanted him. “I hate you.”

“Funny how, even now, hate still feels a lot like love.”

You blinked up at him, your expression twitching, lips parting with more poisonous words, fingers shaking with the need to slap him away. Yet, when you moved, planning to push him out of your orbit, Kento moved quicker; the strategy sketched in your mind didn’t quite match the one enacted by your hands.

“You’re so naive, Kento.”

His lips were on your own, and you melted instantly, tugging him hard by the lapels in a bruising kiss. It tasted like a familiarity that couldn’t be replicated, tainted by the heavy heat that soaked into you.

Kento’s hands wrapped around your waist, jerking you forward, fingers easily finding the space between your hipbones, tracing them with a tenderness that was equally filled of devastating need. He tasted strongly of alcohol, like he’d drowned in it hours before, if only to fill himself with the bravery he’d need to speak with you after so long.

And you were equally a coward; walking naked into a crowd would be easy compared to the feeling of vulnerability that came from Kento’s sweet mouth on your skin. The way he shoved you further into the wall, fingers brushing along your waist, hateful and loving all at once.

“Stop, Kento,” you said, but it was weak to your own ears, not an ounce of honesty there. His mouth flitted across your neck, warm and tender, and it was different. It was nothing like Toji, who cared about you, maybe even loved you, but had never understood you.

Not like Kento did.

“Say it with a little more conviction.” Kento kissed beneath your jaw, hopefully with enough sense not to leave any marks there. “Tell me you want me to leave. That you never wanted to marry me.”

“I do,” you insisted, but it was breathless, your eyes fluttering closed as his hand drifted up your stomach. “I didn’t.” Kento’s palm was warm, burning a hole though the thin material of your top. Before you could protest further, his fingers traced across your breast, thumb dragging across your nipple.

You shivered, but made no move to push his hand back down.

“Convincing.” Kento smiled. His eyes were melted chocolate, the sort of unmatched comfort you’d never again receive. “Tell me you never loved me.”

A burning itch started in your nose, foreboding the wave of emotions that would succumb you. You sorted through the hostile regret, forcing yourself not to feel such nostalgia from his embrace.

Things were better now, weren’t they? You never would’ve made it as a star, had you not escaped the desperate hold of your love for the blonde drummer.

“It’d be a lie. I loved you once.”

“But not anymore?”

You didn’t let him get much further than that, kissing him without thinking—needing to stop thinking, before you spiraled into the endless cycle of wondering why you’d ever left him at all. The feelings were never-ending, latching on and holding tight, reminding you at inopportune moments of all the mistakes you’d made: him, the worst of all.

Kento groaned into your mouth as you parted his lips, remembering what he tasted like. His hair was longer now, thick between your fingers, bangs falling in straighter strands over his forehead. Had there ever been a place where you felt safer, than when his arms were warm and secured around your waist?

“You didn’t answer my question,” Kento panted into your mouth, his cheeks flushed, skin warmed from the way that your hands roamed all over his chest.

“No more talking.” You pushed him backwards towards the sofa, this one a deep, velvety green, a contrast to the orange hues of the rest of the room. “I’m tired of talking.”

Kento seemed like he wanted to protest, but his anger had melted, and his eyes were soaked in lust, pupils blown wide. Objections about how you never talked, always beat around the bush, erupted, then died. For once, he relented. “Fine.” Kento’s voice had deepened, the irritation coated by whatever semblance of affection he still held for you. “If that’s what you want.”

You tugged at his belt buckle, wishing you could move faster, even as Kento undid the ties that held your loose top together. It fell off your shoulders, and you finally ripped the belt from the loops, unzipping the tight slacks that had paired well with his worn jacket.

His skin was hot beneath the garments, and Kento’s muscles were even more defined from all his years of playing the drums. He’d kept himself healthy as the time had passed, never indulging in anything as often as his bandmates.

You felt sick with need for him, confused as you sorted through how much of your aching chest was love, and how much was a desire that you could’ve felt for anyone.

“Fuck,” Kento muttered against your mouth as you slipped a hand under his shirt, feeling your way across his abdomen. “It’s been so fucking long.”

He was so perfect. How could you ever have forgotten? Not even the magazines with their fancy cameras could do him justice. Kento was a work of art, a masterful creation, and you were jealous of anyone else who had gotten close enough to see it.

“I—” you opened your mouth to say you missed him, or maybe something else, but you bit it back down, not wishing to showcase yourself so openly. Instead, you pulled at the hem of his shirt, frustrated when it wouldn’t come off.

Kento’s knees hit the back of the sofa, and he fell, pulling you onto his lap, gazing up at you with an affection you didn’t deserve. His fingers covered your own, and he helped you jerk the tight shirt off his chest, the material doing little to cover his marbled figure.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he said into your ear, low and husky, his hands slipping down your jeans, shifting you up to ease the material off your thighs. “The whole word knows it; you’re an angel on the covers of all those magazines. Can’t stand it when Satoru and Suguru talk about you,” he grumbled against your mouth, throwing your jeans to the ground as you wiggled out of them.

You laughed, wondering why it was always so easy with Kento, to smile, to shift your palpable anger into something less fragile.

“Yeah?” you muttered against his mouth, his fingers dipping into the waistband of your panties, so cold against your bare skin. “I bet you go home and jerk off to the covers of me, don’t you, Kento?”

Kento grinned against your lips as you traced your fingers against his jaw, somewhat tenderly, and with a possessiveness you’d always struggled to reign in. The bulge in his pants was more than obvious, straining against the tight cloth. “What gave you that idea, sweetheart?”

Your eyes fluttered shut, mouth drifting across his own, tasting the air between you as you tugged his cock free. It was warm and familiar in your palm, and though it wasn’t like fucking Toji, you’d never forget exactly how to touch Nanami Kento.

“I know,” you said, stroking him, feeling the length in your hand, the vein running along it, “because that’s exactly what I do.”

The admittance left you before you could think to refute it, and Kento didn’t let you, kissed you harder, realizing that no matter how far you strayed from one another, there would always be a cord attaching you together.

“Shit,” Kento rasped, his head falling backwards as your thumb grazed over the tip of his cock, your thighs straddling his own. “That sweet mouth of yours always knows just what to say.”

Your cheeks warmed, a smile gracing your expression as you dragged your hips across his thigh, leaning forward to kiss him. It’d been a while since you’d wanted anyone so badly, a craving soaking into every vein of your body, buzzing with desire. Need settled deep in your stomach; your kisses grew sloppy. Your lips were coated and glossed with Kento’s own saliva, puffy from how hard he pressed his hand to the back of your neck.

“Do you think of me when you fuck your fiancée too?” you asked, stroking him without even looking, the movements from memory, his pre-cum glistening on your palm. “Do you look at her and wish it was me instead?”

Kento groaned deeply in the back of his throat, his face flashing with the anger you’d intentionally put back there. Quicker than you’d anticipated, he’d flipped you onto your back, towering over you. His face was pinched as he kissed down your neck, across your collarbones, down your stomach.

You wanted him to regret this, to feel every ounce of the infidelity he was committing. To make him admit to himself that whatever pretty woman was waiting at home would never compare to the one he had never stopped wanting.

“I could ask you the same question,” Kento said, his mouth on your thighs, squeezing his fingertips into the soft skin of your knees. “Fucking Fushiguro. He always wanted you so bad, and I couldn’t stand it.” Genuine hatred dripped off his words as he leaned back over you, his fingers hovering over your clothed cunt, contrasted with the satisfaction of his expression. “Now he has you,” Kento said, dropping his fingertips over your panties, feeling the spot where you were already soaking through the material, “but I still own this pretty pussy.”

You gripped his biceps as his fingers rubbed small circles into your clit, a sideways grin forming onto his dark lips. “Kento,” you breathed, nails digging into his arms. “I want you to fuck me.”

“You make it too easy, baby,” he said softly, even when his cock was painfully hard, leaking between the two of you. “Just have to say a few words and you’re already soaking wet for me.”

Your lips parted as Kento slipped his fingers underneath your panties, and the contact of his hands on your cunt, after so much time, had a sharp exhale leaving your chest.

“N-no, wait—” you stuttered, pushing his hands away as you slipped the lacy material off your hips. “Just fuck me, Ken, I can take it.” You reached for his cock, but his eyes flashed, annoyance sparking in his eyes. “I just want you inside.”

“I’ve got you all to myself finally, and now you want to rush it?” Kento glared, forcing your hands back down beside you. He was so much stronger than you, and though you needed him to touch you, he spread your legs further instead, let nothing but the cool air kiss your bare cunt. “Don’t.”

You whimpered as he released your wrists, leaned down to brush his tongue through your folds. Your eyes fluttered closed, and he gathered the slick up into his lips, tasting you, his nose brushing against your clit.

A deep sigh reverberated in the room as you felt your love for him wash over you, a love that was once hidden away, but not eradicated. It coated you, made your lust only double, and sentimental blabber began to leave your mouth, as Kento forced his tongue deeper into your aching hole.

“I missed you, Ken,” you said, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes as your gripped his blonde hair, hatred for yourself just as strong as adoration for him. You weren’t supposed to be crying, not now, not when this wasn’t supposed to be sex at all, but some sort of hateful fucking that was slowly turning into desperate lovemaking. “I missed you.”

Kento smiled softly against you before pulling away, his mouth soaked from your arousal. “I know, sweetheart,” he said, looking at you tenderly; it made you sick to think that there would be a ring on his finger soon. You’d go back to your hotel room with Toji, and he’d go back to the fiancee that deserved him more than you did. “My pretty girl.”

“Don’t say things, like that.” You steadied your emotions, as, finally Kento pressed the head of his cock against your entrance, the wrinkle between his brow forming as he watched you carefully. “Don’t be sweet to me.”

You’d gotten used to fucking Toji, who was thicker and longer than Kento; and Kento slid right into you like he was meant to be there, your body relaxed and willing. A groan left him, and he laced his fingers with your own, squeezed your hands together against the armrest of the sofa.

“Why?” Kento asked, emotions guarded by curiosity. You swallowed, leaned your head back with a heavy breath as he inched inside of you. “Don’t want to admit you’re still in love with me?”

“I’m not—” But you were cut off, your objections falling flat as Kento’s eyes fluttered closed.

“Fuck, fuck,” he said, drawing out the word like it was more than one syllable, his deep, throaty tone parting your lips. There was a flush on his cheeks, pink, his forehead sweaty as the blonde strands stuck to it.

You’d always loved his hair down—maybe, it was because of you that it became his signature.

“You feel so good,” he said, drawing himself out of you, thrusting back in, pushing further and further until he had bottomed out completely. “God, I don’t remember you ever squeezing me so tight before.”

He sounded drunk on the feeling of you; you couldn’t help the start of a smile that formed on your face as he fucked you, losing his sanity while he succumbed to pleasure. There were sinful sounds between you, and you felt a little outside of yourself, knowing that you still had a hold on one of the most famous drummers in the entire world.

Kento kissed you all over your face, and you lifted your hips to meet him, wishing you could take him deeper, let him soak into your entire body.

“Do you regret it?” Kento whispered, his thrusts growing faster, cock throbbing inside of you. “Or do you just regret me?”

You opened your eyes to meet his dark, sweet irises. A man like him shouldn’t have fallen for someone like you, should never have stooped down to love you. The truth rested on your tongue, but when Kento hit deep a spot within you, dizziness sparked at the back of your mind, and a lie slipped out instead.

“I don’t regret anything, Kento,” you said, smiling lazily, like you didn’t have a care in the world. “Least of all, leaving you.”

To your surprise, Kento laughed, light and carefree, even though it was stuttered, raspy from his need. “You always were a good liar,” he reached between you, brushing his thumb over your clit with a hazy expression. “Much better than me.”

Once again, Kento saw right through you, reminding you of why you’d gone your separate ways. It was dangerous to have someone around that you couldn’t hide from.

“Ken,” you whimpered, gripping his wrists when you realized how close you were. There was anguish interlaced with your arousal, but your orgasm was approaching all the same. You clenched around him a little harder, swallowing, and Kento smirked, his voice husky.

“I know, sweetheart,” he said, his tone dropping, almost commanding, in a way that he knew always had you writhing helpless under him. “Pussy’s clenching me so tight. You gonna cum for me, baby?” he said into your skin, fucking deeper into you. “Let go.”

The instant relief washed over you, and you groaned, loud into the room, coming hard around Kento’s cock, your body shaking as he worked you through the orgasm.

A smile formed as he kissed your mouth, forcing words down your throat. “That’s it,” he hummed. “Always so perfect for me. I missed you, I love you so much,” and his words turned desperate while he dragged himself out of you, forcefully, trying hard not to let himself go.

“It’s okay, Kento,” you said, stupidly, crazily, running your hands all over him. “You can come inside me.”

Kento's mind drew a blank, and he groaned deeply, nearly collapsing on top of you as he came, spilling his thick, hot cum into your cunt. And you were an idiot, a fool, because you’d never let Toji do that, never let him fuck you without a condom, but Toji wasn’t Kento—

and you would’ve let Nanami Kento do anything to you.

Kento held you close to him, squeezing you to his chest as you both breathed heavily, remembering what it was like to be in each other’s arms. His cock grew soft, and his cum spilled out of you, soaking your thighs, ruining the sofa beneath you.

“Did you mean it?” you asked, running your fingers through his blonde hair as he rested his head on your chest, arms warm around your body. “Do you love me?”

The air grew stale, thick with the sins committed in the room. Kento smiled, kissed your neck, and said nothing.

“Do you love her?” you asked, begging for an answer, not knowing who she even was. Not knowing if you cared.

“I do.”

“But not as much as you love me.”

He tipped his chin up on your chest, looking at you with sad, dark eyes. “I don’t know,” he admitted, tracing his fingertips across your stomach. “But I love you enough to do this to her. That must mean something.”

Maybe, you thought, running an analog through your mind of all the reasons that could lead anywhere but affection. You’d both been under a lot of stress recently, times changing as you reached fame. It was nice to think back to a life before all that, when all you’d had was some cash in your pocket, and a dingy nightclub to play to.

Perhaps you reminded each other of that.

You craned your neck, looking up at the ceiling, your hand stilling against his scalp. “What does it mean, Kento?”

The moment passed between you, where things were hollow and empty. You could see a lifetime stretched out in front of you, but it was all in shades of grey, nothing sketched in a thick, black outline. Nothing concrete.

What you knew for sure was that you would break his heart again.

Maybe not soon, but eventually. Toji would hate you when he found out, your bandmates would hate you for lying to them. You and Kento would never live in peace, and instead, you'd spend the rest of your life stalked by the press, flashes blinding you, tabloids written about you, paranoia spiking in your chest as they tried to convince you that he was cheating on you with his bandmate.

It would be a disaster.

It would be even more heartbreaking than saying goodbye.

“It means that if you say you want me, I’ll break it off.” Kento sat up, bringing you with him, suddenly serious. “I can live without you, but I don’t want to. I love you, I’ve always loved you. Just say the words.” He kissed you softly, pleading with you, lips all over your face. “Say that you still love me, and we can get through anything.”

You exhaled a breathy laugh, tracing his features, wondering why that made you feel so sad. It was a good thing, wasn’t it? Kento could live without you, and you wanted him to.

Even if you couldn’t live without him.

“It was good to see you,” you said, letting his hands fall off your face as you slipped away, begging the tears to just stay put, to stay gone until you could get Kento out of the room. “Hard to believe I’ve made a cheater out of you, Nanami Kento.”

His face fell, smile dropping as he stared back, like that was the last thing he’d expected you to say. You turned your back to him, slinking away as you picked your clothes up off the floor, tugging your jeans back on. “Why—”

“Don’t let me ruin your marriage,” you continued, ruffling your hair to put it back into position, plaster a grin on your face despite the agony you felt. “I know I’m pretty, but I’m just not worth it.”

“Stop that,” Kento stood, taking two strides to you, his eyes desperate, wild, but you stopped him, your arm outstretched, keeping your distance. "Don't stay that."

“I meant what I said, Kento. I’m happy with Toji, I’m happy with the band, and you’re happy with your fiancée. I’m not going to let you fuck any of that up.” You pushed him away, and this time he stumbled, didn’t bother to chase after you. “I missed you, but I don’t want to be with you.”

Kento searched your eyes, but you kept your face neutral, hard, emotionless. He couldn’t doubt your sincerity, and for once, he couldn’t spot your lie.

Finally, he sunk back in on himself. Nodded once. “I should go, then.”

"You should," you said firmly. “Take care of yourself.”

Kento licked his lips. He sorted himself back out, jeans zipped, shirt tucked. His hair looked every bit as perfect as it had when he walked in, even if he looked twice as sad.

“I love you,” he tried, once more, pausing with his hand on the door handle.

Sometimes, though, love wasn’t enough.

You smiled, and wrapped an arm around yourself, knowing that, people could call you a lot of things, but they could never call you selfish.

“Please don’t send me an invitation to your wedding, Kento.”

667 notes · View notes

gorgeys · 9 months

Text

Come to get your fix? - (Margot Robbie x Reader)

At an afterparty, you see Margot for the first time in a long time…

Margot Robbie x femsinger!reader

Warnings: slight age gap (Margot is 30ish, reader is 25ish), mentions of sex, just sexy vibes

A/N: this got a lot longer than it was supposed to be cuz I kinda got carried away with the beginning and the backstory but I hope you enjoy!

2.6k words

There were seven different Met Gala after parties, all of which you had been invited to, but of course you chose the only one that she would be attending.

Well, you really had no other choice. You had to go to Dua Lipa’s party at Virgo on the Lower East Side. You and Dua were close friends and all the biggest celebrities were going to be there.

And you were excited for the most part. It was one of the few nights where you got to hang out with your most famous friends as you danced and drank the night away.

When you arrived, ditching your Chanel gown for a sheer, golden chain dress that resembled royalty, you dove right into the many greetings you’d have to make throughout the night. Of course you got many congratulations on your new album which had easily risen to the top of the charts with several hit singles. And, since you had released new tour dates only last night, several celebrities were already expressing their excitement over attending your LA shows. You thanked them like always, being sure to compliment Zendaya on her new movie and thanking Rihanna for sending you a new package of Fenty Beauty products.

Only after at least an hour did you even find the bar. You ordered your go-to cocktail and paid for whatever your team wanted to drink, exhaling a long sigh. Your voice had already gotten scratchy and hoarse from the day’s events plus the long press tour you had endured the past few weeks. You craved a moment to relax.

But not even a few seconds later did Jack Harlow appear behind you to question why you left him on read for the past three days. Internally rolling your eyes, you mumbled a vague response while your eyes scanned the room for a distraction. You only half listened to him as he tried to get in your pants once more, but you fully stopped paying attention when you finally found her.

There she was, sitting in a booth beside Cara Delevigne across the room. You could tell she was looking for a way out of the situation from the way her shoulders were angled away from Cara and her nails tapped anxiously on the table.

You shamelessly stared, watching her eyes retreat from Cara’s face every once in a while to venture out into the crowd. Her legs were crossed and she sat as straight as a pin like she always had. You remembered how her perfect posture alone always made you feel small. She carelessly flicked her blonde hair back away from her face, smiling at whatever part of the long, winded story Cara was on.

You told yourself so many times that you had moved on. It was a repetitive thought that pounded into your brain each night when you were partying in cities all over the world. And sometimes it felt like you really did move on. You would naturally send a flirty wink to the cute girl at the bar or grind on the hot guy on the dance floor, enjoying the fruitful chase.

But each morning, when you woke up in an expensive hotel room beside a stranger, you always wished she was laying beside you instead. It felt hopeless at times when you were stalking her Instagram or scrolling through your camera roll at the many, many pictures of you and her.

You only truly believed you had moved on when you met your most recent girlfriend. She was finally the breath of fresh air you were looking for. The thoughts of Margot soon felt far and few in between as a new woman consumed your everyday life. She was beautiful and sweet and loving and everything you needed. It was rare for one of your partners to even last more than a couple weeks since you had a reputation of being quite the maneater, but you were glad it did. She was everything.

Until you were gaping at Margot from across the club. You could barely remember your girlfriend’s name when blue eyes finally met yours. They were piercing, like you remembered, and they seemed to look right through you, even from the other side of the room. Her smile melted as she realized who she was looking at.

You took your eyes off of her for a moment as you accepted your drink from the bartender. You thanked him and glanced back. To your satisfaction, she couldn’t take her eyes off of you. You lifted the glass to your lips and took a teasingly slow slip without breaking eye contact. You watched her take a deep breath, slightly pursing her lips, as she silently contemplated how to handle you. Oh, how you loved to be handled by her.

Her attention was stolen for a moment as Cara excused herself from the table. Margot sent her a forced smile and a slight wave before she was lost in the crowd.

You had been dreading this moment for weeks, the inevitable moment when you’d meet her sculpted face that always begged you to come closer. But now that it was happening, it almost felt euphoric.

“Get lost, Jack,” you said, shoving his shoulder out of your way. He groaned but didn’t protest. You had set your path of destruction and now there was no stopping you.

You focused on making long, smooth strides in your tall heels and swaying your hips a bit more than usual as her eyes wandered your incoming figure. Her face was stoic but her gaze was so familiar. It always made you want to impress her, to be extra good for her. To be wanted by her was a better feeling than any number one album or one-night lover. You were glad your dress didn’t leave much for the imagination.

And then, after cutting through the dance floor, you were there, placing your hand upon the table as you slid into the seat beside her. You pressed your thigh into hers, the only thing between them being the golden chains of your dress. The rounded booth kept the two of you secluded from the other happenings of the club.

Although you were beside her, you had each turned your heads to match one another, face to face. Her eyes had never left you and now you could feel her breath against the sensitive skin of your upper lip.

“Hi,” she said. You were envious of how confident she sounded with your face inches from hers. Your only relief was the faint quirk of her lips. You couldn’t tell if it was well-intentioned or mischievous.

“Hi,” you whispered breathlessly, leaving your lips slightly open. She seemed to take the bait as her eyes devoured your glossy, inviting lips.

“Come to get your fix?” she teased, sliding her tongue across her top lip. It was something she always used to say to you when you sneaked into her trailer or violently tugged her into the bathroom.

It reminded you of the times when her soft fingers molded your body into whatever piece of pottery she wanted you to be. The lick of her lips reminded you of all the times her tongue rewarded you afterward.

You clicked your own tongue against the roof of your mouth.

“Something like that,” you mumbled, almost annoyed by all the memories she awakened.

“I was surprised,” she began, her nails skimming the chains along your hip, making a high-pitched noise. You tried not to show how the closeness of her fingers made you feel. “I didn’t see you with anyone.”

She was obviously referring to the fact that you hadn’t brought a date to the gala. Of course, knowing your long history, she had expected you to have someone young and new by your side. After all, TMZ had claimed you were dating four different people in the last two weeks.

You weren’t surprised by her prying. She always cut right to the chase whenever she was with you. But you were a little taken aback that she had asked it so outright considering how things had ended between you.

“Well, I was surprised I didn’t see you with anyone.” You couldn’t help the accusatory attitude that dripped from your voice.

“Hmm,” she hummed with a small smile as if she was expecting that response. She peered down at her hand as it climbed the chains to sit comfortably atop your thigh.

It was her “date” that had ruined your “relationship” in the first place. By “date,” I mean husband and by “relationship,” I mean affair.

It was your first acting gig and in a blockbuster movie at that. Before you had even introduced yourself, you locked eyes with her across the table at the first script reading and you knew you were hers.

But when she began shooting seductive glances from across the set, you assumed your eyes were playing tricks on you. When she began grabbing onto you anytime you were in arms reach, you assumed she was just one of those touchy people. And even that one time when she asked you to “be a good girl” and grab her a water, you just assumed it was a thing she said, even if it made your chest feel tight and your thighs squeeze together.

Because, after all, she was an older, straight, married woman. Or at least that’s what you thought.

It wasn’t until she got you alone in her trailer, pushed you onto the couch, and attacked you with kisses that she made it clear. From that moment on, you were her secret and she had to be yours. It wasn’t ideal, but it was still as perfect as could be. Until it wasn’t.

Before she had even made an advance on you, you knew you were bound to catch feelings. But you weren’t expecting it to hit you like a load of bricks. Nevertheless, you knew you were just some affair to her, some sex toy for her to play with, so it was easy to keep quiet and occasionally dream of what could be.

The real kicker was when, a couple days before shooting wrapped, she admitted she had fallen for you. Your whole world lit up and came crashing down on you simultaneously.

Hearing those words felt like hearing the song of the ice cream truck on a hot summer day: pure relief. You had loved her unwaveringly.

But what trumped that was the undeniable realization that you were only second to her. Second to her husband and the life she had created with him. She could never love you the way you loved her.

So, when promo for the movie was coming to an end, you had to give her the ultimatum. She had put off the decision for as long as possible. That was until you confronted her in her hotel room in a wreck of tears and rage.

You weren’t surprised, but disappointed when you weren’t her choice. She had begged you to stay, to spend one more night with her, but you left in a disheveled hurry, refusing to let her see the effect she had on you.

Sometimes, when you lie awake at night, you wish she had never told you she loved you. Then maybe it would have been easier to walk away and forget about her. It would have been easier to accept that she was just using you for a couple good fucks. But here you were, sitting beside her, rehashing your inevitable heartbreak because she was always so irresistible and she loved you

She looked back up at you, pushing her face even closer to yours. Her smile grew when she saw your lips tightly pressed together and your eyebrows furrowed. You were always so bad at hiding your frustration from her.

“I left him,” she said, squeezing your thigh. You could see the excitement within her, begging for a release.

Meanwhile, you felt dizzy.

“Wh-What do you mean you left him?”

“I mean that I left him,” she repeated, smiling wider at your shocked expression. You were sure you looked so stupid, almost like a dead bug with your eyes wide and your jaw hanging open. “Just waiting to finalize the papers.”

“Oh my god,” was all you could manage. Your hand came up to your mouth, covering the gaping hole. “Oh my god.”

It was the words you had always wanted to hear but at the most unexpected time. Her hypnotizing smile made your head spin as the colors of the club swirled together in your peripheral.

“I just-I don’t understand. Why…now?”

She shot you a slightly confused look, as if the answer was obvious, but a lot of time had passed and you finally needed her to be clear.

She used her free hand to remove your hand from over your mouth and drop it into your lap. Then she firmly grasped your chin, ensuring your eyes never left her candid ones. Her touch shot warmth up your cheeks and down your neck, just the shock you needed to wake you from your daze.

“Because I know I want you. And I tried being without you but I just…I can’t,” she confessed, the words scrambling out of her throat as if they had been trying to for days.

Your heart swelled in your chest at her pure sincerity. Instinctively, you wanted to jump into her arms, to let her have you in every way. But that little bit of insecurity still creeped up your spine. The insecurity she had created when she chose him all those months ago.

“Are-Are you sure?”

She only laughed. Honey may as well have been dripping from her lips as the sound was so sweet. Every sound that left her lips was angelic.

“I’ve been thinking about this every day since you left. I’ve never been more sure about anything.”

Her hand left your thigh to tuck a few pieces of your loose hair behind your ear, her hand lingering on the side of your neck. You felt like you were on fire and she reveled in the way the heat flooded your irises.

But then you felt like you were forgetting something, something important.

“I have a girlfriend, Mar,” you suddenly said, your fingers wrapping lightly around the forearm of the arm that held your chin.

Margot certainly wasn’t expecting that confession this late in the conversation. But your relationship couldn’t have been too serious if your new girlfriend wasn’t there, hanging off your arm. She proceeded without caution.

“Well, I don’t see her anywhere,” she said, tilting your head downward with the pull of her hand, forcing you to stare up at her through hooded eyes. She always adored when you looked at her from that angle, especially when she was knuckle deep inside of you.

You don’t even really know why you said it. You knew, girlfriend or not, you would always choose Margot. And she knew that.

“So, you want me or not, baby?” She pursed her lips in a fake pout, so close to yours.

You couldn’t control yourself and you heard yourself make a faint noise of unbridled temptation. She seemed quite satisfied by that as her thumb rubbed small circles into your chin, the nail grazing your lip every once in a while.

You both already knew the answer.

“Yes, fuck, I want you,” you said, your voice the most confident it had been all night but still the most desperate.

A feeling of pure bliss consumed your body. Just hearing yourself say it made a smile creep onto your lips.

Margot quickly copied you. She raised your chin to meet hers and wasted no more time. Finally, finally, she kissed you. She didn’t care who was watching as she firmly held your face, guiding you in every which way.

She was the only person in your universe and you were the only person in hers.

lmk if you guys want more Margot or any of her characters!! I will def write for Barbie, Harley, and even Naomi. I will prob write something for Barbie soon so stay tuned!

And if you have a request I haven’t responded to, I’m really sorry it’s taken a long time but I am working on it!

#margot robbie #margot robbie x reader #barbie #barbie x reader #margot robbie x femreader #margot robbie x fem!reader #margot robbie x you #margot barbie #margot #margot robbie barbie #harley quinn #harley quinn x reader #wlw #lesbian #fem reader #barbie x fem!reader #harley quinn x fem!reader

1K notes · View notes