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crimsonvictory · 1 year

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Same Time Tomorrow? (Help pt. 2)

Word Count: 4.1k

Part 1 - HELP

Tags: Simon Riley x Reader, Ghost x Reader, COD smut, Ghost smut

Warnings: touch!starved Ghost, p-in-v sex, multiple orgasms, oral sex, a bit of angst if you squint, also a bit of sub!Ghost if you squint

Dedicated to @ghosmooth-operator because they asked so nicely ;)

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A few months had gone by. He had been on deployment, somewhere unknown to you. You didn’t even know if he was alive or not. At first, you thought he had been avoiding you, as he tended to do with everyone. But, after nosing around (not your proudest moment) you had overheard talk that Riley was on some top-secret mission. You kept yourself busy, practicing your sparring techniques with the rookies, filing paperwork that had piled up due to your hectic schedule, and even deep cleaning your side of the barracks.

You were doing okay. You had a manageable routine and were beginning to enjoy the monotony of it. Get up, grind, go to bed. You tried keeping your thoughts of him out of your head. His mouth on your cunt, his hands possessively grabbing your thighs. Just thinking about it got you hot and bothered. A flush spread over your cheeks and you cleared your throat, shaking the thought away. You wanted more of him. One taste and you were addicted. You were going through a withdrawal period and it was fucking difficult.

The nights were the worst. When you were alone inside your head, worst-case scenarios running wild and nightmares wearing you ragged. Your voice was hoarse from screaming. Your mind was your worse enemy, creating scenarios within your head that morphed into an indistinguishable version of reality. It got to the point where you would get a couple of hours a night, spend most of your time distracting your anxiety, staying in the gym, going out for a run, and fantasizing about the day Riley would come back to you.

It wasn’t a real possibility.

He hadn’t spoken to you since that night. It had been a one-time thing. You were afraid that you had taken advantage of him. He was your lieutenant after all. You, his subordinate. It wasn’t right for a relationship to blossom between the two of you. But you couldn’t help the way that you felt that night. Loved, adored, wanted. You had never experienced anything like it before. You kept to yourself and out of the way, kept your head down, and performed to the best of your ability.

It was reaching the 3-month mark, with no word, and no update from anyone. You ended up having an episode, which resulted in a mental evaluation and an embarrassing amount of attention. Everyone fluttered around to your every need, not letting you do anything for yourself, which ended up in yet another episode. You tried to convince yourself that you were doing okay, but were you? You needed help.

But you did not know where to turn. The one person that you felt that you could go to had disappeared off of the face of the earth. So, you pushed things down the best that you could and kept up your front.

It crumbled when you saw him. Riley, alive and well and as mysterious as ever.

5 long months he was gone. It felt like an eternity to you. Your cheeks burned hot as you stared in his direction. A familiar pull in your lower stomach had you gasping quietly. Get. Yourself. Together. His gaze was focused on Price’s, listening intently. You wondered what they were talking about. You noticed a change in Ghost’s posture, he stood up straighter, chest puffing out and he held a hand up. Wait. He started to turn his head in your direction and you ran. Shit. Shit. Shit.

You hid in the locker room. Embarrassed that you almost got caught gawking at your superior like some freak. Walking hurriedly over to the sink, you switched the cold water and splashed your face with it. You gasped at the coldness, letting it calm your nervous system down. Your breathing had calmed. Letting out a sigh, you rub your eyes, still leaning over the sink.

The door to the locker room swung open, metal creaking on the rusty hinges. You really don’t pay it much mind, focusing on your breathing. Heavy footsteps echo on the tiled floors and your interest peaks. They sound familiar. You wipe the water from your eyes, looking at your reflection in the mirror. Another joins you.

Riley.

He doesn’t say a word, watching you through half-lidded eyes. You turn around, leaning up against the sink. You had almost forgotten how much space he takes up. Tilting your head, you look up at him, meeting his eyes. They’re very cloudy, troubled, and swirling with unprocessed events. He takes a step towards you and holds out a piece of paper between his index and middle finger. You reach out and take it, covering it in a soft fist. He watches silently for another heartbeat, two, or three. Riley doesn’t say a word, turns around, and walks out of the locker room.

You look around, even though no one is present, and open the piece of paper.

“My room. 0227. – S”.

Your stomach flutters and you bite your lip to keep from smiling.

You’re antsy, pacing your room as you wait until your predestined time. You had been high on adrenaline all day, trying your best to get it out of your system. You spent an hour and a half at the gym, grabbed a quick bite to eat, and finally came back to your room to run a bath. Baths weren’t something that you rewarded yourself with often. You didn’t have the time. But, with it being a Sunday, you definitely had the time to kill. You spent your time thinking of how this evening was going to go. Your mind ran wild with the open possibilities. The hot water felt good on your aching muscles. You spend time making sure to pamper yourself, using your favorite sugar scrubs, lotions, and perfume. You had let your hair air-dry after running a leave-in mask through your hair. Deciding on an outfit, you went with comfy but casual. A lacy pair of black panties and a bra to batch, paired with a soft pair of grey sweatpants and a heavier black pullover sweatshirt. You kept your face bare, running through your skincare routine and brushing your teeth,

A beep from your clock. 0220.

Your heart lurched as you slipped your shoes on and slipped out of your room. It was dead silent in the hallway, your dorm mates fast asleep. You were super nervous, a light sheen of sweat forming on your skin. You had to stop to calm yourself down a couple of times. Quietly walking to Ghost’s room, you looked around to make sure you were alone. A glance down at your watch – 0225. Two minutes early. You fumble with your shirt sleeves, rolling the cuffs up on your wrists a bit. You don’t dare knock, afraid of it being too loud in the dead hallway.

A minute passes by. It feels like an eternity.

The next 60 seconds test your patience. You wait silently, fidgeting with your clothing and looking down at your feet. You hear a lock click and the door in front of you opens. You whip your head up quickly, nearly giving yourself whiplash. Riley is leaning against the door frame, of a Greek god. You meet his eyes shyly. With the dark lighting in the hallway, you can’t see them that well. You do notice that he has opted for a plain black balaclava, sans grease makeup. His outfit is similar to yours, a soft pair of black sweatpants and a fitted black T-shirt to match. His eyes follow your every move. You swallow, unsure of what to do. He takes a step back – an invite inside.

Do you dare?

You take a deep breath through your nose and step inside his room. As far as you know, no one has ever been inside, except for the man himself. It’s military neat, with no identifying signs of individual personality – figures. It smells of him, cigarettes, a hint of gunpowder, and the surprising smell of chamomile. You’ve walked right into his lair. Lured by the predator himself. You take a small spin around, taking the room in. He stays silent.

A glance over at him – and a small smile.

“’S nice,” you mimic his exact words.

He slowly saunters over to you, his lids droop – sultry.

You didn’t know exactly how tonight was going to go, but you decided to surrender yourself to it. Riley tilts your face up towards his own, gently turning your head side to side – a once-over. A soft ‘tsk’ falls from his lips. You feel the pad of his thumb brush gently over your bottom lip. You take a plunge, darting your tongue out to taste. A soft noise of approval rumbles in his chest. You part your lips a bit more and suck the pad of his thumb inside, swirling your tongue around. Your cheeks have flushed bright red, but with the ambient lighting, you’re hoping it is hard to tell.

He watches you intently and you watch his eyes darken with desire, just like they did that night. He takes another step towards you and your breath hitches. All of your attention is on him. He is enticing, luring you closer and closer until your palm reaches out to lay flat against his broad chest. You look up at him through your eyelashes, pulse loud in your ears. You hear the swoosh, swoosh, swoosh. A heartbeat can be felt through your fingers, strong and steady. You are completely enthralled by him. He leans down, close to your ear and whispers,

“Did you miss me?”

You nearly come apart. His voice is sultry, accent thick with lust.

“Y-Yes,” you whisper.

A soft chuckle leaves his lips. He traces your face with the outside of his fingers and grabs the fat of your hip, squeezing it. You squeak, biting your lip between your teeth. Your pulse is quickening, your belly turning somersaults of arousal over and over. You’re nearly buzzing with excitement. It’s overwhelming. Riley leans down, resting his thumb on your chin before taking his other hand and rolling the bottom of his balaclava up – exposing his mouth. You were right about the scar, a hairline on the top right of his lip. His lips are plush – pretty. He leans down, slowly brushing your lips together. Your eyes flutter closed. You tighten your hands into fists, wanting to touch him so badly but not wanting to overstep.

You can smell a faint hint of whiskey on his breath, just like last time. You wonder what it tastes like, so you swipe your tongue over his bottom lip. A groan escapes his lips and you do it again – wanting him to open up. You didn’t mean to take control of this moment, but it sort of just happened and he seems to be letting you. You slide your tongue alongside him, swirling it around – exploring every inch of his mouth. A shared moan releases from the both of you. His grip on your hip tightens and you shift closer to him. You are pressed flush against him now and can feel his cock tenting in his sweatpants.

You want to possess every part of him.

Reaching your hands up, you stretch and wrap them around his neck, pulling the two of you impossibly close. Your start makeout sesh has started to become heavier, and more needy. Riley is pawing at every inch of you, forcing his way into your mouth and taking the upper hand. He lifts you like it's nothing, carrying you over to his bed. You wrap your legs around his waist, feeling the tent of his pants against your own clothed core. A whine escapes your lips and you grind down lightly. He pulls away, mumbling against your lips.

“Don’t be teasin’ me now.”

You’re both so touch-starved. It’s too much and not enough at the same time.

“Simon,” you pant against his lips. “Please, touch me.”

He groans against your lips, sliding his large hand up your shirt. The palm resting at the hem of your pants and the tips of his fingers brushing against your bra. You sit up for him, helping him pull your sweatshirt over your head.

“Fucking beautiful,” he coos, eyes sparkling with desire.

He places himself conveniently between your spread legs, resting on his forearms as he makes a mess of your neck. His nose bumps behind your ear, taking in your scent. Goosebumps break out down your body as he bites his sharp teeth into your skin and sucks. Your skin soon becomes marbled with his marks – a possession. Your chest is rising rapidly, on the verge of hyperventilating. He holds the side of your neck as he kisses down your chest, lips brushing against the black lace of your bra. A bright flash of white teeth and he looks up at you, grabs the lace of your cup, and pulls it to the side, exposing your breast.

The cool air causes your nipple to peak and a gasp to leave your lips. Simon maintains eye contact as he wraps his lips around the peak of your nipple and sucks. You whine, arching into his mouth. His warm tongue swirls around the bud and sends you into a frenzy. Your body becomes alight, responding to his touch so eagerly. He leans up with a pop, turning slightly to the other breast, removes it from your bra, and gives it the same attention as before. His other hand cups your breast, fingers pinching your nipple and rolling it between his fingers.

His devotion to your body once again is something you have never experienced. He leaves your nipples puffy and overstimulated, satisfied with his work. You’re watching him through hooded eyes, pleasure coursing through your body. His touch was electric, feeding the starving need that you had craved for so long. Tears welled up in your eyes and you tried forcing them away. A couple falls down your cheek. They don’t go unnoticed. Simon gently swipes them away.

“I’ve got you.”

Your mouth trembles, a sob threatening to escape. He begins to pull at your sweats, wanting even more of your body for himself. You lift your hips up and he pulls them off, showing off your lacy panties. A low whistle from him. His fingers brush over the delicate fabric and you arch into his touch. Needy. So needy. You spread your legs wider for him – accommodating the width of his shoulders as he settles down. You’re already soaked, and he can see that. Slick glistening against the dark fabric.

“Fuck,’ he groans. Mouth watering at the sight of your arousal. “Is this all for me, little one?”

You nod unashamedly.

“Aren’t you going to have a taste?” you coo softly, the sultriness in your voice surprising.

He makes no haste, leaning down and licking a stripe up your clothed cunt, once, twice, before latching his mouth over you and sucking. You gasp, his hot mouth and the friction of your panties rubbing against your pussy are to die for. You involuntarily grind your hips down into his mouth. Simon’s eyes roll in pleasure. He laps at your folds through the fabric, mixing his spit and your arousal, making your panties absolutely soaked. They are dripping onto his sheets and you don’t even care. Simon takes his thumbs and hooks them in the waistband of your panties, taking them down your legs and throwing them over his shoulder. He places his palms flat against the meat of your inner thighs and pushes your legs wide before diving back down into your pussy.

His nose bumps up against your sensitive clit as he swirls his tongue around through your folds. Your hands overlap his on your thighs, squeezing his fingers. He’s relentless, not even coming up for air. He’s mumbling sweet praises against your cunt, the sloppiness of it echoing in the room.

“Missed this pretty pussy.”

“Fuck, you taste like heaven.”

“Look how wet you are for me.”

He slides his tongue down, down until it's lapping at your hole. Simon angles your hips before thrusting his tongue inside. You cry out, thighs threatening to clamp around his face. His tongue stretches you open, an unfamiliar feeling but not unpleasurable. You are rocking your hips down on his face now and he is taking it like a champ. You’ve never had a man become so drunk over your pussy before. It’s very very attractive. His thumb reaches up at your clit and begins swirling in circles, sloppy due to how wet he’s made you.

A pull in your stomach lets you know you’re close. You warn him, crying out as it builds steadily over the next few minutes. You come undone on his tongue, grinding against his face and milking every last drop of pleasure from him. Simon’s moaning into your pussy, rolling his hips down on the bed to satiate himself.

A thin sheen of sweat covers your body. He looks up at you, and the lighting makes you look angelic. Hair splayed around you like a halo, eyes blown with pleasure, body molded and pliable by his hands. He can’t get enough of you. He leans back on his knees, your pleasure dripping down his chin. It’s obvious that he’s aroused too, his cock straining through his sweats. You’re dying for a taste.

“Let me taste you,” you say quietly, looking up at him from where you are laying on the bed.

He doesn’t oblige, shimmying out of his sweats and allowing his cock to bounce freely up toward his belly. You drink him all in, toned thighs and thick cock. It’s swollen with arousal, dripping precum from the tip. Your mouth waters. You sit up on your knees, allowing him to lean back against the headboard and make himself comfy. It had been a while since you had done this. You were a bit rusty but were determined to give it your best shot. You crawl in between his thighs, resting on your belly and making yourself comfortable. Simon pets the side of your face gently, taking his hand and swooping your hair up into a makeshift ponytail. You get to work slowly, starting with small kitten licks to his head. The first brush of your tongue has his fists clenching and a moan dropping from his lips.

So sensitive.

You smile, taking his head past your lips and forming a light suction. You swirl your tongue around the swollen head before testing with an experimental bob down. He’s fucking thick, and you strain a bit to fit him into your mouth. Simon’s a babbling mess above you. head thrown back, exposing his throat. His moans are breathy and you are devouring every single one. Simon being super vocal wasn’t something you expected but were delighted nonetheless. You continue your ministrations, alternating between bobbing, swirling, sucking, and using your hand to stimulate what you couldn’t fit in your mouth. The sounds coming from your lieutenant were pornographic. And he wasn’t trying to be quiet either.

“F-Fuck, just like that. Yes.” He moans, “Such a pretty girl. You look so good with your lips around my cock.”

You moan at the praise, allowing the vibrations to travel down. He thrusts into your mouth and you nearly gag, eyes squeezing shut.

“Jesus-“ he gasps, coming undone above you. His thighs are shaking with pleasure.

You swirl soothing patterns into his skin, swallowing him down, down, down. He abruptly pushes you off of him, chest heaving. You are a bit taken aback, wide eyes looking at him in confusion.

“Too good, I want to feel you around my cock before I come.” He explains. His voice has dropped an octave.

He pats his lap, inviting you in. You crawl over to him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. He positions both of you, your back to his chest. You’re hovering over his length and Simon has a death grip on your hip. You’re shaking in anticipation as you slowly sink down onto his cock. Your breath is punched out of your lungs. You feel so full, and you haven’t even taken all of him yet. Your thighs begin to shake with exertion.

“Fuuuuuuck,” he groans out, swirling the pads of his fingers on the small of your back – soothing.

You’re panting, sinking inch by inch down until you’re seated flush against his thighs. Chest heaving, you lean back against his own, trying to let yourself adjust. You’re trembling, fingers encircling his wrist that is holding your hip.

“Breathe,” he pants out.

A reminder for both of you. You listen, slowing your breathing down until you feel as though he can move. You tell him. He starts slow, barely pulling out and thrusting back in. You gasp, the feeling of his length brushing against your walls is intoxicating. Both of you are shaking with pleasure, slowly building up a good rhythm. The sounds of your soaked pussy and his thrusts fill the room, along with your moans of pleasure. Simon slides a hand up around your throat, squeezing slightly. You gasp as the air leaves your lungs and roll your head back against his chest. Your hips move on their own accord, slamming down to meet his thrusts. The pleasure builds in your lower abdomen as you open yourself up to him more and more.

His name repeats like a mantra on your lips. Simon. Simon. Simon. Gasping as he picks up speed and thrusts hard up into your pussy. It’s greedy for more, taking his length like a fucking champ. You are in pure bliss right now, your bodies moving in tandem as you pull pleasure from each other. The both of you are so touch-deprived, craving any that you can get after 5 long months away.

“Did – you – miss me?” you ask in-between pants, rolling your hips against Simon’s.

“Y-Yes,” he gasps out, thrusting up into your pussy at an ungodly speed. His grip on your hips tightens as he shifts your body a bit, changing the angle. “Missed this tight little cunt.”

You come apart at his words, sobbing as pleasure courses through your body at the new angle he has moved you to. His cock hits that spongey spot that makes you see stars.

“I missed you so much,” you sob, pussy clamping down on his length. “I’ve been thinking about you since you left.” You continue.

He moans, sliding a hand around your hip and to your folds. His index, middle, and ring finger lay flat against your clit, rubbing quickly – back and forth, back and forth. Your pleasure builds, builds, builds – white hot as another orgasm is pulled from your body. You clench around him as you ride your pleasure out.

“Yeah, sweetheart, surrender yourself to me. I’ve got you; I’ve got you. You’re fucking mine. Your pussy’s mine.” He growls, thrusting over and over into your spent cunt.

Hot tears spill down your face as you just keep taking what Simon gives you. His hand tightens around your throat, the other on your pussy and he pulls another and another orgasm from you. You’re floating, black inkiness comfortable as you ride the waves of your pleasure. It nearly puts you to sleep. You’re so blissed out. You can faintly feel Simon tense below you, shooting his hot load into you. You whine, overwhelmed at the sensation of feeling so full.

You can’t move. So worn out from the pleasure. Tears are still streaming down your cheeks. Simon pulls out slowly, gently removing himself from under you and crawling in between your legs. What he does next makes you flush from your cheeks to your chest. He positions himself in between your legs again, and cleans you up with his tongue, scooping out his come with his tongue. You gasp yet again, your pussy puffy and overstimulated. He’s gentle and when he’s done, he crawls back up and kisses you square on the mouth, licking inside to share with you. You groan softly, your body fighting sleep as you lazily kiss him back. He smiles against your lips – a rare thing.

You must’ve fallen asleep because when you wake, you are enveloped in one of Simon’s shirts. It’s huge on you, nearly down to your knees. You are absolutely content. The comforting smell of chamomile fills your nose. You blearily open your eyes, searching for him. He is by your side, hand resting behind his head, balaclava pulled back down over his face. You sigh, wishing you could see him in his entirety. Scooting closer, you curl up against him, throwing a leg over his and laying on his chest. Quiet, peaceful sleep awaits you. You’re more comfortable, more satiated than you’ve been in months. Sleep lulls you in, and right before you go you hear Simon,

“Same time tomorrow?”

#simon riley x you #cod simon riley #cod smut #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost x you

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fandomness--randomness · 3 years

Text

Nerves {Jean Kirschtein x Fem!Reader} Modern/Highschool AU!

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: Jean's nervous to tell you about his feelings, but after a stressful day of nagging from his friends - he finally gets the courage to confess.

Playlist: Him and Hym (from banana fish)

Tags: @coltsbitch I hope you like it uwu

“You’re staring Jean-booooy!” Sasha teased, dragging an elbow into Jean’s ribs.

The brunette let out a grunt at the sudden intrusion and sent a glare towards the girl. “The fuck was that for?” He complained. Jean lightly shoved Sasha away as he rubbed at his now sore torso.

Sasha chuckled. Rolling her eyes as she put her head in her hands, she said, “you were staring at (Y/N). Again.” Across the table, Connie snickered into his hand.

Jean’s eyebrow twitched in annoyance. “No, I wasn’t. I just happened to be looking in her direction. That’s all.” Pushing away the lunch his mother had made him - which Sasha and Connie also made fun of - Jean leaned back in his chair.

Marco, the last and most sensible person of their friend group, cleared his throat. “Ah come on Jean,” he chastised, “they mean well. It’s just... well…” Marco trailed off for a second, a nervous hand coming up scratch at his freckled face. Jean raised an eyebrow at his longtime friend. “Well, you can be a bit obvious. And it hurts to watch sometimes.”

Much to the chagrin of Jean, Sasha and Connie were quick to join in once again.

“Yeah! Yeah!” Sasha exclaimed with a mouthful of fries. “We’re just trying to kick you into high gear and get you to finally ask (Y/N) out!”

Connie leaned forward onto the table. “Haven’t you been madly in love with her since you were like, what - 12?” He waved a lazy hand in the air.

A dark hue spread across Jean’s cheeks, which he quickly hid behind his hand. “Oh shut up ya baldy!” Jean yelled back. He groaned. “I’ve just known her since we were 12. As if I could fall in love with her at that age.”

Sasha let out a triumphant shriek. She practically climbed on top of the poor soccer player in her excitement. “You didn’t deny you love her!” She practically exclaimed to the entire cafeteria. Nearby tables went quiet and glanced their way.

“Shut up Sasha!” Jean retaliated, pushing her off of him. His blush had now reached far past his cheeks, decorating his ears in a pink hue.

Despite the anger radiating off of him, Sasha seemed unperturbed by her friend’s actions. Rather she seemed to get even happier. “Just go talk to her and ask her on a date already!” She said matter of factly before chomping on her slice of pizza.

Jean looked to Marco and Connie for help. As he expected, Connie agreed, saying something along the lines of finally getting with her and to stop acting like a lost puppy. But Marco! Instead of coming to his rescue, Marco simply nodded and agreed.

When the bell rang, signalling the end of lunch, Jean was the first to stand up and leave. In his anger and embarrassment he nearly forgot his lunchbox. He swiped it from Marco’s grasp without thanking him before stomping his way to his next class.

By the time he walked through the doorway of the chemistry class, his anger had dissipated and morphed into a mix of embarrassment and guilt at his actions.

“Stupid Sasha and Connie, trying to meddle in with my damn business. Damn Marco for not backing me up.” Jean grumbled as he sat on the stool.

A soft giggle to his left made him jump.

“Oh (Y/N)!” He said, his voice jumping an octave. He hadn’t even seen you as he ranted and raved under his breath.

“Hey Jean. It looks like you’ve had a bit of a rough day. Sasha and Connie being overbearing again?” You asked, moving a stray lock of hair from your face.

Jean gulped as your curious eyes stared up at him. He was always taller than most people his age, yet you made him feel like the smallest person in the world. You were - as cheesy as it was - different from the other girls in the school. At least to Jean. All the other girls at Paradis High, whether they were friends or strangers to Jean, had a level of unattainability. Some of them were for obvious reasons, such as Historia who practically had a bodyguard in the form of her butch girlfriend, but other reasons were much more transparent. Even if Jean did fantasize about bringing a girl on a date and being in a relationship - it always felt like some wacky dream.

But never with you. You always felt just a bit more physical, a bit more real to Jean. Maybe it was because of how comfortable you were with him or your constant curiosity that led to you getting into trouble that would have been easily avoidable (and sometimes dragging Jean down with you).

You were always just an arm’s distance away. A distance Jean didn’t dare cross, not at 12 years old and not at 17.

“Uh yeah, they were just getting on my ass about a girl. Marco wasn’t any help either, so I’m just a bit annoyed at them.” He finally responded, rubbing the back of his neck.

You blinked up at him for a moment before an expression of realization spread across your features like a wave. Excitedly, you grabbed onto his upper arm and pulled him down closer to you.

“Do you like a girl, Jean?!”

Jean thanked whatever mystical being out there that you had enough sense to whisper your conclusion to him, but then promptly cursed them out as you stared at him face to face. He could smell the mint you had after lunch fanning over his face.

Jean opened and closed his mouth quickly, unsure of how to respond, scared that if he spoke his voice would croak and falter.

Thankfully the chemistry teacher Dr. Hange walked in, earning everyone’s attention with a loud clap.

Letting go of Jean’s arm, you stood straight up in your chair and listened as Dr. Hange reviewed what today’s class would cover; but not before sending Jean a smirk.

Fidgeting with his fingers under the desk, Jean did his best to ignore your glances and overall presence, intent on willing the whole discussion about his crush out of existence. That is until you slid a small note to Jean’s side of the black desk. Scribbled in your clean handwriting was a request - no - an order.

You’re totally filling me in on this girl after school! I’m not taking no for an answer!

Jean sighed to himself, grimacing as your playful grin appeared at the edge of his vision.

“Jeeeaaan! Come on!” You whined, bouncing on his bed. “Why won’t you tell me who your crush is!”

Said boy let out a sigh as he dropped his book bag onto the floor next to his desk and all but collapsed into the gaming chair. Leaning his head back on the headrest, he answered in a taut voice. “Because I don’t want to.”

“Totally not because it’s you.” He thought.

You groaned in frustration, tossing and turning on his bed, inevitably ruining the nicely folded blankets. “Come on! I’ve known you since we were in middle school!”

Jean chuckled. “Yeah sure, if you count two kids bored out of their minds on family trips to the mountains only to never see each other until high school as knowing each other since middle school.”

Sitting up on the bed, you pouted at the brunette. “Damn. You really didn’t have to get specific about it.”

The laughter that bubbled out of Jean’s chest was uncontrollable. Doubling over in his chair, Jean finally looked at you for the first time since getting to his house. “Why shouldn’t I? When you showed up in the middle of last year and latched yourself onto me - everyone thought you were my secret girlfriend! Hell, even I was confused as to why you were practically glued to my arm.”

Jean continued to laugh, more to himself now. When his laughter finally fizzled away and his eyes were no longer clouded by tears, he sat back up in his chair - only to go rigid again.

You had pulled your legs into your chest and were staring away from Jean. The sharp glint of your eyes told Jean that he had pissed you off.

“A shit (Y/N), I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

Taking a deep breath, your body relaxed against itself.

“I know, you big idiot. It’s just… you were my first real friend. Of course I got excited when we reunited years later.” You chuckled to yourself at the memory of spotting him in the middle of homeroom. The joy and relief you felt that day was tremendous.

Standing up, Jean walked over to the bed and sat next to you before falling against his plush covers with a dulled thump. He patted the bed. A silent invitation for you to lay next to him. You took it and laid next to him, staring at the ceiling in silence.

No words were spoken between the two of you for some time. This is how it went sometimes. The two of you didn’t need to talk constantly to keep the energy comfortable and flowing. Comforting silences were a rare thing to have.

The soft breathing and heat radiating off of Jean nearly had you falling asleep. That is until he spoke up, startling you awake.

“She’s really sweet ya know.” Jean could see you turn to him with a raised eyebrow out of his peripheral. “The girl I like. She’s really sweet. A little overbearing with her physical affection, but nothing crazy. She’s… people-smart. She knows when to start and stop.” Jean could feel you shift on the bed so that your head was level with his. He continued talking without thinking of the consequences. “She’s got a few unconventional hobbies and does stupid shit all the time. Had to stitch up her pinkie finger once because she cut it while exploring an abandoned house.” Jean’s own pinkie moved towards your hand, making contact with your own pinkie finger. He traced the raised scar. “She’s super smart too and is always working to get better for herself. And… well I’ve liked her for a while but I was always scared to face the feelings she gave me whenever we hang out. I didn’t want to accept them. It was odd. I was used to never having a shot with the people I liked. But you… you just seemed to shoot right into me without me even realizing it.”

Finally, Jean had the courage to look at you. Your cheeks were darkened with a deep blush and your eyes twinkled. Jean didn’t say anything. He waited for your response with bated breath. The two of you laid there on dark covers for what felt like an eternity.

“For fucks sake (Y/N). Ya gotta respond to me.” Jean choked out in a harsh whisper. His hand was trembling from the nerves.

“I can play a 2 hour soccer game without issue, but I can’t make a simple confession without shaking? What the hell Jean.” He thought bitterly.

As though life was breathed back into you - you took a deep breath.

Quick and sudden nods.

Jean furrowed his eyebrows.

Your hand inched its way into his.

Jean pushed himself up onto his elbow and leaned over you

Your gleaming eyes flashed to his lips and back up to his eyes.

A silent exchange of words.

Leaning forward, Jean let his forehead lightly knock against yours. “Can I kiss you.”

“Please.”

Slowly, Jean let his lips ghost over yours. Just barely touching. As though Jean was scared any harsh movements would make you break. You surged into the kiss, squeezing onto his hand still interlocked with yours.

Jean internally groaned, the taste of your minty tongue invading his senses. If he didn’t stop kissing you now he was going to go crazy.

Pulling back from your lips, he stared down at you. You chuckled nervously, fingers twitching.

“What? Am I that bad of a kisser?”

Jean shook his head quickly. “No way. You’re amazing. Just… just fucking relieved you feel the same way.”

You smiled up at him. “I mean, of course. You were my first friend. Only makes sense that you were my first love too.”

Bonus:

“Jean-boy, I made some sandwiches for you and (Y/N) to e- OH!”

“Ma! It’s not what it looks like!”

“I’m so sorry! I’ll leave you two alone. Make sure to use protection!”

A pillow thudded against the freshly closed door and fell to the floor in a sad lump.

“SHUT UP MA!”

#jean kirschtien #jean kirschtein scenarios #jean kirschtein x reader #attack on titan #attack on titan imagine #jean kirschtein fluff

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wickedscribbles · 3 years

Text

Come What May, Chapter Three

A/N: Thank you guys so much for the support! It means a lot. <3

Masterlist

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Original Female Character (Second Person Perspective)

Rating: Explicit

Tags: fluff, teasing, being in a relationship with Obi-Wan means witty banter, spoil Obi-Wan damn it the man is TIRED, fantasizing in places you shouldn’t, Obi-Wan being a bit of a tease, Jedi are touch-starved, loss of virginity (for both parties), cock riding

Word Count: 6.3 K

You're sure that all this sneaking around isn't part of the Code, either. But in the middle of a war, you and Obi-Wan take what you can get. With one or both of you needed off-planet more and more often, even being back at the Temple to sneak around with one another is welcome. Disputes between Republic and Separatist planets are only getting more tense. As Jedi, you both have your duties. Obi-Wan as a General, and you as a healer.

Life is busy, sometimes overwhelming and scary. Whether you’re on the front line, holding the hand of a soldier, or home on Coruscant tending to Jedi and low-level civilians. The thing that keeps your gut from gnawing itself to pieces with worry for Obi-Wan is your comm blinking with his encrypted message. One word; safe. He never forgets. Though you can’t feel through your bond off-planet, you can at least relax enough to sleep before typing your own reply. Safe. No matter where you are, he insists on knowing the same is true on your end.

So when you feel a flicker of him among the hundreds of other souls coming in and out of the Temple, you don’t hesitate to reach out in excitement. Obi-Wan hadn’t said when he’d arrive the last time you were able to speak, just that he would be back at the Temple soon. Forgetting yourself, you push out for his own life Force, a wordless wave of happiness. The colicky baby you’re comforting in the creche feels it too, going from the brink of a tantrum to a wide-eyed smile.

!!!!

Hello there, he says, answering with his own push of delight that you’ve found him, that you’re home too. Underneath it runs a silent warning in the form of his usual anxiety. However happy you both are, you must be quieter. You tell him you understand, duck your head though he’s not there in the room to admonish you.

Obi-Wan’s nerves fade, replaced by the usual rush of curiosity that bubbles up from both of you after an absence. There will be dozens of questions, when you're together to talk. It’s difficult to have a real conversation through the commlink without raising suspicion, so reunions are full of stories. For now, though, you ask only one.

Where are you?

Come and see, he says mysteriously. You can almost see the grin on his face. You roll your eyes at the unnecessary antics, but can’t bite back a smile. Negotiations must have gone well for him to be teasing you.

The baby fusses again in your arms, and you stroke his head to soothe him. “I know, Myn. We’ll get you to bed, then see where Master Kenobi is hiding. Now, let's help you feel better.”

----

He's not where you expect him to be.

After an unsuccessful visit to each of his favorite spots, you find the scoundrel sitting in the main refectory. In a room meant for hundreds, only around a dozen mill about or eat at this hour. Each long table has an average of only one or two occupants, and most of the holodisplays are buzzing on standby. Droids roll around, mopping tables and cleaning spills. The transparisteel windows are open, letting in a nice evening breeze. Obi-Wan is one of the few, looking out of place in armor. He must have really just gotten home, then.

Your breath catches to even recognize the back of his head. Between your conflicting schedules, a month has passed since you've seen him. Gods, you wish you could run over. Wish you could beam at him, in this public space, wrap him up and breathe him in. He'd smell a little strange, blaster fire and recycled air and foreign planets. But under it all, undeniably Obi-Wan. Jedi Master, War General, and secret giver of the best hugs.

Not just hugs, you sigh to yourself, thinking of the last time he was home. Every step you force yourself to walk over to him only makes the memory that much clearer. As inexperienced as the both of you'd started, Master Obi-Wan was proving to be an attentive and voracious partner. Seeming as eager to please as he was to learn, you never left disappointed. After his initial reluctance for intimacy, you'd watched him shyly blossom under the attention you gave him.

In return, your accidental Force bond positively shines, and being connected to another living being this way is an experience you wouldn't trade for anything -- sexual encounters or not. You find yourself similar to him in ways that surprise and delight you -- and your differences aren’t so monumental. After all, the most tender parts of your minds, your souls, are often laid bare for one another. Though you've only been together for a few months, and even then for a few stolen moments, you feel comfortable with him, and he with you. Any concerns or discomforts are hard or impossible to hide. In this way, the bond often forces honesty.

It doesn’t surprise you that Obi-Wan isn’t alone at his table. Seen as something of a celebrity among the younglings and Padawans, they tend to swarm him when they get an opportunity. He’s ever-patient about it, always managing to find time for them, which you find unbearably sweet. Sitting with him now is a familiar group of young Padawans. They seem intent on asking questions how to improve their saber technique at every turn, though they’ve only just built their own weapons.

Children their age aren’t exactly your specialty. It always makes your stomach roil with nerves when you think that soon you must take your own Padawan. But even you have to admit that they’re sweet, all nerf-tails and braids and wide eyes. They hang onto Master Kenobi’s every word. A check of your bond reveals that he’s in full lecture mode, and isn’t even aware that you’re behind him. He’s busy making sure that the way he explains the difference in lightsaber forms is easy for them to understand, while still being comprehensive.

It’s almost a shame when Master Windu locates his Padawan, the ringleader, and scolds the group away for bothering Obi-Wan when he’s trying to enjoy a late dinner. You were enjoying the explanation of the differences between Juyo and Vaapad. Though the topic was a little advanced for the group, Master Obi-Wan rarely turns away an honest question.

"Did you do that just to make me walk around the entire Temple?" you say after they’ve cleared out. "I checked the gardens, the library, the Fountain Room, the docking bay…"

Obi-Wan lights up when he hears you, turning with an easy smile that morphs into a look of mischief. This time he's the one to reach out through the bond, and you accept it as willingly as a full embrace. You take the seat across from him, keeping your body language casual though you can’t help beaming. Obi-Wan looks just as pleased -- arms crossed on the table though his Force tells you he’d love to take your hand. You know he’s right to worry; you can’t take bold chances. Everyone must be fooled into thinking that what’s developed between you is a friendship, and nothing more, if you’re to get away with this.

"I wasn't hiding. I really did come straight here. You've had what they serve on the clone ships." A wrinkle of displeasure travels mutually between you. Food served in the Temple couldn't exactly be called the height of luxury, but what they served the troops was downright flavorless. You've never heard a clone complain about it, bless them. In front of him sits an empty bowl and a half-finished cup of what has to be tea.

"Fine. I guess I'll forgive you." The look you give him is a little too cheeky, but no one's watching.

"Oh, a thousand thanks," he replies, every bit as taunting. He places his chin in his hand and smirks, looking far too cute in far too public of a setting. Maker, he’s starting to figure it out, isn’t he? The effect he has on you. He’s dangerous in many ways, but this might be the most threatening he’s ever been.

“Got you something,” you announce, changing the subject. You hope he doesn’t notice the deep breath you have to take to steady yourself. Before he can protest -- because you know without looking up that Obi-Wan will protest -- you untie a pouch from your belt.

Sure enough, he’s got the look. Normally reserved for Anakin, it’s all disapproval and scrunched brows. And of course, it’s still attractive. How does Anakin get anything done? Anakin doesn’t have the kind of daydreams you do. At least, he probably doesn’t.

“I thought we’d discussed this. It isn’t wise to --”

“Master,” you interrupt, unwrapping the package. The fancy paper crinkles under your fingers, and you're trying not to make a lot of noise. “I’m pretty sure that this won’t blow our cover.”

“Well, I still don’t --”

You peel back the plastic sleeve on the package, revealing half a dozen cookies. They’re an off-planet delicacy you’d discovered in a little tea shop in the mid-levels, each about as big around as your pinky finger is long. Each is a different flavor, with some sort of icing sandwiched between two halves of the confection. All you know for sure is that the sample you’d been coaxed into trying had melted like butter on your tongue. You were handing over credits before the Twi’lek behind the counter had to persuade you any further.

“ -- oh!” His reproach melts away in seconds. “You’ve brought biscuits. I - I suppose that’s fine.”

“Oh, I see how it is.” you tease, pulling one out and handing it to him. It looks like your hunch to bring this gift is right on the money; you’ve seen how keen he is to get to the refectory on the nights they serve desserts. A part of you -- a very un-Jedi part -- had been thinking of him. Had wanted to get him something, something that would sit on the desk in your room until he returned, something small enough that he wouldn't fuss over it. You'd wanted to spoil him in the tiniest of ways, knowing how hard he drives himself.

Obi-Wan takes it with barely disguised delight. You watch him bite into it, amused, thinking of all the times he and the other Masters have lectured you on the ways of a Jedi. Something about conquering curiosity would have been said, had the positions been flipped. “Do you like it?”

He nods happily, licking a crumb from the corner of his mouth. "'S good."

You try not to focus on the pink tip of his tongue, how quickly it slips over his lip and then disappears again. That tongue had been your undoing, when it had last touched your body. Stop thinking about that here!

His eyes dart down to the package, and you know he wants another one.

"Take one, I got them for you." You pry another loose, offering it easily. It makes you happy to see him let himself want something -- and to know that you can give it to him. The Code has its purposes, sure. But sometimes it's nice to detach from grace and serenity, and just...enjoy.

As long as you aren't devastating your own way of life, razing it to the ground as former Jedi-turned-Sith have done, you see no harm in feeding Obi-Wan Kenobi a cookie. Or doing other things with him, far from prying eyes.

He doesn't seem to see it as a capital offense either, and lets you feed him the second one with a happy hum. His eyes flutter closed for a moment as he savors the taste, far sweeter than anything they serve here in the refectory. When he finishes this one, a blue crumb sticks to his bottom lip.

"Master."

"Mm?" He tilts his head ever so slightly, blue crumb not budging.

"You've got something."

"Got -- got what?"

"On your face," you struggle to keep your tone even, hold in a laugh. He looks -- he looks silly. One eyebrow quirked, no idea what you're talking about though it should be obvious. Master Obi-Wan, cookie crumbs on his face, looking at you like you're the one two screws short of a saber hilt.

Predictably, when he puts a hand to his mouth to brush it away, he's nowhere near the actual crumb. This goes on for several frustrating seconds, until you finally look to see if anyone's watching and brush it away yourself. Your thumb lingers on his bottom lip.

"Gosh. You were a parsec away," you chuckle, savoring the memory of his very real confusion.

But something in his gaze has shifted. Obi-Wan looks right at you, your thumb still light on his bottom lip, and licks a slow stripe over the pad of it.

The bond, so carefully shielded after you greeted one another, breaks open like a crust. Desire builds on his end, warmth that soon becomes an unbearable heat. It feels like it's flooding you, a steady stream in your chest, your limbs, your feet. You spare a thought to sift through the Force for the others in the room, too captivated with what’s in front of you to look. No one feels shocked or surprised or even interested in you.

Parting his lips further, Obi-Wan takes your thumb into his mouth and sucks, only for a moment, but you shudder. This is so damn bold of him, this tiny thing, but it sends you spiraling.

Sometimes you don't make it easy to think clearly.

You pull your hand away, hearing him speak in your mind. Everything he's not saying, out loud or through the bond, swirls between you. How he's been aching for you since you realized he'd arrived back at the Temple. How hard it's been to hold back from doing all the things that you want to do, as soon as you laid eyes on one another. How he wants you, now.

"My room or yours?" you murmur.

"Mine." He answers, barely above a whisper. Though you know it's more logical to go there -- the Master's quarters are always less occupied -- a little thrill always runs through you. You watch his hands clench and unclench on the table, considering something.

"Wait an hour before you join me," he adds.

An hour? you whine.

Far less suspicious this way, he answers, though you can feel his returning tug of desire, of impatience.

"What do you say if you're found outside my quarters?"

"I'm watering Master Kenobi's plants while he's away," you recite. Not a lie in the slightest; you kept the growing collection in excellent health. And it gave you a reason to be in his room every few days, whether he was actually on-planet or not. Watering the plants...taking in the smell of Obi-Wan that still clung to the bedsheets and robes, leaving your own scent.

"Good girl," he says. Again, your mind darts to the last time he'd praised you that way -- where his mouth had been. Immediately, he seems to remember too; color floods his cheeks and he’s suddenly very interested in the tabletop.

You brighten at the words, even as he blushes to say it so publicly. Like he hadn't just been suckling your finger. Not exactly what a Master would say to a Padawan -- and you haven't been a Padawan in years. His blue eyes burn into yours with a hunger, and you feel one last little touch through the bond before he gets up from the table. He doesn’t look back.

Lingering a little longer, you head to the Fountain Room with a long sigh. Meditating away your arousal is not going to be easy.

The hour passes in uncomfortable slowness. You haven't been this unfocused in meditation since you were a youngling, but you're squirming for a different reason. It takes almost forty minutes for the roar of the fountains to lull you to relaxation, and once you realize that the hour has almost passed, you slip and have to start all over. Even Obi-Wan would scold you for the way you shift and fidget, the living Force all around you but your mind too disconnected to reach out.

So you resort to pretending. You remain in a meditative stance, but simply count in your head instead. It’s a Padawan trick, and part of you feels guilty, even though there’s no one around to watch. You almost expect Master Rancisis to slither up behind you, insisting that he was not angry, only disappointed.

When the hour finally trickles to an end, you get to your feet. It takes a fair amount of restraint not to break into a jog when you reach the end of the Temple where Knights and Masters live. Muscle memory takes you easily to the door of Obi-Wan’s room, though it’s identical to the others around it.

Knock knock, you say, bouncing on the balls of your feet outside the door. In response, the lock clicks open. You slide inside and close the door in one motion, locking it again behind you.

Obi-Wan’s room is structured much like every other Jedi’s quarters. It looks quite like your own. Each sports the same bed, wallpaper, desk. The differences are its inhabitant, and the rank of Master.

While your room is boxy, not leaving much space to move, Obi-Wan’s can easily be walked around in. Potted plants adorn the small windowsill, beginning to crowd it. He’s been able to get more since you started watering them. The short bookshelf next to the bed has watermarks on the end from how many times he’s placed a teacup there. In the corner, he even has an attached fresher -- the source of much envy when you first found out.

But all this would feel empty without Obi-Wan sitting cross-legged on the bed, out of his armor and looking freshly showered. His boots are tucked neatly at the foot of the bed, so he sits in his sock feet. An unguarded, toothy grin lights up his face as he lifts his arms for a hug. The bond slams together two seconds before you get there, mingling and tasting and feeling each other’s life Force without restraint. You embrace him tightly, burying your own smile in his neck as the two of you fall back on the mattress.

Missed you, you say, pressing a kiss to his jaw. It makes him squeeze you tighter, his sigh moving a few strands of your hair.

Your life Force is a little too jumbled right now, overwhelmed with his closeness, both in your mind and in your arms. Images roll from you in ways you don’t really mean to send them. Obi-Wan, head ducked between your legs, the last time he was home. Your own hands, plucking dead leaves from one of the plants on the sill. Bending over a clone trooper, gently encouraging his wound to close with the Force. The lowest, most-poverty stricken levels of Coruscant. Setting up a clinic tent there with a few other healers when you’re not occupied with other war efforts. A little girl squealing in excitement when she realized she got a sweet for being good during her treatment.

In return, Obi-Wan shows you his own line of thought, and where he’s been. The way your lip wobbled when he’d looked up from eating you out, pupils huge and eyes pleading. How that image had been enough to make him spill in his hand in one of the Resolute’s freshers, a week later. The sweaty-humid jungles of Felucia, the heat making his tunics stick to his skin. Anakin singing some shanty with the 501st on the ride home, in high spirits. Commander Cody shaking his head when his own boys started in, making the lyrics even dirtier. (Obi-Wan had held Ahsoka’s lekku tight so she didn’t hear anything after that.) How good you smell to him now, all vanilla and grass after a thunderstorm and something he can never identify.

“I’m willing to bet,” he says, shifting you both so that you lie side by side, “that I missed you far more.”

“Master,” you say innocently. “It’s not a competition.” You slide your thigh between his legs, pleased at how readily he allows it, how he draws you closer. His cock presses against you, almost fully hard. The pressure elicits a small gasp from him, and a smirk from you.

Obi-Wan thinks on your remark for a moment. “No,” he admits. “But there may be a struggle.”

And with that, he claims your mouth with his own. He feels so warm, so safe. Calloused fingers slide up to caress your face, and you melt even more.

Though both of you are wound tight with anticipation, his kisses drag slow over your lips, sweet and lingering. You let him lead, a little dazed when one of his hands starts trailing absently up and down your side. He tastes like the cookies you fed him. The dominant note of sugar overcomes the usual flavor of Obi-Wan that you're used to, though it's hard to complain.

You curl yourself closer, tighter into his chest, wanting as much contact as possible. Being with Obi-Wan makes you feel vulnerable in a way you never get to be otherwise. There's a part of you that wants to be tended to. Maybe it comes from being raised among dozens of other children in the creche, with no minder giving you specific care or attention beyond what was required. A lesson before the lesson, that Jedi were not supposed to form attachments this way. It's too late for you now -- no matter what you'd promised Obi-Wan, you are very much attached.

"Your thoughts betray you, dear one," Obi-Wan murmurs in the shell of your ear. You can hear his smile through the gentle scolding. Like he isn't just as fond of you.

"And your body betrays you," you shoot back, rubbing your thigh against his dick once more. It jerks at the attention, always eager to make itself known when you're involved.

He laughs a little at that, the sound low and conceding. "So it does."

"What will we do about it?" you ask. You lean in and place a string of kisses down his throat, teasing the sensitive place right below his ear. His shaky inhale and flash of excitement through the bond tell you all you need to know about how it affects him.

“Anything,” says Obi-Wan. "Anything you want." You hear him swallow, trying to keep it together. Collecting himself, using the patience that comes with the training of a Jedi Master. You can see him losing his grip, but it's not enough. You want him utterly lost.

But as luck would have it, you have a trick up your sleeve that might change things.

"I want this," you reach down and grab his dick, giving it a firm squeeze, "inside me."

His breathing grows harsher. "We -- I -- we can't." Even as he arches into your touch, wanting it. You can feel the damp spot through the thin material of his trousers, evidence of his excitement for you. Gods, he looks good like this. Not letting up, you cup Obi-Wan's erection harder, unable to bite back a whine of your own.

Obi-Wan had refused to enter you without guaranteed protection, which for him meant something more reliable than condoms. (Stars, no matter how much you begged.) An implant chip had been difficult, but not impossible, for you to get.

"We can. See?"

You flex the implanted arm, where the chip sits underneath the surface of the skin. His eyes track the movement, then a finger comes up to trace the tiny device.

"You really got it," he says, almost to himself. The finger presses gently into your arm, moving the chip in little circles. Like he's checking to make sure it's really there. "I didn't think…"

"Didn't think it would ever be a possibility?" you finish. "I have my connections, Master."

Obi-Wan sends a wave of suspicion through the bond, so you show him how it was obtained. As a Jedi healer, you keep in contact with other medical centers throughout Coruscant, trade resources and sometimes favors. It just so happens that you were able to stop by in plainclothes and receive the implant, off-record, from one of your colleagues. Paid for, of course. Evidence of your visit just happened to disappear from the data system after your friend inserted the chip.

"I can't say I entirely agree with your methods," he admits. "Still, I much prefer it to you risking one from the black market."

"I wouldn't take that kind of chance."

"I know." He kisses your cheek. "You're smarter than that. But desperation can drive us to do things we normally wouldn't."

You squirm, happy that he's okay with what you've done, but getting restless. In your hand, his cock hasn't softened a bit, but from the way he's speaking, you wouldn't think it. How does he do it? The Knights you'd been with before hadn't had a quarter of his self control. Then again, they aren't half the man that Obi-Wan is.

"Speaking of desperation." You let out a small laugh, half breathlessness, half embarrassment. Your pulse is racing, and you know he can tell how badly you want him. "Please, Master? Take me?"

And you feel the waver. His serenity shivering like a mirage in the sand. The physical proof of how hard he's trying to keep it together in your hand jolts again at your words, how politely you beg for him. You know he loves it.

"Little one." His voice is low in your ear, something about the tone strange and new and dangerous. "Are you sure you know what you're asking for?"

You nod vigorously. "Obi-Wan, I -- I've wanted this for so long. Yes."

A flicker of uncertainty shows in his eyes as his hand comes up to cup your cheek once more. "So have I. But if I were to...to hurt you, you must tell me immediately. We can stop as soon as you say. And --" His anxiety is running away, and you break in to stop it.

"Hey. Hey," you put a finger to his lips, and he frowns at the interruption. "Obi-Wan. Listen to the Force. Feel me."

With a shaky breath, he does. Trusting in the Force is something he's been doing his whole life, and asking him to do it now helps calm him down. His half of your bond reaches, nerves spread over his emotions like thorns. When all you have to show him is your eagerness, your excitement, your joy that you finally get to do this with him, much of it relaxes.

I very much want you, Master Kenobi. It will not hurt. Unless...I want it to.

He's silent for a long moment, contemplating your implication. Then, "Trousers off, sweetest."

Yes!

Obi-Wan chuckles at your mental cheering, while you get to your feet and struggle out of your pants and underwear. He follows suit, sitting up on the bed and making quick work of his own clothes. You pause in taking off your tunic, because stars.

If you think he's pretty with clothes on, it's nothing compared to him looking up at you naked. His toned body is covered in fine, coppery hair, and adorned with a scattering of scars. You love to hear him tell their stories. What you love most, though, are the freckles. Almost gold in color and not visible when he's wearing robes, you feel like there are thousands spanning across every inch of the normally hidden skin. Like they exist just for you to kiss and worship. Miniature sunspots, marking his time in the galaxy.

This is the first time he's been fully naked for you, and Obi-Wan seems shy about being on display while you're still half dressed. You are so gorgeous, you think. His cock arcs up toward his belly, leaking a little at the tip. You all but lick your lips, watching a drop of pre-come dribble down his shaft. You want it inside you.

"Then take it," he murmurs, eyes darting back up to yours. One hand pats his own naked thigh, an invitation. His legs spread further, and you moan. "Come here, darling."

You don't need any more persuading. Even if you're nervous, you can't see yourself waiting one second longer for this. So you cross the small distance, crawl toward him on the mattress, and let Obi-Wan wrap his arms around you.

At first, that's where it stays. He sighs into your chest, breathing in the scent of you. You squeak when he reaches around and squeezes your bare ass with one hand, giving you a wry smile. The look almost says, Well? Are you going to ride my dick or not? You’re overwhelmed with how much of him there is to touch, how fucking nice he looks, just sitting there waiting for you. Like he could do it all day, no matter what his dick is saying. Patient and perfect and kind.

So you scoot closer, brushing your wet slit against his length. His nails grip into your naked skin, holding on tight as he watches your face. You relish the idea of his neatly kept fingernails leaving little marks on your hips and ass, where no one will know but you. You take him in your hand, lining him up with your opening, and Obi-Wan bites his lip -- hard. Still not letting more than the softest of gasps leave his mouth.

But as you wrap your legs around his waist and bury his cockhead in your wet warmth, that changes fast. He's barely inside you, testing both of your limits. You rock your hips a little, adjusting to the feeling of having something so large there, though you know this is just the beginning. Obi-Wan looks up at you, eyes huge, stock-still. You can feel him holding back, that perfect composure crumbling.

"This -- alright?" he asks, voice strained as if it's taking everything in him not to push you down onto his entire length.

You run a hand over his chest, taking a moment to appreciate the situation.

"More than," you say, hitching your hips higher. His cock sinks further, only a little, but each of you responds to the sensation. When you try a shallow thrust, Obi-Wan makes a sound suspiciously like a growl.

"Then please," he bites out.

"Please what?" you pull back until his tip sits inside your slit, and you swear he whines. You clench on nothing, wanting him fully seated inside you as much as he does, but teasing him like this is getting both of you so worked up.

"More," he gasps. "need you deeper, gods, don't -- don't tease me --"

Finally. You grin down at him, glad that he's stopped trying to act so composed. His face is flushed with the embarrassment of saying such a thing out loud, but he's looking right at you, determined to make you understand how much he needs it. Obi-Wan tugs at your tunic, hands insisting that it come off and now. You raise your arms and let him strip you bare, not missing the hungry look he gives your tits.

"Of course. All you had to do was ask," you say, and sink onto him completely.

You see his eyes roll back, and he does nothing to stifle the moan of relief and pleasure that rises from his throat. It echoes in the small space, sending dual shivers of fear and excitement through you. He realizes his mistake, uneasiness bristling in his Force signature.

Kriff, you wish that you weren’t doing this in the Temple right now. Because as delicious as he is trying to keep quiet -- all round eyes and stifled whimpers -- you’re greedy. You want more; your name in his mouth, on a desperate cry as he comes. Obi-Wan’s always so loud in your mind, in his pleasure, you can’t imagine what it would be like if he was actually using his voice. Hopefully being with him somewhere less...populated is something you can do in the future. For now, you work with what you’ve got. Starting a shallow rhythm, you ride Obi-Wan’s cock.

“Fuck,” you hiss, hands turning to claws as you scramble for something to hold onto. One wraps around Obi-Wan’s shoulder while the other finds purchase against his chest, your nails digging hard in his skin. He covers the hand with his own, making yours look tiny in comparison.

“Lan --guage --” he says in the middle of a deeper thrust from you, caught off guard. You can only laugh, breathless, too focused on keeping a reasonable volume yourself. It’s like you can feel every single curve and vein of him, like his cock was made to fit snug against your walls. Obi-Wan’s starting to meet your hips with every thrust, chest heaving with his ragged breath. He yanks you closer, your bodies parallel now instead of you sitting on him.

His pupils are blown wide in those deep blue eyes as he fucks you harder, nearly lifting you off of him with the force of it. At this point, you don’t have to do anything but sit there and take it.

“Obi-wan,” you whine. Tension is coiling deep in your stomach, and you’re powerless to stop yourself from giving your throbbing clit attention. But when he realizes what you’re trying to do, he bats your hand away and does it himself, calloused fingers providing a rough stimulus to the most sensitive part of your body. He pinpoints it in seconds, caressing and stroking just the way you like it. You clap a hand over your mouth to stifle the squeak you can’t bite back, spreading your legs further under his soaked fingers.

“If you’re coming,” he growls in your ear, not far off himself, “then I’m going to be the one responsible.”

Fuck fuck fuck fuck --

Maybe it’s the expert way he’s manhandling your body. Maybe it’s the way he’s still thrusting inside you, breath getting higher and more ragged as you sense him getting closer to his orgasm. Maybe it’s the way his half of the bond is blown wide open, a door left open in a storm, banging against its hinges. Obi-Wan’s thoughts are a barrage on your mind, relentless, almost too much to handle in such a sensitive state.

Gods so beautiful could look at you all day -- you’re going to come for me, darling, aren’t you? -- I love the way you look you feel so amazing around me so tight so wet so perfect --

It’s too much. Hand still tight over your mouth, you sob and come, bucking against his fingers as the contractions wrack your body in pulse after pulse. He’s generous enough to thrust more gently as you shiver through it, his eyes glued to the curve of your throat, how you’ve thrown your head back. Your thoughts are a blaze of nothing but Obi-Wan.

When you catch your breath, you slide off of him in one motion, feeling slick drip down your thighs. The mix of confusion and panic that shoots through the bond would have made you laugh, if you weren’t so turned on and orgasm-fuzzy.

“Your turn, Master,” you say, sinking onto your back with your legs across his lap. You wiggle there, teasing. “On top. Come for me -- please?”

For a few seconds, he does nothing. Then the realization of what you want, what you’ve said, hits him. Obi-Wan rushes over you like a tsunami, caging you against the bed. His cockhead brushes your sensitive slit and you arch into it, not shy about how badly you want this. When he lines himself up and sinks deep inside you, he buries the sound he makes into your shoulder, teeth grazing your collarbone. He starts thrusting at a brutal pace, forcing your breath out of you with every push in. You scratch at his back, helpless to control yourself, and that only makes him fuck you harder.

“Little -- one,” he grits out, hot breath on your skin.

“Y--es?”

“This -- won’t last long.” Obi-Wan’s pace is getting erratic even as he says it. “Where do y-you want --?”

“Inside me,” you answer without hesitation. “Obi-Wan, please, inside, come for me, please --”

Oh my gods, sweetest, yes -- yes -- oh, oh, oh --!

He doesn’t need any more persuading. Three more thrusts and he’s spilling inside you, hot and deep, planted as far in as he can get. He bites down on your shoulder through it, chest flat against your own. You find yourself hoping he leaves a mark. You roll your hips, loving the broken moans it drives from his lips.

Obi-Wan stays inside you after it’s over, nestling his head on your shoulder. Contentment swirls in his life Force, an almost drunken sense of relief and euphoria making him drowsy. You twine your own through it, letting him know you’ve been equally satisfied. It feels so right to lie here with him, a tangle of limbs and Force, knowing one another in every way. He hums in your ear, one hand stroking your hair sleepily. Though you’ve lived in this Temple your whole life, you’ve never felt more at home.

“Darling,” he says, voice lilting. You feel him stirring inside you, starting to harden again already.

“Yes?”

“Let’s go again.”

That’s a surprise. You expected him to politely but firmly insist you clean up in the fresher and then make yourself scarce, lest someone get suspicious about where you’ve gone to. Your silence must confirm that you’re taken aback, because he continues.

“I ship out again tomorrow.”

When you curse this time, he only laughs. “Such is war, love. Are you up for it, or not?”

You can’t refuse him.

#come what may ao3 #wickedscribbles #obi wan kenobi #obi wan x you #obi wan fanfiction #obi wan x oc #obiwan smut #obi wan smut #ziva courtee #obi-wan x oc #obi-wan fanfic

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squirrel-moose-winchester · 4 years

Text

Keeping Secrets

Title: Keeping Secrets

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2075

Square Filled: Castiel

Summary: Under the spell of a truth potion, Y/N reveals things to Cass that she makes him promise not to tell anyone, especially Dean. Cass agrees, but secrets tend to find a way of revealing themselves whether you like it or not.

Warnings: Fluffiness, Keeping Secrets, Misunderstandings, Mentions of Killing (not literal), violent threats, Innocent Angels, Language? (honestly, I my mind is so scrambled right now, I can’t remember if there’s any…), Mentions of Kinkiness, and I think that’s it.

Written for @spndeanbingo (round 2)

Disclaimer: No my gif. Credit to giuls from tenor.com. All mistakes are mine.

A/N: Secrets, man… so easy to keep, yet at the same time, so hard to keep as well. Or is it just me? A side effect of being a terrible liar? Lol. Well, there’s a fun fact about myself. I am a terrible liar! Happy Reading! xx

Hey, Cass told me. There’s nothing to be ashamed about, it’s OK.

When you read that text, your face went up in flames with embarrassment, and now, you were on a mission to find one very, soon to be dead, Angel who spilled the beans. You couldn’t believe Cass told Dean! You confided in him in full confidentiality! Hell, Cass promised to keep his mouth shut, that he’d never tell Dean, that you could trust him to keep your secret, but now you knew that you were wrong.

Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong!

“Castiel, when I get my hands on you, I’m going to throttle your stupid angelic neck!” you muttered to yourself, brows furrowed and lips morphed into a deep frown.

You stomped through the bunker looking for the blabbermouth. Still grumbling, you passed Jack’s room, the seemingly teenaged boy looking at you, as you ducked in, with a confused expression. When you didn’t respond to him after he called your name several times, he decided to follow you, wondering why you were acting so strange.

He picked up on a few key words you were saying: stupid, angel, kill, asshole, assbutt, and a few other choice words that he knew were inappropriate but didn’t quite understand what they really implied.

Next, you stormed into the kitchen finding Sam eating a salad. In your already foul mood, you scoffed at his choice of nutrition, rolling your eyes at the gentle giant of a man.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” He asked, looking at you and then to Jack, who shrugged in obliviousness.

“I’m fine,” you hissed, not meaning to snap at him. “Have you seen Cass?”

“Uh, no. He should be in here somewhere. He didn’t mention anything about leaving,” Sam provided.

“Okay, thanks,” you replied, tone still not very pleasant.

You marched onwards, Jack still trailing behind you. He wasn’t sure if you knew that he was following, or if you simply didn’t care, but Jack continued on regardless.

The two of you made it to the war room, the space void aside for a few empty beer bottles that was most likely left by Dean. Growling in disapproval, you walked into the library next, just in time to see Sam walk in from the other end.

“Cass, there you are. Y/N’s looking for you and she doesn’t seem very happy,” Sam warned just as you stepped in.

“Damn right I’m unhappy,” you confirmed, storming up to Cass. “I can’t believe you told Dean!”

“I don’t understand. What did I tell him that I wasn’t supposed to?” Cass questioned, the look on his face completely perplexed.

“Oh, you know what you told him!”

Cass squinted his eyes and tilted his head, a tell that told you he was trying recollect what he possibly could have said. Annoyed with him, you exclaimed in frustration. “I can’t believe you told Dean that I liked him!” you finally revealed, Jack and Sam’s eyes widening and brows raising.

“What?”

Your body froze when you heard the familiar deep voice echo through the library. You didn’t dare to look back, already knowing your face must be glowing with humiliation.

With wide eyes and mouth slightly ajar, Cass’ eyes went from you to the Dean, who had taken a few more steps closer and was now standing directly behind you, next to Jack. “Uh… Y/N,” Cass started, “I never disclosed any of that information to Dean,” the angel confessed.

“I don’t get it,” Jack interrupted. “I thought we all liked each other? You know, we’re a family?”

Sam cleared his throat at that, giving Jack an acknowledging smile. “Uh, yeah. We do like each other, but they’re talking about a different kind of like.”

“Like what? Like love?” the innocent boy blurted, the word love making you cringe.

“Whoa, whoa, hang on a second,” Dean took control of the room. “Y/N, you love me?” He asked, neck a little stretched out, eyes wide, and mouth hanging open with disbelief.

Shyly, you turned to face him, heart leaping when you instantly made eye contact. “Didn’t you already know that? You texted me that Cass told you.”

“What?” Cass quipped. “I did not tell him that,” he defended himself.

“No,” Dean confirmed. “When I texted you that, I was talking about the hunt.”

Your face went completely white. Just the other day, you and Cass had come home after what was supposed to be an easy hunt. You were adamant that the monster you were hunting was a vengeful spirit possessing innocent people, but it turned out to be a witch casting curses. It was that mistake that landed you in becoming a victim of said curse. A truth curse.

The witch worked at the diner where all the incidents happened. You figured that the ghost was attached to something or someone in the restaurant, but it was the witch mixing people’s drinks with her truth potion. That was how your secret was let out to Cass, but he had assured you that he wouldn’t tell anyone, that your secret was safe with him. And it was true, you told Cass how stupid you felt for not realizing that it wasn’t a spirit but a witch terrorizing the small town. You made a mistake and you weren’t the type that to brush off little mistakes like that. You took it to heart, like you were a bad hunter.

“Oh…” was all you could say at that point, feeling even more embarrassed, and stupid, that you already were.

“Uh, hey Cass, Jack, how about we go into the kitchen; give Dean and Y/N some privacy to talk.

The three of them left the room, heading into the kitchen. You were grateful at that but at the same time, you wished that he would have invited you along, but you knew that it was too late and you and Dean needed to have this talk.

“Y/N…” you flinched at the sound of your name.

Wanting to beat the bullet, you just let everything out on the table. “Look, I’m sorry okay? No one was supposed to know! I know you don’t feel the same way but I hope we can just forget all about this and pretend that it never happened. I was drugged out and didn’t really mean it,” you continued on until Dean stopped you.

“Y/N, stop. First of all, you weren’t drugged out, you were bewitched with a truth potion. Everything you said was the truth, not something you didn’t really mean.”

Your shoulders dropped knowing he was right. The only thing left now was to take the rejection. There would be no more fantasizing about all the what ifs because all those dreams were about to be crushed by the hard truth… Dean Winchester did not love you back. Great.

“Okay, I get it,” you sighed. “Look, I’m sorry. I know you don’t feel the same way, so I’ll do my best to get over you,” you told him.

“What? No!” Dean exclaimed. “Y/N, you don’t have to do that. Uh…” Dean’s demeanor suddenly changed and if you were reading his body language correctly, he seemed tense, timid… cute. No! Y/N stop it! Don’t think that way! “Uh, I actually kind of…”

In the kitchen, Sam leaned against the prep table, Cass sat at the table, while Jack stood in the middle of the room. “So...” Jack started, “when you said that they were talking about a different kind of like, you mean love?”

Sam met Jack’s gaze, “basically,” he answered.

“Okay… I don’t see what the problem is. Don’t we all love each other? I mean, it’s pretty much that same thing, right?” Jack questioned.

This time Sam let out a soft chuckle. “No, Jack. Y/N is in love with Dean… romantically.”

“Oh! Okay, I get it now. So Dean is in love with Y/N and now Y/N is in love with Dean! They both are in love with each other! That’s a really good thing, right?” Jack smiled, proud of himself for final grasping the situation.

“Yes, that is correct,” Cass answered instead. “But after we killed the witch and the potion wore off, Y/N told me not to tell Dean. But she ended up telling him herself instead, albeit it was unintentional.”

“I think this will be good for them. They deserve to be happy,” Sam grinned, actually glad that the truth was all out there.

Dean struggled to admit his own feelings. He wasn’t the type to talk about his emotions but if he wanted to have a future, like a real future, with you, then he had to tell you. He had to confess to you too.

“You actually kind of what?” you asked.

“Uh, I actually kind of… you know. I like you too,” he finally said it.

It was your turn to be dumbfounded. You weren’t sure if you heard him correctly, but at the same time you didn’t want to ask him to repeat himself, scared to find out that it was merely your delusional head playing tricks on you. It couldn’t be possible that Dean felt the same way, right?

“Y/N, did you hear me?” Dean inquired.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you correctly. I thought you said you felt the same way,” you giggled bashfully.

“Because I did.”

You froze at the confession. There was no denying it now. Dean had just confirmed that he felt the same way you did. The thought of how to proceed from there was short-circuiting your brain, not once ever thinking this was possible. Dean had said, on more than one account, that in this life, falling in love was impossible, that it would only end bad. You agreed with him, but that didn’t stop you from feeling the way that you felt, and now he was admitting that he had feelings. Those exact forbidden feelings he said hunters couldn’t have.

Having never planned for this unforeseen moment, you shifted your eyes from his to whatever you could find in the room. You were looking at an open book when you heard footsteps, and when you looked back to Dean, he was right there in front of you, his lips an inch away from yours. An audible gasp escaped you and Dean simply smiled.

“I thought you said hunters can’t have love,” you gulped, eyes trained on his invitingly pink lips.

“I say a lot of things Sweetheart, but if you’re willing, I’m willing to give this a try too. You know… give us a try.”

Averting your eyes to his, you searched for something that told you he was lying, that he didn’t mean it, but when you saw nothing but sincerity, you couldn’t help yourself. You lunged into him, arms wrapping around his neck and lips smashed against his in a needy fashion. Dean growled, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist as he hoisted you off the ground a little. When you pulled away, you were both breathless with matching dopey smiles stretched on each of your lips.

“Wow, Winchester,” you grinned.

“Better than you imagined?” he teased.

“So much better.”

“Everything okay in here?” Sam asked as he stepped back into the library, Cass and Jack in toe.

“Everything is great!” you beamed, taking your place beside your new boyfriend, hands intertwined.

“So are you two together now?” Cass questions, looking at your interlocked hands.

“Yup! All secrets are out. There’s nothing to hide anymore,” you assured.

“I see. Then can I ask you a question, since there are no more secrets?” Cass directed his question at you.

“Uh… go for it,” was you reply, not knowing you would soon regret it.

“When you were under the truth spell, you said you wanted Dean to punish you. To tie you up and punish you all night long. Spanking and choking you. I don’t understand why’d you want him to inflict pain on you.”

Your face went red as all eyes were on you. Jack had no idea what the hell was going on, but Sam gave you that horrified look, knowing he just heard something he wasn’t supposed to, or needed to know. Dean on the other hand was shocked at first, but quickly smirked at the notion.

“Cass!” you shouted it mortification. “I’m gonna kill you!” Just as you were about to attack him, a flutter of wings echoed through the room and he was gone. “Cass!”

A/N: You made it to the end! Thank you guys for reading! I appreciate you taking the time to read what I wrote! If you enjoyed it, please reblog to help share my fic, and leave a comment because it acts as fuel to keep writing and to keep posting! Y’all have a beautiful morning, day or night! xx

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yandere-daze · 4 years

Text

Mine forever- Yandere Risotto Nero x reader (Smut)

A continuation of the Risotto yandere scenario I posted earlier today. You can find it here! Literally no one asked for this but was in the mood to write this. I´ve actually never written smut before so I´m sorry if it isn´t all that good. I hope you´ll still like it tho!! ^^

Also @kindajared because you wanted a tag when I post this. Here you go!

You were right with your earlier assumption. You wouldn´t leave this office anytime soon, not if Risotto had any say in it. His hand was gently caressing your face, but you knew. As soon as you showed any kind of resistance, he would harshly grab your face and pull you close again. You couldn´t leave, even if you wanted to. But now as Risotto was practically devouring your lips, biting them now and again, you weren´t so sure you really wanted to leave anymore. You felt yourself slowly relaxing and easing into the kiss, returning his fervor as you grabbed him by his shoulder, pulling your boss even closer. You could feel his warm breath against your face as he chuckled lowly. “Is someone getting excited?”, he mused.

“No! I- ahh!”, you tried to explain yourself but any kind of defense you might have conjured up in your mind seemed to disappear when you felt a foreign pressure against your lips. Risotto had lightly parted his own lips to press his tongue against yours, asking for permission. Seeing how he gazed at you expectantly and almost demanding, you couldn´t help but submit as you did the same, granting him entrance to your mouth. Without wasting any time, you immediately felt his tongue intermingle with yours, creating a strange foreign feeling as you two wrestled for dominance. While you felt Risotto further explore your mouth, he started to lift the hand resting on your cheek and moved it further down along your neck with fluttering touches. His hand went lower and lower before resting on your butt, giving it a teasing squeeze. You let out a light gasp at the feeling “C-capo! Stop that! What are you trying to do?”. “You know exactly what I´m trying to do amore.”, he whispered after breaking off your passionate kiss. Moving his hand upward again, he slipped it under your shirt, gently caressing your back with calloused hands, before repositioning them again, now resting on top of your breasts. You let out a shaky breath as he slowly moved his hands, playing with your nipples. “Risotto! Ahh- are you sure about this? ” , you couldn´t help but ask. Were you really going to…? Was that even allowed? He WAS your boss after all. Seemingly noticing your hesitancy his face morphed into a smirk as he continued fondling your breasts, lowering his voice again to whisper into your ear. “You have no idea, darling. I´ve wanted to do this for so long. Having you under me, moaning my name as I pound into you, claiming you forever as mine. You will be mine, amore. I´ll make you feel so good you won´t ever want anyone else again. So please, be a good girl for me and let me take care of you.”

To say that what he whispered into your ear had no effect on you would have been a bold-faced lie. You felt heat rise to your face and a strange feeling pool at the bottom of your stomach as you subtly tried to squeeze your thighs together at the strange sensation. This of course, didn´t go unnoticed by your boss who immediately focused his strong gaze onto your lower body. He removed one of his hands from your chest while the other one continued to circle around your nipples, teasing them relentlessly causing you to let out soft mewls in pleasure. Completely focusing on his left hand, you were surprised when you felt pressure against your clit coming from his right hand. It seemed that while you weren´t paying attention, he had slipped his hand under your skirt now fondling you through your already soaked panties. “ Fuck, you´re so wet for me amore. You want this as much as I do, don´t you? You love the attention I´m giving you. Let me get rid of these needless distractions.”, he said as he almost teasingly removed your shirt and skirt, leaving you standing in your underwear in front of his hungry eyes, clouded over by lust. “I´m half naked and you´re completely clothed? That´s not very fair now is it?”, you decided to tease back. Letting out a low chuckle at the display of your playful nature, he removed most of his clothes, leaving only his boxers on which gave you a …. very nice view to say the least. Risotto´s giant bulge was very visible now, stretching the material it was incased in. You couldn´t help but reach out a curious hand, wanting to touch it now that it was so close to you. Finally touching the soft material of his boxers, you decide to be bold and slip your hand under the garment, just as he had done for you. You were surprised to feel how hard he had already gotten as you start to slowly move your hand up and down his giant cock. How was this even supposed to fit into you, you wondered. “Fuck, tesoro you´re being so good for me. Don´t stop! Can you see what you do to me? I´ve been fantasizing about this for so long, having you writhe underneath me. Ahhhh.”, your ministrations obviously did something to him, letting out low groans while he kept rubbing at your clit, now tossing your panties aside. You couldn´t help but let out a loud moan as he slowly pressed one of his fingers against your entrance before pushing further and entering you. It was a strange and at first a bit painful feeling, but you soon became accustomed to it. Apparently feeling your walls slowly relax around him he inserted a second finger, stretching you even further as he began to do a scissoring motion and you continued to stroke his hard cock. You could feel a pool of pleasure build up inside you as you slowly started to meet his fingers by pushing your hips forward, trying to create more friction in the process. “God, I don´t think I can hold back anymore y/n. I want to fuck so you bad. Bend you over my desk as I pound into you. I´m going to mark you all over so everyone will know you´re mine. I´m going to fill you up so good amore! You´ll let me do that, right?”. You couldn´t do anything except shakingly nod your head in approval. The feeling of your capo´s fingers twisting inside of you felt good but it wasn´t quite enough anymore. You wanted the real deal. You waited impatiently as Risotto stood up to remove his boxers, now feeling incredibly empty without his fingers inside of you. He shot you a teasing gaze while sliding them down painfully slow so you couldn´t help but send back a small glare. He only chuckled before now standing completely naked in front of you, his impressive length being right in front of you, almost teasingly. “Now”, your boss began while roughly grabbing you by your shoulders, pushing you down on your back so you would lie on top of his desk, not caring what kind of mess you two would make. He grinned down at you with hungry eyes as he started to teasingly rub the tip of his hard cock against your wet folds, making you shiver in anticipation. Not being able to handle the emptiness any longer you exclaim “Just put it in already!”. “Feisty are we now? You know who´s in charge here right? But I´ll comply this time.” He then pushed into you, slowly stretching your tight walls around him as he entered you. It hurt but you knew the pain would fade away soon, just as it did with his fingers, so you tried to relax to make the beginning more bearable. “That´s it tesoro, you´re taking my cock so well. It´s like your pussy was made for me to claim. You´re perfect for me. Let me hear your pretty voice call out my name in ecstasy!”, he proclaimed as he slowly picked up the pace when he saw you were adjusting to his size. You felt so satisfied and full now as your boss started to thrust into you, moving his hips as he pushed in and out of your pussy. You couldn´t help but let out a loud moan and curl your toes as he hit that sweet spot inside of you. “That´s it, moan for me! Let everyone hear that you´re mine!” He pulled you closer so he could get easier access to your neck, leaving hickies to further mark you as his as he continued to pound into you, going at a rapid pace now. “God your pussy feels so good, you´re so tight. You´re making me go crazy y/n!”, he exclaimed while drilling into you, making you feel so good as he kept hitting that spot. You felt like you were in heaven, it just felt too good to be true. “Fuck yes, Risotto! Please keep fucking me! Make me cum, capo!!”, you moaned out. You didn´t care what you sounded or looked like right now, you just knew that you didn´t want this moment to end. Hearing you call him capo seemed to awaken something in him. He let out a low groan as he picked up the pace even more, fucking you relentlessly, balls deep inside of you. “Ahhh y/n I´m growing close. You´re close too, right? You´re clenching around me so good! Let´s cum together. This is an order from your capo y/n. Cum for me! Cum on my cock and milk me dry!”. You´ve never seen your boss like this before but you hoped it wouldn´t be the last time. He made you feel so good, you were seeing stars as you frantically screamed his name as you felt your climax approaching, your toes curling up again. “Fuck! Risotto I´m going to cum!”, you exclaimed as you frantically met his harsh thrusts , gradually getting closer to the edge before finally feeling white hot release as you shuddered and twitched unvoluntarily. You felt Risotto was close too, you felt his dick twitch inside you as your walls clenched around him.

He let out another low groan before pulling out, stroking his hard cock some more before quickly pushing inside your pussy again. “I´m going to come too darling! You´re just to good for me. You´re going to let me come inside you right? I want to so badly. I´ll fill you up with my cum and claim you forever! You´re mine right? Say it!”. He was growing dangerously close, you could tell from his frantic thrust so you decided to say what he wanted to hear to drive him over the edge. “I´m all yours capo! Please fill me up! I want your cum inside of me, I want you to claim me as yours!”

“Ahhhh fuck- I´m gonna, I´ll-!”he let out rushed sentences before finally finding release as you felt his cum fill you up, some even dropping out of your pussy from the sheer amount of it. Both of you heaving and panting, you slowly started to come down from your high as he practically laid on top of you, cradling your hand. “You´re all mine now. You´ll never leave me and no one is going to take you away from me. We´ll be together forever!”

He´ll never let you out of his sight now.

#not sfw #jojos bizarre adventure #jjba #part 5 #golden wind #vento aureo #la squadra #yandere x reader #risotto nero #risotto x reader #risotto nero x reader #yandere risotto nero x reader #yandere risotto x reader #scenario #yandere character #male yandere #tw yandere #yandere

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beetlebitchywitch · 5 years

Text

Yes, Professor

So our discord server might have come up with some professor AU’s for the Conglomerate and we might’ve gone a weeeee bit feral. So here’s what came of me deciding to target @realmonsterboyhours with two of her favorite boys, Zhuk and Bajo. Enjoy!

(If you’re unaware of the Conglomerate, a Mafia!Beej AU with 5 iterations of him, click here to get the full rundown courtesy of @monsterlovinghours

Warning: NSFW, some degradation, double teaming, spanking, just a fun time to be had

“Professor?”

“Hmm? Ah yes, come in, dorogoy.”

You hesitated in the doorway to his office, taken aback for a moment by the lavishness of the decor before you slowly entered, shutting the door behind you with trembling hands. You took a deep breath, thankful that your professor’s eyes were trained on his tea as he raised his bobbing tea bag in and out of the steaming mug. The truth was, Professor Zhuk had always intimidated you. Though he was a physically imposing man, it was his regality that truly made you feel small next to him. He spoke with an air of confidence and intelligence that no other professor could match, save for-

...Oh dear God.

“Buenos dias, querida,” Professor Escarabajo said from the plush armchair in the corner, a playful smirk playing on his lips. You stopped in your tracks, your brain sprinting to try and catch up with this unexpected turn of events. You knew you had to see Zhuk to speak about your grade in his Marxist Literature class, so why would the head of the History Department be waiting for you as well? You felt your cheeks stain a light pink despite your desperate attempts to keep yourself in check, already shrinking under the intensity of the professor’s mirthful gaze.

“This is my colleague, Professor Escarabajo,” Zhuk said cheerily, seemingly unaware of your growing nervousness as he gestured to the other man. “He will be joining us for our brief meeting. I hope that this won’t be a problem?”

You avoided his gaze, simply nodding as you sunk into the chair across from the two of them, thankful for the plush softness enveloping your body. After a moment, you felt composed enough to meet Zhuk’s gaze with a polite smile, folding your hands in your lap to disguise the telltale tremble of an intimidated woman.

“Not a problem at all, sir,” you replied softly, thumbing over the soft fabric of your skirt.

“Excellent,” he said, sipping at his tea- Earl Grey, you suspected, given the earthy aroma- before fumbling with his little gold reading glasses, sliding them over the bridge of his nose as he read through a few papers strewn across his desk.

God, what you wouldn’t give to be those pa-

No. Stop. You couldn’t be having those kinds of thoughts in front of the man you’d been fantasizing about for weeks. Christ, watching him command a classroom, demanding the attention of his students with a booming voice as he masterfully took you all through the intricacies of some of the most complicated literature you’d ever read...it made you want to throw yourself out of your chair and beg him to fuck you in front of the rest of the class.

But you couldn’t think of that. Not here, not in his office, not in front of another professor. You pinched your leg softly, hoping to distract yourself away from the fantasies that could only be making your cheeks redder by the second.

“Now, it seems you’ve been struggling on your reflections for Marxist Literature,” he said, looking over what you assumed to be a stack of the assignments you’d managed to turn in on time. “Tell me how I can be of help to you, moy dorogoy.”

You felt like you were short circuiting, your mind lulled by the sweet timbre of his beautifully accented voice, especially when he called you something in Russian that you were aching to know the meaning of. Gulping, you straightened your body in the chair, attempting to look as professional and put together as you knew you could never be in their presence.

“Well, Professor, Marxist Literature has honestly been a challenge for me,” you replied, hoping honesty would truly be the best policy. “I find it hard to look at literature from a Marxist lens when I’ve learned so little of his political theory in my classes up until this point.”

“Ah, should I tell Professor Scarabee that he’s slacking off in his teaching?” Escarabajo asked, his golden eyes alight with mischief. Your stomach lurched, oh God you were going to vomit, you couldn’t handle even the gentlest of teasing from this professor who was somehow just as handsome as Zhuk, except rougher, clearly looser, and apparently feeding off of your evident nervousness, if the look in his eye was anything to go off of.

“No, no, not at all!” you stammered. “I haven’t had the pleasure of being taught by him, but I’m sure he’s great at what he does, Professor Escarabajo.”

“Please, querida,” he said, his playful smirk softening as he gave you a little wink. “Call me Bajo.”

“Bajo…” you replied, and, despite everything, giving him a little smile of your own.

“Yes, well…” Zhuk said, clearing his throat to regain your attention. You snapped back, your stomach churning with anxiety as he stared you down. “I am happy to provide you with a few extra lessons, dorogoy. In fact, it seems to be fate that Professor...Bajo was here with me today. He just so happens to know quite a bit of Marxist political theory, yes?”

“Indeed I do,” Bajo replied, lounging back in the plush chair. “And I have nowhere to be. Will you allow for a bit of extra tutoring, pequeña?”

This felt like something straight out of a romance novel. Two gorgeous professors giving you a private study session behind closed doors? You nodded, shooting them a thankful smile as you tried not to let those kinds of thoughts into your mind. You needed to learn about Marx, and your professors were kind enough to help you, so you wouldn’t waste their time getting distracted by the demands of your body. You pulled out your textbook and sat back in the chair, ready to finally get some work done.

Of course, the world seemed to be against you from the start, because you simply couldn’t grasp a single thing the two of them were trying to teach you. It felt like your brain had turned to mush, the difficult political concepts sloshing around inside your skull and never finding a place to stick. Your answers were sloppy, your insights poor, and with every passing minute, you could feel the tension in the room grow. Zhuk was a patient man, you could tell he was trying to be gentle with you, but there was only so much even he could take. You could hear the growing aggravation in his voice, which only served to discombobulate you further. Finally, when you couldn’t even form an answer to the simplest of questions, Zhuk tossed your papers frustratedly onto his desk, running his fingers through his hair.

“Dorogoy,” he began, his voice deep and tense in a way that made your muscles clench. “We are doing all that we can to help you, but we are of no use to you if you refuse to pay attention.”

“N-no!” you stammered, feeling hot shame flush your cheeks once more. “That’s not it!”

“Then what is it, pequeña?” Bajo grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose as he took deep, slow breaths. “Because I refuse to waste my time trying to help a student who won’t repay the favor by actually listening.”

“That’s...I-I…” you fought the urge to curl in on yourself, your fingers digging into your sides as you tried and failed to put yourself together. Suddenly, Bajo stopped, looking down at you curiously before a broad grin spread across his face.

“Look up at me, querida,” he demanded, putting two fingers under your chin to lift your face so your eyes met. Your cheeks were already shamefully flushed, but the minute you looked into his deep, golden eyes, they grew even redder, your breath coming out in soft, shaky pants. You could see the satisfaction in his gaze as he let go of your chin and turned to Zhuk.

“I believe I see the problem, amigo,” he said slyly, striding back towards his chair and taking a seat, resting his elbows on his knees as he leered at you. “The only thing distracting our student from us...is us.”

“What are you talking about, Escarabajo?” Zhuk replied, looking you over quizzically. “She seems fine to...oh.”

You looked up at him with a soft gasp at the last word and were startled by the look in his eye. What started as confusion slowly morphed into realization, and realization quickly and readily became hunger. He looked at you like a man starved looks out over a Thanksgiving feast, and though it sent a shiver down your spine, you couldn’t look away. Could this be real? Could the man you spent class after class fantasizing over be looking at you like he wanted you back? The very thought felt shameful, and yet...right.

“So you see it too, hmm?” Bajo asked, startling you out of your reverie. “How naughty of you, mariposa. What ever are we to do with you?” You watched as he looked at Zhuk, his eyes silently asking, begging for permission. Zhuk nodded, letting his eyes flit over to you, frustration still present despite the ever-growing presence of lust, lust, God, you couldn’t even deny it.

“Get up, dorogoy,” he commanded, and the unwavering dominance in his tone had you scrambling from your seat before you could even process what you were doing. You watched fearfully as Bajo strode confidently over to Zhuk’s desk, reaching into the desk drawer to pull out...a long, wooden ruler.

...Christ.

“You know what’s coming, don’t you, tonta?” he said bitingly, smacking the ruler threateningly against his palm. You could feel your legs tremble as you nodded, sniffling under your breath knowing you were about to get what you deserve. “Good girl. Over the desk.”

You hesitated for a moment, a rush of mixed feelings taking you over; fear, shame, excitement, curiosity, desire...it was that last one that got your feet moving, and when you reached the desk, you bent over and braced your arms against the dark wood, the slight breeze against your bare legs making the blood rush to your cheeks once more. You kept your eyes trained on the desk beneath you, shivering at the sound of Bajo’s deep, foreboding chuckle.

“What an obedient girl,” he mused, touching the ruler to your thigh and dragging it up to flip your skirt back, revealing your black, lacy panties. You jumped as his cold hand took hold of the waistband, pulling them down just enough to expose your ass in a way that somehow made you feel more exposed than if he’d taken them off altogether. You could feel Zhuk’s eyes on you, watching silently from behind his desk with his arms crossed in front of him, and you felt it best to sneak a glance at his face. You nearly choked on your tongue at the sight of him, gazing intently at the roundness of your ass like he didn’t know whether to kiss it, smack it, or make love to it. You never imagined your professor looking at you in such a way...well, no, you did, but you never expected those thoughts to come true.

“You will count them for us. Do you understand?” he finally said, his words dripping with a stoic desire that somehow fit him just right. You nodded nervously, your fingers already curling against the wood in anticipation. You heard the whistle of the ruler through the air before you felt it, smacking against your ass loudly though still drowned out by your even louder cry as the pain radiated across your skin. Still, you remembered their command and were afraid of what might happen if you did not obey.

“O-one…” you whimpered, your voice thick with unshed tears.

“What a smart girl,” Bajo said mockingly, bringing the ruler down again with a sharp crack. “Though apparently not smart enough to pay attention. Is it going to take a fucking spanking for you to learn your lesson, mierda por cerebros?”

Tears spilled from your eyes as you stammered out a quiet “Two...”, a hot rush of shame filling your belly not at your lack of attention span, but from how much you liked his degrading words and the pain of each smack of the ruler against your slowly reddening ass. And God, the fact that Zhuk was just watching, staring you down as you were slowly taken apart by his colleague...

“Don’t you have something to say to us, gatita?” Bajo asked angrily as he brought the ruler down for the tenth time. “You made us waste an hour trying to teach you something that you couldn’t pay attention to because you were too busy being a fucking slut. Don’t you feel like you owe us something?”

“I-I...I’m sorry,” you whimpered thickly, watching as your tears dripped onto the wood of Zhuk’s desk.

“Louder, malenk’iy,” Zhuk said sternly, finally moving closer to you and brushing his hand over the raised welts on your ass. You hissed, but still bucked into his touch.

“I’m sorry!” you cried out. “I’m sorry, sirs! I wasted your time, I was a bad girl, I’m sorry!”

“Si,” Bajo said softly, running the ruler soothingly over your ass for a moment before suddenly, his hand was in your hair, yanking your head back so he could press his mouth right against your ear. “And you forgot to count.”

Oh fuck. A deep sense of dread filled your belly, your eyes widening as your tears continued to pour down your cheeks.

“I, no wait, I’m sorry! Please, sir!” you begged, but his hand in your hair only tightened, pulling a choked off whimper out of your lips.

“Escarabajo,” Zhuk interjected, placing his hand on top of Bajo’s in your hair. Yes, your knight in shining armor, come to rescue you from your fate- “I believe it’s my turn.”

...Well, shit.

Your entire body shivered as Bajo’s hand was quickly replaced with Zhuk’s larger one, his touch gentler as he gripped your hair, pushing your head down until your cheek was pressed against the cool wood.

“You were a very bad girl, kukla,” he said sternly, using his free hand to finally pull your panties down until they pooled around your ankles. “Wasting our time, forgetting to count...perhaps a stricter punishment is in order.”

Your breath came out shakily as you heard him quickly unzip his zipper, his cock slapping against a welt on your ass and pulling a hiss from your lips. He chuckled darkly at the sound, letting his fingers trace gently over your reddened skin.

“What do you say, Escarabajo?” he asked, shooting Bajo a bemused look. “Would you like to keep her quiet for me?”

You could only imagine the wicked grin on Bajo’s face as he and Zhuk rearranged you, Zhuk still behind you while Bajo stood in front of you, your head now hanging off the edge of the desk and at eye-level with his hardening cock. He quickly freed himself from his pants, stroking it just inches from your lips with a soft groan.

“You bet your ass I would. Time to put your mouth to better use, muñeca,” he said, rubbing the head of his cock against your lips. You opened them obediently, allowing him to slide inside and moaning softly at the weight of his cock against your tongue as he hit the back of your throat with ease. Zhuk’s fingers, now wet, slid between your legs, teasing at your entrance before sliding inside, making you gasp around Bajo’s cock.

“That’s it, gatita,” he crooned, slowly starting to fuck into your mouth. “Fuck, she feels like fucking heaven, mi amigo.”

“Treat him well, kotenok,” Zhuk said, his voice hushed as he marvelled at how wet you were from a simple spanking. “See if this teaches you how to be a good girl, da?”

You moaned your assent around Bajo’s cock, looking up at him obediently as you did your best to pleasure him, bobbing your head in time with his thrusts as Zhuk’s fingers sent little bursts of pleasure all the way to your fingertips. You felt properly full, your mouth stretched around Bajo’s cock while a second and third finger slid inside you, Zhuk doing his best to stretch you in preparation for what you’d been fantasizing about for weeks. You never expected a second partner thrown into the mix, but you wouldn’t complain about the taste of him in your mouth, the delicious stretch in your jaw as you swallowed him down, the wonderful groans as he fucked down your throat…

It felt like an eternity when Zhuk finally pulled his fingers out of you, and you groaned in protest despite the ache slowly forming in your jaw. He chuckled, smacking his hand cheekily against your ass and amusing himself with your pained squeak.

“Are you ready for your punishment, dorogoy?” he asked, dragging the head of his cock through the wetness of your folds. Confusion and dread took hold in you- you knew you had to be punished, but what could he possibly have in store that they hadn’t already put you through? Finally, he pushed inside of you, his thick cock stretching you more than you could’ve imagined as you let out a long, low groan around Bajo’s cock. When he finally bottomed out, he groaned softly, reveling in the way your pussy clenched around him. With a smirk, he grabbed your hair from behind, holding onto it like a leash. “Because if you’re going to cum...you’re going to have to beg.”

Oh God. You could tell Bajo was getting close, his groans growing higher pitched and his thrusts growing more erratic, his cock sliding fully into your throat with each thrust inside. Your ministrations grew sloppier as you felt hot rushes of pleasure radiating through your body as Zhuk began to take you, his cock dragging so perfectly inside you. It was all rushing to your head, the feeling of being taken so completely, filled to the brim, taken apart piece by piece with unrelenting pleasure. You gazed up at Bajo, your eyes going cloudy as you silently pleaded for him to cum in your mouth, spill inside you, make you his. He obliged a second later, pushing fully into your mouth and holding your face against him as he spilled down your throat, his choked off moan reverberating throughout the small room. You obediently swallowed every drop, gasping for air as he pulled out of you and immediately slumped into the nearest chair, running his fingers through his hair with a blissed out look on his face.

“Ooh, gatita, look how pretty you are when you get fucked,” he crooned, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees to watch you intently. “Give it to her a little harder, amigo, she can take more than that.”

Zhuk obliged, grunting as he sped up with ferocity, pulling on your hair to lift you off the desk so your back was pressed fully against his chest, his hand moving down to wrap around your throat as he took you so hard you thought he was trying to breed you. The very thought sent a warm shiver down your spine, along with Bajo’s eyes watching happily as your tits bounced from each of Zhuk’s thrusts. The head of his cock dragged perfectly against your G spot, pulling pitiful moans from your fucked out mouth.

“What a good little slut,” he growled, mouthing roughly at your neck. “Does someone want to cum?”

“I don’t know, mi amigo, she doesn’t seem to want it that badly,” Bajo said flippantly, his eyes glinting with mischief. You groaned in protest, trying to reach down to circle your fingers around your clit, but your hand was immediately slapped away, Zhuk growling a warning into your skin.

“I told you to beg,” he snarled, hovering his fingers teasingly over your clit, just an inch away from where you needed them to be. “Better make it pretty, too, if you want to cum.”

“P-please!” you whimpered, desperation quickly bubbling up inside of you as the pleasure halted just on the edge of oblivion, needing just a little more in order to boil over. With each thrust, the desperation grew, your hands frustratedly scrabbling for purchase on the desk as you were assaulted and teased with pleasure that refused to finally peak. “God, I need it so bad! Sir, please, please let me cum!”

“I can’t hear you,” he growled, tightening his hand around your throat until your voice was only a mere squeak. Bajo watched with delight, amused and aroused at the sight of you struggling and failing to beg for what you needed. “Louder!”

“PLEASE!” you cried out, frustrated at the bare whisper you somehow managed with the large hand clamping down on your throat. You whined at the sound of their laughter, but it quickly turned to a soft cry as his fingers finally descended on your clit, rubbing in perfect little circles as you finally toppled over the edge, cumming with a silent scream. The pleasure rushed through you like waves, and you sunk deeper and deeper as each one passed until you finally succumbed to the darkness quickly clouding your vision.

When you came to, you were surrounded with a pleasant warmth. Your eyes slid open to find your head nestled onto Zhuk’s chest, with Bajo curled up behind you with his head buried into your shoulder. You blinked away the fuzziness at the edges of your vision to see Zhuk smiling down at you, resting his head against his pillow.

“You got me to the bedroom while I was out?” you asked, nuzzling further into their embraces.

“Of course. It wasn’t exactly difficult, tsvetok,” Zhuk chuckled, stroking a hand comfortingly through your hair.

“What did you think, mariposa?” Bajo asked, pressing a sweet kiss to your shoulder before hooking his chin over it, smiling over at you. “Were we convincing?”

“Incredibly,” you yawned, smiling sleepily at them. “You make quite the literature professor, moy muzh.”

“Mm, well I’m glad you convinced us to humor you,” Zhuk replied, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Now go to sleep, moya lyubov. You’ve earned it.”

He didn’t need to tell you twice. Your eyes slipped shut happily, comforted by the embraces of your favorite boys as sleep once again claimed you.

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice the musical #beetlejuice nsft #beetlejuice smut #nsft #beetlejuice fic #beetlejuice fanfic #beetlejuice fanfiction #mafia!beej #mafia beej #the conglomerate #zhuk #bajo #beetlejuice x reader #beetlejuice/reader #mafia beetlejuice #beetlejuice au #mafia au

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tysonbaerrie · 5 years

Text

say you love me (and i’ll shut the hell up)

A lovely anon requested Bennguin confessing their feelings at Jamie’s wedding. For the record, I worship at the altar of Katie Hoaldridge and while she’s only mentioned in passing their relationship obviously plays a factor here. I hope you like it, Super Specific Bennguin Nonnie! :)

Jamie’s never gotten married before. But, he thinks, it probably isn’t normal to be focused on the wellbeing of one of your groomsmen on the day of. Instead of, say, his future wife. Jamie reasons, though, that a large part of his life has revolved around Tyler Seguin for eight years, and it’s a hard habit to break. Either way, he finds himself watching his best friend as they get ready in the hotel suite set aside for them. Tyler is unnaturally subdued, only speaking when someone speaks to him directly. He smiles, but it’s small and fake and Jamie sees the tension around his eyes. He knows what Tyler looks like when he’s angry, or grumpy, and this isn’t that. This is…

This is Tyler hurting. This is Tyler in real pain.

He feels something dark and uncomfortable swirl in the pit of his stomach as he continues to watch Tyler out of the corner of his eye. He knows the day is supposed to be about him and Katie, but Jamie is not only Tyler’s friend - he’s his captain, and his instinct is to take care of Tyler, support him, figure out what’s wrong and fix it if he can. The fact that it’s Tyler, who’s always been someone that has been a source of confusion for Jamie, makes him want to reach out even more. Given what day it is, Jamie doesn’t have the emotional bandwidth to deal with whatever that means. It’s been eight years, and Jamie’s just accepted his complicated feelings when it comes to Tyler Seguin and buried it deep down and locked it away in a box labeled “feelings: do not open.”

Still, he continues to watch as they all share a beer in Jordie’s to, as he said, “loosen up Chubbs.” Tyler participates, smiles when necessary, but he never looks at Jamie. And, really, Jamie’s used to Tyler looking at him pretty much all the time. On the ice, off the ice, Jamie is used to being generally aware of Tyler’s eyes on him. It makes his skin itch, the thought that Tyler can’t - or won’t - look at him. He wants to pull Tyler to him, draw his gaze until he has all of Tyler’s attention once again. Instead, he grows increasingly anxious as the ceremony time nears and Tyler is increasingly distant.

At one point, Jamie catches Jordie talking quietly to Tyler in the corner of the living area. Jordie’s eyes are concerned, and Tyler refuses to look at him as they converse. Tyler’s shoulders slump before he nods and Jordie slaps a hand on his shoulder before walking away. Tyler must think that no one’s looking, because he curls into himself in a way that Jamie’s never seen. His heart breaks, and he finally waves Jordie over.

“Hey, can you and the guys give me and Ty a minute?” He asks, and Jordie takes a breath.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, Chubbs?”

“What do you mean? Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Because, y’know, it’s your wedding day.” Jordie finally points out. “Do you think this is the best time to finally be dealing with this?”

“Dealing with what?” Jamie asks, but his stomach clenches with nerves because, apparently, Jordie knows. Jordie looks exasperated, rubbing his hand over his face and beard before rolling his eyes.

“With the fact that you and Segs are stupid over each other.”

“We...it’s not-”

“You can’t lie to me, J. I had a front row seat to the Segs and Chubbs Show for years. But I thought you’d, I don’t know, worked it out and shit before you decided to marry someone else.”

Jamie has nothing to say to that, and Jordie only shakes his head before gathering the rest of the groomsmen and hustling them out of the suite with promises of more day drinking.

“Not you.” Jordie tells Tyler, who looks confused but sits back down and looks anywhere but at Jamie. Once the door closest behind them, Jamie lets out a shaky breath before turning to Tyler. Tyler stares at the ground even as Jamie takes the seat across from him, waiting quietly until Tyler finally speaks.

“I’m sorry.” He says, still not looking at Jamie. “I’m ruining your day.”

“Just tell me what’s wrong.” Jamie pushes him, and Tyler shakes his head.

“I can’t.”

“We’ve always been able to tell each other everything.”

“Not this.” Tyler finally looks up at him, his eyes sharp and his tone cutting. “You know, not this.”

Jamie, once again, doesn’t have an answer to that. He leans his arms on his thighs, running his hand through his hair and messing up the effort he’d made earlier.

“Ty, you know - you have to know…”

“Yeah.” Tyler’s voice is rough, and when Jamie looks up he sees tears in Tyler’s eyes. “I know. It just...wasn’t meant to be. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong profession.”

“I wish-”

“No, please. Don’t tell me you wish it was different. I’m not sure I could watch you marry someone else if…” Tyler trails off, and suddenly Jamie’s picturing a very different wedding. A wedding where Tyler’s not standing next to Jordie, but across from Jamie. Where he’s slipping a ring on Tyler’s hand instead of Katie’s.

Katie

Suddenly, Jamie’s overcome with guilt. It’s his wedding day, the happiest day of his life, and he’s sitting here fantasizing about marrying his best friend instead of his fiancee. Katie, who’s loved and supported him through years of hockey, of injuries, who has never made him doubt her commitment to him. Katie, the person he’s marrying in an hour.

That guilt doesn’t stop his need to know.

That guilt doesn’t stop him from reaching across the space between him and Tyler and wrapping his hand around the back of Tyler’s neck, pulling him closer until their lips crash together.

The angle is awkward, but Tyler tilts his head after a second and suddenly it’s so good that Jamie’s toes curl. He pulls again and Tyler climbs into his lap, cradling Jamie’s face in his hands as he deepens the kiss, biting at Jamie’s bottom lip until he opens up with a groan. Jamie’s hands find their way to Tyler’s curls, tugging on them and finding himself delighted when Tyler moans in response, grinding down on Jamie. It’s everything he’s denied himself for eight years and it’s everything he’s going to have to deny himself for the rest of his life.

He pulls away, finally, and Tyler rests his head against Jame’s forehead, sharing the same air. When Tyler sighs, it’s sad and resigned and Jamie’s heart breaks for everything they’ll never have.

“I love you.” Tyler whispers, and he pulls away before Jamie has a chance to respond.

He walks out of the hotel room without looking back.

Two Years Later

When the news breaks, Jamie’s not surprised when he doesn’t hear from Tyler.

They’re teammates, lineys, but off the ice they’ve barely spoken in months. Jamie had tried to keep their friendship together, but nothing had been the same since Tyler had stood with him while he married someone else. Then, when Jamie’s marriage had started to fall apart, when he’d withdrawn from everyone and everything that wasn’t hockey, Tyler had let him go. He has a fantasy of Tyler knocking on his door once he hears the news, but then he realizes that Tyler doesn’t even know his address anymore.

Jamie had figured that letting Katie keep their house had been the least he could do.

The texts pour in in the hours after his agent released the statement. His mom, his sister, Klinger, Bish. He doesn’t answer any of them, but when Jordie’s face appears he answers.

“Chubbs.” Is all Jordie says, and Jamie sighs.

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I had to find out from fucking Twitter?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I thought you and Katie were fine. You said you were fine.”

“Well, I fucking lied.” Jamie snaps, collapsing on the couch.

“What happened?”

“I just...she wanted to start trying to have a kid and I realized…”

“Jamie?” Jordie finally asks after a long moment, his voice quiet and serious in a way that Jamie has rarely experienced.

“I realized I couldn’t bring a child into this lie I’ve built. I couldn’t start a family when I’m in love with someone else.”

“It’s been two years. You barely speak to him.”

“Yeah.” Jamie’s laugh is dark and wet. “Yeah, and I still wake up every day loving him.”

Jordie is silent on the other end of the line, his breathing the only reason Jamie knows he hasn’t hung up.

“Chubbs.” He finally says. “Is he the one? Like, do you feel forever about him?”

“Yeah, I do.” Jamie replies without hesitation.

“Then go. Go now and tell him.”

“He doesn’t want me anymore.”

“Bullshit. That kid has wanted you from the moment he landed in Dallas. I swear to fuck, you two are the worst communicators I’ve ever met and you deserve each other. Go now. You’ve blown up your life, might as well get what you’ve always wanted.” And with that, Jordie hangs up.

Jamie stares at the coffee table for a moment before his phone dings again, a text from Jordie popping up. It’s a selfie of him, Jessi, and his niece, all holding a thumbs up.

We’re rooting for you, you disaster human.

Jamie smiles, grabs his keys, and bolts out the door.

The drive to Tyler’s is both familiar and foreign. He hasn’t set foot in Tyler’s house since before the wedding, but it’s like his body knows exactly where to go. He grips the steering wheel and takes a few steadying breaths before climbing out of his truck. When he looks at the front door, Tyler is staring at him, arms crossed and his gaze cold.

“What are you doing here?” He asks as Jamie approaches, and Jamie stops when he reaches the bottom of the stairs leading to Tyler’s front door.

“I was hoping that we could talk.”

“About what?”

“Did you see the news?” Jamie asks, and confusion flits across Tyler’s face. “I...I left Katie.”

Tyler’s entire body tenses, and Jamie watches as Tyler’s face morphs from confusion to anger.

“So, why are you here?”

“Ty, please. Can we go inside?” Tyler shakes his head, and Jamie rolls his eyes at the stubborn, dramatic ass he has chosen to love.

“Okay, fine.” Jamie sighs. “We’ll do this out here. I’m sorry, Ty. I’m sorry that I wasn’t brave enough to go after what I wanted all those years ago. I’m sorry I didn’t stop you from leaving that room the day of the wedding. Mostly, I’m sorry I haven’t told you every day since that I love you too. I never should have married Katie. I never should have married anyone that wasn’t you.”

Jamie forces himself to look directly at Tyler, never wavering as Tyler stares down at him. This is it, the moment that will determine the course of the rest of his life. One way or another. Finally, Tyler uncrosses his arms and turns away, throwing open the front door and disappearing inside. Jamie feels his heart break in his chest, but he knew there was always a chance that he had ruined anything they may have had. He looks down, resigned, until he hears Tyler clear his throat. He’s leaning in the doorway, eyebrow raised as he stares down at Jamie.

“Are you coming inside or not?” Tyler asks, and suddenly his grin is blinding. It’s everything Jamie’s wanted to see for the last two years, and he can’t stop himself from taking the steps two at a time until he’s in Tyler’s space.

“I love you.” Jamie tells him, running his fingers across Tyler’s cheek. He silently vows to tell him every day, at every possible moment.

Simply because he can.

#bennguin #hockey rpf #jamie benn #tyler seguin #my fic #prompt fill

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leejihoonownsmyheart · 5 years

Text

One Letter at a Time

Word Count: 3k+ Words

University AU

Jihoon x Reader

Idol!Jihoon Carat!Reader

You sat at your desk mind lost as you tried to figure out how exactly to approach this particular situation.

You didn’t generally like to let yourself fantasize over things that you knew had no realm of possibility in your life. But you still couldn’t help but wonder why Woozi chose to use those specific words. You found yourself nibbling on your bottom lip as you considered them quietly.

They probably weren’t even the exact words you used... You didn’t keep a log of every letter you wrote Woozi, it was entirely possible that you had muddled the words in your head.

Entirely possible if it weren’t for the fact that you had written that sentence down on a sticky note and placed it on your bedpost because you had liked it so much, thought that it was so poetic that you wanted to remember that you had written it.

Your eyes nervously rose to the line of post-it’s until they found the one that you wanted. Pink, worn and wrinkled. You cursed just slightly under your breath.

It was the same. Word for word, it was exactly the same as the sentence in the song.

“What a coincidence,” you murmured, but you couldn’t stop staring at the lyrics in front of you. Even though you weren’t sure what they all meant, you felt like the words were important somehow.

You knew it was a love song, not only from the one English sentence but because you recognized the use of a handful of words that were only used in a love song context. And of course, it would be hard to ignore the use of the word “saranghaeyo”.

You wrinkled your nose and closed the small lyric book in your hands whilst taking a deep breath.

The song isn’t for me, you remind yourself, trying to stay rational. The idea that Woozi would fall in love with you was ridiculous in itself, but it was even more ridiculous to entertain the idea that he wrote a song for you.

You turned your phone off, coming to terms with the fact that you wouldn’t be able to get this stupid song or boy out of your head unless you did so.

You tried to distract yourself with meaningless tasks as the days wear on, and you decided ultimately that maybe it was best if you took a small break from Kpop. Your dance group wasn’t up to anything recently, or anything in general in the relative future so you just stopped attending the random hangouts they put on, and instead stayed home to study. You stopped frequenting the group chat and you went back to listening to your writing playlist that had no kpop on it whatsoever.

You knew that something was going on in the community because your notifications kept going off incessantly, but you stubbornly refused to read the headlines or anything to avoid feeling the empty excited feeling that had recently consumed you when you thought too much about kpop... About him. You tried to convince yourself that the break from all of Kpop was warranted but you knew reasonably it wasn’t. If anything, you should only be taking a break from one group. One boy, really.

You didn’t think about it too much.

You were minding your own business, fiddling with your phone because if you had to avoid one more stupid r/kpop notification on your phone, you were actually gonna lose it. You boarded the bus as usual, happy to see that it was a long bus and despite the large crowd you were able to find a seat. You pulled your bag into your lap and stared wordlessly at the small charm on your bag that was the only real clue to anyone that you were a kpop fan. And even Kpop fans didn’t seem to recognize the small stuffed figurine that hung from your backpack. You didn’t pay it too much mind in general for the most part but the charm was making you wonder if you could get a charm like that for this particular person, then maybe you could get one for a whole other bias and…

You sighed and shut your eyes tightly, scrunching your face up as you did.

“What a fucking kboo,” you couldn’t help but mumble to yourself. You opened your eyes when someone took a seat next to you, but it wasn’t them who really grabbed your attention. Your confidence faltered as you realized that a boy across the small bus aisle was… staring at you.

That in itself would be nerve-wracking enough but it was who he looked like that really cemented the worry.

He looked like a copy of Lee Jihoon.

Your immediate reaction was to look absolutely mortified. You knew that your whole body flinched back, and you knew that your eyes grew wide in terror, and you knew that this boy didn’t miss those motions. That reaction.

His eyes didn’t leave your body, and you really wished they would. Or at least that they would grow more resentful or something and not look so… So… thoughtful?

You risked a glance back up at the boy, hoping that maybe eye contact would make him look away. It didn’t do anything to deter him. He maintained the eye contact without any issue and quirked an eyebrow towards you. The silent question was easy to receive for some reason, and it freaked you out even more. He knew something. Did he know who he looked like? And more importantly, did he know how much you liked who he looked like?

You tried not to think about it. Even you didn’t know how much you liked who he looked like.

The bus lurched to a stop and you looked up. You were still pretty far from your destination, but you weren’t in any rush. You could definitely find ways to get to your destination on time without staying on that bus.

The boys’ eyes still hadn’t left you, and now your body was reacting even more outwardly to it. You tried to lift your hand and subtly check how hard you were shaking. The boy noticed immediately. You scrunched your face slightly and shoved your hand under your leg, but it was no use. When you raised your eyes back to the boy, he looked a little softer. Less teasing, more concerned.

The bus stopped. He got off with it.

You tried to shake thoughts of him out of your head, but it was hard to when he looked so much like Woozi. Was the stupid Seventeen member just stuck in your head or had that guy really looked that much like Woozi?

You don’t think about it for long.

“What are you doing?!” You got startled off of your phone by the very loud and sudden appearance of another human being conversing with you. Outside of your dance group you didn’t tend to converse with many people, so it was odd to be on the receiving end of a comment. Still, extremely relieving as you had honestly missed talking to the person before you. You smiled at Ashley, despite her sudden appearance.

“What are you doing?” You countered back softly. Even as you did you stood up to hug your friend. You had forgotten how nice it was to talk to someone, even more so to hug someone.

“You haven’t been on the group chat or coming to meetings-” Ashley’s lips dropped into a mild pout. “I missed you.”

You laughed softly and mimicked her look playfully.

“I missed you too. I’ve just been…” You couldn’t tell her the truth without sounding like an incapable freak so instead you opted for a believable lie. “Busy catching up with homework and sleep.”

You could tell that Ashely didn’t quite take the lie, but she seemed to accept it for the time being.

“I was literally about to go to your dorm and find you. You do know right?” She asked excitedly. Your happiness to see her morphed into confusion.

“Know?” You questioned. Her eyes bulged almost comically.

“Oh my god, you don’t.”

She grabbed your wrist and began to drag you; you yelped a protest, but she wouldn’t have it.

“You’re putting on your carat shirt and we are going to Bubble to meet the others. He’s here y/n.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“What?”

“Woozi is here,” she repeated to you, but you only frowned.

“Here as in the US? You know I can’t afford a tour ticket.”

“Here as in this city. Here as in our University.”

Your heart stopped. It stopped for so long that for a moment you were sure that on that day, that moment, that exact time you were going to die. Your mind immediately returned to the boy on the bus as Ashely explained to you the situation, but your brain couldn’t seem to get past it all.

There was no way that Woozi was on the bus. No way that he saw you and had recognized you. No way that Lee Jihoon had come all the way to your hometown just to see you, no way.

Your feet became bricks and you pulled both you and Ashely to a stop. She looked back at you bewildered, excited, and utterly genuine.

“What are you doing?” She exclaimed. “Come on!”

“Stop,” is all you could manage to say. “Don’t do this to me Ash. This has to be a joke.”

The look you received in return was borderline scary.

“I would never lie to you about Lee Jihoon.”

Before you could protest further you were dragged forward by Ashley.

You’ve done the math in your head a million times since that day and despite how bad you truly are at it you know that the amount of time in which it took for you to arrive at Bubble was impossibly fast but it was all such a blur that you couldn’t really remember everything right other than what was most important.

You burst into the room full of people and it took you only moments to locate Jihoon. He was sitting on the counter of the small bubble tea place, nursing a drink in his hands. He was halfway through it and surrounded by a number of girls who he was politely speaking to.

It all stopped however when his eyes fell on you. His already soft smile became more relaxed and natural, and even though you looked away from him almost immediately you could still feel his eyes on you.

Your heart thumped in your chest, and you felt a slight tremble taking over your body. You swallowed thickly.

“I-I should go. What are we even doing here, he has so many fans-”

Ashley didn’t even let you finish she just rolled her eyes and grabbed your wrist.

“Stop being so nervous. He’s your últ! This is a once in a lifetime opportunity! I won’t let you waste it!”

She began to pull you forward and for a scary moment you thought she was taking you towards him. Luckily, she was just pulling you over to the counter of the shop.

“Medium strawberry milk tea for the nervous lady,” she ordered for you. She gave you a toothy smile which you returned weakly. It was hard to relax when you knew how close he was, when you knew that he was thoughtfully watching you.

You were still shaking when your very pink drink was set on the counter. You noted that the drink in Jihoon’s hands were the same shade, which made you stop for a moment in wonder.

You remembered mentioning this place in your letters to him before. You told him your favorite drink to get, and you told him what drink you thought he might like based on your limited knowledge. If he had indeed read those, and your knowledge of the menu was accurate, the drink you had suggested was blue. Your favorite drink was the only pink one on the menu, which of course meant…

You risked another glance in his direction and noticed that he was still watching you. You smiled at him nervously and focused in on the drink in his hands. It wasn’t the drink you had suggested, it was the one that was your favorite.

“Oh god,” you breathed giving Ashley a strained look. She looked back at you, a little confused, a little concerned. “I’m not strong enough for this.”

She looked like she was about to respond when suddenly her eyes widened.

“He’s coming over here!”

Your heart dropped.

“What?!” You blurted. “Who’s he? You mean Tony or something right?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Ashely chided. “It’s Jihoon!”

To be honest, you considered running.

Like very seriously considered running.

It seemed like both Ashley and Jihoon could sense that you had that urge however because there was only a moment before Ashley had her arms out preventing you to move, and when you turned around to entertain running out that way Jihoon was utilizing his small stature in the perfect way to prevent you from running past. Your expression turned weak.

“Jihoon!” You cheered miserably. Jihoon laughed.

“That is the least excited a fan has ever been to see me,” he responded. You were a little stunned, partly by his English, partly by his presence at all. Oddly enough the silence seemed to make him a little nervous as he wrinkled his eyebrows together and coughed into his fist.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s just I never really thought I’d meet you,” you said, stumbling over your words just to get that meaningless sentence out.

You considered momentarily mentioning the letters, and after a short while you decided to do just that. You pulled your arms close into your body, tightly clutching your tea to your chest.

“I think I’ve mentioned it before in a letter,” you added unsurely. “But you probably don’t read those, you must get a lot.”

“So, you think this is a coincidence?” Jihoon responded immediately.

“Wh-what?”

“You think I came all the way from Korea to coincidentally see you on the bus that you ride at the same time every day and then to once again coincidentally hold a fan meet at one of your favorite hangout spots, drinking your favorite beverage, and just happen to come over and say hi,” he stated. Your jaw dropped.

“You came here for me,” you murmured in Korean. Jihoon’s cheeks flushed pink.

“I came here for you,” he repeated in English.

You just stared at him blankly, unsure of how to react to what he had said. To be entirely honest he seemed to become nervous by that again.

“You know when I read those letters, I couldn’t help but constantly wonder what it would be like to finally meet you,” he admitted. “You talked about my smile a lot, and I’ve always really wanted to see yours.”

His eyes kept flinting away from you every once in a while, like he was worried with how you would perceive him. It only ever lasted briefly however, because after moments he would look back at you, his eyes shining at the opportunity to look at you.

You had always figured that you would know that someone loved you, simply by the way that they looked at you, and this in itself proved that you had been right. The smile on Jihoon’s lips, the way he couldn’t take his eyes off of you, the pure warm look he was radiating.

That alone made a small smile riddle across your face.

“Shut up, I thought you didn’t like being cheesy,” you mumbled. He took a step closer to you, and it made your breath hitch.

“I’ll make an exception for you,” he replied. “I know you love it when I get a little... sappy.”

Your cheeks reddened, which he took as an invitation to get even closer to you. He cleared his throat after a moment.

“Was everything that you wrote true?” He asked you, his voice so quiet that you could barely hear it, and to be entirely honest, if hearing hadn’t already been an issue, understanding what he said was another one. He switched back to Korean to ask you the question and if you hadn’t taken minimal Korean, you never would have figured out how to respond to him.

“Of course it was,” you replied as soon as you could remember that right words to say to him. He looked up at you, forcing you to meet his firm gaze.

“Was it though? Every thought you described, ever word you chose, every scenario that you made me picture,” he stated. “You were so deliberate in the way you wrote. Whether you were writing in English or Korean it was clear that you chose what you said carefully. How do I know you weren’t baiting me?”

“Baiting you?” You asked.

He shuffled his feet.

“It was weird... Like every thought and concern that you shared about your feelings for me. They matched what I had always thought I would feel for someone when I fell in love. You illustrated yourself loving me for all of the reasons that I wanted someone to love me for. It was surreal.”

“So surreal that you came,” you mumbled. Jihoon rolled his eyes.

“It was Seungkwan and Seokmin at first. They were always looking over my shoulder or reading your letters to me before I got the chance to myself,” he admitted softly. “They told me that I had to go meet you. Eventually, they had everyone in our group excited to hear what you had to say next. Minghao looked you up and started showing me pictures of you. It only ballooned from there.”

You giggled softly into your hand, unable to do anything but relax when he was being so vulnerable with you. You knew that it had to be hard for him to be so honest with someone he had never met. You knew it was hard for you to be honest with him the way you were, and you hadn’t ever had to do it face to face to him.

“Funny,” you mumbled. “That’s a lot like the way that I first started to like you.”

He smiled, his lips quirking upwards slightly.

“After all the times I’ve read those words in your handwriting, and imagined you saying it to me,” he mumbled. “I never imagined actually hearing it would feel so good.”

Your cheeks reddened slightly.

“Did you really write that song for me?” You mumbled. “The one on the new album. The only words in English, they’re mine, aren’t they?”

He nodded slowly.

“I... I couldn’t get that phrase out of my head,” he mumbled. “It’s probably one of the most beautiful things anyone has ever said to me.”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes.

“It wasn’t that good,” you replied.

“It really was,” he said back. “I wanted to write you something half as beautiful as the words you always give me, so I wrote that song for you.”

You were taken aback by his words. Your letters had been thoughtful sure, but they were nowhere near as beautiful and poetic as his songs always were. His music alone had brought you to tears before, which was likely more then anyone could say for your silly little letters.

“I…” You trailed off uncertainly, not sure what you could possibly say to him after hearing that. You weren’t shaking anymore. Being around him was actually quite comforting after you got past the whole it’s Lee Jihoon thing. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Well, why don’t you do instead,” he mumbled shyly. He scratched the back of his neck. “You told me once after all, about your dream date here.”

Your lips began to form a teasing smile, your eyes actually shining when you thought about the fact that he was being shy because of the way that he liked you.

Your heart skipped a beat at that thought.

Was it really possible that he liked you?

“Thought that stuff would be a bit too cheesy for you,” you admitted softly. “I mean I painted the most cliché date that I could possibly-”

You stopped yourself when you realized what you had said. That specific word choice, making Jihoon look up at you suddenly, his eyes wide and attentive.

“You-”

“I didn’t-”

He interrupted you with a small laugh.

“It sounds cliché, I know it does, but when I look at you, I swear I don’t care. I love you in a way that I have never loved before, and the me of yesterday, today, and tomorrow are all better people on that principle alone,” he mumbled softly. You groaned and buried your face into your hands.

“It’s really not that good,” you muttered. Jihoon’s laughter grew quieter, and when you peeked at him from between your fingers you found him looking at you warmly.

“It was enough to make me fly all the way to Korea, just to see you,” he stated. “That alone makes it something incredible.”

You laughed, because despite it all. You knew that you couldn’t argue with that logic.

“So, uhm, about when do you think this fan meet is going to be over?” You asked. “I think we can manage that date before it gets too late… If you want that is.”

Jihoon’s cheeks pinkened brightly.

“Consider the fan meet over.”

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lihikainanea · 5 years

Note

So anyone ever fantasize about swedish!sauna Bill smut? No... ok...

okay so like, WEIRDLY, I’ve had this whole scenario in the back of my mind that kinda sorta involved saunas but in a different way.

I get bronchitis every year right, and my god it’s just awful. And antibiotics work at curing it, but when it comes to actually relieving the symptoms...my dude, a sauna. It’s incredible for that.

So I thought, let’s give Bill that. Like what if one time, HE’S the one that is in dire need of some care and tiger morphs into mama bear caretaker. Like maybe he’s real, real sick with a bad bout of bronchitis. He’s on the road on a press tour and--oh, be still, my heart--tiger is so worried about him that she flies out and meets him. And poor Bill is just...grey with illness. The antibiotics will work but they need time, and meanwhile, Bill is just fucking suffering. He can’t breathe, his chest is in such pain, he’s delirious and in real, real bad shape. So in a desperate attempt to at least ease some of it, tiger drags him to the sauna. And sits there with him for hours as he sweats, takes in deep, raspy breaths that sound anything but normal. She sits with him in a towel as he just leans on her shoulder, nearly passing out. She’ll do anything she can to try and get him at least a little relaxed--lots of back rubs, belly rubs, head scritchies, all his favourite things but he’s barely registering any of it because the dude is hardly conscious. Poor tol bean.

ANYWAY. On a happier note, swedish sexy sauna Bill sounds like much more fun eh? You know he’s naked. That’s how these things go. But what if--OH MY GOD NANI--what if like there’s mentions of a Swedish sauna at the annual Skarsgard family reunion. Maybe it’s at Papa S.’ house in the countryside and he had one installed, but tiger has no idea that usually it’s enjoyed...y’know, naked. And Bill didn’t think to tell her because to him, it’s obvious. So he mentions him and his bros are going to give it a whirl while she’s going mushroom foraging in the forest except she gets back early and decides to join them, so she whips open the door and BEHOLD--she’s greeted with all the Skarsgard men, totally buck ass naked.

She shrieks but then just, you know...doesn’t move. Until Bill says (yells?) her name rather forcefully to snap her out of it, because he’s really not enjoying that she’s now seen all of his brothers naked.

#vacation bill #Leilani answers #bill skarsgard drabble #bill skarsgard

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notsugarandspice · 6 years

Text

Crash and Burn (Chapter 20)

yay, look who updated a fic everyone thought was abandoned (I’m just trash, but at least I got the job done lol)

Read it on AO3.

Warnings: Sexual Content, Internalized Homophobia, Explicit Rating

June, 1995

It should be a very restless day except it isn’t. Eddie is beyond agitated, and he can’t even pinpoint why. Everything has been pins and needles lately, what with the choices for college and whatever butterfly morphed shit decided to take possession of his insides anytime he locked eyes with Richie. And now that he chews on some soggy french fries, just the way he likes them, he looks over to watch Richie smoke out of the crack from the window, lost deep in his thoughts.

They crossed the border some time ago, and Eddie should have his cheek attached to the window, taking in the sight of a country he’s never seen before. But he can’t stop looking at Richie, can’t stop thinking about Richie, everything is Richie Richie Richie. It’s a never-ending, heart clenching whirlwind of hormonal and emotional ecstasy, and it feels like every cell of his body somehow calls for this disgustingly handsome, tall, obnoxious boy that he’s in love with. Yeah, I’m in love. Would you look at that?

He’s not even sure where they’re going - this trip was wholeheartedly Richie’s idea. It has been on his bucket list for as long as he can remember but he never actually thought he’d make it there, so the hope diminished throughout the years. In a deep crevice of his mind, he could remember his dad mentioning how much he wanted to com here - the postcards Eddie hid under the bed were all Frank’s - but the memories of his father were too distant to be sure. They were always there nonetheless, like a protective wall that Eddie lacked in physical form. Because even though Richie tried to protect him, his skinny body ended up busted and passed out while the bullies finished the small boy off. But Eddie could protect himself most of the time. He tried to.

The Losers were all a little confused with their idea of a solo road trip, but nobody seemed to mind. Bill was getting better very slowly, but he had the other’s company for the next few days to keep him occupied. And anyway, Richie wasn’t planning on spending the night. Which is why they left at 05:00 AM, Eddie kicking Richie’s lanky body with his foot until he fell off the bed. They figured they’d get there in the morning, caffeinate themselves to the level of insanity, and explore all that Quebec has to offer. Except it wasn’t nearly as simple when they end up alone. It never really is with us.

Eddie can’t stop thinking about the conversation he had with Richie about their college choices. Richie wasn’t planning on so much as applying anywhere, and Eddie knows that he’s always wanted to move somewhere warm. He can’t help but feel fear gripping on his insides, taking control of his spasming throat. I will lose him. Whether I like it or not, I will lose him. And there is absolutely nothing he can do about it.

Richie parks in the gas station, stopping by one of the pumps. Eddie feels bad that his friend is paying for literally everything and he instantly lifts his hips to fish out a twenty. He made sure to take some money from a little box he hides under the bed, covered by a dozen magazines featuring muscular men, heavily oiled, seemingly sweaty. He knows that Sonia would never touch the contents. Thus his minuscule stash has been undiscovered so far.

Richie turns the key to shut off the ignition and rotates his head to look at Eddie. The small boy feels a cold hand cover his shaking palm and he locks eyes with Richie, something warm in the other’s dark brown eyes.

“I know what you’re doing, and I’m not letting you pay for the gas of my car.” Richie tries shoving Eddie’s hand back into the small boy’s lap but fails miserably. He’s no match for Eddie’s strength.

“Richie, stop, you literally pay for everything, c’mon.”

“I know but this was my idea. And you know that money is never an issue, Eds.” Richie winks and quickly squeezes Eddie’s chin, and he hates how it resonates in a hard shiver throughout his entire body.

“Okay, stop with the nickname and at least buy us some snacks with this. Please?” Eddie extends the twenty and fiddles it in front of the other’s face, debuting a doe-eyed expression that Bev said could ‘destroy a straight man’.

Richie rolls his eyes and snorts softly but takes the bill. “It’s not fair, you know. Those- those eyes of yours.”

Eddie likes to play cocky, so he leans on the separation and raises an eyebrow, trying to pout his lips in a way that would look seductive instead of pathetic. “What about ‘em?”

Richie’s eyes dart straight to his mouth, and Eddie can see through the thickness of the lenses how much darker they are now. There is the slightest shade of pink on Richie’s cheeks - something that Eddie barely ever gets to see, so he drinks it all in.

“I think you know exactly what you’re doing, Kaspbrak.”

Eddie leans closer as if magnetically tugging Richie towards him, willing the other’s mouth to get closer. “I think you’re imagining things.”

Richie is so close now that Eddie can feel second-hand smoke getting into his lungs, but it’s the last thing on his mind anyway. “Look, this is-“

They get interrupted by a honk of a car wheezing past them, almost hitting an elderly lady crossing the gas station to get to her car. Both of them snap their heads to look at the driver of a large black SUV, flailing their arms at the woman who now stubbornly stands right in front of the black hood, chastising them for honking. Richie snorts and turns back to Eddie, but the other has already leaned back in his seat.

“Alrighty-o, Spaghetti. I think we should spend your twenty on some good shit.”

“You better not spend a whole twenty in that store. That’s for the whole trip, dipshit.”

“You’re so hard on me, why are you so hard on me?”

Eddie turns to look at Richie with a deadpanned expression, waiting until the realization hits him. Within several seconds Richie’s head falls back in laughter, and he points the finger at Eddie, bopping his nose.

“I walked right into that one.”

“Okay, don’t waste any more time and get gas already.”

“I have a better plan Spaghetti-o. We’re getting drunk tonight, and I’ll make it my mission to purchase the faahnciahst beer this gas station can provide,” says Richie with a terrible unidentifiable accent and grins wide.

“Is the beer necessary? And how do you expect to buy it here? You’re not old enough, idiot.”

“First of all, rude. Second, the drinking age is nineteen, and I’m eighteen, so that’s close enough. Anyway, look-“

Richie takes off his glasses and puts them behind the wheel. And it’s not as if Eddie hasn’t seen his best friend without glasses before. It’s mostly the unexpected effect that it suddenly has on him to have a front row seat to Richie’s bare, handsome face, and it knocks all air out of him. If Eddie was drinking right now, the liquid would dramatically purge out of his mouth and straight onto the soft skin of Richie’s pale cheeks. And it’s Richie’s shy smile that makes Eddie’s heart skip, and his stomach turns into a mess of punches and tangles. God, I hate this love shit.

“What’s wrong? Do I have something on my face? Is it the Cheetos?” Eddie takes another moment to take all of Richie in before he has to either admit that he’s blatantly staring at his best friend, or make up a lie about seeing a rash on the other’s cheek.

Richie still has the same dust of freckles he’s always had, most of them situated around his nose and very prominent now that the sun is more active. There are indents on the bridge of a crooked nose that only add softness to the face, even though he certainly looks more mature this way. Eddie can clearly see his eyebrows now - bushy but somehow shaped in a way that compliments the sharp edges of his face. And there are small wrinkles on the edge of those extremely dark brown eyes, still visible from Richie’s scary-wide smile that’s always so endearing that it makes Eddie’s stomach feel like it’s possessed. It’s all a little too much, and Eddie doesn’t know why it affects him to the level of obsession, but he can’t even look away at this point. He’s engraved in me and my skin forever, and it scares the shit out of me.

“Nothing. You- you look… Do you want me to go with you?”

Richie’s cheeks tint a slight shade of pink, and he coughs before he speaks. “Spaghetti, they’ll think I’m buying booze for a minor.”

And just like that, Eddie relaxes a bit thinking how even though he’d rather be in Richie’s lap right now, the tall boy’s complete lack of seriousness eases his libido. “You’re such a turd Richie, Jesus. I am a minor and fuck you, honestly.”

Eddie scoots closer to the door and crosses the arms on his stomach, boring his eyes into the ad on the window of the gas shop. He hears Richie get out of the car and he wants to exit the vehicle and kiss the shit out of him, but he’s also angry, so that’s not an option. It doesn’t stop him from fantasizing about it though. And just as imaginary Richie tugs on his lower lip and touches the inside of his thigh, the real one opens the back door, throwing the purchases in, and goes to open the passenger door where Eddie sits in the same position. Eddie looks up at him and hopes that his expression is vicious, and not a puddle of goo representing what currently goes on inside him.

Richie leans in, propping one hand on the seat and the other on the separation, crowding Eddie with a cheeky smile, and that handsome pointed face that’s currently free of the glasses. Eddie can see Richie’s eyes dart down to his mouth and he leans in, kissing Eddie softly, barely moving his lips. And Eddie’s heart is beating so loud, still affected by the daydream he’s been having the past five minutes, and he’s now getting the real thing, and it’s so much more than he bargained for. Because real Richie smells like cigarettes and tastes like them too, but the real lips are softer, and every time Richie breathes out into his mouth, Eddie’s hands twitch from how much it affects him. This kiss is so much slower and calculated than any they shared before. There is so much feeling in it that Eddie finds it hard to breathe. And when Richie pulls back a bit and looks at Eddie with warmth and love that he’s never felt in such dimensions before in his life, Eddie doesn’t even speak and just stares back for several seconds, lost in the black of Richie Tozier’s eyes.

Richie has never felt more carefree. It’s odd, being this close to Eddie, having the ability to kiss him anywhere and technically everywhere but they didn’t go that far yet. Richie isn’t sure it’s a good idea anyway. His entire head is already occupied by the thoughts of his best friend, and he thinks if they ever had sex, he’d find himself permanently attached to Eddie’s body like a six-foot leech.

And it’s so hard to concentrate when Eddie puts a straw in his Sprite and licks around it to make sure that the drops don’t fall on his pristinely clean shirt, or when he reaches for a menu, and leans over the bar to reveal a small patch of tan skin above the waistband of those tight jean shorts, and Richie needs a drink in him now, or he might actually lose it.

This trip is, of course, all for Eddie. Most of everything he does is for Eddie anyway, even if it doesn’t seem like it. He wishes he could give him a life full of adventure and wide smiles, but he’s just incapable at the moment. Richie has to stay in Derry, take care of the mess his parents made and maybe someday, he can commit to Eddie completely and entirely. But for now, he’s going to enjoy this day and everything that it brings.

They sit down at a random bar they choose because Eddie screams at the size of the sausages they serve, effectively activating an array of dirty jokes on Richie’s side, but even that was apparently not enough to stop the small boy from getting a beer and a lot of greasy food. Eddie loves to eat, and he especially loves to try new things. It’s one of the upsides of liking to cook, Richie thinks. He watches Eddie devour the sausage with a fervor of a starving bear cub, and he can’t help but snore in his second mug of beer, already significantly relaxed as the alcohol swims in his bloodstream.

“Hwhaht?” asks Eddie with a mouth full of sausage and bread, trying to gulp it down with his own mug.

Richie props his chin on the hand and looks at Eddie’s slightly red face, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk, and he thinks there is nothing more adorable on this planet. “I can’t decide if you look hot or cute. I’ll go with a word of my own creation - hute.”

Eddie snorts, and that’s how Richie knows he’s drunk enough to actually laugh at his jokes. And make out a lot. “That makes absolutely no fucking sense.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just say thank you, Richie, you’re hot too, and if not for the sausage in my mouth, I’d occupy it with yours-“

Eddie hits him on the shoulder, but his mouth is turned up as he drinks the beer, avoiding Richie’s eyes.

“I have a surprise for you.”

Eddie turns to look at him, and his eyes turn into warm gooey chocolate, that sweet expression that he has when he’s sleepy or when Richie compliments him out of nowhere. “Rich, this has really been enough.”

“No, it’s not. We’re too drunk to drive, and I’m not ready to go back to that shithole.”

“What are you saying?” Eddie hiccups slightly and Richie grins wide before continuing.

“I’m saying that there’s a nice castle lookin’ hotel close by, and I think we should walk there and get a room.”

“Richie, Château will cost you a fortune, and I don’t have that kind of money, you know that.”

“Okay that masterful French pronunciation was really fucking hot, and I have enough to cover a stay there. Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Eds.” Richie ruffles the other’s hair and slightly pinches his cheek, smiling when he sees a prominent blush cover Eddie’s neck.

“I really can’t let you get us a hotel, it’s ridiculous.”

“No, it’s not. C’mon. I insist.” Richie squeezes Eddie’s knee reassuringly, and the small boy’s eyes dart down to the pale hand, and he looks equal parts torn and turned on. Richie is highly hoping for the second one.

“Shit. Fine. But we’re not ordering room service.”

“Ugh, Eds, whyyyyyy-“

Eddie insists on paying for that dinner, and they leave the car parked close to the bar and start walking in the direction of the hotel with a bag of crap Richie bought at the gas station. Eddie keeps looking around with bright eyes and a smile that makes Richie’s stomach do somersaults, and he’s so happy that he wants to scream. And he does. So much that Eddie drags him to the side of the road to connect their mouths in a kiss more passionate than anything they shared so far. Richie can even feel his knees buckle a bit, and his pants tighten from how quickly he’s growing, and he has to step back breathless because people are starting to stare and they’re in the middle of the sidewalk, and Eddie looks so good that he’s sure he’d ravage him right on the grass.

They continue walking to the hotel, and Eddie chews on the second pack of Kit Kat smiling at Richie mischievously and wobbling so much that they have to hold hands almost all the way. And Richie is very nervous, his palms sweaty and breathing ragged which has nothing to do with the high slope at which they’re walking. They might be in Canada but it’s still the 90s, and liking men is apparently an abominable crime. He paranoiacally looks around and catches the eye of every stranger for any sign of distaste. So far they haven’t encountered a pressing issue, but it’s better that they remain careful. When they near the driveway of the hotel Richie lets go of Eddie’s hand, breathing out in relief when Eddie barely notices, too mesmerized with the building. I really don’t want to disappoint you. I’m sorry I’m like this. I love you so much I forget how to breathe sometimes.

They make it to the front desk, and since it’s not the peak of the season, they’re able to get a king-bed room with a nice view. Eddie falls asleep on the comfortable cushions as he waits for Richie to settle the bill, and he has to shake the small boy to direct him towards the elevators. But as soon as they step inside the fancy accommodations, Eddie attacks the mini fridge and fishes out some soda, gulping the whole thing down in less than a minute. Richie snorts at the image and drops the plastic bag on the counter next to him.

“You know, if you’re thirsty, there are other ways to quench your desires.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and throws the empty can in the trash bin. “Shut your trashmouth already, God.”

“Just Richie is fine.” He can’t help but smile wide when the corners of Eddie’s mouth jump and he has to pretend to wipe his nose to hide it.

“I’m going to take a shower, Just Richie.” Eddie sticks his tongue out, and Richie full-heartedly laughs, sprinting towards the bed and positions himself in the middle.

When Eddie gets out of the shower barefoot wearing nothing but the white bath robe, Richie chokes on the cigarette smoke. He’s lying on the bed shirtless because I wanted to feel the silky sheets, not because I’m trying to seduce my best friend, and smokes on the cigarette after successfully removing the smoke detector in lieu of an open window. Eddie wrinkles his nose and goes after the mini fridge again, taking one of the beers Richie bought at the gas station. He climbs on the bed and without an ounce of hesitation sits right on top of Richie’s hips. Eddie twists the bottle on the corner of the robe trying to get it open, and after the top successfully clatters to the ground, he takes a sip and makes eye contact with Richie.

Thing is, no matter how many times shit like this happens between them, it always catches Richie off guard. And this time, alone in a hotel, on a king-sized bed, with gorgeous Eddie Kaspbrak on top of him, Richie feels like he just fell in love, just discovered what is feels like to have your heart jumping out of your chest. And Eddie is so smug, and perfect, hair still damp, dripping on Richie’s exposed stomach. Richie’s bravado doesn’t just waver - it shatters to a million pieces, dissipating like the ashes of the cigarette that distractedly fall on the carpeted floor. Eddie doesn’t even move but having that weight on top of him is absolute ecstasy. Jesus.

“E-Eds?” Richie’s voice cracks at the name and Eddie snorts into the bottle.

“What’s up?” Those angelic brown eyes are glistening with mischief, and Eddie’s cheeks are still rosy from the hot shower. Richie is finding it extremely difficult to concentrate.

“I…”

He doesn’t really get to finish because he suddenly can’t breathe when Eddie’s fingers start exploring his pale chest, creating goosebumps on the entirety of Richie’s skin. He feels himself shiver noticeably and his heart must be beating a hundred miles a minute. He realizes at that very moment that saying goodbye to this wonder on top of him is going to shatter his soul to pieces. He feels his eyes stinging with coming tears, but he’s distracted again when Eddie’s fingers trace a line along the waistband of his boxers. And as if on cue, he can feel himself hardening. Fucking teenage body, goddamn.

“Richie.” It’s the way Eddie says it that makes Richie’s entire body freeze up.

The sensuality in that one word is enough to make Richie fall in love again. The raw emotion in Eddie’s glazed dark eyes, surrounded by still drying long eyelashes is so overwhelming but somehow more intoxicating than anything. Richie lifts up and leans on his hands, trying to get closer to Eddie. The small boy takes the glasses off, and something about their position reminds Richie of a dream he had. But instead of dream Eddie that had an unsteady gaze illuminated by moonlight, the real version is looking straight into his eyes, making Richie feel oh so warm inside.

Eddie brushes their noses together, and Richie can’t help but release a shaky breath. He then leans in to let their lips touch just enough to ignite something. Every touch is like an attempt to drag the match on a striking surface, and the sound that usually accompanies that is Richie’s breathing and a speedy heartbeat. Eddie wraps his arms around Richie’s neck, playing with the overgrown hair there and he smiles shyly and that, that smile is Richie’s undoing.

He surges forward with mouth half-open, already pushing his tongue in. Eddie moans against Richie’s bitter lips, and the tall boy wraps his arm around the other’s middle, pushing them even closer together which seems physically impossible. He can feel Eddie’s fast heartbeat against his own naked chest, and it’s addicting, he never wants to let this sensation go. Eddie’s mouth is so hot, and their kiss is borderline ridiculous, with how much their teeth clash together, and tongues get far enough to be swallowed. Richie knows it’s close to disgusting, this raw passion between them, but he can’t stop. I never, ever want to stop.

Then Eddie rolls his hips once, and the action is minuscule in its proportions, but it gets the job done. Richie loudly moans in the other’s mouth, and he feels his dick throb with a need for anything, everything. Eddie grinds down on him harder, more confident, and Richie can’t even breathe anymore. Who knew it could be like this?

His head is all EddieEddieEddie, there isn’t one coherent thought in his brain - Eddie’s soft lips is what he’s concentrated on. And the burning in his lower abdomen, naturally. Because Eddie is relentless at chasing that feeling. And Richie realizes with fascination that makes him open his eyes that Eddie isn’t wearing any underwear. And the wave of pure lust that washes over Richie is enough to knock a grown man down. He can feel Eddie’s moans against his lips, and some deep guttural sounds that escape him, and Richie thinks that’s what heaven must feel like.

Because he’s never felt anything like this before. He’s still severely intoxicated, and he feels nauseous from the overwhelming amount of emotion that rolls through him in suffocating ripples, and-

No. Oh no, no, no, no. He does feel nauseous. So much that he has to literally throw Eddie to the side and run towards the bedroom, forgetting to even throw the door closed. He can hear Eddie’s small steps behind him, but his throat is burning as he empties a yellow substance into the pristine toilet bowl. Richie is confused. He almost never throws up after drinking alcohol. It just doesn’t happen. His tolerance has gone up to a level high enough for him to drink for several days in a row without feeling a thing.

But this? This is some next level shit. They were just kissing. His dick was about to explode, but it wasn’t even sex so why the hell was he so nervous. Richie’s hands are still shaking, and he doesn’t understand what’s happening. Eddie is rubbing circles on his sweaty back, and he suddenly feels bad that he is so disgusting. He lays his head on the chilly seat and peeks at Eddie who’s sporting a signature concerned expression that creates a small collection of wrinkles between his brows. Richie reaches his hand out and pokes Eddie there, making him giggle. Cute, cute, cute.

“You okay, Rich?” That small warm voice. So gentle and nice. Fuck, I don’t deserve this.

“Just about right, cupcake.” His voice sounds horrible as if he drank nails for breakfast.

Eddie snorts and rolls his eyes. “You really need to stop with the stupid nicknames.” He stands up and leaves the bathroom. Richie misses him instantly, but he has no strength to even reach out.

Eddie comes back with a bottle of water and wraps Richie’s shaking hand around it. “Drink. Please?”

Richie does, first spitting some out, and then gulping down half of it at once. He suddenly wants to be back in that bed, but instead of grinding, he just wants to feel Eddie’s arms hugging him from behind. Eddie always makes everything better.

“I’ll take a shower.” Eddie nods and kisses the top of Richie’s head before walking out.

When he comes out, Eddie is under the covers in nothing but boxers, the only light source on the opposite side of the bed, a soft yellow glow of the nightstand lamp. Richie is wearing nothing but underwear too as he climbs in, tugging on the string to shut the light off. Eddie instantly wraps his arm around the other’s waist, and Richie sighs in the pillow.

“You’re not mad?”

Eddie squeezes him tighter. “Why would I be mad?”

“I don’t know. For ruining our grinding session.”

Eddie snorts and kisses Richie’s back. “No, you idiot. I’m just worried. I didn’t realize how much we drank.”

“And I used to think you are a lightweight.”

“I mean, I am. I’m much smaller than you. But you have no muscle, so-“

Richie elbows him in the stomach. “Shut up.”

Eddie leans on the elbow and gently turns Richie’s face to his. “Rich.”

There’s that softness again that makes Richie’s stomach feel queasy. “Hm?”

“I love you.” God, I love you too, I love you too, I love you too.

Richie turns around completely, connecting their lips.

Perma Tag: @happytozier @studpuffin @tinyarmedtrex @its-stranger-than-you-think @qwertykevin @j0ys @trippy-alexissss @letmybabyystayy @d-nbroughs @jem-carstairs-is-perfection (let me know if you want to be added/removed! <3 or tagged in this trash fic lol)

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #my writing

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sarahw-world · 7 years

Text

“Yellow Roses” - 03 Just This Once

Hi guys! Here's the next chapter!

I'm really sorry I've taken so long, but this chapter turned out to be much longer than I anticipated, since there's a lot going on, and it's probably one of the hardest things I've had to write so far, I guess you'll see why when you read it.

Anyway, I hope I made it work somehow.

Author's note: By the way, a friend from the fandom asked me privately on my Tumblr about the book Bulma was reading in the last chapter, in case anyone else is interested, it's a short novel (novella) by Tolstoi called "The Death Of Ivan Ilyich". I admit it, I'm a tiny bit obsessed with Russian writers, particularly Tolstoi and Nabokov...

I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Summary:

As Vegeta visits Bulma once more, he reminisces on the few encounters they've both shared already...

You can read it uncensored on AO3:

You can read it censored on FF:

Or you can keep reading under the break:

Vegeta walked hurriedly through the crowded streets, packed with faceless, uninteresting warriors who seemed to be getting ready for a well-deserved night of drinking and fucking after returning from whatever meaningless mission they’d been assigned to.

He was late already, mad at himself for having been stupid enough to agree to have a drink with Nappa for a couple of hours, not even knowing what exactly had made him relent and accept his subordinate’s insignificant invitation to begin with. The only explanation he could find was that he’d simply chosen to indulge the old man, who was getting unusually sentimental lately, particularly so ever since Raditz had died mere weeks earlier. Their last purging mission had been filled with Nappa’s annoying chatter about their extinct race and long-gone home planet. Insipidly dull nights spent sitting by the fire, surrounded by the sickening odor of the dead bodies both Saiyans had left piled up all over the place. Repetitive legends of mythological heroes and courageous, formidable warriors floating tediously in his mind as he chewed on the rubbery, tasteless meat of the revolting dead alien a little harder than he should.

The Prince had finally come to the realization that he didn’t care much for his people’s legends anymore, certainly not as much as he used to back in the good old days. As a child, Vegeta had worshiped those men, memorizing such tales word by word, and even begging his caretaker to narrate them repeatedly before going to bed, falling into a deep sleep invaded by buoyant dreams featuring idolized conquerors and epic battles.

But things were different now…

The child had become a man, and those bright, hopeful dreams had slowly, but implacably, morphed into the darkest of nightmares. As he’d grown older, bitter cynicism had taken over, and the list of matters that Vegeta genuinely cared about had been basically distilled to two very simple principles: survival and revenge. Gone were the days of naïve, optimistic foolishness, after all, no one in their right mind would give credit to such tall tales after having been exposed to the chaos and torture the Saiyan Prince had been raised amongst.

In his life, there was no room for any more fantasies, other than the only one that truly mattered, that of him surpassing himself, crossing the barriers of his own strength and ascending to the Legendary status which was meant to be his birthright.

Super Saiyan.

Everything else was superfluous, and absolutely nothing else mattered. There was no past and no future, no whims or illusions except for that which was tangible, real, and nothing would ever be more real than the sound of Frieza’s cold, slimy neck cracking triumphantly beneath his lethal hand when he ultimately became strong enough to end his Master’s repugnant life. Frieza’s death was now the sole purpose of his existence, the golden goal that motivated him to keep going whenever things got hard and the whole world crumbled around him, burying him underneath its crippling weight and making him feel as if he could barely breathe anymore.

That is, of course, until she’d walked right into his life…

Bulma.

The ravishing woman who was supposed to be a meaningless one-night stand and, in the end, had turned his bleak, monotonous world upside down. All he’d wanted to do ever since he’d first laid eyes on her was to conquer her, to possess her, to take as much pleasure as he could from that flawless, supple body and then leave her behind evermore once he’d had his fill of her.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

Surely, Vegeta’d had the unnerving suspicion, right from the start, that this unique creature was unlike any other female who’d ever crossed his path. But his oversized Saiyan ego had taken charge, as usual, lying to him, slyly tricking him into believing that he had matters under control and that, even if he ended up enjoying the exotic little earthling too much for his own good, he’d be strong-willed enough to turn around and walk away before trouble ensued and he irreparably lost himself in her.

But one night had turned into two, and two nights had become three and, before he knew it, he’d seen Bulma on five occasions; every single time he’d been off-duty ever since their first intimate encounter had taken place.

She’d developed into an addiction…

A shameful, uncontrollable addiction he’d gladly succumbed to without even bothering to put up a real fight, like a nectarous, poisonous drug coursing wildly through his veins and hopelessly pervading his senses.

The erotic dreams he’d fantasized about, before he’d had his first chance to take her, had now been replaced by the dangerously vivid memories of the enthralling way in which the woman had instinctively responded to his wicked touch. While Nappa spent his nights nostalgically reminiscing about some ancient tales no one even cared about anymore, Vegeta had become frighteningly good at mastering the art of disengaging from reality, evoking every impurely explicit detail of the nights he’d shared with Bulma.

The magnetic siren had come to be his most cherished distraction, a blazing spark of blue erupting into his consistently grey world. Discovering the comforting warmth of her body had made his lonely nights seem a little colder, and everything felt flavorless after having run his depraved tongue across every delectable curve of her anatomy, her distinctive, honeyed taste forever imprinted in his mouth.

All he’d ever looked for in a woman was release, just a single night of wild, mindless sex, with no names, no explanations and no promises; a few mind-numbing hours where he could unleash his pent-up rage and forget about the outside world and the cosmic joke of a life he’d been forced to endure.

But this time, things were different.

It’d always been exceedingly easy for him to let go of a woman, often forgetting their humdrum names before he was even done getting dressed in the morning. But, when it came to Bulma, the more he took, the more he wanted, and nothing seemed to ever appease his gluttonous Saiyan appetites. His life was now a bizarre routine of death, destruction and the almost masochistic obsession of recalling those ardent, unbelievable nights of pleasure, with agonizing wealth of detail, over and over again.

*** Please visit AO3 or FF for more of this chapter! ***

#vegebul #vegeta #bulma #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #sarahw-world #romance #dbz #dragon ball z #au #yellow roses

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vinventure12 · 7 years

Text

Just a little headcanon

The more I thought about it, the more I couldn’t get this scene out of my head. It’s based off of the opening shot in the trailer of Ren on a ship. From there, I got another idea of what would happen if Finn and him crossed paths? So, I wrote this! I’m not as great of a writer as others in the Reylo fam, but I hope you still enjoy!

Standing on the upper deck, he gazed through the transparisteel viewport, out into the hangar of Ties and war machines and AT-M6’s. All of which were preparing for the final onslaught on Crait.

On the outside, Kylo Ren appeared to be just as collected as the weapons being organized before him. His steepled fingers and still figure giving off an exuberance of control. Of contemplation.

But below the superficial surface, his conflict raged more powerful than a tempest across the sea, waves of longing crashing against his once cold, lifeless heart.

All he could think about was her.

The one and only embrace they’d shared had been warm enough to melt a whole planet coated in deep-winter snow, the contact a blessing compared to the callous life he’d been living. Yes, the circumstances under which the contact had been made were not ideal, for she’d been fraught with agony over finding out what had become of her family. And the reason over why they left her on that Force forsaken planet. Was he to leave her racked with sobs on the cold, grated floor of the ship? Was he to be unsympathetic to her pain? With anyone else, he would have been.

But not with her.

Never with her.

He’d found that out over the few days they spent together, traveling the galaxy for answers to their strange connection after the events on Ahch-To had transpired. Over that time, he’d never grown so close to another living being as much as he did with her. The beginning had been awkward, filled with plenty of steely glares on her part. It wasn’t until she confronted him about Han Solo that the dynamic between them shifted.

All because he had crumbled. Morphing into a weak vessel of flesh as he broke in front of her. Crying.

That harsh scavenger skin she wore seemed to shed away after that. They partook in more civilized conversations. He swore to help her find her family while they were searching for the answers that bonded them to each other, all the while trying to help her control her newly awakened powers.

But now he was here, all because they had made mistakes along the way, unknowingly leaving behind a trail to follow. He had to come back; couldn’t she see that? If he hadn’t revealed himself to the army that came for him, she would have been found out. Taken. Brought before his master to be tried and sentenced.

He did the right thing.

I did the right thing.

Her face as he left her, though…

His righteous decision changed nothing of how he felt. The memory of her was now etched into his heart, poisoning his blood, burning his veins asunder. The way she had stared at him sometimes made him wonder if she was just as transfixed by him as he was her, but she never came to him. He wanted to run to her, yet he stayed away, neither closing the distance. Always pulling back.

Because he murdered his father. And she would never forgive him for it.

Neither would he.

Ren didn’t want to feel this way toward the girl. Knew it was a dangerous path to roam. But he could no more turn off his emotions than alter the tides and wishes. He just couldn’t pretend anymore that his feelings were as mute as a dead man’s last breath.

But what of it? Does he actually choose to stay true to his commitments and master, or does he completely abandon something precious, waiting for it to die so it makes the choice for him?

Where does he truly want to be?

Rey.

Her name swept through his mind, his consciousness giving him the answer he was so afraid to confront. Would he really leave everything–

Ren tensed, sensing people coming his way. Most of them insignificant.

Except one.

The door opened and Ren turned, seeing a Lieutenant of young age boasting of the glories of The First Order, escorting a trio of two men and a woman into the room.

The lieutenant’s voice hitched, his body halting upon seeing Ren standing there. The man stumbled over his words before saying trepidly, “Lord Ren. I was not expecting–.”

“Who are you escorting?”

The man gulped, now shaking. “These are the Loyalty officers, come to deal with the growing insubordination among the stormtroopers. This is–”

“Leave us,” Ren ordered.

The lieutenant’s mouth flopped open for a moment. “But I am to–” The man cowered back from Ren’s sinister eyes, bowing slightly before scurrying off, tripping over his own boots in the process.

All three visitors were dressed in high ranking uniforms, the woman watching him with a hard stare, her chin elevated as if to show confidence. The other man, taller and more slender, gave off an aura of indifference to whatever task they were charged with. Both were flanking the man standing in the middle, the darkness of his skin budding with newly visible sweat. The contempt plainly evident on the traitor’s features.

“FN-2187,” Ren breathed out as he tried to temper the rage filling his gut. The recollections of Rey talking fondly about her friend bringing up this new territory of jealousy Ren couldn’t shake.

The traitor squared his shoulders. “The name’s Finn.”

Ren wasn’t impressed. “The name of a dead man matters not to me.” His hand twitched, begging to grab the lightsaber clipped at his belt.

Eyes narrowing, the man asked, “Is that why you didn’t give us away to that lieutenant? You want to kill me yourself?”

The tiniest hint of a smile curled at the corner of Ren’s lips as he fantasized just how he would go about killing each one of them. But then it faded. As much as he wished it wasn’t true, this man was important to Rey.

So in a way, untouchable.

“You’re here to disable the ion cannons and turbolasers,” Ren stated, jumping to the real situation at hand.

“You’re reading our thoughts?” the woman beside Finn questioned. A little too daringly.

“No. Simple strategy,” Ren corrected. “We are about to break through the stalemate on Crait, destroying The Resistance. A direct attack on their part would be futile, but with our weapons disabled, you’d stand a chance.”

The trio looked to one another, none of them denying Ren’s statement. Such an approach would be pointless since he could sense a lie.

The traitor eyed him up and down, noticing the way Ren’s eyes were sunken in, how his skin showed the faintest hints of stubble. “Do you regret it?” the ex-trooper asked. Ren’s brows furrowed. “Killing your father? Rey told me that you did. Or was that an act to make her trust you?”

Ren’s mouth went dry, his eyes not able to blink. He wasn’t sure how to answer. How to process what the traitor was saying. If they had seen each other, does that mean she is on Crait?

“Where is she?” Finn growled through clenched teeth.

The question threw Ren off guard. “You just said you were with her.”

The threat in the traitor’s face softened, changing to suspicion. “You… haven’t seen her?”

“Why would I have seen her?”

The man grimaced. “She left Crait to come find you. To get you back, as she said. None of us could talk her out of leaving–”

Ren took a step forward, interrupting. “How long ago did she leave?”

“A little over a day ago. Right as the battle started.”

He spun on his heels, facing the transparisteel window, his pulse racing him into dizziness. If she were on this ship, he would know it. He would have felt it…. Right? Unless… she was being hidden from him. Locked away until the moment was ripe to use her.

He knows, Ren thought, his heart sinking into his boots. He believed himself successful in hiding those incriminating thoughts from his master, but Snoke must’ve seen enough to know how much Rey meant to him.

A hand grabbed at his arm. Ren whirled around, Force stunning the traitor into immobility. He caught him by the throat, squeezing till he felt the tendons tightening, the blood pumping violently beneath the pressure. “Don’t. Ever. Touch. Me,” he seethed.

The woman tried to get to them, but the taller, more sensible man of the group held her back.

Ren held eye contact with the ex-trooper, knowing he could kill this piece of Gundark filth right here, without even so much as a thought. But he released his hold, sending the man coughing and gasping for breath as that woman helped him back away.

Ren didn’t have time to redo his own personal failures. He needed to find Rey.

Pausing before he left, he glanced over his shoulder, all three pairs of eyes watching him. “Get to the Engine Control Core. You can disable the weapon emplacements from there.” The traitor straightened, eyes widening as Ren spoke. “The method is more unconventional, but it will be easier to get there than to sneak aboard the Systems Control bridge.”

He left the stunned trio, gliding down the passageways with a newly honed in purpose, those he passed by giving him a wide berth. As his heart hammered in his ears, there was a new vein of calm that formed behind it. Betrayal shouldn’t feel this way. And yet, it did.

Even before the traitor showed up, he’d been on the cusp of sabotaging something on The Supremacy anyway, giving The Resistance an opening for escape. Because in spite of everything, he couldn’t let his mother die.

Searching through the Force with great strain, he finally felt something. A tepid flicker that was undoubtedly hers. It was weak, distant. But now he had something to follow.

A beacon that would lead him to his freedom.

#reylo

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softswerving · 7 years

Text

2:30 am. There is a sense of warmth- the kind that exudes from a homey embrace*- in the chilly winds of the dark; the archetypal cold abyss. To add to its glory, I sneak in some of my whimsical solitude. Ironical as it is, for there isn’t another human being out at this hour. And yet, contrary to the general opinion, I am not half as twisted as you might believe. I swear I am smiling as I type with my numb fingers. It’s the kind of smile that is timid, for it lacks the courage to claim its designated place, scattered- lost in the heedless drama consumes us. Sufjan adds to the bliss. Like a seer, his voice makes its way into the convoluted dark passages of a rugged soul. Should the comfort of this moment bother me, for the more it grows on me, the less I feel like returning to the real world chaos? Who would, having found the perfect escape pill from the confines of an empirically insignificant human vessel- which is to say, from the ‘I’/ ‘me’/ ‘myself’. But here's the thing about the wandering mind- estranged from the ethics of droning human army; you dream, fascinate a lot. Not sure where to draw the line, often taking a flight from reality. I have found myself so much at peace with myself, at so much love and wonder at this world, that I end up questioning, how much is worth fighting** for and why? I also fantasize the people that I have come across. A lot of names come to mind, in terms of sharing an intimate space with laughter and merry-making. However, this silence, this blissful night of just me and the stars- yearn for a different kind of intimacy. The kind that is a rare testament to your vulnerabilities and the degree to which you’ve had your heart tended to.

As much as it baffles me, for I am aware of having grown apart both mentally and physically by orders of magnitude, to the extent that I am also certain I’d begin to despise the idea of him, of us, perhaps a coffee date later - I still gravitate always, without fail and strongly so towards him. The idea of folding in on him as I shiver in this blizzard, with nothing but him by my side. I could never tell apart how much of this intense grip on senses has to do with my deep-seated fears that almost reach out of my body with a cry to hold this fragile being together. Such is the haze that it takes control while autonomously condemning it under the reign of ‘desire’. Thereby in the process, morphing the nuanced subterranean emotions to a helpless spell on the untrodden trenches of the consciousness. So much so that I would wilt to his touch, breath even. And that stays constant, never has anyone replaced his presence in my mind.

*at least how I imagine it’d be like.

**In the sense of ambitions and goals that one sets up for themselves, solely driven by the imperialism of consciousness. Ominous, if you ask me. (On that note, I think Thoreau and Emerson will spoil me, segregating all ties from this headless mob, once and for all. Lord knows, what cometh of me after that!)

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middlecountries · 7 years

Text

By Any Means Necessary

My problem with sex started with the fact that I was shy. I was always nervous approaching women and yet always lusting after them. The lust was an aching feeling that started in my groin, crawled up my abdomen and nestled deep in my skull. I fantasized constantly about sleeping with women I met or merely saw. The fantasies grew deeper if I’d gotten to know the women in them. Depending on the personality or specifics of the woman in question, I’d picture us driving along the French Riviera or curled up in a cabin in the woods. There was always of some form of skyrocketing career success to these scenarios too – my career success, of course.

The second part of the problem was more practical. I hadn’t sold a single painting from my last series and they’d been up for months at one of the hottest galleries in the city. I drew a salary from teaching Introduction to Abstract Art at York, but it barely covered my food and rent. Most of my friends and family were married with children and had well-paying jobs. If they weren’t married, at least they ate at upscale restaurants and took overseas vacations. I couldn’t compete with those things. The best I could offer someone was the occasional dinner out at a neighbourhood restaurant and maybe a movie afterwards.

I thought of a way to resolve my lust-poverty conflict but hesitated to act on it. Hiring a hooker went against my natural timidity, not to mention most standards of moral behaviour including the law’s. At the same time, I felt really handcuffed. I couldn’t work in my state of sexual frustration and I couldn’t date in my financial disrepair. Besides, what was so wrong with seeing a prostitute? In some ways wasn’t straight forwardly paying someone to sleep with you better than misleading them into thinking you were something you weren’t?

One problem with the solution was that I had no idea where to start looking for a hooker. I thought about going to Shuter and Sherbourne and picking up a streetwalker but I didn’t have a car. I could call one of the ads in the street newspaper, the ones with over-saturated pictures of women posing in lingerie, but which one? There were hundreds of them and who knew who would show up at my door. At least with a streetwalker you knew upfront who you’d be getting.

I thought the best option was to go to a strip club and see where that led me. There was bound to be a ton of desperate guys there and that would surely attract the sex trade’s attention. That’s the best means to undertake this unscrupulous affair, I decided. Go to a strip club.

I went to Jilly’s for the first time one night in mid-March. Its biggest selling point was that it was only a ten-minute streetcar ride or twenty-minute walk from my house. It occupied the main floor of the old five-storey brick building at Queen and Broadview. When I arrived I noticed that all the first and second floor windows were covered with grey-painted plywood and the rest of the building looked like a rooming house or derelict apartments. The entrance to Jilly’s was in a discreet alcove on Broadview.

I walked through the doors and as soon as I did my eyes shot straight to the stage. The room was darkly lit but clearly and unmistakably, there was a woman dancing less than twenty feet away wearing nothing but platform shoes. It had been so long since I’d seen a woman naked that I got a hard-on instantly. Her breasts were small but visible and her hips shot out from her waist at that angle so alien to the male body. The sight of her hips reminded me of the arc that the top of the sun makes as it sets on a clear day. I tried not to stare as I found a seat at a table ten or twelve feet from the stage.

A waitress in a short black skirt came and took my drink order then came back a minute later with my drink. “Eight bucks,” she said as she set the vodka-soda down in front of me.

Eight bucks? It was a lot for a drink but not for the sight of those beautiful hips swaying in front of me.

I gave the waitress a ten and told her to keep the change. She tightened her cheek muscles and walked away briskly.

As soon the waitress left I resumed ogling the girl on stage. I let my eyes travel up and down her body several times. At closer inspection she wasn’t as attractive as I’d thought. Her legs were bruised and she had blemishes and stretch marks on her ass. But worse than either of those things was the expression on her face. The corners of her mouth sagged sullenly and her brow was wrinkled above her sharply raised eyebrows. She looked as if she was trying as hard as she could to imagine herself any place else.

The blood continued to flow below my belt all-the-same. At first I’d enjoyed the sensation; it wasn’t that often I became turned on enough to get a hard-on in public anymore. But soon I wished it wasn’t happening. The most any of this – the over-priced drinks, the image of the stripper’s ass etched in my mind – was going to accomplish was make me poorer and more desperate to get laid. My thimble-sized drink barely numbed my doubts and misgivings. To an on-looker I was as pathetic the other three or four men sitting around the stage.

I finished my drink and took the streetcar home. As soon as I walked in the door my two half-started paintings glared at me from across the room. They looked at me as disinterestedly as the stripper had.

I went to my bedroom and got undressed and washed for bed. As soon as my head hit the pillow and I closed my eyes I saw the stripper’s hips in my mind. I got up and grabbed one of my bath towels. I’d had so much blood-flow to my dick recently it hardly took a minute to cum.

The next morning I eased myself out of comfortable dreamland by browsing social media. I looked at pictures of people I knew on my phone. It was a parade of vacations, kid’s birthday parties, pets and food. There were also posts with links to articles about political, social and environmental causes I couldn’t be bothered to read. Once I felt sufficiently guilty, I got up.

For some reason I wandered into the corner of my loft dedicated to painting before going to the kitchen to make coffee. I hadn’t worked in months and it showed in my studio’s disorder. I took my tennis racket and running shoes and some dirty dishes and beer cans to the couch and kitchen areas. I put my half-started canvases out of sight and started making a frame for a new one. It took me an hour to make the frame and another half hour to stretch and staple a blank canvas over it. When I’d finished, I checked the corners to make sure the fibers of the canvas hadn’t separated. Victory, they hadn’t.

I put the canvas on an easel ten feet from the large steel frame windows and looked at it. I thought it might look better without me touching it further. My last series of paintings, the ones hanging unsold in the hip Queen West gallery, were an experiment with space and colour. I’d tried to challenge one of the conventional rules of composition that stated that darker colours should always fall towards the bottom of a piece. The result was a collection of work with dark blues and blacks and reds bleeding down into lighter pinks, grays and yellows. I felt that a few of the pieces left the viewer with the feeling they were floating like I’d intended but the critics felt differently. One of them, writing for one of the same street newspaper with escort advertisements in the back, said the series reminded him of the inside of a burrito. (Asshole.) But I had to agree something was wrong with the series. If there wasn’t, why weren’t any of the paintings selling? Maybe I’d been too conceptual. Art was meant to evoke an emotional response from the viewer. I needed to connect with people on a visceral level. I put a coat of gesso on the canvas in front of me and went to make an espresso as continued to think.

When I came back to the studio again something strange had happened to the canvas. The primer was absorbing more quickly down the centre of the canvas than at the sides. This wasn’t that unusual, gesso always absorbed unevenly no matter how evenly it was applied or how well-stretched the canvas, but the image I saw in the pattern was. I saw a head-on view of the hips of the stripper from the night before. I hadn’t painted or even sketched figures for almost a decade. My reputation – such as it was – was as an abstract artist so what did this mean? Was I supposed to venture off into a completely new direction almost two decades into my career? The idea was absurd. My skills at representing real objects would be rusty at best; not to mention the fact that I regularly lectured my students on the merits of breaking the shackles of directly observable reality.

Then something else happened. The place where I envisioned the stripper’s crotch flipped upside down and moved as if she was standing on her head. As this happened the rest of the canvas morphed into an assortment of shapes and lines originating from her crotch. Bright reds and blues began to fill the rest of the canvas so I grabbed a tube of scarlet and ultra-marine and began mixing colours.

It was thrilling to have started working again. I thought my vision for the painting could see me through for at least a week of solid work. I felt the rush of unbridled creation again and it was heavenly.

But then I thought what had inspired the painting: at a dirty strip club and a disinterested and presumably lost woman undressing for money. I slowed my paint mixing as I kept thinking. What did it say about me, or art in general that this is how I drew my inspiration? Fortunately I was experienced enough not to pursue the question any further. I had to concentrate on my materials, on bringing my mental image to life carefully but quickly. If I didn’t, the image would soon dissolve into the sea of other concerns in my head. I’d be back surfing Facebook or porn sites and thinking about my wasteful existence in no time. Being an artist was no different from other professions in that respect: you had to check things off your to-do list and try not to get mired down in the meaning of it all if you wanted to succeed.

I worked non-stop for eight or ten hours the day after I first went to Jilly’s. Eventually I let up the pace to get some proper food and rest. Deciding when to walk away from a piece – even if for a night – was always the hardest thing for me.

I ate and slept and the next morning I woke up with renewed energy. I put in another eight hours and the routine continued for four more days. I only left the house to load up on coffee, rice cakes, almond butter and bananas, my preferred rations during periods of intensive work.

By then it was Wednesday, the day I had to teach my class at York. The nearly hour and a half commute from my house was even more annoying than usual. I was anxious over being away from my work and my re-discovered routine. Worse yet, I couldn’t really talk to my students about my new painting. How could I explain to fresh-faced, wide-eyed twenty-year-olds that I’d begun a new study of shape and line by way of sexual frustration and craven desire? I got through the class by repeating a talk on the process behind some of my older pieces. The class was visibly bored during my lecture but it beat risking my workflow by telling them the truth. The whole time I was talking I felt they could see right through me. I thought one of them must had surely seen me duck into Jilly’s and told the rest of them. Then again, how bad was what I did? Lots of people went to strip clubs. And it wasn’t like I’d even come close to my original plan of hiring a prostitute. The most I’d done was watch from a distance as a woman took her undressed to bad dance music. Big deal. Remembering my original plan made me think I’d like to know more about the history of sex work. Going to a hooker surely wasn’t always such a taboo. I went to the main library on campus and found as remote a computer stall as I could to look up books on prostitution on the subject. I entered ‘prostitution’ into the search bar, clicked ‘enter’, and got over three hundred hits returned. Many of them were books on sex workers’ rights and arguments for legalizing the sex trade. Others were histories of prostitution ranging from ancient civilizations to modern day sex tourism. One book title grabbed my attention especially. It was called Women for Hire: Prostitution and Sexuality in France after 1850. I liked the sounds of it because 19th France had spawned Impressionism and I wanted to learn more about the social conditions of the period, especially its sexual mores.

I wrote down Women for Hire’s call number, found it in the stacks, and checked it out. I was eager to read it on my commute home not only for my interest in it, but also because it would keep me from checking out all the women on the bus and subway.

I got on the bus that took me to the subway back downtown. By the time I got home I’d read nearly forty pages my book and learned a number of interesting facts. One of them was that the population of Paris almost doubled between 1850 and 1870 on account of a boom in trade. As a result of this, there was a large number of young men with money to spend. Women who worked as seamstresses and chambermaids took the opportunity to make extra money by selling sex. Prostitution became such a lucrative business that regular, ‘honest’ women were indistinguishable from prostitutes, or ‘courtesans’, as they were known at the time. This climate of social ambiguity attracted the attention of artists and writers. Toulous-Lautrec, Degas, Manet, Van Gogh and Picasso all used prostitutes in their work. The poet Baudelaire said “What is art? Prostitution” and Honoré de Balzac wrote an entire novel centered on the sex trade.

I read some more Women for Hire before going to bed but didn’t recall anything more that was very interesting. The next morning I got up and went to the studio first thing. I looked at my hips painting and didn’t see anything I immediately wanted to change or expand upon. I went and made myself an espresso and came back and looked at the painting some more. Still nothing seemed glaringly wrong or in need of work. This feeling indicated to me that I needed to spend some more time away from the painting. (That or I’d lost the original thrust of the work by going to teach my class.) I put on my shorts and running shoes and headed out for a jog.

I came back from jogging an hour later feeling clear-headed and ready to work. I went straight to the studio but still nothing jumped out at from the painting. It was possible that it was almost finished but I was reluctant to think so. I wasn’t unhappy with the piece but if it was in fact finished, then what did I have to work on next beside my financial disrepair or romantic void?

I went out for lunch at my local pub and brought Women for Hire with me. I ordered a second pint after eating and read for an hour. Then I went home and fiddled around on the computer for the remainder of the afternoon and into the evening. Around 10:30 or 11:00 PM I peaked in the studio. The painting still looked docile so I went to the bedroom, undressed, and got into bed. I turned off the lights but I wasn’t tired at all. I thought about jerking off to try induce sleep but I knew that that would only make me more anxious and guilt-ridden in the morning. I decided the solution was the same as the last time I was blocked: go to Jilly’s. I dressed quickly and left the house. I brought a sketchpad and pencil with me, ready to be inspired. I went to Jilly’s the next three nights straight. I was too distracted by the naked women to actually sketch anything. I passed the days and early evenings making frames and stretching canvases in preparation to paint. Now and then I went for a jog and gradually I started sketching some ideas I had for new pieces. I made two large charcoal drawings and although I wasn’t unhappy with them, I didn’t think they were worthy of painting.

The fourth night in a row I went to Jilly’s I got wasted. It was a Monday and the drinks were half-price. There was only one girl working the stage so didn’t have much else to do. At some point in the course of the night, I felt horny and drunk enough that I decided to ask someone about finding a prostitute. I asked my waitress – the one in the short black skirt who’d served me the first night I came in – if she knew of anywhere I could find a courtesan.

“A what?” she said, turning her head and looking at me with her eyes narrowed.

“A courtesan. You know, a woman who accompanies you to court…”

She pretended not to hear or understand and walked away. I resumed drinking, then, after a few minutes, signaled her to come back again.

She came back, crossed her arms and glared at me. “What?”

I took out my sketchpad and pencil and wrote, “I’m looking for a prostitute.” I tore the page out and handed it to the waitress. As she read the note her eyes widened slightly. She turned and walked off quickly without saying anything. I watched her walk up to a bouncer sitting on one of the bar stools. She handed him the note and pointed at me. The bouncer wore a black leather jacket and his back was so meaty it looked like his ears connected directly to his shoulders. He got up from the bar stool, crumpled up my note, and walked towards me.

The bouncer got to my table and before I could say anything he grabbed my sketchpad and pencil and shoved them into my chest. With his other hand took the back of my shirt and coat collar and yanked me to my feet. “You’re out of here, fuckhead,” he said. “This isn’t that kind of place.”

“I’m just trying to paint,” I slurred as he shoved me towards the door. “I’m no different from Manet. I’m the same as Degas!”

We reached the door, which he opened with one hand and pushed me out with the other. I nearly fell down the three stairs leading down to the sidewalk and my pencil and sketchbook tumbled to the ground.

“Fucking asshole,” I muttered as I stooped to pick up my things. “You’re as bad as a yuppie with your narrow views and self-righteousness.”

Mid-lambast, the bouncer reemerged. I started to run away but he raised his hands in a non-threatening gesture. He looked up and down the street and took something out of his inside jacket pocket. He motioned me towards him and handed me a small business card. “Call this number tomorrow after you’ve sobered up,” he said.

The card was all white except for the words “First Choice Entertainment” and a phone number.

“’name’s Jimmy. Tell me where I met you and don’t let me catch you in here looking for pussy again. Got it?”

“Uh, yeah. I will…and, uh, I won’t…”

“Good. Go the fuck home and sleep it off.” He stepped back in the bar and slammed the door behind him. I quickly pocketed the card and left, looking over my shoulders to make sure no one had just seen me talk to a real-life, living, breathing pimp.

I woke up the next morning feeling badly hungover. I was so dehydrated that my tongue was caked to the roof of my mouth. I forced myself to get up and piss and refill my bedside water glass. I took two Advils from the medicine cabinet and chugged another glass of water. I went back to bed and thankfully fell back to sleep.

I woke up again an hour later feeling marginally better. I looked at my phone for my usual transition back to reality. Memories of the night before flashed in my head as I browsed pictures of my friends’ children and spouses. In my head, I saw the disgusted look of the waitresses after I’d handed her my covetous note and heard the scorn in the pimp’s voice as he said the word “pussy.”

I got up again and went to the bathroom. I tried to avoid looking at myself in the mirror as I washed my face and brushed my teeth. Then I went back to the bedroom and got dressed. I was too weak to make myself coffee so I headed downstairs to my usual café. I also wanted some sort of human interaction that wasn’t marred with sin.

I got my coffee and made sure to thank the barista extra nicely. I sat in the shop’s front window and watched people pass by outside. I finished my coffee in a half-numbed state and ordered another along with a croissant. I opened a street newspaper and flipped through it absent-mindedly as I ate and drank. I stopped at the art show reviews out of habit and there was a small description of my ongoing show. The description was so lackluster I wanted to puke. I slammed the paper down in anger and looked back out the window.

In the bottom of my eye-line, I noticed an American Apparel ad on the back of the street newspaper. The ad showed a young woman lying face down on a faux-fur rug above a hardwood floor. She wore nothing but tights and looked over her shoulder seductively. I felt a flicker in my pants and I put my left hand on my thigh. I noticed there was something flat and rectangular in my pant pocket. Slowly it dawned on me that I was wearing the same pants as the night before, that the thing in my pocket was Jimmy the pimp’s business card. In spite of myself, I got even harder knowing I could get laid with the push of a few buttons...

What the hell? Who would I be I hurting?

I got up, went back up to my loft, and called the number on the card.

As soon as it was over I tried to erase that day from my memory. Buying sex is nothing like you see on TV. She was no Julia Roberts and I was no Richard Gere. Did you know you have to pay a time and a half to get to kiss her on the mouth? It’s call it a ‘girlfriend experience.’ I declined the add-on and the sex was as unromantic as possible. All I knew about her was her name (“Destiny”) and that was likely as contrived as our meeting. But I paid the requisite hundred and fifty bucks and thrust my dick inside her all-the-same. We avoided eye contact the entire time and when I came I felt something sharp and hot in my crotch. It felt more like a blood vessel bursting than anything orgasmic.

The following day I could hardly get out of bed I was so disgusted with myself. I deleted my Facebook account to avoid a complete meltdown via self-comparison. I narrowly gathered the strength to get up and go teach my class. For some strange reason though, maybe as a way to purge myself, I told my class about the process behind my hips painting. I avoided looking at any of the female students as I spoke and I heard some snickers while my back was turned at one point. As soon as the class ended I hurried out of the room to avoid any awkward questions about my lecture.

Eventually the thought of my lecture made me feel better but not by much. I thought about Destiny, wondering where she might be at that moment. Probably injecting or smoking something in a drug-den. Or maybe lying on her back, head to the side as some other reprobate-loser fucked her. That’s just what I was, a reprobate and loser. I was a desperate outcast incapable of competing in the regular dating market so I had to resort to the illegal one. I deserved the worst kind of judgment. I imagined myself getting arrested and arraigned. I’d be trotted out in front of a judge and condemned to prison. I’d rot in a dirty like I deserved to.

Oddly, I received no judgement or condemnation for my buying sex. I went home after my class and started painting one of the charcoal drawings I’d made the week before. It was of a stripper between the neck and the solar plexus. For some reason I put the notch where the sternum and the collar bone meet beneath the breasts rather than above them. The result was the breasts (nipple-less) looked like closed eyes and the notch, a down-turned mouth. It resembled la full-body frown and enacted the feeling I got from hiring Destiny.

I worked steadily on my bodies pieces for the next six months. I painted most of them from start to completion before starting another. A few of them I bounced between, adding some details to one then another. In the beginning the work kept me from more self-reproach. Slowly I forgot about what I’d done and got lost in the technical aspects of my work. Teaching and the occasional coffee or drink with friends satisfied my need for social contact.

When I finished the series I showed it to a couple gallery owners I knew. Both of them loved it and begged me to let them show it. I chose Jeremy Espadrille’s Mercer Union in Bloordale because I thought a more down-market audience might be more receptive than the galleries on Queen.

Jeremy and I set a date for the opening and I packed up and brought my paintings to him in a rental van. But as the opening night approached I grew increasingly nervous. I thought my work was good but I worried about people asking how I’d conceived it. What was I going to say? I went to strip club? I paid marginalized or oppressed women to undress in front of me and one of them to let me fuck her?

My anxiety over grew stronger and stronger and I spent longer and longer in bed. I reactivated my Facebook account to try and distract myself but it only increased my guilt and shame. Compared to my responsible, family-having friends and family, I was horrible. In two nights’ time I’d be showered with praise from complete strangers while good, honest people sat in their living rooms or bedrooms unrecognized for their daily effort and sacrifice. The injustice of it made me nauseous.

Then an idea hit me. I thought I could relieve my guilt by inviting Destiny to the opening, If anyone asked me where I’d gotten my inspiration for the series, I’d just nod in her direction. I’d pay her for her time and not her body. In addition to being honest, hopefully this would undo the psychic damage I’d caused her. It was a beautiful solution.

The only hitch was that I’d thrown out Jimmy’s card in self-disgust after screwing Destiny and had no way of getting in touch with either of them. I decided to go down to Jilly’s to look for Jimmy. I got there and walked up to a man sitting at the bar I assumed was him based on his leather jacket and husky physique. But when I tapped him on the shoulder and he turned around I discovered he was someone else. The stranger looked at me. “Whadaya want, bud?”

“I, uh, I was looking for Jimmy…”

“Jimmy don’t work here no more.”

I kicked myself again for throwing out Jimmy’s card. “Uh, do you know where I can find him?”

“What do I look like, a fuckin’ phone book?”

The man turned back around on his stool and I looked around the room hoping that Jimmy would somehow appear. Then I looked for my old waitress thinking she might know where I could find him. She seemed to have changed jobs too or else had the night off.

I wandered back outside, picturing myself at my opening surrounded by interrogators with no chance of escape. I felt light-headed and sat down on the sidewalk with my back against the outside of the building. I rubbed my eyes and temples and felt slightly better. Then a squad car drove by and I had to get up so I wouldn’t look suspicious. I considered going home before I had another thought. I could go look for Destiny at Shuter and Sherbourne. At the very least there’d be some streetwalkers there I could talk to. There couldn’t be that many prostitutes in Toronto. Surely they must all know each other somehow.

I headed towards Shuter and Sherbourne on foot. I crossed the Don Valley and the din of traffic beneath the bridge almost made me turn around. I got to the other side and felt much better in the relatively quieter streets of Corktown. Then I passed a low-income or social housing complex at Queen and Beverly. The complex consisted of two twenty-odd-storey-buildings and a parking lot and playground straddling the block between Queen and Shuter. The playground and parking lot were full of litter and debris. It looked like the kind of place I might find Destiny and I thought about cutting through to Shuter on the off chance of bumping into her. At second thought, I decided against it. It was after mid-night and the area was badly lit and dangerous looking.

I continued along Queen glancing in some bars and restaurants looking for Destiny. They all had dirty windows, little to no decoration, and all the customers seemed to be outside smoking.

A few minutes later I arrived at Sherbourne and turned north, bracing myself to interact with a prostitute in plain view. Hopefully I’d find Destiny quickly and we could go to the late night Pakistani restaurant at Dundas that all the cabbies went to.

I got to the corner and saw a couple women I assumed were hooking. I walked up to one with dyed red hair. She wore platform shoes and seemingly no pants or skirt beneath an oversized winter coat. “Hi,” I said timidly. “I was wondering if you knew a girl named Destiny. She’s got blonde hair. She’s about your height….”

The woman’s cheeks were pitted and her bug-eyes darted in all directions. She wore a thick layer of cover-up and blue-black eye-shadow. She stuck her lower jaw out and looked me up and down frowning. “Yeah I think know her maybe.” Her voice was hoarse and halting.

“Well, could you give me her phone number or tell me where she lives?”

“I’m working her bud.”

“I’ll pay you...”

“Alright. Eighty bucks.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“K Follow me.”

The woman led me away, back down Shuter in the direction I’d come from. I hoped she might take me to one of the row houses on the north side of the street but I feared otherwise. I suspected she was taking me to the apartment complex on Beverly that I’d passed on my way over. A few minutes later we arrived at the complex and she turned towards the entrance to one of the buildings. I was walked fifteen or twenty feet behind her and when I got to the door, she was already inside calling someone on the intercom to buzz us in. The inside doors buzzed and she opened them and walked through. I followed her into the elevator area and she pushed the button for one. She was even more run-down and haggard in the indoor lighting and I avoided looking at her as we waited.

The elevator came and we got inside. She pushed the button for the 22nd floor and the doors closed. As we started going up I grew nervous. Everything seemed to be going too smoothly. Why hadn’t she asked me for the money yet? “Hey,” I said, “You want the money now?”

She pointed at the security camera inside the elevator. “Later,” she said, and I felt less tense.

We got to our floor and she led me down a brown hallway with flickering lights florescent lights. We stopped at an apartment and she knocked on the door. I heard a couple people talking inside but couldn’t make out what they said. The door opened and the woman walked in. She stuck her head back out and motioned me inside.

Inside, the apartment was darkly lit. It reeked of cigarettes plus another stinging, chemical odour I couldn’t place. I saw another woman’s standing at the end of the hallway. I couldn’t see her face but she reminded me of the first woman by the way she stood. “Hey, I’m looking for Destiny,” I called to her.

“She’s down here,” she said and disappeared around a corner.

The first woman walked after her and I followed them both. I passed an open door and darkened room I assumed was the bathroom. The hallway opened up onto a living room and kitchen. All the lights were off except for the TV. I turned a corner to a second hallway and saw a door with light coming out from it at the end. “Down here,” said a voice that sounded like the second woman’s coming from inside the room.

As I stepped towards the door I heard quick footsteps approaching me from behind and I spun around. In a blur, I saw a frowning face and raised arm. The arm was holding a dark L-shaped object that came crashing down on the side of my head. I felt a brief shearing pain on the left side of my head before my legs gave out and the ground came rushing up.

I came to to the sound of birds chirping and a streetcar clanking. I was outside, evidently, but beyond that all my brain-power was directed towards the ear-splitting pain in my head. I forced my eyelids open and took in more of my surroundings.

I was lying on the ground. I shielded my eyes from what felt like equatorial mid-day sun. In the middle distance I saw the outline of trees and a row of two storey red-brick buildings. Directly in front of me there was a car tire and various pieces of litter. I realized I was outside the apartment complex at Queen and Beverly. The night’s events came back to me: looking for Destiny, following the streetwalker…

The I remembered my reason for following the streetwalker and pushed myself upright against the wall behind me. My natural painkillers must have kicked in because the pain in my head lifted and in its place a lightness and euphoric feeling took shape. I couldn’t remember feeling felt such a physical joy since my first serious girlfriend, Alice Dreifelds. We’d gone to art school together and started a relationship after a protracted flirtation in Sculpture I. I remembered lying in bed with her on a spring morning similar to this one. The sun crept through the curtains in her apartment on the Grange and everything felt dewy and new. She was the first person to encourage me to treat art as a career, to take myself and my work seriously. Of course I grew impatient for success and blamed her for hampering my productivity. I broke up with her over tea and pastries at a Chinese bakery on Baldwin after around a year of seeing each other.

But in my endorphin-addled state I didn’t dwell in the negatives of the memory. Instead, I just remembered the pleasure of that spring morning in bed with Amber, the pleasure of knowing what was in front of me and being confident I could undertake it successfully. I decided I didn’t need to explain my methods to anyone. That was the point of art, really, to stimulate the imagination. If anyone asked what had inspired my bodies’ series I’d tell them whatever popped into my head at that time. Maybe I’d tell them I that it was inspired by strippers and prostitutes; maybe I’d tell them that they were inspired by my first girlfriend. Both were decently honest answers. Art was meant to express the inexpressible and explain the inexplicable. I couldn’t give them simple, comfortable answers because there weren’t any.

I got to my feet not only unafraid but excited to go to my opening. I breathed in the morning air and felt as tall as the trees. Then I took another breath and noticed an unpleasant odour. I followed the scent downwards and was shocked: I’d shit myself in my sleep.

#amwriting #short story #realistic fiction

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