#it's a jaw-dropping shot in every sense but also

[swan2swan]

Real QUestion Time:

How did they do the Great Valley Reveal shot in The Land Before Time?

It's a solid background darkened, and then steadily revealed from shadow, factoring in terrain.

I know they didn't paint the same background a hundred times with different color shades. I know they didn't repaint the same cel.

I assume they had a "Dark Valley" cel that thery layered over it and took off piece by piece? Maybe?

[pearlessance]

Moral Modification

Summary: When you decide to pierce your nipples, Joel Miller breaks his moral code to lend a helping hand.

Pairing: JacksonEra!Joel Miller/reader

Warnings: Explicit sexual content MDNI, seduction, age gap(undefined), piercings and needles, nipple play, moral ambiguity, oral sex, unprotected sex, praise kink, size difference

NOTE: this one shot was written for my bff joelmillersgirlfriend and all of the bolded words are titles of her fics over on AO3!! if you haven't read any of her work i def recommend going over there to check it out she's incredible. we also have a 3-part co-write we did on AO3 called False Pretenses! thank you to everyone for reading, love u all <3

[cross posted on AO3]

[masterlist]

You find it on a scouting mission.

Maria had sent you and Joel out in search of books to fill the shelves of Jackson’s overused library. It was a leisurely mission, moving slowly from house to house, searching through broken shelves and dressers and nightstands.

The blistering summer heat has you feeling exhausted by midday, and so the sun hasn’t even set when you pick a still-standing apartment complex and settle in for the night.

You drop your pack and flop onto the moth-eaten couch while Joel triple-checks every exit and every entrance in the tiny apartment he’d picked on the very top floor. He’s going at it again, glancing out of the wide windows with his rifle in hand, when you say, “If there was a way in or out, I think you would’ve found it the third time.”

He doesn’t say anything. Not a man of many words, Joel Miller. But he was certainly fun to torture with lewd suggestions. 

“It’s real hot today,” you say. And it’s the goddamn truth—your skin is warm and your shirt sticks to the small of your back, and even though you’re wearing jean shorts the fabric chafes at your thighs. 

He does nothing but grunt in agreement as a reply. Few words. 

Though you try, you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face as you tell him, “We’d be a lot cooler if we took off some of these clothes, you know.”

Joel Miller is a good man. A really good man. This is why he pretends you don’t get to him, why he pretends to shrug you off as just a naive little girl whenever you brazenly flirt with him.

But you see it. 

The way his calloused hands tighten around his rifle, the flush that creeps up his neck, the way he turns his head just enough to keep that smirk from out of view. “You’re ridiculous,” he says. But he leaves his spot at the window and joins you on the couch instead.

You set your legs in his lap and when he rests his hand on your calf you half expect him to push you away. But he doesn’t—his fingers linger, pressing into the tender muscle. “How am I ridiculous? It’s only common sense, Mr. Miller.”

His eyes catch yours at the name. He’s never directly said it, but you have a hunch that it does something to him, speaking to him as an authority. A part of you wonders if he ever thinks of you in the way you think of him, wonders if his mind is often filled with sinful, raw images. “You know why.”

“No, I don’t.” You do. Of course, you do. But you’re out here all alone and he’s sitting beside you and you can feel the heat of his skin against yours and he’s so big and warm and masculine. You want him, need him in a way you’ll never even try to understand. “Explain it to me,” you urge.

Joel leans his rifle against the arm of the couch and reaches up to rub the tension from his jaw. He smiles, one of those all-knowing smiles that makes your heart flutter. It’s a secret sort of smile, meant for just you and him. “You got any idea how old I am, girl?”

You shrug and say, “It doesn’t matter.” Because it doesn’t. “I like that you’re older. Besides, I’m not talking about that.” You are. “I’m talking about the weather. The heat. I’m going to take my shorts off.”

Slowly, carefully, you trail your fingertips over the curve of your chest, down the center of your abdomen. His eyes follow your every movement, pupils blown wide and jaw set firmly. His hand flexes around your calf, squeezing softly.

When you slip the edge of your pinky beneath the denim waistband his lips part. You trace the seam, from one hip to the other and back again, real slow. Joel watches you and you watch him, transfixed, thighs pressed together to abate the ache that forms between them.

For a moment, a single moment, you think you have him. You can see the temptation on his face, clear as day. You think you’ve finally cracked the eternal goodness and strength of one Joel Miller…but his hand covers yours the moment you reach for the silver button.

Embarrassment flushes your cheeks and you feel a little like you’ve been caught red handed. 

His fingers squeeze yours, but his touch is so sudden and electrifying that the faintest whimper erupts from your chest. You want him to touch you with those hands, to touch you everywhere. You want him to take all that you offer and more.

But he’s just so good. “Stop,” he says, breathless. 

The hesitance is palpable. The strain in his voice. You know he wants you, can see the growing erection pushing at the metallic zipper of his jeans from the other end of the couch. You know it’ll only take a little more convincing, a little more of the delicious chase…but you want the final decision to be his. You want him to need it, too.

So you relent.

You stand to your feet and move towards the staircase in the abandoned apartment. But when you step between his thighs, you linger. “Did you check for any books upstairs?”

He shakes his head. “No. Don’t think whoever lived here before were much the readin’ type.”

“Yeah, well…didn’t think you were much the reading type, either. But here you are.”

Joel shrugs. “Not much to do at the end of the world. Helps pass the time.”

You knock your knee against his playfully. “You even know how to read, old man?” He chuckles softly and it feels like a victory. “Never seen you in the library.”

He spreads his legs further to give you more room, settling into the couch with his head tilted back. You know he doesn’t mean to look that fucking good doing it, but he does. Taking up all that space, commanding without even trying. It makes your mouth water, makes your skin prickle in every spot he allows himself to look. And then he says lowly, “I’ve seen you.”

It gives you pause. Because if he’s seen you in the library back in Jackson but you haven’t seen him, it means he notices you. Even when you’re not out here alone, even when you’re not urging him to touch you, even when you’re not trying. A seductive smirk finds your lips. “You gotta crush on me or something, Mr. Miller?”

Joel scoffs and shakes his head, turning away from you to hide the redness on his face that has nothing to do with the heat.

You giggle softly and decide to grant him a little reprieve. “I’ll be back,” you say, escaping the growing tension and focusing instead on the task at hand. “If they don’t have books, maybe they have something else that could be useful. Clothes or shoes or batteries or something.”

It only takes a few minutes before you realize what he meant when he said the past inhabitants of the apartment don’t seem much like the reading type. There’s not a single bookshelf to be found. Nothing on the walls, nothing standing in the spare room. There are three computers, though. Not that they’re worth anything now. 

Still, you try your damndest to find something. Anything. You rifle through drawers and find nothing but a cracked and weathered bible, of which you have a thousand and one copies in Jackson.

The closest thing you find to a real book is a stack of magazines in the cluttered bathroom. All are covered in a thick layer of dust and most have images of sports cars on the front, but they’re worth grabbing, anyway. You’re sure Tommy or Greg or someone wouldn’t mind skimming through them, so you grab the whole stack and return downstairs to Joel. 

You’re halfway down the stairs when the magazine on the bottom of the stack tumbles from your hands. And it’s not a sports car on the front page.

Instead, it’s a woman all dressed up in leather. She wears platform boots that reach her knees, adorned with heavy silver buckles down the front. Even though you were born not long after the outbreak, you’re not oblivious. You know what pornography is, but you’ve never seen anything quite like this.

You pick it up and put it on the top of the pile.

When Joel sees the small stack in your hand he asks, “Anything good?”

“Mm. Not sure yet.” You set the pile onto the floor beside your pack, nestle back into your spot in the opposite corner of the couch, and flip open the magazine with the leather-clad woman on the front, reading the title aloud. “Have you ever heard of a porno mag named Dreadnought?” 

“What are you—is that—?”

“I’m just curious, Mr. Miller. Relax.” You lift your feet and put them back in his lap and discover he is anything but relaxed. You can feel the stiffness in his thighs even through the thick soles of your high-top sneakers.

“No, what? No, you shouldn’t—you should…”

You ignore his stuttering, flipping quickly through the pages. Most of them are filled with erotic images of women dressed similarly to the one on the front page. They each have a man in a curious, submissive position. But none of this interests you, none of it even surprises you, in truth.

Near the end of the magazine is where you find exactly what you’re looking for. The woman on the front page is in different outfits, one in leather, another in red lace. But it’s the third page of her feature where she’s completely naked. Her breasts are full and sit too high on her chest to be real, but they’re beautiful. Not for any reason other than those pretty silver barbells that are pierced through her nipples. 

You lean up, tucking your legs beneath yourself, and show Joel the image. “Was this common? You know, like…before?”

His face is red and you think maybe he’s forgotten how to speak. Because no words come out, he just sputters. “Is…what…which part—are you…I don’t—”

“I’ve never seen anyone with pierced nipples,” you interrupt. “That’s what I’m talking about. Was it common?”

He seems to find himself. “Uhm…no. Not really, I guess. Why do you ask?”

You shrug and find yourself leaning into his side, flipping to the next page. There’s another image of the woman, and though she’s back in that red lace again, you can see the piercings pushing against the thin fabric. “It’s pretty,” you say. “I like it. Do you think you could do something like that still?”

“Well, back then they had people who’d do that sorta thing professionally,” he says. “But as long as you’re careful, I don’t see why you wouldn’t be able to.”

You let it go, and the two of you ration what food you have left, deciding to head back to the commune within the next day or two. You fall asleep leaning up against him, head resting on his shoulder. And you know Joel doesn’t rest much outside of Jackson’s walls, always too worried about being found or threatened in some way. But halfway through the night, you wake covered in a thin layer of sweat, scorched by the warmth of his head against your belly.

At some point in your sleep, you’d shifted, laying on the couch on your back, and Joel must have followed you. His arms are wrapped around your waist and his torso covers your legs, body heat warming you to uncomfortable temperatures. 

But you don't dare move. Instead, you slide your fingers through the soft tendrils of his hair and scratch softly at his scalp, smiling in the dark as he moans in his sleep.

Your luck the following day is much better. You stumble upon an old strip mall, and inside there’s a small, indie bookstore. Joel picks through the science fiction section, stuffing his pack with everything he thinks might be interesting. He finds a few children’s books and pockets those, too, while you browse the romance section.

Half the books are crumbling dust in your hands and the others have so much water damage they’re hardly legible, but you pick up what you can. While you’re rifling through the horror books, stashing anything written by Stephen King or H.P. Lovecraft, Joel comes up behind you and says, “You really read that kinda thing?”

“What, scary stuff?”

He nods, takes the copy of Carrie from your hands, and flips it over. “Yeah. Ain’t we got enough horror out there already?” 

You roll your eyes dramatically. “It’s not the same,” you explain. You flick the corner of the book in his hands and go back to browsing the shelves. “ This you can turn off,” you try to explain. “If you get too scared you can just close the book. Have you ever read anything scary before?”

Joel shakes his head. “Not really.”

“Try it one day,” you say. “The best time is in October, though. Under the sheets with a flashlight, scared out of your mind. It’s so good, Mr. Miller.” 

His jaw feathers as if there’s something he wants to say. But the words never pass his lips. He simply slips the book into your pack and remains silent as he watches you. 

It takes a while, but eventually, you’re satisfied with your haul. The day is still early, and so you say, “If we head back now we could save some time. Get home before dark tomorrow.”

To your surprise, he agrees with you. The extra weight of the books has you feeling sluggish an hour into your journey back home, but you persist. And even though it’s significantly less hot today than yesterday, at least once an hour Joel’s passing you his plastic bottle and urging you to drink water.

It’s a sweet gesture, in truth. Joel’s got this innate instinct to provide for others, you know. You’ve seen it a hundred times, the way he just silently takes care of the people he cares about. Ellie, Tommy, Maria, you. You’ve observed him for long enough to know that he’s a protector, a nurturer.

The only problem with Joel taking care of you is how much you like it. It makes you feel soft and gooey on the inside, producing sordid images in your brain of repaying the favor on your knees. You think about Joel’s big hands on you often—in your dreams, even. 

But…today is different because you can feel the weight of the magazine at the bottom of your pack. You can’t shake the image of the woman on the cover and that metal through her breasts, can’t get over how elegant and edgy and bewitching she looked. You begin to wonder how it would feel to have Joel touch you if you had the same body modification—would his calloused hands feel more intense, sensations heightened with the sensitivity? Would he be gentle and slow-moving? How soft would his tongue feel against your skin over the adornment? 

He seems to sense your distracted thoughts. “You okay? Seem quiet.”

“Fine,” you answer a little too quickly. “I’m just…just hot is all.”

Joel reaches behind him for his water bottle again but you shake your head. 

“No, no. Not like…not like that.”

“Oh.” He clears his throat, and you can feel his eyes on the side of your face but you don’t have the energy to tease him about it. Not when you can’t stop thinking about his fucking hands. “Let's, uhm…let’s find someplace to rest for the night. Sun’s startin’ to set anyhow.”

“Yeah, that’ll be good.” As long as you stay six feet away from him. As long as you can keep your godforsaken hands to yourself. As long as he doesn’t look at you too long or ask too many questions or grunt an answer.

You find yourself praying, hoping to keep yourself from any further embarrassment, hoping to fight off that ache that seems to have made a home inside your belly. You cross your fingers at your sides and hope God’s got a private channel open for young girls with an insatiable desire for rugged, older men. 

It feels like divine interference when you crest the hill of the street you're walking on to discover a run-down tattoo parlor. It still stands in perfect condition apart from the crumbling siding. Windows dirty but intact, door closed and stagnant.

A distraction will work.

And it looks sturdy enough to rest for the night. You know Joel will circle it a hundred times before he’s satisfied, but you think eventually he will be satisfied with it. “Didn’t people do piercings at tattoo shops, too?”

He nods slowly. “Yeah, they did. At most of them, anyway.”

The thought seems to cross Joel’s mind the second you look at him. “Do you think I could…?”

“Maybe. Let’s see.” 

You follow behind him as he approaches the building. He uses his knife to wedge the door open, and the two of you wait and listen for any approaching sound. 

There’s nothing, though. Nothing but stale, empty air, and a whole lot of dust. You stick by his side for the first two rounds of inspection, as is your routine. But when he goes back in for a third, you decide to take a look around yourself. 

In the front of the parlor, there’s a big, circular desk that sits atop the black and white tiles on the floor. The walls are painted maroon, and there’s a neon yellow leather couch near the door. You can only assume it’s where people would sit to wait, but the leather is smooth beneath your fingers even after all this time sitting unoccupied.

There are six smaller rooms behind the desk, each set up similarly with a blackout curtain and a medical-looking chair in the very center. In one of the rooms, there’s a binder flipped open, and as you begin to turn the pages you realize it’s an art portfolio. 

For a moment, you wonder about the person who’d drawn all of these designs. How old were they when they drew them? Did they have tattoos themselves? Are they still alive, out there somewhere still creating art?

People in Jackson still get tattoos, you know. But not as often as you think it might have been before the outbreak. You trail your fingers lightly over the next page. It’s an image of a glass half-filled with amber liquid, some sloshing out of the side. Below it, the words Tennessee Whiskey are written in cursive.

“Should be good.” His voice nearly makes you jump out of your skin. When you turn to face him, Joel’s got his rifle slung over one shoulder and he’s leaning against the doorframe, curtain pushed to the side. “Help me barricade the door?”

The two of you spend the next ten minutes moving furniture around the parlor, setting it all in front of the entrance. It’ll be harder to leave in the morning, you know. But you know, too, that a barricade like this means that Joel’s feeling too exhausted to spend another night pacing and you’re happy to give him the assurance of safety he needs. 

When you’re done, he spreads out on the leather couch and you put your pack beside his. “Joel?”

He turns just his head to look at you.

You sift through the books in your pack and reach towards the bottom, pulling out the magazine that’s plagued your every waking thought. “I’m going to pierce my nipples, I think.”

For several seconds, he doesn’t say a word in response. He just swallows hard and when his eyes leave yours, trailing down your neck, he squeezes them closed before they reach your chest. But you know, you know, even without any words, that he’s thinking about it. That he’s thinking about you, forgetting his morals for a single second.

It isn’t until you stand to your feet and start towards the closed-off rooms, magazine in hand, that he finally speaks up.

“Be careful,” he says. “I don’t want you hurt.”

You smirk at him over your shoulder. “Is that the Mr. Miller version of saying, I care about your tits?”

He snorts incredulously, but a chuckle follows shortly after, erasing all of your earlier embarrassment.

It doesn’t take you long to find the materials you need. In one of the cases you pry open with your knife, you choose two matching silver barbells with dainty, white diamonds on each end. You use a cloth to clean off a tall mirror in one of the rooms, and there’s a bottle of isopropyl alcohol that you use to disinfect both a steel surgical tray and your hands. 

You discard your shirt and bra, laying them in the chair in the middle of the room, and flip the magazine open to further observe the woman in the image. Thankfully, you find a drawer full of individually packaged needles and take out several just in case. 

Sterilizing your hands with the alcohol again, you align the jewelry over your nipple, inspecting the placement and maneuvering it until you’re satisfied. You rip open one of the packaged needles with your teeth and sterilize it too for good measure.

Carefully, you orient the needle just right, inhale until your lungs ache, and when you exhale—

“God fucking dammit!”

You can hear his footsteps before the sound of his rifle, and then comes his voice. “You alright? What happened?”

Your exhale is somehow shakier than your hands. “I’m okay, Joel,” you say quickly. You knew it was going to hurt, you’re literally piercing a needle through your flesh. But you didn’t expect it to be so excruciating. It stings even now with the needle pushed through, completely still.

He stands in the doorway, rifle lowered and pointed at the ground. Through the reflection of the mirror, you can see him glance around the room, looking at everything but you. “Are you sure? Maybe you shouldn’t. This could be dangerous, you can wait until we’re back home and—”

“And have someone else pierce my nipples? Yeah, Joel, I’m good on all that.” You pick the jewelry up, sterilize it again, and breathe slowly as you push it through. This part, while uncomfortable, is a world easier than the piercing itself.

You twist on the tiny diamond ball at the end of the barbell and admire your work. It’s perfectly straight, much to your surprise. And though it’s just a small change, it makes you feel as entrancing as the woman in the magazine. 

There’s no blood, which you take as a good sign. And as the seconds tick by the pain subsides and is replaced with a dull throbbing instead. It hurts, but it’s bearable. The only problem is that as you try to line up the second needle, your hands tremble too much to keep it straight.

Even though you try to take deep breaths, try to shake the tremors from your hand, nothing works. And you can’t just have one, can’t just leave this task unfinished, and so you gather your courage and turn fully towards him. “Joel? I need your help.”

You’ve never seen him quite like this, you think. There’s no flush to his face, no chagrin or hesitance or resistance. All of his morality seems to be replaced with a dark desire, a need unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. 

Immediately you know this is the Joel Miller he’s tried so hard to hide from you. Only glimpses of this terrifying man have slipped through the facade, each one smothered quickly by restraint.

Yet here he stands, hungry eyes swallowing you up, tracing the outline of the jewelry without remorse.

“I can’t…my hands are shaky. I need you to do the other one.” 

His hands twitch at his sides. And even though you now know he longs to touch you just as much as you want to touch him, his words tell an entirely different story. “I shouldn’t,” he says. “It’s not…it’s not right. Shouldn’t even be seein’ you like this. Too…too young. Too sweet.”

The southern accent in his voice is thicker now than you’ve ever heard it. Deep and husky, sending shivers down your spine. “Please, Mr. Miller.”

His eyes snap up to meet yours. He pins you with that intense stare of his and you suddenly can’t move, can’t breathe. Flickering flames gather low in your belly.

“I promise I won’t try anything. I’ll just stand here. I just need you to…to push the needle through. That’s all.” 

It takes him a second, but he nods. “Alright…alright. I, uhm…okay. Yeah.” He nears you slowly and you feel crowded. You can smell the salt and sweat of his skin, can feel that warmth even though he doesn’t yet touch you.

You pour the alcohol over his hands and hand him another packaged needle. “Here,” you say. “Just do it as straight as you can, and once the needle’s in I can do the rest.”

Joel peels apart the packaging and takes the needle between his fingers. He discards the plastic and you can hear each of his ragged breaths echo in your ears. Slowly, experimentally, he reaches out and presses his fingertips just below your ribcage and it makes you moan. 

He pulls away immediately as if he’d been burned by your skin. “You said you wouldn’t—”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it. Hold on.” You try again to catch your breath to no avail. “Let me close my eyes. I’m sorry.”

Joel nods, jaw feathering as he clenches his teeth. But you do as you say, closing your eyes and trying to convince yourself it’s not Joel touching you. It’s someone else. The same person who drew everything in that portfolio.

But when he does touch you again, his hands are warm and calloused and big and familiar. You know it’s Joel. Your Joel. The brooding man of few words. The too-good man who cares about you, who lets you sleep even though he never does, who gives you his water to guarantee you stay hydrated.

His hand moves upwards, palm pressed flat against your ribcage. It stops just below your breast as if he’s feeling the weight of it in his hand and you wonder if he can feel the hammering of your heart behind your sternum, too.

You don’t have time to think about it for long, though. Because his thumb slides across your nipple, hardening it into a peak, and all you can think about is the fact that he’s touching you. He’s touching you and you want more, want to feel him on every inch of your skin.

This time you’re able to hold back your moan, but only barely. It’s more like a whimper that gets caught in your throat instead. But he doesn’t pull away, and soon his other hand joins in. “Should I…uhm,” he clears his throat. “Should I count, or…?”

You shake your head. “No, no. Just…just do it. Please.” The words are desperate for a whole new reason. Your hands tremble even more at your sides.

The biting cold of the steel reaches you before you feel the pain. You try to breathe through it but the second one is somehow even worse and obscenities fall from your lips at the agony. It hurts so badly that you don’t even register as Joel slides the jewelry through and screws the diamond onto the barbell.

Ultimately, it’s his voice that cuts through the fog.

“Hey, hey. Shh. Hey, c’mon. Finished. Look at me, pretty girl. Open your eyes.” You do because that thick, southern drawl is more enticing than anything you’ve ever heard. You’d follow it anywhere, you think. Do anything it asks. “There you go. Atta girl.”

His words make your mouth water. You want to taste them. Joel’s hands are still on you, holding your hips, pressing into the exposed flesh. It’s all you can think about until he turns you away from him, forcing you to look into the mirror on the wall. “Oh my God.”

It surprises you a little just how much you love them. It makes you look powerful, like you are the one who belongs in a magazine.

“They’re perfect, Joel.”

“Did it hurt too bad?”

The question is so insane that it makes you laugh. “Are you kidding? It was awful. I don’t even know what to compare it to to try and explain it.”

He laughs too, a deep, throaty chuckle that brings a smile to your face. “Well, you have my sincere apologies, little lady.”

When you turn back to face him, you ask, “What do you think? Do they look good?”

You know you said you wouldn’t torture him, but the look on his face is so sweet that you can’t resist. “They’re real pretty,” he says. “They, uh…they suit you.”

“Think so?” You look up at him through your lashes, trying your damndest to look as desperate for him as you are. “Hurts a little,” you tell him, pressing your thumb gently over the center of your nipple, the one you��d pierced on your own. “Right here.”

He sees right through your false pretenses. You watch him swallow, watch his eyes darken. “Careful, little girl,” he warns, voice low and gravelly.

The name makes you squirm beneath his catastrophic gaze, thighs pressing together. He catches the movement—and you realize you want to be anything but careful with this terrifying, powerful man. Of course, you don’t heed his warning. “Might help if you kiss it better, you know.”

“S’that right?” You nod and a sinful smirk pulls at the corners of his full lips. He leans down and you can feel the scruff of his beard brushing the side of your face. Against your ear, he whispers, “You don’t know what you’re askin’ for, sweetheart.”

You know you shouldn’t. You know it, and yet you can’t fucking resist. You’ve never been able to resist him. “Then show me.”

And just like that, his resolve withers. The cord snaps and the good Joel you know vanishes into thin air, leaving nothing but this hungry, desperate man behind. He grabs your waist and hauls you up against him, legs wrapping around his hips on instinct.

Your chest presses against his but the pressure is bliss, fighting off both the ache in your breasts and the one between your legs. He swipes everything off the metal table in the corner. Alcohol and needles and portfolio all crashing to the floor. 

Joel sets you atop it and his mouth hovers an inch above yours, breath fanning across your cheeks. “Last chance, little girl,” he says.

He’s giving you an out, you realize. One last opportunity to escape him. You lean up and press your lips tenderly to his instead.

It’s answer enough for him.

Joel’s mouth moves greedily against yours. One hand rests against the small of your back, pressing you against him, and the other holds the nape of your neck. His tongue slips into your mouth. He tastes like honey and whiskey and sunlight. You could drown in it, you think. But Joel doesn’t linger for long. 

He trails open mouthed kisses down your neck, your chest—-and when he flicks his soft tongue across your nipple, your back arches and you forget how to breathe. 

“Joel,” you say, voice needy and desperate. “Touch me. Please touch me.”

His hands flex against your skin, still holding himself back. You don't understand—can’t he feel how much you want it? Can’t he see it on your face, in your eyes? “I want to,” he admits.

You grind your hips against his and the sensation of the bulge in his jeans against your center has you shaking. “What’s stopping you?”

A self-deprecating laugh bubbles out of his throat. He presses his forehead against yours, kisses the tip of your nose gently. “You make me crazy, pretty girl.” His hand comes around your throat, cradling your face. With the rough pad of his thumb, he traces the outline of your lips and says, “You make me feel like I’m eighteen again.” His hand travels lower, down your neck, knuckles dragging between your breasts. “Like I’m some little boy who gets a hard-on over a bra strap.” Lower, down your belly, between your ribs. “Or these fuckin’ shorts, baby.”

Everything aches for him. Every cell in your body has been lit aflame beneath his touch, longing to feel his hands, his tongue, to feel all of him. “Joel,” you say. “Please.”

He kisses a trail that follows the path of his hand, but this time he stalls at your breasts. “Sound so fuckin’ pretty when you beg,” he mutters against your skin. And then he’s kissing and sucking and biting marks into the softness of your breast, leaving proof that he was here, evidence of his affection. “If I touch you, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

“I want you to,” you say. “ I think about it all the time.” Your head falls back, hips rolling against his, seeking out any sort of friction you can find. “God—I dream about it. I want you inside me.”

His eyes darken as he looks up at you. 

A man of few words. This time it’s him who reaches for the metallic button. He pops it open in one smooth movement, tongue lapping over the metal barbell through your nipple. You can feel each pass over the sensitive flesh down to your toes. 

He wriggles his hand into your shorts, deft fingers finding your clit easily. You let out a lewd moan at the commanding way he just takes —as if he’s right where he’s always supposed to be. Right where you want him, right where you’ve needed him for all these years. 

Joel kisses a path across your sternum, mouth giving the same tender care to the opposite breast. He slides his fingers through your wetness, gathering your slick and using it to circle your clit. “M’gonna take care of her, sweetheart,” he says. “Gonna make her feel real good, s’that alright with you?” 

His words are filthy and obscene and you love it. You’re nodding quickly and saying, “Yes,  Joel, yes.”

A cold shiver passes through you as he rises back to his full height, towering over you when he takes a step back. “Let’s get these off,” he says. Joel helps you shimmy both your shorts and your panties down your legs until you’re sitting there in front of him completely naked. He’s still completely dressed and it makes you feel small and minuscule beneath the weight of his predatory stare.

He places both hands on your thighs and pushes them apart, spreading you open. And then he drops to his knees and lazily strokes his fingers through your wet heat. You can feel the chill of his breath against your clit and your fingers find the outgrown tendrils of dark hair on instinct, trying to pull him closer, wiggling your hips to the very edge of the table.

“Needy girl, hm?” He laughs softly. It’s not malicious but rather adoring, and you wonder how it is that someone so strong and authoritative can make you feel powerful and cherished in the same breath. “S’okay. I’ve got ya.”

And then his tongue is on you and it feels like heaven. So much better than you’d ever imagined, ever dreamed. His scruff scratches at the inside of your thighs as he slides his tongue through your pussy. Joel groans against you like this is more for him, and the vibration of the sound pulls staccato moans from your mouth.

He slips two fingers into you easily, encountering no resistance. You’re too wet, too eager to have him inside you. You whimper his name as he sucks your clit into his mouth, hands pulling tight in his hair. It feels so good it’s almost too much—but he seems to know what you can take more than you do. 

Joel looks up at you from between your thighs and you can see the palpable hunger on his face. You think maybe he’s wanted this for longer than you, maybe he’s somehow been even more starved for this than you once thought.

You can feel your orgasm creep down your spine, inferno building and building, settling low in your belly. You try to tell him, to warn him—but then he hooks his fingers inside of you, pressing against that sweet spot and—

“Oh, God—God, fuck—Joel, I—!”

“S’alright, baby, go’head. Cum for me, oh—yeah, that’s it. There you go, sweetheart.” His voice is so gentle, a stark contrast to the assertive way he moves his hands, pulling from you everything your body can give. The southern accent is thick as he talks you through it. “Feels so much better now, huh? Y’look so fuckin’ pretty like this, baby. So pretty when you’re all full’a me.”

Your thighs tremble even as you begin to come down, trying to catch your breath, holding onto his arms to ground yourself as he stands back to his feet, thick cords of muscle sturdy beneath your shaking hands. And he’s right—it does feel better now, but as he eases his fingers out of you and you watch him lick them clean, your pussy clenches at the sight. It’s better, it is… but when it comes to good and moral Joel Miller you are insatiable.

A deep, rumbling groan reverberates in his chest when you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him towards you. Your slick stains the bulge in his jeans, darkening the denim material. “Oh, sweetheart,” he says, big hands running slowly up and down your smooth thighs. “Shouldn’t be doin’ this…shouldn’t be takin’ advantage of you. Such a little thing, don’t know what you want.”

The answer comes quickly. “You, Joel. I want you.”

You reach for his belt and he watches your nimble fingers undo it, pulling the leather through the metal fastening. He hisses when you reach into his jeans and pull him out. 

He’s bigger than you thought, and wrapping your hand around him completely is a troubling task. You’re not sure he’ll even fit but it makes your mouth water, makes your swollen clit pulse with need. “Please.”

“I can’t, baby. Believe me, I want it, too, but I…you’re too good for me. Too—” He stops when you slide the head of his cock through your pussy, coating him in your slick. You watch the movement together and this time it’s Joel’s hands that shake. He curses under his breath, admiring the way he fits so perfectly. 

“Just a little?” Your own voice is hardly recognizable in your own ears, needy and deprived. You slide his cock back up towards your clit and it catches at your entrance. You both gasp in tandem. You love Joel and all his goodness but right now you want the worst of him. You want all of him. 

He nods and presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Okay…okay,” he says to himself. “Just a little. You sure? You’re positive you want—?”

You line him up and shift your hips forward, words fading into nothingness. It’s just a little like you promised, but the stretch is so delicious you find yourself wanting more. More, always more—you think you could die without it.

Joel pushes in further, a little less than halfway, and then pulls out slowly. He groans and you feel like crying. His cock is covered in your wetness and when he pushes back in you think this just might be enough to make you cum a second time. 

It’s filthy and obscene and you love it. You love him. He reaches down and circles your clit with his thumb, fucking you slowly, eyes locked on the place you’re joined. “You’re so big,” you whimper.

You can feel the tension in his shoulders and you do your damnedest to smooth it out with small, massaging motions. He touches you just right but you want it to feel good for him, too.

That heat of an orgasm begins to build again. A low, incessant thrum between your hips.

“I have to,” he mutters so softly you hardly hear him the first time. “I have to, baby. I’ve gotta feel you. I’ve gotta…” And then he eases his cock into you to the hilt without any warning, filling you so full it hurts. The invasion stings but your body adjusts quickly, making room for him in the same way your heart has. His head falls to the crook of your neck and you can feel him shudder as he breathes the word fuck into your skin. 

“Oh my God—it’s too much, too much—!”

“You can take it, baby. C’mon, spread your legs wider. I know s’alot,” he praises, circling your clit a little faster now. Your slick drips down your thighs, into the dark hair between his hips. “You got it, sweetheart. See? There you go.”

He pulls out just to sink into you again. This time there’s less pain and more divinity and your nails dig into his shoulder through his flannel as you adjust to the size of him.

Joel uses his free hand to tilt your chin up, pressing his mouth to yours and kissing you deep. He sets an unrelenting pace, hips grinding against yours with each thrust. It’s so much and you’re so full of him in all the best ways. When you moan into his mouth you can feel his lips turn up at the corners, a predatory grin saved just for you. 

The sounds are filthy and echo in the room, an obscene symphony of devotion. You’d let him do anything right now—anything. 

He picks up the pace, hips snapping against yours. All you can think about is how right this feels, how you were made for him, how well he fits inside you.

A low grunt filters through his teeth and he says, “Fuck, baby. You look so pretty. How’s it feel? Tell me. Use your words.”

“S’good,” you whimper in response. Your brain is mush and your thighs become a vise around his waist, pulling him in impossibly deeper. “So good, Joel, don’t stop. Please don’t stop, I’m—I’m close.”

“Yeah? Gonna cum again already, hm?” He pushes his palm against your belly, thumb still gently stroking your clit. And the pressure of it feels so intense you let out a whine of bliss. “Yeah, you are,” he whispers. “Can feel her squeezin’ me. S’alright, baby. Wanna feel it.” 

His words send you tumbling over the edge of bliss, and he fucks you through it. Stars blind your vision and your ears fill with static. But you can hear Joel though, can hear him and feel him deep inside you through it all. 

“Ohh, that’s it. Good fuckin’ girl. Pretty little thing’s just fuckin’ dripping all over me, feels so good. You feel so good.”

Before you even realize what’s happening, his rhythm falters. You can feel his cock pulse inside of you as Joel falls off the precipice. His head rolls back and the muscles in his forearms flex around the prominent veins. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, and you know you’ll never see anything as beautiful as this big, powerful man weak for you.

He’s panting when he slowly pulls out of you with a hiss. Sweat dots his hairline and that flush on his neck certainly seems like it’s staying for a little while longer. He’s beautiful, you think. Crafted by the hands of God himself, made with imperfect grace.

When he looks up at you he smiles in the way he always does, like the two of you share a secret. And maybe now you do. A sinful, dirty secret that’s all yours. You laugh softly and he mirrors the sound, helping you back to your feet. 

You hold his shoulders for balance as he helps you back into your shorts. And when he hands you your bra and t-shirt, you’re starkly reminded of the dull throb in your breasts and think better of it before putting them on. “I think they might be too tight. I’ll look around and see if I can…”

Before you finish the sentence, he’s unbuttoning his red flannel and tossing it to you. He wears a light brown tshirt underneath, the arms just a little too tight on his biceps. He looks so good that you want to take him between your legs again even with the sweet ache that lingers. “Here,” he says. “Take this.”

You do. He helps you with the buttons and it’s too big but gives your new body modifications room to breathe and heal. You ask him how it looks. 

“Better on you,” is his short response.

When you begin to fall asleep on the yellow leather couch later that night, all wrapped up in his arms, Joel presses his lips to your forehead and says, “When we get home, I wanna read that book of yours. Carrie, was it?”

You shift at his side, turning your head up to look at him. “You’re not gonna wait till October, like I said?”

Joel shakes his head. “You got any idea how old I am, girl? I’ve got no time for waitin’ till October.” He’s quiet for several seconds. And then his voice is nothing but a whisper as he says, “No time waitin’ on this to be right in the eyes of others, either.” 

And you can feel the heat behind his words, can almost hear the unspoken meaning. No time for waiting until you’re older, no time for waiting until the perfect moment. Your mouth pulls into a wide grin. “Are you asking to go steady with me, Mr. Miller?”

With a scoff, he runs his hand playfully down your face and shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous,” he says. 

When he kisses you, you make a promise against his lips. “I’m yours, Joel.” 

He doesn’t say much in the way of a reply, your big man of few words. But he pulls you closer, holds you tighter.

It’s more than enough.

[theplaid-wearingmoose]

Pic credit: @cupcakeinat0r

Warning: Rough sex, overstimulation, dumbification-ish?, name-calling, breeding kink

It started with you making your way to Miguel's office to drop off your mission report and some food from the cafeteria since you were certain he hadn't eaten today. Just before you reached the door, Lyla appeared in front of you. "Hey girly. You here for the boss?" She asked. "Yeah Lyla, I know he probably hasn't come out for food today. Plus I need to drop off my report." You answered. Lyla gave you a sheepish look. "Ummm just be careful...or maybe come back later? It might be better. He's not doing so hot. It's uh...his time of the month?"

You paused at first. You were so busy taking care of anomalies you forgot to check the calendar. Miguel's spider DNA gave him a mating cycle. The first time had taken you by surprise and your muscles ached for 2 weeks. Since then you'd been careful to time it properly and stretch but saving the multiverse from sudden collapse was becoming more and more difficult lately. You totally forgot about Miguel's "heat".

"Oh...um..maybe I'll still go check on him. Just so I can make sure he doesn't hurt himself." You reasoned to her. Lyla shrugged. "If you say so. Don't say I didn't warn you though, girly." You smiled and waved her away playfully as the door slid open in front of you. Miguel's office felt unusually cold, like he had turned the AC on full blast plus some. You didn't even have a chance to speak before hearing Miguel's voice shouting. "LYLA I told you not to let anyone in here!"

Your spider sense pinged just as you saw one of Miguel's huge monitors flying towards you. "Miguel! What the hell, it's me!" You shouted, catching the monitor before it took you out. The force of it did send you back a couple inches but you were otherwise unharmed. You swung up to his platform and set the monitor gently on the floor. "Oh...I-I'm sorry, hermosa. I didn't know it was you." He apologized. He was hunched over in his chair, his large frame curled almost into a ball. He didn't even look up at you but you could see him tense up as you neared him. "You shouldn't be here, querida. It's not safe. I don't wanna hurt you."

You put your hand on his back and Miguel bristled like a cat. "Amor, estoy serio! If you don't leave, I don't think I'll be able to control myself." He warned, his tone was harsh but also pleading. You stood firm. "I'm not afraid of you, Miguel. And I'm not fragile either. You know I can handle it. It'll hurt you more if you don't." You placed your hands on his shoulders and started to massage his muscles when he shot up from his chair and whirled around to face you. "You don't know what you're asking for this time, querida. I tried to take a suppressor and..it didn't work! It only made it worse." He growled. You could finally take in the sight of him fully as he towered above you. His hair was disheveled and sweaty, his normally maroon-colored eyes were a blazing, almost glowing, red. He was breathing heavily and his hands were clenched in tight fists like he was using every ounce of strength to keep them to himself.

You raised your hand to his face, concerned, but Miguel caught your hand in his tightly. "Miguel-" "Why do you insist on torturing me, amor? Don't you understand that the closer you get to me, the more I'm having to restrain myself?!" He pulled you to him and pressed his nose to your wrist, inhaling deeply. "Dios mio...you smell so sweet, princesa. I bet you taste even better." He growled against your skin. Arousal coursed through you as you felt his hard length press against you. "Miguel...I can take it.." You spoke, trying to reassure him, your voice barely making it above a whisper. He leaned close to you, gripping you by your jaw. "I won't be gentle, hermosa. I can't." He rasped. You nodded and gasped as he began to grind his hips against you. One hand ran up the back of your neck and tangled in your hair. Grabbing a fistful of it, Miguel yanked your head back and latched his mouth to your neck. You cried out as his fangs sunk into your skin, marking you as his. He sucked on your neck before pressing his lips to yours, shoving his tongue into your mouth. His other hand ran down your body, squeezing and groping your flesh as he went. He stopped just under your bellybutton and gripped a fistful of your suit. Your eyes widened as you felt a tug and heard the rip of the material.

You pushed on his chest, trying to protest his destruction of your suit but he grabbed your wrist, pinning it behind you, and smothering your noises with his kiss. Breathing heavily, he released you long enough to growl out "I'll make you another suit, querida" before shredding the material on your chest, freeing your breasts. He wasted zero time sucking one of your sensitive nipples into his mouth before rolling the other one between his fingers. You let your head roll back and threaded your fingers through Miguel's hair. His warm tongue flicked across your nipple, making you whimper in pleasure.

Miguel stood up straight and pushed you back against the table. Turning your body away from him, he got on his knees behind you. "Bend over for me, princesa. Let me taste you." He demanded. You bent over the table, your ass and dripping pussy completely exposed to him. Miguel groaned as he massaged your ass. "Fuck, you're so wet already, amor. You're driving me crazy."

You choked out a loud moan as Miguel shoved his tongue inside you without warning. His hands dug into the meat of your ass as he wiggled it against his face. "Oh f-fuck, Miguel! Your mouth feels so good!" You whined. Miguel hummed as he sucked on your clit and flicked his tongue over your wet hole. Two of his large fingers replaced his tongue inside you and began pumping inside you fast and hard. Your legs were already beginning to shake and you knew Miguel wouldn't have mercy on you just yet. You felt yourself coming undone as he ate you like an ice cream. You couldn't help but rock back against his face, crying out his name as you came on his tongue.

Laughing quietly to himself, he stood and wiped his face before cleaning off his fingers one by one, savoring your taste. He went back to rubbing your clit in circles as he positioned himself behind you. He pushed on your back until you were completely flush against the table. You heard his suit turn off and squirmed against him in anticipation.

A loud scream was pulled from your throat as Miguel fully sheathed himself inside you. Giving you absolutely no time to adjust, he began fucking you at such a rough pace, the monitors began to shake from the force of his thrusts. "Ay carajo, bebita...you're so fucking tight....gonna fill this pussy up so good, querida. You're gonna make such a beautiful mama." Miguel moaned. You couldn't form any words. Every ounce of your strength was going to keeping yourself upright. You gripped the edge of the table and held on for dear life. You could see your face reflected in the monitor in front of you, the orange lights illuminating your fucked out expression. Your lips were slightly puffy from Miguel sucking on them and your eyes were half open. Miguel noticed you looking into your reflection and smirked.

"You like watching me fuck you, amor? You do make such a beautiful sight. You can barely keep your eyes open, can you? Do I make you feel that good, baby? Answer me."

"Y-yes, Miguel you- ohmygod- you make me feel amazing. You're so deep inside me...fuck, you're gonna make me cum soon!" You cried. Miguel laughed darkly. "Oh you're gonna cum a few times for me, cariño. As many times as it takes." He growled. Hooking his arm under your knee, he lifted one of your legs onto the table, angling himself so he could fuck deeper into you. His pace sped up and the feeling of his cock so deep inside you had you screaming. The monitors not attached to the ceiling toppled over and crashed to the floor of the platform but Miguel kept his pace as if he didn't even hear them. You didn't even have time to announce it before your orgasm hit you, soaking Miguel's cock and stomach with your wetness. Still his pace did not slow. If anything, it spurred him on even more. "Así baby, cum all over me, princesa. Fuck you're such a good girl for me.." Miguel groaned in approval.

Grabbing your hair, Miguel pulled your head back and pressed kisses to the side of your face as he continued fucking you. "Que linda...eres tan hermosa, amor." He murmured, his gentle words a stark contrast to the rough movements of his hips. "Tell me you love it, princesa." "Ohhhh I l-love it s'much! S'fucking good!" You slurred, your brain foggy from the overstimulation. You were so blissed out you didn't realize your mouth had been hanging open and drool had fallen from your tongue. Miguel smirked when he noticed. "Oh princesa you're drooling, huh? Am I fucking my baby stupid? This cock too much for my dumb little whore, hm?" All you could do was nod and whimper in response. "Oh pobrecita..." Miguel crooned.

He reached around you and rubbed your clit as he slammed his hips against your ass. Your moans and whimpers grew loud as another orgasm washed over you, your nails clawing at the table.

"M-Miguel please...I c-can't." You sobbed, your legs shaking, dangerously close to giving out. Miguel bent over you and nibbled gently on your ear lobe. "What happened to 'I can take it, Miguel. I'm not fragile, Miguel'?" He taunted. You let out another sob of pleasure as he lifted your leg back onto the table and smacked your ass before gripping it tightly. "Don't worry, princesa. Gonna fill that pussy up soon, gonna put a baby in you and make you a mama. Fuck, amor, you're gonna look so beautiful all swollen with my babies. Gotta fuck it into you deep, baby." He moaned. Your eyes rolled back in your head at his words. "Fuck yes, cum inside me Miguel. Please fill me up! I need it!" You begged. Miguel cursed and gripped your hips hard enough that surely bruises would be there later. Sweat dripped from his hair and a thin sheen of sweat made his chest glisten.

He pounded into you hard, chasing his release. Your screams of pleasure filled his ears and soon he was seeing stars as his release finally hit. His whole body shuddered as he emptied his load inside you, coating your walls in his warm, sticky cum. With a loud grunt, he pressed his hips flush against your ass, making sure he was totally spent before pulling back out of you. Your legs gave out completely and you collapsed to the floor, breathing heavily. Miguel quickly joined you, pulling your trembling body against his sweaty chest. Panting against your skin, he pressed a kiss to your forehead and brushed your hair away from your face. His actions were gentle but as he kissed your cheek, he murmured in your ear.

"Get your rest now, amor. I'm not even close to done with you."

[faithshouseofchaos]

The good in him — Spike x gn!reader

Fluffy slightly suggestive Word count 2k

Warnings — talks about killing but no actual killing and one use of Lady other than that I kept it Gender neutral.

@urfriendlywriter I used prompts — 9. kisses where their lips are barely hovering over urs, fingers tracing over ur jaw with a tantalizing gaze!!!!

10. ^ AND they plead, their voice whiny, "please, [name], please kiss me already. don't torture me.." (HELLO?? CHOOSE ME. PICK ME.)

This is not edited or beta read

When you moved to Sunnydale California you were thrown into the world of the supernatural which was predictable due to living on top of a literal gate to hell. Sure it was a bit of a strange place to live and literal monsters and demons were lurking around every corner of the small town but it was worth it in a sense. Like how you were training to become a watcher for the future and how you helped Buffy and your friends save the world from ending multiple times.

It was safe to say that the world of the supernatural was growing on you, especially Spike. Spike was a vampire, one of history's most dangerous, next to his maker Angel. He was a pain in your ass at first, constantly making fun of you and calling you several different silly names, but you couldn't deny that something was charming about him. Maybe it was how blunt and honest he was about everything or maybe it was the fact that he could quote Shakespeare off the top of his head that piqued your interest. The Shakespeare thing made a lot of sense to you when you learned that Spike was a poet in his human life.

You tried to brush off any sort of feelings towards the demon in question. You couldn't have a thing for a vampire. Especially not one that was over a century old, had tried to kill you and your friends on multiple occasions and was always going on and on about how much he was into Buffy. It was a fruitless endeavor, after all, if Buffy didn't feel anything towards him then why should you?

Despite that, you found yourself seeking him out more often. You would pass by The Bronze hoping to catch a glimpse of him, you'd make a few trips to the cemetery in the guise of patrolling only to find and talk to him, and you'd even sit through listening to his endless rambling about Buffy on the off chance he said something nice about you.

He was always there to greet you with a snarky comment. Like "Look who decided to drop in" or even "Decided to leave the comfort of your home and visit some real company" and despite how aggravating it was at times to listen to his constant banter, it was almost...welcome. You found yourself enjoying his company. He was rude and a smartass but he was also witty and charming. His quips and jabs at you and the rest of the group never really seemed to hold any malice when he made them towards you, only to Buffy and Xander. When you were with him he was almost sweet in an odd sort of way.

"You can't seriously still be hanging out with him" Buffy practically yelled at you, her hands planted firmly on her hips.

"Why not? What's the big deal?" You asked, not knowing why she was so worked up about you and Spike.

"The big deal is that he's evil! And a vampire! He doesn't have feelings! He's probably just using you!" She shot back angrily, the rest of the group nodding in agreement. "Not to mention he tried to kill you. Multiple times" Willow piped up, adjusting her glasses nervously. "You're wasting your time. You're going to get yourself killed" Xander said, folding his arms. You huffed and rolled your eyes. "I can take care of myself. Besides, he hasn't tried to kill or hurt me in a long time" you stated matter of factly.

"That's another thing! Why aren't you questioning why he hasn't tried to kill you or hurt you? Something isn't right about this-" Buffy said before you cut her off. "Maybe he just likes me. Have you ever thought of that?" You retorted, your tone just as sharp. Buffy opened her mouth to say something but was cut off once again by Xander.

"You can't seriously believe that. He doesn't like anyone besides himself and Buffy" he said. "That's not-" Buffy started but you interrupted her once more. "Is it so hard to believe that a guy, even a guy like Spike, could like me?" You questioned.

Giles, who had been silently standing by watching the argument unfold finally spoke up. "It's not the fact that it's impossible, but it's the fact that it's highly unlikely. Vampires can't feel like humans do" He said in his usual blunt manner. You clenched your jaw, irritation starting to wash over you. "Not all vampires are like Angel. They can feel love and affection. Spike proves that" you retorted.

"And how, exactly, does Spike prove that?" Giles asked, his tone holding a condescending note. "When I'm with him he's-" you paused, fumbling over your words.

"He's nice," you mumbled.

"Spike? Nice? That's a joke" Buffy said in disbelief. "He's nice to me. He gives me attention"

"He doesn't give you 'attention' in some sweet and loving way. He's probably just treating you how he treated Dru. Like a toy." Buffy retorted, her voice dripping with anger.

"I've seen enough over the years to know that he's a heartless demon that only cares about himself" Buffy shot back with irritation clear in her voice.

"He's not heartless! And I'm sick of all of you going on and on about how evil he is. I happen to care about him!" You shouted, your patience wearing thin.

There was a brief silence before, "You're in love with him" Xander mumbled, shock clear on his face. The room was eerily quiet as everyone stared at you with wide eyes of disbelief. Your face flushed and you averted your gaze down to the ground, embarrassed. "I, um-" you were at a loss for words. How were you supposed to tell your friends that you had feelings for the vampire they all hated?

"Is it true?" Buffy asked, her voice hard and cold. You hesitantly nodded your head, confirming your friend's suspicions. "How long have you felt this way?" Willow asked, her tone soft. "A few months.." you mumbled, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt nervously. "Why didn't you tell us sooner?" Xander chimed in, his expression one of bewilderment. "Because I didn't want you guys to think I was insane" you admitted with a sigh. "I can't believe this..you're in love with a monster," Buffy said with an incredulous tone. Her expression was full of shock and disappointment.

“You're one to talk Buffy” you replied sarcastically. There was a brief moment of stunned silence before Buffy's eyes narrowed. "What is that supposed to mean?” She questioned, her tone turning sharp. "You say Spike is a monster but forget that you dated Angel who has a soul" you retorted, your irritation flaring up once again at the hypocrisy that was clear to see. "Angel has a soul, he's not a monster-" Buffy started but you cut her off. "He still killed people! Just because he feels bad about it now doesn't make him any better than Spike!" You exclaimed.

“You know what, I'm going home,” you replied, grabbing your coat and leaving. You stormed out of Giles' apartment, seething in anger. Your friends called out after you but you didn't care as you slammed the door behind you. You didn't feel like dealing with their judgmental bullshit. Once you were outside you paused. Now that you'd made a dramatic exit what were you supposed to do? You couldn't go home, Buffy and the gang would come after you anyway. You couldn't go to The Bronze, someone was bound to be there. So that only left one place.

With a resolute sigh, you started down the sidewalk towards the cemetery. The journey to the cemetery was silent and rather peaceful, even though it was night and any number of monsters could be hiding in the shadows. After about 10 minutes of walking, you reached your destination.

You looked around the area expecting to see a familiar mop of bleach blonde hair but you didn't. That was strange, where was he? You walked through the cemetery, checking all his usual spots but coming up empty time and time again. As the night grew on and it started to get even later you began to get worried. Sure, it wasn't like Spike could die but what if a group of angry hellhounds managed to catch up with him? You had just about finished searching through the cemetery when you heard a familiar voice call out.

"What are you doin' out here at this time of night, love?" You whirled around to see Spike standing behind you, a sly smirk on his face. The relief that washed over you was overwhelming, he was ok and not mangled or missing a limb or worse. You huffed and attempted to seem annoyed, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Looking for you, idiot" you replied. "Oh? Missed me, did ya?" He teased, sauntering over to you. You gave an exasperated sigh and attempted to look as nonchalant as humanly possible. "You're conceited, you know that? I was worried that you would've gotten yourself turned into a pile of ash" you said, feigning annoyance though you were relieved that he was ok. He chuckled and leaned down, his face only inches away from yours.

"Aww, you were worried about me? I didn't know ya cared, love" he teased, his voice holding a slightly mocking tone. You rolled your eyes and attempted to seem unfazed at his proximity.

"Don't get a big head, I was not worried about you. I just didn't want to deal with Buffy and the rest of the Scooby gang nagging me" you retorted, your voice wavering slightly. His smirk widened as he leaned impossibly close to you, his chest now brushing yours. He took a few strands of your hair in between his fingers before speaking.

"And yet here you are, all alone with a big bad vampire. Wouldn't your friends just throw a fit if they knew" he said, his tone low and sultry. You shuddered involuntarily, the close contact causing your heart rate to speed up. God, this man was insufferable.

"They would, but I don't care. And I can take care of myself, thank you very much" you argued, tilting your head up to meet his gaze properly. He let out a low chuckle, his hand finding its way to the side of your neck. He brushed his thumb over your pulse point, his smirk growing when he felt how fast your heart was beating.

"Such a fierce little thing you are, aren't you? But I wonder what they'd say if they saw us like this" he said, his voice a low murmur. Your heart fluttered, the feeling of his hands on your skin and his voice in your ear causing a fire within you. You cursed yourself, how was it that this annoying, smart-mouthed pain in the ass was able to turn you into a mess so easily.

"They'd probably tell me to stay far away from you" you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. He leaned closer, his breath ghosting over your ear as he chuckled. "And would you listen to them, pet?" He questioned, his hand still lingering on your neck while the other found its way to your waist. You shivered at the feeling of his cool breath brushing across your skin. His hand on your waist was suddenly very distracting.

"Probably not" you mumbled, unable to think straight. This was dangerous, the two of you alone in the quiet darkness. His smirk deepened, his hand sliding from your neck down to your hip as he began to pull your body against his. You were now flush against his chest, your faces only inches apart from each other. You could feel the coolness of his skin through your clothes along with the faint scent of smoke and musk. Your breathing became uneven and you could feel your heart hammering in your chest from being so close to him.

His gaze darkened as he looked down at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of amusement and desire. "You have no idea what you do to me, love" he murmured, his voice a low husk. His grip on your waist tightened, his thumb rubbing slow and lazy circles on the exposed sliver of skin showing where your shirt had ridden up.

Every nerve in your body was on fire, your senses overrun with him. You looked up at him, meeting his gaze and finding your resolve fading rapidly. "You are a nuisance, you know that?" You murmured, half-heartedly trying to keep up the act of annoyance.

He laughed quietly, his eyes roaming over your face before resting on your lips. "You think so, do you?" He inquired, his tone holding a note of amusement. He took your chin in his hand and tilted your head up, his face now hovering over yours. His cool breath ghosted over your lips as his smirk widened. "You're a really bad liar, pet" he murmured. You shivered, the distance between you and Spike narrowing by the second. Your heart was practically in your throat and every muscle in your body was tense. "It's your fault, you're a bad influence" you mumbled, unable to keep up the facade of annoyance that was rapidly fading.

He let out a low chuckle, his thumb running across your bottom lip as he spoke. "Oh, I'm a bad influence am I?" He teased, his face only inches from yours. He continued his torturous game of keeping you just out of reach of where you wanted him, the smirk on his face only growing wider at your clear growing desperation for him.

"Please, Spike, please kiss me already. don't torture me.." you pleaded your voice had a slight whine to it. He chuckled darkly, clearly pleased with the effect he was having on you.

"Well, since you asked so nicely...." he replied slyly, his hand shifting from your chin to the back of your neck. “Who am I to deny a lady as sweet as you?”

And with that, he finally closed the distance, his lips meeting yours in a searing kiss. You gasped at the contact, the feeling of his cool lips against yours setting your entire body on fire. His hand on your hip pulled you flush against his body as his other hand held firmly on the nape of your neck, holding you in place. You couldn't keep the soft whimper that left your lips at the action.

He chuckled against your mouth, the low sound sending a shiver down your spine. He nipped at your bottom lip before gently asking for entrance, which you gladly gave him. The feeling of his tongue slipping into your mouth sent a wave of heat through your body, your hands moving to grasp at the lapels of his duster. You were now completely at his mercy, your body aching to be as close to him as possible.

He broke the kiss for a brief moment to murmur hotly in your ear, “You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that" his voice holding a low whisper. You could feel the heat rising in your face at his words, a thrill coursing through you at the knowledge that he had been wanting to kiss you as much as you wanted him.

You opened your mouth to say something but you were unable to form any coherent words as he began to trail his lips down your neck and began to nip and bite at the sensitive skin.

A low moan escaped your lips, your hands clenching tightly into the material of his coat. This man was going to be the death of you.

[livinginshambles]

Preview: Hear me out, please | James Potter x Fem!Reader

Pairing: James Potter x Slytherin!Fem!Reader

Summary: The aftermath of when James found out you were his 'cinderella'. James tries desperately to get your attention to get you to hear him out.

Notes: Hey there, sorry for the wait. Here is a preview! It's short, but it's all i want to give yall, hehe. I love you guys. Also, it's not proofread. idk :)

Warnings: f-word, James is fed up with your sisters and shakes them a little.

Masterlist. Part one. Part two.

Part three is up!!

______________________________

A lot of things went through James' mind as he stood there in the Great Hall. You could hear a pin drop before Regulus finally shot into action and dashed out the hall to go after you.

The murmering started to continue now that the first silence had been disturbed.

"Oh gosh, she's so dramatic," your sister laughed. And she put a hand on James' shoulder to pull him back to his seat.

James turned his head slowly. His attention zeroed in on the hand on his shoulder. He coiled away.

"What the fuck have you done," he spat at her.

Marla's eyebrows shot up. "We did you a favour," she stated, as if it was the most obvious thing ever.

It sent James over the edge. He grabbed her upper arm and harshly shook it.

"A favour? A favour!?" He started to shout. "What on earth is wrong with you!" He looked around, his eyes blown out. "With all of you!"

"You mean what the hell is wrong with you, James?" Your other sister, Alyssa, piped up. "Why are you defending her?" That last word was spat out with so much disgust that it finally opened James' eyes to what you must have endured. He fought the urge to slap her expression off her face.

James let go of Marla's arm and pushed her a few steps back while doing so.

No, he needed to fix this. He just had to. If you would just listen to him, he would explain it all. And then he'd protect you. From every hurtful comment out there.

If you would just let him.

"Regulus," James grimaced. The boy was blocking his path and view, standing in the doorway. You were out of sight, or at least out of James' sight.

"Potter," Regulus curtly nodded at him.

"I need to talk to her."

"You've said plenty."

James' brows furrowed, and his jaw flexed. Why was everyone deciding everything for him all of a sudden? Why couldn't everyone just mind their own bloody business? If they had, none of this would have occurred.

He would be patrolling with you in the evening, and you would make him laugh about one of your dry remarks. He wouldn't have known that it was you who he was looking for, but in time, maybe he would've figured it out. Or maybe he would've pushed his mystery girl to the back of his mind to let you and all the new feelings in.

"Actually, I haven't. I haven't said enough because everyone is saying things in my place instead. But I never got the chance to say what I want to say, and every time I do, it seems too late. I just want to talk to her." The words flew out of James' mouth, built up regret, anger, and disappointment from how things had escalated.

"Perhaps you haven't said much." Regulus looked James up and down and weighed his words carefully. "And maybe that's part of the problem. But right now, she's certainly heard enough. She doesn't want your grand words."

James closed his eyes in frustration. He wanted to protest, he wanted to scream at himself and pull his hair out, but ultimately, he just wanted yet another chance.

He hadn't expected it to be you. Not at all, but the longer he thought about it, the more it made sense, and the more it seemed... right. And he didn't know why he had been so adamant to form some sort of relationship with you, but the way his heart blossomed when you were around only pulled him further in.

James looked at the ground, as if the solution to his problems would be written down there.

"Okay," he relented.

Without a moment of hesitation, Regulus went to slam the door in his face but stopped at the box that James held put to him.

"What's that supposed to be?" He flatly asked James.

With a heavy heart, James showed Regulus the pair of glass slippers that you had left behind at the Yule ball, and that he had so carefully carried around with him.

James searched for his words. "I've been holding on to these to return them to their owner," he made an attempt at a smile but dropped it, feeling pathetic. He wondered if he looked as pathetic to Regulus as well.

"Well, I suppose I should return them, now that I've found her." James pushed the box into Regulus' hands, threw one glance past the boy in hopes to catch a glimpse of you, and rubbed his face with both hands as he dejectedly walked away from the Slytherin dormitory.

Perhaps he could try again later.

Full fic

[obriengf]

Forbidden Cloth || Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Summary: Stiles uncovers a strong disdain for Ugly Christmas Sweaters. Words: 1k Warnings: just stiles being cute af so don't read if you're not into that Notes: guys i rambled so much in this

hope he's bringing me love this christmas cause i deserve you here ✩

"Do you like my sweater?" Your voice carried such sweetness; an innocence that made a young man's heart swell with an overwhelming warmth. With that tone, you could get away with whatever you wanted and he would be right behind you, following every move, your cheerleader for life. You stood in his kitchen doorway, arms stretched between the dark wooden arches, a sense of 'ta-da' shown on the high upturn of your smile and showman's stance. And Stiles would have happily played along - singing your praises, throwing compliments - if it wasn't for the hideous fabric gracing your frame. His face dropped; speechlessness weighing down his tongue, brows furrowed and head tilted as he was truly lost with what to say. Your sweater soon absorbed every ounce of his focus and Stiles hated it. Truly, absolutely hated it. His jaw moved as words gathered yet remained unspoken, until, in candid Stiles' fashion, he let his mouth run before he could think it through, "What the hell is that?" Your brows furrowed, only mildly taken aback by his outright and unfiltered way of finally speaking. You hummed, "What are you on about?" Your question was rhetorical, to you at least, knowing full well that the itchy and bright bundle of fabric that you wore was anything but appealing. But you couldn't help yourself - messing around with the awkward mess that was your boyfriend was something that never failed to put a smile on your face. With pursed lips, you gazed down at your sweater, trying your hardest to not visibly cringe at the exaggerated embellishments. You hummed once more as faux naiveness contorted your features, "You don't like my sweater, baby?"

"I-I..." Stiles mumbled, trepidation sneaking inside his thoughts, trying to convince him to avoid offence. But the thing about Stiles Stilinski, even though he is the epitome of support and determination, he also has a bad habit of forgetting to filter his opinions before they escape his busy mind. "Like it? But it's so... so ugly."

It was quick when you saw his eyes widen; large warm irises of brown complementing his raised brows and ajar jaw. It was as if the mere second the words left his lips, Stiles realised what he said, and how much trouble he could be in. A deer caught in headlights, frozen and unmoving despite the rapid racing of his heart as it reverberated in his chest. He was potentially, and utterly, screwed.

"Wait, you think it's ugly?" You repeated his words, shot them straight back with a delicate timbre as your hands ran down the sides of the mismatched patterned wool. Stiles was looking worried now, and your capacity for games was wearing thin when you could see how he was beginning to pale. You managed a chuckle, filled with light and sincerity, as you began making your way toward him, "Good thing that was the whole point."

He watched you snort, his face dumbfounded, amusement breaking at the seams as his brows rose and the corners of his lips lifted in absolute puzzlement. His body was tense as he had braced himself for the blowback of how his unfiltered words could have caused harm, how they could have made you sad and insecure. He would never hurt you, not intentionally, and the guilt was hasty when it seeped deep into his bones and set every alert and emotion alight.

But now he was staring at you and that beautiful smile that was burnt in the back of his mind - living there rent-free, happily, most likely for the rest of his life. And by god, did it make him smile back with just as much joviality.

"I-I don't... baby, if you don't like it, why are you wearing it?" His words laughed but remained quiet as you got closer. It took everything for him to not come face to face with the bright and retched cloth in front of him as he opted to instead stand, eventually towering over your shorter frame, his hands large and delicate as they cupped your cheeks so habitually. Thumbs rubbed tentatively against skin; the touch was barely felt, but it was enough to provoke a red blush to gather where Stiles trailed.

You went to speak but froze in place - his childish gaze making you melt into the backdrop of your Christmas-covered apartment, always so mesmerised after all this time spent together. He had an effect on you, and he seemed to know it by the way his eyes had a mischievous glint that complemented well with his bitten lip.

"It's a thing, wearing ugly sweaters for Christmas." You breathed as your hands pressed to his chest, maintaining some sort of stability as he continued to courteously invade your space. His head tilted as he once did before, curiosity in the form of large puppy eyes and relaxed brows now contorting his features. It made you laugh within your word's undertones, "I've seen people do it on social media and it's cute, you know? Couples wearing matching sweaters -"

"You got me one too?" Stiles intercepted, but you could hear the hesitation in his voice. He loved you, so much, probably too much, but just the idea of wearing something as off-putting as your own sweater was something that made him cringe. "There's no way that you're gonna get me in one of those, sweetheart. I'd burn down the world for you, hell, I'd help you bury a body, but I'm not doing this ugly sweater thing."

He put his metaphorical foot down, but you saw no harm. If there was one thing that you admired so incredibly much about Stiles Stilinski, it would be his outright honesty - sometimes confused for an unfiltered mess, but you loved it regardless. You smiled up at him and he smiled back, unspoken understanding building the foundation of your relationship and it made the man lean down and press a gentle peck to your forehead.

His lips dragged down to your cheeks, your lips, under your ear before he whispered against your sensitive skin, "Alright, now go take that hideous thing off, and that cute little skirt while you're at it."

[ky-yk]

stand-in love (jwy x f!reader)

genre: fluff, angst || word count: 1k

author’s note: had this wony x reader fic sitting in my drafts completely empty bc i lost the original idea but thanks to this amazing (AND GAY) episode of love bites suddenly i can write again

you were known for a lot of things.

approachable, charming, and kind, you were everyone’s friend.

you were also quite clever: near perfect test scores, a continuous slew exemplary outputs used by teachers as “examples” for others (not without the scowls of some), and the eloquence that even the brightest minds envied.

you were a rational person. every move you made was calculated.

but you could not, for the life of you, remember what the hell was going through your head when you asked your best friend to be your girlfriend.

for practice.

in your messed-up head, it made perfect sense! you'd never been with a girl before, so why not practice for the real thing? you'd hate to be anything less than the best -- even more so as a girlfriend.

that would just be embarrassing.

so one day, while you and wonyoung were hanging out after class, you decided to pop the question.

"do you wanna go out with me?"

"huh?"

"f--for practice!"

nice save, y/n.

you stumbled over your words and waved your hands around as you tried to explain. "i mean, i've never been with a girl in that way before, you know? i don't wanna mess it up!"

she continued to eye you inquisitively, putting her fork down and leaning back against her seat. "and you think that going on a practice date is gonna help you?"

"it sounds stupid, i know," you sighed, putting your own fork down and leaning back into your seat.

"no no, continue. i wanna know where you were going with this," she urged you with an amused smile.

"you think that me dying alone is funny, wony?! man, what friend you are," you rolled your eyes at the girl while crossing your arms.

she looked at you, eyes wide and jaw dropped in disbelief. "i--didn't even say that?! wah, the gall of this one." it was her turn to roll her eyes.

you shook your head in amusement. "well, i was just thinking that it wouldn't be a good idea to go into it blind, you know? it's like a test; you've gotta be prepared!" you reasoned out.

"you're never beating the overthinker allegations, are you?"

"hey, it's a valid concern!" you semi-yelled defensively.

"i didn't say it was! it's just..."

"just?"

"a little overkill, don't you think? you can't just become the best girlfriend ever by studying or something -- it's not a test," she says.

you frown. "if you don't want to, you could've just said--"

"when did i say that, though?" she cuts you off.

"wait, so you would?"

"i mean, i don't see why not," she shrugs. "besides, you're paying, aren't you?" she asks cheekily.

"in your dreams, jang," you shot back.

"what date you are," she mumbled. you felt a small smile take over your features hearing the pout in her voice.

"anyways, just tell me when and where."

that was six months ago.

and now here you both were, cuddled up on the corner of your friend's couch while everyone else was seated around the coffee table playing some board game.

you looked over at your fake girlfriend, admiring her as she laughed at your friends' shenanigans before you poked her cheek. that seemed to catch her attention as she hums and looks at you like a puppy.

"i'm going to grab something from the kitchen, you want anything?"

"just a water, love," she replied.

"ne," you said taking the blanket that was covering you both off your lap and laying it on her.

once you were out of earshot, the group turned to wonyoung, faces ranging from confusion to surprise.

"love?" rei questioned.

"are you guys actually together, now?" leeseo asked excitedly, prompting gaeul to scoff.

"what do you mean, 'together'? i don't even like girls like that," wonyoung replied.

"sounded a lil too defensive, don't you think?" liz questioned.

"guys, let's stop ganging up on wony," yujin sighed. "that's for her to figure out."

"figure what out?" you asked as you walked into the living room, a glass of water in hand. "here you go, by the way."

"how this game works, y/n," liz chimed in, pulling a new board game out from under the coffee table.

"you wanted to play, wony?" you asked as you took a seat on the arm of the couch, looking down at her.

"nope, was just curious," she answered before she pulled you back into her lap by the waist. "besides, who's gonna keep you warm?" she continued, craning her neck to look up at you, prompting gaeul to fake vomit in the background.

you watched the girls play, unaware of your best friend's stare.

no way did they think we were actually together, did they? are we really that convincing of a couple? i mean, y/n is lovely, that's for sure. she takes care of me well, she's funny, and she's just so cuddly!

best friends think of each other this way, don't they?

slowly but surely, the girls started resigning and heading to their bedrooms for the night, leaving you and wonyoung in the living room.

"well, wanna head in for the night, wony?"

"no, i just wanna stay here for a while," she whispered. you leaned closer to hear her.

"why are you whispering, we're the only ones here," you whispered back. you note the proximity: breaths mingling with each other, noses barely touching, and her long eyelashes that you could individually count.

you also notice how her breathing seemingly quickened.

"no reason," she says, before leaning up and connecting your lips -- only for a second, though.

her eyes were hooded as she looked up at your wide eyes. that must've snapped her back to reality because her own eyes went wide as she moved to push you off her lap.

"wait wait, wony," you urged her but not before she pushed you away.

"i'm sorry, y/n," she whispered before going into her room and leaving you standing wondering what the hell just happened.

[fernandopiastri28]

hi can u do a one shot smut of oscar fucking a virgin reader gently in front of a mirror with praises? thank u <3

ofc! hope u enjoy :))

look at yourself ~ op81 (s)

word count: 3.5k

Y/N’s head tilts back, revealing more of her neck to Oscar’s hungry lips. “You got second place,” Her fingers tangle up in the hair on the back of his head, “You fucking bastard- you just had to do it at the once race I couldn’t get to in time?”

Oscar snorts, pulling back enough for her to see his expression, “Sorry, I’ll just mess up every time that Uni coincides with a race,” His voice was seeping with sarcasm and fondness. “Next time, I’ll book you out my private jet so you can always be with me,” His nose nudges against her jawline, his teeth scraping her soft skin.

“Osc, can’t do that- we’re going to see your parents tomorrow,” Her hand presses against his chest, trying to create some space between their bodies.

“What, booking out my jet? What does that have to do with my parents?” His voice is bated, no control or restraint within him.

“The hickeys, stupid,”

Oscar laughs, not letting up. ‘You have makeup,’ He reasons. He knows what he wants, and he wants it now.

Y/N sucks in a heavy breath, finally caving. Her body melts against Oscar’s- giving in to what she wants so badly too. “Fine, go crazy,” Yet, she doesn’t give him the option to mark her neck up as her lips meet his- sloppy and eager mouths battling for dominance.

“I love you,” He smiles against her lips, his hands mapping out the curve of her waist and hips.

She hums contently, tilting her head to get better access to him. “Mm, already?” She giggles. It’s only been a few short months of them being official after months and months of being ‘just friends’.

They’d met at a dinner party (emphasis on party) that Liam had hosted, Y/N’s friends with Liam’s girlfriend Hannah, and obviously Oscar’s friends with Liam, and after seeing each other for the first time that night- they both knew they didn’t want to be apart unless they had to be.

Obviously though there was a lot of time that they were forced apart, namely, most race weekends. With her being at university full time and Oscar racing- there was near to no overlap where they could spend more than a few hours or days together. There had only been 2 races she’d been able to attend so far, which made sense given they were still keeping their relationship on the downlow.

“Yes, already,” His hands slide up the back of her shirt, fingers spread across her lower back. “Always, infact,” His nose nudges against hers, bumping against each other when they kiss.

Oscar’s lips trail down her neck, kissing along the skin that’s only just visible above her strapless top. “Oh- fuck, Osc,” Her hands move up into his hair, yanking it probably a bit too hard.

“This when you’re supposed to say you love me too,” His voice isn’t too serious, more joking around and casual.

“You-“ Y/N looks up at him with bright eyes and sore cheeks, “You know I love you, I loved you first,” Her hands move to undoing the buttons of his polo, cursing him for doing them all up like some posh school-boy dork.

“Not possible,” He grins into her mouth, pushing back into her. They end up with her back to the wall and his arms caging her in- typical.

When he pulls back, his lips are dark and shiny from her lipgloss. He drags a rough finger along it, then puts it against his teeth, sucking on it. “You taste good,” He murmurs, dipping down again to kiss her jaw.

The whine that leaves her mouth is pathetic, not sure what to insinuate next. Oscar’s hard, understandably, and she’s soaked, even more understandably. Usually by this point, she drops to her knees and sucks him off, then he lays her down on the bed and goes down on her until she’s had at least 5 orgasms.

Because Oscar refuses to be the one to gain more pleasure from the experience. It’s a blessing and a curse, because as much as it feels so good, it also leaves Y/N’s legs aching and her body spent the next morning.

But she doesn’t want another night of blowjobs and head- despite that she actually loves both. She wants more, she wants what she has with Oscar to seem like more than a casual post race hookup, because it is. What she feels for him is more than she’s ever felt for anyone.

“Hey, you okay?” Oscar’s thumb slides down her cheeks, his voice calm and his eyes soft. “You still with me?”

It’s that kind of care and softness that Y/N craves. She wants to see Oscar in the most intimate ways- more than when she has his cock in her mouth and he’s weak at the knees and rough with his hands in her hair.

“Let’s have sex,” The sentence tumbles out of her mouth before she can word it more elegantly, “Tonight,”

Oscar’s mouth drops into an O, his pearly white bottom row of teeth only just in view. His eyes are dark and wide- his expression unreadable. “Really?”

“Yes, god, a million times yes,” Her hands hitch up the back of his shirt, her fingers dipping into the taut muscles across the back of his waist. “Please, Osc, I’m ready,”

Oscar has this look of panic and discern spread across his beautifully masculine features, yet buried below, he’s excited- he’s fucking thrilled. This has been a long time coming, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.

“You’re absolutely sure?” Y/N fights back the urge to roll her eyes at his intense need for reassurance. It is sweet though, she’ll give him that. Better than the opposite of him acting without permission.

“I am absolutely sure,”

“You tell me if we need to stop, okay?” His fingers drag along her forearms, cold fingertips along hot skin. “We’ll use the light system. Green if you want me to keep going, orange if you want me to change something, red if I need stop,”

He doesn’t move an inch until she gives him confirmation that she understands, “Gotcha, go for green,” She visibly cringes at her own words, but Oscar doesn’t quite catch it.

“Go for green,” He nods, laughing to himself. “Yeah, indeed,” One of his hands squeezes into her waist, his thumb pressing into her front so hard Y/N’s sure she’ll have a purple oval bruise as evidence of this tomorrow morning.

Their mouths slot in together, as naturally as they have every time they’ve kissed before. This time though, it’s different, they’re about to have sex.

Sex for the first time together, sex for the first time ever for her.

“Is it gonna hurt?” She whispers into his mouth, worrying the words might disappear into the dark and wet heat.

Oscar pauses, his other hand drifting through her hair with a feather soft touch, “It might,” He replies truthfully, “It won’t be intentionally, but it’s your first time- so it might be painful,” His thumb rubs continuous circles into her hip.

“You tell me if it hurts- okay?” His head tilts enough for his eyes to each the same level as Y/N’s. “Red light, remember?”

“Red light if it hurts,”

“Good girl,” Butterflies swarm her stomach at how prettily it comes out of his mouth. It’s not in a weird and kinky way, but genuine and full of love.

Oscar’s hand that was in her hair moves down to her skirt, which is too long to hitch up, so his thumb runs down along her inner thigh through the silk material. He applies just a bit of pressure, enough to where his fingertips hit the soaked material of her panties.

Oscar bites down on his lips, his eyebrows tightly knotted together- it’s his concentration face, sans his tongue poking out between his lips. “You can take it off,” Her voice barely hits his ears, but it’s enough.

He hooks his index fingers into the waistband, tugging it down. It pools around her feet, her body running cold without the addition of her skirt on her body. “Beautiful,” Oscar murmurs, kneeling down in front of her. “May I?”

Y/N nods, her lips pressed tightly together as to not puke all over Oscar. She’s never been more nervous.

Oscar’s tongue laps along the wet material of her panties, his eyes huge as he stares up at her. He would happily spend the rest of his days like this, hours between her legs without a single interruption from the outside world.

On any other day, she’d be content with this. She’d be happy to just get off on this, being forced to walk around on shaky legs the next day, but it’s different tonight. She has her heart set on having sex, and she’s not a force to be reckoned with.

Please, Osc,” The voice that comes out of her own mouth is unfamilar, so much more desperate than she’s ever been. “Need you ‘nside me,”

A switch seems to flick in Oscar’s mind- determind and chasing for victory, his mindset in the car. He’s back up on his feet before she can blink, his hands gripping the backs off her thighs as he picks her up with one smooth movement.

“God, you taste like heaven,” He suckles on her neck, his fingers digging into the flesh of her ass while her legs wrap around his waist.

On the track, Oscar is patient and calculated, he knows how to control himself. It’s what makes him such a great driver- makes him world champion material. But of it, when he’s with Y/N, his brain goes white hot, unable to string a coherent thought beyond her, her, her.

Especially now, when he’s about to be inside her.

One of his thumbs nudges against her clothed clit, and her back arches automatically. “Fuck, need these off you,” He murmurs, unable to stay occupied with one part of her still for more than. a single moment as he makes the way into his hotel room.

He’s got one hand permanently planted on her ass, keeping her upright, while his other hand slides her top over his head and tosses it across the room, and his hand goes back down to rub her clit. He fiddles with the door handle, finally getting it open after far too much effort.

He lays her down on the bed, kneeling hovering above her. One of his knees rests directly between her thighs, his elbows on either side of her head. His mouth is hot on hers, wetter and more intense with each tug his teeth makes on her bottom lip. “Are you trying to consume me or something?” Her arms gently wrap around the back of his neck, laughing to force away the nerves.

Oscar calms down, grinning against her mouth. “Sorry,” His cheeks are hot to the touch, flushed across his nose. “Just, wow, you,” He doesn’t have to say another word, his bright eyes are enough indication of how fond he is.

He fumbles with the button of his jeans, tugging down the tight material. Y/N isn’t one for liking skinny jeans on men, but Oscar might be the only exception in the world. His muscular thighs straining against the dark fabric, and his perfect ass, yeah- wow.

One of his hands tugs his jeans fully off, tossing them off somewhere in the dark room, while his other hand sneaks under her shoulders and unsnaps the clasp of her bra in one swift move.

Just a reminder that he’s much more experienced in this field then she is. In all fairness, before Y/N, he’d had one girlfriend back in highschool, so it’s not like she’s having her first time with a guy who’s been with a million girls- but it’s equally as daunting.

He pulls it off, biting his bottom lip at the sight of her bare chest, “I’m a weak man,” He groans, dipping his head to wrap his pink lips around one of her nipples, the bud immediately hardens in his mouth.

“Shi- Oscar, fuck,” Her vocabulary is pretty damn limited tonight to different variations of his name and curses. Her hips rut up against his shamelessly, like a dog in heat.

Oscar grounds his thigh into her cunt, letting her rub up against it. “Yeah, so good baby, use it,” He nods against her shoulder, kissing her cheek and jaw. “So good for me, baby,”

Y/N is about to cum, she’s so sure of it. It’s so embarrassing, humping her boyfriend’s leg, once again- like a dog. “Osc,”

“It’s okay, baby, just let it out,” His voice is the only thing keeping her from fucking falling into pieces right now. The tight coil in her stomach goes warm and the same heat spreads across her already damp underwear.

“Fuck,”

Oscar tugs her underwear down, scrunching them up in his palm and tucking them under his pillow. Dirty dog was probably going to use them later to get off.

His eyes go bright at the sight of her spent and exposed cunt, as if it’s his first time ever seeing one. “I love you,” He whispers, scooting down so he’s face to face with her heat again. “I love you, baby, so much.” He kisses along her inner thighs, up to the neatly cut hair over her sex.

“Not just because we’re-“

“Don’t say that, you know it’s not just because we’re about to make love,” He looks up at Y/N with big round eyes and an earnest expression, “Because I love you, and I want to make you happy,”

“I love you too,” Her thumb flicks a curl off his forehead, idly wrapping another lock around her index finger. She stares up at the ceiling, trying to imagine how this is going to play out.

Oscar’s taking a while, she thinks, but maybe that’s how it’s supposed to go. He’s not fingering her, or using his mouth, he’s just staring at her cunt, the air out of his nose cold against it.

That is until the click of a tube lid breaks the silence, then a squirt, then the whiny groan of Oscar’s moans. Oh, lube. Oscar’s touching himself.

He’s getting ready for her, he’s getting ready to be inside of her. Her insides go warm and her skin goes clammy, she’s not scared- she’s just.. it’s a lot.

“Baby?” Oscar hums, his lips unmoving against her inner thigh. The saliva from his prior kisses in that spot begin to dry over, sticky and unpleasant. “I’m gonna touch you now, alright?”

When he doesn’t receive a proper response, his lays his palm out on her stomach, “Colour?”

“Green,”

“Good,” A slicked up finger slides past her tight walls, her body loosening around the invasion. It feels better than when she does it to herself- Oscar’s fingers are thicker and longer, more experienced, embarrassingly enough.

Oscar moves his body so he’s hovering over her again, his hair falling over his face as he looks down at her. She could cry, it’s so much all at once.

The finger pushes all the way in until the last knuckle, then out, then back in again, pulling a string of whines from her mouth. Oscar swallows each moan up eagerly, smirking proudly. “Please, more,” Her eyes flutter between open and closed, unable to keep herself looking at his smug expression for more than two seconds- she might cum if she does.

Oscar nods once, retracting the finger and sliding in one next to it. It burns slightly, nothing too painful or uncomfortable, but nice. It feels good, hot and pleasantly tingly.

Oscar’s free hand drifts over her hair as he pulls his fingers out, the wetly lubed up hand moves to stroke his cock a final few times, before he nudges the head against her hole. “Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

Then it all goes quiet. Oscar pushes inside with one swift move, his hands framing her face, his lips on hers. It doesn’t feel like anything she’d get before- there’s nothing to compare it to. It’s a lot about the heat of it, the coldness even. Her blood feels cold inside of her, hot flesh keeping it in.

It feels amazing. “Oscar,” She moans, pushing her ass down and curving her back up. She knew Oscar was big, she’s felt it pulsing inside of her cupped hand, she’s felt it in her mouth- but it’s completely different properly inside.

Oscar seems captivated by the twitch of her face and body, the way her eyes open to only reveal the whites, the way her mouth hangs awkwardly open as she tries to find something to say. “I want you to see yourself,” Oscar hums, his nose nudging against her cheek, his hips dragging back and forth.

“Can I?” Her eyes narrowed, hazily and blissed out. Based on how Oscar was acting, she must look good, plus, she’d love to see the full image of him inside her. Her head turns to look at the full length mirror across the foot of the bed, ideas lighting up in her mind.

Oscar pulls out, pecking at her lips when she whines at the loss. “Onto your hands and knees, face the mirror,” He instructs her, turning on one of the bedside lamps. It’s dim, only enough to help her see herself vaguely when she rolls onto her stomach.

“Tired?” Oscar laughs as he watches her lay there unmoving, feeling spineless and weak. She groans, looking over her shoulder at him. His arms are crossed over his chest, his body pale and thick with muscle. His features are delicately crafted, he’s beautiful. “Here we go,” His arms move to scoop her up, manhandling her into the exact position he wants.

Then he kneels between her, and before he even pushes back in, her eyes go wide. Oscar’s got both hands gripping her hips, pulling them back towards him, his thumbs pressing into the curve of her ass. His hair curls over his forehead, floppy and uncontrolled. His face glows with a healthy sex brightness- if that’s even a thing.

He looks bright and perfect, she looks wrecked. Her lip gloss is smudged, bits of it rubbing onto Oscar’s neck, her tits are marked up with pink bites and bruises, her hair is a mess.

It’s an Oscar mess, she’s been ruined by Oscar. “God, you’re so pretty,” His face moves next to hers, his eyes meeting hers in the reflection in the mirror. “Can’t believe this is real,” He sounds a bit starstruck.

“Can’t believe you’re real,” She bites her bottom lip, turning her head so their noses touch. “Cmon, Oscar, fuck me already,” The grin on her face can’t leave, it’s permanently indented on her.

“Okay,” His lips curl up, his hips nudging forward until he’s fully inside of her. His back straightens up, leaning back as he thrusts in and out of ehr, “Fuck, you’re so… so beautiful,” He hums, smoothing his palms over her back.

Y/N cranes her neck to make eye contact with her reflection, groaning at the sight. It’s perfect, Oscar looks perfect. He keeps telling her she does too, so maybe he’s right.

She moans with each movement he makes, “Osc, Osc,” She’s chasing her high, and he’s helping her towards it. Oscar places his thumb under her chin, tilting her head back enough that when he leans over, their mouths meet in a clash of spit and teeth.

It’s probably the most awkward kiss they’ve ever had, but it feels like pure ecstasy. “You feel so good,” Praises seem to spill from his mouth, his lips kissing along her shoulders from behind. “Look at yourself, what a sight,”

She does, her head tilts back down to look in the mirror- watching him go in and out, consuming each bit of her. Soon enough, he reaches a hand down in between her upper thighs, two of his fingers rubbing against her aching clit.

A burning white sensation feels her body as the tightness in her stomach releases, her back arching into him and a whine pulls from the back of her throat.

She doesn’t register when Oscar finishes, only when he pulls out and lays her down. “You were so good,” He whispers, breath heavy against her ear. He leaves for only a moment, returning with a damp cloth to clean her off. “How was that?” Each movement is soft and calculated, soothing to her worn out body.

“So good,” Her smile is probably stupidly dopey, but she couldn’t care less- she feels amazing.

“You were perfect, always are,” He dips in to kiss her lips, scooping her up. “Let’s take a bath, yeah?”

She doesn’t respond, just buries her face into his chest and goes quiet. He doesn’t need her words, just seeing her tired smile on her face is enough.

[irisintheafterglow]

hear me out....Hawks hcs with a significant other who has a Chemist/Potion quirk. Like im talking a buncha potion bottles and glasses of little remedies they've made and have yet to test 🙏. Kei would occasionally find her notebook on the counter or table, the notebook being filled with ideas of new mixes or something specifically for healing for Keigo when he comes home injured

Also love your work! Some of the best things I've read have come from your page

good chemistry (pun intended)

cw/tags: fem!reader, established relationship, pet names (my girl, love, baby)

note: YASS YOU ARE COOKING and so is reader!! please excuse any chemistry misrepresentations i got a 2 on the ap chem exam LMAOO. thank you for the love, i hope you enjoy this!!!! been a hot minute since i wrote for keigo and i missed him :))

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <3

"you've got a visitor."

you startle when your coworker's head peeks into your lab, carefully setting down the beakers of volatilely combustible liquids on the black counter of the bench. she tilts her head to the side, urgently commanding you to check out whatever was making her so concerned. slipping off your gloves and sliding your goggles up on your forehead, you thank her as she opens the door and your jaw hits the floor. talking to an obviously starstruck receptionist was your boyfriend, still in his flight jacket and sunglasses and causing the biggest scene you've witnessed in the office since all might accidentally set off the sprinkler system. golden eyes flick over to you in the doorway and his mouth breaks out into a dazzling smile, one that has your coworker clutching the back of a chair for support.

"there's my girl," he murmurs, embracing you with strong, open arms and a chaste peck on your forehead, right under your goggles. you can feel the jealous eyes of the entire staff, but all keigo only pays attention to you. "you look beautiful today, birdie."

"you're saying that because i have goggle marks on my face, kei," you remark, unfazed, and he shrugs in defeat. red feathers sprinkle onto the floor and you make a note to remind him to recall them before he leaves.

"eh, worth a shot. you're unfortunately immune to my charm, now. just means i have to come up with some new lines." you scoff despite your racing heartbeat. with his stupid superhuman senses, he definitely knew exactly what he was doing to you.

"shouldn't you be on patrol?"

"i am, but i wanted to see you and bask in your radiance," he grins boyishly, running his tongue over a sharp tooth. despite every cell in your body wanting to drag him into the nearest supply closet and kiss him until you're breathless, you're still skeptical about the unexpected visit. his voice drops to a low, private octave that sends goosebumps up your arms. "also, i think you left a certain notebook on the kitchen table." your eyebrows blast off into the ceiling, panic overtaking you as you whirl your head toward your lab where you thought your formula book was.

"oh my god, did someone take-"

"no, baby. you're okay," he reassures you and the notebook magically appears from the depths of his jacket pockets. "i'm glad i picked it up before i left this morning," he chuckles. for good measure, you flip through the worn pages to verify that every experiment was, in fact, still there. exhaling a deep sigh of relief, you meet his gentle gaze with a thankful smile. the pages were worth more to you than any sum of money, since it held all the formulas for the antidotes and counteragents you made for keigo when he was injured.

you'd created it after he asked, between colorful strings of expletives, why getting patched up hurt more than the actual injury. being the loving partner you are, you decided to do something about it. your quirk allowed you to visualize all possible outcomes for a chemical reaction depending on the quantities of reactants and lab conditions. it ensured that every experiment you instigated would be successful, as long as you followed the conditions in your head down to the air temperature of the lab. your recordings in the notebook started as a simple antiseptic that didn't have the sting of store-bought bottles, one that could douse a wound without so much as a flinch from the injured patient. now, you were part of an independent company that created first aid products for heroes to use and distribute during rescues. and, it was all thanks to the oversized chicken-man that slept in your bed.

"whatcha workin' on right now?"

"some stronger eyedrops for eraserhead," you reply, taking his gloved hand and guiding him into your lab. he delicately picks up a few beakers, inspecting their color through the bottom of the glass like a kid in a soda shop.

"like the stuff you put in my eyes when-"

"when you got hit by that smoke quirk, mhmm," you hum, milling about in front of the shelf of chemicals. "if i figure this out, it'll also help when your eyes get dry from flying."

"you mean, when you figure this out," he reminds you, turning you to face him and pulling you close by your hips. he leans into your hand when you card your fingers through his wind-mussed hair, melting against your touch. "there's nothing in this world that you can't do."

"you're a really sappy guy, you know that?"

"i know it, as much as i know that you're never getting rid of me."

"you promise?"

"as long as the birds still fly, baby."

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[pinkwright]

love all the attention, baby | shuri udaku.

ƸӜƷ

pairing — college!shuri x college!y/n

trope — best friends 2 lovers

inspo — attention by the weeknd

warnings — cunnilingus n fingering (shuri receiving), they r kinda just in love, shuri is a dom top but she gets kinda subby pliant (?) in this idfk how to describe it tbh, reader is mouthy, confessions but fluffy vers., reader thinks shuri is the prettiest ever (projection), kissing, shuri’s that friend that oozes non-sexual dominance i don’t make the rules, riri is mentioned for like two seconds, take a shot every time you read the word pretty, mentions of being a pillow princess, this shuri made me so weak i will not lie to you, mentions of overstimulation, its kinda long, reader is left high n dry bc this is about my wife.

a/n — this took me unnecessarily long my bad but it’s here now lol (thank god for abel), and its also way longer than i anticipated, i hope u enjoy it ! p.s i changed the trope a little bit bc @thevenusianleo already wrote a brilliant piece on the prev one!

⟢˚ @mbakuetshurisprincess @inmyheadimobsessed @letitias-fav @barkbarkbo @saintwrld

ஜ

when a touch's not enough you want more than a fuck, thinking twice i'm the one but you just need to trust.

shuri’s hand slides down your waist trailing against the skin of the back of your thigh to the hem of your miniskirt, and she gently shifts the edge slightly down the length of your legs, adjusting it to rest where it’s designed to sit. you blink behind your cocktail and her hand is already back on your waist, her eyes are squinted as she laughs at something riri said and tips the amber liquid-filled glass down her throat.

your body tingles and you cuss at how sensitive your senses are when it comes to your best friend. they were vehement on orchestrating your demise. your eyes flicker to shuri; trailing from her sharp jaw, along the length of her pretty neck, and coming to rest on the collarbones peeking out of the neckline of her shirt. the silk of her shirt appears softer against her angular build, and you know you’re staring when a throat is subtly, but pointedly cleared and your head is snapping forward, “so, y/n, you down?”

riri’s voice is knowing, her eyes gazing at you teasingly as she adds, “we’re gonna play never have i ever, i bet shuri’s down if you are.” you chuckle in embarrassment, knowing that she knew you had heard none of what was said, “well, i was actually thinking of heading home. my social battery is at its last straw.” you move to hug her goodbye, chuckling, knowing that despite her complaints, the girl understands. when you turn to shuri, ready to bid her farewell as well, she’s grabbing her coat off of the barstool next to her.

“come. i’ll drive you.” she says. her hand coming to rest on the small of your back after she hugs riri goodbye too, the small scientist raising a brow at you. you roll your eyes as shuri guides you out of the party, riri’s cackle becoming background noise as you bid your farewells to people on your walk out.

shuri opens the passenger door for you and waits until you’re seated to lean over you, her warmth seeping into your skin from the proximity, feeling her breath on your neck as she reaches to buckle your seatbelt. the moment is gone as quick as it comes, if acts like this weren’t so common in your friendship, you would be convinced they were just figments of your imagination conjured by your desire for her.

the stereo plays softly as she drives towards her studio apartment, the trip is short and soon you’re jumping out of the car and shivering from the chill of the night. shuri’s lacing her fingers through yours and pulling you through the elevator, holding you close as the doors open to her floor. she glides through her door and heads to the kitchen, dropping your hand to make the both of you a cup of tea and you make your way to her living room, playing the first vinyl you see — it was a playlist that you had made of songs that reminded you of her.

⤠ 

“what?” you splutter. hold on by the internet, softly ringing through your ears as your gaze lifts to her dark amused eyes, shuri's lips lift into a smirk and her gaze is melting through your skin. her body is relaxed against the velvet loveseat, and her head is turned towards you, her arm lazily hanging off the backrest of the seat as a soft orange glow adds to the comfortable atmosphere surrounding the two of you.

"i said, 'never have i ever got off to the idea or the act of giving someone else pleasure'."

your empty cups are forgotten on the stone table, you and shuri decided to play the game you opted out of at the party, minus the alcohol, simply longing to spend more time together. you let your tongue swipe across your lips as you open your mouth to respond, "yea, sometimes i guess, i-um i like seeing how girls get when they cum from being ate out or fingered or something... its so mesmerising..." your voice trails off, breathily. "oh my god, this is so humiliating." you whine, as you refuse to look at her.

you wholefully, severely understated just how much you like that idea, how much it gets you going, the tingles dancing between your legs, at the mere mention of the hedonistic act, laugh at the white lie.

shuri's quiet as she mulls over your words, they affect her a little too strongly for her liking; now all she can manage to conjure in her mind is you between a pretty girl's legs, gazing up at them with those magical eyes, pleading for them to come for you. shuri can feel a vicious pulse of heat course through her body when that image transforms into you between her thighs, making her come, and her teeth are digging into the pillow of her bottom lip.

only bast knows she misses the pleasure of a gentle mouth on her, but the idea of it being your mouth on her, has made her insatiable. shuri's quickly snapped out of her thoughts as she hears the timid call of her name from you, her gaze never wavered from you even when she didn't respond to your attempts to shift the conversation, so when her lips part to speak, you're holding your breath.

"so you're a pillow princess who also gets off on giving?" her lips curve into that stupid smirk and you want to smack it right off her face. your eyebrows shoot up, the heat burning against the skin of your cheeks as protests fall from your mouth, "i am not a fucking pillow princess!" your shriek of disbelief only falling on deaf ears as shuri's cackles just rise in volume. god, you love her.

"pillow princesses are cute, angel. i'm always with them for a reason, its pleasurable to give. i mean its also nice to receive but that's not common, so." she's laughing, not even aware at what she revealed, and the selfish side of you jumps at the opening.

"i can show you that i'm not like the pillow princesses you've been with!" you blurt out.

instantaneous regret curls around your throat at shuri's sharp intake of breath, and you're willing yourself to retract the words that now hang heavily in the quiet room. shuris eyes snap to yours just as your gaze drops to the couch, the velvet suddenly immensely intriguing. her tattooed hand glides into your plane of sight before placing itself on your chin to bring your gaze back to her.

"eyes always on me, remember," she speaks sternly. "you wanna show me, hm?" you slowly nod at her prompt feeling like you were in a trance, "then show me, show me how giving you are, princess."

your jaw drops as you blink up at her, mind racing at the prospect and your energy is shifting so drastically and so quickly that it gives the panther whiplash. you hum out in satisfaction, your gaze seductive and confident but still carrying a smudge of hesitance.

you slid your hand gently up her thigh, your movements steady, even as she gazed at you with those dark eyes. you're smirking lightly as you move to spread her legs, your warm lips timidly meeting her warm neck, parting to taste her skin and you murmur, "i think i wanna hear you ask for it rather... ask for my lips on you, shuri." your words slide against the skin of her jaw, her hands gripping the couch as her head tilts back on to the velvet backrest.

her eyes are shut as she contemplates your request, your lips heating a fire under her skin, pulling her into the warmth of you — a loving embrace she never thought she would experience again. your hand traces over the dip of her waist, squeezing it to feel her jolt against you before slipping down to the band of her black sweatpants. you slide your fingers in, feeling the band of her boxers, and trace your fingers along it, her head lulls to the side to look at you and you use the moment to shift your face closer to hers.

you yearn to hear her talk to you, hear the gasp in her voice as the desperation claws at her being — you crave her.

her hands twitch at her sides, as you skim your lips over hers, a teasing breath away, too far away; and for the first time, shuri feels like whining, begging into the depths of your mouth for anything you’re willing to give her.

"please, s'thandwa… please put your lips on me." 

she's gasping, her hips twitching up like she could just fuck up into you, wondering if you would let her, invite her into you. before her mind can guide her too far, she feels your lips move into a smile against hers, and you're tauntingly whispering, "mm good fucking girl." pulling away with a satisfied smirk, not too far, but enough to deprive her of the feel of your glossy lips slipping against hers.

and its then that shuri knows you'll be the fucking death of her.

your body fully turns towards her, and your soft hands slide straight into her boxers, impatiently pressing against the heat of her pussy. you roll your lips as you feel just how wet she was, your own warmth clenching at the thought of someone so powerful, so regal, becoming so worked up at your own hands, at the mere thought of being at your mercy. 

shuri lets out the sweetest sigh, her toned stomach clenching as she holds eye contact with you, those pretty eyes. the heat in you grows as you move your deft fingers to slide over her clit, her mouth parting as she spreads her long, gorgeous legs further apart and you ease your own leg, the one furthest from her, to rest over her trembling limb. the entirety of the front of your body is pressed against the length of her side when her tongue comes out to lick her lips and you’re lifting your unused hand to wrap around her neck to keep her eyes on yours, her eyebrows furrowing as you circle her clit in firm circles, eager to make her feel good. 

"you look so pretty like this, baby. always so selfless, hm? you just needed someone to take care of this pretty pussy, right, give her some attention?"

you embarrassingly feel the blood rise to your cheeks as shuri's mouth drops open in shock, her hips stuttering as she sharply gasps around your name. her slender fingers are reaching to place her own hand over your working one just as her legs go to shut. her eyes flutter, her teeth grazing over the pillow of her lips as she forcibly stills her stuttering hips, the heat of her thighs warms your hands between them, and the feeling is so dizzying; there’s a breath... then, her pussy's grinding, uncontrolled, against both of your fingers — once, twice before her forehead is in contact with your own and a series of whimpers escape her lips.

"fuck, fuck, please, baby, please."

the clench of your thighs is instinctive, the blood is rushing through your ears and all you can think and breathe is shuri, shuri, shuri. her hand is against yours, fingers laced over yours as she guides you to glide through the heat of her folds, moving in tandem, working unanimously to tear her apart. she’s turning to gasp in your mouth, panting softly as she murmurs her words into the heat of your mouth, "just like that, y/n. mhm, making me feel so fucking good, angel."

and then you just can't handle not having your mouth on her, not being able to taste her for any longer. you’re vibrating with the idea of finally having her, pleasing her, being so good for her. immediately, you find yourself moving to fall to your knees in front of her body, your hands reaching for the band of her sweats to pull them off along with her boxers.

"y/n," she says breathlessly, her eyes gazing into yours from above and her clean hand is moving to cup your cheek, her thumb grazing against the underside of your eye, "are you gonna make me come? wanna paint my pretty girl lips, yeah?" her hips shift forward, almost presenting her soaked heat to you. and you’re reminded exactly who you’re dealing with, the sheer confidence slipping through the cracks of her pleasure coercing the serving side of you. 

slowly shifting the palms of your heated hands down her thighs, your eyes held by hers, taunting you; before her legs spread the slightest bit more, inviting you into her. your legs are permanently clenched as you finally allow your gaze to drop to the apex of those gorgeous legs and your breath is catching before you whimper. god, she was pretty everywhere. 

you shift closer on your knees, licking your lips before glancing up at shuri, she tilts her head in a challenge and you bring your lips to her pulsing clit, giving her a soft open-mouthed kiss. her legs relax for a split second, a soft exhale traveling through your ears, before she’s tensing up again as you lull your tongue out to swipe through the length of her — she was so warm, so sweet, she was everything you ever wanted.

your tongue slides across her clit, applying a delicious pressure that has the girl’s chest heavily rising and falling, over and over again, and shuri's throbbing. her thighs are tensing up around your head and her stomach's flexing as she breathily sighs into the serene but heated air of her apartment, she sounds so soft, so breathless but so dangerous, like the whisper of a pretty succubus, ready to sing you into the darkness, lure you into breathing your life into her.

you whine against the warmth of her, looking up into her eyes as she stares down at you, "mm good girl, want you to look into my eyes while you’re making me feel so good, nkosazana." she sounds out the words on a whimper, her eyes fluttering as her hand comes to gently grip your locs. 

you bring your hand up to trace the ring of her entrance before gently pushing into her, and her body is so welcoming, allowing you to carve your way through her walls like she was made for you. when your fingers gently swipe against the tender patch inside her, her hips buck and she sharply wails, sounding so pretty and wrecked for you and her thighs rise to close you into her, never wanting you to depart from her.

"yes, yes, take me there, baby, please, please."

her moans are bordering on a sob as she presses your lips closer to her, guiding you against her, her body tensing as she twitches, her being at your mercy. her hips are riding into the heat of your mouth and shuri can’t think, can’t fathom anything outside the heat of your mouth, the clenching of her tightening heat around your fingers, and god, it’s like you belong in her; she wants to love you till the end of time.

you separate your glistening lips from her clit but speed up the steady movement of your fingers, "please come for me, i want you to come for your good girl, shuri. please, ndiphilele 'mkanikazi wam' (come for me, my queen)." you whimper out, your legs shaking from how hard you’re squeezing them together, you’re so embarrassingly wet, the heat is swirling in the pit of your stomach.

a quick, deep stroke against your spot and a flattening of your tongue over her clit, and shuri’s falling apart for you. her body is trembling as she sobs out your name, her hips frantically working against your face as she arches her back, her throat expanding prettily as if she’s basking in the attention. you work her through it, your mind blanking at the rhythmic clenches of her warm pussy around your fingers, calling you to her. and you’re almost tempted to continue even after she comes down, tempted to see her writhe around you as she tries to move away from you but, simultaneously can’t help the way her hips gyrate against you for one more. 

shuri’s breathing heavily when you pull your fingers out of her snug cavern, and bring your gaze to hers, finding it heavily seated on you. she reaches her hand out to grab your wrist and gently pulls you to your feet, guiding you to straddle her, keeping her eyes on you as she brings your fingers to her mouth, cleaning them off with a sigh. the racing of your heart stammers, before your lips part on a soft inhale of breath; she wants to kill you.

you’re starstruck, feeling your panties stick to your pulsating cunt, when her hand wraps around your throat to pull you towards her face, "bast, baby. made me come so fucking good for you." her lips tenderly skim across your cheekbone as your lashes flutter, "ndiyak'thanda (i love you), baby, so fucking much. let me love you more than just a friend, hm?"

"show me how to love, its been so long." you whisper moving your lips to where theyre hovering over hers, "but i know that you’re the one." 

a pause.

then you're floating. shuri’s lips against yours are soft, moving with an urgency that can only be described as desperation, raw need for you, for this, for the blooming of this relationship. your lips part and your heart clenches with a surge of love so deep it hurts. the atmosphere is heavy with emotion, the exchange of breath, and the giggles shared with the love of your life.

now you’ll never get enough.

you’re only looking for attention, you only notice it because i'm never around, the only problem is that you'll never get enough.

ஜ

[kay101kim]

Before Dawn

credit

warning(s): none

pair: james wilson x gn!reader

one shot or hc: one shot

note: for a bit of context, you live with House and its not accurate to his apartment because i pictured a home 🏠. so let’s pretend House has a house lol. apologies for any grammar mistakes, hope yall enjoy!

word count: 1.4k

house md masterlist

You try looking at the side of the house and then towards the street, black as the night. Nothing was visible without the illumination from some streetlights, the moon was left as the brightest. Your phone had died so you were going in blind, hoping one of the windows on the side was open. After fumbling around, trying not to ruin the garden too much, you find yourself at your bedroom window. It was locked shut and nothing you had could open it, you huffed and moved on to the next one. After being very slow not to trip, you found the other window. It was House’s window, you hesitated to open it and took a deep breath. You refused to let him catch you doing something like this. The bullying wouldn’t stop. Yet you tried nonetheless.

You budge at the window a little, it didn’t move. You try once more and it shifts slightly, enough to pump you full of adrenaline to continue. The window opened just wide enough for you to slip through, catching yourself to slowly ease on the ground. You hadn’t checked whether House was awake, he was a deep sleeper so it didn’t matter much anyway. Maybe today it should’ve. You sensed something… different.

As soon as you were on your feet, you leaned in closer to the body lying on House’s bed, it was not House. No because the person sleeping was Wilson, the one and only friend that House had. Your jaw dropped slightly and you tried to look if House was sleeping beside him, but there was no one else. Eventually, after debating on whether to ask about the situation or not, you shrugged it off. You slowly started creeping toward the door, the floor creaking at very uneventful times. It must’ve been almost 1:30am and you simply wanted to lay on your bed and sleep.

You felt something grab at your wrist which startled you, but you eventually realized Wilson had a tight grip. And you tried to wiggle yourself out, but he was adamant on not letting go while sleeping. You sigh, wanting to stomp on the floor and just wake him up, but you were simply too nice.

It might’ve also been because he looked very adorable sleeping and snoring. His hair parted messily and it was long enough to add some wavy length to it. You smiled to yourself for a moment, leaning to touch it but he moved suddenly. And forcefully pulled you on top of him.

You wished you were stronger, but sleepy Wilson was taking you with him. There was slight panic as you went along with it, eventually getting on top of him but trying not to touch him in any way. Your knees were at his sides and your wrist was still gripped, you tried to stand back next to the bed but he decided to flip on his stomach. Anyone watching you would never go along like this, but you felt too guilty to wake him. Eventually you laid on your side on the bed, next to his own unconscious body.

There was a moment where you watched him carefully, seeing how slivers of hair were turned every which way. His freckles washed away on his face due to age, leaving all these facial markings on his nose and cheeks. Wilson’s lips were slightly parted, making him snore, his warm breath could be felt on your own skin. The two of you were so close, the tiniest details couldn’t slip away from you. And how his stubble was growing hair, probably going to shave once he woke up that morning. You hesitated to even breathe, it was shallow, his eyes were closed and yet he seemed to frown with his eyebrows furrowed.

The grip began to weaken and you yawned, covering your mouth to be quiet. Yet it was the moment Wilson decided to open his eyes and yelp. A small scared, yelp.

Your own eyes widened as you were pushed off the bed onto the floor, groaning at the impact to your butt. Wilson crawled to where you fell, still atop the bed and stared down with those big brown eyes. You fell into his gaze trying not to become too mesmerized as he squinted. His hair drooped slightly and his mouth was agape to see your face again, less close.

“What are you doing here?!” he whisper-shouted, which meant someone else was still sleeping. You looked at him with the same confusion.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?! I live here!” you offered the same energy and stood up as he followed your body movements with his eyes.

“But you were in bed with me!”

“You pulled me in!”

There was a slight pause, almost as if he was thinking it over, still very confused.

“I did not!” he replied, like a child who was getting in trouble by their parents, you stood there with your arms crossed and the urge to tap your foot. Wilson, not for a second, took his eyes off of you.

He eventually gave up on his frowning and sat down, turning on the lamp from the bedside table. It strained both of your eyes, making you look away at the bright light amongst the night. He yawned and rubbed his eyes.

“Okay, I’m sorry about… all that.” He finally said whilst pointing at your hand and the bed, looking at you with a guilty expression. Wilson looked sleepy, eyes half-opened and his hair a rugged mess. You couldn’t help but smile, just a little.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry for all that too.” You say, mimicking his tone and pointing at the window. “Late night and I lost my keys.” You huffed in disappointment and turned to gaze at the door which was slightly ajar. Wilson sighed when he followed what you were looking at and stood up.

“I’ll go sleep on the couch.” He stood up and tried to walk past you, dragging a blanket from the bed, but stopped when you stepped in front of him.

“Go back to bed Wilson.” And it was your commanding voice… he couldn’t help but follow and sit back down. “I’ll sleep on the couch, don’t worry about it.” Your voice was suddenly calm again, sweet now that you weren’t crossing your arms.

“But- but???” He tried his very best to argue with this single word and ultimately failed.

“It won’t permanently damage my back, it’s fine.”

“Okay…” was all he could muster at the moment in front of you.

“Goodnight Wilson.” You began to walk towards the door and when your hand gripped the doorknob, he spoke.

“Call me James.” He was soft, assured, and in a way flirtatious (or that’s what you were hoping). You looked back at him, he sat still at the edge of the bed while looking at you for a response. You smiled, the light still illuminating your face, which in Wilson’s case made you look a lot more beautiful than he could ever have imagined.

“James…” it rolled off your tongue so easily that it felt like a test drive the first time you said it in his presence. The small smile didn’t leave your expression and you hoped he couldn’t see it too well. Yet he caught every detail that night, from the moment he opened his eyes.

When you finally stepped out and closed the door behind you, you couldn’t help but grin. Certainly the first name basis meant something, a unique relationship with Wilson (James). You whispered his name into the darkness as if a summons, scurrying off to the couch once the giggles washed over you.

On the other side of the door, Wilson laid down, staring at the ceiling in awe. Already trying to remember every detail of the interaction. By the time he was tired enough to sleep, it was 2:30 am.

Wilson dreamt about you that night.

[lumiolivier]

In Another Life

Series: One Piece

Word Count: 5153

Rating: T

Pairing(s): ZoSan

A party at Mihawk's (or his desperate attempt to socialize his protege) takes a strange turn when Zoro hears a piano upstairs.

(I've also never written One Piece fic before. Please be gentle.)

Zoro never saw any point in the large, lavish parties.  Nobility or not, Zoro didn’t understand Mihawk’s appreciation to peacock himself.  And for what?  To show off?  To make connections that he’ll ultimately break?  Of course not.  Mihawk had a difference reason for this particular party.  Mihawk was to hold…a flesh auction of sorts.  Not for money or anything like that.  To see his young protégé finally not mope around their villa another summer.

“Do we have to do this, Mihawk?” Zoro whined as he went through yet another suit fitting, “Can’t I just sit this out?”

“No,” Mihawk stood his ground, watching the tailor’s hands work quickly, “You’re going.  Like it or not.”

“I’m leaning toward the not part.”

“Zoro,” Mihawk groaned, “How long has it been since you even knew what a woman looked like?”

“I’ve seen women before,” Zoro rolled his eyes, beyond irritated with him, “It’s not like I’m a stranger to people.”

“Then, why do you always act like it?” Mihawk asked, “Zoro’s too good to be around other people.  Zoro’s always going to be off by himself.  Zoro would rather be alone playing with his sword than having someone else play with it for him.”

“Can we not be disgusting?”

“Can you simply humor me for the night?” Mihawk ordered, “It’s not like I’m asking you for a vital organ, Zoro.  I’m asking you to actually socialize.  Locking yourself away isn’t good for you.”

“Do I not see you every day?” Zoro pointed out, jerking at the pin prick in his hip, “Ow!  What the hell?”

“I’m so sorry,” the tailor winced.

“Don’t make it a habit,” Zoro let it go.

“I’m serious, Zoro,” Mihawk insisted, “You need to be more socialized.  You’d be amazed at what a little elbow rubbing will get you.  Consider this another lesson.”

“You teach me in the ways of the blade,” Zoro reminded him, “I didn’t sign up for this.”

“Then, consider it a bonus,” Mihawk did his best to hold his composure, but the thought of running Zoro through with his own blade gave him much temptation.  But then, it dawned on him.  What had Zoro so antisocial.  But he needed to guide the conversation in the right direction, “Why do you refuse to make any connections?”

“I don’t need them,” Zoro blew him off, idly staring into the mirror in any other direction but his own eyes.

And that’s when all of Mihawk’s theories made sense, “Is this about Kuina?”

Zoro’s jaw tensed up at the mere mention of her name.  The last time he ever truly got close to someone.  His grief tightened up in his stomach.  And he shot a piercing glare at Mihawk, “You had no right.  You had no business bringing her into it.”

“So, it is a Kuina problem,” Mihawk shooed away the tailor and sat at the edge of Zoro’s bed.

And without hesitation, Zoro drew his blade from its sheathe.  Even when being poked and prodded at by the tailor, he wouldn’t be caught without it on him.  He held the tip of his blade in Mihawk’s face, “I said, you have no business speaking her name.  Drop it.”

“And what have I always told you?” Mihawk lowered Zoro’s blade, “Don’t draw your blade unless you intend to draw blood.  Calm yourself.”

Zoro wanted his blade to taste blood.  To let the iron fortify the blade even more.  But he conceded and returned his sword to its sheathe, “I stand by what I said.”

“As do I,” Mihawk assured him, “You will be there.  And for a change, you will be socialized.  Do we understand each other?”

“Please, Mihawk,” Zoro begged, “Don’t make me do this.”

“I’m not making you do anything,” Mihawk got up from the bed and started walking out, “I’m merely saying you’re going to be there.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“I’m not putting bamboo splinters under your fingernails, Zoro,” Mihawk started walking out, “You’ll live.  It’s just one night.”

The moment the door closed, Zoro threw himself into his bed, hoping to get in a quick nap.  Yeah.  It’s just one night.  Easy for you to say.  You’re used to this garbage.  Hopefully, I’ll be able to get in a drink or two.  Or three.  The prospects of the evening started to sound a little better.  Mihawk usually does bring out the top shelf booze for this.  Maybe it won’t be so bad.  As long as he’s not lining them up for me, we should be fine.  Zoro stared up into the gilded ceiling.  Maybe tonight won’t be so bad.  And slowly, Zoro started to drift off. 

But then, night fell over the palace.  And the staff were abuzz with party preparations, decorating, showering the palace in all the lavish furnishings and fabrics Mihawk insisted upon.  And of course, Mihawk oversaw everything.  From the colors, the textures in the drapery to the food left out for the guests to help themselves to, nothing would be put out without Mihawk’s seal of approval.  Which brought him to his next task.  Quite possibly the most important one he had.  Making sure his flight risk protégé didn’t prove himself a flight risk.  Alright, Zoro.  Where have you run off to?

Mihawk checked the gardens, the stables, the library, the study.  Zoro was nowhere to be found.  But then, he realized who exactly he had been looking for.  And the one place he failed to look.  Mihawk trudged upstairs and knocked on Zoro’s bedroom door.  And was met with silence.  I know you’re not napping at a time like this, Zoro.  At least you better not be.  Mihawk didn’t bother with the invitation and walked into Zoro’s bedroom.  Sure enough, still sleeping like a baby, Zoro continued to drool on himself, ever so slightly.

“Oh, Zoro,” Mihawk let out a heavy sigh of exasperation, “You’re lucky I don’t want you dead.  Get up.”

“Mmm…” Zoro rolled over, ignoring Mihawk entirely.

“You know,” Mihawk sat at the edge of the bed, “I have you mostly pegged as a flight risk.  But I should know better.  And truly, that’s on me.  Because why would you run from tonight’s party when you could simply sleep through it?”

“You’re letting me sleep through it?” Zoro mumbled into his pillow, “Thanks, Mihawk.  I knew you’d understand.”

“Zoro…” Mihawk growled, “If you’re not awake, alert, and fully dressed in the next hour, I am taking all of your swords and running them through different parts of your body. Do you understand?”

“Alright!” Zoro snapped, reluctantly rolling off his bed, “I’m up.  There.  Happy now?”

“Quite,” Mihawk praised, “Thank you.  Go on.  Your suit should be finished and in the closet.”

“Wonderful,” Zoro dragged himself toward his bathroom.  But he made a quick stop at his closet, noticing the garment bag hanging in it.

“You could’ve chosen any color under the rainbow,” Mihawk pointed out, “And yet, you decide to go with black.”

“It’s simple,” Zoro took the hanger and brought it with him, “Is that a problem?”

“Not what I would’ve chosen for you personally,” Mihawk shrugged, “If I had my say, it would’ve been a deep red.  It’d suit you.”

“Black is good, too,” Zoro brushed him off and shut the door behind him.

Mihawk rested his head on his knees, beyond done with Zoro’s reluctance.  It still seemed like yesterday this sad boy begged at his knee to teach him the ways of the blade.  Better than what anyone had ever taught him before.  And how irritating he was then.  But the fire in those sad eyes got to him.  And Mihawk couldn’t tell him no.  His raw talent was too good to just throw away.  It needed to be nurtured and cultivated into something great.  However, it was a shame Mihawk couldn’t do the same for Zoro’s personality.  At least, that was how Mihawk saw it.

“Zoro,” Mihawk leaned against Zoro’s bathroom door, grateful to hear the bathtub running, “If you need anything, come find me.”

“What about the house staff?” Zoro asked, already slipping into his bath water.

“They’re busy,” Mihawk insisted, “You find me directly.  Alright?”

“Fine,” Zoro shut his eyes again, doing his best not to fall back asleep.  But he knew sleep would elude him.  He had bigger things on his mind.  Why would Mihawk be so hellbent on me finding someone at this party?  Is he really getting that sick of me?  I thought we were good.  It’s not like he’s asking me for a kidney.  I guess I’ll suck it up for the night.  It’s just one night, right?  Unless I have to sit and deal with whoever ends up finding me tonight for the rest of my life.  Ugh…Just what I need.  I can’t just have a good night with some decent booze, can I? 

As time passed, Mihawk took one last look at himself in the mirror, appreciating what he saw.  Because there’d be no way that at the very least Mihawk would go with a cold bed tonight.  However, this party wasn’t for him.  And as he walked down the hall, he kept his fingers crossed.  Please, Zoro.  Don’t tell me you went back to sleep.  Tell me you didn’t continue your nap in the bathtub.  Tell me you’re fully dressed and ready for this party.  Because I don’t think my heart can handle you still being in shambles. 

“Zoro?” Mihawk didn’t even bother knocking.  He just walked right into Zoro’s bedroom. 

Where Zoro had come out of the bathroom, doing his best to figure out how cufflinks worked, “You call for me?”

“Thank God,” Mihawk let out a sigh of relief, getting an eyeful of his prodigy.  Although, he couldn’t help himself, “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to put these damn things on,” Zoro continued his struggle, “How does anyone put these on?”

“One cufflink at a time,” Mihawk took them away and pulled on Zoro’s sleeve, “Honestly, Zoro.  Have I not taught you better?”

“In a perfect world,” Zoro grumbled, “This shirt would’ve had buttons on it like I asked.”

“But,” Mihawk stood his ground, “I told them purposefully to leave the buttons off because of the cufflinks I got for you.”

“You didn’t get those for me,” Zoro pointed out, “You won them in a poker game.  That I watched you cheat at.”

“You get my point,” Mihawk hushed him, “Is this the kind of attitude I can expect tonight?  Because I’m not canceling.  There are already guests arriving.  And you’re not going to embarrass me.”

“Do forgive me,” Zoro rolled his eyes, still wanting no part of this.  Unless it had a proof on it.

“Zoro,” Mihawk begged, “Please.  At least try to have a good time tonight.”

“Fine,” Zoro caved, already with his eye on a good sake.

“Thank you,” Mihawk finished off his cufflinks, “Now, go downstairs.  Go meet a nice girl.  Call it a night.  Will that be so difficult for you?”

“Probably not,” Zoro walked out of the safety of his bedroom with a sword on one hip and two swords on the other.  Because he wasn’t going to leave without a little piece of Kuina on him.

Once he made it to the ballroom, Zoro established a nest.  Granted, he knew he wasn’t going to be at one of the tables in the back.  Oh, no.  That meant going unseen.  The head table was where he’d be.  That didn’t mean he couldn’t still make his nest.  He had a bottle of sake for the table and his favorite bottle opener.  Carefully, he ran his blade along the cork and started drinking.  Although, the sudden pop caught some attention.  Zoro knocked the bottom of the bottle on the table, tipped it toward the ceiling and got his first drink down.  Just a little something to take the edge off.  And he could tell right then and there.

This party would be his hell.

The last thing he wanted to do was sit and listen to Mihawk talk shop with the other nobility.  He didn’t care how their businesses were doing.  He didn’t care about their personal lives.  None of that interested him.  If the goal was for Mihawk to find a lovely young lady to keep Zoro warm for the evening, the bottle of sake was a much better place to look.  No one was even worth Zoro giving them a chance.  He just wanted to spend a little time alone.  However, at the height of the party, Mihawk wasn’t going to let him leave so easily.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Mihawk grabbed Zoro’s wrist.

“Bathroom,” Zoro brushed him off, “If that’s alright with you.”

“Fine,” Mihawk stopped him, “It’s funny, Zoro.  I haven’t seen you with anyone all night.  In fact, you’ve hardly strayed from my side.”

“Maybe you should’ve invited better guests,” Zoro played it off like he didn’t care, but he was bored out of his skull and he wanted nothing more than to…use the bathroom.  Yes.  The bathroom.  Just as he told Mihawk.

“Or better yet,” Mihawk growled, “Someone else should be a little more personable.  I asked you one thing, Zoro.  And I need you to come through on that.”

“So,” Zoro groaned, “Do I get to go to the bathroom or not?”

“Go,” Mihawk let him go, “Maybe you’ll sober up some.”

“Yeah,” Zoro walked away.  Wouldn’t that be a damn shame?  He couldn’t stand it anymore.  He wanted nothing more than to escape that party the second he stepped foot in it.  The ballroom was abuzz with activity, with people dancing, with people talking.  It was maddening.  And Zoro wanted nothing more than some peace.  And if he had to retreat to the bathroom to get that peace, then so be it. 

However, on his way, the faint sound of a piano caught his attention.  The band played in the ballroom, but none of them had a piano.  It was oddly soothing.  The only room with a piano in it was the drawing room and it was a rarity anyone was ever in there.  Regardless, Zoro followed the sound.  Because anything was better than the overcrowded party in the ballroom and going back to Mihawk.  And someone had to have been playing it.  Zoro would finally socialize the way Mihawk wanted him to.  And then, Mihawk wouldn’t have a reason to throw a tantrum.

The closer Zoro got to the piano, the faster it played.  He just wanted Mihawk off his back.  But he kept a tight grip on his sword hilts.  Faster and faster, the piano played on.  Zoro couldn’t even recognize the song.  But once he got to the piano, no one was there.  Zoro scratched his head.  Where the hell was that coming from?  I know I heard a piano up here.  It’s right there.  So, who was playing it?  Regardless, Zoro knew there was someone up there.  There was someone who wandered away from the party.  And no doubt with Mihawk’s treasures in mind.  So, he drew his blade.

“Show yourself,” he called out to the empty room.  And yet, silence.  Zoro looked all around the piano.  Still nothing, “I said, show yourself!”

And yet, the still silence remained.  Zoro sat on the bench, still not sure where the music came from.  He put his fingers to the keys.  Where was it coming from?  Am I finally losing it?  There was a piano playing in here, right?  Clearly, there’s a piano.  But who was playing it?  Zoro let it go and rested his head on the keys, letting out a messy chord.  Whoever it was, at least I get some peace and quiet for a change.  I told you already, Mihawk.  This party was pointless.  I need the rest more than I need to socialize.  But just as Zoro sat back up, a sudden chill ran through his head.

“Soft…” a voice echoed through the mostly empty room.

“Who are you?” Zoro stood up and drew his blade, “Show yourself!”

“Soft…” the voice spoke again, “Like moss…”

“I said, show yourself!” Zoro spun his blade, waiting for someone to show up, “I won’t ask again.”

“I heard you the first time,” the voice moaned, “I can’t help it.  I’m shy.”

“Then, tell me who you are,” Zoro looked around for where the voice was coming from and yet…There was no one there.

“I guess it’d be rude of me not to talk to you face to face,” the voice finally took form on the piano.  A man, “You’re easily worked up, mosshead.  Did you know that?”

Zoro had seen a lot in his time.  But never did he see someone apparate out of thin air, “Where the fuck did you come from?!”

“Thank you for proving my point,” he laughed, “Like I said, you’re easily worked up.  And if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you just saw a ghost.”

“I…” Zoro blinked a couple times, still coming to grips with what he just saw, “I…Are you a ghost?”

“Unfortunately,” his incorporeal legs dangled over the edge of the piano, “I am sorry if I startled you.  But your piano was too pretty to pass up.  Do you live here?”

“Last time I checked,” Zoro backed away, “I’m almost positive there’s a priest downstairs.  You need to go.”

“No…” the ghost begged, “Please.  I don’t want to go yet.  I heard the party downstairs and…It’s been a long time since I’ve been to a good party.”

“Who are you?” Zoro asked, “There’s no way you’re just some random ghost that busted into Mihawk’s house like this.”

“Mihawk…Mihawk…” the ghost thought it over, “No.  Sorry.  Not ringing any bells.  But you think I could see?”

“See what?” Zoro scoffed, “Mihawk’s sham of a party?”

“Sham?” he wondered, “What makes it a sham, mosshead?”

“Would you quit calling me that?” Zoro rolled his eyes.

“And I’ll tell you mine if you’ll tell me yours,” the ghost laid on his stomach, his elbows up on the back of the piano, “Deal?”

“Why should I tell you my name?” Zoro argued, “I’m not the one who lured me up here.”

“Did you like it?” the ghost asked, “It got a little heavy toward its end, but someone was coming and I figured I’d get out as much as I could.”

“Not really my thing,” Zoro brushed him off, “It’s Zoro, by the way.  Roranoa Zoro.”

“Sounds like a mouthful,” the ghost rolled over to his back, “Tell you what.  If you bring me down to that party you say is downstairs, I’ll tell you my name.”

“That wasn’t our deal,” Zoro pointed out, “You said you’d tell me yours if I told you mine.”

“So, I’m renegotiating a little,” he shrugged, “Come on, Zoro.  Please?  I’ve been up here for a thousand years and I’d love to see a good party.”

“Have you really?” Zoro asked, “You’ve been a ghost for that long?”

“Not really,” he giggled under his breath, “I’ve only been like this for the last couple years.”

“And,” Zoro started to relax a bit more, sitting back down at the piano, “What happened?  If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I got stuck on a rock in the middle of the ocean,” he told him, “And I didn’t have anyone to come rescue me.  It was a long few months being out there, but now, I’m free.  I can come and go through here all I want.  And no one’s going to tell me no.”

“What if I told you no?” Zoro argued.

“But you won’t.  Do you know how I know that?”

‘How?”

“Because,” the ghost smiled, “You haven’t looked away from me for the last ten minutes.  If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you thought I was cute.”

“Please,” Zoro shook him off, “Why would I think that?”

“Because I am cute,” the ghost retaliated, “I mean…Come on, Zoro.  Look at me.”

“Yeah,” Zoro scoffed, “I’m sure you had all the ladies swoon over you in your living life.”

“You’d be amazed,” he got up from the piano, “Would you feel more comfortable if I was more tangible?”

“What do you mean?” Zoro looked at the ghost strangely, “You can do that?”

“Of course, I can,” the ghost’s translucency went away as he sat on the bench next to Zoro and held his hand, “See?  I’m just as solid as you are.  Truly, mosshead, I’m starting to think I’m the first ghost you ever met.”

“You wouldn’t be wrong,” Zoro got up from the bench and checked the liquor cabinet.  And came up short, “Damn…”

“What?”

“I was looking for a drink,” Zoro told him, “But it looks like I have to go downstairs for that.”

“And I could come with you,” the ghost insisted, doing a little spin, showing off his dark, pinstriped suit, “It’s not like I’m not dressed for the occasion.  Please?  I just want one party.”

Zoro wanted to go back to the party like he wanted to be shot in his foot.  But his curiosity got the better of him.  All he wanted was to know who haunted the halls of Mihawk’s mansion.  And if that meant him going back to the party, then so be it.  But that would come with some stipulations, “If we go down there, are other people going to be able to see you?”

“Just as much as you can see me now,” he nodded, “They’ll also be able to feel me, too.  I’ll be just as tangible as anyone else in the room.  They’ll have no idea I’m a ghost.”

“And,” Zoro went on, “What will you being at this party entail?”

“I just want to go to this party,” the ghost fell back over the piano, “Is that so much to ask?”

“It’s one of Mihawk’s parties,” Zoro grumbled under his breath, “So, yes.  It is.  Fine.  I’ll take you downstairs.”

“Wonderful!” he hopped down from the piano, “Let’s go!”

Zoro knew he’d live to regret this night, but if it meant him having Mihawk out of his hair, he’d be alright with it.  And so, the two went back downstairs to the ballroom where the hustle and bustle seemed to only get bigger.  Zoro rolled his eyes at the spectacle.  Great.  Just wonderful.  And yet, he looked over at the ghost, who couldn’t have been more thrilled to see such a beautiful ballroom.  The food, the string quartet, the people, the dancing.  It all completely swooned him. 

“Zoro…” the ghost took his hand, “Thank you.  I don’t think you realize it, but this is the best gift you could’ve given me.”

And in that moment, there was a strange tug in Zoro’s chest.  One that he didn’t know was possible.  But it managed to force a smile onto his face, “You’re welcome.  I’m glad I could do this for you.”

“And I know it’s making you uncomfortable,” the ghost took his arm, “But really.  It’s not going unappreciated.”

“Don’t mention it,” Zoro shook him off, “I’m going to go get a drink.  Can you do that?”

“I can,” the ghost nodded, “If it’s not too much trouble, cabernet.”

“What the hell is cabernet?”

“Oh, dear, sweet Zoro,” the ghost teased him, “It’s the one in the pretty black bottle.  Probably with a red label.  Says cabernet on it.  Maybe even Cabernet Sauvignon.  You can read, can’t you?”

“Of course, I can read!” Zoro snapped, “And now that I’m thinking about it, I brought you to your party.  You still haven’t told me your name.”

“My memory’s a little fuzzy,” the ghost sighed out, “Maybe a little red will bring it to light.”

Great.  This one thinks he’s funny.  I’m keeping you away from the actual clown here.  Regardless of Zoro’s opinions, he was still a man on a mission.  And there was a beautiful bottle of sake sitting unattended on the top shelf.  And next to it were all of Mihawk’s wines.  Zoro skimmed through the labels, hoping to find one that said cabernet on it.  Fortunately, a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon sat on the shelf.  He let out a little sigh of relief as he poured a glass for his new…friend.  Or the ghost that seemed to attach himself to Zoro.  And he knew the rest of the night would be miserable, so Zoro just grabbed the sake bottle.

“Here,” Zoro sat at his spot at the table and put the wine in front of him, “I got your stupid wine.”

“Mm…” the ghost picked up his glass and meticulously studied his wine.

“What?” Zoro scoffed, “Afraid I poisoned it?  You’re already a ghost.  Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re a sadist?” the ghost assumed.

“I’m not a sadist,” Zoro took a heavy drink straight from the bottle.

“Fine, fine,” the ghost backed off, “But…I suppose I couldn’t trouble you for a dance, could I?”

“You said you wanted your party,” Zoro pointed out, “You didn’t say anything about me having to participate.”

“Please, Mossy?” the ghost begged, “If you dance with me, I’ll tell you my name.”

“Uh-huh,” Zoro rolled his eyes, “You also said you’d tell me your name if I brought you to this party.  And you’d tell me your name if I got you your wine.  Why should I believe you’ll tell me your name if I give you a dance?”

“Because,” the ghost rested his head on Zoro’s shoulder, “I asked nicely for that dance.  And I swear on my past life and my current one that I will tell you my name.  But you have to dance with me.”

Zoro hated his own curiosity.  But he wasn’t going to break.  Instead, he just got up from the table, “I’m going to go get some air.”

“Wait, Zoro,” the ghost called after him, “Don’t go.”

“Don’t follow me,” Zoro took the bottle with him, “I don’t need this party.  I don’t need the socializing like Mihawk said.  And I sure as hell don’t need to be jerked around by some fucking ghost.”

“Zoro…”

But Zoro was already gone.  Lost in the crowd.  He really did just need to get some air.  Something about the gardens were quite peaceful.  Zoro found himself under the gazebo and sat on the cold ground.  It’s just some damn ghost.  Why am I letting him get to me so much?  Zoro knew the reason.  Zoro knew exactly what it was.  And he hated himself for thinking it.  Because it meant proving Mihawk right.  It’s because it’s not her.  I would’ve thought if I had a ghost attached to me, it’d be Kuina.  Why?  Why does it have to be him?  I don’t even know what his name is.  Why is he getting to me this bad?

“Zoro…” a familiar voice floated through the air.

“I thought I told you not to follow me,” Zoro grumbled.

“I know,” the ghost sat with him, “Why’d you run off?”

“I had a lot on my mind,” Zoro kept cryptic, “I needed somewhere to make it all stop for a while.”

“If it was because of me,” the ghost took his hands, “I’m sorry.  I really don’t mean to jerk you around like that.  It’s just been a while since I had anyone do anything for me.  I liked it a little too much.”

“Oh,” Zoro let it go.  But there was a sense of peace in his thoughts again.  And the music drifted outside.  Zoro got back on his feet and offered the ghost his hand.

“What’s this for?”

“What else?” Zoro shrugged, “You did say you’d give me your name if I gave you a dance.”

“Oh?” the ghost managed to muster up a smile, “Alright.  But ask me properly.”

“What?” Zoro looked at him strangely, “What do you mean, ask you properly?  Do you want to dance or not?”

“Wow,” the ghost giggled a bit, “What a gentleman.  Hard to believe you haven’t been married off ten times over by now.”

“The sarcasm is not appreciated,” Zoro took the ghost’s hand and pulled him a little closer.

“Alright,” the ghost teased him, “I see someone’s not feeling shy anymore.”

“You’re pushing it.”

“Sorry, sorry,” the ghost reveled in the feeling of someone else’s touch.  And in Zoro’s movements, “Hey…Mossy…Can I ask you something?”

“What?” Zoro started to relax a little more, the sake finally hitting his bloodstream.

“Do you think…” the ghost nestled his head in Zoro’s shoulder, “Maybe we met in a past life?”

“I don’t know,” Zoro spun him around, “Maybe.  How do you think we met?”

“I don’t know,” the ghost thought it over, “Maybe we met on a boat.  A big boat.  With a restaurant on it.”

“Maybe we hated each other.”

“But maybe…We didn’t.”

“What?” Zoro wondered, “You think we were friends?”

“I think we were more than that,” the ghost admitted, “But you have your thoughts of our past life together and I’ll have mine.  We’ll close our eyes and pretend like both are real.”

“Who knows if our past lives together are real or not?” Zoro brushed it off, “But…We got tonight, don’t we?”

“Zoro…” the ghost awed, “That’s the sweetest thing you could’ve said to me.”

“Don’t read too much into it.” But Zoro couldn’t take his eyes off the ghost’s.  So deep, so beautiful…And his face so soft and gentle…And the ghost’s slender hips against his own…And he found his peace.

In the silence, the ghost couldn’t help himself.  He knew there was no way Zoro would make a move.  So, the ghost moved into Zoro’s face, barely an inch away.  And to his surprise, Zoro pulled the ghost in for a deep, sweet, and tender kiss.  One that put everything into alignment.  And everything would be ok.  When he pulled away, Zoro still couldn’t believe it happened.  On his list of things that could’ve happened that night, kissing a ghost in the garden was not on it.

“Zoro…” the ghost’s voice broke, “You…”

“Again,” Zoro blushed, “Don’t read too far into it.”

“Fine,” the ghost couldn’t stop smiling, “Do you really want to know what my name is that badly?”

“After that…” Zoro admitted, “I don’t even care anymore, Ghost.  Tell me.  Don’t tell me.  But…I wouldn’t say no if you wanted to do that again.”

“Well,” the ghost rocked back on his heels, “What if I wanted to?”

“Then,” Zoro thought, “I guess I’d have to prove you wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

Zoro pulled the ghost back in, his kiss getting deeper, his tongue finding its way into the ghost’s mouth, “I can be a gentleman if I want to be one.”

“Is that so?” the ghost melted inside, “Why couldn’t I have met you in my living life?”

“Because,” Zoro pointed out, “Then, I would’ve had to mourn you twice.”

“Zoro…” the ghost gave him one last little kiss, “My name is Sanji.”

[luvehotch]

Midnight Frustrations

Fem!reader x Aaron Hotchner 

Summary- Aaron is away on a case in Texas and missing you dearly, he sleepily discovers you'd left him an explicit polaroid to use for his pleasure CW’s- 18+ CONTENT, MDNI, male masturbation, think that's it??

Word Count- 585

The suffocating heat of the Texas summer bombarded Aaron’s senses as he stepped foot into the dingy room of the motel the BAU were staying in for the duration of this case. The day had been gruelling as most when working with serial killers, but especially so considering Aaron had been unable to contact his girlfriend all day because of the tiring time difference and conflicting work schedules. Just leaving him overall frustrated and exhausted and more than ready for bed. He kicked his shoes off haphazardly without a care for where they landed, swifty undid his belt and also dropped that to the floor with a jangle of the metal where it hit the corner of the bedside table and shuffled his fitted suit trousers down the long plains of his hairy thighs. Left in only his boxers, shirt and tie Aaron heaved himself onto the bed and lay there silently, only soft puffs of breath leaving him and the odd creak of the rickety window shutters. 

At some point Aaron decided it was time for him to finally change into his PJ’s and call it a day, so he sat up and grabbed his suitcase immediately unzipping it and going to grab his usual pair of grey joggers and oversized Washington t-shirt when a small piece of paper fluttered out and fell to the floor by his feet. Aaron picked it up curiously and flipped it over to see none other than your perfectly sculpted chest, bared towards the bright flash of the camera shutter, stiff peaks staring him down almost daringly. His hips shifted unconsciously and his jaw clenched in unbridled lust and the heat between his thighs only intensified as he struggled to tear his eyes away from your pretty little tits. 

A wave of hungry desire crashed over Aaron as he fought with his tie and practically ripped his creased white shirt off and dipped his hand beneath the waistband of his navy blue boxers while picking the seductive polaroid between his pointer finger and thumb. His hand crept below his hips playing with the wiry hair growing there, almost teasingly, only ever skimming the source of his leaking arousal, instead his veiny hands moved south and cupped his heavy sack; a lewd moan escaping between gritted teeth and wandering tongue wetting his plump lips.

Desperately he grasped his fully hardened erection now, hurriedly pushing his boxers down to his ankles and gripping the base of his cock. The head grew red and angry with every second that passed left unattended as Aaron imagined the sensation of your silky smooth skin, the scent of vanilla coconut invaded his nose as if you were right there with him and only encouraged him to stroke more passionately now, he twisted and writhed on the bed high pitched whiny moans left his wet lips and his breath quickened as his perception of reality began to loosen. Your name was whispered barely audible with each bob of his hand over his straining length and with one last bleary eyed peek at your perky chest the pace of his hand faltered as milky cum burst from his tip and shot over his stomach and hardened nipples.

Once he had calmed down a little; breaths evened out, dick limp, chest soft and relaxed, Aaron picked up his phone and sent you a quick snap of the dried spill of his cock settled on his chiselled abdomen with a threat of payback on his arrival back home.

A/N- Hey guys, I'm fairly new at this but I have always loved the community on here so I am excited to potentially begin posting more and get to know people !!

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

LETS GET THEM MARRIED ⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️

HELL YEAH!

144 for ⚡️:

---

“Thank you,” Buck tells him when he breaks the kiss. “For talking sense into me.”

Eddie lays back down next to him.

“You want to know what I was thinking?” 

“What?” Buck asks. 

“How would Hen handle you?” 

Buck bursts out laughing. “Fewer kisses and sweet remarks, I think.”

“Well, okay. It’s a modified version.”

☆☆☆

Bobby knocks on their door before they even have a chance to eat breakfast. Which is bad, because no one has had coffee and Buck slept terribly. But good, because it can only mean that something has happened. 

“I have a venue for you,” Bobby announces, grinning smugly, as Eddie hands him a mug of coffee. Like Buck’s insistence one couldn’t be found was a challenge he could personally overcome.

Buck blinks. “Wh-what? How?”

“I stayed up late calling Department contacts,” Bobby explains. “They got me in touch with the LAFD Historical Society.”

“Historical Society?” Eddie asks, dubious. “Are we getting married in a classroom?”

Bobby smirks. Oh, he is enjoying Eddie’s doubt. Damn. 

“Why, yes, Eddie.” He says, delighted. “The same Historical Society that operates the LAFD Museum in Hollywood.”

Buck ‘s jaw drops so quickly Eddie’s afraid it’s going to fall off. 

“No,” he gasps. 

Bobby grins. “Yes.” 

“A museum?” Eddie asks.

“Bobby, that’s the coolest thing I’ve ever heard!” Buck practically squeals.

“A firefighting museum?” Eddie asks again. 

“Yes, Eddie!” Buck says, a little shortly. Like he’s miffed Eddie isn’t also trembling with excitement. “You know this museum! I’ve taken Chris.”

Right. Because Eddie remembers every nerdy thing they’ve ever done without him.

“Yes,” he says anyway. “Of course.”

“Bobby, how?” Buck asks. “And can we afford it?”

“Well, that’s the best part,” Bobby says. “It’s free.”

“Free?” Eddie asks. Fuck nerdy. This museum sounds great. 

“Free,” Bobby repeats. 

“How is that possible?” Buck asks.

“Okay,” Bobby’s expression switches to nervous for the first time. “So I might have milked it a little. Heroic queer firefighting couple who have been shot, crushed, and struck by lightning for this Department, only to have to put out the fire at their venue days before their own wedding…”

“Oh my god,” Eddie mumbles.

“Yes!” Buck exclaims. “Wax poetic about us! We deserve it!”

Eddie thinks this is truly something Buck would only ever say under the pressures of wedding stress. 

Bobby chuckles. “So it’s free. For your service to the city.”

That’s… That’s actually pretty fucking cool? Not that he’s ever thought of them as a heroic queer firefighting couple before. Whatever. He’ll take it for the hundred percent discount. 

“Bobby,” Buck says, eyes tearing up. “Oh my god.”

Bobby smiles triumphantly. “I had a feeling you’d like it.”

“It’s like… It’s like the coolest thing ever.” 

In that moment, Eddie thinks Bobby looks more like a dad trying hard to impress his kid more than he’s ever seen. He knows that exact feeling. Like you’d do anything, move a fucking mountain with your bare hands, just to see your kid smile. Damn it. Why don’t those two just call this what it is? They’re worse than Buck and Eddie were. 

“I’m happy it’s a good substitute,” Bobby says.

“Are you kidding? It’s better!” Buck proclaims.

Bobby grins.

Eddie feels a profound sense of relief. A restaurant wedding is more his style than a museum wedding, to be honest. But Buck had been so distraught. Seeing him this excited? That feels like a supreme win. 

“Thank you, Bobby,” Eddie says. “Seriously. I can’t believe it’s even available at such short notice.”

“Yeah, I couldn’t either,” Bobby admits. “Funny thing… There was a big birthday party there, but it got canceled. Same day. Life’s funny like that, I guess.”

The thought crosses Eddie’s mind without permission.

 It’s meant to be. 

Oh. Oh, boy. He’s not used to having thoughts like that. But it feels true, doesn’t it? That Buck would get this sort of dream venue, instead of nothing? 

Eddie feels a strange emotion overcome him. 

“Wow,” Buck says. “Okay. Amazing! We just have to get decorations and stuff sorted, then. Right?”

Another smug smile from Bobby.

“Your sisters are already on the job.” 

🗲🗲🗲

The night before their wedding, they go out with their families for a nice dinner. They didn’t want to do the whole big wedding week of preparations. Mainly the expenses. So they’re not having a proper rehearsal dinner. Just a dinner they booked months ago at a place that serves handmade pasta that Buck personally thinks is to die for. 

He’s feeling a lot more relaxed about everything. Or, less catastrophic anyway. As excited as he is for the museum, he’s still nervous that it’s not what they’d planned. That he doesn’t have a clear image in his brain. That things need to be delivered to a new address. But overall, he thinks he somehow scored the coolest wedding ever. 

Well, not somehow. Bobby. Bobby did that for them. Buck and Eddie would have never thought of it. Or have the necessary connections, likely. 

Buck finds himself watching Bobby a fair amount during that dinner. He’s chatting easily with Eddie’s father. Saying something that makes Ramon laugh. Across the table, Buck can’t quite hear it. 

[idontknowreallywhy]

Same song, so many performances. Every one a cracker.

And this is such a clever edit. Jaw drop and standing ovation from me.

Mostly sharing it because this song on loop is going to fuel me through a long one today…

Also I love the particular live audio recording they used (Wembley) because a little bit more of the beloved-feral-guitar-pixie’s Devon accent sneaks out than it does on studio recordings and you get more of a sense of the amount of ENERGY that goes into it.

(Also I was at that one. And I think at least two of the other gigs featured in the edit. Theoretically I will be responsible for a pixel or two in at least one of the crowd shots and that makes me smile)

[soaplickerrr]

Have another xx

Felix x Reader (Gn or Mn)

Video games, Felix gets frustrated because he keeps dying on a level of his game and asks Yn for help, The latter having been laying on Lix’s bed scrolling on his phone and laughing as Felix's struggles. Ofc Yn manages to defeat the level after their second try, and Felix is in awe but also playfully gets jealous. Possibly ends in a cute kiss as thanks.

Here you go!

(Gender of the reader isn’t really mentioned here lol)

Felix was focused intently on his video game, his brow furrowed in concentration. He had been struggling to clear a level for what seemed like hours. Every time he died, he groaned in frustration and reset the level.

You were lying on his bed, scrolling through your phone and occasionally looking up to watch him play. You couldn’t help but giggle at his struggles, finding his frustration adorable.

Felix eventually looked up at you, his eyes pleading.

"Hey Y/N, can you give it a try? I've been at this for hours and I just can't seem to beat it."

You chuckled and sat up, grabbing the controller from him.

"Sure, I'll give it a shot."

Felix watched as you played, his eyes wide as you smoothly navigated through the level and finally reached the end. You defeated the enemy with ease, and the “Victory” screen flashed across the screen.

Felix was speechless, his jaw dropped in shock.

"How did you do that? I've been trying for hours and you just waltz in and clear it like it's nothing."

You laughed, feeling a sense of pride at your accomplishment.

"I guess I'm just a natural."

Felix playfully rolled his eyes and pretended to pout.

"Not fair. I’m supposed to be the expert gamer here."

Felix continued pouting, his arms crossed in a mock gesture of annoyance.

"Seriously though, how did you do that? I've been playing this game for weeks and I still can't beat that level."

You chuckled, enjoying his playful jealousy.

"I don’t know, I guess I just pick up on things quickly. Maybe I should be the one giving gaming tips, not you."

Felix playfully bumped your shoulder with his own, pretending to be offended.

"Oh, you think you're so smart huh? Beating that level in two tries. I guess you're just the better gamer now, huh?"

You laughed and nudged him back, enjoying the playful banter.

"Don't be mad just because I'm better than you."

Felix dramatically threw himself on the bed, making an exaggerated sulking expression.

"I think I'll never recover from this," he said dramatically. "My ego is shattered. I can't believe I got beaten by an amateur."

You couldn't help but laugh at his antics.

"Oh, shut up. You're not that upset, you're just being dramatic."

Felix rolled onto his side, facing you with a mock pout.

"I am upset," he said, although his eyes were sparkling with amusement. "I'm deeply wounded, emotionally scarred. I'll never be able to pick up a controller again."

You chuckled and poked him in the side.

"Oh, come on. You're being ridiculous."

He flinched and let out a dramatic gasp.

"Ridiculous? You dare to call my pain ridiculous?"

He grabbed a pillow from beside him and playfully smacked you with it.

Felix grabbed a nearby pillow and swung it playfully in your direction. You laughed and grabbed another pillow, retaliating with a smack of your own. This triggered a friendly pillow fight between the two of you.

The room filled with laughter and playful banter as you both swung pillows at each other. But eventually, Felix found an opening and lunged at you, pinning you to the bed.

"Got you," he said, a mischievous smirk on his face.

You were pinned beneath him, both of you panting from the exertion of the pillow fight. Your chests rose and fell in sync, and you could feel the heat radiating from his body.

Felix looked down at you, his expression growing more serious. He pushed a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek for a moment.

"You know, you really did impress me back there," he admitted, his voice softer now.

You smiled up at him, enjoying the feel of his touch on your skin.

"Yeah? I guess I just have a natural talent for gaming."

Felix chuckled and leaned down closer, his face mere inches from yours.

"I guess you do."

He paused for a moment, studying your face with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

Then, without warning, he leaned in and kissed you. It was a passionate kiss that sent sparks flying through your body. His lips moved against yours with a mixture of sweetness and desperation, and you found yourself responding with equal fervor.

You reached up and grabbed the back of his head, pulling him closer. Your fingers tangled in his hair, your bodies pressed tightly together.

After a few more moments of intense kissing, Felix finally pulled back, breaking the kiss and leaving you slightly breathless. You looked up at him, your heart still racing and your mind still spinning from the passion of the moment.

Felix smirked at your stunned expression, a look of playful satisfaction on his face. “You’re not bragging now, huh?” he teased.

He then grabbed the controller and resumed playing his game, acting as if the passionate kiss had never happened. You lay there on the bed, still trying to catch your breath and process what had just happened.

RAHHH THIS FEELS RUSHED 😡😡

THANKS FOR THE REQUEST ❤️❤️