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shuckle24 · 11 months

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Cold Fire

I moved my hands through the blue, papery flames. The desert sun was blistering overhead in the brilliant desert sky, casting angry, yellow rays that baked the rough sand and us. The cold fire helped a bit.

My eyes fluttered from object to insulating object before resting on the nomad sitting cross-legged on the insulating cloth floor of the tent. He was clad in the general nomad fashion, oily garments, thick-leather boots, a resilient yet beaten-down turban, and respirators resembling the face of some sickly insect dead in the desert’s heat.

“Tell me,” I began, knowing that I did not have to finish. Articulating my questions was completely arbitrary; by some peculiar design or the other, he was always aware of my queries beforehand, and had always spared me the need to vocalise them. It made matters simpler, renouncing redundancies is the survivalists motto in these vapid surroundings.

Today, however, he was silent, almost deliberately oblivious of my icebreaker. He sat still, unmoving, spine-straight, his eyes crinkled behind the respirates, his breathing slow and rasping.

The silence stretched on but was not uncomfortable. We had spent hundreds of hours in unbroken silence during the course of our travels and had grown used to, even fond of, the bated stillness of the desert.

Beyond the thick curtains of the tent, the sun slowly ambled its way behind the giant mounds of sand; and inside the thick curtains of the tent, the light changed from a fierce, shielded yellow to a matte gold. The temperature dropped a couple of degrees, partly due to the sunset and partly due to the heat-sucking blue flames, though for miles and miles around our little camp the rolling waves of sand would maintain a steady sixty degree celsius for a good while still.

I looked away from the curtains and attempted to catch my friend’s gaze. He let it be caught easily, like a fisherman allowing his catch to swallow the bait. We remained in this manner for some time, watching each other placidly, me trying to ask a question, him knowing my question and adamantly refusing to answer it.

“Yes?” He encouraged me.

“Hm.”

Silence again.

“I-I” I had fallen out of practice speaking, “Th-the flame, why is it cold?”

“Do you mean, how is it cold?”

“Ye-” I stopped myself, and nodded.

“The fire is burning Kalkacite. It’s a kind of organic matter we grow in trees. We have positioned it in such a manner, mathematically speaking, that it is simultaneously in our dimension and in the Seventh Dimension. Or rather, the beginning of the fire is with us, and the end in the Seventh Dimension. Have I told you about the Seventh? Or did I call it the Nether? Doesn’t matter. The wood takes in heat from our surroundings, but the heat from the combustion stays in the Nether. The Nether warms up, and we, much deservedly, cool down. Do you understand?”

It was unnecessary for him to ask. I shook my head at him but he was purposefully looking away. I shook harder, and then harder still. Finally, I took the hint that he wasn’t going to take the hint.

“No,”

“The Kalkacite wood needs to take in heat to burn, so that takes away some heat from around us. The combustion would release significantly more heat, however that heat is released in the Nether and cannot reach us, thus we have a net cooling effect.”

“What is the Nether?”

“It’s a dimension with its down dimensions. For our purposes, imagine it as an alternate reality.”

He lapsed back into silence in that abrupt fashion of his. All around us, the weary band of nomads shuffled around and made camp. We would be staying here for a while, and the tents needed insulation, layers upon layers of it, and a myriad of traps to catch the desert mice.

“Say,“ I say after much rehearsal, “why do the lengths of our days fluctuate so wildly?”

“It’s complicated, for it is only loosely related to astronomy and more entangled with the history of our species, and that’s something we don’t talk about.”

“Why not?”

“It’s formed of events and incidences best left buried.”

“Your planet- our planet- it has two stars, doesn’t it? In a circumbinary orbit. It’s evident that the Yellow Star, as you call it, is slightly altered after every-”

“Listen, you are very smart. Far smarter than we were at your age; but that comes with its own cons. I wish you could know of our mistakes, and avoid them; however it is better to erase them from the planet’s memory, so that you will keep from ever dreaming them up altogether. This home of ours was not always so barren; when I was young my grandmother would tell me stories of roaring oceans teeming with life and green plains more widespread than the deserts. Maybe you deserved that world more than we did; maybe you would have created a worse hellscape than this. Either way, it doesn’t matter. That reality is now so far behind it might’ve just been a dream. I wish it were, you cannot destroy dreams. I cannot give you the old world back, but I can give you something else.”

I waited for him to continue.

“Your water bearer, I’m taking him with us.”

“Excuse me?”

“We leave soon.”

I glanced over at the figure sitting placidly hunched over in the corner. He belonged to a species different from us, but not completely dissimilar from us. He, like many of his species, was short and muscular, with brown, leathery skin and lanky arms, a snubby tail, and lungs robust enough to withstand the torrefied desert air. His pupils were coal black and kilometres deep, surrounded by a bright-blue retina and an ever present glint of intellect that never truly sparked into genius. Strapped around his waist and held fast by a leather belt was a butcher’s knife, a mouse trap, a handgun (for when the knife was not enough), and, most prominently, a flask of fresh water.

“Why? What do you mean taking away, we are both travelling to the city, aren’t we?”

“No, just you are. We- and I speak for all members of our tribe, those still with us and those departed- have grown tired of cities. We will take the long road and head north; check if there really is a great sea leftover, or if it is all some idle fantasy. I wish to see the roaring waves and compact sand, I wish to feel a breeze on my face, I wish to breathe real air for a change.”

“I still don’t understand, we were always aiming for the city; and why are you taking him with you!”

“Two reasons.”

“And they are?”

He looked at me oddly for a moment before answering, “You don’t need a water-bearer, you can bring your water yourself.”

“Myself?”

“Yes.”

“And why not him?”

“Because it is a tedious job, and not one that requires an entire post to itself.”

“But Jason likes bringing water!”

“It’s all he knows but not all he will love.”

“He is my friend, I can bring water for myself, but how will I move through this sweltering hellscape without companionship?”

The nomad smiled, “That is the second reason, I want you to feel loss.”

“Why?”

“For the greater good, of course.”

“That is not a valid argument, that is never a valid argument, you yourself taught me that,” I sat up on my knees, my fingers unconsciously curled up into fists on my thighs.

“What is this anger for?”

“Huh?”

“Your anger, does it stem from the loss of a friend, or are you vexed that I am taking something away from you.”

I calmed down a little, “I still don’t understand.”

“You will, one day. For now, I need you to tell me how you feel.”

“Sorry?”

“Your emotions, in detail if you will.”

“I feel-” and obviously I had no clue how to describe my feelings. I didn't even know how I was supposed to feel. Come to think of it, since our acquaintance I had left it up to the nomad to direct my feelings.

“I don’t know how I feel,” I answered honestly.

“Think.”

“For what purpose? We are a stone’s throw away from the city and its air-conditioners, we have a week of rest to rejuvenate ourselves and two entire weeks to complete our travels. Why this sudden shift in-”

“Think,” he cut me off with a wave of his wrinkled hand, “back to the time when we started our journey. How many companions did you have back then?”

“Several.”

“And how many are still with us?”

I opened my mouth to respond and exhaled empty air through the filters of my respirator. How many of us were left? I had lost count weeks ago, and it had been a while since I had conversed with my companions; or, for that matter, with anyone other than the silent nomad and the faithful Jason.

I pulled my backpack close and fished out a small cloth sack from the far depths of my belongings. I untied the knot at the mouth and emptied the rubies on the carpet. They had belonged to the hilts of my fallen comrade’s swords, and although we had been forced to leave the bodies behind for the desert rats and whatever vermins still thrived in this necropolis, the gems were too precious.

I caressed each shiny bit of rock gently and arranged them single file in a neat arc. Twenty-three. The day we had escaped the fire that had swept across our village we had counted ourselves to be twenty five strong.

“We’re the only ones left, me and Jason.”

“Yes, yes you are.”

“God.”

“You hadn’t even noticed, had you?”

“I did, peripherally, but not really; I hadn’t registered it internally.”

“Do you remember your companions, can you recall how they fell?”

“Yes, yes of course. Sharon fell prey to dysentery midway through the desert, Jacob succumbed to an infected bite, Horace went peacefully in his sleep. I remember them all, it’s just that I lost count midway through.”

“Did you grieve for them?”

“What?”

“Did you grieve for them after their passing?”

“No, why?”

“You blocked them out of your minds instantly so that they won’t hurt you. It’s almost as if they had never existed, isn’t it?”

“Well-”

“And I thought we were heartless; we would at least mourn for a few days before trying to move on. You do it instantly.”

I bowed my head, abashed and unsure of how to act appropriately at the scolding, “Why are you telling me this? Why all of a sudden? What good is it to feel pain when the heat and exhaustion already dominate our beings.”

“None, presumably. I haven’t been able to decipher the correct response to loss, but I am an expert in the incorrect responses to loss. It doesn’t do any good to bury the memories so ruthlessly. Let them live a bit longer, if only in our memories.”

“I suppose,” is the best answer I can patch together.

He sighed, closed his eyes, adjusted his respirator, and continued in a toned-down, almost apologetic voice, “It is not your fault. We’re the ones that put you in this hell hole and now I am getting mad at you for adapting to it. When your generation was young there was too much loss to go around, and so you grew desensitised to it. You opted to erase the dead from your minds so that you might not share the same fate, but you don’t have to live like that anymore.

“We will leave tomorrow, in search of the ocean, in pursuit of that which we have destroyed; and you can go on to your cities and budding metropolises. Maybe your brutal history will give you the perspective to do things differently. You will make mistakes, you will make plenty of mistakes, but hopefully you won’t make them in as conceited a manner as we did. I doubt you will have the chance, because God knows there is little left to demolish. Only the sand and the rock, and you won’t have the technology to face them for a millenia yet. What worries me is the havoc you might wreck upon yourself, upon each other. That is why I want you to experience loss, to live it and not stifle it down. It would be hilarious if we came this far to restoring our godforsaken home only to have you botch it all up due to the same mistakes we did. History repeats itself, but it cannot if we wipe it out entirely. Get your water yourself, and learn to experience loss so that you might retain the ability to love. God be willing, one day you and Jason will be reunited, and if you are able then to love together, and grieve together, and bring water and food and comfort to one another, then even the sun might return to its designated path.”

“To each other?”

The nomad sank his head, almost burying it in his stomach.

“Of course that is the first objection you raise; I suppose that too is our fault. If only we hadn’t made so many mistakes while trying to fix our mistakes. Yes, for each other, Jason to you, and you to Jason. I am sorry you find that such outlandish a prospect. We did too, once, and annihilated ourselves in the process.”

He paused to lick his lips and I could sense him restraining himself.

“I’ve said too much already. Experience is richer than lectures. Go on then, go on and build a better world for your children than that we built for our children; though in truth we did more destroying than building.”

I seated myself comfortably on the cushions again. The ensuing silence was both natural and meditative. Silence had been a major instrument in their quest for restoration, and it would continue to be that for us. The heat has evaporated the desire to speak from our souls, and the resulting quietude has opened for us a novel mode of communication and enabled us to understand and commune with one another almost telepathically.

“And yet increasing you are reluctant to do even that,” the nomad interjected, once again reading flawlessly through the folds of my brain.

“Mhm?”

But he smiles, “No, no, I have said too much already, that lesson is for another time, or hopefully you will have figured it out before I get the chance to lecture you on it.”

He looked at me with those odd, wrinkled eyes and I knew the time to part would be soon.

“Should I then prepare to part with Jason?”

A final smile, probably the last of his that I will ever be able to witness.

“Yes, yes you should, and God bless you, your forebears, and all those who will come after you.”

#fiction #short stories #original fiction #short story #my writing #writing #descriptive #science fiction #scifi #dystopia #dystopian #desert #nomad #post apocalyptic #friendship #friends #loss #suffering

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mountswhore · 3 years

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𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 — jack grealish

summary: jack meets his celebrity crush at a festival, having no idea you felt the same about him.

notes: requests are open, just ask <3

for @stephspurs

It was no secret that you were his celebrity crush. It was the topic of almost every interview he had.

“So, you’re not shy when posting about Y/N Y/L/N, are you?” The interviewer would ask, Jack letting out a cackle as he reshaped his hair.

“No,” he laughed again, feeling the apples of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose go warm, “no, she’s gorgeous. She’s been my celebrity crush for years. It’s annoying because a lot of the England boys have met her before I have.”

“Well she definitely knows who you are,” the interviewer replies, watching Jack get all flustered at that statement, “she had her ‘Grealish’ England shirt on when we interviewed her on tour.”

You’d been a huge fan of football for years — it being a family tradition to watch the national games together. But with your busy musician schedule, you could only watch backstage before a performance, or on your way to sound check. You’d seen some interviews of some of the England squad, stumbling upon a Jack Grealish one. It was well-known in your close friend group that you had the hots for him, he was gorgeous. And they’d gifted you a Grealish shirt to take on tour with you.

“The way Mount goes on about her, I’d think they have a thing.” Jack admitted to the interviewer, laughing off his statement.

“She said during her interview that she hoped to see some of the squad during Wireless this summer.” Jack’s heart almost stopped, an opportunity to finally meet you had arose.

“I’ll have to book some tickets then.”

And here he was. In London, staying in a hotel room with a few of the England boys in time for Wireless this weekend. Three days of music, having fun, and trying to meet you.

“Jack, mate, you’re sweating.” Jesse observed, grabbing a can of deodorant from the bathroom counter. “Are you really that nervous about this festival?”

“No, he’s nervous about running into Y/N Y/L/N,” Mason poked at Jack’s arm, all the boys collectively laughing at Jack’s rare shyness. Mason, Jesse, Declan and Marcus had all met you before, so Jack was the only one of the group who was yet to meet you.

“He fancies her big time.” Marcus joked, although he was completely telling the truth. Any man with half a brain could figure that one out. “Let’s go. We’re gonna be late.”

“Do you think I should try messaging her? Do you think she’ll see it?” Jesse wondered, reaching for his phone from his crossbody bag.

“She’s probably getting ready, so no.”

Jesse, who didn’t listen to Marcus as he spoke, still tried dm’ing you.

Can’t wait to see your set today. Got the boys with me.

The festival wasn’t a far walk from their hotel, and soon enough they were in. Walking around and getting familiar with the place, the group had made their way to your stage. You wouldn’t be performing until the next hour, and Jack was clearly antsy. He’d been in the company of pretty girls before, but you were different.

That’s so sweet, come to the celeb area after my set and I’ll hang out with you guys, Jesse read the message aloud, the boys patting him on the back and cheering.

“Guess you’ll be meeting your boo thang after all.” Jesse joked, throwing an arm around Jack and bringing him closer to the front of the stage.

The group watched you perform, the crowd jumping along with you. You definitely knew how to entertain a crowd. But once your set was done, the boys were headed to the celebrity area as planned. You’d taken a while to come out, your friends coming out beforehand to greet them and say you were just cooling down.

And there you were. You looked like the physical embodiment of magic. You smiled at the boys, embracing them all and finally getting to Jack. Your friends were taunting you all day about your footballer crush who was going to be watching, and embracing him felt perfect. Like a task was now complete.

“Did you guys watch my set?” You asked, sitting on the couches and grabbing a drink from the table opposite you. The four boys were squashed onto a couch opposite you, engaging in conversation with you and your friends.

“We were in the front row.” Mason laughed, making you all the more nervous.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I tend not to look at the closer crowd, it makes me so nervous.” You admitted, playing with your various rings.

The boys had been laughing and joking with your friends for a while, and it was so strange to see Jack up close. Good, but strange.

“I’m gonna go get a drink,” Jack stood up, stretching his legs and giving you a glance.

“I’ll join you.” You mentioned, standing up and following him out to the main crowd.

You both walked towards one of the vendors, selling all sorts of food and drinks, waiting in the stupidly long queue. Jack was so much taller than you, it was intimidating. But he’d often look down and you and smile cheekily. “You’re a lot taller in real life.”

“And you’re a lot smaller,” Jack commented, the pair of you laughing, “it’s so weird to meet you in person. I’ve been following you on Instagram for like two years. The boys keep teasing me about it.”

“Why do they tease you?”

“I may have a massive crush on you.” Jack suggested, looking up at the oddly shaped clouds as you processed what you’d heard.

“I may have a massive crush on you, too. My friends even bought me a Grealish England shirt.” You confessed, reddened as you covered your face with your hands. All you heard was Jack’s laughter and his arm on your shoulders.

“That’s adorable,” he conceded, retracting his arm back to his side. All the sheepishness had dissolved, and now confident Jack was back. You made him feel so comfortable and he loved it.

Once you’d retrieved your drinks and made your way back to the celebrity area, you stopped in your tracks. Jack had turned to face you, a look of concern on his face. “What’s up?”

“This is gonna sound bold. And you can totally say no, but do you wanna go for a proper drink tomorrow? Or some food? I’m tired of American food.” Jack grinned at your proposal, nodding vigorously.

“Sounds good.”

#jack grealish x reader #jack grealish smut #jack grealish imagine #jack grealish blurb #jack grealish #jackgrealishblurb #jackgrealishfluff #grealish imagine #grealishblurb #grealishfluff

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desired-victim · 3 years

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Helloo! I wanted to request hisoka with corruption kink. Just write however you want to lolol i dont mind any freaky🏃

Ha *wipes sweat off forehead* I hope this hard work pays off. I put every ounce of effort in writing this 😮‍💨. I didn’t do any bullet points on this one but it does have about four thousand words! Please ignore the possible grammar mistakes, I do have trouble writing dialogue. I worked on yours all night long and I’m exhausted. My fingers sure are. I kept your request deeply in mind. You can see poor, little (Y/N)’s innocence melt right off her like ice cream ;). Anyway, here’s your request, my love 💕

I wanted to honor the divine feminine so you will see my appreciation for the female body below 👇

💕TW: The content below contains: degradation, domination kink, submission kink, dub con, threat of forced anal intercourse, pure smut, corruption kink, possible bad grammar, loss of virginity, dirty talk, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, corruption of innocence, Oh, and Hisoka is a TW itself.

Enjoy…

He’s tall.

God, he is so tall. Such long, strong legs - slender yet thick with muscle. Despite being erotically pleasant, his legs weren’t the best part of him. The best part of him was what your eyes followed. From his shins, to his knees, to his thighs, to his hips, to that beautifully sculpted torso of his, to his neck, and then you reached his eyes.

Those eyes. Those sharp, golden eyes of his.

His eyes unsettled most people. It was as though they could pierce your very soul, and see how weak and worthless you truly are. He's a predator - always keen, always aware, and always watching for a reason for you to be his next target.

Hisoka… how did you get those eyes?

She wondered how she caught his attention. He was the type of man to overlook girls like her. A blushing, doe eyed dolt, who could barely speak to strangers without stuttering a storm.

Why? Why would someone like Hisoka find her worthy of even being near him? Of being in his bed, of being by his side, of being between his legs. He is so very special, and I'm…

“My Little Slice, you look delightful when your down there~”

His voice shook her out of her thoughts. She looked at his teasing gaze and meekly lowered her sight to his lips. There, she saw them curl up into a grin. She tensed up and covered her naked chest with her arms. Just then, she realized how unbelievably exposed she was to his scrutiny.

“Oh, nervous now~,” he laughed out, sitting up from the headboard and closer to her face, “isn’t that sweet…”

More red than ever, she turned her face from Hisoka and leaned back. Instead of letting her move away, his hand wrapped around her wrist and thrusted her towards him. She yelped out as her cheek pressed against his hard chest, her face embarrassingly hotter than his cool skin. His chest rumbled as he let out a chuckle.

She put her hands against his chest and attempted to pull away, but his arm wrapped itself around her. She struggled to shove herself away and her efforts were all for nothing; he hadn’t moved an inch.

Perhaps it was foolish to pursue a 200th floor fighter. Where was her older brother to protect her now? He had lectured her beforehand about the dangerous people here and she laughed him off and teased him about being some sort of guard dog. Now, she needed him more than ever. She had never been in a situation like this before.

“No boys allowed, Y/N!” he usually shouted out, a vein practically popping out of his forehead. It almost seemed like he loved saying that as it was repeated over and over throughout her life.

All she wanted to do was explore a place she never ventured to. To seek the thrill that felt so curious and good, yet hidden like the inside of a flower that hasn't bloomed yet. A buzzing heartbeat that formed when she laid alone at night and gently ran her fingers up her skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps and shivers.

Please help me, B/N…

Her struggles came to an end as she huffed, breathlessly. Hisoka’s hand trailed down her shoulders to her waist and to her hips. His hand was met with the pleasant plumpness of her bottom. She squeaked out in shock as his hand roughly squeezed her ass and kneaded it like dough. A loud crack reverated across the room as he slapped it, leaving a red blur behind. She gasped and her face converted into an embarrassed cringe. Frustrated tears pricked in her eyes as her fingernails dug deeply into his skin.

Once again, she attempted to wiggle away. Instead of his arm wrapping around her shoulders once again, she was swept over and under him. He was hovering over her and there was no way to escape. Her previous attempts at fighting back were a failure, and she no longer wanted to fight, only to flee.

Her eyes shot out towards Hisoka’s face only to find him smiling down at her. His warm breath fanning her face and his hips between her thighs.

The glint in his eyes shook her to the core. His facial expression was teasing and playful, but his eyes told a completely different story. She’s seen that look on his face before. The same expression on his face as he killed his opponents. He looked like an apex predator who was about to break the neck of his prey with his jaws.

“You’ve never been fucked before, haven’t you?” he asked, his finger trailing down her cheek, rubbing off a tear she hadn’t noticed fell.

Her face scrunched up at his vulgar language.

“No, I’ve never been f-“ she paused, hesitating before quickly spitting out, “no, ive never been f… fucked before.” Another tear came out of her eye. She never cursed - She wasn’t allowed to.

Hisoka giggled, his smile twisting even further. He looked down at her precious expression and felt his arousal rise.

“You're utterly adorable, you know that? I almost feel a little bad about this. Almost. But you wanted to play, and don’t be a spoiled brat when the other player is better at the game than you.” He mocked, his sardonic gaze on her. It made her want to shrink into the mattress and never come out.

“Now, now,” he said, sitting up, “I’ll make it as comfortable as I can.”

He spread her thighs and examined her high waisted shorts. He grabbed the zipper at the top and unzipped it. Down and down it went, until her underwear was revealed to him.

“After all, the first cut into the cake has to be perfect.”

Her shorts were suddenly off her and on the ground. She was only in her underwear now, more exposed than ever. Most naked she’d been since that time she went to the beach. She’d gotten sunburnt that day. At least then she had a top, now her whole body was on display to him.

Hisoka hummed as he tugged his own bottoms off, revealing the thick length of his cock. His cock looked magnificent combined with the rest of his body. That sexy v-cut of his looked like two arrows directing me to look at his big dick, so large it almost dangled under its own weight. It held its own though, refusing to droop over.

How is that thing going to fit inside of me? she thought.

He spread her legs wide open and examined the thin material of her underwear as the form of her vulva showed through. The flimsy material was practically invisible.

Hisoka’s big hands grabbed her behind her knees, pushing her legs up while also spreading them even further. The bed squeaked out as Hisoka crawled on his knees over to her, placing himself over her.

Hisoka’s claws clenched themselves around her legs, indenting the soft flesh, “You have such a soft, innocent face,” he said, his face hovering over menacingly. “But I know a hungry little whore lies beneath the surface… let me feed that little whore~❤️.”

Hisoka let go of one of her legs and let it fall against the bed. Her loose leg was between his two thighs and her other leg was still being held. The top half of her body was still on the bed. Hisoka’s strength was maintained as he carried half of her body weight into the air.

He’s so strong… of course he is, that’s to be expected of a top floor fighter.

The bed let out a groan as Hisoka pushed himself onto her covered cunt, rubbing his dick between her labia majora. His cock stroked the sensitive heat over and over again, he could feel her hotness tightening and then softening as her pussy throbbed to the beat of her heartbeat. The head of his cock stroked her hard clit over and over again, the little bump riddled with sensitive nerves. Her underwear was sopping as her pussy leaked out sweet nectar. The tip of Hisoka’s cock was also leaking with precum, mixing in with her own sweetness and creating an erotic cocktail.

“Yes, don’t stop,” she begged. “Please don’t stop - I want to cum so bad. Please let me cum, please!”

Hisoka let out a breathy laugh. “If you want to cum so bad, you need to beg for it. Only good girls get to cum. Are you a good girl~?”

“Yes! I’m a good girl! I’m your good girl, Hisoka!”

“Aw, you're so cute when you beg. But I don’t think you're a good girl. No, I think you're a naughty, little slut. Little sluts only get to cum when they're being fucked.”

The sensitive head of Hisoka’s cock pulsated with pleasure as he rubbed it against the soaked underwear. If he kept doing it, he was going to cum way too fast. He couldn’t let that happen. Not before he stretched her virgin pussy with his cock. He’d be damned if he let himself orgasm before biting into her innocence.

His nails dug into her thigh as he pushed himself further into her, making sure there wasn’t an inch of space between their heats. He was going to blow and If he didn’t stop, he wasn’t gonna see that shocked expression of hers when came in her for the first time. The longer he waited, the better.

(Y/N)’s pussy clenched and her breathing sped up. She was going to cum.

I’m going to cum, I’m going to cum, I’m going to cum, I’m going to-

Hisoka pulled back.

“No!” She yelled, kicking her leg in frustration. She let out another yell as her leg didn’t even move an inch in Hisoka’s grip. His grip was too strong. There was no way she could force her way to freedom.

“I was so close!” she shouted, a tear threatening to fall from her eyes. “Why did you stop! I felt so good!”

Hisoka threw his head back and let out a loud, sadistic laugh.

“Haha, you're so cute when you're feisty! I’m glad I’m the first who gets to fuck you.”

He let go of her leg after getting over his giggling attack. She found herself embarrassed as she blew out strings of her own hair out of her own mouth.

As she was pulling strings of hair out of her mouth, she was suddenly pulled back onto the bed by Hisoka’s hands around her hips. She gulped as she saw Hisoka’s face hovering over her crotch.

The part of her underwear that directly covered over her cunt was a darker shade than the rest of her underwear from when they grounded against each other like animals in heat.

She watched nervously as he adjusted his position. She let out a whole body shiver as both of his thumbs opened her lips like a little book.

Hisoka licked the side of her cunt - not directly stimulating her but gently teasing her. While not directly pleasuring her, the motion relaxed her from her last intense session. A little between-the-main-courses snack, if you will.

She sat up on her elbows and watched as Hisoka lapped at both sides of her lips. She felt a swell of affection begin to grow in her chest as she watched Hisoka’s cheek press itself onto the inside of her thigh. She realized how bold she’s gotten since they began to play with each other. In such a short while, Hisoka had corrupted her - denting that once-perfect surface with his perverted nature. To think ten minutes ago she was so shy she could barely even curse. In such a short time, she’d cursed more than she had in a year. A pang of guilt filled her as she thought about how her older brother would react. But he wasn’t here, and he never had to know.

In her own thoughts, she didn’t notice Hisoka’s face twist into a mischievous smile. Her eyes widened in terror as she felt his tongue on her covered asshole.

“Hisoka!” She shouted out.

How can someone be so vulgar?

“Oh, I’m sorry, my Little Slice~. I just love it when your sweet, angelic face turns into one of horror. It turn me on so badly~❤️”

Hisoka only smiled and slid his tongue upwards towards her pussy. He pushed the tip of his tongue against the entrance of her vagina and wiggled it there. If it wasn’t for her underwear, his tongue would have been inside her pussy.

The nerves around her hole were ablaze and her legs were shaking - with fear, excitement or pleasure? Perhaps all three, she did not know. All she wanted was to be pounded by him; she didn’t care how big and thick he was (from what she saw earlier, his cock had to be as thick as her forearm). Though she was unexperienced and naive to the acts of sex, this feeling was primal and indispensable. She needed it, she needed it like a runner needs water.

His tongue dragged itself from her entrance to her clit.

“Yes, yes,” she moaned out and spread her legs wider without an ounce of shame.

It was overwhelming in the best way possible. It was the most electrifying thing she’d ever experienced and she never wanted it to end. She wanted to be there forever - in that limbo of titillation and erotic reality that was unlike anything she could recreate with her imagination.

Hisoka rapidly moved his tongue against her clit. She squealed out loud and attempted to move her hips but his hands grabbed her hips and pushed them to the bed and continued to flick her covered clit with his tongue.

She lifted herself up to her elbows and looked down at him. A hint of fear aroused in her as she made direct eye contact with him. She was so caught up in her own pleasure she didn’t realize how deeply she was looking into his eyes.

As she continued to lock her eyes with his, her pussy began to relax, getting ready to tighten and cum on his tongue. Her heavy breathing paused and she caught that expression in her eyes.

Then her panties were ripped in half and her bare cunt was revealed to him. In a split second, his entire tongue was inside of her.

She screamed as her virgin cunny squeezed itself around his long, wicked tongue. Hisoka laughed out and wiggled his tongue - messaging and caressing her inner walls as she cummed.

The wetness of her aroused cunt seeped out and dripped down to her asshole, to which Hisoka slurped up and continued his assault on her cunny again. He did this over and over again until I couldn’t handle it anymore. My hands tried to push him away but he didn’t even budge. It wasn’t until my legs began to kick out in panic did he pull away.

“Ah, ah,” she panted, body completely limp. Hisoka observed her body. Her soft stomach was gleaming with sweat and the inside of her thighs were also gleaming.

“You might be the sweetest candy I’ve had since I first tried Bungee Gum all those years ago. I knew the moment I popped it into my mouth it would never leave me, marking me with its sweet syrupy taste just like a Scarlet Letter. Would it be a bold thing to say that you're just like Bungee Gum? You get so pink when you're played with. The pink on your cheeks is almost the same shade as my favorite snack.”

Hisoka let out a sudden dramatic sigh that startled (Y/N) for a second. “Unfortunately, the company who used to make Bungee Gum went bankrupt so now I have to search far and wide just to get a taste. Luckily for me, something similar is always nearby for me to stretch and pull at.”

He paused, looking directly into (Y/N)’s eyes with his own yellow ones. “You are, my sweet little slice~”

Hisoka grabbed her ankles and slapped her legs together. The loud smack of her thighs' sudden connection reverated across the room.

Hisoka wrapped his big hand over both of her ankles and grabbed his cock, stroking back the foreskin to reveal the pink, sensitive tip and a pearl of precum forming. He placed the tip of his cock on her clit, rubbing it in little circles before sliding it down her slit until it reached her entrance at the very bottom. He felt tempted to slip it into her ass before deciding it wasn’t worth the screeching. Even though he could easily cover her mouth and sodomize her tight little ass, he couldn’t just jump into completely breaking her; It would be a better idea to slowly lower her into the fire. A slow burn would be ten times more satisfying.

Putting both of my legs onto one side of his shoulders, he used his weight to push his entire cock into her pussy until his ballsack was resting against her ass.

She hissed through her teeth and threw her head back. She was filled with his cock. So full. So, so full.

She was bursting with new sensations. A new type of pain, a new type of pleasure. It was unlike anything she’d ever felt yet so primal and familiar. It was an instinct she never realized she had.

Bending over her with her legs still on her shoulder, Hisoka connected their lips for the first time that night. She could taste her own saltiness on his lips. It wasn’t the type of kiss she’d seen on romance shows (the ones her brother decided were appropriate enough to watch). No, this kiss was the complete opposite of those. This kiss was rough, unlike anything else.

She felt a burst of bravery as she slipped her tongue out and shyly lapped at his bottom lip. Hisoka let out a sardonic chuckle.

“Feeling brave now, are we?”

(Y/N) yelped as Hisoka slid his entire tongue inside her mouth, licking every corner of her mouth. Nothing was left untouched.

After completely violating her mouth with his tongue, Hisoka pulled away, smiling down at her.

“Are you ready?” He whispered. (Y/N) let out a shuddering breath and nodded. She braced herself by meekly grabbing onto the shoulder that didn’t have her legs with one hand, the other gripping onto the sheets.

Hisoka pulled back until only the tip of his cock remained in her, then he slammed into her with great strength. Her breath completely left her body with the slam of his hips. His hips smashing against her buttocks made a filthy sound that made her want to cum. The plop, plop sound that her pussy was also doing things to her.

Hisoka grunted with every hard thrust. She fit him just like a glove. It was almost like she was made for him. While the male penis did not have as many nerve endings as female genitals, a man can augment his sensations and cause it to heighten by being caressed just right. By holding her against himself, fucking her in a salacious dance, the more sensation builds up in his penis just like when a woman’s clitoris is tapped just so…

The friction of his cock pulling on her inner walls before being pushed inside once again left (Y/N) in a concoction of emotions. First, complete and utter pleasure. As he slammed his cock into her, dopamine bursted in her mind like an explosion of drugs. Second, regret. If her brother ever found out, how would he react to his own little sister getting fucked by the murderous Magician, Hisoka? She knew he’d feel like all his work to keep her safe were a waste of time and energy. Like all those years of pampering and protecting went right down the drain. She couldn’t let him find out. And thirdly, a rebellious energy. She was tired of being locked down by her own innocence. She wanted to explore the world. There had to be more to this world than just what she knew. There had to be.

From head to toe, she felt a symphony of pleasure as she came. Her toes clenched until they cramped. But she didn’t care, the pleasure outweighed the pain. Her fingers dug into his shoulder. She was sure there would be a five fingered mark there the next day. It would be a reminder of his clawed reach and her deflowering.

She screeched out as Hisoka went faster, overwhelming her. She hadn’t even gotten over her orgasm before he began to thrust into her twice as hard. She could feel his cock rub itself against the entrance of her womb.

It was primal to push into her beautiful, soft female body and pull back, only to push himself back. He could feel himself building up the height of his pleasure. The more he pumped, the higher the tower built, just ready to topple over and leave a big mess.

He looked at her closer than ever. Watching as her breast bounced and her lips glowed from their mixed saliva. He saw her eyes as she looked up at him, red from crying in complete pleasure. Her appearance increased his desire to come.

“Ahhhh,” he moaned out, feeling his orgasm in his very bones. It was a sensation he was familiar with. After defeating a powerful enemy, he sometimes glowed with the aftertaste of their fight and his victory. This was very similar - yet so different. More intimate, of course. His prey was still alive and he was still inside their body.

(Y/N) closed her eyes in bliss as Hisoka’s cum finally rested inside of her. Her breathing slowed down and the blush on her cheeks faded into softer shades of pink. The sun was coming down. Its orange tones highlighted her sweaty body like a canvas. It almost seemed like she was a freshly painted portrait. Divine Feminine tamed at last.

Both of them laid on their backs, observing the plain ceiling. It was relaxing to lay down after such an exhausting task. All she wanted to do was shut her eyes and rest.

Rest, rest, rest…

My brother! His fight is over!

(Y/N) shot up from the bed, practically tripping over herself as she gathered her things - putting them on. She didn’t even notice her bra was inside-out. More shockingly, she didn’t even notice cum was dripping down her legs.

Hisoka watched amusingly from the sidelines at her scattering around the room.

(Y/N) scanned the room for one final time. She groaned as she saw her wet panties on the bed, right next to Hisoka. She jumped onto the bed and reached for her underwear. As she pulled back, Hisoka grabbed her wrist.

“Tell me, (Y/N), how would your older brother react to hearing about how I ruined his little sister's innocence? How I fucked her and she enjoyed every second of it? I bet he’d try to kill me~.”

(Y/N)’s mouth opened and closed, not a single word leaving her starstruck mouth. Her body was paralyzed with fear. She forgot who she was dealing with in her panic.

“What's the matter? You want to keep our little secret just between us two? Fine. However, come to my room tomorrow at the same time you did today and we’ll have some more fun. If not…”

She didn’t need to ask - She knew. She imagined the consequences in her mind, thinking about the outcome of her moment of weakness.

Hisoka wasn’t done with her; this was just the appetizer.

—-

“Hey, (Y/N), where were you during my fight? I didn’t see you in the crowd at all.”

“Oh, I was just getting some snacks.”

“Ah, alright. Next time just tell me beforehand. I wouldn’t want a stranger taking advantage of my little sister. Right, sis?”

“Haha, yeah…”

#hxh imagines #hxh headcanons #hxh hisoka #hxh x reader #hisoka morrow x reader #hisoka x reader #hisoka morow #hisoka #hisoka imagine #hunter x hunter #hisoka x y/n

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feralthoughtdump · 3 years

Text

The Kind of Love I’ve Been Dreaming Of

Based on the music video for Dinner & Diatribes by Hozier

CW: smut, a little bit of playing with fire, oral (fem receiving), unprotected sex (remember, always wear protection, Loki being a little bit manipulative???

Word Count: 2.3k

It was common knowledge that cats enjoyed playing with their food before they eat and right now, it was clear that Loki was the cat, and she… well, she was the food.

To an outsider, maybe someone who knew little about Loki and the girl seated across from him, the scene was set like a fancy dinner date.

And in a way, it was. The tables were set with an array of dishes. Gold goblets filled with wine, and candles illuminated the room in a warm glow.

She looks regal in the emerald green gown. The elaborate gold embroidery glitters under the candlelight and the long bell sleeves drape elegantly against her forearms.

Loki’s quite proud of himself for choosing that gown. It was exquisite, truly a stunning piece.

It was a picture-perfect romantic dinner.

But of course, because Loki was well… Loki, he wanted to have some fun beforehand. He wanted to play a little game.

The rules were simple. If the match hits him, she wins.

And so far, she was far from winning.

So needless to say, a grin was stretched wide across his face as he stares at her brows furrow in frustration.

“This is impossible.” She huffs, flicking the match against the box.

The little flame flickers and disappears as the match lands a foot away from him.

“No,” He chuckles. “You just aren’t doing it right.”

She crosses her arms and stares daggers into him.

“Then why don’t you give me a hint?”

“You know I can’t do that.”

She scoffs.

“Why not?”

He raises his arms.

“Well, that’ll take the fun out of it!”

There’s a pang of slight annoyance in her tone.

“It’ll take the fun out of it for you. As of this moment, I’m not having any fun.”

It was such a simple game yet it was difficult. And the long, heavy sleeves of her gown do little to help.

She sets the box of matches on the table.

“You said if I hit you with the match, I’ll win. What exactly am I winning?”

He leans forward, eyes twinkling with excitement.

“That’s for you to find out. After you win.”

She rolls her eyes and laughs.

“How am I supposed to claim my prize if I’m playing a game I can’t win? You know what? I’m not playing anymore. I don’t care about the prize.”

As she gets up, she feels invisible hands tug her back into the chair.

“Now, now, pet,” his voice is silvery, “don’t go running off now.”

“Loki,” her eyes widen as her fingers dance along the edge of the table “stop it.”

“I’m not doing anything.” He chuckles, sitting still in his seat.

It was like she was a puppet. Twisting and contorting her body into some strange dance.

“Yes, you are!”

Her back arches against the table and her eyes meet Loki’s. He stares down at her with mischief in his eyes.

For a brief moment, his gaze and the low timbre of his voice ignited a fire within her abdomen. But it’s quickly dashed with a flick of his hand.

She’s sent back into her chair, head nearly slamming into the wood.

“Gods,” She groans. “I hate it when you do that.”

Loki laughs.

“Then stay seated and keep playing.”

“I told you, I’m done playing.”

“Oh, pet, you give up so easily, even when you’re playing a simple game.”

She scowls. The whole “game” was bordering on pure irritation for her.

“It’s not that simple when it’s near impossible to flick-“

She’s been playing it all wrong.

Loki had said that as long as the match hits him, she wins. However, he never said how the match had to hit him. Flicking the match was never a requirement.

She had simply assumed that she was supposed to flick the match at him.

So with a quick hand, she ignites the match and simply tosses it at him.

Her skin glows gold as the figure burns in front of her, engulfed in flames.

“Congratulations.” His voice rings from behind her. “You’ve won.”

The figure dissolves, revealing that his seat was empty the whole time.

Sneaky bastard.

Her head whips around, eyes landing on the god.

“So I wasn’t even playing with the real Loki?”

His long legs stride towards her, footsteps echoing through the room.

“Do you think I would sit there and let you throw matches at me?” He places a finger under her chin, tilting her head to look at him.

“I guess not.”

He walks around the table and sits in the empty chair. He beckons her with a crook of his finger.

She’s about to stand when Loki shakes his head.

“There’s a space between us. Crawl.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Are you being serious?”

“I am. Now, crawl.”

She slowly shifts, placing a knee on the table. Before she can say anything else, she feels her limbs move. His invisible strings manipulate her body and pull her towards him.

She doesn’t fight it. Sure, it scared her, him taking control over her body, but at the same time, it excited her.

When she reaches him, he places a firm hand on her back, helping her into his lap, thighs straddling his.

“Now, it’s time for you to claim your prize.”

His fingers move the dark silk around her thighs, letting the fabric bunch around her hips and exposing her bare cunt to the cool air.

She noses at his jaw, placing a kiss next to his ear. Her lips trail kisses down his cheekbone and to his lips.

“But we haven’t eaten yet.” She murmurs. “And those strawberries look really fresh.”

He captures her lips with fervor.

“You’re right, but there’s something else I want to-“

She places her arms on his shoulders and pushes back. “I want to eat at least something.” She bats her eyelashes at him. “Please?”

Loki gives her a sugary grin. “Alright, my love.”

The strawberry he brings to her lips is sweet. As the juice dribbles past her lower lip, he gently wipes it away with the pad of his thumb.

She parts her lips and uses her tongue to draw his thumb into her mouth.

“You are insatiable,” He chuckles, pushing his thumb deeper into her mouth.

She sucks on the digit, lapping at the last of the juice. A burning desire swims through her veins, replacing her appetite for food with something more lustful.

His thumb is pulled from her lips with a pop and she can feel Loki stiffen underneath her.

She slowly grinds herself down on his clothed erection. The leather of his pants feels good against her cunt, making her wetter than she already is.

A needy gasp leaves her lips when he bites her neck, sucking a dark mark right above her collarbone.

It was a sign of ownership. A sign that she was his.

“Now,” he skims his teeth against the sensitive skin, making her yelp. “All of Asgard will know you’re mine.”

There’s a gentle tug on her hair and she tilts her head back. Loki takes this as an opportunity to let his saliva fall into her open mouth. She swallows it with blissed-out eyes and a grin on her face.

“Look at you.” He moves his hand to caress the length of her neck. “So pretty. So perfect.”

She hums, head thrown back, reveling in his soft touch.

“You flatter me.”

He playfully nips at her collarbone, smiling at her sweet giggle.

“It’s not flattery if what I’m saying is true.”

She pulls herself closer to him and presses her lips to his.

It’s ravenous, hungry, and fiery with clashing teeth and bitten lips.

“Loki” she pants, “I need you. I need you now.”

With desperate hands, they work in tandem to pull his leather pants past his hips.

She reaches down to wrap her fingers around his cock, feeling it stiffen in her hand.

He hisses when she runs her finger over the tip.

Loki runs his palm up her thigh, fingers ghosting over her core.

She squirms in his lap as he pushes a finger past her folds.

“Stay still.” He murmurs. “Keep stroking my cock.”

She gulps and pumps her hand up and down, drawing groans from his mouth.

Loki pushes another finger inside of her, releasing a whimper from her.

He pauses, eyes widening slightly with concern.

“Did I hurt you?” He gently asks.

“No.” She gasps. “It feels good. Keep going.”

Loki grins and crooks his fingers upward.

“Look at that.” His other hand reaches behind her head, forcing her to look down at his fingers. “So wet already.”

He removes his fingers from inside of her and places a firm hold on her hips, her pussy hovering over his hard cock.

A whine slips past her lips as she lowers herself onto him.

The stretch burns and tears prick at her eyes.

“Come on, love.” He rubs his thumb against her jugular. “I know you can take it.”

A loud gasp leaves her lips as he pulls her down, spearing her onto his cock.

She grabs onto the golden horns of his helmet so she doesn’t fall, knuckles slowly turning white.

Slowly, she lifts herself using his helmet for support and lowers herself back down.

“You like the horns, don’t you, pet?” He teases.

She gives him a desperate whine and is met with a tightened grip on her throat.

“I want a verbal answer, darling.” He seethes.

“Yes.” She whines. “I like the horns.”

He releases his hold on her neck and sits back, watching her pull herself up and sink back down.

Every thrust of his hips sends shockwave after shockwave of pleasure through her body, and she can feel herself wanting more. More of him. She wanted to be closer.

A hand releases its grip from the helmet, grabbing onto the back of his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. They pant into each other’s mouths through bitten lips and needy whines and gasps.

His grip on her tightens as he cums, throwing his head back and groaning. It brings her closer to the edge, but the feeling of his warm cum painting her walls wasn’t enough to bring her to an orgasm.

But Loki is far from finished. He pulls out and she whines, desperation coursing through her veins.

She’s left shaking, face flushed, and chest heaving as his cum trickles down her thighs.

His eyes light up in a way that only means one thing: he has an idea.

Excitement and dread fill her mind. What sick and twisted idea did he have in mind? To edge her to the point of tears, or to make her cum over and over again until her brain was mush?

She watches with bitten lips and wide eyes as he stands, leaving her in the chair.

“Loki, what-“

“Hush, my love.” He slowly takes his helmet off and places it atop her head. “Beautiful.”

He sinks to his knees, large hands spreading her thighs. A groan leaves his lips at the sight.

“Loki-“

Her words are cut off when he licks a stripe up her folds. He grabs her thighs, the pads of his fingers digging into her skin, and pulls her towards him. Her knees are placed on his shoulders, allowing him to dive deeper.

From the view between her thighs, Loki thinks she’s beautiful, especially with his helmet. He’ll have to find one for her afterward.

She’s divine, someone meant to sit on a throne. Someone meant to be queen. His queen.

He’s always discussed the day of his coronation to her, picturing how people will kneel before him. But for her, he’d kneel for her any day of the week.

“Gods,” he murmurs against her thigh, “you’d look good on a throne.”

“Uh-huh.” she gasps, ignoring his words. “please, just shut up and stop teasing.”

Loki hums against her pussy.

“Of course, your majesty.”

A loud moan reverberates through the room as he continues licking into her, soaking his face with her wetness and his cum.

“Fuck!” She gasps, threading her fingers through his hair.

At this very moment, as he is drawing desperate sobs from her throat, he decides that he will make her queen.

When he ascends to the throne, he’ll make sure there is one for her, all grand and gold.

One of her hands grips onto one of the armrests and the other works its way into his hair, pulling his face closer to her. He deepens his ministrations and she lets out a strangled moan, pleasure coursing through her body.

The intricate beading on her sleeves scratches at his face but he pays no mind to that. All he can focus on is how sweet she tasted against his tongue. Like the bowl of strawberries left abandoned on the dining table.

She throws her head back, the heavy headpiece sliding down her forehead, obscuring her vision. Her hand quickly adjusts it so she can continue to admire the view from above.

The prince has his eyes closed, cheeks, still flushed from his orgasm, pressed against her soft thighs.

The sight sends her falling over the edge. She cums with gaspy breaths and loud moans. It’s music to his ears.

As he stands from his position between her legs, she looks up at him with lust-glazed eyes.

He bends over to grab her chin, pulling her in for another kiss, the taste of her orgasm fresh on her tongue.

“Bless that silver tongue of yours.” She grins.

“You are the one who blessed it.” He gives her a cheeky smile, swooping her into his arms.

“Don’t be vulgar.” She wraps her arms around his neck as he sits back in his chair. “Plus, I believe we still have to eat dinner.”

He laughs and presses a sweet kiss to the tip of her nose.

“Oh, darling, I’ve already eaten.”

#loki #loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki smut #loki x reader smut #loki fanfic #loki laufeyson

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chokemeanakin · 4 years

Text

Misunderstandings - Anakin x fem Reader (angst +fluff)

Masterlist

Thank you for the request @artiza-n ! 💕

Wc: 6.4k

Summary: Anakin and reader get sent to Naboo to guard Padme and Clovis during a debate and some misunderstandings ensue. Mostly jealous angst, some fluff at the end— happy ending bc we all need that right now.

Gif from @swprequels

“I still don’t understand why they need both of us,” you grumble, rubbing sleep out of your eyes as you walk out of the cruiser. The day is hot on Naboo, but grey and cloudy with a promise of rain later. The humidity makes your skin sticky, worsening your irritation.

“Think of it as a vacation,” Anakin pulls the luggage from the transport cubby, setting it on the ground beside him. “You watch over Clovis, and I’ll handle Padme. It should be a breeze.”

“Exactly. Which is why I don’t understand why they need both of us.”

You had just gotten back from a long and grueling siege on Pontoon, another one of those vast, endless desert planets in the Outer Rims. You’d really much rather be sitting in front of an air cooler right now, resting your tired bones and trying to forget the taste of sand.

“These are two very important Senators, Y/n,” Anakin waved off your attempt to help him with the luggage. “If anything happens to them at this debate, the Senate will lose important advocates for peace and the end of this war.”

You knew this, of course you did. Not that you’d completely agree with his statement-- Clovis always seemed a little shady to you, his morals seemingly scattered all over the place. You guessed that’s why the Council sent you, a simple marksman, to guard Clovis while the beloved freedom-fighter Padme Amidala got the most powerful Jedi to ever exist.

“Besides,” said Jedi nudged you, lips curling into a teasing smile. “Don’t you want to spend time with me?”

Of course you do. Between the war and separate guild or Council missions you’d both been sent on, neither of you had time to even breathe in the others’ direction for months. The only reason the Council was able to wrangle you onto this cruiser was because Anakin was going to be there. Not that you’d even be able to spend much time with him during the day, although you were aware that you’d be sharing a room in between the Senators you’d be protecting at night…

You and Anakin meet the Senators at the hull of the ship. They walk down the ramp side by side, heads held high and hands clasped in front of them. Their movements are smooth, like they’re gliding on water, and the heat doesn’t seem to bother either of them.

“Master Skywalker. Y/n. Thank you so much for being here, it is so courageous of the both of you to be looking out for us,” Padme stands before you, beautiful as ever in one of her many extravagant, expensive gowns. The headpiece woven through her hair sparkles in the midday light, the warmth of her eyes capturing the rays of the brilliant sun. “However, I must say that I hope your services are not needed. I’d much rather this debate go by smoothly than have any dangerous interruptions.”

“I can assure you, we’ll take care of any problems before they arrive. Leave the dirty work up to us,” Anakin returns her smile, charming as ever.

Anakin shoots you a glance and then follows her away, carrying multiple bags of luggage in each arm as Padme shows him where to put it. For such a small woman, she seemed to pack heavy. Unfortunately, this leaves you and Clovis to stand alone together, an awkward stillness settling before you.

“Um, Anakin has your luggage,” you yawn into your arm, gesturing to his receding form with the other. “I’m Y/n, and I’ll be your bodyguard for this debate.”

“You?” Clovis doesn’t smile, instead he scans you up and down with hawkish eyes. “You’re such a small thing. What could you possibly be able to do to protect me?”

It’s not said unkindly, but it still irks you. Your eyes narrow and you bite back a nasty retaliation for the sake of diplomacy. “You’ll find I’m pretty good with a blaster. The best, actually, according to the Jedi Council. That’s why they have me work with the Generals in the war.”

“Are you a General yourself?” Clovis begins to walk, heading toward the senate building. You follow at his side.

“Not exactly. They offered me the title, but I declined. I’m more of a freelancer, and once the war ends, I’ll go back to taking odd jobs. Besides, there’s no use in having an army if I don’t know what to do with it.”

“Humble. That’s admirable,” Clovis’s mouth tilts into something of a smile. “I, myself, could never turn down an army. Or the status, for that matter. You could be holding a lot of power if you pushed your way with the Jedi Council, you know.”

“My way?” you questioned. “I just told you, I don’t have a way--”

“And that’s your flaw,” he mused, chin still pointed up, never quite looking at you. “How curious-- your Jedi counterpart seems to have stolen all the ambition.”

You roll your eyes. You never had a thirst for power, or status, or influence, or any of that. Your power came from behind a blaster, when your focus was trained on a single target and your finger was glued to the trigger. One simple twitch of a muscle, and you could end a life from miles away. That was your power, and it was all you needed.

He is right about Anakin, you have to admit. He was always looking to be better, not just for himself, but for the good of others. You love that about it, in fact it’s one of your favorite qualities about him. Sometimes, though, you wished he could see that he didn’t have to try so hard all the time to believe he was enough.

The blast of cold air that hits you as you enter the senate building wrenches you out of your thoughts. It whisks away the perspiration that had built up on your skin, cooling your body and calming your mood almost magically. The sounds of your collective footsteps tap along the glossy marble floor, echoing throughout the empty chamber.

“Aren’t you going to ask what we’re doing here?” Clovis leans against his podium, marked with a nametag spelling his name. Next to him is your seat, and on Clovis’s other side is Padme, followed by Anakin on the end. A cold dread fills your veins, just now realizing how boring tonight’s debate is going to be.

You sigh inwardly, tracing the engravings of your nametag with the tip of your finger. “My job isn’t to ask questions, it’s to observe.”

“Well, observe away,” he pushes himself off the podium. “Although I don’t think it will be very entertaining.”

He’s right. You sit in your seat, legs crossed on top of your podium as you inspect your nails. It’s been three hours since you’ve arrived, the sun is setting, and all Clovis has done is stroll around the debate room, muttering to himself and pondering through his position. You’re bored out of your mind. Pulling out your holocom, you wonder if Anakin’s situation is any better.

“Y/n?” he picks up a long moment after you send the call, and his face projects blue before you. It’s loud where he is, and his eyes are looking at something else.

“Where are you?” you question. He sounds like he’s a party, but you know that can’t be true. “Where’s Padme?”

“She’s with me,” Anakin tilts his head, signalling that she’s sitting in front of him. “We’re at a restaurant getting dinner. I was just going to ask-- did you and Clovis go somewhere to eat yet?”

You drop your legs from the podium and lean in close to the com, speaking quiet so Clovis can’t hear. “No, he’s barely said a word to me since we got here. He’s been walking around the debate room all afternoon, just talking to himself.”

“You think he’s nervous for tonight?”

“Maybe,” you spare a glance at him. He’s staring at the domed ceiling, as if he’s counting the pillars coming out of it. “Or maybe he’s just psycho.”

“Oh, Clovis knows what he’s doing,” a femine voice interjects. Anakin’s eyes shoot forward again, immediately smiling as Padme speaks. “His pre-debate ritual is long and gruelling-- I should have warned you. He’s simply getting into his headspace, that’s all.”

“How long does it usually take?” you mumble.

“It shouldn’t be much longer. Make sure he eats beforehand, otherwise he’ll be crabby during the debate. And trust me, you don’t want to have to handle a crabby Clovis.”

Both Padme and Anakin laugh at this, and you force yourself to smile along. “Yeah, I’ll go see what he’s up to now.”

“Good,” Anakin says, momentarily drowned out by an uproar of cheers behind him. “We should get going, too. Padme needs to get dressed for the debate. See you soon.”

Anakin ends the call, and you’re left wondering how exactly the topic of dressing Padme came up.

Shoving down your irritation and self-pity, you pocket your com and stand from your seat. Clovis’s head whips toward you like you had pulled a blaster on him.

“What?”

“It’s getting late,” you stretch your arms over your head, working out the kinks and aches from sitting so long. “I was wondering if you were hungry at all.”

“I can’t eat before a debate,” Clovis looks almost angry for a second, and then he glances down at his watch. His expression smooths into one of urgency. “Ah, we should head to the apartments. It’s time to get ready.”

The night is still warm, and the sidewalk drips with a rainstorm that you missed while you were in the senate building. The fresh air is nice, though, and you breathe in the smell of sweet flowers and savory restaurant food. The grumble in your stomach is hard to ignore, but you know you’ll manage.

Clovis leads you all the way to his suite, the temporary apartment that sits in conjunction with yours and Anakin’s, and Padme’s on the other side. Staying in this apartment complex made more sense rather than finding separate housing units, as keeping everyone together would aid in ensuring their safety.

Padme’s mansion would have been a nice stay, you think, but these apartment sweets are also quite luxurious. You walk into the master bedroom to find a formal, dark blue gown laid out for you on the bed. Next to it is a rumpled space where you assume Anakin’s suit had been, but instead there’s a note and a box.

Padme wanted to get to the senate building early, so we’re probably going to just miss you. Too bad, I won’t get to help you into this sexy blue dress. Maybe I can help you out of it later.

You laugh softly, smoothing your thumb over the inked-on smiley face before finishing the note.

I’m not sure if you had time to get anything to eat, so I got you something while we were out. See you soon.

You don’t need an “I love you” scrawled into the paper in order to know he wanted to add it. That would have been too risky, and there was no way you’d be able to make an excuse if anyone were to find it. Still, you rip up the note and throw it in the trash before opening the box underneath. Your nose is instantly filled with the smell of food, still warm, and you sit next to the blue dress, digging in unceremoniously.

You scarf down as much of the food as you can and then store the rest in the fridge before getting to work on making yourself presentable. You have to look put together, yet not so much that you stand out. You slip a couple of silver clasps into your hair and do your makeup, opting for a bold lip color because you don’t have much time to do anything fancy with your eyes. You’re running short on time-- you know this because of the knock on your door, and then the irritated sound of Clovis:

“Y/n, we have to leave now or we’re going to be late. You know how bad it would be to arrive late to this event?”

You stand in front of the mirror, desperately reaching behind you to grasp at the zipper of your dress. It would be so much easier if Anakin was here to reach it for you, but you make due and quickly pull it up. The dress is form-fitting and flows down into a puddle around your feet. A bit long, as you opted not to wear heels in case something went awry, so you bunch the skirt up in your fists and jog to the door.

“My apologies,” you open the door to find Clovis, now dressed in a pristine black and white suit with his hair gelled back. “I was making sure I had my equipment all in order.”

Clovis ignores your excuse, eyes instantly moving to take in your figure. You could swear they blow open wide for a fraction of a second before he composes himself, clearing his throat and masking his approval with his usual grim expression.

“You clean up quite elegantly. Now, we should head to the lobby, the limousine is waiting for us.”

…

You’re not sure what the point of a limousine is, as the walk from the apartment buildings to the senate building is 10 minutes tops. Probably for formalities, you decide, as Clovis helps you out of the vehicle. The building that had been vacant only a couple hours earlier is now swarming with Senators, all dressed in lavish, extravagant gowns. Everyone is holding a flute of some sort of drink, and they congregate in small groups, making small talk before the debate starts.

Clovis wastes no time with socializing, and beelines for his seat.

You hang back, searching the crowd for Anakin. Without heels, many people tower over you and it’s hard to focus with the deafening sound of chatter filling your ears. But you’re trained for this, have spent your whole life blocking out the unnecessary, so you hone into your patience and scan the crowd closer.

There.

You’d recognize that head of golden-brown curls anywhere, even if it was tamed down for this event. He’s standing tall among the Senators, eyes gleaming bright as he engages a whole crowd of them in some wily story. He and Padme look at each other and laugh, his hand on her shoulder and her hand finding his waist. Your blood suddenly turns hot, and you push your way through the crowd to make it to them.

If you could, you would march right up and pull him away from all those greedy stares. They’re practically drooling all over him, and Padme’s hand is still on his waist. But you know better-- you can’t let anyone know you and Anakin are familiar, so you stand at the edge of the crowd, meeting Anakin’s eye.

You glare at his face, then at Padme’s hand, then back to him. His eyes narrow into a warning, extremely fleeting, and then he continues on charming the crowd. You know what he wanted to say-- it means nothing. It doesn’t stop the heat from blossoming in the pit of your stomach, the irritated glare you shoot Padme before looking down.

Way to stay under the radar, you think, slipping away from the crowd and deciding it’s better to keep your eyes on Clovis than get angry over a move on your boyfriend that was probably innocent.

Clovis is sitting at his seat, still as stone, surveying the crowd before him.

“You nervous?” you take your seat beside him.

“Not at all.”

“Good. You’ve been preparing all afternoon, I think it’d be ridiculous if you still doubted yourself.”

“You… have faith in me.”

“Of course,” your eyes softened at the vulnerability in his statement. “You’re a powerful Senator.”

He huffed, the crack in his green eyes immediately cementing over. “I know.”

And, there he is. Back to being gruff and dismissive.

It’s quiet for a moment longer, but you’re okay with that. Small talk is not an interest of yours either, and you’d much rather sip on the flute of drink that a servant had given you than join the crowd on the floor.

Unfortunately, you have trouble wrenching your eyes away from Padme and Anakin, who are still surrounded by drooling Senators. Padme looks like an angel, dressed in a floor length gown spun out of gold thread that you’re pretty sure came directly from the sun. It shimmers and sparkles as she moves, standing out like a beacon of light among the rest of the room. She is radiant, with a matching headpiece that glitters like a chandelier, the jewels braided in and out of her chocolate curls. Even her makeup is minimal yet blindingly beautiful, with a gold shimmer staining her eyelids and cheekbones that reflect the warmth of her topaz eyes.

“She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?” Clovis murmurs next to you, so quiet you almost don’t hear it.

“Who? Padme?”

“I believe she’s taking quite a liking to the Jedi.”

Heat sparks in your blood again. The fact that even Clovis notices how handsy Padme is being… then again, it’s a known fact that Clovis and Padme have a history, and he could just be reading too far into things out of jealousy.

“You shouldn’t call him that,” you choose to ignore his concerns. “Anyone could be listening.”

“You see that smile? That’s the smile she only ever gave me. I wonder if she even knows she’s doing it…”

“Clovis, Anakin isn’t allowed to form attachments. You have nothing to worry about.”

“It’s not him that bothers me,” he admits. “It’s her. Look. Look at the way she leans into him when she laughs.”

You take his advice and… now that he says it, she does get a little too close for your liking. Every time Anakin finishes a punchline, the crowd erupts in laughter and Padme joins in, bracing herself by gripping onto his arms and grinning into his neck. He catches her, ever the gentlemen, but he’s smiling too.

It’s a little more than innocent, and you can’t tell who’s fault it is. But that doesn’t help the jealousy steadily rising in your chest.

“The debate should be starting soon,” is all you say, leaning back in your seat and scowling into your flute of drink.

The only thing keeping you rooted to the seat instead of launching out of your chair to rip Padme away from Anakin by the hair was the fact that you know you’re the one who’s going to be sharing a bed with him tonight-- not her.

You’re just hoping he even makes it back to your bed. Or will poor Padme need help with something else that requires Anakin’s doting attention?

A bell rings just on time, signaling for the Senators to take their seats. Anakin leads Padme over, arms hooked around each other, and she smiles at you as she approaches.

“Y/n, you look wonderful,” she whispers, and then slides into the seat between Clovis and Anakin.

Your cheeks burn in shame. How can you harbor such awful feelings toward her when she was so sweet? But the anger is worsened by the compliment she had just given you-- it’s one thing to be drop-dead stunning, why does she have to be so kind, too? What are you to compare?

After tonight, Anakin’s probably going to think you are so difficult-- always complaining, always tired, never as pretty or gentle or kind. You don’t have a laugh that twinkles like wind-chimes, or eyes that reflect the light like soft glowing pools of honey. If she is the sun, you are just a cold, hard, chunk of ashen moonrock.

The debate goes on for an eternity. You zone out for a lot of it, stewing in your anger and drowning in self-deprecating thoughts. A few times you’re brought to the brink of tears before you remind yourself you’re here on a mission, and throw yourself into scanning every nook and cranny for something that could be amiss. Eventually, a break is ordered.

Senators begin to rise from their podiums to stretch their legs, including Padme. She tells Anakin she’s going to the washroom, and your eyes zero in on the fingers lingering on his arm as she leaves. You stand as well, meaning to walk a little and stretch your legs, and Anakin follows you.

“Padme’s right,” he catches up to you easily. “You do look wonderful. Blue really is your color.”

You stop by the open window, breathing in the fresh air as you search his eyes for truth. Does he truly mean it? Does he look at you with that same light he had looked at Padme with? Or is he only saying it because he has to? Because he’s used to complimenting you because you’re his girlfriend?

“What? What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” you lower your gaze, picking at the marble stone engravings of the windowsill.

“Y/n,” Anakin lowers his voice. He’s concerned now, picking up on how upset you are. “I said you look beautiful. What’s the problem?” “No, you said I look wonderful. It’s different than beautiful.” You mean to leave it there, but can’t help but add, grumbling under your breath, “Padme looks beautiful.”

It’s immature. You know it as soon as you say it, but for some reason you can’t stop yourself. You just want Anakin to take more notice of how strong Padme’s coming on to him, to assure you that it means nothing. You know it means nothing, but you still need that confirmation.

“She does,” he says, and your heart drops. You look up at him, and he’s staring back with an intensity you can’t decipher. “She’s a Senator, Y/n, this is her debate. Of course she has to look beautiful.”

“She’s more beautiful,” the words fall from your lips and taste like poison.

“What’s this about?” Anakin’s voice is dripping in irritation. Once hearing it himself, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens them, he speaks again in a softer tone. “Why are you comparing yourself to Padme?”

Gah, even the sound of her name coming from his mouth is like nails on a chalkboard. But you decide to do the first smart thing you have all evening, and take a lesson from him. You breathe deeply and bite down on your anger before answering.

“I’m not trying to,” you admit, eyes falling from his face to trace the exposed skin of his neck. “I just-- she’s flirting with you.”

“It’s harmless.”

“I-- I know. But…”

“It still bothers you. You’re jealous.”

“I have nothing to be jealous about,” even saying this, you can hear the lie in your voice. You repeat the statement, more to yourself, trying to believe it. He’s yours-- for now. He could just as easily be Padme’s. What if he wants to be Padme’s?

“Look,” Anakin takes another grounding breath, then fits a finger beneath your chin, tilting it up to look at him. “I can see you’re trying to think rationally, so I’m not going to tell you that you’re being ridiculous. But… you’re being ridiculous.”

“Wow. Thanks.”

“You have to understand, I do not like Padme like you’re thinking. I--” he cuts himself off, eyes flitting around the room before leaning in close to whisper in your ear. “I love you.”

Goosebumps erupt all over your skin, making you shiver. His lips ghosting over your ear, the whispered promise of his devotion to you… suddenly, you feel very stupid.

“Okay,” you accept, and the bells ring again, signalling everyone to take their seats. You head on over with him, but not before putting as much heart into your next words. “I’m sorry for getting jealous.”

“It’s okay,” he gives you the first warm smile of the night, smoothing your hair down quickly before breaking off to take his own seat.

You sit next to Clovis, considerably calmer, replaying Anakin’s whispered “I love you” over and over in your head, the touch of his gentle hand in your hair. There was no need to make such a fuss, and honestly you were upset with yourself for ruining the night. You decide to make another smart decision for the night, and push away all of the negative thoughts to the deepest corner of your mind. No more, not tonight-- instead, you would focus on a way to make it up to him for being so ridiculous, and to thank him for being so patient with you.

It’s as you’re planning the rest of your night out, that you see Clovis’s knee bouncing under the podium. You know his time to speak is coming up soon, and his actions betray his mind. He’s such a liar. He is nervous.

“You’ve got this,” you tell him, reaching onto the podium to give his hand a squeeze. His palms are clammy, and he looks at you like you’ve struck him.

“I know I do,” he spits, but doesn’t move his hand from underneath yours. “It’s just pre-performance jitters.”

His next words are so quiet, you almost don’t catch them.

“It doesn’t help that I have two gorgeous women sitting next to me to witness this all.”

Now it’s your turn to look like you’ve been struck. You know he means for you to hear it, otherwise he wouldn’t have said it. Anakin seems to be thinking the same thing, as you can see him give Clovis a sidelong glance just as Padme takes the seat between them again.

“I-- um… we’re rooting for you,” you fumble. “No need to get nervous now.”

Clovis blows out a long breath, and then covers your hand that’s squeezing his palm with his other. “Thank you, Y/n. You’ve truly been so patient and accommodating this whole night. I must find a way to pay you back afterwards.”

“Oh, there’s no need--” your words are cut off as the delegates call for order, and then the debate resumes. You don’t miss the way Anakin’s back stiffens in his seat.

Clovis works up a nervous sweat in the minutes leading up to his speech, but when he gets up, he delivers it without a flaw. Everyone claps, and then Padme goes. You clap along once she’s finished, trying not to calculate if Anakin is clapping harder or faster for her than anyone else. He’s not… but you just had to be sure.

There never seemed to be any threat for the entire night, except for one instance. A young man stood by the door, eyes shifting around for a moment too long to be casual, and Clovis seemed to notice as well.

“Where, exactly, is that equipment you were speaking of earlier?”

“There’s a strap on my thigh, and it holds my blaster to it. Look,” you pull your skirt back to reveal your leg up to your thigh, where the tip of your blaster peaks out. “See, nothing to worry about.”

It doesn’t even cross your mind that Anakin would notice, or that he’d even mind.

Finally, the debate ends, and the senate room is dismissed. You let out a long breath, ready to just get out of this dress and relax in the suite with Anakin now. However, you stand to leave your seat but Clovis is in your way.

“Y/n, like I said before… I must show my gratitude for your services. Please, let me buy you dinner.”

“Oh-- Oh geez… um.... I can’t,” your eyes flit from Clovis to Anakin, who’s standing behind him. He’s got his back turned, bidding farewell to the new friends he made, but you know for sure that he’s listening. “I really need to go to bed, we’re leaving early in the morning.”

“You can come to my suite, we can order room service. They’re right next to each other… besides, you can always just stay over at mine for the night. There’s room.”

That tone. Those eyes. You know what he’s insinuating, and it sure as hell isn’t just dinner.

“Clovis, I’d love to, but I really can’t.”

“Oh. Okay.”

The green cracks of his eyes are hardening again, the soft daisies growing from them being wrenched out in clenched fists and stomped under a boot. You want to stop them from freezing over in that insufferable ice again, and decide it might be nice to humor him for a job well done tonight. After all, he was a lot kinder to you than you thought he’d ever be, and part of you likes being one of the few people on his good side.

“How about I walk back with you to the apartments? We can do that much.”

Clovis smiles, and holds out an arm. “I’ll take it.”

As Clovis escorts you out of the debate room, you turn to look back at Anakin. He’s ushering Padme out of the crowds, staring after you as you leave. He doesn’t smile, or wave, or do anything really. Except look angry.

A sudden ball of nervousness forms in the pit of your stomach. Oh no. Offering to do this was a mistake, that much is becoming clear with every step you take with Clovis latched onto your arm. You can feel Anakin’s eyes burning into your back the entire way out of the senate building, until you’re on the streets of Naboo and he’s off in a limousine with Padme.

Of course he’s going to be angry at you now. You were mad at him for allowing Padme to flirt with him, and now he’s going to think you’re making a move on Clovis to get back at him for it. Even though that’s not at all what’s happening… Oh how the tables have turned.

You’re jittery the whole walk back. Clovis tries to make conversation, but you only offer him short, clipped answers. Really, you should have shut down his advances in the debate room. No matter that you pitied him for being rejected by Padme and yourself, you should have said no. You didn’t owe him anything. But here you are, and now you are going to suffer the consequences from Anakin when you get back to your room.

“Are you sure you can’t stop in? Not even just for a drink?” Clovis asks as you make it to the top of the stairs. You turn the corner, and Anakin is leaning against your apartment door, arms crossed, clearly waiting for you.

“Uhh,” you unwind your arm from around Clovis’s. “I really can’t. Sorry.”

Clovis follows your gaze, and sees Anakin. His tone turns steely. “Is it because of that Jedi?”

“No, oh my-- no!” you feign the most incredulous expression you can, nerves growing more frenzied as you grow closer to your apartment door. “I really am just so tired. Please Clovis, I have to go.”

“Y/n, it doesn’t have to be like this--”

“You’re right,” a deep voice cuts in. “It doesn’t.”

Anakin takes the arm that Clovis refused to let go of, and slips it out of his grasp. Thankfully, for Clovis’s sake, he lets him. Anakin pushes you behind him and stands before Clovis, towering over him by a couple inches.

“It was a pleasure serving you and Senator Amidala. Hopefully we can work together again soon. Have a good night”

Each word that comes from his lips are dripping with venom. Clovis grows red in the face, and you can tell he’s trying hard not to retaliate. In the end, he decides to turn and stalk back to his own apartment door.

Once it slams shut, Anakin turns to you. You meet his eyes with the most innocent expression you can put on.

“None of that,” he hisses, and steps past you to walk into the apartment.

“Oh, come on!” you follow close behind, closing the door and jogging to catch up with him. He’s standing before the bed, roughly loosening his tie. “Anakin, please don’t be mad. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Really? How am I supposed to believe that after what happened earlier?”

“Yes, okay, I admit I was jealous of you and Padme. But I got over it! I swear I wasn’t trying to get you back for it, I promise. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Anakin pulls the buttons off his shirt so hard, you’re afraid they might break. Suddenly, he is shirtless, and so very mad, and so very tall… and muscular… and… wow…

“You can’t even look me in the eye when you say that,” he argues, stopping to stand before you. You wrench your eyes away from his toned midriff and meet his eyes, which are blazing with hurt and anger. A warmth is rising in your veins-- a different kind than earlier-- but it’s beat out with something stronger. Guilt.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him, trying so desperately to ignore the heat that’s radiating off his chest. “I really am. Clovis was just… kinder than I expected him to be--”

“Was he? Was he kind when he had you sit in silence all afternoon in the senate building? Was he kind when he refused to let you eat? When he guilt-tripped you into spending time with him?”

“That’s not exactly what happened,” you cross your arms and size him up. “And you’re not totally innocent either, you know.”

“Really?” Anakin cocks an eyebrow at you, sitting down on the bed roughly. He leans back on his arms, daring you to continue.

“You let Padme flirt with you, and you never told her to stop. You could have set some boundaries, told her to back off a little...”

“And you could have told me you were leaving with Clovis before gathering your skirts and skipping away,” Anakin bites back.

“I wasn’t planning to! Anakin, please, both of us made mistakes tonight. Can we just agree on that?”

He frowns, eyes flickering over your still-dressed form. He motions for you to come closer and turn around, so you do. Gentle fingers work at the zip on your back, dragging it down to free you from the constraints. You remember the note he wrote from earlier, how he couldn’t wait to take the dress off of you, and grow disappointed at how the night had gone. This was not the context you had been expecting.

The way his hands linger on your waist, you know he’s thinking the same thing.

“Okay. We both made mistakes.” You feel his soft curls against the bare skin of your back as rests his forehead against you. You hold your dress up in the front so as not to expose yourself. “I’m sorry for letting Padme flirt with me. I should have put an end to it-- I know it hurt you to watch.”

“It did,” you whisper. “But I’m also sorry. For getting so jealous even though you never accepted her advances, and for making it seem like I was trying to get revenge. It wasn’t my intention.”

A soft “it’s okay” is kissed into your back. His hands grip your waist, turning you in his grasp. He’s looking up at you now, hair mussed up and eyes wary. “You good?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

What were you guys doing? At the end of the day, it’s you and him. Padme is out of the picture, and so is Clovis. Everything is alright, and that fuss you both put up throughout the night was virtually pointless.

Looking into his eyes, the ones you love so much and could never picture yourself ever parting from, suddenly this whole thing seems elementary. How terrible, disastrous, and ironic this night turned out. Replaying the events in your head, you find a smile begin to crack at your lips. Anakin can’t keep a straight face either, the ridiculousness of it all beginning to catch up with you both. You begin to laugh, and he follows, burying his head in your stomach as you hug around his neck.

“We must be back in training school,” you giggle, feeling his shoulders shake beneath you. “How pathetic of us.”

“Ahh,” he groans, suddenly wrenching you off your feet and onto the bed on top of him. He nuzzles his face into your neck, pulling you as close to him as possible. “Let’s just forget this night ever happened. It was dreadful and embarrassing.”

“As far as I’m concerned, I was never even here.”

“Me neither,” he presses a line of warm kisses down your neck, stopping at the strap of your dress. “Let’s get this off. Do you still have your blaster on you?”

You pat the metal strapped onto your thigh. “Locked and loaded.”

“Well, gee, thanks for telling me. I definitely didn’t want to get my head blown off.”

“Safety’s on, wisecrack,” you help him shrug your dress off, kicking it from your legs and off the end of the bed. You unclasp the band from around your thigh and distribute the blaster onto the nightstand.

“I’m the wisecrack,” you don’t miss the way Anakin’s voice deepens, attention suddenly captured by the bare skin of your body beneath him. His eyes follow the path his fingers are tracing up your leg. “Careful, or I’ll have to report that to the Council.”

“For what? Being right?”

“For creating conflict of interest on the job,” his fingers skim the soft flesh of your upper thighs, tickling their way past the curve of your hips, the dip of your waist, up and up and up… “It’s terribly naughty of you.”

His words are teasing and corny, but somehow the deeper insinuation of them still cause your cheeks to burn red.

“Anakin,” your voice is hoarse, causing your blush to deepen. His long fingers cup your chin, keeping your lips ghost over his as his other hand pulls the silver clasps from your hair. “I need a shower.”

“I can meet you in there?”

You clutch at his shoulders, bringing him forward to close that gap between your lips. His mouth is warm against yours, pliant and soft and generous. It’s everything you’ve been yearning for all night, all this time you’ve been apart. The smell of him, taste of him, feel of him— you could never get enough.

“I’ll save you a spot.”

#anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x fem reader #anakin angst #anakin fluff #anakin skywalker fic #jealous anakin #soft anakin #Anakin x fem reader smut #anakin fic

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sunjaesol · 3 years

Text

THE MANY CRUSHES OF LUKE PATTERSON... AND THE ONE THAT STUCK

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

1982

Luke Patterson's first crush ever was Haley Martin. He adored the colour of her hair — like the clementines his mom bought — and the way she finger-painted, enough for his four year old eyes to stare at her in awe.

He watched her make mud pies in the sandbox from the monkey bars, only to ruin them to get a rise out of her. He couldn't understand why she didn't like him the way he did, so he nagged his mom to explain.

"Teasing girls should be fun for them too, sweetheart," she soothed. "This Haley clearly didn't like it."

He blinked. "Huh?"

Her smile stayed warm, similar to hot chocolate and whenever grandpa conjured candies from behind his ear. "Why don't you share your grapes with her tomorrow? I'm sure she'll like that."

His nose scrunched up. "Why?"

"Because it's sweet, Luke."

"I don't get that," he shrugged. "But I'll try."

The next day, he sat beside her during storybook time and that seemed to help a little already. By the time it was lunch, her mood was lifted, which excited him too, and urged him to offer the grapes.

It earned him a featherlight kiss on the cheek.

Luke squeaked in surprise, flushing a firetruck red, to which she giggled and plopped another grape in her mouth.

Three days later, his crush was gone from his mind and he began sharing his grapes with his new friend Reginald instead.

1986

"Can you ask Jessica what she thinks of me?" Luke hurriedly whispered, eyes flickering between Reggie and the girl from across the courtyard.

Normally, Luke Patterson exuded confidence. The resident class clown, always opening his jaw to react to the teacher without raising his hand, catching fights with stupid classmates, sneaking into dad's stationwagon to create mixtapes.

Fearlessness was his freaking middle name. (It was actually Beck, but whatever. He wished it was something cool like Duran Duran though.)

But when it came to girls... he got so nervous. Because they were girls! He didn't understand them! They hated rambunctious boys and only listened to stupid pop music and blabbered about how they stole makeup from their sisters.

Jessica, however, somehow made his heart flutter and his stomach twist up. She just looked cool in her dungarees and she had a pretty smile and she didn't wear that overwhelming, sugary perfume that was now popular.

Reggie snickered, in the way only eight year old boys could. "You liiiiiiike her!"

"No!" He scowled. "I–I'm just curious."

"Sure," he drawled, but then shrugged in agreement, the oversized leather jacket rustling on his shoulders. He stole it from his older brother after he saw him kissing (!!!) some girl and figured it held some magic to impress the ladies with.

"Just do it!"

With a dramatic flourish, the boy left their hiding spot, Luke lurking around the corner of the alcove to watch. Jessica looked up from her hard work of creating friendship bracelets and smiled at Reggie.

Oh, gosh. She was pretty.

A minute later, a sheepish Reg slowly crawled back to him, cheeks red and fiddling with the zipper of his jacket.

Luke grabbed his shoulders, urgent. "What did she say?"

"Uh... well..."

"C'mon, dude!"

Reggie sighed. "She... likes me, buddy. Sorry."

His hopeful face crashed into one of devestation, quickly covering it up with a laugh and a squeeze of the shoulder. Oh, man, what would Steven Tyler do?

"That– that's dope!"

In the end, Reggie and Jessica were boyfriend and girlfriend for a week while he wrote an angry poem about how stupid dungarees were.

Huh... it was surprisingly good.

1988

"Hey, Luke," Gwenn greeted, shy, tucking her hands in her Camp Wacky Rocka hoodie. "I really liked that song you made about your guitar."

Jumping from the tree branch to the ground, Luke dazzled her with an appreciative smile. From above, Reggie and their new friend Alex watched on curiously.

"Thanks!"

Who would've thought that summer camp would be the first time he made a real, girl friend! Gwenn was super cool and she played the saxophone and she liked Joan Jett and her hair was all curly and big and it reminded him of pretty clouds.

Looking over her shoulder, he noticed a gaggle of girls staring at them. Like they were waiting.

Gwenn stared at him. "Can you close your eyes?"

He frowned. "Why?"

"Just 'cause."

Whatever. Maybe she wanted to show him something cool and would stick it in his hand. Complying, he closed his eyes and impatiently waited, bouncing on his heels.

"So?"

Suddenly, he felt a light, warm touch on his mouth and — oh! She was kissing him!

Luke staggered back in surprise, gawking at a blushing Gwenn as she squeaked a sorry and ran back to the now giggling and screeching girls. They ran away like a flock of birds.

It was a dare! His first kiss, stolen by a dare!

His boys jumped down beside him, awed.

Reggie hollered. "You kissed Gwenn!"

"I don't get it," Alex muttered.

Luke's face twisted up in a sour expression. Camp Wacky Rocka should be all about the music and becoming legends and Gwenn ruined it!

He stuck his tongue out. "Whatever. Let's go to the mess hall!"

1989

When Luke turned eleven, he kissed someone for real.

His birthday party was at the arcade, loud chatter and robotic sounds clashing together in an amazing cacophony. His parents hated the place, which is why Luke loved it.

Of the twenty guests, Yasmine clapped the loudest after he finished his song with the boys — Math Is For Losers! — and grabbed his hand as they walked to a duel game.

Luke felt fuckin' giddy the entire time. (Freakin' in front of his parents, fuckin' with friends.) The swoop in his stomach, his cheeks stretched into a wide beam.

Freshly eleven and the king of the arcade, he boldly asked if he could kiss her.

She smiled, her purple headband glittering in the neon lights, and nodded.

It was short and warm and her lips tasted like pink lemonade and sour gummies and it gave him an entirely new buzz. It was exciting.

He kissed her a couple more times the days after, eager and curious, until she claimed she was now only interested in twelve year old boys.

Since Luke now held the record of most kisses between him, Alex and Reggie, he wasn't too bothered by it. They shook hands, complimented each other on the kissing, and that was that.

1992

"Are you or are you not my boyfriend?" Olivia bit, crossing her arms.

Luke sighed, lazy gaze drifting from her to his band waiting by their bikes. Damn, he thought having a girlfriend would be way easier. Why was she so tense?

"I am," he said. "Why do you think I'm not?"

"Because you ignore me, like, all the time!" Pouting, she fiddled with the hem of her tartan skirt. "And now you're going to be with your band!"

He shrugged. "You can come with us and listen, if you want."

Luke met Olivia this year as deskmates in French class. Her raven hair was long and thick and her lips were all shiny from lip gloss and maybe he got a little cocky, thinking he could be dating the hottest girl of freshman year, so he naturally asked her out.

Maybe he should've considered beforehand whether they had anything in common, but he'd always been the overzealous type. And besides... she was a good kisser.

She scoffed. "That's not any better. Whatever. I'll just hang with Tina and Priscilla then. Laters!"

Plopping a kiss on his lips, she turned around and stalked to her whispering friends. Luke puffed, adjusted the beanie and made his way to the boys.

Girls were confusing.

"I bet dating boys is easier," Alex mused. "Like, equally terrifying, but also... easier. I think. Maybe."

Bobby laughed. "How's the girlfriend, Luke?"

"Ha ha," he deadpanned. "Let's go. I got this new song, Crooked Teeth, and it's a fucking banger!"

Olivia broke up with him after Sunset Curve's first, official gig at the arcade with the explanation that he loved music more than her. He never loved her to begin with, so maybe that was the problem.

She made out with Bobby that same night.

Holy shit, man. He supposed that bitter feeling at the sight of them tasted like rock 'n roll, the one thing he actually craved.

What a funny, funny feeling. (He wrote a hell of a lot of songs about it after. He never quite looked at Bobby the same way either.)

1995

"Hey, Maisie." Leaning against the locker beside the girl, he shot her a million dollar smile. "You comin' to our gig tonight? It's at The Orpheum."

Maisie was fucking awesome. Always in short, flowery dresses and fishnet tights and thick eyeliner like a rockstar, always listening to something new on her walkman. She came from a rich family, but that didn't hinder them from becoming friends.

Her jaw fell slack in awe, him instantly gaining more confidence. Ducking his head to meet her eye, he leaned a little closer. He knew damn well what he was doing, and he got a thrill every time it worked.

"Really?" She gasped. "That's awesome! I'll so be there!"

"Sweet," he grinned. "And stay after too."

A brow quirked up, intrigued. "Why?"

He shrugged. "Just 'cause."

"Right," she drawled. "Nothing is 'just because' with you, Luke."

"And that's why you gotta stay," he teased, nudging her shoe with his. "To find out."

If they rocked that gig and he felt like a fucking legend, he hoped it would end with the two of them hooking up. He wasn't interested in dating — having learned his lesson after Olivia — and he knew she wasn't either, but she was fun.

And that was the most important to him: to have fucking fun. Luke Patterson was here for a good time, not a long time.

And if nothing happened between him and Maisie, then he'd still feel like a legend. In a couple of hours, he was going to play at The Orpheum! How gnarly was that?!

2022

Twenty-seven years later, Luke was still seventeen years old. While he preferred to not question the science behind ghostly activities — he flunked physics anyway — he was happy that he froze at this age.

Because Julie was seventeen, too.

And, man. He was madly in love with her.

He loved everything, from the babyhairs curling around her ears, to her voice and compassionate soul, to her beautiful smile, all the way to her cute, doodled sneakers.

Her epic music taste, her snark, the way she always found his gaze, the way she finished his lyrics, the way she always knew what to say to make him feel better.

His heart melted to a flickering candle whenever she hugged him, a raging wildfire erupting between every kiss. He was a fool for her.

"Stop moving," she giggled, one hand coming up to hold his chin.

He grinned, "Sorry, Jules."

Shifting closer, she dabbled more glitter on his cheeks. They were playing at a black-light club tonight, so Julie and Flynn bought all the glow in the dark makeup available at the store for the occasion.

They looked ridiculous in daylight, Julie's weirdly pink lipstick claiming all his attention, but he knew they'd look fucking cool once the lights went down.

"You want to watch a movie after the gig?" she whispered.

Luke rolled his eyes, playful. "You're gonna fall asleep."

"Yeah." With a bashful tilt of the shoulder, she leaned in closer. "But then you'll be with me."

"Julie! How scandalous," he teased, though his chest swelled at the thought of having some alone time, some cuddle time, with Julie.

"So?"

Murmuring a yes, he closed the little distance to kiss her, sealing the deal, only for her to chase after him — an attempt to wipe the lipstick stain off his lips.

"Nah, keep it." A smirk grew. "So the people know."

She tsked. "Idiot."

"You like it."

"I'm still taking it off though, seeing as you're supposed to be a hologram," she pointed out. "But... you can kiss my lipstick away after the show."

He sighed, dreamy. "I love you."

Finishing his glitter and removing the stain, she dazzled him with a satisfied smile. "Love you too."

She rose up from the couch and went to search for Reggie, the boy likely with Carlos. For a moment, Luke was alone in the studio, allowing himself to sink into that warm, fuzzy feeling.

No matter how many blunders he went through with girls — Haley, Jessica, Gwenn, Yasmine, Olivia, Maisie — they all prepared him, in one way or the other, for Julie.

To not only recognise when an awesome girl was standing right in front of him, but also how to treat her — because Julie Molina deserved the fucking world.

Even if that world now included the supernatural.

Whatever. They were all a little crazy.

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

@bluefirewrites @blush-and-books @pink-flame @ourstarscollided @constantly-singing @unsaid-emily @willexx

#juke #jatp fanfiction #julie and the phantoms

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tsukkiseasalt · 3 years

Text

Eyes That Won’t Wonder

“What, what!?” You shriek.

Another low laugh erupts from him as he leans against the door, his large frame blocking any potential view of the inside.

“I believe that is a compliment.” He mumbles his lips curling up into a sly smile.

“Y-yeah, it was.” You stammer, words barely making themselves out of you as your stomach begins to do cartwheels.

“As much as I'd love to stay right here and chat, you’d probably find it to be much more comfortable inside.” He says, smile fully present now, and you take a moment to admire the sight-storing it in your mind. He moves enough for you to slip right past him and pause the moment your feet touch the dark hardwood floors.

The aroma is the first thing that invades your senses. It smells of pine and a rich tobacco, with slight hints of something sweet- maybe vanilla, you can’t really tell. The home is just as beautiful on the inside as it appeared from the outside. The dark hardwood floors complimented the ivory walls and dark rust colored trim. The living room was sparsely decorated though, it had only one couch, a chestnut loveseat and a matching recliner. He obviously doesn’t get many visitors.

“Your home is beautiful.” You say breathlessly, eyes roaming the space in awe.

“Thank you.” He exclaims, a large hand grazing the small of your back as he slips behind you and towards the kitchen. His touch makes your knees go weak and you steady yourself by placing a shaky hand on the door.

“Would you like something to drink?” You hear him call from the kitchen.

“Ah, water please.” You answer, taking a few deep breaths before you saunter over to the counter placing your folder in front of you. He slides the glass in front of you and you nod as a thank you before you begin to sip.

“I don’t think I ever caught your name.” He says leaning back onto the fridge, arms folded over his massive chest.

“Oh, uh, my name is y/n y/ln.” You mumble your index finger rubbing the rim of the glass.

“Lovely, it fits you.” He says, eyes catching your own. You can't help the blush that arises on your cheeks.

“T-thank you.” You manage to stammer out, silently cursing yourself for getting so flustered so quickly. He was a patient not some guy at a bar, you needed to get a grip and you needed to get it fast. “Uhm, you’re a bit younger than most of the other patients i have worked for. Is there actually anything wrong with you?” You quiz, but the words come out a bit harsher than you intended. “Oh goodness, I did not mean that in a bad way at all sir- Mr. Wakatoshi, oh my goodness. I am so sorry.” You exhale letting your head fall into your hands. Your words are all becoming a jumbled mess and you can't help the shame that creeps up your throat. Great, now he probably thinks I'm some kind of asshole.

“No, it's okay. I understand what you were trying to say. Two years ago I had to get a disc in my back replaced and it took a lot out of me. Though I can still get around pretty well, there are still certain tasks that I need help with. I am also set to have another surgery on my knee two months from now, so I thought it would be better to have someone get accustomed to me and my habits beforehands.” He says voice monotone. Is he angry?

“Mr. Wakatoshi, I am so sorry if I came off as rude earlier- I didn’t mean to offend.” You say feeling guilty.

He shakes his head. “You’re fine sweetheart, I’m actually quite flattered that you think that.” Before you have a chance to relish his words he starts again, “I’m going to go put some clothes on, but here. I made a list- well a schedule really- of how my day usually functions. You can look over it and if there is anything that seems to be a bit much for you let me know and we will make alterations to it.” He says walking out of the kitchen and returning with a piece of paper. “Here, I will return shortly.” He says handing you the paper. Your eyes skim the page as you read the text.

7:30am- Arrive & make coffee ( I prefer mine black)

7:45am- Read the newspaper

8:00am- Feed Randy & Lyle

8:15am- Pour second cup of coffee & wash dishes

8:30-9:30am- 2nd Workout (If you could have a bowl of fruits waiting that would be lovely)

10:00am- Post shower stretch (Help isn’t required but appreciated)

10:30-12:00pm- Take Lyle to the park (You are more than welcomed to join us)

12:30pm- Lunch / with Aone* (*Mon. & Thurs. only)

1:00pm- Stop at farmers market

1:30pm- Arrive home & check on Randy

1:35-4:00pm- Varies (You may leave at this time or you may stay for dinner.)

4:00-6:00pm- Prepare dinner

6:05- 6:45pm- Eat then wash dishes

All that is required of you is bolded, the italicized text is completely voluntary, though I would enjoy your company.

“Goodness.” You mumble, placing the paper down. “This is even less than I did with Washijō.” You thought you had it easy then just checking his oxygen, helping him up, and taking him wherever, but you were basically an in-home barista.

“I hope it isn't too much.” The voice startles you as he appears beside you now fully clothed- well not really. He had on a pair of dark sweatpants and a gray sleeveless shirt putting biceps on display for all to see.

“Uh, no, not at all sir. I was expecting much more actually.” You admit eyes darting between the paper and his arms.

“Oh, well I'm sorry to disappoint you.” He says voice low as he bends down to tie his shoes. “I’m sure that there will be more for you to do after my knee surgery.”

“Yes, and I'm not disappointed sir, I'm honestly kind of relieved. I haven't worked with anyone in quite a while, so this is a good refresher to allow me to get back into the routine of things.” You say words falling from your lips before you realize it.

“Is that so?” He asks standing back up to his full height, face full of curiosity.

“Yes, my previous patient passed away and I took some time off. He and I were close, friends even, and the death really hit me hard even though I knew it was coming. It still hurts ya know.” You exclaim as feelings of sadness wash over you at the thought of your friend.

You didn't know what you were expecting when you told him that, maybe an ‘i'm sorry for your loss’ or nothing at all but it is safe to say a hug was not one of those things. His body was warm and his chest was solid- it felt good. You wrapped your own arms around his waist and closed your eyes.

“I hope that one day you and I could be friends as well.” He says quietly pulling away.

You don't fight the smile that graces your face, “Yeah, I feel like we will.”

The words seem to liven him because a large smile spreads across his face again. “Well I’m gonna go lift now, feel free to look around. There's food in the fridge and snacks in the pantry. Make yourself at home.” He says walking to the back of his home.

“Oh, Mr. Wakatoshi!”

“Yes love?” He asks, turning back around, a smile still lingering on his lips.

“Who are Lyle and Randy?” You ask looking back down at the paper, partly to hide the blush that you are now sporting. “Are they your children?”

“Yes, they are my children. I’ll introduce you when I return.” He laughs before turning back around and disappearing into a hallway.

You sigh as soon as he is out of eyesight dropping your head onto the cool marble countertop, raising your head just enough to read the time on the clock that sits unwavering by stairs. 8:37. You had just under an hour to get somewhat acquainted with the home you would now be in for ten hours a day for six days a week. You decide to begin with the kitchen, opening and closing drawers & cabinets identifying the contents within them, occasionally rubbing a light hand over them. Next is the living room. The wide open space is mostly vacant and you take a seat on the loveseat sinking back into the cushions. “Nice.” You mumble.

Pushing yourself up you wonder to every room opening the door just enough for you to peek in and see what it is. You hesitate though when you get to the room at the end of the hallway. It’s his. You could sense it, nonetheless you slowly push the knob down and peek inside. It’s clean just like the rest of his home. You don't linger and decide its best to close the door & move onto the next.

By 9:15 you’d looked throughout his entire home, and it was more beautiful than you could have imagined. The ceilings in the bathrooms were high and had beautiful artworks painted atop of them, they looked as though they belonged in a museum rather than someone's guest bathroom. The spare bedrooms were just as lovely. Each had a shelf that was littered with books and knick-knacks that looked foreign. All of this just fueled your curiosity- what did he do & how long did he do it?

You shrugged as you went back into the kitchen jumping when you saw his large frame in the fridge. He was shirtless, again, but this time his hair was wet and clung to his head. The small gray stripes were clear as day against his dark olive locks.

“Oh, hi. I didn’t think you’d be done yet.” You say awkwardly scratching the back of your neck.

“Yes, I finished early and decided to shower & grab a snack.” He says waving the bowl of strawberries.

“I was about to prepare one for you.” You said.

“Oh, thank you. You don't really have to do anything today, just get accustomed to things.” He says popping the small red fruit into his mouth.

“Would you like me to stretch you out?” You ask, remembering the list.

His eyes shoot up to yours as soon as the question escapes your lips and you realize how wrong it sounded and before you had a chance to correct yourself he spoke. “You stretch me out, I mean i’ll try anything once but i’d prefer the opposite..”

His words startled you to say the least, and almost instinctively the words flowed from your lips, “I’d like to see you try.”

His eyes widened at your remark and at that you began to spew apologies. “Shit, fuck, DAMMIT. God, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to say that, the stretching part I mean. Well I meant that, but not what I said afterwards. Ok, let me start over. What I meant to say is do you need help stretching considering you just got done working out. There, that's what I meant.”

Your eyes are frantic as they lock with his. God, it's the first day and I'm already gonna lose my damn job. Just great. His lips are pressed in a straight line for a moment before he finally lets the edge of them glide up into a small smirk.

“I’ve already stretched, but I suppose I could go a little deeper, maybe a little harder this time.” He says emphasizing the two words as he pops another strawberry between his lips smirk still evident.

“The stretches of course.?” You ask for clarification.

He hums and pops another strawberry between his lips setting the bowl down onto the counter stalking towards you, his large figure quickly engulfing your much smaller one almost instantly. “That’s not quite what I had in mind.”

You can feel his warm breath on your lips as he leans down, “But if that is what you insist.”

A loud bark bellowed throughout the kitchen causing you to jump. He smiled and wrapped a protective arm around your waist. “No need to fret, he was probably just getting anxious to meet you.”

“He?”

“Yes, my son, or at least one of them. Come on so I can introduce you.” He says guiding you down the hallway, to his room you assumed. You were correct, you realized as he pushed the door open revealing a large dog.

“Don’t worry sweetheart he doesn’t bite. Daddy made him promise to be on his best behavior.” He whispers lowly into your ear.

Fuck, this may be harder than I thought.

hiiiiii, this is the second chapter & you can just check the tag eyesthatwontwonder to read the first. anywaysssss i hope you enjoyed! likes and reblogs are always appreciated <33

#haikyu x reader #ushijima x reader #haikyuu!!#ushiwaka #wakatoshi ushijima #shiratorizawa #smut #eyesthatwontwonder #haikyu headcanons #haikyuu smut #haikyū!!

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tobi-momo · 3 years

Text

"The Setter's Help" Chapter 8 - Final Chapter

Pairing: Kageyama Tobio x Volleyball player!reader

Synopsis: With a big game coming up, the confidence in your setting has gone down significantly. Knowing the setter on the Karasuno boy’s volleyball club is good at what he does, you ask him for help. Will he help you build your confidence and skills or will he just tear it down more?

Genre: Romance, fluff, some crack, angst, hurt/comfort

Chapter Warnings: Cursing

Word Count: 3.5k

Taglist is CLOSED

The air that enters your lungs comes out in puffs, a clot in your throat that prevents the swift in take of the oxygen you need for your vision to move somewhere that wasn’t the dirty floors under you. The fear and the intimidation that ran through your jamming pulse radiated out of you, the stuttering of your nerves creating a fog in your abdomen- moths instead of butterflies. Your body felt fuzzy, even as you looked at the trembling hand that floats in the air, it felt numb. A raggedy breath leaves your lips as you gather feeling back into all the nerve endings that rest in the pads of your fingers. Your eyebrows furrow in concentration as you screw your eyes shut, feeling the cool air sweep up against your skin.

It might have been a new, refreshing light that flows through the strands of your hair, or maybe- just maybe, it was the doors opening to let the other team enter.

Holy shit it’s happening.

This is it. The one thing you’ve been practicing for for weeks.

The big game.

You take a quick look around the gym- the room not fully set up, people getting ready to sit down in the stands, the players from the other team setting their bags down and stretching while their coach gives them a quick pep talk- your teammates doing the same. You saw the boys’ team sitting down, as well. Half were munching on snacks, the others indulging in conversation with each other, Nishinoya and Tanaka multitasking and doing both, while the rest just sat and got their phones ready or just watched the other team, including someone in particular.

It’s been a couple days since you’ve taken a good look at him. His arms were crossed as he observed the other team with annoyance, gathering the information he needed on all players. It’s not like he was going to tell you- well, not anymore. He took a chance, when he flicked his pupils to match yours. Even though he didn’t expect you to look back, he did it anyway. And when he caught the color of your iris looking right back at him, he shook with nervousness. You turn away quickly the moment he sets his eyes on you- a hitch in your throat creating a sort of choke that crept up. His stare lingered longer than it should have, watching you pick a ball up from the court with your clammy hands and slap it on the ground before partnering up and warming up your arms.

For whatever reason, he kept his vision nailed on your wrists, watching them carefully. He was surprised at the improvement you showed since he started working with you. Your arm looked strong, powerful. That was good. Your eyes were taped to the ball, as it should be. Your wrists were flicking at the right time and the ball floated in the air gracefully, like he taught you. So why, he asked in his head, why were you so nervous? You’ve had games before, this is just another one. Why was this game so important?

His attention was brought back to the team that practiced on the other side of the mnet, watching for weaknesses and advantages.

This was going to be tough. They had control over their energy- they were confident. Sure they were going to win this. You, on the other hand, had doubt painted over your face in red. God, he felt like an idiot. What was he trying to prove? He made you feel like nothing when he should have been helping you conquer the world. Dumbass.

“Hey, do you see their setter?” Hinata asks out of the blue, pointing to the other team.

“Number three?”

“Yeah, I think she’s a third year. Do you think Y/n can compete with that?”

“What do you mean,” he asks defensively, “why wouldn’t she?”

“Well, she’s probably had more experience and has played against many other people just like this team, Y/n hasn’t,” the ginger explains, using tiny hand gestures.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” The blackette stops him, determination lining his pupils as he focuses on you, “Y/n is a good player, she’s just nervous or something. Give her time, she’ll do fine,” he pauses, “I think.”

“I hope so,” Hinata breathes out, watching the girls do their drills. “Does she play all around?”

“Probably,” Kageyama answers nonchalantly.

“Oh,” the boy mumbles. They continue to watch the girls warm up.

~.~.~.~

“Hey, hey, calm down, okay? You got this!” A girl beside you on the bench holds her water bottle while cheering you on. You give an awkward smile, just wanting the antics to calm down a bit.

You were fine. You were okay. You were good. You got it. You can do it. You recall the moments you got a strained compliment from the man you looked up to, the one who helped you become better. He’s only said subtle things like “that was good” or “nice job”, but every time those words left his lips a sense of comfort and reassurance washed refreshingly over your body, like you really earned it. Maybe you could do that again.

“Thanks, I think I’ll be fine,” you respond, letting her tone down a bit before you get up to your position.

It was a weird rotation, although you thought you had it nailed down pretty well. Practicing over hours everyday helped you feel better about memorizing where everyone goes every time you rotated. So, as you walk over to right-front, you watch the referee check the girls’ spots, then you get into position.

Once the sound of the whistle went off, your vision tightens to the people on the other side of the net. Strangers, they were, trying to invade and conquer your land.

You weren’t about to let them do that.

~.~.~.~

“Wow, she’s really good,” Hinata notes as he watches your form as you jump up to toss the ball, your loud cheer echoing with the smack of the ball once your teammate smacks it towards the other side with power. “Was she like that the whole time?”

“I guess,” Kageyama mumbles with his vision glued to you. He watches you form a fist as you grab another point, a wild smile covering your face. He could almost smirk at the joy he was watching, your smile didn’t have to be that contagious, you know. The happiness and excitement that grew on your face spread to everyone else on the court, your teammates reciprocating that emotion. You did it on purpose, he knew. Even if you weren’t actually feeling like it, you needed your teammates to, or else this game was out of the window. Why didn’t he tell you that you needed that, too?

It seemed that every time he looked at you, there was another thing that he left out. Another thing that he could have taught you, let you know of, showed you. Especially that you were good enough. That you had the talent, the skill. All that you needed…was to believe in yourself.

Why didn’t he help you?

“I’ll be back.” Kageyama practically jumps out of his seat, storming out of the gym without a single glance to pay towards the game once more. The boys don’t question it much, only exchanging quick glances to each other before going back to whatever they were doing beforehand. He exits the gym, his back slamming against the wall while he groans. Upset, he places his hands on his head in frustration, turning away from the people still entering.

He could have done so much better.

~.~.~.~

“Yeah! Nice kill!” Your cheerful shouts reverberate throughout the gym, your smile radiating off to other players. Too bad you were still too nervous to actually enjoy this.

You saw what the other setter could do. Three could do things you couldn’t. Three had talent and skill that was just so beyond your reach. You knew it was the end of the road for you. God, you knew it. You had failed before you had the opportunity to even get your first victory. First victory as first setter.

“Y/n, it’s to you!” You shake your head vigorously back into focus as you plop your arms out in front of you, receiving the aggressive ball. It spins up in the air as you yell, “Setter out!” so somebody else can take hands. The red spot that spread on your arm felt really good, like something that was supposed to be there. The ball was supposed to hit right there, bounce up perfectly and create a beautiful play. Like Kageyama taught you.

Was it bad that you sort of missed him? Were you a bad person for wanting him back in your life? After he was ripped away from screaming insults and attacking you, literally, he seemed to really, genuinely be sorry. You wanted- want to forgive him. You want to do more than forgive him. You want to be with him.

You’re climbing the score board, stealing point after point. Soon, it’s the fifth set. Two to Two. The spike in your nerves were inexplicable, the numbness coming back. This- this was it. You got it, just breathe. Control yourself, you can do it. You were in the perfect place, no need for you to switch position with another after the ball is sent your way, your feet stomping on left-front for grip.

~.~.~.~

“Kageyama, it’s the fifth set, come back in, the game is almost over. You missed a lot, dude.” Hinata says half way in the doorway of the hallway, the loud cheers and squeaks of shoes reiterating. “Kageyama-”

“I heard you,” he cuts the red-head off firmly. He picks his head up from the ground, inhaling to calm his nerves. When he walks back inside, his eyes immediately tape onto your figure, not on purpose, but subconsciously. He didn’t mean to, he just did it. The way you stepped perfectly as you did your approach and hit the ball down on the other side forced his feet to slow down, just to watch you a little longer while you made that court yours.

He saw the nervousness seep into you the moment the score hit twenty-four to twenty-three. One point. One point was all that it took to win, or to tie. He saw the trembling in your hands, the hot breaths that left your mouth, the boiling beads of sweat that helplessly dripped down your skin. He knew what you were thinking, but he was too afraid to say something to help. Coward.

As he sat down, all eyes were on you.

~.~.~.~

Your heart beats irregularly, your lungs almost hyperventilating when you watch the reff raise his arm in the air towards your team, blowing the whistle while folding it to his chest.

This was it.

He watched your fret in concentration with a furrowed brow, his arms crossed and his back leaned forward in the stands.

You get in position at the net, your hands floating in the air, inches away from the net. You make eye contact with the setter on the opposite position, her deathly glare making your deep sigh seem more in defeat than it was in anticipation. The toe of your shoe tapped the floor, your vision zeroing in on the girl in the back that bounces the very ball that determines your fate on the sore floors.

Take a deep breath, Y/n. Just take a breath.

The ball is sent over. Good. It soars over to middle-back, ‘don’t let it get there’, Kageyama told you once. Send the ball somewhere they can’t get it, not directly to the player.

She receives it. Beautiful. “Mine, mine! Nice receive!” You yell to the libero, who nods after she sends the ball towering. To set this, you need to run deeper- it didn’t go directly to you. So you do. You run. You sprint, actually. You rush your way under that ball, which powers it’s way down- God, it’s so low. Squat, you have to squat! Getting down, you stretch your hamstring and balance on your heel while the ball finally makes contact with the tips of your fingers. Remember the wrist, Y/n, remember the wrist. Flick! The ball floats effortlessly in the air, as if in slow motion. You watch as the right-front hitter does their approach, springing themselves up in the air and as you stand, smacks it down.

Shit. Shit!

Where is the defense?? Where are they??

You take a look around the second before the ball is forced over to see absolutely no one covering the hole. The girls weren’t in the correct positions, an entire spot being empty at the front of the court. You needed to get there.

Your ball is centimeters away from making contact with the blocker on the other team, your feet not moving as fast as you need them to. Millimeters, now. And… bash. The hand of the middle blocker hits itself against the ball, ricocheting off her skin back to your court.

Time is running out.

You’re running again. A strained heave leaves you as you almost trip over your own ankles to chase after this ball. Of course it’s off to the hole. Still, nobody moves. They just watch.

‘If you absolutely need to get something, dive. Let’s practice that.’ Kageyama taught you this. You can do it. Dive. Use your hands to slow yourself down, and not go too far or injure yourself. You don’t have time to breathe properly, you just need to get there! Please! Just get there!

Your stomach slides on the floor as your wrist reluctantly pops the ball back in the air. Come on, come on, come on!

Oh! The ball rises just far enough to touch the top of the net, your teammates still frozen as they watch the scene play in front of them. You wanted to be upset, but you didn’t have time for that right now. It wavers, you’re not sure if it’ll make it, and you can’t touch the ball again without giving them the point, and your teammates refuse to work with you.

This was unbearable.

It slowly walks along the net like a tightrope, not picking a side to fall on before- yes! Yes, yes, yes! Your strained, stretched, wide eyes couldn’t tell anyone how fast your heart was beating, how fast your thoughts ran through. Absolutely nothing could compare with the adrenaline and the anxiousness that makes your pulse beat as it falls to the setter on the other team. She was shocked as she crouched her body to get this under the net, her arms stretching to make contact with the ball and-

The whistle blew. All noise stops, your ears are practically ringing, though, as you whip your head to the referee. The ball is forgotten, hitting the ground repeatedly and faster every time it makes contact with the floor until it rolls away. The whistle stays in his mouth, but his arm moves. To the net? Your head follows the line his hand points to, all the way down to the…to the foot that rests past the line.

Your breath wouldn’t come out, your stinging eyes not seeing everyone in the audience stand up and lean down to see and your ears not picking up the sudden screams that they let out. Your teammates were jumping up and down, piling up on top of each other, dragging your body with theirs as they celebrated the victory. Your victory.

Because you fucking won.

The tears that poured out of you were something that wouldn’t go unnoticed by Kageyama. For he was just…watching. Watching you. Watching you cover your mouth with your hand slowly, falling on your knees in realization that you, essentially, won this game. The circle your teammates made as they bunched up together in celebration didn’t include your sobbing figure. Your shoulders bounce as you cry on the dirty, sweaty floors of the court you just dominated. The steaming tears left your waterline and puddled on the floor, splashing on your hand as your back falls forward towards the ground.

You- you did this. After all this time, and all this work and practice, you did it. And as you hunch over and hide the bawling you can’t keep to yourself, the person that you wanted to thank the most’s hand places itself on your back. The warmth and the tingling was undoubtedly him, his fingertips lightly scratching your back when you take the risk of looking up at him. Turning your head, you see his figure already squatting down next you, his head only a couple inches above yours. He smiles, a real smile. One that he showed you when he was proud of you, when he was happy and content with your actions. The screams of everyone in the room were muffled, everything was blurry except his dark blue eyes that bore straight back into yours. Did you deserve this? Did you deserve to win?

His thumb cautiously brushes your cheek when you start to sit up, your spine lining up straight again. “You did-” he clears his throat, “you did good out there,” he mumbles, slightly embarrassed, but doing his best to swallow his pride and tell you what you deserve to hear. You look down in disbelief, almost scared you weren’t hearing this correctly. “Hey, look at me,” he mutters to you, taking your attention once more when your glassy eyes flicker back to him again. His palms rest on your cheeks, his thumbs wiping away the continued tears that slip free from your puffy eyes while his pupils stay focused on yours. “You deserved it, okay? You really did.”

Another sob lets go, and it wouldn’t stop even if his shirt caught it. You both sat on your knees, his hand on top of your head as it rests on his chest while you cry. His other hand just sits on your back, unmoving yet not faltering to give you the reassurance you desperately needed.

“You did good,” he repeated, just in case you needed to hear it again.

“Thank you,” you whimper into the fabric he wears, your lips shaping an ‘o’ while you try and take your breaths slow and steady. The hands that lay dead on the floor come up and wrap around his torso, squeezing him closer. His breath hitches. “Thank you so much, Kageyama.”

He only hums, letting his hands snake around your form as well. It was a subtle embrace, his warmth covering yours, but very affectionate and meaningful, and noticeable, by the way the Karasuno boys’ just won’t stop talking about it.

He tries to ignore the little clicks and flashes and the giggling and snark behind him, but he groans at his friends and glares at them after leaning his head back. They take a step back, but still “observe” from a further distance. He turns back, relieved. His head droops down to lay on top of yours, no care in his body for the sweat that gathers in your hair. No regard for the sweat anywhere on you, really. He just wanted to enjoy this moment.

~.~.~.~

“So…”

“So…” you repeat, walking with him down the sidewalk with your fingers wrapping around each other bashfully, your heads turned towards the ground shyly while you walk hand in hand. Your arm swings back and forth and his thumb rubs the back of your palm.

“Do you want to practice volleyball with me again? Another time?” He asks nervously with speed.

“Ah, volleyball?” You ask, contemplating. “Would you like to do something else?” He blushes. “I don’t know, like, get coffee somewhere? Or maybe just hangout at my place?”

“Uh, we can do both!” He shouts, trying his best. You can tell he’s incredibly tense, anxious about this topic. You giggle at the effort.

“Sure, okay, then. Let’s do it.”

He smiles with you, an excited smile you don’t think you’ve had the pleasure laying eyes on before. His smiles never seemed normal, but they were always the cutest thing to behold. You loved them. You loved everything about him. And you were grateful. For everything. You couldn’t have done this without him, and you made sure to let him know that with the kiss you left on his cheek before you went inside. His burning cheeks seemed on fire when your sweet lips made contact with his skin. He was as stiff as a board, his face melting in shock while your hands placed themselves on his shoulders. Your head moves back, your nose tickling his as you look him in the eye.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Tobio.”

“Uh, yeah, yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he stutters. His eyes wide as a deer in headlights with your face as close to his as it is, a breath falling out of him he didn’t even know existed when you turned around to head inside of your house.

He waved to you politely before he watched your body disappear behind the door. But this time, he knew you were coming back.

A/N: holy fucking shit its over omg- like theres the epilogue and then the setter's help is done! im actually so sad its over and im gonna really miss it :( thank you wombat so much for helping me seriously you are a big part of why im posting this thank you love <3 also sorry for the delays lol im buried deep in school

taglist in reblog!

(reblogs are VERY appreciated <3)

MASTERLIST

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evanpeterssource · 3 years

Text

Evan Peters and Billie Lourd Discuss the Art of Dying Onscreen

BILLIE LOURD: Let me set the scene for you: I’m sitting outside my house in my never-washed car, because that’s the only silent place in my home, and it’s not even in my home. I have a wireless breast pump with me, so if you hear a weird sound, that’s what that is.

PETERS: I’m in my bedroom, currently in my PJs. I worked a night shoot last night and am doing a night shoot again tonight. So, I’m drinking coffee and trying to wake up and get back into it.\

LOURD: I know how that goes. My hands are on my temples for you. Okay, Ev, I’m fucking obsessed with Mare of Easttown. I do not watch any shows because if I ever have free time, it’s usually spent napping or just lying in a silent room. But I failed all my nap times with watching this show. You’re a fucking genius.

PETERS: Thanks Billie. I appreciate it.

LOURD: Tell me the story of how it all came to be.

PETERS: They sent me the script and it said that Kate Winslet was going to be the lead, and that it was an HBO crime drama. So I was like, dude, I’ve got to really work on this one. I did the self-tape thing, so it was super awkward and weird.

LOURD: It was a self-tape? Wow.

PETERS: Yeah, I sent that in, and then the director and writer and showrunner were like, “You want to have some lunch?” And I was like, “They’re going to tell me to redo the tape, I know it.” And then they offered me the part, thankfully.

LOURD: That’s when you know you’re a really good actor, is when you get a part off a self-tape. I’ve never done that.

PETERS: Oh come on, you’re a great actress. You can do that single-tear thing.

LOURD: I do have a single-tear thing!

PETERS: That’s incredibly hard to do.

LOURD: Only when there’s a promise of bratwurst at Krafty’s will I do a single tear. What was the scene that you had to tape?

PETERS: The earlier scenes, where I’m coming in and meeting Mare and she just does not want me there at all.

LOURD: I was going to say, if you had to do that drunk scene, or the breakdown scene, that would be a nightmare. Did you know you were going to die? How did that make you feel? I’m a therapist now.

PETERS: It was a little stressful trying to navigate that. You had a finite amount of time to cram in all this stuff. Because you knew how it was going to go, and you wanted it to have an interesting arc, but… poor Zabes.

LOURD: Dude, it was fucking devastating. Zabel is so sweet, and you’re like, “No, he was on such a fucking upswing!” You’ve gotten shot in the head a couple of times now, which is pretty rare for an actor.

PETERS: Yeah, he’s got to work on that quick draw. But it was a cool scene to shoot. We kind of stretched out time and it was like The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, where it was a stare-down, and you’re like, “God, this feels like a really long time to be staring at people.” But Craig, the director, was like, “We’ll edit it. It’ll look good.” And nowadays, everything’s CGI, so back in the day they probably would have used blanks to help with that, but it was just a click. Or the other actor going, “Bang!” and all of a sudden you would have to get shot in the head. And you’re like, “What are we, 12, playing with guns?” It was such an awesome set that they built. They found this property that was like an abandoned bar, with a house on the back. And then set dressing came in and made it that amazing, creepy, disheveled, messed-up house that it was. So it was really cool to be in there and feel like, “Oh my God, we got the guy.”

LOURD: It’s amazing to watch you piece it together and look at each other and hear the pipe banging. It’s so suspenseful. We’ve got to talk about Kate. Can I call her Kate? Should I call her Kate Winslet? She’s so fucking magical. What was that like working with her.

PETERS: I was pretty terrified and nervous and stressed out before meeting her. I’m such a huge fan, and she’s one of the best actresses of all time. But she was so warm and down-to-earth and immediately disarming. What’s really cool is that she’s very collaborative. I thought she was going to be like, “Nope, I’m right. You’re all wrong.” You know, because she’s brilliant. But she was very open to new ideas and exploring things. I found that really reassuring, and surprising, since she’s set at such a high caliber.

LOURD: That’s so cool to hear. I feel like every actor’s dream is to get to work with her. Did you stay in your accents all the time? I always wonder that when people do accents.

PETERS: I was in it the whole time. I’m not good enough of an actor to be able to pop in and out of it. Somebody on set said there are different levels. There’s the learning it, there’s the “I have to stay in it,” and then there’s, “I’m so good that I can pop in and out of it.” Kate was that. She was incredibly English throughout the whole thing. Like [in British accent], “Oh, hi, Zabes. How are you doing babes? You good? Everything good? Okay, great.” And then she’d be like [in Philadelphia accent], “Let’s go get a hoagie. Let’s go down to the shore and check out the store.” I was just like, oh my god. How do you do that?

LOURD: That is so trippy. I don’t think I could do that.

PETERS: No, I could not do that. She’s really impressive that way.

LOURD: What was your favorite scene to do with Kate? I have to stop calling her that. Lady Winslet?

PETERS: There were so many. The bar scene was pretty awesome because it was so improvised.

LOURD: Oh, really?

PETERS: Yeah, it was just kind of fun to be at a bar with Lady Winslet.

LOURD: That’s my dream.

PETERS: But there was another scene that I really liked too: When I first got in the car, and I’m like, “Hey, are we carpooling?” And she’s like, “Ugh, this fucking guy.” And then I get in the car and she slams on the gas and I almost smoke my head. I thought that was really fun because it was one of the earlier scenes that we shot, and it set the tone for how much Mare was annoyed at Zabel being there.

LOURD: How did you do the bar scene? Are you allowed to get drunk?

PETERS: No, you can’t get drunk unfortunately. But I would say I’ve done a ton of research over the years. You know, at a couple of your birthday parties.

LOURD: Would you rather do a death scene or a killing scene?

PETERS: Oh, that’s a hard question. It really depends on how you’re killing or dying. Dying is such a challenge, as an actor.

LOURD: I don’t like dying.

PETERS: It’s so hard. It’s like, how do you do it? And does this look believable? Can they see me breathing? It really depends on how you’re getting killed as well. There’s so many questions and so many ifs.

LOURD: Killing me in American Horror Story was such a laugh. I hope they put in parentheses, “She said sarcastically.”

PETERS: Yeah, that was a pretty horrific day.

LOURD: That was a rough one. I’ve watched it back and I can definitely see myself breathing. And the eyes are so hard, like to actually keep your eyes open. I feel like I’ve made the decision to close my eyes. Do you do open-eye or closed-eye deaths?

PETERS: I like to do a little halfsies—a little open, a little closed.

LOURD: I like it. Split the difference. Have you been on the streets since Zabel died? Do people come up and hug you and thank god that you’re actually alive?

PETERS: No. I’ve gotten some text messages that were like, “Sorry, man. You’ve got to work on that quick-draw.” I’m super stoked that people like the show.

LOURD: It’s one of those shows that’s now part of the zeitgeist. Even my baby loves it. How long did it take to shoot?

PETERS: Gosh, we started in October 2019, and then I was supposed to be done at the beginning of March 2020. I had about two or three weeks left. Then the pandemic hit and they punted it to September. I was like, “Oh man, I’ve got to keep learning this accent for six months.”

LOURD: And not eat all the double doubles in sight. You had to keep that accent and keep that bod.

PETERS: Yeah, it was a challenge.

LOURD: What do you think would have happened with Mare and Zabel if Zabel didn’t die? It’s a real thinker.

PETERS: Ooh, that is a real thinker. I think they would have gone on a few more dates and then Mare probably would’ve realized that Zabel’s not the one. Zabel would have been devastated again.

LOURD: I think they could have had a shotgun wedding in Vegas and lived happily ever after. It could have been great.

PETERS: I like that for Zabel. That sounds good.

LOURD: Do you think you would have moved to Easttown or would he have gone back?

PETERS: I think he definitely would have had to move out of his mom’s place. For sure that would have been step number one.

LOURD: Were you sad when he died or did you think that this was the perfect ending for him?

PETERS: I thought it was an interesting ending to the character. He kind of came in, and then it was so shocking, but that’s the way death is in real life. You’re never really expecting it, and then it happens.

LOURD: It’s amazing you got to know the whole arc of the character before you played him.

PETERS: Yeah, it’s rare to get all the episodes beforehand. You make a choice in episode two and then you get to episode seven and you’re like, “Oh wait, that was totally wrong, what I did in episode two… Can we go back and reshoot that?” And they’re like, “No.”

LOURD: Did knowing the ending affect how you played him? He was so lovable anyway, but did knowing he was going to die make you play him even more lovably, if that’s a word?

PETERS: Yeah, that did play into it. There was talk about making him a little bit more arrogant and cocky. But I thought, when he dies, it’d be more tragic if he wasn’t that. So we tried to make him a little bit bumbling and not as good of a detective and really trying. We wanted it to be as shocking and sad as we could.

LOURD: Did you do any actor-y stuff? Like, a cologne you wore? Or did you wear a special hat?

PETERS: That’s so funny. I wish I wore a special hat to work every day , like an old-school 1940s detective hat. I did always have my coffee mug. There was a little bit of a Zabel-mug thing going on. And there were rituals. I would write in the mornings and try to get into it, stuff like that. But god, I wish I wore a hat.

LOURD: We should incorporate that into our future careers, to make sure we have a hat for every role we play. And then you could have a case at your house of all the hats you wore.

PETERS: That’s so goddamn funny.

LOURD: People are going to be like, “Billie Lourd is a psychopath.”

PETERS: Oh, you know what I did do? I wore a cross. You can’t see it, but when he died, I wanted you to see the cross on his neck. He’s got this weird thing with religion where he was raised religious, but then being in the line of work that he’s in and seeing all this death and awfulness, you start to question that. And then his mom is very religious. So I wanted him to be, underneath it all, a little bit religious and hopeful and needing the protection of god when he went out into the field.

LOURD: That’s way better than a hat.

#evan peters #billie lourd #interview #mare of easttown spoilers #txt #ours #extraordinaryxmen

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rodeo-boots · 3 years

Note

omg u opened ur requests!!! may i please get some flaco x reader smut? any gender for the reader :^) thank you <3

it's been an absolute pleasure to write for Flaco, and I hope you'll enjoy it!! I picked a gender-neutral reader for this one :')

Rating: Explicit

Words: 1844

AO3

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Snowflakes whirled behind you as the heavy door to the cabin fell closed, your eyes needing a couple blinks until they had fully adjusted to the darkness within. You released a deep breath, one you hadn't noticed you've held in the first place, dropping the bag with the take to the floor.

"Back already?" The voice permeated through the shadows, a deep tenor that had your little hairs stand on edge. Flaco hadn't moved from his spot, huddled in the corner of his cabin, tucked away where the worst of the wind wouldn't reach him. His hat hid his eyes well, the glass upon the table indicating what he'd been doing during your absence.

You pulled the gloves off your hands, stuffing them into the deep pockets of your coat. "Wasn't hard," you answered, remembering the fright in the traveler's eyes, their readiness to give you all they had at the point of your gun. It left you feeling on clouds, the rush of adrenaline still buzzing beneath your skin.

And maybe you had ridden a little harder than needed. Maybe the prospect of seeing Flaco as soon as possible had driven you more than you cared to admit.

The man stood, floorboards creaking under his heavy boots as he moved closer, picking the bag off the ground to inspect the valuables within. He whistled, weighing his head in a satisfied fashion. "You've done well." His praise got to you as it always did, made the exhaustion and strain dissipate right off your shoulders. After a job done well, there was nothing else you needed than some validation, and Flaco had always been one to supply.

"What're you thinkin' about?" He had caught onto your silence, reaching for your chin to tilt it upwards, dark eyes meeting your own. The bag in his hands seemed forgotten, carelessly dropped again while the contents within clanked and jingled.

Your lips quirked up into a sly smile, the apples of your cheeks cold like your nose. "I'm thinking 'bout my reward," you answered, your hands easily finding their way to his upper arms, fingers digging into the thickness of his coat. He knew how to dress accordingly, seemingly never running into trouble to stay warm – though this man was a furnace all by himself.

His warm breath hit your face, your eyes fluttering shut in expectancy of a kiss. The next gust of hot air left him as a chuckle, however, Flaco reaching up to take the hat off your head and place it aside. "All in due time," he muttered, removing his own next to join yours.

You would never complain about sharing a drink and a talk, about basking in the company of the older gunslinger. He was more to you than a source of income, than a partner in crime. His tips were helpful, sure, but even if he didn't have a job for you, you'd still seek him out at the end of the day. Because no matter what you gave him, the attention and companionship you were more than happy to offer, he would always return it tenfold.

Up here, you were his alone, and you would always know to cherish that.

Teasing never lasted long between you, Flaco being as unwilling to waste his time as you were, straight-forward in more ways than one. Where you had made the first step initially, he preferred taking the lead from there-on out, but who were you to complain?

"That's it." He hadn't waited long after denying your first kiss, had crowded you back against the wall to work on your coat, your own hands mirroring the actions of his. His lips were on your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive and cool skin, your breath hitching when he sucked down over your pulse.

The whiskey on his breath was undeniable, but it was just another part of him, another addition to the intoxication man you couldn't get enough of.

You wanted to touch him, pushing at the heavy coat around his shoulders, fingertips raking up the nape of his neck to slip into his hair. There were too many possible places for your hands to be, a small frustrated noise slipping past your lips when you couldn't feel everything all at once.

Flaco tossed his coat to the floor eventually, not minding the dust and the dirt you had dragged inside, the snow now molten and leaving muddy puddles behind. It all didn't matter to him, nor did it to you, both your minds entirely encaptured with the press of one pair of lips against another, Flaco finally giving you what you'd yearned for ever since stepping into the cabin.

"Let's move this to the bed," you muttered, hands lowering to work on the man's belt, impatiently pulling the leather from it's loops. You palmed him through his trousers, got a good grip on him just to squeeze, sighing at the familiar weight of his heavy cock behind the fabric.

He bit back a curse, muffled his voice in the crook of your neck. By the time you had freed his cock, he was getting ready to speak again. "Why should we?" He asked low and deep, kissing the magical spot behind your ear before briefly nibbling on your earlobe. "If I can take you right here?"

That sent a shiver down your spine, the excitement within you welling up and doubling in intensity, your nod too quick and needy to be brushed off. "Please–" But you didn't get farther than that, Flaco's lips returning to your neck as his fingers slipped under your shirt, warm palms roaming cool skin, eliciting goosebumps and a soft moan from your throat.

He caressed you like you were some treasure, leaving not an inch of skin untouched as he gave your body all the attention it could ever need. While you had loosely stroked his cock all this time, he only gradually began to open your pants now, encouraging you to step out of the fabric before pressing you back against the wall.

You whimpered when your tender skin met the cold air, your arousal bared for Flaco to see. There was no shame in it, however, not when the man in front of you looked like he was ready to consume you entirely.

"Wrap your legs 'round me," he directed, still clad with only his flushed cock on display, standing proud and erected while droplets of pre-cum already rolled off the tip. He held onto you, lifting you in time with your legs finding their designated spot. "Good?" Flaco searched your face for signs of discomfort, humming at the nod of your head.

His fingers dipped low, finding their target right away as he focused on your sex, giving you a taste of the pleasure he would soon allow you to feel. You gasped at the first touch, hips inching closer to his hand, no matter how much you were locked in place by the position.

"C'mon," the tone of your voice was more of a plea than a demand, every part of you aching for more – for everything Flaco would give you. "N-Need you inside," you muttered, your head lolling back at his continuous but slow caress, of the stimulation that barely fell short of being enough.

He hummed again, leaning in to soothe you with a kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth to distract you from the finger entering you. "F-Fuck-" your walls clenched around the intrusion, slowly relaxing when Flaco started to work you open. He added one more finger and another, preparing you thoroughly for what was to come, the sensation of his hard cock against your skin reminding you just how dearly you needed to be stretched beforehand.

You whined when his fingers grazed the tender spot inside of you, instantaneously canting your hips to chase that delightful pressure. But Flaco didn't want you to come without him, pulling his fingers out to replace them with his cock, pushing in steadily to let you adjust to his size.

"Doin' so well," he grunted, resting his forehead against your own when he bottomed out, holding onto the back of your thighs with his balls pressing against your sensitive skin.

He breathed deeply, getting used to the heat and tightness of your walls, gyrating his hips experimentally to watch your response. When all you showed him was unbridled pleasure and need, however, he knew that he had no more reason to hold back.

Your back dug into the wall behind yourself, hands clutching Flaco's shoulders for dear life, holding on as he started to move his hips. He didn't start out slow, didn't build up any more than he already had, his cock dragging out only to be pushed back inside, balls smacking against your skin the more he repeated the action.

The breath was knocked from your lungs just like that, the man's cock hitting all the right spots inside of you, filling you in the exact way you needed. You couldn't hold back the noises from your throat, couldn't withhold anything as you tossed your head back again, eyes fluttering from the sudden rush of pleasure.

Flaco wasn't one to be overly vocal, none to scream his lust into the world for all to hear. But right now, he seemed as lost in his ardor as you were, grunting and groaning, staring at your face to miss none of the expressions that passed over it. "Eyes on me," he demanded, momentarily slowing to reach up and tilt your chin to him, locking your gazes as he continued to fuck you.

You didn't feel cold any longer, didn't feel much else than his cock moving inside of you, the rocking motions that pressed you closer to the wall with each passing moment. The pleasure had built within you all this time, first at the anticipation and now the pay-off, your head spinning while you inched closer and closer to the edge.

Flaco caught on to your impending fulfillment, dutifully reaching down between your legs to stroke you to completion, his fingers dancing over you with practiced ease. "Go on, I'll follow" he buried his face in the crook of your neck, muffling his own sounds of enjoyment, the vibrations of his voice driving you off the wall and into your orgasm.

You came with a sharp moan of Flaco's name, the taste of it still upon your tongue as your pulsing walls made him lose himself inside of you. His hips gave a couple more jerks, breathless curses filtering through to your clouded brain. He still held you in his arms, only slowly letting go of your legs to let you place them on the ground again.

His spent dripped down your thighs after his softening cock had left you, your muscles trembling but pleasantly warm.

"Now, we can move to the bed," he spoke up, his voice a little hoarse and rough, but you loved it either way. After all, you couldn't get enough of everything this infamous gunslinger was.

#Requests #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #flaco hernández #flaco hernandez x reader #reader insert #nsft #nsft fanfic #mallr4ts

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jayeray-hq · 4 years

Text

Sakusa : You Know We’re Meant to Be

JayeRay’s fluff prompts

Post Time Skip/Manga Spoilers!

Warnings: A little but of Hurt/Comfort and bullying but lots of Fluff after

If you like this, please check out the Character Masterlist!

This is part of a collaboration I’m doing with @lilolpotato some fluff to counter some of the hate from the Sakusa Hate Night thing that was going around 😊💖 Also a huge huge thank you to the amazingly talented @yuujiscurse for the banner! Their work is amazing! 😊💖

You weren’t sure if they simply didn’t know you could hear them whispering or if they simply didn’t care, as you stood waiting for your boyfriend to emerge from the locker rooms. Hopefully you wouldn’t have to wait long, Sakusa was usually the first out due to insisting on showering before the others of the team could infect the space with their germs. Still today you hoped he would hurry, even faster than usual, so you could leave the receptionist and the woman she was talking to, likely someone who worked in the building, far behind you.

“What does he even see in her?” the woman who’d greeted you almost every time you’d entered the building with a saccharine smile that was apparently hiding a mouthful of venom whispered to her blond coworker.

“I certainly don’t see anything special,” the other woman, a pretty brunette agreed giving you a clear once over a blatantly dismissive look on her face, “She’s probably absolutely hideous behind that mask she wears all the time.”

Your hands balled into fists in your jacket, as you tried to ignore them, reminding yourself that you wore the mask for a reason. It was for both your comfort, and your boyfriends. Sakusa’s germaphobia was a very real fear, and frankly you didn’t mind doing a few things to accommodate his fear, or make him feel more comfortable where you could, especially since you knew he would and had done the same for you before.

Wearing a mask out in public was a simple thing, and frankly considering the pollution in Japan, not all that uncommon. The women were clearly being deliberately petty and you sank deeper into the jacket burrowing into it, and taking comfort in the familiar smell and feel of it. It was one of Sakusa’s old Itachiyama jackets, one he’d gifted to you when the two of you had first started dating.

It was warm and comfortable, and a blatant reminder of how very much your boyfriend cared about you. After all very few people were allowed to touch his things, and even fewer were given gifts, especially sentimental gifts. Komori had teased the two of you for days when Sakusa had first given it to you, exclaiming every time he saw you wearing it that even he had never been allowed to touch Sakusa’s Itachiyama jackets and he was his cousin.

It smelled like him, clean and crisp from the detergent he preferred to use for all of your clothing, one you’d become quite fond of yourself, and that you associated solely with him. It took your mind off the cruel women in front of you, at least for a little while.

“Can you believe just the other day he dropped his towel on accident, I tried to hand it to him, and he gave me the most disgusted look and just walked away,” the brunette told the receptionist clearly deeply offended by the incident, “As if I were something dirty he’d found on the bottom of his shoe.”

“I’ve tried to give him pens to use before,” the receptionist admitted equally huffy as she explained, “He won’t touch them, not until he disinfects them with a wipe first, and even then he’ll only hold them if he’s wearing gloves.”

You sighed quietly to yourself, a part of you wanting to storm over there and defend your boyfriend and an equal part understanding, just a bit where they were coming from. Sakusa had a fear, one that was very real to him, even if it seemed silly to others, and he had extreme ways of reacting when forced to face that fear. Still even you could admit sometimes his inability to properly interpret social cues could leave him coming off cold, or even cruel even if he didn’t mean to be that way.

“I bet she’s not even his girlfriend,” the spiteful brunette hissed, “Just an obsessed groupie who follows him around.”

“He probably treats her like trash,” the receptionist added in a cruel enjoyment to her unkind speculations, “Which is really no less than she deserves honestly.”

The women were clearly lashing out, and on the only target the had readily available, but that didn’t stop you from feeling hurt or furious on behalf of your boyfriend. How dare they insinuate he treated you badly? The idea was infuriating especially when you knew how very hard he tried for you.

Sure, your relationship wasn’t all smooth sailing, but then what relationship was? Yes, you’d had to exercise a lot of patience as Sakusa slowly worked himself up to touching you, but it had been completely and utterly worth it. The feeling of being held in his arms, knowing he desperately wanted you to be there, so much so that he fought off his worst fears in order to do so was indescribable. You’d honestly never felt as loved as you did when your germophobic boyfriend reached his hand out to you, assuring you that he wanted to be able to touch you.

Even several years in you still couldn’t cuddle without a thorough shower beforehand, and some aspects of physical intimacy, including public displays of affection were especially hard, but it was worth it. You were so proud, both of your boyfriend and how very far the two of you had come as a couple, and it infuriated you that these two women, who knew absolutely nothing of his struggles would dare to insinuate such awful things about him.

Oh, you knew they probably didn’t actually believe them. You’d dealt with jealousy from other women before. Your boyfriend was undeniably incredibly good looking, stunning even, and for some reason a lot of people found his supposedly aloof and cold demeanor cool and enticing. He’d had fans for as long as you’d known him.

Still it didn’t stop you from wanting to march right up to the women and force them to take it back. They could say what they wanted about you, but in no way shape or form would you allow them to badmouth your secretly dorky and completely socially inept boyfriend. Honestly one more word from them and you might’ve done just that, fortunately or unfortunately your furious thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of your boyfriend.

“Hey,” the sound of his voice pulled you from your murderous thoughts and turned your attention to Sakusa who had emerged from the locker rooms at last. His hair was still a little damp from his shower, the dark curls not quite as springy as they usually were as they fell across his forehead, and he was fully zipped into his Black Jackals jacket, hands in his pockets the traditional mask covering half his face, “let’s get going before the others come out.”

“Sure,” you agreed trying to keep your tone as upbeat and normal as possible ready to fall into step with him and head to the store, which was the whole reason you’d agreed to meet him at the Black Jackals usual practice gym in the first place.

However it seemed you hadn’t done a very good job of concealing the lingering upset from overhearing the women’s gossip session. That or your boyfriend was getting better at reading you, though both honestly were possibilities. He stopped in his tracks, forcing you to come to a halt as well, his brows sitting heavily over his dark eyes as he peered at you intently, clear concern visible in them.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice taking on the clipped edge that let you know he was deeply concerned. Apparently, you’d been more obvious than you’d thought.

“Nothing,” you tried to assure him, forcing your tone to be upbeat, not wanting to drag him down, “Why would something be wrong?”

“Don’t lie to me,” he ordered, the words blunt, but the clear care in his tone taking any sting out of them. Honestly he had very little in the way of tact at times like these, something you should probably be annoyed by, but could only find strangely endearing.

“It really is nothing,” you assured him, your own tone softening at his clear concern for you, “Just overheard people gossiping about us again.”

“Were you upset by them?” he asked hesitantly, clearly peering into your eyes, his whole body fidgeting with restless energy, a tension to him that reminded you of a rubber band stretched and ready to snap. For all that many read him as uncaring you knew that Sakusa was extremely protective of the few people he allowed close to him, and that you were one of the privileged few. He was clearly ready and willing to tear verbal strips off anyone who’d dared upset you.

“Yes,” you told him, figuring honesty was probably the best policy at this point, “But only because they were saying untrue things about you, about how you treat me.”

Some of the tension in his shoulders relaxed at that, and his eyes softened. You couldn’t see his mouth because of the mask, but long familiarity let you know the corners would be curling up in relief,. He clearly didn’t care a bit what people said about him, an attitude you wished rather desperately that you could emulate.

“Let them say what they want,” he told you firmly, “It’s not something that bothers me, so don’t let it bother you.”

“If only it were that easy,” you told him your own lips curling into a wry smile.

Your eyes widened in surprise as he pulled one of his hands from his jacket pockets and gently took hold of your face, the warmth of his shockingly bare fingers on your skin making your heart flip over in your chest his thumb gently swiping across your cheekbone rendering you completely and utterly speechless.

“The only opinions about my person that I care about are opinions from people who matter to me,” he told you sincerity dripping from very word, “And the only opinion I care about when it comes to our relationship is yours.”

Your heart was beating a rapid tattoo against your ribs at his fervent declaration, especially since you knew he meant every word. Your boyfriend was nothing if not completely and utterly honest when it came to you, even brutal at times. He was never one who’d spare your feelings, which was how you knew moments like these were as raw and honest as it was possible to be.

“I love you Kiyoomi,” you told him a little helplessly, the words falling out of your mouth before you’d had a chance to really think about them.

“I love you too,” he responded without missing a beat, even if you could see the faintest of pink blushes decorating the tops of his cheekbones over the mask, “And I don’t like seeing you upset. What people say about me doesn’t bother me, so please don’t let it bother you.”

“But wouldn’t you be upset if people were saying things about me?” you pointed out reasonably, well aware he would be, as he’d proven many times over in the past.

He clearly couldn’t think of an argument to that and so instead remained silent, so you continued, “You mean so much to me Kiyoomi and it hurts to hear anyone might think poorly of you or insinuate cruel things about you and how you treat me that are blatantly untrue.”

He watched you with soft eyes, his thumb still gently tracing your cheek as he explained, “So long as those things don’t cause you to doubt me I could care less.”

“Never,” you assured him fervently, “I like to think that by now I know you pretty well Kiyoomi and I don’t think there’s anything ridiculous petty gossipers could to make me doubt you, to doubt us. Despite the fact that we’ve had our challenges I always felt like we fit well together. Like two pieces of a puzzle.”

“I’m glad,” he admitted freely, “I’ve always hoped that you’d felt the way I do.”

“The way you do?” you repeated curiously.

“Like you know you’re meant to be,” he told you the words stealing the breath from your lungs and you were fairly sure you forgot how to breathe entirely as he leaned forward to press a gentle masked kiss to your forehead.

Fortunately, or unfortunately you were pulled from your thoughts by raucous sounds from behind the two of you. It turned out you’d been so wrapped up in your conversation with your boyfriend you hadn’t noticed you were blocking the hallway and keeping the rest of the team as a captive audience of sorts. Apparently the private, intimate moment wasn’t nearly as private as you’d thought, and you were suddenly incredibly grateful the mask helped cover your cherry red cheeks.

Apparently Bokuto was the one who’d interrupted your moment, too moved by it to stay quiet any longer, and now the former Fukurodani Ace was fervently congratulating your poor boyfriend about how smooth he was. Sakusa looked incredibly put upon as the team swept you up with them as they left the building in a small herd, all of them gently teasing or congratulating the two of you on how very cute your relationship was.

In the midst of all the chaos your boyfriend managed to sneak his hand into yours, his fingers twining together to keep you close and connected to him. You accepted the gesture, feeling warm, and secure and completely and utterly loved, enough to shoot the poisonous receptionist and her bitter friend a blinding smile on your way out the door.

Sakusa was right. Their opinions, especially on your relationship, shouldn’t matter to you, at the end of the day you knew he loved you and that was more than enough.

#sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa fluff #love sakusa #sakusa love #sakusa x y/n #sakusa x reader #sakusa x you #sakusa kiyoomi x you #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x y/n #haikyuu!!#haikyu imagines #haikyu fluff #haikyū!!#sakusa oneshot #JayeRayWrites

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hongism · 4 years

Text

naughty; xiaojun - 18+

➻ pairing: xiaojun x fem reader ➻ wc: 2.0k ➻ genre: pwp, smut ➻ rating: 18+ ➻ summary: in short, your roommate is a hard man to resist. ➻ warnings: degradation, fingering, explicit smut, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, exhibitionism, master kink, dirty talk, pain kink, slight size kink, crying, sadist xiaojun, talk about your limits/kinks beforehand!!! do not do this!!! pls!!!

“Watch that pretty little mouth of yours, princess. Such dirty words shouldn’t be coming out of it.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes as Xiaojun thumbs over your chin. His fingers tickle your skin, the faint touch lingering only for a second before he drops his arm to his side. You aren’t even sure what spurred the argument with your roommate; all you know is that he did yet another thing that annoyed the shit out of you. A common trend with the man truly, but he always pulls this shit on you when you get angry with him. A slightly flirty tone and fluttering lashes, adding a smirk that turns your legs into jello when you see it. You pride yourself on being able to resist his sex appeal.

Right now though? You want him to bend you over the armrest and fuck you in front of the window.

You blame the fact that your neighbors across from you are currently having an obnoxiously loud party and you just want some way to shut them up, but you can’t deny that you are entertaining the idea of your roommate fucking you for them to see a little too much.

Perhaps that’s the reason why you lean a bit into his touch. Xiaojun lifts a brow at you, smirk stretching a little wider, and you feel your cheeks heating up a tad as his gaze rakes over your body.

“That’s a new expression,” he comments. You meet his intense gaze and tilt your chin up a bit more. It’s an invitation, your lips slightly parted for him, and Xiaojun doesn’t wait for you to change your mind. He closes the distance between your lips. When he finally makes contact, you release a small sigh of satisfaction. His lips are soft as silk, and you can taste a bit of red wine on them. You don’t get to dwindle on the taste for long though, because Xiaojun hurries to deepen the kiss and press his tongue against your lower lip. You grant him access to your mouth in an instant. The drag of his wet muscle over yours is pleasant, and arousal bubbles in your gut as he pushes his tongue up against yours in a fight for dominance.

You can’t find a good resting place for your hands, and all you can do is let them move from his shoulders to his hair to his neck in repeated motions. Xiaojun, on the other hand, keeps his fingers wrapped tightly around your hips. He pushes you back bit by bit, edging you closer to the wall. You break the kiss in a rush, hand still clasped around the back of his neck as you whisper your next words against his mouth.

“I want y-you to take me against the window,” you huff out. Xiaojun pulls back a little and shifts to look at the aforementioned window. There’s an unreadable glint in his eyes, one you can’t place, but when he turns back to you, it’s gone.

“You naughty girl. The neighbors are watching.”

“Your point?”

“Exhibitionist, huh? Well then, let’s give them a good view, at least.” Xiaojun hooks his hands around the back of your thighs, cupping your ass as he lifts you up onto his waist, and you sling your legs around him to keep from falling. The new position makes it seem like you’re taller than the man. That gives you an undeniable power rush, and you drag your fingers through his pale locks to give a sharp tug. A small moan leaves Xiaojun’s lips at the contact. “You’re just asking to be put in place, you brat.”

A smile stretches over your lips. “I just want you to fuck me, baby.” Xiaojun laughs through his nose as he presses you hard against the cool touch of the window.

“I suppose I can manage that just fine,” he murmurs before reconnecting your lips. The warm touch of his fingers travels higher, ghosting over your thin shirt and brushing the erect buds of your nipples before dipping back down to the drawstring of your sweatpants. You have to untangle your legs from around his waist to let him pull the material down. As soon as it’s gone, Xiaojun clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “No underwear? Who knew you were such a dirty little slut?”

“Only for you,” you tease. Xiaojun slaps his palm against the bare skin of your ass, eliciting a quiet gasp from you.

“Let’s make sure it stays that way because I’m not a fan of sharing, okay?”

You fail to respond for several seconds, and Xiaojun must not like that because he brings the flat of his hand down on your ass a second time.

“Y-Yes, yes. Okay, Jun,” you stammer out, bringing a grin to Xiaojun’s lips. He presses harder against you, and one of his thighs slots between your legs. He hits your clit harshly, and you can only let out a strangled moan when he flexes the muscle of his leg.

“That’s master to you, slut.” You release a small whimper, the words affecting you more than you would like to admit, and Xiaojun pulls his leg out from between yours. He replaces the muscle with two fingers and slides them through your wet folds. “Turn around.”

You follow the order without any hesitation, quickly shifting in Xiaojun’s grasp so that you’re now facing the window head-on, and it seems like that’s precisely what Xiaojun wants you to do. He pushes you further into the glass. If not for your shirt and bra, you would be completely exposed to the neighbors across the way, but your shirt is short enough to reveal your unclothed folds and Xiaojun’s fingers between your legs. He thrusts two fingers into your needy cunt, not wasting any more time in getting to business.

“X-Xiao – master. Master, please,” you beg, unsure of what you’re even begging for at this point. His fingers make obscene noises in your folds, a wet squelch resounding with each thrust of his fingers. He tactfully avoids brushing over your sweet spot; each time he nears it, his fingers curl away and leave you whining for more that never comes.

“Aw, are you gonna beg for me, princess? I don’t wanna hear it until there are tears in your eyes.”

A choked sob leaves your lips when Xiaojun yanks his fingers out of you. You drop your forehead against the cool glass of the window, and you can’t even find the energy to look out to see if your neighbors are watching. A hand drags over your hip. Before you know it, you hear Xiaojun spit, then the slick sound of his hand dragging over what must be his cock. You push your ass further back in attempts to find his member, but the hand on your hip keeps you still.

“Do you want me to fuck you now, slut? Ruin you for everyone to see?”

“Please, pl-please, master! Please, I need your cock. I need it so bad.”

“I’m sure you do,” Xiaojun teases, bringing the head of his cock to your folds. He teases your hole just enough to draw another strangled sob out of you, but no tears fall from your eyes quite yet. “You’ll have to try harder than that if you want me to fuck your dirty little cunt.”

Xiaojun’s resolve is impressive but infuriating. You try to buck your hips back again, but his grip is too secure for you to even move an inch. You aren’t one to be desperate, yet Xiaojun is pushing you closer and closer to the edge. If he doesn’t fuck you, you’ll lose your mind. You frantically reach around your back to grab Xiaojun and pull him into you, but he snatches your wrist before you can touch him. He traps your hand between your shoulder blades, a small hiss of disapproval whistles through his teeth. He doesn’t say anything, though he doesn’t need to. The minute action is enough to make you sob, and tears finally fall from your eyes.

“P-Please, master, I ne-eed you. I need you, f-fuck, I need you. Please, master, fuck me,” you cry, turning your head to look back at Xiaojun.

“So you can be a good slut after all,” he coos. Less than a second later, his hips snap against yours. Your cries turn to wet moans and whines as he finds a brutal pace. Each thrust has a bruising impact, the head of his cock pounding your cervix without relief. You don’t think you’ve ever been fucked this good or hard in your life. Drool pools at the edge of your mouth, and you can’t swallow it back or close your mouth because of the intensity of Xiaojun’s thrusts. “Look how fucking pathetic you are. Such a cock slut that you can’t even close your mouth while I’m railing you?”

You whine in response, velvet walls squeezing hard around his cock as a wave of arousal hits you. It’s almost shameful how turned on you are by his filthy words, a side of yourself you weren’t even aware of. Xiaojun slides a hand up your back and hooks two fingers in the inside of your cheek. You bite down on the digits, and it’s the only thing that grounds you as he fucks into you over and over.

“Go ahead and cum, princess. Let me feel your tight little walls clench around me as you cum. See your tiny little body shake and tremble as I fuck you through it.” Xiaojun pulls your cheek towards him, and your back arches at a harsh angle that has his cock hitting you in a whole different way. You scream around his fingers, barely able to think about anything other than his cock. “Don’t make me tell you twice.”

The venom in his tone is what sends you over the edge, but you will never admit how much it arouses you. Your cunt clenches hard around Xiaojun’s member again; this time it persists, and Xiaojun grunts as his thrusts slow a bit thanks to the increased friction. Your lips are parted in a silent scream, and it feels like your whole body is alight. The continuous drags of his dick make your legs shake. If he wasn’t holding your hip, you’re sure you would collapse under him. His orgasm is fast approaching as well, which you are more than grateful for because you aren’t sure how long you can keep this up.

“Want me to fill – fuck, fill up your little pussy?”

“Y-Yes, yes, yes. Fill me up, master, pl-please,” you babble, words nearly incoherent. Xiaojun understands them regardless.

“Of course you do, you fucking slut.” Xiaojun thrusts into your heat two more times before a strong wave of warmth fills you. He groans through the orgasm, a soft sound that makes your insides feel like jelly. You try not to think about how much you want to hear it over and over again. You pull your hips away from Xiaojun’s, but he recovers quickly and snaps back into you, pinning you to the window. Some sound leaves you, but you couldn’t describe it if you tried – something between a startled gasp and a guttural moan, but even that description isn’t sufficient. “Did you think I was done with you?”

“I-I – are you – are you gonna fuck me again?” You ask, a bit of anticipation creeping into your tone. The thought excites you more than it should, and the muscles of your walls twitch a little around Xiaojun’s softening member.

“Oh, don’t worry, princess. I’ll fuck you again. I’ll have you on your knees before midnight before that though.”

☽ ☾

➻ requested by: @baekhyyun ➻ prompts:

“I’ll have you on your knees before midnight.”

“The neighbors are watching.”

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fruitquake · 4 years

Text

realizations pt. 1

read it on ao3

James Potter knows he likes girls. In his mind, that has always meant he must be straight. Of course he’s straight. Whenever he sits next to Lily Evans in class, his heart flutters and he gets all useless and flustered. He has kissed girls before, and liked it.

But then, Regulus kissed him, and he’s pretty sure a straight guy wouldn’t have liked it as much as he did. He’s pretty sure a straight guy wouldn’t be up all night, replaying it in his head, a hopeless burning sensation is his chest.

Regulus kissed him. Or did he kiss Regulus? He’s a little fuzzy on those details. But crystal clear is Reg’s lips on his own, the feeling of being featherlight as everything else faded into the background, leaving only him and Regulus.

James sighs, pressing both hands against his eyes until he sees stars, and once again, Regulus is there, a crystal clear image of soft lips and silky black hair that James messed up with his hands as they kissed. Just as he isn’t sure who initiated the kiss, it’s also a bit unclear to him who broke it off. Only that he had been absolutely speechless, staring into Regulus’s eyes for a hint that he had felt what James had felt during that kiss. Then Regulus had muttered some obvious excuse about a curfew and he had been off, leaving James with a warm, confusing feeling bubbling in his stomach.

Regulus is practically family to James. When Sirius ran away from home, Regulus stayed, and for over a year they didn’t talk. Reg avoided him at school. James remembers how hard that was on Sirius. But now, things are good between them. Reg comes over almost every day, without his parents knowing. He’s almost as much a part of the family as Sirius.

It hadn’t occurred to James, before today, that the way he feels about Regulus, the soft affection that makes his cheeks warm, could be anything other than platonic. But that bloody kiss...

James slides out of bed and gets dressed, careful not to wake Sirius, who sleeps in the top bunk. There’s one place he goes when he needs to clear his head. He tiptoes over to the window and opens it as quietly as he possibly can, glancing over his shoulder to check that Sirius is still asleep. He seems to be, so James slides out of the window and onto the roof. He sits down, careful not to step on the loose shingle. His mum doesn’t want him or Sirius to go onto the roof, of fear that they will fall down, but they do it anyway, because there really is no better place to just… sit and be. He looks down onto the street below him, the streetlights the only thing shining through the night. A cool breeze caresses his face, tugs at a rogue strand of hair. James closes his eyes.

There’s no way he isn’t straight. He has spent years watching Sirius and Remus pine after each other like idiots, and the past six months watching them be all gross and lovebird-y. And if he is… anything other than straight, wouldn’t he have realized sooner? He remembers asking Sirius, after his coming out, when he realized he was gay. Sirius had told him that, in a way, he had always known, but he had fully realized it by the time he was 12. For Remus, it was when he was 14, and similarly to Sirius, he had sort of half-known for years before that.

James had never questioned his sexuality before. Surely if he wasn’t straight, the thought would have occurred to him sooner, and not just after kissing a boy. A very, very pretty boy with very soft, kissable lips, who hadn’t left James’s mind ever since.

He sighs, leaning back his head and looking up at the sky, as though some God, if there really is one, is going to come down and give him all the answers.

“Oi.”

James starts and looks over his shoulder. Sirius is leaning against the window sill, squinting up at him. He’s wearing boxers and one of Remus’s t-shirts, which is slightly baggy on him.

“Oh,” James says, his voice a little hoarse. “I didn’t hear you get up.”

“What kind of 2 AM crisis are you having up here, and why didn’t you invite me?” Sirius asks.

James huffs a nervous laugh. “I…” he begins, but trails off, not knowing where to even start.

Sirius heaves himself up, crawling through the window and out onto the roof besides James, and James can’t help but worry that he will catch a cold, sitting out here with bare arms and legs. “Come on, spill the beans, Potter,” Sirius says, nudging their shoulders together.

“Sirius…” James looks down at his hands, nervously fidgeting. “You always say that your gaydar is flawless.”

“Uh-huh,” Sirius says. “And I have yet to be proven wrong on that.”

“Well, d’you think… could I be… anything other than straight?” He’s too nervous to look at Sirius, so he keeps his eyes on his own hands.

“Oh. It’s that kind of crisis,” Sirius says. James’s eyes dart up to meet Sirius’s. He’s leaning back a little, looking at James with thoughtful consideration. “I mean…” he begins. “I’d be lying if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind.”

James blinks, a little perplexed. “Really?” He had expected Sirius to laugh and tell him how ridiculous that was. That James was the straightest person he knew.

“Yeah,” Sirius just says, tilting his head back to look at the sky. It’s cloudy. Almost no stars. “I mean, I’ve caught you staring weirdly at guys several times. And you always used to get flustered around the older teammates when you first joined the football team.”

“Well,” James says hurriedly. “That was because, you know… They were older and so much more experienced and…” Really fucking handsome. He sighs, dropping his face into his hands. “I’m honestly so confused.”

“What exactly sparked this sudden confusion?” Sirius asks. “You’ve always seemed rather confident in your supposed heterosexuality.”

James pushes up his glasses, which had been falling down the bridge of his nose. He hesitates, carefully watching Sirius. When it comes to his brother, Sirius is incredibly protective, and James isn’t entirely convinced he won’t get pushed off the roof for telling the truth.

“I kissed Regulus,” he says finally, deciding that Sirius probably won’t push him off the roof.

A beat. “What?”

James swallows nervously. “I… kissed your brother. Or maybe he kissed me. A kiss happened, between me and your brother.” He watches Sirius for several agonizing seconds. “Please, don’t be mad.”

“I’m not… mad,” Sirius says. “If you were anyone else, I probably would be grabbing you by your shirt collar and threatening your life right now, but… You’re James Potter. I’d trust you with my bloody life.”

James releases a breath of relief. “Right,” he mutters. “Thank you, Sirius.”

There’s a stretch of silence between them, which Sirius is the one to break. “So… you kissed Reg,” he reiterates. “And you liked it?”

The kiss forces its way back into James’s mind, and he lets out a strange sound between a sigh and a groan. “I… think so,” he says. “I mean, whenever I think about it, I get this warm, bubbly, incredible feeling in my chest, and… Well, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Sirius grins, shaking his head in amusement. “Yeah,” he says. “Doesn’t sound very straight to me.”

Well, yeah. James knows he’s right, but he can’t quite wrap his head around it.

“It’s just,” he says quietly. “I definitely like girls. I’ve always known I like girls. I mean, for goodness’s sake, I’ve been crushing on Lily for years.”

“Yes.” Sirius nods. “But that doesn’t automatically make you straight, J. You can like girls and guys, you know.”

“I know…”

Sirius covers his mouth, stifling a yawn. “I think you should talk to Re about this,” he says. “I mean, he’s the expert, really. Like… A Bisexual Messiah or something.”

That earns him a laugh from James. “Yeah, he is, isn’t he? You’re right. I’ll… talk to him tomorrow, probably.”

“Lovely,” Sirius says. “Can we please go back inside now? I’m freezing my bloody ass off.”

“You could’ve put on some trousers and a jumper, you moron!” James scolds him, and Sirius shoves him gently.

“Babe,” Sirius says over lunch the next day, taking Remus’s hand in his own. They share a disgustingly sweet look. “I think James had something he wanted to talk to you about.”

Remus looks at him, chewing a bit of his sandwich. He swallows. “Oh?”

“Er...” James looks around the crowded school cafeteria. “Can we talk somewhere more private, maybe?”

Peter looks up from his lunch. “What’s it about?” he asks James.

“Nothing,” James says, a bit too fast. “There’s just something I wanted to ask Re. It’s nothing interesting, don’t worry, Pete.”

“Then why do you need to go somewhere private?” Peter presses on.

Sirius opens a canned soda, looking around to check that no teachers are close by. Every day at lunch, he plays the same game of “Can I drink my soda before a teacher confiscates it?” Most days he’s not quick enough to actually finish it, but it doesn’t stop him from trying. “Damn, Petey,” he says. “Maybe it’s none of your fucking business. Shut up and eat.”

If someone else talked to Peter like that, they would probably end up with Sirius’s fist in their face, but apparently, it’s fine when Sirius does it himself.

Remus takes another bite of his sandwich, before putting it down. “Well,” he says to James. “We can go find an empty classroom if you’d like.” He looks intrigued, and James guesses Sirius hasn’t told him anything yet.

“Yeah, that’d be great,” James says, suddenly feeling a bit nervous. It was one thing, telling Sirius last night. He has always told Sirius everything, and there’s something about that spot on the roof that makes late-night talks feel… almost sacred. Telling Remus will be a bit more daunting. But he follows Remus out of the cafeteria and into an empty classroom, anyway.

“So,” Remus says, shutting the door behind them. “What did you wanna talk about?”

James realizes he probably should’ve thought this through beforehand. He has no clue what to say. “Well,” he begins awkwardly. “You’re bi.”

For a few long seconds, Remus just looks at him, confused. “Yes?” he says. “I… know?”

James sighs, leaning back against the teacher’s desk. He combs a hand through his hair, messing it up at the back. “Yeah, it’s just that, er… I think I might be bi, too?” He looks up for Remus’s reaction.

“Oh!” Remus says. “But you aren’t sure, or…?”

“I don’t know,” James mumbles. “I’m bloody confused. And Siri said I should talk to you because you’re like… The Bisexual Messiah. I think that’s how he phrased it.”

Remus grins. “The Bisexual Messiah? Huh. I should get that on a t-shirt.” James must look quite miserable, because Remus clears his throat, looking a bit more serious. “So you’re questioning if you might be bi?” he asks softly.

James nods. “I kissed… someone,” he says. “A guy. It was Reg, actually.”

Remus arches an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything, so James goes on:

“And it felt really, really good. I practically haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. But I’ve just always thought of myself as, you know, completely straight. But, well, as Sirius pointed out to me yesterday, there’s not really anything straight about the way I felt when I kissed him.” He bites his lip, looking up at Remus.

“Right,” Remus says thoughtfully. “What exactly did you need me for? Sounds like you’ve got it figured out alright.”

“I have?” James asks in bewilderment.

Remus chuckles. “Okay, maybe not, then,” he says. “I just meant, you know… You’ve known for a long while that you liked girls. And now, after kissing Reg, you’ve realized that you like guys too, right?”

Does he like guys? James lets his mind wander, filtering through memories he didn’t realize he had archived. A gym locker room, all of them sweaty after football practice. One of the older students, shirtless, slinging an arm around James and telling him he played well, and James getting light-headed and flustered. He had told himself it just felt good to be acknowledged by an older, more skillful teammate, but looking back on it, it was possible that some of the heat rushing to his cheeks had been because of their bare skin touching. And then there were the dreams, which he had dismissed as not meaning anything, but… Perhaps dreaming about kissing boys did mean something.

“Huh,” he says finally. “I’m… lowkey stupid.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I’ve somehow managed to ignore loads of signs that I wasn’t straight. And I didn’t even realize it before now!”

Remus’s face softens. “Jem, that’s… completely normal. I think a lot of queer people at some point look back and wonder how they didn’t realize sooner. I certainly did.”

“Oh.” James laughs breathily. “Well… Shit. This is interesting.”

Remus laughs with him. “You know,” he says. “You can take as much time as you need to figure all of this out. And if you have any more questions, I’m here.”

“Thank you, Re,” he says. “But… I don’t think it’s necessary.”

“Oh, okay.”

James lets the silence stretch for a moment. His palms are sweating a little, and he wipes them on his trousers. “So, er… Can I tell you something?”

Remus smiles a little. “Yeah.”

“I’m bisexual,” James tells him, and… wow. Saying it out loud feels incredible, like a weight he didn’t know he was carrying being lifted off his shoulders. He grins.

Remus nods, grinning back at him. “That’s great, James, thank you for telling me!” Then, after a short pause: “Have you talked to Regulus?”

The mention of him brings the memory of the kiss back in full effect, and James can feel his cheeks heat up. He’s grateful that his darker skin makes it almost impossible to tell when he’s blushing, though he guesses Remus still senses it. “Not since he practically fled yesterday, after we… you know.”

“Ah,” Remus says. “Well… Maybe you should. Talk to him, I mean.”

James sighs, ruffling his hair with one hand. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“I usually am,” Remus says with a grin. “That reminds me, Siri owes me ten pounds.”

“What? You and Sirius had a bet running on my sexuality?” James asks, slightly indignant, but more curious than anything.

Remus shrugs. “Well, no. We had a bet running on whether you would realize before we graduated. And you did!” He throws his hands up in a little gesture of victory, and James groans.

“You’re the worst,” he says. “You’re both the bloody worst.”

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