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moonstrider9904 · 1 year ago

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That Old Song

Pairing: Crosshair x Female Reader

Summary: After pining after him for months, you get the chance to see Crosshair one more time before he ships out with his squad to Kaller.

Tags: SFW. Kissy-kiss, pre-relationship, general softness, implied tragic romance

Word count: 1693 words

Read on AO3 | My one-shot masterlist

This one was inspired by That Old Song from the Slime Rancher soundtrack because it gives me tragic romance vibes and even though I always wanna give Crosshair a happy ending, I really felt inspired to explore the more tragic side of canon because we all know what happens to him by this point (and season 3's not even over lol Lord help us)

The sky turned purple as the sun on Anaxes began to set. The warm toned twilight would always bring a sense of foreboding with it, but you were used to it. The hangar on Anaxes was not a front line, but it was still a warzone, and war didn't discriminate. It took away, it destroyed, it forced goodbyes, but like the stars that were rising in the ever-darkening sky, there were always gleams of hope that traced finer, beautiful shapes if you knew how to look for them.

He was such a glimmer, at least to you.

You hadn't stepped a foot inside the base since the Havoc Marauder landed. Though repairs and refueling were insistently handled by the team's own engineer, you had the honor of being the only mechanic around whom Tech would even allow to set a finger on the hull of the modified Omicron-class attack shuttle. While he was off running diagnostics and the rest of the squad loaded up on rations, you were finishing up putting away the supplies you'd needed for a standard oil change. You caught the scent of the oil coming from your gloves, which you carefully removed to reveal your hands, the skin on them soft and surprisingly well taken care of despite your profession. At that moment, you could hear the subtle pacing behind you, and a gentle smile formed on your lips. You'd had so many encounters with them that, while short, had already allowed you to recognize how each of the defective clones walked - you'd gotten the chance to know such a detail from many clone battalions, but you didn't enjoy knowing any of them as much as you did for Clone Force 99.

The steps approaching you were light as a feather resulting in lifelong training for stealth, and long resulting in a tall silhouette. Carefully paced one after the other, you knew he was already smirking at the sight of you. It was simply who he was.

You turned around and your eyes landed on the silver hair and the deep brown eyes that would reflect sunlight so beautifully whenever a golden ray hit them just right - that was the only thing that made you yearn for sunshine in the middle of that twilight. Regardless, you couldn't help but grin at the man approaching you. Being in his presence was everything that occupied your thoughts when he was gone.

"Thought you'd be here," he said while chewing on a toothpick.

The giggle that left you was just a bit too obvious for your taste, but you muscled through it. "Aren't you smart."

"I hope you haven't been here all week," he teased. "I don't tell you when I'll be here in my letters for you to tie yourself to the hangar."

"It might surprise you to know I'm always exactly where I need to be," you smirked, your hands traveling to your hips. "I just happen to be needed here right now."

Crosshair, who was always so stern and so serious, let out a chuckle in front of you. The way others talked about him, even his brothers, you were already sure by then that you were one of the only people he ever did that around, and the low sound of his laughter and the way his chest fluttered when he did made you feel your knees giving out on you. Finally, Crosshair took a couple of calculated steps toward you, decreasing some of the distance between the two of you. He looked down at you, silent for a moment, so peaceful you could hear the wind blowing at your sides. Despite the cool breeze, all you could feel on your skin was heat.

"Have you heard the rumors?" You asked him.

Crosshair nodded, the seriousness returning to his face. "Yeah. War's ending soon."

Sarcasm flooded his previous remark, and you gave him a bittersweet smile. "You don't seem all that happy about it."

"It's not that," Crosshair replied. "I'm not in a position to assert or expect anything."

"Right," your mind went back to your initial pondering on the cruelties of war, but you decided to focus on the man in front of you. "Will you be headed to Coruscant?"

Crosshair shook his head. "We're needed on Kaller."

"Oh," you said. "I see. Kaller... snowy, full of clankers."

"My specialty," Crosshair purred.

You giggled. "So... maybe it's safer to say that I'll see you again soon?"

As you were talking to him, you inched closer to Crosshair. Your hands were down at your sides, but you couldn't help but notice how close his hands were to yours, and how easy it would be to reach out and touch his gloved fingers with your bare ones. What you hadn't realized up until that moment, even with all the letters and the hours you'd spent thinking about Crosshair, was how desperately you needed to hold him, and to be held by him.

But Crosshair sighed, hesitant. "Darling..."

"We haven't been sending each other letters for months now just because," you whispered. "Have we?"

A faint smile appeared on his thin lips. "No."

Your own smile, though soft, grew at him, and your eyes seemed to sparkle.

"Crosshair..." You sighed, the dreaminess finding its way into your voice.

He couldn't help but laugh again. "Well, damn. You really are smitten."

Flustered, you looked away, but Crosshair reached out to gently hold your chin and have you look up at him again. He took in the way you were looking at him, with sparkling eyes and an adorable smile, your cheeks warm and your silhouette glowing with hope, like a girl first entranced by puppy love. Your hand went up to perch itself over his wrist, but as you did, your romantic heart stilled itself when the thought of him leaving soon bled into your mind, forcing the smile to slowly disappear from you.

"What is it?" He asked.

You chuckled bashfully. "I just..."

You feared the effect of your words, you feared that it would put a pressure on him that he didn't need, one that no soldier deserved to be burdened with. But inside you, a flame burned, one that prompted you to simply speak now, to not hold back, to not reduce yourself and your feelings to letters and comms. Crosshair, the man of your dreams, finally stood before you, his hand on your skin. You would never forgive yourself if you wasted this opportunity now that you had it.

Because how in the world could you have known what happened next?

"I just don't want you to leave," you whispered. "I never do."

Crosshair gave a soft exhale as he rolled the toothpick to the opposite corner of his lips and spat it out to the side only to look at you again, his gaze turning gentle on you. His other hand traveled up to your face, and now he cupped your cheeks with a steady, soft grip.

"Would it help if I told you I don't want to leave you here either?" He asked.

You smiled softly. "It's nice to know that."

Your eyes met, and you were overtaken by the desire to collapse in his arms and become one with him. You valued each second you'd been gifted to look at his face; your gaze traced the tattoo over his right eye, memorizing the little textures where the ink seemed to falter - you'd never noticed it wasn't a solid line, it looked like it'd been drawn over the artisanal canvas of his skin. You basked in his warmth as your hands reached out to his waist, and you pulled yourself closer to him, and while you did, part of you wanted to curse and lash out at the fact that you hadn't done this sooner.

But you were there now, and that was enough to calm you. And if the war was ending, you wanted to cling to the hope that you'd be in the arms of your beloved again soon.

"Crosshair?" You asked.

With his gaze, he prompted you to continue.

"I..." you said. "I want to kiss you."

Crosshair didn't wait longer, and he slowly lowered himself to gently press his lips to yours. You felt as if every star in the sky above you would explode at that moment, and your arms slid up around Crosshair's shoulders while his slid around your waist. A kiss that started out softly didn't hesitate to become what you could only describe as romance itself, fully engulfing you both in one wavelength as your lips danced together, timeless in your own right. Softly, you moaned at his taste, and you vowed never to forget the sensation of his lips on yours, warm and intoxicating, like it would give you everything you'd ever need for the rest of your days.

You never wanted it to end, but the time came for Crosshair to set you down again. You hadn't even noticed when you'd started to stand on your toes, but when the soles of your feet were back on the ground, you looked up at him with hope, with love, and with the unspoken desire to scream "don't go" building up and eating you up inside.

With all those feelings in your gaze, looking at you nearly broke Crosshair's heart.

Your hands gently traveled to Crosshair's cheeks and you felt his stubble growing in beneath your fingertips. You gave a light chuckle and added that detail to the many you'd remember from that night, and finally, you smiled brightly at Crosshair.

"Let me know where you end up after Kaller," you said.

Crosshair smiled softly. "You know I will."

You knew it would be time for him to leave soon, so you resolved to be with him in the time you had left. You threw your arms around Crosshair and held him tighter than you'd ever held anyone. You didn't mind the armor under your soft body, all that mattered was you were holding him.

And fervently, during those last few moments, you prayed neither Kaller nor whatever came after it would take him away from you.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

#moonstrider writes #tbb crosshair x reader #tbb crosshair x you #crosshair x reader #tbb crosshair #tbb reader insert #the bad batch fanfic #tbb fanfic #the bad batch fanfiction #crosshair #clone force 99 #the bad batch #tbb x reader #the bad batch x reader #crosshair x you #tbb

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thelastofhyde · 1 year ago

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ii. santorini.

pairing. tourguide!joel miller x fem!reader. series synopsis. on the brink of undergoing a life-altering change, you runaway from your problems in the only way any sane person can: embarking on a mediterranean cruise. there you meet joel miller, a grumpy, private tour-guide, who just so happens to be tasked with touring you through each stop on your cruise. from greek goddesses to roman ruins, you have ten days to avoid your fate. maybe a frowning, southern, sex-on-legs of a man is just what the doctor ordered. chapter summary. tensions are high as you and joel spend your first day together exploring the popular island of santorini. back on the boat, joel gets a glimpse at more than he bargained for. series warnings. no use of y/n, set in 2015, no apocalypse au, cruise!au, rom-com, enemies-ish to lovers, tour-guide!joel, unspecified age gap, depictions/discussions of grief, angst, fluff, a whole load of smut, a lot of cheesy stereotypical romance tropes bc i just wanna see joel not suffer ( too much ) <3 chapter warnings. mild smut ( female masturbation, mentions of oral sex + piv sex ), bickering, alcohol, mild angst, so much cheese it'll turn you lactose intolerant!! btw joel hates santorini and he makes that known, but none of his opinions reflect my own ( please don't be mean to me over things characters say <33 ) word count. 7.9k hyde’s input. the majority of this chapter was written with a mixture of medicine flowing through my veins, it's a miracle it's even intelligible. apologies for the wait, the holidays and health issues got in the way <3 as always, i hope you enjoy, comments an dreblogs are always appreciated !! previous chapter - next chapter - series masterlist

It is a known fact that your name and late rarely exist within the same sentence.

The mere thought of being late fills you with a sickness you cannot cure. The extremes you’ll go to avoid it know no bounds. From arriving four hours before a flight, to waiting in your car a whole hour before entering a lecture hall, adulthood is a phase in which you’d sworn to repair the damage of a childhood worth of not arriving late.

Late to school, late to birthday parties, late to dentist appointments.

It wasn’t that you were a particularly difficult child, running rampant around the house as your mother tried to dress you, or your father tried to feed you. Quite the contrary, really. Often, it was little-you who chased around after them, and who waited by the door, school bag in hand, tapping your foot with every second that ticked by on the clock. You were too young and hadn’t the ability nor the empathy to understand that your parents were held up with sorting through things directly influenced by your existence, like cleaning up the messes you left at the breakfast table, or fixing the doorknob you and your sister broke in an intense game of hide and seek.

Nowadays, you can count on one hand the times you’ve been late.

First, you were late to your own surprise birthday party, but that was down to you getting stuck an extra hour at work. It was out of your control.

Then, there’d been your graduation ceremony. Your father missed an exit and ended up taking you on a mystery tour of the city, trying to find the next turn that led to your campus. Again, out of your control.

The third time is the one you remember panicking over the most, knee bouncing uncontrollably with nerves as you sat squeezed between two strangers on a plane. Your sister, barely halfway through her third trimester, had gone into labour, and where were you? Stumbling around drunk on a private beach in Cancún, mumbling along to the lyrics of some early 2000s classic you forget the name of. Your niece, all 4 and a half pounds of her, had decided now was her time to shine and there was nothing, not even the 4 weeks she had yet to grow in utero, that was going to stop her. By the time you arrived, mascara smudged eyes and with the stench of tequila still on your skin, she was laying peacefully in her incubator, the tiniest little fingers clenched into fists and a name tag around her wrist. This too was out of your control.

But the fourth time you’re late, as you stride urgently across the wooden decking of the ship, weaving in and out of lounge chairs and polo-neck wearing crew members, it’s completely within your control.

Yet, it’s not entirely your fault.

An alarm that never went off. A game of hide-and-seek with your purse. An unfortunate slip on bathroom tiles adding another bruise to your knees. An elevator that refused to travel faster than the speed of a snail. It’s as though Lady Luck had set out in favour of being against you, doing her utmost to ensure you arrive exactly seven minutes past your deadline. His deadline.

Best be on the deck by 7 am, darlin’, or I’m dockin’ without ya.

Your head whips from one side to another, eyes finding a familiar figure amongst the few passengers meeting their own private guides. It’s the same man from yesterday, out on the balcony, the memory of him cheering his champagne and shooting a tipsy smile your way replaying. Only now he’s clad in plaid, with a frown etched into his forehead as he stares at his watch. There’s another man, hanging off his arm, fusing with the collar of his shirt.

“She’s late,” you overhear him say, voice firm and leaking with annoyance.

“Maybe she just slept in!” The man next to him is cheerier, tired eyes full of optimism, even as he turns his head and stifles a yawn. “Give her a few minutes.”

“What kind of shitty tour guide sleeps in?” Balcony-Man huffs, and you can’t help but think of your niece and her pouty face whenever she fails to get her own way. “Does she think I’d not rather be asleep too? Lazy c-”

“See? This is why I told you to eat that damn croissant before we left.” The taller of them seems to snap, rolling his eyes. “Brighten up, Bill, or so help me God you’ll be leaving this boat a divorcee.”

Trying to tune their voices out, as the guilt of prying crawls its way into your bones, your gaze points down at your feet. The very same heels you’d worn last night, pretty as they may leave you, have you cursing at the Sun and the Moon. If you’d have just worn your sneakers, maybe you could have ran up the stairs instead of taking the snail-evator.

Joel, tour guide, Signore Miller’s voice- though your imagination can’t quite reach his level of arrogance- rears its irritating head through your mind, recalling his words from last night. Wear somethin’ a little more… practical. That had been enough to awaken that stubborn mule inside of you, hell-bent on proving him wrong.

But now, late, and with him nowhere in sight, your heels seem to have had the opposite effect. They’ve proved him right.

Which leaves you here, moping so pathetically you’re incapable of appreciating the shine of a rising sun over the horizon of aqua blue water.

Five minutes, you decide. That’s how long you’ll allow yourself to dwell in self-pity. Then, you’ll trek your way over to the Excelsior lounge, hit up the breakfast buffet, and await the general disembarking time.

Who knows, maybe you’ll get a call to say there’s a miraculous spot opened up on one of the tour groups.

If not, you’ll be fine! You’ve travelled alone before, you’ve got an all-inclusive data plan on your phone and you’re pretty well-acquainted with the less-than-accommodating features of Google Maps. You don’t need help, or a tour guide, much less one as blood-boiling, skin-prickling, irritating as Joel Mil-

“Wasn’t sure how ya like your coffee, but you look like a milk, two sugars kind of girl to me.”

Speak of the Devil and he shall appear. Or, in this case, think of him.

Turning a little too fast, you stumble a step or two back, and, sure enough, there he is. A tight fitting, dark grey t-shirt stretched over the swell of his biceps, a pair of washed-out denims, and two well-worn running shoes, one on each foot. Trailing up the swell of his tanned neck, you count the freckles up to his eyes, and find there’s bags under them. The growth of hair on his face is just as unkempt as yesterday, yet already it seems to have grown longer, making the litter of greys stand out more. The hair that sits atop his head is damp, and the strands that have managed to dry are being messed around by the morning air. He’s still got that ever-present frown stamped into his forehead, yet his mouth doesn’t seem to curl into a snarl as he calls your name.

You must stare a moment or two past his comfort level, for he clears his throat and nods down at his hand. Two to-go cups, the smallest streams of steam floating out the hole in each lid.

He’s extending one out- the one in his right hand- towards you. “If you’d rather black, you can take min-”

“No!” You snap back into your own body, all too quickly and all too volatile. Clear your throat, and then try again, this time with a little less of that im being held at gunpoint shake in your voice. “No… Thank you. It’s fine- Milk is fine.”

It’s more than fine.

In fact, he’s gotten it spot on. Down to the number of sugars you take.

But, still stubborn, you yearn to not give him the satisfaction of being right so early in the day, and instead settle for accepting the coffee out his hand. You welcome the golden warmth eagerly, eyes unable to resist slipping shut as you take your first sip. When they reopen, you find Joel watching you, intently. Purposefully, as though you’re something to be studied.

Clearing your throat, you glance to the side and spot Balcony-Man and his partner greeting an apologetic woman.

“Thanks for the, uh,” his stare is intimidating your nerves, setting you on edge of something you’re all to eager to jump off. “Coffee. Yeah. You didn’t have to… I mean, I actually thought you’d, you know, uh-”

“You thought I left without ya.” He states. All you can do is nod. “I could’ve. I did warn you not to be late.”

“You did.”

“I also told you to wear somethin’ other than them heels.”

“I know.”

“Yet here you are, late and in heels. You’re not very good at following orders.” He exhales something akin to a chuckle, as devoid of humour as it may be, and you swear he’s suddenly closer than you remember, knuckles brushing against your own as he bumps his paper cup against yours. “Just what am I gonna do with ya, huh?”

For a moment, you swear your heart has leaped from your chest and up to your throat, threatening to choke you with the beat of it. There’s no sense you can make of it, this reaction he rouses, a heat you can’t control creeping down your loins as you drag in a whiff of some manly cologne, the kind you’d usually turn your nose up at for being too overbearing. Yet, on him, it’s not. On him it’s just right, like he was born with pine soaked skin, and a tobacco stained kiss, and-

Before you can think of pulling in another breath, Joel’s stepped back, allowing a cool breeze to pass between you and get a hold of your senses.

“C’mon, we’re slotted in for the first tender that leaves for shore.”

“Oh my God.”

You’re half certain Joel’s growing sick of hearing those three words roll off your tongue. He’s likely felt this way since it first left your mouth, feet struggling to safely step out onto the dock as your mind became enchanted by the picturesque view in front of you. Only the burn of his hand meeting your lower back, nudging you ahead to make space for himself and the other passengers to step off the tender boat, was capable of dragging you back into your own body, the wanderlust that had gripped your soul yearning to be free to explore every building that sits carved into rock, every water-taxi that flows idly on cristaline water, every step that winds up and up and up the island’s cliff where, at the top, civilisation seems to lie.

The port you’ve docked on is rather small, with naught more than two docking strips and a walkway of shops and confection stands, with boats that find no space along the docking strips tying themselves to any safety they may find over the expanse of the walkway. It is no wonder the cruise floats safely out in deeper waters, alongside several other cruise lines, with no space for such large vessels. And, yet, the port is alive with something. The ground seems to pulse, like a beat of a heart, and the air, as fresh as the grass after heavy rainfall, almost dances its way down your lungs. Voices swim all around you, tourists scrambling past each other, fighting in a race towards something you’ve yet to identify.

“So this is Gialos, also known as the Old Port of Fira.” Somewhere, behind you perhaps, Joel’s voice pipes up, a speech so rehearsed and robotic, a part of your wonders how many times he’s recited it, how many people he’s recited it to. The other part of you, however, is much too fixated on the stairs ahead to pay him true attention, eyes following as two men and several donkeys descend. “That, up there, is Fira, the capital of Santorini. We’re going to need to take a cable- Are you even listening to me?”

“Yes!” You’re quick to react, a defensive rise in your voice. He meets it with a deadpan look and the crossing of his arms over his chest, which quickly becomes something you wish he wouldn’t do as you watch the tight fabric of his shirt stretch itself thin over the bulge of his arms. “No. Sorry, I’m just… Wow.”

You hope he appreciates the restraint you show towards repeating those three dreaded words again.

“You have all day to stare,” his words trip over his own irritated scoff, and you bite back a question of why he’s a guide if he seems to hate it so much, fearful he’s too honest to not tell you a truth that may hurt your fragile feelings. A truth where it is not so much his job he dislikes, but rather, your presence and all that it brings. “Right now, we need to move. Don’t wanna spend all day waitin’ in line now, do ya?”

This need for speed that hooks the other tourists seems to filter over into your guide, who’s forcing you forward, that heat of his palm now hovering inches away from your lower back. It’s enough to lead you where he pleases. As a pair, you weave in and out small clusters of people, till the space between you both and the large gathering crowd slowly diminishes. It is there where his once telepathic leading fails, with Joel turning left towards it as you stray right, over to the ascending pathway of stairs.

“Where are you going?” His tone is offended, almost, as he comes to a halt and watches you fail to do the same, to notice the space between you both and correct it like some puppy who’s been called to heel by its master.

“Where am I going?” The question, at first, is one you mistake as rhetorical. Staring back at him with an equaled confusion, you gesture to the stairway, as though it is the most obvious answer. Because, well, where else could you have been heading? He said so himself, that up there is Fira, the capital of Santorini, and you’ll be damned if you don’t get to see it. “Where are you going?”

“To the cable cars, that’ll take us up the island.”

Above the crowd of people, hanging over doors of small businesses, lay several signs. CABLE CARS - 6€ ! stands out, impossible to miss. Symbols you scarcely recognise sit beneath it, in smaller text, and you assume it’s Greek. In the distance, you spy the movement of the mobile boxes, people being carted up the length of the cliff at a speed that promises them a journey of mere minutes.

“Oh.” So, perhaps his option makes more sense than your own far longer, more tiring one. Still, stubborn as a mule, you double down on your decision to take the scenic route, inching closer towards the first step. Your guide, still in the face, refuses to move, daring eyes willing you to continue. “You want us to take the lazy man’s route? You go ahead, I’ll take the stairs and meet you at the top.”

You press one foot up onto the first step, weary of where you rest the point of your heel.

Glancing a few steps further up, there’s the unmistakable sight of a mound of brown substance, no doubt excreted out of one of the donkeys that walk ahead, tourists mounted on their poor backs.

“I don’t think you understand,” he finally inches closer, if only slightly, hands clenched at his side. “There’s five hundred and eighty-eight steps until you reach the top.”

The number is more daunting than you expect, and you pray he can’t read this on your face. “Only? I’ll be up in no time then!”

You feel more than see the way Joel’s eyes travel down the expanse of you, stuttering almost over the curvature of your chest, the dips at your hips, till they rest at your feet. The question hangs loose between you, unspoken yet evident.

In those heels?

“Listen, Joel,” taking a second, third, and fourth step, you aim for a literal higher ground, staring down below as he continues to drift closer and closer towards the stairway. “If you’re not fit for the task, or the climb’s no good for your knees, you can just say it, there’s no shame. Like I said, I’ll meet you at the top. Promise I won’t even report the fact my private guide abandoned me in favour of his own comfort.”

Defeat has never come easy.

Well, to phrase it better towards the truth, acceptance of defeat has never come easy.

There was always something more to be said, another excuse to be given for any of your shortcomings. When you’d been turned away from the school’s soccer team, you’d told yourself it was because you were a girl- ignoring the fact three girls in your year made the cut. When you’d lost an arduous game of Monopoly, you’d sworn you’d caught your sister sneaking notes out of the banker’s pile into her own. When you’d been beaten, round after round, by your own niece at Mario Kart, you’d stuck your tongue out at her and told her you let her win out of pity.

All that had been before, of course, back when you still roamed school hallways, when your sister sat across from you at the dining table, when your niece still laughed freely, wildly, celebrating her own victories with an over-the-top, uncoordinated dance around the living room.

As changed as things may be, defeat is still your foe.

It is that reason alone that you bite back a complaint.

You’d enjoyed the initial moments of your trek. Maybe it was the salty air in your lungs, or the beautiful views of your surroundings, or the idle grumbling coming from Joel, a few paces behind you, kicking up dirt under his feet with every step he travelled up. Whatever the reason, adrenaline had been flowing, into your heart and through your veins, covering every square inch of your body, a tingling of nerves from the tip of your toes to the top of your spine.

But, by the 10 minute mark, a dull ache forms in your feet. Each step of your heel feels more life threatening than the last, as the stairs grow slippier, dustier, and well-worn the further up you advanced. By stair who-knows-how-may, you take a near fatal tumble backwards, the crunch of crumbling rock threatening to be the last thing you hear. Till he appears behind you, fast as light, huffing out a breath as you smack down against his solid chest.

“Mind your step.” From anyone else, you would mistake it as a sign of care. From Joel, you know better than to think it’s anything beyond a humourless taunt.

You try to keep count of the steps, from then on, an effort to motivate yourself to move faster with each ten-pace you count. By 50, you lose your place and begin counting all over again.

The journey is difficult in other ways, too, with the constant passing of donkeys who obligate you to stand aside and make way for them. And the distant movement of cable cars, firing up and sliding down more times than you can keep track of.

When a particular step proves itself too steep, you can no longer hold back and, finally, a hiss slips out between your clenched teeth as pain shoots up your ankle, the leather of your shoe rubbing even harder into your brittle skin, threatening the promise of a blister yet to fully swell. Pushing the pain down, alongside a complaint, you take another step. Hiss. Then another, hiss. You can fight it no longer, bending at the waist to slip off your heel and examine the irritated skin.

Sure enough, it’s been rubbed raw, broken and spilling a small pool of blood.

Behind you comes an exasperated groan and, before you can straighten yourself to even register what’s happening, Joel barges past you and the figure of him up ahead slowly diminishes the faster he climbs up hill.

“Hey!” You call after him, hobbling to slip your shoe back on, but it’s to no avail.

He’s long gone, growing further and further out of your reach with each passing minute.

Cursing him under your breath, you decide to hell with the no complaints of his preferred regard for his own comfort. He’s abandoned you, injured and hobbling up the steps, all because he has the patience of a toddler who’s been waiting far too long to go potty.

“Wear somethin’ a little more sensible…” You’re bound to seem deranged to any passers by, half hopping up the steps, mumbling to yourself in a mockery of his deep voice “Yeah, right, how bout I shove somethin’ a little more sensible up your ass. Oh, what’s that? There’s no room up there with the massive stick you’re already carryin-”

“A local man warned me bout ya, on my way back down. Said there was some no-good girl casting out bad juju.” You freeze, foot stopped in mid-air. Shifting your gaze up ahead, you find Joel there, skipping a step every so often as he grows closer and closer. At his side, dangling from two fingers, sits a plastic bag. “Told him it ain’t no juju or curses you’re casting, just throwin’ a little tantrum.”

Like a fish out of water, all you can do is stare at him, wide eyes and mouth agape.

Joel pays your silence no mind, almost delighting in it. With a pop and a crack from his knees, he crouches down before you, holding out the palm of his hand.

“C’mon,” he mutters, pointing towards your injured foot. “Lemme see.”

You’re hesitant, at first, but ultimately lift it and let him curl his grip around it, holding you in place as the shoe slips off you. A tut meets your ears as his eyes meet the bloodied mess, and you watch how he contemplates, for a moment or two, before wetting his thumb with his tongue and swiping it over your broken skin.

It stings, like salt in a wound or a bee’s stinger through skin, and you try to flinch back, retract yourself from his hold. But Joel’s strong, resilient, nails biting at the flesh of your ankle to keep you in place. His free hand digs into the plastic bag he’d discarded at his side and pulls out a white box. Fiddling with it for a short period, he manages to open it at last and slips out a bandaid. He rips that open a lot quicker, using his teeth, and slips it over your open wound perfectly, thumb and pointer finger smoothing it around the curve of your heel.

“D’ya see now why I told you to not wear those things?” You feel like a child at his words, reprimanded like you once were for touching your mother’s curling iron. “And why I said we should take the cable car?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you refuse to meet his eyes. But he just won’t let you be, craning his own neck to infiltrate the space you stare off into. There’s a pleased look on his face, smugness pulling at the right corner of his mouth. Alarmingly, you think of how it’s the closest you’ve gotten to seeing him smile.

You continue your pursuit of silence, repeating a mantra of how you don’t care that he’d tried to look out for your comfort, or how he’d then tried to save you the effort of an uphill battle, or how his hand, big and warm and rough at the fingertips, is still holding your foot in place, absentmindedly rubbing your ankle in a circular motion.

“Look at ya, gone all quiet on me,” that corner of his lip curls higher. You register the rustling of the bag, his hand digging back inside it. “Ain’t one for bein’ put in your place, are you?”

Out comes his hand once more, though this time it’s not a box of bandaids. Now, resting firm in his grasp, sits a mixture of navy blue dyed cotton, stitched atop a flat, thick layer of a straw-like material. A slip-on canvas shoe. Joel doesn’t await permission, nor does he even ask for it. He simply takes charge, slipping it onto your foot, mindful as he straightens out the back to lay against your heel.

“Other foot, up.”

Switching feet, you stumble as your weight completely shifts onto your injured side. Your hands, reaching out to stabilise your swaying body, are quickly directed by his own to rest atop his head, curls of brown threading between your fingers. You contemplate asking what products he uses to achieve locks so smooth and shiny, then rethink it as soon as you imagine his reply of a disinterested grunt and a snarky ain’t use anythin’ but dirt water and a splash o’ whiskey.

“How’s it feel?”

Soft, you almost reply, then realise he’s asking about the shoe.

With a wiggle of your toes, you tell him it’s fine, and leave it at that. He doesn’t need to know they’re surprisingly comfortable.

Joel rises with a bit of a struggle, yet refuses the help you offer. Rough hands scoop up your discarded heels, tossing them into the bag, and then he straightens his back, lets out a noise of discomfort, before nodding up ahead.

“C’mon, only got a hundred or so to go. We’ll be up in no time.”

The sun sits high in the sky when you reach the city of Fira.

Crossing over that last step, 588 painted in white across it, you huff out a sigh, exhaustion aching you out of any enjoyment of your victory over the stairway from hell. Before you can even utter a word of your thirst, Joel is already reaching into his bag of wonders, unscrewing the lid off a bottle of water and passing it to you. Grateful, you take a sip, and lament the few drops that spill down your chin.

At least they don’t go to complete waste, cooling your skin ever so slightly.

It’s a shame to see Joel start moving again, moments before you’re even ready to gain back your breath, but you follow after him, nonetheless, mindful to not press your foot too hard down. Through streets he winds, past shopkeepers he walks. Eventually, after a few minutes, you ask him where you’re both heading.

“To catch a coach,” his hand moves quickly, tugging you closer as a bicycle shoots past behind you. Your own find themselves against his chest, and realise it is nothing like his hair. Solid, warm, wide. It’s almost a shame to lower them back down to your side. “Less you think you can walk from here to Oia, too.”

Truth be told, you don’t know where Oia is.

But you do know your walking for the day is over, happy to follow Joel onto the coach. You take the aisle seat, he’s by the window. Across from you both sits a couple, young and giggling into one another’s ears, as though the sounds of their joy is sacred to none but them. A pang of envy thumps your soul, and you quickly turn your face.

Only to find that Joel’s is grey.

Not the hair that lines it but, rather, his whole face, paled and blood-drained. It’s a sickly image, and one that’s quick to get your heart racing.

“Are you okay?” Any thought of keeping your composure becomes mute as you hear your own voice, a treacherous shake to it that gives your panic away. “You look…” There is no word kind enough for you to use to relay the image of him, so you lock your lips.

It takes a few seconds for you to get a reply, as your hand moves up to feel his forehead. It’s sweaty, warm, and you move to pull your hand back when he’s holding it firm in place, eyes slipping shut. “‘S cold. You’re cold,” seems to be his explanation. “I’m fine, it’s just- Carsick.”

“You get carsick, yet you work on a cruise.”

“Not the same. Ship’s big, somethin’ bout the size and my own visibility, ‘s what stops me getting seasick.”

You sit like that the rest of the coach, your hand pressed to his forehead, his eyes slipped shut.

“What’s your favourite stop on the cruise?”

As it turns out, Oia is exactly what you’d pictured Santorini to be.

White washed houses, deep blue domes for rooftops, turquoise waters, all for as far as the eye can see. Joel complains, more than tells you, of the rise in tourism over the years, of how it’s turned the beautiful village into a party-town for idiots abroad, disregarding the clean environment, shamelessly blocking paths to snap a frame-worthy shot, raising prices to the ceiling. When you ask him if he thinks he’s in part to blame, if people like him are to blame- running tours, bringing guests onto the island, earning a wage off the visiting of such a place- he grumbles out something about missing breakfast, needing lunch.

So you find a cafe. Or, more, Joel leads you to one. He greets the doorman, with a wave and a pat on the back, before sauntering his way through to a back terrace, overlooking the whole village, the water perfectly framing it. Stepping out and sitting down, the view robs the very breath out of your lungs.

It’s like sitting inside a postcard.

Joel asks if you like Greek food.

You tell him you’ve never had it.

He orders for you both, a mixture of different plates, and swears he’ll find something you’ll like.

It turns out you’re rather fond of baklava.

“Florence.” Joel’s taken his time to answer, staring at you like a deer caught in headlights. Disbelief more than fear in his eyes, you have to wonder if it’s the first time someone’s thought to ask him, in all his years as a guide. Naturally, this leads you to wondering how many years that is. “It’s a real site. Full of history, a real story to be told.” He tilts a ceramic dish your way, eyes glancing down in an offering. You follow them, and spot olives. Shake your head, no, then smile, thanks. He shrugs, more for me, and pops two into his mouth. “There’s this…” he pauses to chew. “This library.”

“A library?”

“‘S not just a library.” He slips out the olive’s pip and raises another into his mouth. You try not to think about how thick his fingers look, rolling the remaining briny green pebbles around in the pot. “There’s a cinema built inside it. Plays some classic films. I always- or, I try to go whenever we dock.”

It’s hard to picture Joel inside a cinema, something about the setting too busy, too loud to place his scowling face in. Would he be the kind to have a favourite seat, perfectly picked to optimise the sound quality? Does he speak animatedly, excited any time he recognises an actor? Or is he a shusher, the kind to roll his eyes when someone dares to even clear their throat?

A part of you wants to ask him if your tour involves a trip to this library.

Something tells you it’s not a place he likes to share, though. It’s his own little corner, safe to sneak a moment of selfish indulgence amidst a week of catering to another’s needs.

“A cinema inside a library?” A waiter interrupts you, asks if everything’s alright. Joel orders another serving of baklava. “Isn’t that a bit of an oxymoron?”

“Yeah.” For a moment, you think you see a smile creep across his lips. “Suppose it is.”

Another interruption comes in the form of your ringtone, rippling the water in your glass as your phone vibrates upon the table. You’re well aware of how Joel spots the word Mum displayed across your screen. Just like you’re aware he sees how you swipe down on your screen and switch on aeroplane mode.

Before he can ask any questions, or the sudden silence can become too deafening, you throw out another question. “And your least favourite?”

“Least favourite stop?” You nod, affirmative, and he needs no time to reply. “Here.”

“Here?! How come?”

The baklava arrives, as if on cue, and you point down at it, as though it is reason enough to be enamoured with the island. It seems to do little to convince him, his hand reaching out to push the plate closer to you, inviting you to indulge yourself.

“Compared to the other stops, Santorini’s bland.” He says it when your mouth is too occupied to protest, stuffed full with layer after layer of pastry. “Kind of like a diamond, y’know? Real pretty to look at, empties your wallet, and, at the end of the day, ain’t much you can do with it.”

“People propose with diamonds.” You point out, and cough as a flake of pastry hits the back of your throat.

Joel’s already passing you your glass of water before you even think to reach for it.

“People propose with rings. Diamonds are just custom, not a guarantee.”

Sunset arrives with no warning, a hue of fiery orange melting down into the calm waters on the horizon. It’s Joel who makes the call to head back, one glance at his watch enough to tell you the last chance to catch a coach is nigh. It’s only as you go to call for the bill that he tells you it’s covered and you realise his earlier trip to the bathroom had been a ruse to go pay.

The trip back is calmer, quieter, with the coach full of sunkissed and heat exhausted tourists.

Again, you take the aisle seat, and Joel, the window.

Keeping an eye on him is easy, switching your gaze towards the approaching darkness of the night sky calling upon the street lights anytime he meets your eyes. When you notice the increase in breaths and the paling of his skin, you wordlessly unscrew the cap off a bottle and slot it into his hand, inviting him to finish off the last sips of your water.

Skipping out on a trip down memory stairway, you quietly follow him into the cable car and, when you reach the Old Port, you try your best to block out his smug remark of how easy and fast the ride was. A feat which becomes easier as you stumble halfway up the dock and turn back.

Like hours before, as you first stepped off the tender, your mouth falls agape. Only, this time, wider. The view of the island lit up in all its glory is enough to leave you breathless, hands scrambling to fish out your phone, open the camera and-

“You gettin’ on or what?” Joel calls out from behind, and you find him waiting on board one of the tenders, hand held out towards you.

It’s a demand, more than it is an offer, to hurry up. The collective of other passengers are watching the interaction, and a feeling you’ve come to know all too well crawls its way into your veins.

A burden, holding them all up, that’s what you are.

The feeling follows you back, as you slip into a damp seat and watch as the boat carries you further and further from the island, it’s lights twinkling in a way that chokes you up, drains you out, eyes stinging from more than just the salty air. You’ll love it, I swear! The memory plays out in your head, those words gushed at you. Hands squeezing your cheeks, a smile blinding you under its brightness. Just wait till you see it at night, the lights shine over it like stars!

You blink.

A tear pools at the corner of your eye.

“Here, look,” something nudges you. It’s Joel, inching his phone into your view. Through blurred sight, you glance at it. And find yourself, centre frame, lit only by the moon. In the back lies the whole skyline of Santorini, lights reflecting down onto the waters below. “Best view you can get, the whole island in one shot.”

Afraid to hear your own voice, you smile.

He answers by pointing his phone back at you, snapping another photo.

Back on the cruise, the two of you part ways, with Joel telling you to meet him in the same bar, same time as the night before.

Dinner had been part of your plans. With a glance over the listed restaurants on board, the ache in your tired bones asks you to stay in bed and make use of the room service. You listen, order something light, easy. It arrives in under 10 minutes and your hunger is satisfied sitting out on the balcony, watching the dark waves roll past.

Phoning your mother is the next port o'call.

Unlike with your food, that takes longer than 10 minutes. Much longer, and involves you countlessly reassuring her that yes, you’re okay, and no, you don’t need her to fly out and meet you in Naples.

“I’m a big girl,” you even throw in a laugh, hoping it’ll ease the worry lines you can picture splayed over your mother’s face. “I think I can climb up a mountain without my mum’s help.”

“Honey, you know that’s not what why I’m worri-”

“Did you know you can get carsick but, at the same time, not seasick?”

You hang up shortly after, with a promise to try your best to answer when she calls tomorrow, instead of hours later, when she should be fast asleep.

The time on your phone tells you there’s still forty minutes until you need to meet Joel. The image of that grandiose bathtub flashes before your eyes and, in record timing, you’re sinking into scalding waters, a complimentary bath bomb dumped in and granting you the childish gift of bubbles.

You try to relax, at first.

There’s no need to wet your hair, so you indulge yourself. Lay your head back, close your eyes. Feel your muscles loosen with the warmth, ignore the sting of soap in your blistering heel. Your hands struggle to find a resting place, until they meet your thighs. They sit still, for a moment or two, before one slips down, inching into the crease of where your legs meet.

Something stirs in your core, comes alive as you think of how long it’s been since you last felt someone. A few months, it has to be. A fellow graduate, if you remember correctly, that stupid robe still on his shoulders as he let his mouth come down on you.

Your hand is soon on your core, before you really notice, mind on a mission to recall the hazy encounter. When you think of his tongue, messy yet eager, your finger’s already on your clit, pressing against it with a tease of pleasure. When you think of his cock, uncut and thicker than your ex, splitting you open on his bedroom floor, your hips cant up against yourself, chasing friction. When you rewind how soft Joel’s hair had been between your fingers, your free hand grips one of your breasts, fingers pinching at your nipple.

Your eyes snap open.

Joel’s hair.

Joel.

Something you should not be thinking of right now, hand buried between your thighs.

You wait a few seconds, remind yourself of the graduate’s face.

His blue eyes, your fingers roll over your nipple.

His blonde hair, your legs spread wider.

Joel’s solid chest, your fingers dip inside your cunt.

Your breath is shaky, Joel’s annoyed groan echoes.

The shame of it, of thinking of him, is almost as tantalising as touching yourself, fucking your own hole full with as much of your fingers the angle will allow. It’s a one time thing, you justify. You just need to get it out your system. One and done, cum and done. No more of Joel Miller between your thighs, this is the closest he’ll get.

Someone knocks at your door.

You nearly miss it over the sound of your breathing, the pounding of your heart.

“Who is it?” You don’t like how weak you sound, but it’s too late to take it back now.

Another knock.

“Can I come in?”

A hand still between your thighs, orgasm titering on the edge, body fully submerged in lukewarm water. “No!”

“Ain’t safe to leave your door unlocked. Anybody could walk in- Jesus!”

You’ve never screamed louder.

Joel takes up most of the bathroom doorway, same clothes save for the shirt that’s got two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled halfway up his arms. You’re pressed right back into the bathtub, as physically far from him as you can get, knees pressed up to your chest, ankles crossed over.

In Joel’s defence, he’s quick to turn away, presenting you with a view of his back. A hand runs through his hair.

“Why are you in my room?!” You inch even further back, the water suddenly dropping several degrees.

“I asked to come in!”

“And I told you not to!”

“Well obviously I didn’t hear that!”

“Why are you in my room?” You’re back to your first question, eyeing up your towel.

It’s across the room, on the bathroom sink. No way for you to reach it without the risk of him seeing you reflected on something.

“You were late. Came to check if ya tripped on them heels and broke your neck.”

“I,” you’re not sure what time it is with your phone sitting by the bed, charging. That's now five times you've been late in adulthood. “Didn’t realise the time. I can meet you at the bar in ten minutes.”

He nods, and you watch him take a step, then immediately pause. “You know, I’ve heard a few things from passengers…” You may not see his face, but you swear there’s that half-smirk, smug look upon it. It’s practically dripping off his words. “The shower head, fourth setting. Seems to get the job done for most ladies on board.”

Grabbing the closest thing in reach- a bar of soap- you launch it and watch it bounce off his irritatingly wide shoulders. “Get OUT!”

You make it to the Tipsy Byson in 15 minutes.

Dressed more appropriately than the night before, your flared jeans and crop top garner less stares. It’s just as busy, if not busier, yet it’s not hard to spot Joel on a barstool, nursing a glass of something syrupy looking. Behind the bar is Luke, head thrown back at something Joel says.

They’re an interesting pair to observe, you realise as you make your way over. With Luke, so tall, so lanky, so bright-face, his energy warm and inviting, and Joel so- well, Joel.

“There she is,” Luke cheers, a little too loudly, calling attention to you as you slip into the stool next to Joel. “My new favourite customer.”

“Thought I was your favourite,” Joel’s yet to look at you, and it’s a relief. He’s looked at you enough for one day, one week, one lifetime.

“Sorry but she smells better than you, Joel,” the barman winks at you, a cheeky grin on his face. “ Plus, she’s a hell of a lot nicer to look at.”

Joel scoffs, you giggle.

“Not sure about the whole smelling better thing,” your response comes minutes later, after Luke’s already served you a glass of wine and turned away your cash, telling you he’ll put it on Joel’s tab. “But thanks!”

Unprompted and uninvited, Luke bends over the bar and takes an exaggerated sniff. “I don’t know, smell alright to me.”

“Really? I’m not even wearing perfume, I forgot to pack any-.”

“Yeah! Go on Joel, give her a whiff, tell her she smells fine!” There’s resistance on his end, but Luke’s adamant, hand clamped on the back of Joel’s head, shoving him face first into your neck. Joel’s nose brushes against you. You hear him inhale. Exhale. Inhale again, then the urge to cross your thighs begins to nag at you. “Well?”

“Yeah, smells nice- Fine. Ya smell fine.”

“Be still my beating heart! Someone alert the press that Texas said something other than-”

Joel interrupts Luke’s dramatics, scowl on his face. “Don’t you have a job to be doin’?”

Only once the bartender is down the other end of the bar, engrossed in a heated discussion over what beer pulls a better head, does Joel speak again, sipping on his drink. Whiskey.

“So I noticed somethin’, when I was checking your bookin’ info.” You nod, urge him to continue, and take a sip of your own drink. Some country song plays over the speakers and you notice a sudden shake in Joel’s knee, his foot tapping to the beat. “Says there should be two of you in my guide team.”

“Oh,” the lump forming in your throat falls safely back into the pit of your stomach as you take another drink of wine. “Must be a printing error. You know how technology can be, always complicating things.”

“Hmm,” it’s easy to write off the awkward energy between you with the excuse of earlier events, and it’s the first bright-side you find to him walking in on your intimate bath. “Well, you know the drill for tomorrow. 7 am on that deck or I’m-”

“Docking without me, I know.”

You finish your drink first. When Joel orders himself another glass, you smile politely and turn it down. Yawn, then tell him you best head to bed.

Before you can slip out the entry, someone calls your last name. Loud enough to turn more than just your own head.

It’s Joel, approaching you, effortlessly parting crowds through the lively bar as though he is knife and, the people, butter. The loud music seems to ring louder in your ear, impeding you from hearing the words that leave his moving lips.

“What?” You call out, hands clasped over your mouth in an attempt to amplify the volume of your voice.

His response is to step closer, hands holding you in place by the waist as he leans down. A hot breath on your neck, the smell of whiskey on his breath, the soft brush of lips against your ear.

“It’s your turn to bring the coffees.”

series taglist. @auteurdelabre

#joel miller series #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #pedro pascal smut #joel miller fanfic

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petew21-blog · 11 months ago

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Could you do an Andrew Garfield and Tom Holland body swap

Friendly neighborhood Peter

Andrew P.OV.

We have just finished the last of the promon pictures for our new upcoming movie for Marvel. What a great and nostalgic ride that was. It has been years since I last wore this costume on set and I have to say I miss it. It makes me sad that some stupid conflict many years ago ended our third movie, which could've been amazing.

Tobey has left to meet with Kirsten. Me and Tom were left alone together to chat about our lives. What a great kid, he's so talented. It's hard for me to admit that, but I envy him. The attention is nice, I won't deny that, but I just loved making those movies. I would do anything to trade with him. Does that sound mad? Sorry. Another daydreaming episode. I have to think about my own life again now.

Tom's P.O.V.

I want to stay here and talk to Andrew about acting and working as an actor for the role of Spider-man. I truly do. But I am already nervous about all the paparazzi out there. Recently they have made my life horrible. I haven't had privacy for years. I am proud for the movies and the work we all have put into them, but the other side of this is just exhausting. Andrew says, that I should enjoy it while it last, that fame fades out and the work eventually gets finished. Maybe it's too selfish at this point, but I would like it to end. I would do anything to trade with Andrew and have a kind of life he has.

The two "Peter Parkers" had no idea what it meant for them that night. Just a stupid simple wish at the back of their head. Well, someone is lucky today.

Tom's P.O.V.

Either this is a very bizarre dream or someone did a very elaborate prank on me. I am looking at Andrew. But I am looking in the mirror, where usually my reflection stares back at me. How is this even possible?

I calm down and after a while I get out of bed. I am in Andrew's apartement. His place looks nice, neat, surprisingly. I take off a shirt and put it on. While sliding it on my new torso. I notice my new biceps. Damn, Andrew, you're not so bad. I thought you gave up body-building. But this is quite nice.

The exploring didn't stop there. I dropped my or (Andrew's?) boxers to get a nice view. I was welcomed by a hairy co 7 inch long dick. Not bad again Andrew. I started to jerk it. While enjoying the body of a 40 year old in a great shape, some woman came into the room and with no expression just said:"If you wanna come to the premiere you gotta speed up and get dressed. Be ready in 30"

Oh shit. Was that his girlfriend? Or maybe a manager. I don't know what is worse. The indifference or the fact she saw me like this.

I might have some explaining to do when I see Andrew in my body at the premiere.

Andrew's P.O.V.

What was weirder, I didn't recognize my body. I had bigger muscles, lean chest and nice 6 pack. I could even feel the stench of a younger body. Even my skin was visible younger.

I got up from the bed to find out that this body sleeps naked in bed.

I went to the nearest mirror. Holy shit. It's Tom

I was shocked at first, but then I remembered what I thought about last night. Maybe, this is a way from the universe to show me if I truly hate my life or if this is the life for me.

I went back to bed to rest. Well... maybe not rest, but whatever. It's nobody's bussiness how many times I have jerked off Tom's dick. It's also nobody's bussiness to ask how long was I in the shower afterwards and if the scream were of pain or pleasure

Shit. I love Tom's style. His wardrobe is filled with such nice clothes. I don't even know what to pick. Even showing of his abs looks amazingly stylish

Andrew and Tom bumped into each other right in front of the journalists.

"How you feeling man?"

"Young! And the best I have felt in years. Your body was a nice surprise. How are you holding on?"

"Well, I have to say that I can't complain either. I mean, you have a much more calmer life than I do. Wouldn't mind if we had this for a few weeks."

"Oh, I don't think I would mind either. It would be an honor for me to take care of your life Tom"

"Don't call me like that now, TOM! People might think you're on drugs. Haha. And yeah, let's make it a deal. We don't even know how to swap back, but when we do find out we swap back on our own terms. Deal?"

"Deal!"

The two of them embraced each other in a hug and laughed about it

This couldn't have worked out better for the two of them

#accidental body swap #body swap #male body swap #body switch #celebrity body swap

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lilas · 11 months ago

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good morning! requesting analysis for "there was sun" please! 🌞

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟGood morning <3 and bless you for indulging me lmao ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ

Abstract: Over the course of MSQ, Avi’li often wrestles with identity; who he is, who he thinks he is, who he thinks he should be, and who he wants to be. At times he feels like a stranger to himself, and part of him dealing with his trauma is deciding what to do with this question of identity and how to reconcile who he was and who he currently is. The lyrics of There Was Sun reflect this push and pull.

And don’t worry, from here on this is going to be in bullet points lmaaaoo

[out of context spoilers mention for the endwalker patches]

Throughout There Was Sun, there’s this optimism for the future along with a painful nostalgia for the past

So much // Sun // The summer shimmer // I saw a glimmer // I could be who I wanna be

Oh I wish I could dream that I could dream like I used to dream // Oh I wish I could be all the things that I used to be // When there was sun

“Sun” in the song, at various points, refers both to the happiness of the Past and the happiness of the Present and Future

After Endwalker, Avi’li doesn’t feel comfortable in domestic normalcy anymore

He’s restless when recovering in Sharlayan, he rushes into aiding Ishgard the moment he’s well enough to travel by Aetheryte; like this man has an opportunity for rest and he instead jumps into fighting gods, time traveling, and exploring the Void, like? He can’t live in a normal life anymore

Yet still he looks back at his younger self, naive and arrogant and foolish and happy, and feels almost envious

He struggles to reconcile his longing for how things used to be and him not actually wanting things to be like they were

This internal struggle is also a big reason why he struggles with separating from Yugiri; they love each other, but Avi’li doesn’t want the calm and peace Doma offers anymore; he cannot reconcile this want with his wanting to be with Yugiri, so be chooses the bigger want

All my flaws lying on the ground // In the // Sun

Some days I feel somewhere else or somewhere in between // Some days I don’t feel a thing at all // Now I’m pulling back the screen to let the future in // The light comes flooding in

During the Endwalker patches, it feels like Avi’li is “becoming” himself

He is unpacking his trauma and is reconciling some of his internal struggles; who he was and who he is, what he wants and what he wants more, love and loss and pain and grief

I feel like the lyric above encapsulates his journey through the 6.x patches all the way up to Dawntrail

Some days he feels distant from his himself, and some days he feels happy in his skin; one step forward and two steps back, healing that is messy and hard but optimistic

He feels warm, he can enjoy the Sun again, even if it doesn’t feel like it used to

When there was sun // There was sun

EDIT: Special mention to the sound of this song! It’s so upbeat, but also dreamlike at times. As always with NBT, the music and vocals are evocative and and are a big reason why they resonnate with Avi’li imo

#oc: avi’li #avi’li lore #asks #waahh thank you azia i hope this coherent actually lmaaoo #it was mostly stream of consciousness #i promise it’s not an actual essay i just wrote an abstract because i thought it’d be funny #as always thank you for coming to my MEGtalk

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hikeyzz · 1 year ago

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https://www.tumblr.com/hikeyzz/732190196144226304

can u explain a little more abt what u meant in the tags of this? i am still newish to kink and wanna do it in as healthy a way as i can

I am not an authority on kink and will not be speaking as such. I am still learning a lot myself. You should be consuming a variety of media on kink to learn more and determine what healthy practices look like for you. But I will explain my comment about harm vs hurt which I think is what this is about.

I was thinking specifically in terms of kinks that do cause pain/discomfort to at least one participant, things like impact play, biting, breath play, and more can all cause pain and hurt. Harm can go in many ways, though. But generally harm is accepted as things that cause damage, physical or emotional. In the context of kink we can imagine hurt and harm as two ends of the continuum. Because something like spanking with a bare hand may hurt, but spanking with a hard implement could break bones and damage nerves which would be harm. I cannot define for anyone where they draw their personal line between hurt and harm in their play. But since they are on a continuum, it is reasonable to believe hurt can slip into harm, with or without intention to cause damage.

This is most applicable with higher risk kinks like edge play, psychological sadism, breath play, and others that do risk semi-permanent or permanent damage to the receiver. I see posts all the time about carving your name into your partner's skin and for some it's just a fantasy, for others it is something they are interested in playing out in real life or have and enjoyed it enough to do it again. That is something that causes physical damage and potentially permanent damage, but is within the realm of what the receiver tolerates and enjoys. There are several levels to harm and I think it is something people have to explore for themselves and develop a deep sense of self-awareness around.

For example, I enjoy being made to feel as though my value as a person is tied to my ability to be sexual (sexual objectification). However, I draw the line at my partner trying to make me believe that's true. I want to feel like it could be true, but not believe that it is. That's hard to navigate at times so I am constantly evaluating the levels of hurt and harm I am asking my partner to inflict, or what they are asking to inflict on me. Down to the words they use, I think through how they make me feel and what I believe when I am with them. Do they make me feel like a sex object? Or do I believe they only see me as a sex object? Again, it's deeply personal and requires an ability to articulate your feelings and beliefs in great detail. But that is how I responsibly navigate my relationship to hurt versus harm, with the line I draw being that changing my beliefs causes damage to my psyche and harms me. But influencing my feelings only hurts me, and is something I enjoy playing with.

I have conducted these check-ins with myself and found that I have allowed (or not noticed) when play has slipped from hurt to harm. Sometimes it can be corrected through dialogue and additional safety practices, other times like when it has intentionally been driven from hurt to harm, I need to walk away and tend to myself. I come up with boundaries that can help me prevent slippage like that from happening again, using what I can learn from others and my personal reflections (in therapy and out - yes I talk to my therapist about kink and you should too).

I hope this helps clarify what I meant and you continue to question and explore kink safely and without rush. I promise you will have much better experiences if you go forward slowly and methodically. Even doing so will piss off the bad-actors who want you to feel like they're your only or best choice. Nothing pisses off abusive people like someone that is intentional and questions everything. The right people will appreciate and understand your caution, trust me. Best of luck.

ETA: I welcome discussion in the replies and feel free to offer (respectfully) different perspectives that may help anon or myself learn further 💗

#asks #hikey #kink philosophy

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anemia-rp · 6 months ago

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"I have to get out in nature every so often, otherwise I will start to feel... off." She smiled as she got an idea. "Oh maybe if you want to I could take you to my favorite spot! It's not too far outside of the city so if you weren't enjoying it, it wouldn't take long to return to the city."

"Damn you figured out my plan!" she playfully teased, her own cheeks heating up a little. "I thought I was being sneaky." she sighed dramatically before smiling brightly. She was excited that she convinced him to agree to a karaoke night and she couldn't wait for them to have fun. "Awww you'll have a good time, I promise!" she smiled sweetly

"I never thought of it like that." She nodded "I guess it could be a good way to reflect on those feelings and thoughts as well."She thought about it for a moment and nodded. "I would love to! I haven't had many opportunities to collab with other artists!" She had no doubt that with his help they would be able to blend their sounds really well.

"Yeah there will always be people that will judge us and think they could do better. I've tried what you do before, it's harder than it seems!" She tried when she was starting her solo career but it was something she found much more difficult than playing a more common instrument like a guitar. "You're right, and as long as we like what we do then that's all that matters."

"It's good that you figured that out. It's important to have balance." she peaked up a little at him and smiled. "You're welcome. I'm happy that I can do that for you."

Her offer caused him to make an intrigued face. "Pretty sure it won't be that bad I need to flee. I like exploring abandoned houses just as well for example, they're not neat either. So take me there, yeah?" Mostly, when he felt composed, he was up for new experiences. They kept him alive after all.

He clicked his tongue in a faux-scolding way, but smirked at the same time, his hand running through his long hair as if fixing it could fix his life. "I just hope the booze won't bring out my aggressions that night", he pondered. "Else I attempt to destroy the whole room. Can happen." An only halfway guilty smile decorated his face.

"Then let's do that one day. We can even make a music video together, will be fun, promise." He meant it. A lot of artists took hours to record the perfect take, but for him and the guys he worked with it almost never was like this. No complicated acting. Everything happened more naturally.

"You did? Hell yeah, I'd really wanna grab one of those fuckers who underestimates DJing and put them behind the turntables. And then I'll lean back and laugh when he's making a dumb face 'cause he doesn't have any clue." He laughed.

With a lasting smile he kept holding her. "It's not that I've got troubles finding blood to drink, I could bathe in the amount I could get, but it's about the experience as well to a big amount. Drinking from blood bags really just stills the hunger and is for emergencies only for me. There's nothing like some warm skin and fresh blood." His voice became even deeper as he had started to whisper.

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myrtles-and-blood · 5 months ago

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I just wanna pop in here for anon and say that, from what I've been finding and my own personal spiritual beliefs I must say that deities love people who are the "opposite" of them.

They love someone they can have contrast with, and (in my opinion, idk this for real but just what I personally think) they want to learn from you and they want you to learn from them.

A lot of the time people who are big opposites have a lot of things in common in other areas, and maybe both of you will have an amazing, caring and growing connection but being very different aesthetically wise, and that's cool too.

Also, this thing of "I'm not at all not associated with Aphrodite, idk why she wants to talk to me" Is not true. Aphrodite is this love, this love, this love, this love, this love

this love

and this love!

There are many ways to love, and yours is unique. She is there for all types of lovers, and it doesn't matter if you don't enjoy sexual and/or romantic relationships. You love your family, your friends, your pets, the wind, the sunrise, and a nice movie. She is there for loving and accepting yourself and your life just as it is, and changing it in ways that will help you improve it. That's really what self-care is. For some people it includes skincare and elaborate bath rituals, and for some others it includes going on a walk every morning.

I think we shouldn't think they are enclosed in just a couple of correspondences and that's it. Deities are complicated and they probably change and grow with time just like we do, as we change we are the same but a bit different. I'm not saying you should not take their correspondences into account in your practice and just do whatever you want, but instead think outside of the box and know that there are many ways to view deities and, in my opinion, how they show themselves to you is a reflection of what they want to help you with, maintaining certain constant characteristics.

I would suggest that you do things that you love for her. Do things with the people you love for her. Do some self care for her: meditate, journaling, do some sports to cool off and relax, give yourself some grace and love and start quitting the negative self talk (if you do it). Quit any bad habit that acts against your well being that you are in control of changing.

Maybe, if you wish, you can explore what she's associated with to open your world view on different topics (flowers, pink, the beach, makeup, yk that kind of stuff), but that is more subjective. On the other hand I would really encourage you to start doing/wearing things that make you feel comfortable in your own skin. Whatever makes you feel you, being true to yourself is one of the biggest things you can do for her imo.

That's my take on this. Sorry for making this in a reblog but I think this whole post can help anyone with the same question. This is my own opinion and not an actual fact, so just know that. Like prev said, your relationship with the divine is yours and yours only!!! Make it whatever feels right between you and your deities. 🌷

Hi, I wanted to ask what to do if I’ve become weirdly drawn to Aphrodite in last few weeks and keep seeing her everywhere (fyp, shops, random books) and I’m interested in hellenic gods and devotion but I don’t feel close to any concept associated with Aphrodite at all? Like I’m masculine, not interested in makeup/skincare/decoration, aroace not wanting relationship, dress very simple, etc

Ofc I can feel platonic love or appreciate beautiful things like all humans, but the whole concept of flirty feminine goddess of love and sex and fertility and beauty and pearls is just so foreign to me. Why am I so drawn to a goddess who’s kinda my opposite? How do I start connecting with her without doing the usual beauty stuff flowers pink crystals which people usually mention? And should I even try connecting with her if I don’t like her “aesthetic”?

Now I sound like some pick me girl lmao and sorry if I described her very stereotypically

Why I still insist on connecting with her is bc getting so many synchronicities is crazy, for example today I contacted a baker to order my custom birthday cake and asked to see examples of her works, and she sent Birth of Venus cake picture?? yk I believe that when I get signs I should follow them

hi there! my best advice to you would be to look into all of Aphrodite's epithets, myths, associations, and history. while Aphrodite is often associated with pink and flowers and feminine, this is not the only way to honor her.

take Aphrodite Areia for example. Aphrodite's "war-like" epithet could be associated with knives, blood, armor, and courage. Aphrodite Ourania evokes images of the stars, the ocean, divinity, and power.

Aphrodite is so much more than just a feminine love goddess, and I don't blame you for feeling pressured to conform to that. she is known as the goddess of love, beauty, and pleasure for a reason, and this often correlates with decadence and femininity. I would encourage you to find your own associations and go with your gut when it comes to offerings/worship.

try what works for you! do some research and go easy on yourself!

anyway here's some lesser-known Aphrodite associations that are less traditionally "feminine". you could use these for altar decor, offerings, or whatever!!

sea shells

sand

sea water (or salt water if you can't access the sea)

animal bones

feathers (she is often associated with doves and swans, but i give her all sorts of feathers lol)

bees

geese

apples

things you associate with love (gifts/photos from loved ones, things you associate with them, etc.)

cherub and angel imagery

knives

coins

any kind of jewelry

dolphins

and I will sign off by saying your relationship with the divine is completely personal. give yourself grace to try, explore, and learn new things. do what works for you 🐝🐬🕯️

#deity worship #deity work #hellenic polytheism #hellenism #hellenic deities #hellenic pagan #hellenic worship #lady aphrodite #aphrodite altar #aphrodite goddess #aphrodite devotion #aphrodite deity #aphrodite devotee #aphrodite

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fuckmymunson · 3 years ago

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Hello there! First I wanna say your writing is pretty<3 Can u do one with James??

They're having their honeymoon reader is so nervous because she's virgin so when he knows about it he's very gentle and teach her. Thank you

𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 - 𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐏𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

❀: CW: 18+, smut, first time, literally James making sweet love to you♡. | word count: 1,2k

❀ a/n: SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG TO MAKE. I literally squeezed my brain hehe. I hope you like it! I felt so fuzzy and gigglish while writing it hehe. I love u ♡.

❀ Taglist: @lillypevensieorpottersworld @littlemisstrouble | Join my taglist! [limited spaces hehe]

The cold sensation of his gold ring against the naked skin of your back makes you giggle. He was sweet and caring, just like he had been for the past six years. His knuckles slide against your exposed shoulders, kneading the flesh gently.

“Gorgeous.” Your newlywed husband whispers in awe. “Breathtaking.” His fingers untie the bows of your corset, one by one as the subtle sunlight creeping through the windows bathes your bodies in an orange glow. “My beautiful wife.”

“James.” You call him, letting him take the white lacy garment off your upper body. In the distance, you can hear the distant murmur of the ocean. “I’m not made of glass, love.”

“Let me enjoy the moment, darling.” He teases you with a kiss on the nape of your neck. He removes the necklaces he gave you on past anniversaries, kissing every inch of skin within his reach.

He guides you to the big, white bed, decorated with rose petals, pushing you gently until you lay gracefully on top of the soft silky sheets.

It feels intimate, loving, it feels beautiful. It feels like a fairytale, your skin is warm and eager for his touch, and all you can read in those big honey eyes is love, adoration and lust. For you, only for you.

“You have no idea how much I love you,” James whispers, hovering over you, kissing your neck, your shoulders. Undressing you with care, unwrapping his favorite treasure in the world. “If you want to stop at any moment, let me know, okay?”

“James.” You call him, cupping his face. “I waited for almost four years for this moment.” He sees his reflection in your eyes, and James feels how his heart is about to combust. “I love you.”

“I love you, angel.” The kiss is slow and sensual, delicate.

You sigh in desire at the sensation of his bare chest against yours, your hands massage the broad muscles of his shoulders and as his lips trail down, the sensation of that little piece of heaven starts to build up inside you. He is taking his time, to feel you, understand what you want and need. James kisses every inch of skin, worshipping you, adoring you.

“My wife, my beautiful bride.” He mumbles more to himself, as he dives in between your legs. His tongue traces small shapes in your clit, smiling when you cry his name in pleasure. His thumbs caress the exposed flesh of your thighs, his tongue moves in and out, eating you out like you were his favorite candy.

“J–James.” You manage to whine, curling his wavy hair between your fingers, the outline of the gold ring shining through his brown locks, the diamond of your engagement ring bathed in the dim lights of the vanilla candles.

“Let go, love.” He speaks against you, eager to feel you coating his tongue.

The first orgasm of the night is rocking your body like a sweet lullaby, it’s everything and even more than you imagined. It's a dream come true, and James holds you all the way in. He crawls his way up, hands pressed on either side of your head. “You’re truly mouthwatering..” His voice drips with devotion. He calls your name like a prayer, as he kisses you again, making you taste yourself on his tongue. The taste of your recent release makes you shiver, it feels so good.

His hands continue exploring your body, pushing it all the way to your limits, he kisses your chest, and your shoulders, while murmuring quietly ‘I love you’s, James slowly places your legs on his shoulders, wrapping one hand around his aching cock, pumping it a few times before lining up in your pussy. One of his hands holds you, the one that has your marriage ring. The gold rim of his ring meets yours, and you swear it burns your finger so deliciously.

“You look just like a dream.” He sighs, interlocking your fingers with his. He starts slowly, careful to not push you or overwork you. You swear you can feel your chest swelling with love and passion.

This was pure love, the waiting was all worth it. He continues, until his hard cock is buried deep inside you, just where you want him the most. It feels good, it feels right. James moans loudly at the sensation, you close your eyes and arch your back, whining at how full you feel. Your head feels dizzy and hazy, you feel drunk, drunk of him; His smile, his body, his soul and heart beating next to yours.

So, this is love.

“The prettiest woman I have ever seen.” He moans, using his free hand to grab your waist, starting with a slow pace. Your husband wants to savour every new sensation, this new feeling of your velvety walls squeezing him has him going insane. James fights to keep his eyes open, not wanting to miss a single second of how your body shakes and how your face melts into a hot grin of pleasure.

He’s the one provoking it, he’s the one making you moan, and that feeling of finally being able to take you and merge your bodies into one, makes James feel like he’s the luckiest and most powerful man in the universe, and all because of you. Your essence, your whole being is giving him that feeling, and James, feels the fascination of your whole self running through his veins.

“So g—good.” You whine, and he leans down to kiss you, is a heated kiss, mostly teeth and tongue, your hand wraps around his neck, pressing his forehead against yours. It feels so intimate, as James speeds up the snapping of his hips against you, you feel another orgasm approaching you. “James, god… I—Im gonna—”

“Please.” He begs, his brown locks swinging gently with his thrusts, the hand on your waist finds its place between your sweaty bodies, as two rough fingers start circling your puffy clit. “Let me feel you, princess, p—please.” He wants you, he needs to feel you clenching around him, he is desperate to see you reaching that little piece of heaven again, and again, and again, just for him to see.

Your back barely touches the bed, and you cry his name in a hectic plea, your husband curses loudly at the astonishing sensation of your pussy clenching around him, but he keeps going, he keeps slamming his veiny cock inside you over and over, reaching his climax. The overstimulation makes you whine, but you can’t, you won’t ask him to stop, you want this moment to keep going, forever.

James chokes a loud groan, as he cries your name, and there it is, the warm sensation of thick ropes of cum filling you, he slams his length one last time, all the way in, letting his head back and panting heavily.

“I love you.” He says, looking down at you, smiling softly. “I love you, I fucking love you with all my soul.”

“I love you.” You mutter back, exhausted but knowing the night was far from over.

“We have all night, Mrs Potter.” He teases, as he massages your stomach, leaning down again to kiss your neck.

“Good thing we have a whole week, Mr Potter” Your tiny giggle makes him laugh, a laugh that only makes your heart burn with tenderness.

“I’m not in a hurry, sweetheart, there’s something about you.

Sorry for any mistakes! English is not my first language. I appreciate any feedback!˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

#james potter #james potter x you #james potter x reader #james potter smut #james potter x reader smut #james potter scenario #james potter x y/n #james potter fanfiction #james by omel!#marauder x reader #marauder x reader smut #marauder smut #harry potter smut #omel's asks<3 #omenhel's love letters

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sleepysnk · 4 years ago

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i made this because honestly i could not get enough of dilf jean 😩❤ i hope you guys enjoy! ♡

Perfect Fit

Pairings: Dilf!Sugar Daddy!Jean Kirstein x Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW

A giggle escaped (Y/N)'s lips as she watched Jean take another one of her shopping bags, he was already holding four or five of them around his forearms.

"You sure you can hold all of that?" she asked, a smile on her features.

Jean chuckled, "Of course, anything for you princess."

Her cheeks grew warm from the nickname he had given her, Jean always treated her like a princess anyway; he got her anything she wanted. She was his sugar baby after all. According to Jean, she always deserved the best and the most amazing treatment.

"Where to now?" he asked, shoving his wallet into his pocket.

She started to make her way down the street with him by her side, she wasn't exactly sure where she wanted to go. The two had been to almost every fancy store downtown and it was almost like she couldn't decide, almost like a little kid who got a million different candy choices. This time she got to pick the candy she wanted.

"I'm not sure," she replied, shrugging her shoulders.

Jean put his hand near the small of her back. "We can head back soon.. it has been a long day after all," he whispered, his voice husky.

She felt a chill go down her spine. "Sounds good to me," she smirked.

Jean caught the hint of amusement in her eyes, it was such a turn on for him. He loved the way she could look at him and make him harder than a rock, it was almost like her secret talent.

He looked around the streets for other shops he could take her into, his eyes scanned over the different shops and clothing stores. Nothing really caught his eye, until his vision fell upon the dark maroon doors of the lingerie shop.

His cock twitched at the idea of her in lingerie, she had always worn it for him whenever he asked, but it was always a turn on for him. He always ended up tearing it off and leaving the fabric all ripped, who could blame him? He just likes her that much.

"(Y/N), love," he said, stopping her in her tracks.

She turned to meet him. "What's up?" she asked, blinking.

He nodded his head towards the lingerie shop next to them. "Let's go in here," he replied.

She eyed the shop, shock written all over her face. She was certain she had passed this shop many times before meeting Jean, and she did it for a reason, the lingerie was expensive and it didn't necessarily come cheap.

"Okay.." she said, opening the doors, Jean following behind her.

The smell of perfume filled their noses as they entered, it was warm, almost like a blanket was placed over the two. It was better than the fall air outside.

Jean's eyes explored the different mannequins that had different lingerie placed on them, he could tell that it was the finest quality fabrics. It wasn't any kind of cheap thing a person could find online for $30, it was almost $190.

(Y/N) ran her fingers along the different bra and underwear sets, her mind wondering what she could try on or what color might fit her best. Jean always said she looked good in white or baby pink, he said it reminded him of an angel.

"Jean?" she said, turning back to see him eyeing one of the body suits.

His head turned towards her. "Yes? What's up? Did you find something you like?" he asked, nodding.

She made her way towards him. "No, but I do want to try some things on. Should I start with this?" she said, running her fingers over the fabric.

Jean blinked for a moment before speaking. "Yeah! Try it on, I want to see if it looks nice," he replied, holding it out for her.

She took it from his hands and turned to make her way towards the dressing rooms, a few women stood around looking at the lingerie, others just gawked at the way Jean looked. Who could blame them though? He always looked good.

"Just one?" the worker asked, looking at (Y/N).

She nodded, "Yes please,"

The worker led her to one of the dressing rooms near the far end, Jean trailing behind her with his phone in his hands. He was trying his best to distract the aching of his cock in his pants, but he couldn't help it, the idea of his sugar baby all dressed up for him made all the blood rush to his dick.

"Let me know if you need any help princess," Jean said, leaning against the wall in front of the dressing room she was in.

"I will!" she called back.

Jean looked up from his phone and crossed his arms, he wanted to get back home as soon as possible to relieve this ache. If he didn't he just might have to fuck her in the car, but it'd be such a mess, especially with how the two of them are.

An idea suddenly popped into his head, a dirty one too.

He looked around the hallway he was in, the only visible people around were some of the women going into changing rooms or the one worker who seemed bored out of her mind just standing there.

No one would catch him, right? He could always say she asked for help, plus it'd be quick.

Jean moved towards the door of the room, he could hear her shuffling around behind it. He assumed she was getting naked or somewhat nude, it'd be the perfect opportunity.

He knocked on the door. "(Y/N).. can I come in?" he asked, looking around to see if anyone was nearby.

He felt the doorknob click, she had unlocked the door. "Mhm.." she hummed back.

Jean opened the door and closed it as quick as he could, his eyes were filled with the sight of his sugar baby standing there with the lingerie on.

Oh was it the sight.

It fit her perfectly, the swell of her breasts were outlined by the black material, black hearts covered her nippes, and it hugged her body.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, blinking a bit.

Jean's mouth was slack, "N-No! You look.. so fucking sexy right now. I love it," he replied.

She felt her cheeks growing warm, she always felt bashful around Jean; he had such a way with words that it always made butterflies form in her stomach.

He plopped down in the small chair that was in the room, two mirrors faced each wall, giving Jean a view of both ends of her body.

"Come here.." he said, patting the spot on his lap.

She turned and sat down on his thigh, she felt a chill go down her spine as his hands began to explore the skin of her thighs. He played with the fabric near her cunt, which was starting to grow warm and pool with need.

"J-Jean?" she said, her voice coming out almost like a whimper.

His lips brushed against the skin of her neck, causing goosebumps to flare on her skin. "Do you like that..? It's very lewd of you to be turned on in a public place baby girl,"

A quiet moan escaped her mouth as his fingers found their way to her clit, her arousal pooled around it, soaking the lingerie she was wearing.

"Jean.. please!" she cried, burying her face into the crook of his neck.

Jean chuckled against her skin. "You gotta be quiet for me beautiful.. I don't want anyone to hear your pretty voice when I make you cum," he whispered. "Understand?"

She shook her head instantly. "Y-Yes.."

A smirk formed onto his face. "Good, now take this off. We can't ruin it now, can we?" he said, tugging at the material around her body.

She stood for a second, peeling the lingerie off of her body. It dropped to the floor, leaving her naked and exposed in front of him.

His cock twitched in his pants, he wanted to fuck her so badly. He knew deep down it was impossible to do it without any major noise, so he figured to do something small until they could get home and get the real show started.

"Come sit here, this time facing the mirror," he said, moving the chair so it now sat in front of the mirror.

She sat down on his lap, her back now pressing into his chest. She could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage, his print pressing into her butt.

Jean used his hands to spread her legs open, her feet now on his thighs, she was wide open for him and she could see it in the mirror.

"Fuck me.. look at that pretty pussy," he said, spreading her lips apart to see her hot core; arousal pooling from it.

She threw her head back as she felt his fingers circling her clit, bolts of electricity went through her stomach and down her spine almost instantly.

"Jean.." she whimpered, digging her nails into his jacket.

He nibbled on the shell of her ear. "You're such a good girl.. staying so quiet for me.. do you want my fingers in your pussy (Y/N)?" he asked.

She bucked her hips as she felt his fingers go closer to the entrance of her pussy. "Jean, please! Go inside me.." she cried, squeezing her eyes shut.

A low chuckle rumbled in his throat. "As you wish, pretty girl.." he replied, shoving two digits into her hot cavern.

A loud moan came from her mouth, Jean's fingers filled her hole instantly, she was so wet for him. He could almost cum on the spot from just fingering her, her pussy was always so nice and warm, it drew him in whenever he wanted to fuck her.

"Look at the mirror.." he ordered, putting his arm around her waist.

She looked towards her reflection in front of her, Jean's fingers were knuckle deep inside of her cunt, the sight was turning her on; Jean could feel her walls squeezing around him.

"B-Baby.." she moaned, putting her hand near his wrist to draw him deeper inside.

Jean kissed her at her neck, slightly sucking on the skin. "Look at you.. being such a good girl for daddy, take my fucking fingers," he said, quickening the pace.

She covered her mouth to suppress any noises that threatened to escape, she felt her body growing warm, and her vision going white whenever his fingers hit that spot inside of her.

"Yes.. oh fuck.." she whimpered, looking into the reflection. She could see Jean staring right at her, his honey eyes were blown with lust and desire.

"You wanna cum for me? I can feel you getting close.." Jean said, curling his fingers inside her wet cunt. "You're so wet for me.."

She lifted her hips to inch him deeper, her walls were sucking him in; squelching noises came from her pussy as he thrusted his fingers into her without hesitation. Her hand went to his cheek where she turned his face to meet hers, their lips crashing onto one another.

She gasped as finger curled towards her g-spot, he took the opportunity to explore her mouth with his tongue. The kiss was sloppy, salvia formed around her mouth making their kisses smack.

He pulled away, his eyes going down to her puffy lips. "Fuck, you are one pretty sight. I want you to cum all over my fingers," he said, licking his lips.

She whimpered feeling his fingers quicken against her cunt, his thumb playing with her clit to double the pleasure. It was almost becoming too much, her body was twitching and the knot in her stomach was threatening to break any moment.

"J-Jean! I'm close.." she cried, digging her nails into his wrist.

His eyes went to the mirror, she looked so fucking sexy like that. She was crumbling beneath him, her eyes were squeezed shut and her lips were parted with small moans coming from them. He could feel the way her walls fluttered around him, her orgasm was approaching.

He gripped at the skin of her waist, he pulled her tightly against him; his fingers thrusting into her at that same quick pace. Her moans began to fall from her mouth, she could barely form sentences at that point, the pleasure felt so good and she wanted to cum so bad.

"Cum all over my fucking fingers baby.. you can do it," Jean cooed, nibbling on her ear.

She let out a cry of pleasure as her orgasm took over her body, her walls tightening around his fingers; arousal coating them. Her thighs twitched and her breath became uneven from the effects.

"Good girl.."

She smiled to herself from the praise, she could barely stand from all of it. Her body was warm, a layer of sweat was glistening on her skin.

"Suck," he said, holding his fingers near her lips.

She opened her mouth letting his fingers slide in, her slick coating her tongue; the taste filling her mouth.

Jean removed his fingers from her mouth, a trail of saliva connected from her lips to the tips. He rubbed off the spit and tapped her thigh.

"Come on.. let's check out and get out of here," he said, sitting up in the chair.

She stood on wobbly legs, she quickly threw on her clothes and picked up the lingerie which was hanging on the wall. Jean came over to her, pressing a kiss onto her cheek before heading towards the door of the dressing room.

Jean took her hand into his, heading towards the checkout counter. The two stood waiting as the cashier began to scan the item, Jean's hand went to her ass, causing her to look up at him.

"Let me get you another one.. this one is covered in something," the cashier said, smiling a bit.

(Y/N)'s cheeks grew warm, a chuckle coming from Jean. "Weird! We didn't notice that," he replied.

The cashier came over with the same lingerie. "Have a good day," she said, handing over the bag.

(Y/N) smiled and exited the store with Jean, embarrassment written all over her face. "That was.. not good," she said, rubbing the back of her neck.

Jean chuckled, taking her hand into his. "I found it pretty amusing.. but we should finish what we started," he said, smirking.

"Sounds like a plan to me.." she replied, looking up at him.

Jean laughed before taking her towards the car.

#anime #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot x reader #aot x y/n #aot imagines #aot fanfiction #snk x y/n #snk x reader #snk imagines #snk fanfiction #shingeki no kyoujin fanfiction #jean kirstein #jean kirstein x reader #jean x reader #attack on titan fanfiction #anime fanfic #aot smut

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seraphdreams · 4 years ago

Text

christmas lights

poc fem!reader x soft dom! kags, angst (kinda), soft morning sex, very vanilla and fluffy.

wc - 1.4k

it was a rough few days. you had just got into a serious argument with kageyama. a bout of words, only said out of anger, run through your mind. the way he was so stubborn and ignorant to your needs had a pain stabbing through your heart.

“i swear you’re so needy! why can’t you just listen to me for once?!” he had said that night, his voice ringing through you’re mind like a bell, nonstop, and over and over.

you hugged yourself under the large, warm comforter. there you lay in bed, watching the romantic christmas movies on the holiday channel, scarfing down ice cream like it’s nothing. you hadn’t talked to tobio ever since the big argument. he was at an away game and stayed at a hotel with the team. not once leaving a message or calling.

but you were used to it, his outbursts. the way he’d be so childlike as to not care about his doting girlfriend.

“i don’t care what he’s doing” you angrily babble to yourself as you get up to throw away the now empty tub of ice cream. the chirping of birds on your balcony got your attention. pretty smidges of red, blue and green twinkle under the early morning light. decorations upon decorations coming into hazy view.

you rested your hands on the railing, taking in the crisp, cold air. sitting in bed wasn’t going to help your spirits, no. you needed to be outdoors doing something fun. “let me call my friend real quick” you whisper, turning around quickly and hopping to your bed stand

“hey”. a deep voice causes you to freeze, the tall frame of your lover standing in the doorway. blue glassy eyes stare into yours. you relax your tense body and roll your eyes.

“hi tobio” you drag out, almost uninterested. but he seen. he seen how you were fawning over the festivities, and how the glow of sunlight on your pretty brown skin made you seem almost ethereal. he really truly enjoyed seeing you happy.

his eyes dance across the room as he lays a finger on his chin trying to think up something. “uhhh, um, i-well i” he pauses for a brief moment to clear his throat. you give him an annoyed puzzled glare, causing him to shift on his feet. “babe, i’m sorry for yelling at you. i was just so stressed with practice and the ga-“ he sighs, dropping his volleyball bag to the side before continuing.

“look, i didn’t mean to hurt you in any way. i got some time off so we could do something. anything you want.” he compromises, hoping to see if your atmosphere would get a little warmer.

you amble toward him, chocolate coils bouncing with every step. “anything?” you give him your best puppy eyes while reaching for his hand. he takes it in his, pressing a gentle kiss onto the back of yours. “anything.”

it doesn’t take long for kageyama to get worked up, moving his lips from your hand to your cheek, then to your plump lips that curled into a smile. his gentle pecks was all enough to make you reassured. you deepen the kiss, pulling him closer until your chest was pressed onto his. the material of his t-shirt balled in your fist.

his rough calloused hands move from inside his adlers track jacket pockets to around your waist, gripping at the soft flesh. deep groans escape as he places open mouth kisses along the side of you neck, nipping ever so lightly. “missed you” he drawls. you drape your arms over his shoulders, inhaling his scent. fresh, like always.

he breaks from the kiss, panting. you gaze into his dark blue orbs, noticing no hidden intent behind them. just pure lust. “tobio?” you ask, tilting you head to the side. his cheeks are flushed pink and eyes unfocused. “..want you” he mumbles. you nod your head, melting into his tranquil touch.

he kisses your forehead, then picks you up. you wrap your legs around his slender waist as you feel the breeze of him placing you on the soft sheets behind you.

a chill breeze flows through the air making the curtains dance, orange light peering through. tobio slides in between your legs, staring down at you. you giggle at his advance. somehow he always seemed to be intense but right now, he was nothing of the sort. he kneels down to carefully pull the sweats, along with your underwear, off your legs. your exposed thighs were like gold. the glistening of the sun on your deep sepia skin, sparkling in the reflection of blueberries eyes.

he lightly runs his pale fingers down your thigh. he taps on the flesh ever so gently. you spread them out farther in response. he rests on his knees, in front of your glossy folds. licking his puffy pink lips, he sucks on your clit. you arch your back in surprise at the wet warmth succumbing to your body. his tongue swirls around the nub, drawing patterns as his sharp eyes study your face. his pretty girl falling into the sensation.

he pulls away. long digits running along your slit. he dips a finger in then out. “tobio” you mewl, hand over your face. he chuckles, repeating his action before slipping in two fingers. “so wet” he says. the ghost of his breath casting overs your cunt. he pumps curling his fingers against the velvety wall. you run your hand under your skin, playing with your hard nipples. kageyama watches as you come undone, fingering deeper and harder. “please tobio, please” you cry out, free hand tangled in his black locks. you can feel yourself tightening on his fingers, coating them in your slick. the lewd noises of your body filling up the room. he prods at your sweet spot, watching how it makes you tighten and moan, tits bouncing in his view.

you felt the coil in your abdomen build up. he used his tongue to lap around your clit, determined for you to reach your high. “i’m gonna-“ you’re orgasming, tumbling off the edge, panting as you scramble to find a something to grab onto to steady you. his fingers gently push into you once more, riding out your orgasm.

“easy” tobio coos, pressing on your stomach so you could remain grounded. he stands up, his hard on begging to be freed from the grey shorts he had on. he kisses the tip of your cute rounded nose. he then searches through his drawer to find a condom. coming back to you, he pulls his shorts down, condom bearing between his teeth. his cock leaking beads of precum from the slit and flushed pink at the tip. he slips on the condom, pumping himself a few times afterward

he nudges the head against your walls, pushing in slowly. the slight burn of him splitting you open goes away quickly. he lets out a shaky breath. “fuck”. once he’s situated inside, he begins to thrust.

he keeps his movements gentle, gripping the soft flesh of your waist. a singe of pleasure trills down your spine as you let out whimpers and moans. his thick cock repeatedly hitting in the perfect spot not even you could reach. “s’good?” he asks, his voice light and airy from his moans. your bottom lip is tucked back by your teeth and all you could do was nod. his hands explore your body, fingers twirling around your dark curls.

you buck your hips up, matching his thrusts. you didn’t think he could go any deeper but he did, putting pressure against your cervix. “tobio!” you gasp, eyes shot from the pleasure. “feels...good” you hum. you scratch at his back unable even find the words to explain how good you feel. “so tight, baby” he groans. it doesn’t take long for his fingers to find their way to your clit again, rubbing harsh circles on the bud. the coil in your stomach starts building up again. he thrusts harder in that one spot, until your screaming his name and you coat his cock with your cream color.

the next few strokes are slightly painful, only until he finally hits his high.

he collapses on the bed next to you, playing with your hair

“anything else you wanna do after this?” he asks, voice shaky

“can we go see the christmas lights later?” you pant

“definitely”

#kageyama smut #tobio kageyama smut #kageyama x reader #kageyama x reader smut #kageyama oneshot #kageyama fic #tobio kageyama #haikyuu smut #smut fic

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mypersonmyg · 4 years ago

Text

The Misery Chick | MYG

thank you to my favorite @kimtaehyunq for the wonderful banner, ily you talented cutie <3

pairing: Yoongi x reader

genre: fluff, a lil tiny bit of angst, college au

wc: 5.2k (issa short one)

warnings: language

summary: maybe yoongi has a fat crush on you OR he notices, that’s all

a/n: happy birthday to the one and only min yoongi! i am so so fond of him and i couldn’t not write something for him, so I hope you enjoy :D and as always feel free to send in drabble requests for the fic and blah blah blah...

honorary tag: @gukssunshine

masterlist

To wonder about the quickened stride of the beating appendage in Yoongi’s chest, would be to question the routine catch of gaze to the lone figure at the far end of the classroom, dwarfed by cuddled fabric, consumed with the rapid turn of the lengthy page. His arm rests atop the desk’s surface, supporting the chin that minutely dips with your every flicker of expression, the parting of your lips in gasp mimed by his own. His eyes are glazed under bright light, lids threatening to blink, the passage of time too fast, but oh so slow.

Yoongi’s knowledge is second hand, rumblings of your demeanor spread through the vine of dialogue that floats coincidentally through his ears to connect with the edges of his brain, chewed and regurgitated without second thought. He holds his refusal to high regard, refusal to believe that you’re nothing more than a student, disgruntled by circumstance. It’s not simple attraction that guides his mind to the eye of logic, the region of reason, though it was the peak of initial interest.

He notices, and that’s all.

He notices the round of your puffed cheeks that follows a particularly surprising piece of narrative. He notices the seat left empty between you and the wall, open but not a forced invitation, and he notices the way your posture straightens when someone grazes a hair too close. He notices the deflation of your shoulders when you’re left without pair during lessons framed with the inopportunity of interaction forced to simulate the false reality of reality itself. He notices the things others are blind to in their half squint, though the picture is still blurred like the edges of a polaroid.

The numbness of his wrist, angled by the rest of his chin, draws him from captivation despite motivation to outlast the congregation huddle before you, their fronts focused toward him, his view obscured by obligation of association. His lips form the curvature of amiability necessary for pleasantry, neck craning to the defense of blue jeans offending his locked gaze.

“Can you stop staring so hard? She’s gonna eat you alive,” Hoseok’s finger nudges at the round of Yoongi’s jaw, urging his attention completely away from his person of interest.

“Fuck off, you don’t even know her.”

“Neither do you, despite your dedication to staring holes into her side every chance you get. They don’t call her ‘the misery chick’ for nothing, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her smile.” The jab rubs the wrong direction, Yoongi’s hand landing with a thud to the thick of Hoseok’s skull. “Come on, it’s a joke.”

“Maybe to you, and to everyone else, but she is a person. You guys just don’t look beyond what you wanna see because then she’s more than just a good laugh.” Every utterance of the moniker draws is lips to a downward twitch, fists balling in the pocket of his hoodie or scraping at the fabric of stressed jeans. It’s knowing that if he’s heard it you have ten fold, the thought harboring the wish that he could fold you inward, close to the beat of his chest to shield from the displeasure of words half baked with stupidity and the ignorance of hilarity.

“Well not everyone wants to see her between the sheets.”

Interruption of the education saves Hoseok from the verbal spar pending within the fire engulfing Yoongi’s pupils. A place of love harbors the words of war, he knows this, knows that Hoseok’s plan is to rile to the point of action, but he’s driven to the brink of insanity by twisted words of encouragement. The kindest person on the planet playing into the stereo of broken records hurled toward the edges of your delicate framing, .

Yoongi’s hands curl around his pen, ballpoint and already dancing the page, jotting words flown from one canal to the other and back to the atmospheric toxins of brains shorting caffeine. His sleeves are suddenly burning, neck itching with the heat of nerves crawling outward from within the confines of his collar. He glances toward Hoseok staring absently at Yoongi’s decorative scrawl, raising a brow to colliding gazes.

“Is it hot?” Yoongi puckers in mumble, swiping at the skin kissing the fringe sweeping his eyeline. Hoseok’s head careens in the negative, averting gaze to the front of the room, professor droning about the coming assignment, a project that Yoongi barely catches wind of.

The plague responsible for his discomfort of familiarity is comfort enough to stop the distant tremble of shoulders keen to the stare that meets his eyes from the room’s opposing side. He jolts, or rather the calm of his heart picks back to pace, when his eyes meet irises reflective of his own. They’re gone as soon as he finds them, but he’s confident that the cool of his neck is confirmation that sanity isn’t all lost.

“Dude, could you take your notes? I’m gonna need those later,” Hoseok nudges at his forearm, limp from distraction. Yoongi hurries to scribble missed lecture, patient for a lull in speech to make room for declaration.

“She was looking at me.”

“What?”

“Y/n, she was looking at me. I saw her...I felt her.”

“Maybe she was just staring off into space because this class is a snooze-fest.” Hoseok speaks through the timing of yawn, perfectly punctuating his point. “She probably doesn’t even know you exist. Though, I guess everyone knows you exist, so maybe she just doesn’t care.”

The words aren’t false, Yoongi’s following his beyond the definition of quaint, his celebrity following him from the rush of the court to the thrill of the keys. He’s hard pressed for a moment of peace, but he often finds it here, lost in you.

“I’m serious.”

Yoongi sighs an audible defeat, Hoseok’s dropped lids and the rest of his chin atop folded arms a clear sign that his mind is beyond the classroom and beyond Yoongi’s own romantic woes. The end of the lecture appears miles from the start, the wave of dismissal a spell releasing its hold on the shackles chaining the ghoulish appearance of sleepless students.

Yoongi has worked himself to the brink of decision by the end of the lecture, sure enough that his stride to your desk will prove a build in the shy tint of his cheeks when he musters a faint ‘hello’. The pan of his half thought out plan doesn’t sort as well as he hoped, the rush of legs scurrying for the door tripping him up in his rush to the chair where you patiently filed notebook to bag.

His vision is blurred by the passage of sweaters and hoodies, emblems emblazoned on sleeves and beanies sagging from the tips of bedhead. Hoseok follows after his stride in a confused wake from the desk that housed his sleepy head for the last seventy minutes, stumbling along with the drag of feet on tile.

When destination is met, your chair is neatly housed, your figure nowhere to be found, Yoongi paces back, his sizable sneaker just scuffing the metal recline of an adjacent chair.

“What are you doing?” Hoseok clutches the muscled fabric of Yoongi’s shoulder, stopping near disaster following the weighted displacement of the two.

“Nothing, let's get lunch.”

The passage of days are a haze in the midst of the craze of midterms and Yoongi’s attempt to find reason to believe your glance was more than a passing innocence. The press of his back to his mattress, sheets freshly laundered, linens, scented of the artificial makings of fresh lilac courtesy of Jeongguk, are used to his mid-day collapse for a pre-study snooze. He’s swallowed whole beneath the dense of his comforter, fingers curling into the soft material, lips emitting a sigh of satisfaction.

The buds in his ears are a dull hum, white noise to saturate the crevices of his brain still vibrating from the surge of knowledge consumed at the twice rapid pace of the semester’s schedule. His lids are aflutter, pupils rolling to the dark precipice, the unconscious already tugging at the bits of his subconscious manifested to snooze.

The muscles of his pillowy cheeks fight upward against the smush to the firm cushioning of his mattress, arms cuddled around the decorative cushion of deep blue. A pitched giggle echoes in the receptors of his brain, bouncing against the walls, a comforting sound. It’s foreign though, the melodic stutter, yet it engulfs his chest with the warmth of affection, his stomach turning with nerves of the giddy sort.

He teeters on the edge of more, features dancing between streams, a waterfall blur. Yoongi aches for the reach, his physical and metaphorical being extending from the depths of his full size bed, yearning for the exploration of the four walls and beyond. He can swear his fingers graze the soft of skin, the trace of lip curved in sensuality just visible through sleepy haze. The giggles grow in volume, almost as if guided toward his hasty reach.

“Jeongguk, shut up!” Yoongi falls forward, just catching onto the ledge of his dresser, quick reflexes doing wonders for his physical well being, but the skip in his mental and the stop of his heart are undeniable.

He's heard the voice a handful of times, an arm eagerly shooting to respond to a professor’s quarry, the hidden mumblings that he swears he’s the only one to pick up on, his smirk almost never enough to stop impending chuckle.

It’s you.

He knows, but can’t quite grasp that just beyond the barrier of belief, past the door sealed to keep from disturbance you’re somewhere laughing with Jeongguk. He listens for a moment, unmoving, to attempt a deciphering of your intentions, but laughter has turned to the inaudible mumblings from the room across the hall. He’s silent in his trek to the door, pulling it on rusted hinges, cringing with every scrape of copper and wood.

He slips down the hall on tiptoe, unsure if you’re attune to the other members of the house, but not ready to face you if Jeongguk’s door swings back to reveal the occupants of the small cubical. Yoongi makes way to the kitchen, surprised to find the rest of his roommates crowded into the sizable space, each occupied with their own endeavor of strewn textbooks and half frozen toaster strudel.

“Well well look who’s awake,” Jimin sneers playfully in Yoongi’s direction, drawing attention from the rest of the room.

“Bet I can guess why,” Taehyung snickers, glances exchanged with a conspiratorial air, the shift of Yoongi’s feet not unnoticed by his personal tormentors. “We told Jeongguk he might wanna keep it down, we know how you like your rest.”

“Jeongguk didn’t wake me,” Not the correct turn of phrase, realized just moments late, the flicker of pupils raising with the feigned ah ha! Yoongi side steps them all, settling on the sphere of orange grabbing his interest from the bowl on the table, plopping into the nearest chair.

“Oh he didn’t? Well what other reason could you possibly have to forgo your pre-study nap, hmmm?” Jin pokes at the slightly greened peel of Yoongi’s fruit, hand smacked away with haste. He withdraws to card through his hair, lengthening by the day, framing his face with more beauty than should be allowed by the ethereal senior.

“I was hungry, s’all.” He tosses scraps with each peel of fruitful flesh, eagerly sliding bits of tangerine past his puckered lips. Anything to keep his mind from the fresh dose of giggles eating at his brain like a love bitten parasite. “Who—umm, who does Jeongguk have over.”

“Oh, Kookie has a friend over? We had no idea,” Namjoon hums, glasses perched to the bridge of his nose, arms eaten by the sleeves of his hoodie.

“Maybe you recognize their voice? I mean, you’re the only one close enough to hear it.” Hoseok’s grin is shit eating, half hidden behind the length of his hand, fingers curling in position at the tip of his chin.

“Oh, oh! I think I recall him saying something about a...Y/—hmmm was it…” Taehyung fakes stumbles over the name, tips of his fingers tracing the glass of his crumbed plate.

“Y/n.” Yoongi speaks through teeth clenched, his cheeks rosy from snatched sleep and the scrutiny he’s placed himself under, the heat of a lamp concentrated in the five pairs of eyes trained on his every movement for their amusement.

“So you do know her, why don’t you go say hi?” Jin pats him with vigour, the sound of an echoed frame permeating the air of what Yoongi has affectionately titled, friendly toxicity. Those same muffled voices grow with the trek down the stairs, threatening to give way with each step. Yoongi lifts his eyes from his half eaten fruit for the first time since he sat down, daring them to say a word out of turn with a single look.

“It’s pretty quiet considering seven guys live here,” Your voice is audible from the front door, Yoongi’s grip tightening, juice spilling down the crevices of his hand, soiling his shirt sleeve, palms already sticky from the stress. “I have one roommate and, as you’ve seen, she can be loud enough for the both of us.”

“I’m just as surprised as you are actually. I know Yoongi is probably asleep,” Yoongi sinks into his chair, knowing glances threatening to drop him straight through the wooden surface. “The rest are probably out.”

“Yoongi?” Your voice strays a bit, Yoongi’s lip twitching, unsure what to think of the sudden strain in pitch.

“Yeah, do you know him?”

“Oh, um...kinda? Not really, we share a class together, but we’ve never talked. I’m pretty sure he’d think he’s too cool for me anyways. You know, ‘misery chick’ and all.” Yoongi levels a stare at Hoseok whose arms lift in readied defense, though his own face conjures frown at your words. Your attention clearly never spotting the longing with which he’s leveled you for the past few months.

“You’re not the ‘misery chick’,” Jeongguk’s voice holds firm reassurance, something Yoongi wishes he could give you, but he’s glued, too curious for the thought of impromptu interruption. “People are just jerks. Besides, Yoongi-hyung isn’t like that at all. He likes to pretend he doesn’t know how cool people think he is.”

“Guess I’ll just have to take your word for it. I have to go, but I’ll see you tomorrow, Koo.”

The door closes, Jeongguk just as soon rounding into the kitchen, tracks dead when there are six pairs of eyes trained on his figure. “Wha—have you all been here the whole time?”

He only takes pause momentarily, his stride leading to the fridge, a juice box of all things pulled from metal confines. The naked eye would never guess the soft interior of Jeongguk, his features contrasting with the boots swallowing his feet and the tattoos eating his arm, tracing his digits. But he’s the walking embodiment of the careful youth painting each man posted in the room, a piece of him nursed by a piece of them with each day passing.

“Yeah, we’re just hangin’ around, Jeonggukie.” Hoseok shrugs, ruffling the base of Jeongguk’s wild curls.

“Well you’re doing it pretty quietly, Y/n thought it was weird.”

“Are you guys dating?” Jimin’s question is thrown with abandon, eyes trained on Jeongguk with absolute focus, Yoongi sending a glare toward the silver haired fiend.

“No.” Jeongguk pays little mind to the question, too busy squeezing every last drop from the box clutched in his fist, doe eyes glistening with concentration. “We met last semester in lit and she’s really cool so we started hanging out. You guys should meet her sometime, she doesn’t have a lot of friends because of this dumb rumor that she’s ‘the misery chick’ which is ridiculous because she’s one of the nicest people I’ve met here.”

“Yeah, you can bring her over any time.” Namjoon encourages, book lowered to the table, face scrunching in mental agony when he realizes the corner of his novel is soaked with the spill of orange juice.

“She said she knows you from class Yoongi, but she doesn’t think you’d like her. I think you would though! Maybe you should try to talk to her next class.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi readily agrees, new found vigor in his speech. “Maybe…”

Over the next several weeks, Yoongi is sure that coincidence isn’t what found his stare locked to yours, Jeongguk’s overheard conversation clearly leaving your interest peaked about Yoongi who was forced to make his own gazes less frequent for fear of being caught. His first sighting after he floated the walls of his home like a ghost in haunt was next lecture.

The nerves that ate at his skin the first instance of your curious scan was turned bearable by the itching of excitement to his every nerve, skin alight with the tango of possibility traversing his very being. His attention was wayward, standing at the head of the class, scooping the pages required for lecture from the overflowing desk, a minute ‘excuse me’ cutting through the thick of his cogged brain.

“Yes?” Was his response, regurgitated dumbly despite the forming line waiting for him to budge to his waiting seat.

“Uh...could I get by...papers.” He smiles, unintentional, but the effect is the duck of your head, refusal to meet his eyes under such a heated gaze. He’s left to stare a moment longer before the snag of his sleeve, Hoseok forcing him away, calming the mob of students too impatient to momentarily still for the fruition of his romantic interest.

Lately, your exit from class seems somehow quicker than usual, the practiced haste too much for him to master, another obstacle to his formal introduction. Though it seems your professor can read the tension that hovers the expanse of the classroom, a thread itching to be linked by two lovers, one unknowing of the delicate pull she has on her soul suitor.

“Okay!” The professor stands at the front of the room, barely holding the attention of the class, barely holding Yoongi’s attention until he speaks once more. “Instead of a formal midterm, I want you all to complete a joint essay, yes you heard me correctly! I want you to pair up and write an essay on the topic of your choosing—as long as that topic is related to the course.”

Yoongi perks up, ignoring the telltale that Hoseok hopes to grab him as soon as the class is dismissed because Yoongi has a plan of his own.

“Of course I won’t force you to choose a partner, I know some of you prefer to work alone. But no more than two people to a group. Now I can see that you’re all on the edge of your seats, but I’m feeling generous today, so you’re dismissed, but your pages are due on my desk beginning of class Monday!” The final words of the professor send the class into frenzy, those who were paying attention quick to grab hold of their half and those who weren’t suddenly catching up and scrambling for someone who’ll make do.

“Hey, we’re partners, right?” Hoseok looks at Yoongi hopeful, but Yoongi already has his sights set on you, watching everyone link up, resigned to working solo.

“Nah, I’ve got another partner in mind if that’s okay with you.” Hoseok catches the drift rather quickly, wide smile forgoing slight disappointment at his loss of the sure A on his midterm.

“Go for it,” Hoseok gives a light shove forward, much appreciated by Yoongi whose heart threatens to burst from his chest, sure that the nerves are painted on his face like a slice of Van Gogh. He’s just in time, your hands shoved into your pockets, ready to leave the suffocation of a space smothered in unwelcome.

“Hey.” Yoongi can see the uncertainty, your eyes glancing to either side to ensure that he is certainly addressing you.

“Hey…”

“So, this midterm thing is kinda weird, right?” He can already see the snicker on Hoseok’s face, though his friend is posted at the door opposite him. Your own lips quirk, his only thought of coherency aimed at how cute the action is. You rock on your heels, he notes your style isn’t far off from the bones of Jeongguk, hoodie black and heavy boots ready to stomp through endless waves of the nauseating sea of university.

“Yeah...I guess it’s a little unconventional. But great for people who get test anxiety,” You humor him, hands withdrawing from jeaned confines to gesture wildly to the room void of anyone but the three remaining vessels, two of which are engaged in unlikely exchange. “Did you need something?”

“Huh?”

“Sorry! I don’t mean to be rude, but I have a class to get to and I have a thing about being late. I figure there’s a reason you’re talking to me seeing as we’ve never actually talked before…” You catch yourself in ramble, tripping over phrases whilst Yoongi watches without missing a beat.

He’s incredibly taken with the way the words flow without pretense, a nice change to the closed off demeanor people falsely associate with you. He would listen for a lifetime to the things you have to say, hopefully with the clasp of finger and longing glances. Your intent is nonsense, nerves eating away at the buds of your tongue. To him it’s a poetry specially curated, a tickle to his throat bringing forth the soft laughter that halts your speech.

“I’m sorry, you go ahead I’m just...nervous.”

“No no, don’t apologize, I like listening to you,” He coos when you smile, quick to recover before your eyes, wide and attentive find his own once more, now notably softer, safer. “I love your smile too…”

“You’re not so bad yourself…” Soft spoken and not altogether sure is the way you speak, your class long forgotten, a blip in rear view shadowed by the shining beacon before you. “So…?”

“Right, right...I was just wondering if you’d maybe wanna work together?” Despite compliments and hinted flirtation you’re taken aback by the offer, your eyes skirting Yoongi completely, raising question to the figure station by the exit. Hoseok offers you a smile you can’t help but return his thumbs raising in the affirmative.

“He’s all yours,” Hoseok assures, taking his leave prematurely, Yoongi still waiting for confirmation.

“No pressure, just thought I’d ask. I think we’d work well together,” And I wanna know you, he withholds for fear of frightening you more so than the sudden acknowledgement already has.

“Well I don’t know about that, but yeah I’d love to if you’re sure.”

“I’m positive. Wanna meet at my place after school?”

“Sounds good.” You pull your phone swiping at the screen before passing it over. “Just text me when you’re free.”

“I’ll text the address,” He knows it’s unnecessary, just taking precautions to shield from the admission of his eavesdrop the last time you occupied the residence. You wait until you’re once again clutching the spherical confines of your devices, checking and double checking that all digits are present, not unfamiliar with the harsh reality of falsehood buried beneath genuine interest.

“Oh, I actually know where you live. My friend Jeongguk is one of your roommates, so I know my way.”

“Well I’m sorry we’ve missed each other, that it took me so long to say hello.” Yoongi’s legs lead him half a step closer, an accidentally purposeful close of the gap between, your eyes avoid the bottom half of his face, focusing instead on the bill of his cap and the dark hair tickling the edges.

“Guess you’ll just have to make up for it somehow.”

“Guess I will.”

Your visits to Yoongi are routine over the next week, the laughter filling the hectic halls caused by him rather than his roommates. He’s seen more of you in a week than he could’ve hoped in a lifetime, even more confused about the way you’ve been outcast by a majority of your major. He’s awed by your lack of reaction to the judgement of peers, often citing it as a joke, sarcasm lacing the words.

It’s the day before assignment is due, you’re perched at Yoongi’s desk, he’s laying on his bed, tossing his basketball in mock free throw simultaneously with his toss of ideas while your fingers type vigorously in final draft.

This particular evening leaves you alone with Yoongi, the other members of the house trying and failing to convince you to join for their weekly outing to the nearest bar where they would no doubt drink their weight to poorly prepare for the week to come. Yoongi was swift to opt out, much preferring your company to the stench of stale beer and jokes poorly executed by Jin after he downs his fifth shot.

You were insistent that he let you handle the rest of the paper, just pages standing between you and your final product, but he’s too fond of the way your post-its decorate the shelf over his desk, different colored notes for every paragraph, the ink of your pens highlighting each point in magenta saturation. He’s obsessed with the way you hunch to close to the pages of your textbook while scolding him for getting too close to the screen of his laptop in the next breath.

He can’t help the thought of what could be, close calls and a hair’s breadth stepping between you all week. It’s the price of seven roommates and a lock loosened with the jiggle of a handle. The hesitancy that still fills your pupils despite the easy way his words lace with genuine interest.

Yoongi remembered what it was like to notice, deciding that it’s much better to experience you. The moment is delicate, your soft suggestions and argumentative replies tossed with a hint of tease lacing the bite of your tone. He doesn’t try to hide the smile that breaks the mold of his face, lips dampened by the press of gums prominent from healthy reach.

“Can I ask you a question?” He raises, your fingers slowing against the keyboard, chair swiveling to offer full attention. “Does it bother you...the whole ‘misery chick’ thing?”

He’s not sure what possesses it, but he is sure that knowing will make things easier, break a barrier that to him doesn’t exist. He knows your breath is baited, knows you’ve been waiting for the pull of the rug, so he offers a tug, a comforting teasing sort of thing to ease your mind and close the gap of misunderstanding that he could never blame you for.

“Can I ask you a question? Do you believe the whole ‘misery chick’ thing?” You counter, scooting along hardwood until your knees are pressed to his mattress, sinking into the cushioned flesh as far as it allows. Your stare is careful, not expectant of the negative or offended by the positive. “It’s okay if you do, just don’t lie about it.”

There's a sadness in your delivery and Yoongi notes it immediately. Your attempt to hide the twitch of your lip and the anxious fold of your hands in your lap don’t escape him. Your tone is even, your eyes much the same and he wonders how anyone could ever believe it, he’s grateful that he never did.

“Not for a second.” He responds almost immediately, waiting for any lingering doubt on your end. It never comes.

“Good.” Is your reply, just as even as the question itself. Your shoulders relax, posture not as stiff as before. “It does bother me, not as much as it used to, but it does. It bothers me that they don’t like that I’m not like them. I don’t mean that in the whole ‘I’m not like other girls’ way, but I’m just not Cathy college, you know? I don’t get excited about parties and drinking, I don’t need to go out all the time to have fun, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you if you do, but I don’t and because I’m not like everyone else I have to be ‘the misery chick’.

He’s sure you don’t realize it, but Yoongi see’s the build of tears in your eyes, unshed but there and it breaks him. Breaks him that something so trivial could be the defining factor of someone’s experience, that you can hide it so well at the cost of your own happiness.

“I mean, it’s college, you’d think that people have better things to do than come up with reasons to ridicule someone, but I guess I have too much faith.” You finish, glancing up to find Yoongi all ears, lips etched in frown. “Sorry, you didn’t ask for all of that.”

“People suck.” Is all he says, hand extending toward you, inviting you to join him on his island, silent but sure. You crawl the length of the mattress, your back pressing the headboard, fingers laced with his own, warm and sweaty from nerves, yours or his neither of you are sure.

“People do suck.”

“I know what’ll make you feel better.” He offers, thumb running along the jagged edges of your knuckle, skin kissing skin. You lift your head, half leaning on his shoulder so your eyes meet, a reflection of picture perfect, a record in perfect sync.

“Yeah?”

“You should go out with me.” Yoongi doesn’t expect a snort, but the response is exactly what he receives your head averting to conceal your laughter, hands shielding your face from the expanse of an ego deflated by the graze of your accidental needle. “Why are you laughing?”

“No I’m not—I just—you’ve been looking at me like I’m completely insane all semester! I didn’t think you liked me, I thought you were looking right through me...I kinda thought you were just coming to class high every day.”

“I don’t even smoke, those were not the eyes of a stoner, they were the eyes of a man who’s very fond of you.” Yoongi defends his position, his usually dormant stare now bugged to exaggeration, unavailable for serious consideration.

“My mistake, though I don’t know whether to be weirded out or completely flattered.”

“You better be so flattered that I can see hearts in your eyes because you were pretty quick to agree to be my partner for this project!” Yoongi keeps the charade, glad to lighten the tension and draw from the heaviness of the previous conversation. It’s not a chapter that’s closed, but the beginning is the build and he’s planning an entire novel with you, so he figures his time isn’t limited by the tick of a clock nearing the midnight hour.

“I heard I’ve got a sure ‘A’ and I’d be an idiot to pass that up.”

“You could get a passing grade in your sleep, you can’t fool me. But you can go on a date with me.”

“So you, cool guy Min Yoongi, want to go on a date with me, ‘the misery chick’?” You gasp, hand clutched to your chest, Yoongi’s hand catching hold and bringing it to his own, to the beat of his heart, the bass begging for a melody that only you can satisfy.

“More than anything.”

“Well when you put it that way I have no choice but to say yes, but to be clear, I’ve definitely seen you looking at Hoseok with that same look in your eyes so you might wanna sort some stuff out first—”

#bangtanuniversity #bangtanidx #suganetwork #bangtanarmynet #thebtswritersclub #yoongi x reader #myg x reader #yoongi fluff #yoongi fanfic #bts fluff #bts fanfic #yoongi oneshot #bts oneshot #houseofddaeng

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creativeashproductions · 4 years ago

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Hiking Buddy // Charlie Gillespie

Summary: Once upon a time you could joke that quaratine bordom was the cause of the mass amount of 2020 pregnancies. Well you could until you found yourself in the same boat...or shall we say crib?? Go on the journey as Y/N reveals the pregnancy to Charlie and later their friends.

Warnings: Swearing, talk of vomiting, pregnancy, and fluff.

Words: 2.5k

Requested: Yes. Anon

A/N: Someone asked for dad!Charlie and I couldn’t resist.

Please ask to be tagged in my inbox because I can’t promise you will be through commenting on the posts!

I take requests as well!

Masterlist

Pulled from deep in your chest was a groan at the dizziness rushing from the bedroom into the bathroom. The tile floor cool to the touch as your body was flush on the bathroom floor recovering from the bout of sickness. The fortunate thing about the pandemic was that you had no obligations taking you out of the home. Sitting up, you sat back against the white porcelain tub grimacing at the bitter aftertaste of your date with the toilet.

Slowly you found your grounding enough to shakily stand on two feet to brush your teeth to get rid of the nasty aftertaste. Your eyes found the pale expression of your reflection fading as nausea faded as well.

“This is tainting naps for me.” You muttered under your breath, washing your hands before proceeding to splash your face.

Your social media had been flooded with many people in your personal life and celebrities announcing pregnancies. You and Charlie often made teasing remarks about if people were so bored. Guess you couldn’t joke about it anymore.

Your hand splayed across the bare skin under the band shirt hanging loose on your form with a small smile. It had been a hectic year getting married to Charlie while filming the first season of Julie and the Phantoms. The plan had been to wait a few years to enjoy your careers and marriage before children. Get more established in the film industry as a woman was necessary, but you couldn’t get mad. This child would be a gift.

“I’d appreciate if I don’t have gross cravings okay? I have to put up with your dad’s questionable food combinations. I may throw up looking at it.” You muttered smiling at the smooth skin you couldn’t wait to grow into a bump.

At the beginning of the pandemic, you, along with Charlie, had flown back to Canada. Living outside of city limits, Charlie was able to still hike and meet up with family in a safe condition. You grew more as a couple as well.

Turning the light off in the bathroom, you made your way to slip your faux fur lined grey and burgundy moccasins—the mid-afternoon sun shining through the windows of the bedroom giving a picturesque view of the forest. Charlie was more than likely in the home gym you had thrown together once arriving at the home.

“I have an idea a little one.” You spoke to the little life you carried inside your womb. After the positive pregnancy and your confirmation with the OB/GYN, you had ordered a few items.

First, it was baby-sized pair of hiking boots to go with a forest green, that matched Charlie’s eyes, onesie with black lettering. The lettering saying ‘And so the Adventure Begins’. The background had with trees and mountains. As nature enthusiasts, you thought it would be perfect.

The box had arrived early this morning when Charlie had been in the shower giving you time to hide it. Now you just had to mention you wanted to go hiking with him.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Charlie spoke, kissing your forehead as he walked into the home. His first instinct to grab a snack after his workout, “How was your nap?”

“Energized me. Hey, are you too tired to go on a short hike?” You questioned filling a glass with water to hand to him. His smile was thanks enough as he tugged you to sit in his lap.

“We haven’t gone on one in quite a while. What brought it on?” Charlie asked, wrapping his arms around to finish his protein bar. His chin coming to rest of your shoulder familiarly; you relaxed into his chest.

“It’s a nice day. We’ve been cooped up in the house for a while. Just wanna get out.” You replied heart doing a flutter when his arms wrapped around your midsection.

“Let me get a few things,” Charlie spoke gently, pushing you up to the job to the spare bedroom. The closet kept the supplies you used for hikes, like the first aid kit that he started bringing after you cut your knee once.

As he collected the items, you quickly changed into clothing acceptable for the hike and shoving the things into the backpack. Slipping it on, you met your husband at the front door lacing up your boots. Charlie lifted the house keys in his hands before he tugged you outside, excited for the escape. His hand never leaving yours, you found the well-used trail you had explored countless times.

“Are you feeling better?” Charlie asked, swinging your hands together, refusing to release his grip. His eyes glancing over to catch your expression.

“I think I was overtired.” You replied, keeping your eyes on the trail looking for the rock you wanted to use.

Charlie’s phone was pulled out to make a short video.

“Get yourself a partner that suggests a hike before you.” Charlie slowed to press a kiss to your flushed cheek, “No but seriously. I’m incredibly lucky to have someone like my wife here.”

“Oh, shush.” You snickered as he intentionally pulled you to a stop to press kisses all over your face. His grin and his love would melt the hearts of his followers. Charlie returned the phone to his pocket as he hummed the melody to Unsaid Emily.

“Be right back.” Charlie spoke, squeezing your hand as he jogged to the forest, “I drank too much coffee this morning!”

You couldn’t help the laugh at his blunt words and his typical caffeine intake, but it gave you the perfect opportunity. Using the limited time, you were quick to place the onesie on the rock with the baby hiking boots near the shoulder. You had forgone on asking for a sonogram picture so you could share that moment with Charlie.

“I always forget to pee before we leave the house. Good thing we live near nature.” Charlie spoke jogging closer to where you were hiding the items behind you.

“Do you think green or mine?” You asked, bringing an expression of confusion on your husband’s face. He stepped closer halting when you stepped to the side, “I think yours. I love your eyes.”

Charlie was frozen entirely at the surprise you had planted in his short absence. He didn’t even notice he had moved until the soft cotton of the onesie brushed his fingertips. With his attention solely on the boots, he hadn’t seen you had a stepped up a camera to catch his reaction.

“Are those…?”

“They won’t need the boots in our arms, but I thought we could match.” You continued shifting with the camera to catch his wonder-filled gaze. His expression melted your heart as he gently caressed the side of the boot from his crouched position.

“We’re-“

“-getting a new hiking buddy.” You finished beaming as Charlie lunged you swing you in his arms, “Okay Char. I’d prefer not throwing up again.”

Charlie stumbled back glancing around the area, “I love how you surprised me, but what if you had fallen? I can’t have my loves hurt.”

“Charlie. We’re on an easy trail, not Everest. I’m fine.” You deadpanned watching his cheeks flush at your response, “But I would like to get home. I’m so hungry.”

September 2020

Emma Roberts, Sasha Pieterse, Bindi Irwin, High School Music alumni Ashley Tisdale, and Hilary Duff were only a handful of celebrities welcoming babies. If hiding your marriage with Charlie was hard during filming, hiding the pregnancy was harder with your friends. Especially hitting seven months with a big bump concealed with camera angles.

You wanted to keep the news under wraps, so the media focused on the show, not your pregnancy at an early age. Of course, your friends were suspicious of Charlie’s posts and stories, not showing their favourite Gillespie. Carolynn knew just by the fullness of your face barely noticeable to the others.

“Oof.” You breathed wincing at the sharp kick to your ribs from Sprout. Charlie’s concerned gaze glancing over from his interview.

Swiftly rubbing the area, the kick happened your fingers returned to flip the page of the pregnancy book. You had grown used to the concern Charlie carried, he always had his phone fully charged on his hikes. Hikes you hadn’t taken since you surprised him with the little boots; it had been a disagreement, but you got where he was coming from.

“I’m fine, Charles.” You spoke, forcing him to turn his attention back to the closing interview. Once he turned the camera off, he rushed over to crouch in front of the couch, placing his hands on your stretched belly.

“Thought we had a deal Sprout.” He cooed caressing the band shirt covering your stretched skin, “Don’t hurt your mama.”

Your face twisted as the baby shifted, while you were enthralled by the fact you were carrying a child it felt like an alien. It was weird feeling something move inside and kick your damn inside like a fucking soccer ball.

“I can’t wait for the baby to be out.” You groaned, hiding the smile as Charlie’s lips pressed against your belly. You couldn’t wait to see him interact with his child.

“I say we name him Luke.” Charlie teased shifting you ahead so he could slide behind you in the usual position. His fingers immediately massaging your stiff shoulders and neck.

“I like Alex better. He’s the best Phantom.” You retorted reaching up to hold his hands, “Sensitive and his sarcasm? Immaculate.”

“We can table the options at a later time.” Charlie quickly replied chuckling as you moved position once more to rest against his chest. His fingers finding their way into your silky hair, pregnancy hormones had sped up hair growth.

“Hey-“ Your words fractured as your phone buzzed with a FaceTime request from Jeremy. Charlie quickly answered with a snicker as your response was cut off.

Jeremy’s eyes narrowed at the sight of you two on your couch, “My wife and I had drinks with our family. Carolynn slipped and told me something interesting.”

You and your husband froze as Carolynn sheepishly joined her husband in their white bedroom with a quick apology. Guess the cat was out of the bag.

“You guys are having a kid?” Jeremy asked, taking in the two actors he had quickly become good friends with during filming. His mind recalling a moment at his wedding when you guys had disappeared for a good twenty minutes.

March 2020

The Shada wedding had been gorgeous and like a dream to see someone you saw as a brother find his other half. Your hand was kept tight in your husband’s sitting among Owen, Tori and Kenny himself. Owen had snuck himself and Tori wine while Kenny turned his eye to the underage drinking.

“Wanna take a walk?” Charlie murmured in your ear as Jeremy and Carolynn made their way around their guests. His hot breath sending a chill down your spine as his left hand came to rest on your thigh.

The romantic atmosphere with the wine you had had during dinner lowered your inhibitions that you and Charlie snuck to the less used bathroom. You two quickly gave evidence that wedding hookups were very real. You managed to sneak back into the reception where dancing was taking place; a perfect story to why you and Charlie were a little dishevelled.

“Hey!” Owen called seeing you two join him on the floor. The wine had blinded his view of the very obvious couple, Owen knew from catching you two what a quickie appearance looked like.

“I think you’ve had enough to drink Bud.” Charlie spoke to the teenager as Jeremy made his way over to his friends, “Congrats Jer!”

“Thanks, man! When will we get the Gillespie wedding we didn’t get?” Jeremy called over the music beaming when his new wife plastered herself to Jeremy.

“Maybe in the next year.” You retorted twirling in Charlie’s arms thanks to the dance lessons of boot camp.

“Oh my god. Little Gillespie was conceived at our wedding.” Jeremy spoke, leaning back to his wife, “You’d be due in November, right?”

Your cheeks burned as Jeremy and Carolynn put the pieces together swiftly, “Well can we keep this a secret until October? I don’t want to take attention away from the show.”

“You should tell the others.” Jeremy suggested squeezing his wife’s hand, “They might think Charlie kidnapped a baby otherwise.”

Agreeing to announce to your friends Charlie had set up a video hangout with Owen, Mads, Savannah, Jeremy and even Kenny. It was in the later evening with the hiking boots out of shot and your shirt and belly below the camera view.

“Hey, guys!” Charlie greeted his friends as everyone entered the video, “Insane how many fan edits there are!”

“So cool!” Mads beamed addressing Kenny, “Thanks for giving me the chance to be involved in the coolest project.”

“You did all the work.” Kenny waved it off, taking in the cast of one of his favourite projects to date. You all meshed together so perfectly even if your character was only recurring like Sav.

“Hey, Kenny can we get your opinion on something?” You asked, gaining everyone’s attention and excitement after only using texting with the group. Morning sickness and fatigue had depleted your desire to be physically seen.

Kenny nodded, leading you to grab the baby hiking boots, “Do you think these are adequate enough to run from the witches?”

It was utterly silent as Charlie raised the little plaque he had ordered. The plaque included the Hocus Pocus witches in front of a cream moon, faces featureless other than eyebrows and lips. The corner had a cobweb with a little spider and just under it said ‘Winnie, I smell…a child’ with the pregnancy test snug in the cut out. Your favourite was the ‘it’s just a bunch of hocus pocus’ under the test.

“No way!” Owen screamed as all hell broke loose with the others. Charlie beamed at the sheer excitement on their faces.

“You’re having a baby?” Kenny murmured with a smile at the touching announcement and acting being involved.

“Charlie suggested the Hocus Pocus theme because we may have kept it to ourselves and our family?” Your voice went up a few octaves as the truth broke free.

“You haven’t had the kid, right?” Mads questioned peering in the background behind you finding nothing.

“Hopefully we have our hiking buddy in November on the due date. I don’t want to overdue, this kid weighs a ton.” You moaned snuggling into Charlie’s side, “We defin-“

“Jer’s wedding.” Owen interrupted with narrowed eyes, “You disappeared and came back with-“

“-O there is a child present.” Sav joked getting Mads to scoff at her, but everyone made a face as they recalled your disappearing act.

“Oh, your house must be filled with gross food combos. I hope the baby gets Y/N’s looks and taste buds.” Mads called hanging up before Charlie could retort at her. His eyes rolled, but the smile told another story, but slowly each of their friends said their goodbyes.

“At least Owen won’t go spilling the news to anyone.” You snorted playing your hand on Charlie’s large one splayed across your tummy.

You had a lot to thank Kenny for too. Without being cast by him, you wouldn’t have met your friends which in turn would mean you wouldn’t have been at Jer’s wedding. That would have been tragic since his marriage is the sole reason you had a child due in two months.

Tag List (PLEASE SEND AN INBOX TO BE ADDED! I CANNOT GUARANTEE YOU WILL BE ON THE LIST VIA POST COMMENTS!)

@safehavenmuse @siennanoelle01 @whiterose291 @mell-bell @blackhood5sos @ficrecsideblog @ifilwtmfc @deadpoolgirl23 @crappy-unicorn @sunsetcurve-h @elioelioeli0 @lovesanimals @popcrone818 @lolychu @deepsleepnat @tenaciousperfectionunknown @aunicornmademedoit @just-a-writer-here @simp4reggie @parkeret @faithiebrock01 @overlyhypedup @differentsoulrascalsalad @aesthetic-lyss @versaceapa @carleywhittaker @lostgirl219 @itsalexx21 @elllaoo4 @merxxleighann @mediocremunge @fantomlovesjuke4ever @dpaccione @oswin05 @kaylinfayezink @aberette13 @faithie-brock-gillespie01 @eharvey0218 @overlyhypedup @benstormy @auriandthepussicats @sarcasticsagittarius1998 @whothefuckstolemykeds @siriuswvrld @princessvader15 @xoxbloodreinaxox @heimdoodle @joshy-obx @lovesanimals @oopsiedoopsie23 @am3l1a-24 @flying-solo-without-you @jaskiers-sweetkiss @lostrandomfangirln @must-be-a-weasley-92 @jatp-holland @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch @dxlanhxlland @dasexydevitt13 @ifilwtmfc @arianagrandes-things @kinda-really-lost @marinettepotterandplagg @ssprayberrythings @morgandamrose @thedarkqueenofavalon @zukoshonourr @crybabyddl @spooky-season-bitch @kcd15 @morganayennefertyrell @magnet-girl @all-in-fangirl

#charlie gillespie imagines #charlie gillespie x reader #julie and the phantoms imagines #luke patterson imagines #charlie gillespie fanfiction #caitsy and ash productions

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gojology · 4 years ago

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Clubs Aren’t My Thing. (2/2) (18+)

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆 | woooo, part 2 ! as stated previously, this is heavily inspired by @/mystic-sky on tumblr or skyfelt on ao3. amazing writer, check her out (but this isn’t a direct copy, just same storyline in a way). i’m cleaning up my writing a lot, i think. maybe im getting better as well? probably not but uh i kinda gave up at the end and uh.. hope u enjoy.

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 | Voyeurism To Some Degree, Teasing, Ripped Tights, I didn’t proof read. 𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 | Dom! Gojo x Sub! Female Reader

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 | 4561

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 | In which you finally get fucked by this mysterious, yet freakishly handsome stranger. That’s it, you just get fucked.

The first thing you realize is how cold it is. The wind is working against you, it seems, as you take your first step out of the warm building. Hair blows in every direction, you button up your cardigan, your breath coming out in puffs of smoke. Shivers went down your spine. Not too far behind you, the mysterious man that you had met just an hour ago trailed behind, winking and waving at the girls confidently using him as eye-candy. Long strides, hands shoved into his pockets. Your heart swells as you watch other woman stare flirtatiously as he gestured back at them, before their eyes set on you. He followed you like a duckling, and you’re sure to relish in how powerful it made you feel. He walked like a model, with so much confidence. He didn’t appear as cold, his cheeks were flush and he reeked of fruity sugary alcohol, a playful grin still stubbornly on his face, 5 minutes later. “Uber should be coming soon... I think, too lazy to check. You cold?” he slurred huskily. You nod. For a one night stand, he was strangely kind to you. He doesn’t say anything after that, so you opt to listen to the life around you. The clicking of high heels, the chatter, the drunken rants. “Aw, come here.” He didn’t give you much of a choice, though. Pulling you in to his chest, without warning. Your first instinct is to scream bloody murder, but he’s so warm, and you definitely need it. One loose arm over your figure, his unoccupied arm dangled dangerously close to your butt. Taking in a deep breath, anticipating the feeling of being so scandalous in public, he chuckles breathily, almost like a taunt. You can feel the rumble in his chest as he cleared his throat. You stare up at him, confused as to why you’re not feeling anything in your lower regions, before you realize what he was doing. Rubbing your head with the once unoccupied hand, his fingers weaved into your hair as he sniffled. Something about the interaction was strangely intimate, but you don’t dare to say a word. You inhale sharply, rubbing your face into his chest. You want to get closer, deep in bliss as he seemed to return the want back. You want to close any remaining space between the two of you, but making the first move was scary. He yawns, and this triggers you to yawn as well. It was probably well past 1 AM by now, and you were tired. You couldn’t hear much around you other then the honk of the growing sea of cars, some people just starting their night, and the others ending it. “Oh shit. Our Uber’s here.” he mutters under his breath, pushing you out of his chest gently. Whining, you try to push yourself back into his arms, he takes a quick glance down at you, traces of a faint lukewarm smile playing upon his lips. Almost like he’s saying, “Are you kidding me right now?” before taking a hold of your hand. Fingers intertwining as if they were meant to be together, you gawk down at your hands, before looking back up at him. There were a few issues, one, you had no idea if this man had an intent to kidnap you. Second, you didn’t know what the Uber looked like, and you’re too embarrassed to ask. Third, he was holding your hand with no hesitation, and the feeling in your chest was indescribable. You can’t tell what he’s thinking, but you hope that it’s something along the lines of what you’re thinking. Your eyes briefly flickering over his jawline as you pondered to yourself, but what you do know is that you’re being dragged towards the presumed Uber. It’s sleek, and black, with a glossy finish, you note. “Yo chill, I’m not gonna kidnap you, missy.” chuckling, examining your doubtful, yet frightened expression. He swung open the car door carelessly. “After you, m’lady.” he adds, bowing and straightening, his chin up. “Thank you, Sir Mysterious.” you give him a small smile before sliding into the sleek, comfortable seats. His eyebrow raised, he looked at you. “That’s a first.” “It’s also a shit nickname, maybe that’s why you’ve never heard it.” you suggested. “I like it. Has a nice ring to it.” a lukewarm smile played at his glossy lips. The sly smile wipes clean off your face, he laughs at you while sliding into his designated seat, as if he owned the car. Right. You were in a car, and it would be best for you to study your surroundings, just to make sure you weren’t being kidnapped. The car was obviously expensive, black leather reclining seats, and a sweet offering of warmth against the chill of the midnight air. A coffee cup idly stood in the cup holder, the driver taking a quick sip and turning his body to look at you two. Air fresheners and various trinkets dangled from the rear-view mirror, swinging back and forth “A couple, eh? You wanna go to this address?” The driver whipped his phone out, an address in black, bold text stood out. “Yep.” the man says confidently. Opening your mouth to speak, you try to inform the driver that he wasn’t your boyfriend, before your supposed boyfriend covers your mouth with his hand as soon as the driver repositioned towards the steering wheel. You realize that his other hand is on your thigh, stroking your skin. This newfound position was at the very least, terrifying. There was another person in the vehicle, for starters, and you weren’t exactly the quiet type when it came to, well, anything in general. Cold, large calloused hands considerately caressed your thigh, and your breathing hitches. His other arm against his side, but you know his fingers are itching to feel you all over. You want to moan, but the driver’s presence is enough to tell you that it would be stupid. Fingers drawing shapes, words, anything would repeatedly loop on the sensitive skin just barely. He was definitely teasing you, but you couldn’t quite fight back. “Why don’t you be a good girl and stay quiet for me?” he whispers, you anticipate the driver to look back at the two of you, and to throw both of you off the car, but he does no such thing. Feebly, you raise your arm up, ignoring the flirtatious request. Swatting his hand away in a desperate attempt to get him to stop before it got out of hand, but he’s persistent. It’s getting even more difficult to breathe quietly now, your body getting hotter and hotter and hotter. It doesn’t take long for a noise to slip out from your lips that you can’t quite shut up, and the driver turns to look at you. “So precious.” the white haired man mouths to you before quickly turning his head to look at the window, humming to himself, still caressing your thigh. “Ma’am? Are you okay?” About to respond, the white haired man scooched closer to you. His clothed leg now rubbing your bare skin. He whistles innocently in the opposite direction before skimming his hand against your inner thigh, and you almost shriek. Instead, you let out a pathetic gasp. Panning his gaze over to you, he gives you a sly, playful smirk, before looking away again. Drawing more shapes onto your skin, he hums. It was so hard to focus, or even remember the words the driver had said literally just a minute ago. You feel yourself shiver, almost losing yourself entirely to his hands before shakily responding to the driver, praying to any divine figure in the skies that you would be coherent. “Y-yeah. Just, spilled water on m-my clothes.” you reply, barely audible. The driver’s eyes stared back at yours, concern etched onto his features, before sighing. Tension grew inside of you. “Alright, if you need anything, just ask, okay ma’am?” Trying to respond, no sound comes out of your mouth, and the reason dawns on you. Taking a quick look down, the man’s digits were now fumbling with your panties, brushing against your wetness. It takes a moment for you to register in your brain, you thank every entity possible for preventing the inevitable slew of noises you’d make. Waves of need crashing over your body. You hungrily stare at him, hoping that he’d be kind enough to stop and save it for later. Circling your entrance through the now utterly soaked panties, he dips his finger in, just enough so you could feel the slight pressure against your sensitive skin. He’s fucking taunting you again. Driver be damned, you needed him. Opening your legs more, you confidently peer at him, inviting him to explore your body even more. His fingers are drumming against the leather surface, the other hand had retreated back to your thigh, boldly looking at you back. “No. I thought you didn’t want to, what’s with the change of thought?” he mouths, stifling a chuckle and a smug tone, already knowing what you were going to ask. Bewildered, you gape at him before shaking your head curtly, making sure you’re staring daggers at his stupidly arrogant face. “Stop fucking playing with me then!” “You’re too cute.” “Fine then.” closing your legs, you stare out the window, your chin sitting on the palm of your hand. Flickering blurry lights passing by quickly. Looking at your reflection, you steal a quick glance at the flirtatious bastard. “If you’re so angry, why can’t you look away from me for 1 second?” he whispers proudly. You can’t think of a snarky remark, so you huff and look back at the window defeatedly. What a cocky arrogant little- Your bruised pride burning into ashes, you grunt in response before the car abruptly halts to its stop. Were you two too loud? “What are you two so scared for? Freezing up like a deer in headlights, we’re at your destination.” the driver said, twisting his head around, his eyebrow slightly raised. “Oh, yeah, thanks.” That was way too close to comfort, and you’re resisting the urge of banging on his chest for being so overly confident in his endeavors. You open the car door, cursing under your breath, swinging your legs out and lightly stepping out. First thing you realize in the new destination? This guy was obviously loaded. In front of you were a bunch of condos, and it was bound to cost a lot. Modern architecture was all you could see, wide windows and balconies in every corner. Suddenly, you’re self conscious about your outfit, were you too poorly dressed? The man hums, placing his hand on your shoulder. Plant life was meticulously placed in such a beautiful manner that you promise yourself that you would search up his name- if you ever got it, on the Forbes lists. “Like what you see?” Snapping out of it, you look back at him, and you nod, still astounded by his presumed riches. “Yeah? Lets go up missy, I got more to show, in more ways then one.” ‧₊˚✩彡. Standing in front of his door, you realize how quiet and still the atmosphere is. He fumbles with his keys, muttering to himself, and you can’t help but wonder if you’re about to have sex with some celebrity. Not knowing how to start conversation, you clear your throat. “You ever going to tell me your name?” “Aw, the little baby still wants my name.” he cooed “Call me Gojo.” he adds nonchalantly. “(Y/N).” you reply, ecstatic. That wasn’t too hard, but you wonder why he didn’t just give up his name to you at the club earlier. Perhaps he didn’t think he was going to take you back? “Aw, sugar. You scared?” Gojo says, looking you up and down. Well, that’s what you assumed. He still had his glasses on. “No I’m not, who said that?” “Look at your legs, missy.” he cheekily replies. Looking down, you realize you’re violently shaking, and you didn’t even realize it. “...Maybe.” you say coyly. He breathily chuckles, finally opening the door with the right key. You’re surprised by the presence of such a spotless place, a large, plush black leather couch was in one corner, the other, an island. Amazingly large windows replaced what would usually be the walls, and you could see the extent of the city life from where you’re standing. “Slip your shoes off girly, sandals on the left. Can I offer you something?” Gojo questions you, walking over to the island. “...I’m not much of a drinker.” you reply, still standing in the doorway. You were honestly more interested in him then the small talk. “Baby, sit down. Don’t you wanna see me up close?” he pats the cushioned island seats, and you sheepishly walk over. “I have apple juice too. If that’s more your vibe.” you watched him swirl some melting ice cubes around in a glass of water with a spoon. “I’m not 12.” you retort, maybe the guy wasn’t a celebrity. No famous guy has apple juice in the fridge, rather then fancy champagne and wine. Gojo snickers, “Hey, I’m not 12 either, I’m nearing my fucking 30′s but I can never reject a good box of apple juice, plus, I teach a group of kiddos that drink this shit like it’s fine wine.” You pause, this guy was NEAR 30? He certainly didn’t look the age, and second of all, he bought apple juice just for the kids he taught? That was surprisingly sweet, but that didn’t explain the richness. “You’re a teacher?” you nod as he hands you a chilled box of apple juice. “Uh, yeah.” he scratches the back of his neck. “International Japanese teacher, sometimes I just teach in Japan as well. It pays good.” “No way you actually live here. Is this your friends place?” He laughs loudly, “So backhanded, and sassy! Nah, this is my place. As I said, job pays well. Feel free to stop by for a good fucking.” he says whilst pouring liquor into his glass cup. “You’re really confident in your abilities of fucking people.” you sarcastically note aloud as he slides into the comfortable tall stool next to you, drink in hand. “Hm, you weren’t saying that when I was touching you in that car, brat. How strange.” sipping his beverage lightly. Your mouth zipped shut, and he laughs again. “Aw, don’t go all awkward on me.” his once vacant hand now rubbing your shoulder. Setting down his drink, taking off his glasses. He doesn’t give you much time to admire his eyes, but what you can see is an almost aquamarine color, flecks of darker blue sprinkled throughout. So brilliantly colored it didn’t look real. Before you realize it, he leans closer into your neck, suckling your skin and lightly nibbling. His breath fanning over your delicate skin, you can’t even hold back, gasping a little as his hands played with the hem of your cardigan, tugging at it playfully. You can’t even formulate words. He was undeniably good, his suckling now gradually getting more harsher and harsher, and you dread coming back to your friends place, neck full of hickeys, you’d be nudged for whoever did that to you for the rest of your life. He grunts, standing up in the little space between what was his stool and yours, even on such a surprisingly tall stool he still towered over you. He has to slightly crouch before his eyes is at the level of your neck, hungrily crashing back down. “G-Gojo!” you squeaked, struggling to do much of anything. You’re limp on the stool, slumped and burning up. Your skin was ridiculously hot. “Hmmm?” he smiles into your neck, pausing momentarily, you can feel him exhale harshly on your skin. You look him up and down, the sexual tension between the two of you was prominent, and so was the tent in his pants. You feel a whine creep up towards your throat, now realizing just how wet you are. Ignoring this, you gesture to your clothes. The layers were sticking to you, and you never wanted anything more then to just get the sex started. “...Hot.” is all you can muster pathetically. “What was, baby?” he coos at you. “Me.” shrugging off your cardigan the best you can, you let out a subtle whine, the weird feeling growing between your legs. “Yes, we both know you’re hot.” tipping your chin upwards to look at him, he smiles. “use your words.” “Clothes.. Off.” you pant, obviously sick and tired of the stupid sexual tension and the teasing. “Full sentence, girly.” he repeats, stroking your cheek with his thumb. You inhale his scent, smelling of expensive cologne and lingering sickeningly sweet alcohol. Looking up at him, but averting your gaze as soon as you saw those incredible eyes once again. “Look at me.” he orders. You peer up at him, swallowing. “P-please, take my clothes off.” you say politely. “All it took was a few hickeys? You really are a pretty kitty.” he smiles, kissing your forehead. “Get down.” You nod obediently, getting off the stool and looking back up at him, anticipating his next step. He bends down, swooping you up bridal style. One arm under your legs, gripped firmly onto the skin, the other under your waist. Your arms instinctively and rather slackly around his shoulders. You expect something, a kiss, anything, but all Gojo does is walk down an endless hallway full of doors. You lean closer into him while pouting, hoping that’ll catch his attention, but he doesn’t say a word. “Where are we going?” you finally ask, growing needy. “Bedroom. I’m not fucking on the couch. Pretty princesses deserve to be nice and comfy.” he replies back, fidgeting with the door knob. For a few seconds, all you can hear is how rapidly your heart is beating inside your chest, the rustling of clothes brushing against one another, and then the feeling sets in again. You could very well be fucking someone that was out of your league. He breathes a sigh of relief, and before you have the time to fully study his bedroom, he throws you off of the bed with a grunt. Gojo’s toned forearms by your side, you were obviously trapped. You can see his chain just dangle barely swing back and forth on the tip of your nose, his lips curled into a lukewarm smile. “You were so cheeky with me earlier, where’d she go?” stroking the corner of your lips. He doesn’t give you the time to respond, instead locking lips with you and rolling over to be on your side. It starts off small and soft first, but it gradually grew hot. The fluttering in your chest only intensified. Tongues exploring every inch of one another’s mouth, you swear you can taste mint. The anxiety melted off of you like wax, and the only thing he could focus on was how soft you felt against his lips. Delightfully experienced enough for it to be good, but not better then him. The smell of him was stronger now, and you’re sure you won’t be able to leave without some of it remaining on your clothes. Regardless, it was an addicting smell. Something you needed to come back to. Furiously exhaling through both of your noses, he finally lets go. Dazed, your whole body tingles. You want him to claim you all as your own, hungrily staring at him for more. Both of you were radiating heat. The kissing left little for thought, and all you can think about is kissing him once again. It seemed that the more you spent with him, the more demand you had for his attention. “Such cute noises. Makes me want to ravish you more.” Gojo tenderly pulls you in, claiming your mouth as his once again. Fumbling with your cardigan, yanking it off of your body. Large, hot hands brushing against your now semi-exposed skin, and you know he wants more. His hands brushed against your butt under your skirt, and you shiver just a bit. Pulling out from the kiss, he looks at you, panting heavily. “So beautiful.” he murmurs, brushing his thumb against your swollen lips. “You wanna know why they call me the best?” You nod, his arm snakes above your waist, forcefully flipping you down head first into the blankets. Just now realizing that all your clothes are no where to be found, presumably on the floor, you shiver at the cold air conditioner blowing against you. That is, besides your skirts and your tights. “On your arms, baby. Knees too.” he instructs, patting your butt. You obey, a warmth rushing to your cheeks again. He had you like a dog being trained by it’s owner, following their every order. “Good girl.” he says under his breath. You’re about to tell him that you’re still wearing tights, about to open your mouth, you heard a loud rip disturb the peaceful atmosphere, and a cold exposure to your lower regions. You squeal, digging your face into the covers, and he chuckles again. “Oh baby. You were begging for this, I can see why now.” you felt him drag his fingers against your panties, and you whimper. “So impatient for my touch, aren’t you kitty? You’ll have to wait.” About to complain, you look back at him before you find him shoving you down, sitting on your knees now, your nipples hardened in the air, but you want to be stimulated else where. “Be patient, and you’ll be rewarded, no complaining.” “But-” he cuts you off. “Don’t fucking talk over me, you got that?” “...Yes sir.” His eyes soften, and he gives you a soft kiss on the forehead before his hands brushed against your nipples, rubbing them with his thumb. Rolling the sensitive bud, you loudly moan, trying to express that you wanted more. “God, you’re so cute.” he says under his breath, still rubbing and now slightly pulling them. Placing his mouth upon the abused buds, you stifle a cry out. Gently suckling, he used his other hand to play with the other attention-starved nipple mildly. You whine out again, beginning to melt under his stupidly experienced hands and mouth. The attention was nice, but you needed it some place else, his eyes looked up at you, his wet mouth still suckling your breast. Taking his wet mouth off your nipple, he looked at you, mischief still evident on his face. “You like that?” he says, cocking his head to his side. “I-If I say anything, It’ll fill your stupid ego.” you breathed. “And if you don’t say anything I’m not doing shit.” his hand now rubbing your butt. “You ripped my tights!” you spat back. “I’ll pay for it and more, no bother babygirl. Now tell me what I want to hear.” He obviously wasn’t lying, he could probably turn any girl into putty if he just wanted to, and here you were, in the palm of his hand. “...Please touch me more.” you uttered shamelessly. “Good girl. On your back, spread those pretty little legs for me too, why don’t you?” Lying down on the plush mattress and warm pillows, you stare at the ceilings. You peered at him starting where he left off. Giving you faint, yet chaste kisses on your breasts, trailing kisses down your stomach. “Aw, your panties are absolutely fucking soaked baby, how cute.” he cooed, parting the soaked fabric to the side. You look at him undress thoughtlessly, but you’re sure he’s done this several times. He did it with little to no effort, but that would mean that you’re not special. It would be useless to think about right now, you were gonna have the dicking of your lifetime anyway, it was called a one night-stand for a reason. The mountain of clothes grew taller. Growing impatient, you look up to where he was once standing, only to find him already in between your legs. “So pretty.” Gojo purred, circling your entrance just as he had done previously in the car ride, you squeak. “So lucky this is all mine.” Gojo had figured he could add, “for the night.” but that strangely felt wrong. He dips his fingers into your walls, and you cry out. Wrapping around his digits, sobbing, this wasn’t enough to satisfy your cravings. “You want more?” he huskily said, a tone of playfulness still rampant. “Yes! Please, just fuck me!” you croaked, already damn near about to cum from the teasing. “That’s my girl.” he whispered under his breath, slipping off boxers you didn’t even realize were there in the first place. He doesn’t give you a chance to see his full length, instead ramming inside of you. You inhale sharply at the sudden disruption. The throbbing evaporated into thin air, and you’re desperately grabbing at the sheets to steady yourself. Sweaty and sticky skin slapping against each other echoed throughout the room, along with your moans and his grunts. You could feel him reaching heights that you would never be able to do with the dildos you had at your house, much less your fingers. One hand on your waist to steady your flailing body, the other, roughly groping your breast. You were finding it hard to think, pleasure and euphoria filling your senses. Unknowingly, you wrap yourself around Gojo even harder then before. “Fuck, baby, I can barely pull out.” he panted. “you’re too tight.” You can’t even begin to respond, still deep in your state of pleasure, instead responding incoherently with a jumble of delicate moans and gasps in between. “C-cum!” “Hm? Repeat that princess?” he soothed. You’re unable to respond again, instead you try to lift your head up, and Gojo feels himself throb again, watching your eyes flutter back. It’s not until it’s too late, realizing a hot fluid flow down your holes. He pulls out, he himself ejaculating on your stomach. Both muscles stretched taut, you both laid on the bedsheets, sweating and panting. “Fuck, I haven’t had a girl like you in a while.” he says, turning his head to look at you. Strands of hair stuck to your forehead. “R-Really?” he kissed your forehead, tipping your chin with his long fingers. “Yes, really. I’m so lucky I spotted such a pretty little thing at a club.” The sun was starting to rise, you note, and you realize just how perfect his body is with the new light. A sudden warmth on your cheeks, you look down, still panting. “Clubs aren’t my thing.” you said breathlessly. “Fuck. It’s 5 AM” he says, eyes now glued to his phone, ruffling his white hair. “I’ll go-” “No, here, lets take a shower with each other, and then we sleep.” “Okay.” you responded, hoping to not make conversation, still believing that he was a celebrity. He handed you his phone, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can I get your number?” “...Why?” you questioned. “...To call you back again, duh.” he teases, rubbing your head. No way, he wanted you back at his house? You? Not wanting to fuck up your chances, you nod, something was growing inside of you, and you weren’t quite sure what it was, but you knew he made you feel special.

#jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo satoru smut #jjk headcanons #gojou satoru #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jujutsu kaisen gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #dom gojo #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojou x you #fanfic #fic #anime fic #im learning how to write well ok

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whats-rambled-rambled · 4 years ago

Text

do it for me

Neil x Reader

summary: plot what plot

warnings: 18+ and I mean it

author’s note: have I mentioned that my friends are simply the best? They inspire me, provide amazing songs, then show the incredible amount of support during the whole process when I battle my brain to spin a story and make it work for me. I love you ladies, you know who you are.

This is a one-shot, but I wrote it with my Smoke & Mirrors duo in mind (so that means f!Reader)

The song for this fic is Rosenfeld - Do it for me

And listen, could it be filthier? Yes. Or more descriptive? You bet.

But maybe next time.

Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you think, please?

-----

You raised your head at the sound of a litany of curses coming from the kitchen.

What now?

You walked in on Neil waving an oven glove around, coughing into his sleeve.

“Instant cake mix - one. Mister I have a master's in physics - zero. Who would’ve thought?” you smirked, leaning against a doorframe.

He huffed, opening a window. “Hey, I followed all the instructions from the box!”

“And then?” you asked, scrunching your nose as he paraded past you with a burnt mess of a cake.

He sent you a tired look, tossing the slightly smoky brick into a garbage bin.

“And then I forgot to set a timer.”

You snickered and shook your head. “Of course.” Your gaze landed on a half-full bowl on the countertop. “You think that’s edible?”

“I don’t see why it wouldn’t be, but as we established, today is not my day,” he said, shrugging lightly.

Your chest clenched with fondness and you closed the gap between you. The last few days had been hectic and you both really needed a rest. “Aww, it’s all right,” you cooed, cupping his face in your palms and placing a small kiss on the tip of his nose. “Just get us spoons.”

He gave you a thankful smile and, a moment later, you sat down on the cold kitchen floor, scooping a cream out of the bowl, sharing your most humiliating food-related stories. And when it was almost gone, you put down the spoons and used your hands to clean the sides, not willing to waste anything.

Neil took the empty bowl and stood up to place it in a sink. As you got up and stretched your arms, he looked at you and snorted.

“What?”

“You’ve got--... wait, let me--”

He reached out and wiped a bit of cream from the corner of your mouth.

Oh, right.

And just like that, a cheeky idea popped into your mind.

You grabbed his hand, and mischievous sparks lit up your eyes. Locking your gaze with his, you licked the cream off his finger. And then you wrapped your lips over his digit and sucked on it, twirling your tongue around as you pulled it out slowly.

A roguish smile crept on his face.

“Careful, you’re giving me ideas.”

You raised a brow. “Who says that’s not the point?” you teased, letting go of his hand and reaching to his shirt, tugging at the striped material lightly. Kiting him towards the sofa, you batted your lashes. “Besides, I don’t think they’re gonna beat mine.”

Neil’s eyes widened at the sight of your wicked grin. He composed himself quickly, feigning indifference, but it didn’t reach his darkened gaze.

“Is that so?” he said, grabbing your waist. “Care to share?”

A gentle push on his chest was enough to send him down on the sofa.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you started, pouting and leaning in, placing hands on his laps. You looked into the blue eyes while your fingers unhurriedly traveled up his thighs. “See, I might get too…“ - you ran your tongue through your lips - “...busy to say anything,” you continued, noting with satisfaction the way Neil’s breath hitched. You nudged his ear with your nose and whispered, “How about I just show you--”

He hissed as you palmed over the bulk in his pants.

“Fuck--”

“Well, pretty close,” a husky chuckle escaped your mouth, already ghosting over his neck. “I can’t wait to taste every inch of you.” A barely audible gasp you got from him quickened your heartbeat. You pulled back and looked into his eyes again. “Please?”

The blue irises overcast with lust as he tried to wrap his mind about the fact you could even make a request like that.

“You’re asking...?”

You hummed in confirmation, laying a kiss on his lips. The one you got back was more greedy, just enough to let you know enthusiastic he was, only confirming what you already felt under your palm.

“I’m all yours.”

Your eyes flared up.

“I quite like the sound of that,” you mused as your mouth traveled along his jawline back to his neck again and your fingers unbuttoned his shirt. Sucking on his collarbone, you splayed your hands on his chest and gently scraped the skin, curling the locks of hair around your fingertips, making Neil groan in response. “And of that, too,” you added with a smug grin, kneeling between his legs.

Your hands meandered around his toned stomach and your kisses followed them, the tip of the tongue drifting along the lines of his abdomen, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Relishing the way Neil both tensed and melted under your touch, you moved lower. And lower. The long fingers combed your hair and you glanced up, meeting the half-lidded, hazed gaze. A warmth spread through you at the sight of a shade of smile on Neil’s parted lips. Desire and affection reflected and resonated between you, grounding you in each other.

None of you could wait any longer. Without breaking eye contact, you got rid of his belt. Then the pants and the boxer briefs. Oh, how hard he was for you already.

Neil leaned back on the pillows, breathing heavily. You feasted your eyes on the view, telling him how spectacular he looked from this angle, earning a shaky exhale in return.

Your keen fingers kept exploring and stroking, rubbing and grazing, until he squirmed and twitched, moaning - a sweet sound turning you on even more. And you still had so much more to give.

Like your tongue, playful and teasing. Flat against him, twirling around him, making Neil clench his jaw and curse. Gliding across the smooth skin, you studied the veiny patterns as Neil's digits tangled in your hair, tugging at it in a silent praise. And then your mouth, finally enveloping him. Sliding up and down. Savoring him. Almost worshipping.

Soon, gasps and groans filled the air, the most delightful melody going straight to your pulsing core. The rising heat of Neil’s body drew you closer. Your hand wandered up to his heaving chest in a selfish attempt to get more of him. Every bit of you craving every bit of him. His heart raced under your palm. The blue eyes squeezed shut. His hips bucked up. He was falling apart, and the way he moaned your name… oh god. He really was yours.

Then, all of the sudden, Neil shifted upwards and cupped your face, stopping you and pulling you up to him.

“Something’s wrong?” you asked, searching his dark gaze.

“No, doing so well for me,” he slurred as he pressed his forehead to yours, panting. “But I wanna feel you.” His trembling fingers slid down your sides and traced the hem of your jeans to your belt buckle and lingered there, waiting. Ever a gentleman.

You couldn’t get out of your pants and soaked underwear fast enough.

Shivering in anticipation, you kissed Neil as you straddled him, moaning against his lips when he filled you in completely.

“Christ, you feel so good,” he groaned, wrapping his arms around you.

You buried your hands in his hair as your bodies started to build a pace.

“Let me tell you a secret,” you murmured, tugging on the golden strands. “I’ve been thinking about you… having you like this... all day.”

His brows knitted together when he gasped for air and cursed. He was a mess, and yet he was still holding back. For you. And as much as it was endearing, that’s not what you wanted. That night was supposed to be about him.

You ground harder into him, leaning in, your mouth brushing against his ear.

“Come for me, Neil.”

“But--” he whined, pulling you closer, balancing on the verge of release.

So you took him even harder.

There was only one word left in you.

“Please.”

Just enough to send him over the brink.

Tensing, arching, Neil came undone with a loud groan, and then collapsed into your arms, shaking uncontrollably.

You held him until he leveled his breath and was able to focus his gaze on you. And when he finally did, you kissed him softly, biting back a needy whimper as you felt yourself tighten around him.

A half-smile against your lips.

“It’s okay,” you said dismissively, pulling back slightly.

But then you met the blue eyes, already lit up with roguish sparks.

“Oh no, I could never leave you like that.”

With his arms still wrapped around you, he shifted you both and the next thing you knew you were lying under him on the sofa. The pulse pounded heavily in your ears, but Neil’s throaty chuckle vibrated in every cell of your body.

“Besides, I want to hear you beg some more.”

#neil tenet x reader #neil tenet #neil x reader #neil tenet fanfiction #robert pattinson #tenet #tenet fanfiction #neil tenet imagine #smoke & mirrors #tags hate me #smut

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