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hoshifighting · 6 hours

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New in the Suburbs – New Neighboor! Joshua

Warnings: Smut, fingering, pussy eating, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, lots of flirting and dirty talk, hair pulling, clit stimulation, g'spot stimulation, overstimulation, oversensitivity, good first impression (both).

Word Count: 4.5k

On a bright and sunny day, you found yourself outside your house, taking advantage of the weather to give your car a well-deserved wash. The gentle breeze carried the scent of soap and water as you stood there, hose in hand, working diligently to make your car shine. The vehicle was parked just outside the garage, basking in the warmth of the sun.

The water gushed from the hose, soaking both you and the car. You leaned casually on the hood, propping your feet up on the tall tire to ensure you reached every nook and cranny with the rinse. Your skin glistened under the sun, creating a glow that seemed to catch the attention of anyone passing by.

As you immerse yourself in the task, a voice interrupted your thoughts. Glancing over your shoulder, you spotted Dokyeom, Jihoon, and a new face you had never seen before. The unfamiliar guy wore khaki shorts and a crisp white buttoned shirt, adorned with the subtle elegance of the ARMANI logo. He radiated a captivating charm that caught you off guard.

To his eyes, you likely appeared enchanting—looking like the movie cover of a hot summer full of tanned, toned people. Your white tank top clung to your form, its transparency accentuated by the water, and your shorts molded against your body, creating a silhouette that seemed straight out of a summer fantasy. With your wet hair tousled from the refreshing shower you gave yourself, the trio approached, curious and captivated.

Dokyeom, noticing the enchantment in Joshua's gaze, decided to take the initiative and introduce his friend to you. With a playful smile, he nudged Joshua and gestured towards you.

"Y/N, meet Joshua," Dokyeom announced, his tone carrying a hint of mischief. "He just moved into the neighborhood."

You turned your attention to Joshua, and your eyes met his. There was a warmth in his gaze, and you couldn't help but return his friendly smile. "Nice to meet you, Joshua,"

He extended his hand, shaking yours with a firm grip that lingered longer than the usual greeting. A subtle connection sparked in that moment as you exchanged smiles.

"The pleasure is all mine, Y/N. I must say, Dokyeom has been singing the praises of this neighborhood, but meeting you adds a whole new level of charm."

Dokyeom chuckled, nudging Joshua playfully. "Told you it's a great place. And Y/N here is one of the reasons why."

Feeling a playful embarrassment, you couldn't help but blush as you lightly hit Dokyeom's chest in response to his teasing. He laughed, clearly enjoying the lighthearted moment.

"Alright, alright, I see what's going on here," Dokyeom teased, exchanging knowing glances with Joshua. "We'll leave you to do your car wash duties. But Joshua, make sure you get settled in properly, alright?"

Joshua nodded with a smile, still holding a lingering gaze that didn't go unnoticed. "Absolutely. Thanks for the warm welcome, Y/N. I'll catch you around."

As they turned to leave, you bid them farewell with a wave. "Sure thing! Nice meeting you, Joshua. And Dokyeom, don't you dare make this a neighborhood gossip!"

Dokyeom laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I won't say a word! Have fun, Y/N."

As you resumed attending to the car, thoughts swirled in your mind. You wondered what it was about Joshua that made him so captivating. While you couldn't quite put a finger on it, there was a magnetic draw to his presence.

As the day went by, you continued your routine, occasionally stealing glances toward the house where Joshua had moved in. The encounter replayed in your memory, leaving you curious to see him again.

The next day, as you lounged in your backyard, basking in the sunshine while you wore your bikinis, a familiar figure caught your eye. Joshua, his athletic frame glistening with a touch of sweat, ran past your house.

Just as he passed by, he suddenly stopped and turned towards you, leaning against the fence that separated your yards. His eyes widened slightly, as if he hadn't expected to find you there in such a relaxed state. A warm smile spread across his face as he gave you a friendly wave.

Joshua leaned against the fence, his breath slightly labored from the run. He looked at you and grinned. "Well, this is a pleasant surprise. You look absolutely glowing in the sun."

You chuckled softly, a slight blush creeping up your cheeks. "Thanks, I suppose the sun has a way of bringing out the best in everyone, including you. Running, I see. You always this energetic in the mornings?"

Joshua shrugged playfully, raking a hand through his sweat-soaked hair.

"Ah, you know it's part of my morning routine. Gotta get the blood pumping before the day begins. But I must say, the sight of you basking in the sun has added a few extra beats to my heart."

You grinned, a mix of surprise and amusement dancing in your eyes. "Is this your way of flirting with me, Mr. Energetic? Or are those "extra beats" just from your run?"

Joshua chuckled, a playful glint in his gaze. "Ah, you caught me. It's a bit of both, I suppose. Can you blame me for being flirty when faced with such a captivating view?"

As you walked toward him swaying your hips, Joshua's eyes tracked you as you approached, his smile widening in response. Once you reached the fence and leaned against it, Joshua's eyes flicked up to meet yours.

"You know, it's the second day and you're already flirting with me? My friends will surely enjoy hearing about this!" you taunted, your voice laced with a hint of teasing challenge.

Joshua's eyes tracked you as you approached, his smile widening in response. Once you reached the fence and leaned against it, he responded with a teasing tone.

"Oh, am I making such a strong impression already?" He teased, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "If my flirting is that obvious, I guess I can't keep it a secret from your friends for long. They'll find out real quick that I can't help but flirt with the beautiful girl next door."

A soft laugh escaped your lips, enjoying the light-hearted banter between you. You leaned in a little closer, keeping your gaze locked with his. "Well, I'll make sure to let them know. But don't worry, I won't tell them how eagerly you've been eyeing me in my bikinis."

Joshua's cheeks flushed slightly, a hint of embarrassment creeping onto his face. He quickly regained his composure and grinned. "Fair enough. I'll keep it subtle, or at least I'll try to. No promises, though."

You couldn't help but smile at his response. The chemistry between you was palpable, leaving a flutter in your chest. Leaning back a bit, you teased, "Well, if you can't resist your eyes wandering, I might have to start wearing something more... revealing. I'm sure you wouldn't mind that, right?"

Joshua's eyes widened, a blush deepening on his cheeks. He stuttered slightly before mustering a playful reply. "Ah, now you're just doing it to torment me, aren't you? But you won't hear any complaints from me."

Your smirk widened, enjoying his flustered reaction. "Oh, not tormenting, just giving you a little taste."

Joshua's eyes glimmered with anticipation as he played along. "Just a taste? I'm starting to think you're a master of teasing." He paused for a moment, his gaze shifting to your lips before meeting your eyes again. "But I can play that game too."

Joshua took a step closer, his body nearly against yours. His eyes held a mixture of playfulness and desire. You looked back at him, a hint of a smile on your face. "Can you?"

He nods, his voice low and husky. "Oh, I definitely can."

You stepped back, creating a small gap between you, and glanced back at him with a sultry gaze. You turned back around and laid back on the lounger, giving him a teasing look over your shoulder.

Joshua paused for a moment, his gaze roving over you before leaving a casual comment. "You know, I might have to run near your house more often if this is the view I get." He chuckled softly, his eyes meeting yours one more time before he started to walk back towards his house.

You watched him leave, the events of the conversation replaying in your mind. The chemistry between you was undeniable, leaving you curious about what the future might hold.

As the week progressed, you observed the hustle and bustle next door, catching glimpses of Joshua moving into his new home. From time to time, you would spot him jogging past your house during his morning runs. The sight of him sent a flutter in your chest, and you couldn't help but wonder if he was intentionally passing by your place on his runs.

[...]

Today was Friday, and after a long day at work, you stepped out of the shower and wrapped yourself in a fluffy towel. As you padded into the kitchen, there was a sudden knock on the door. Surprised, you hesitated for a moment, wondering who could be visiting at this hour.

You approached the door and peered through the peephole, curiosity piqued. To your surprise, you saw Joshua standing there, wearing a casual outfit and a friendly smile.

You widened your eyes slightly, a mix of surprise and excitement flooding your senses. Quickly, you adjusted your towel and took a breath to compose yourself. Opening the door, you greeted Joshua with a warm smile, quickly running a hand through your damp hair

"Hey there, Joshua. What brings you there?" You asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Joshua's smile widened as he saw you, taking in the sight of you in your towel. his eyes momentarily flickering down before returning to meet yours. He ran a hand through his hair in a casual gesture.

"Ah, I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time," he stuttered slightly, clearly trying to keep his mind from wandering to the sight of you in a towel.

You chuckled softly, not missing the momentary distraction in his eyes.

"Not at all. You just caught me right after a shower."

"I noticed you just got home a while ago, so I thought I'd drop by to see how your day was and maybe..." he hesitated for a moment, a playful glint in his gaze. "Maybe invite you to hang out tonight. If you're not too tired, that is."

"I just wanted to invite you to my housewarming party tonight. It's nothing grand, just some friends chilling and having a good time."

You nodded with a small smile, appreciative of the invite, but feeling slightly embarrassed in your impromptu outfit.

"Sure, that sounds great! Let me just change real quick and I’ll be right over."

Joshua’s expression turned playfully sulky as he responded with a touch of disappointment. “Ah, do you really have to change? I quite liked the sight of you in that towel.”

As his sulky expression intensified, you couldn't help but tease him a bit. You laughed playfully, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

"Ah, now you really want me to wear just a towel?” You teased, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “Well, I suppose I could give everyone a treat, but then again, where's the fun in having me all to yourself if there's a crowd?"

Joshua's disappointment melted away, replaced by a sly smile that matched your own. He took a step closer, the distance between you growing increasingly intimate.

"You're right," he mused, his voice low and suggestive. "Crowds are overrated, especially when there's a chance to have you all to myself." His gaze fixated on your lips, a hint of desire in his eyes.

As he stepped inside, the air thick with tension and desire, you found yourself leaning against the wall for support. His closeness sent a shiver down your spine, and as he closed the door, the moment grew even more intimate.

Your breath hitched slightly, and your eyes widened, meeting his intense gaze. You could feel the wetness between your legs growing, and the desire within you intensifying, despite your best attempts to hide it.

"You sure' you want to change?"

Your breath hitched as his mouth hovered near your lips, anticipating a kiss. But instead, Joshua planted a kiss on your neck, gently nibbling and sending a bolt of electricity through you. A moan escaped your lips, the sensation causing your chest to heave.

His body pressed against yours, and he pressed his lips into your skin, trailing a path of kisses down your neck and collarbone.

"You've been on my mind all week, you know that? Every time I ran past your house, it took every ounce of restraint not to come knock on your door and finish what I started that first day." His mouth then traveled up to your earlobe, nibbling it gently.

As his hands gripped your waist, you were flush against the wall and his body, the towel doing little to shield you from the heat of his touch. His breath mingled with yours, warm and tantalizing. You parted your lips just as his caressed yours in a soft tease.

Joshua took advantage of your parted lips, gently coaxing his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss. His other hand found its way under the towel, tracing the curve of your ass possessively. You gasped softly, the pleasure intensifying.

His hand caressing your breast was both gentle and masterful, with a slight shift in movement, the knot of the towel gave way, and you gasped against his mouth. He took the opportunity to pull you closer and explore further.

With you even more exposed, the feel of your bodies pressed together without barriers intensified the sensations. Joshua kissed his way down your jaw and neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses in their wake. You could feel his arousal pressing into you, a delicious friction that made you ache for more. The sound of your moans and heavy breathing filled the air, adding to the wanton atmosphere.

He guided you to the dining table, the surface cool against your heated skin. You sat on its edge, the cool sensation only adding to the contrast of sensations. As he pushed your legs apart, exposing your wet dripping pussy to him.

His attention and touch on your thighs were both possessive and admiring, leaving behind a trail of shivers with every caress. He whispered words of praise, telling you how much enjoyed the sight of you like this, vulnerable and naked before him.

His thumb brushed against your sensitive bundle of nerves, and your back arched in response. You gasped as jolts of pleasure shot through you, leaving you breathless.

''Joshua! Hmm…"

"Oh, that's right. Say my name, sweetheart. Let me hear how much you want me," he whispered against your skin, his voice low and seductive. You gasped, arching further under the ministrations of his touch.

"Joshua..." You moaned softly, your body shivering with pleasure. "Yes..." he murmured, his thumb circling your sensitive clit.

Joshua continued with his thumb moving in slow circles, driving you closer to the edge. "You sound so lovely when you’re all needy."

You let him do with you what he pleased, lying back on the table, with chest rising and falling fast, you arch your back as he continued to tease you. His touch grew more insistent, determined to bring you to the brink.

Joshua penetrates two of his fingers inside your pussy, your cunt swallowing his fingers eagerly continued their work, stroking and gently rubbing, while his other hand moved up to caress your belly and chest.

You moaned softly, a desperate edge to your voice. "I’m close," you murmur, every syllable quivering with pleasure. He picked up on your need, his breath warm against your ear. "I know," he whispered, a teasing lilt in his tone. "I can feel how close you are." His touch against you intensified, determined to take you over the edge.

He worked you to the brink of ecstasy, his touch and whispers driving you wild. Your body arched and trembled under his ministrations. "Let go," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. "Cum for me."

You grabbed onto his forearm, holding on tight as you came undone. Your body tensed and arched, a strangled scream escaping your lips as waves of pleasure washed over you. His hand continued to move gently as you rode it out, coaxing every last spasm from your trembling body.

Even as you began to come down from the high, Joshua continued his ministrations, not giving you a moment reprieve. You writhed and squirmed on the table, oversensitive and breathless. "Wait," you stuttered, your voice strained. "I can't take it anymore."

"Shh," he whispered, his hand cupping your cheek. "Just let me take care of you." His touch gently persisted, pushing you to another edge.

Your gasp was followed by a plea, his name falling from your lips like a desperate refrain. The pleasure was overwhelming, verging on the edge of pain, and the knot tightened in your belly, the sensations building again. "Joshua," you gasped again, tears welling in your eyes as he continued to coax you towards your second climax.

Joshua kneeled down between your thighs, his gaze darkened with desire. The proximity of his mouth to your sensitive clit was enough to drive you wild, even before he touched you. And when he did, you let out a sharp cry, the heat of his tongue adding to the intense sensations.

You grasped onto his hair, needing something to anchor you, as the pleasure built with each movement of his tongue. Your vision blurred at the edges, the world starting to lose focus as the climax approached again. Joshua's groaned against you, the sound reverberating through your body and sending more waves of pleasure through you.

In the aftermath of your climax, you lay on the table, your body boneless and breathless. Joshua ran his hands gently over your trembling form, coaxing you back from the heights of pleasure.

"You okay, sweetheart?" He murmured, his voice soft and tender.

You nodded, your gaze hazy and satisfied. Joshua continued to caress your skin, his touch light and soothing.

As he tended to you, Joshua's kisses and caresses became increasingly needy. His mouth on your neck, biting and nibbling, while his hands roamed your body possessively.

You could feel the hardness of his cock pressing against you, the contact sending a wave of heat through you. Despite your recent climax, his touch reignited your desire and set your nerves aflame.

His mouth moved lower, trailing down your chest to reach your sensitive nipples. He teased, his tongue swirling around each hard bud. You gasped at the sensitivity of it, your hand grasping at his hair.

His tongue flicking against them teasingly, as he looks at you.

As Joshua's lips continued to explore your body and his actions grew more intense, you couldn't help but notice the evident bulge in his pants. His control, usually so steadfast, seemed to falter slightly, the desire between you overwhelming his restraint.

"J-Joshua," you managed to gasp out, your voice thick with desire. "You're... so hard."

He lifted his head, meeting your gaze, his eyes darkened with need.

Joshua's gaze darkened further as you mentioned his arousal, the words only serving to heighten his desire. "Can you feel what you did to me?" he managed to say, his voice strained with restraint.

He shifted slightly, his body pressing more firmly against yours, letting you feel the full extent of his need. Heat pulsed between you, leaving no room for doubt about how much he wanted you.

You responded to his words with an ardent sigh, the sound dripping with need. "I want– " you gasped as his mouth found your neck again, planting a hot kiss. "I want to feel you. All of you." Your words were barely above a whisper, but their meaning, clear.

His control slipped further, the hunger in his gaze deepening as he looked up at you. "You'll have me," he promised, his voice filled with desire. "Every inch."

As your hand strayed down your belly, your fingers teasing your throbbing clit, Joshua watched in awe and desire. The sight was almost too much, his breath catching in his throat as he tried to resist the urge to take control.

He tried to focus on breathing as he watched your actions, his own desire straining against the confines of his pants. Your eyes met his, and he could do nothing to resist his lust. He quickly unstrapped his belt, tossing it on the ground.

As you caressed yourself, Joshua's control shattered. His pants hit the floor moments before he closed the distance between you, his hands finding your wrists, gently drawing them away from your body.

"No," he said breathlessly. "Let me."

In that moment, all rational thought faded away, replaced only by sensation and heat. The feeling of him pressing his cock against your slit, sent shivers through your body, your breath catching in your throat as you waited for him to fully enter you.

"Eyes on me, sweetheart." Joshua commands.

You tried to focus on his gaze as he entered you, but the sensation of his size stretching you was overwhelming. Your eyes rolled back slightly, the pleasure and slight twinge of pain sending your mind to another multiverse.

With every slow and sharp rock of his hips, your whole body trembled, the sensations overwhelming. Joshua's moans echoed through the room as he held your gaze, the heat between you intensifying with each moment. Feeling him fight to hold back, to prolong the moment, ignited a fire within you.

As you clenched and unclenched around him, his expression grew more and more strained, the struggle to hold back evident in his gritted teeth and sweaty face.

"Is it good Joshua?" You ask between gasps and thrusts.

You watched as his eyes closed, his expression contorting with the effort to hold on for you, a tortured groan escaping his throat.

"Yes–," he managed to gasp out, the word leaving his lips in a rush of breath. "It's so good, so good. I can't–"

You knew the pleasure he was experiencing was immense, his body trembling as he fought to maintain control for your sake.

Each time you clenched around him, his body tensed in response, the feeling of him inside you driving him closer and closer to the edge.

Joshua's eyes met yours as you felt a sudden surge of moisture between your folds, his expression shifting from a mixture of ecstasy to amazement. "You're so wet," he gasped, his voice dripping with desire.

He increased his pace, his gaze never leaving yours, his hands finding purchase on your hips. His grip was firm, as if pulling you closer only deepened the pleasure.

The sounds of flesh against flesh echoing in the room, as your hands roamed over his chest, needing something to anchor you in the waves of sensation.

His thumb finds your sensitive bud again, a wave of pleasure washes over you, making your entire body convulse beneath him. You curse, writhing helplessly as he continues to tease and caress you, pushing you closer to the edge. Your voice is a breathy mix of pleasure and desire, the only words leaving your lips a pleading, "Don't stop."

With a swift move, he turns you, your body now braced against the table, and then, he thrust into you again, the table scraping against the floor as he pulls your hair roughly.

Joshua's grip on your hair tightened as he pulled your head back, exposing your neck to his kisses.

A strangled moan escaped your lips as your breath came in pants, the intensity building with each passing moment, as if you could feel him deeper from this angle.

His cock finds the spot, and you sobbed, the sensation almost overwhelming, and he chuckled softly against your skin, his voice filled with satisfaction. "Is this it?" he whispered, his words husky and seductive. "I think I found it."

Each time he repeated the motion, you could only gasp out a choked, "Yes!"

You felt him hit against that sensitive spot again and again, each time eliciting a sharp gasp or moan from your parted lips. He knew exactly where to touch you, his touch teasing and expert.

With each hit of that spot, your legs trembled, threatening to give out completely and your body went limp. A mixture of pleasure and pain surged through you, your tears mixing with the sensations as he roughly grasped your hair. "Don't hold back," he muttered, his voice low and full of need. "Let me hear you."

"Joshua," you gasped between sobs and moans, his name a broken plea on your lips. your body had lost all control, helpless against the torrent of sensations and his masterful touch. "J-Joshua," you gasped, your voice breaking. "Please... I can't... I'm going to..."

Your words ended in a strangled groan, the intensity of the pleasure too much. You felt yourself clench around him, your body beginning to unravel, pushed over the edge by his relentless pace. "Oh god–" you managed to gasp out, your nails digging into the table.

And then it hits you, waves of ecstasy crashing over you like a tidal wave, drowning out all coherent thought. You arched your back, head thrown back as you cried out, the intensity overwhelming.

Your pussy tightened around him, drawing him closer to cum as well.

Through it all, Joshua held you, one hand steadying your hips while the other still gripped your hair, grounding you through the storm of pleasure. He rode out the waves with you, his own breath growing ragged as he fought to hold back his own release.

The tears fell faster now, blurring your vision as you lost yourself to the raw lust and desire. Your body convulsed and trembled as you whispered, "Fuck, fuck, fuck..."

He loosened his grip on your hair as you sagged against the table, and you nearly fell forward onto the table face-first. Joshua steadied you quickly, supporting you with one strong arm while he turned you to sit on the table. He gathered you, holding you close in a soothing embrace, allowing you to catch your breath.

''Take your time. I've got you." he murmured softly as he caressed your scalp.

You finally managed to find your voice, albeit somewhat raspy and breathless. "Joshua," you whispered, lifting your head from his shoulder to meet his gaze. "You know your friends will be wondering what's taking so long."

"Let them wonder," he replied, his voice carrying a hint of humor. He brushed a stray lock of hair from your forehead, his touch gentle. "I'm in no rush to leave. Besides, I'm far more interested in tending to your needs than worrying about them."

You chuckle.

Joshua chuckled softly, still holding you close. "They'll be fine," he said, "What's a few more minutes?"

As if on cue, a sudden knock sounded on your door, followed by the sound of a familiar voice. "Joshua? You in there, man?"

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lotusarchon · 2 days

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loverboy(s) (sun wukong + macaque x reader

content warnings: reader is IMPLIED female, second pov (you/your), foul language, minor threats, mini headcanon for macaque

author notes: to that one anon, happy birthday! i apologize for taking forever but i hope you liked this! its a bit funny seeing a few people who share the same birth month as myself (my fave lesbian genshin impact writer also shares the same birth month with me YAYY). i hope you had a wonderful day today, nonnie <3

“I told you. The cake goes on that side, fucking dumbass.”

“Who the FUCK are you calling dumbass? No, no no, come here. Come here and face me, you snarky little bitch. Come over here right now and tell me to my face I'm a dumbass. You wanna lose your other eye, huh? You want me to beat the shit out of you, is that it!?”

You mentally sigh as the monkey turns away, obviously not in the mood to actually pick a fight. Of course, it could also be because MK had begged the two monkeys to just get along if only for today, just for your sake, which, you won't lie, you did appreciate the sentiment but …

Holy fuck they hated each other's guts.

You won't deny being surprised that they had bothered to show up. MK had insisted you hold a party for your special day, and well. You can't exactly say no to the most stubborn person you'll ever meet. You'd think the party would be small and mainly of the Monkie Kid crew, but god no.

That noodle boy invited everyone he knew.

And I mean, everyone. Even the little Bai He was here, playing with Mo.

And of course, the Great Sage Equal To Heaven and the amazing Six Eared Macaque too.

You almost contemplated making a run for it when Macaque approached you, but Pigsy gave you such a scolding to not break MK's fragile heart (pft), and so, you were trapped in a social conversation.

(Oh, the horrors.)

“Nice party you have here.”

“Thanks.”

…

Yeah, I forgot to mention; you two suck at making a good conversation. Well, not so much you than Macaque mainly, who tried, you know, he really does, but inevitably just sucks.

But that's fine. Macaque's quiet most of the time and it's a little comforting. You don't like speaking much anyway, so it works out for the both of you. A bit.

You can't say the same for Wukong though. He's…well. He's certainly very outgoing. The minute he shows up he goes straight for the food (Pigsy is not gonna be happy about that), and then he finds his way to you as well.

“Hey there birthday girl.” Wukong gently pinches your cheek. He smiles warmly, and you can't help but return his smile with your own. “Nice party you've got going on. How come you didn't invite me yourself, mmh? Too shy to meet the awesome Great Sage?”

Before you can reply, Macaque scoffs, “MK invited most of us, don't be an ass.”

Wukong sighs. He glances at his ‘friend’ for a minute, and glances back at you.

“I can't believe MK invited him.”

“I'm allowed to be where I want, thanks.”

“Uh huh. I call dibs on the cake, by the way.”

“It's not your cake you fucking dick.”

“Blah blah, me and (Name) can't hear you.” Wukong turns with you in his arms, guiding you in the opposite direction of where Macaque broods. You wave at Macaque before allowing Wukong to take you…god alone knows where, and he pats your head affectionately. “Sorry about that. Still, happy birthday (Name)! I got you something!”

He releases his hold on you, and you give him a look.

“Is it made out of hair?” You demand, watching as he pouts and looks offended.

“Hey! Not everything I have is made from hair!” He protests, but you can definitely see the way his eyes dart away―he most definitely did, in fact, contemplate giving you a gift made of hair. You loved the guy but….you really had to question how his head works sometimes.

Well. At least you don't have to worry about hair strands all over your room…

“Is it a peach?”

Wukong groans. “(Name), could you have a little faith in me?”

You look him dead in the eye, and answer gently, “Absolutely not.”

“Rude. But fair. And no, it's not a peach. Those are my specialties.”

A pause.

“And I also ate them on my way here.”

You sigh and move to call Pigsy, but Wukong latches onto your wrist and falls flat on his face.

“I haven't even finished!”

“I'm scared what you even bothered to get me.”

Wukong whines, “It's a cool gift, I promise!”

“Wukong, I am not taking Nezha's fucking brick!”

“I wasn't gonna give you that! Nezha took it back anyway!”

Now you understand why everyone wants to wring his neck every time he appears. Even you, who still admires the Monkey King, contemplated wringing his neck like a chicken.

Wukong holds you still and digs through his pockets for something. You cross your arms, waiting, and when he finally grabs the object he's been searching for, he holds it in the air like it's the greatest treasure he's ever found.

He places it in your hands, and you blink.

“A rock.”

Wukong coughs behind his palm. He seems embarrassed by the obvious remark, and you notice a light flush on his expression, a deep red. He looks away before standing, finally, and turns the rock in your hand.

It's about the same size of your palm and oddly shaped as most rocks are, but this rock is different. This rock is painted white, and on the side is a clearly illustrated drawing of a certain Monkey King, hugging a certain figure that bears a strong resemblance to you. The side you had been staring at has a carving, written in Mandarin, ‘My peach and me.’

You flip the rock back and forth, eyes wide. It looks a little silly to be considered a proper gift, but you've already come to realize that Wukong, for all of his confidence, just sucks at expressing himself properly. He has an ego but you know truthfully, he just has no idea on how to act around others and hence why he's always…a little weird.

The rock looks like a silly gift, but you can't help your smile. He could've given you something extravagant as his title, but instead.

He gives you a rock.

“Um. If you don't like it it's fine,” Wukong tries to say, a sheepish smile on his expression. “I mean uh. I'm the Monkey King y'know? I'll get you another gift―”

You cut him off by blurting out, “I love it!”

“Eh?”

You smile at Wukong, squeezing the rock between your hands. He looks back equally amazed, and equally confused.

“I love it,” you repeat, and kiss Wukong's cheek. “Trust me. You're an amazing artist, Monkey King. I hope you don't mind if I keep this in my room, right?”

Wukong blinks like you'd just told him Pigsy loves him (as if.) A smile adorns his expression and he nods, looking quite pleased with himself.

“Ha! Well!” The Monkey King laughs boisterously. “If that's whatcha wanna do, go for it! It's your gift y'know?” He scratches his cheek and looks away. “I just. Figured you'd want something…from the heart. Ehem.”

You smile, “I do. Thank you.”

You're too busy smiling at Wukong to have noticed Macaque had sneaked up on both of you, making Wukong visibly jump in surprise when he speaks. You look at the dark furred simian who barely spares the Monkey King a glance, and instead looks to you with a rare, barely visible smile.

“Since we're giving gifts so soon,” Macaque muses and pulls out something from behind his back.

Unlike Wukong's gift, which is quite frankly the opposite of extravagant, Macaque's is wrapped in a light purple colored paper, and tied with a neat, darker purple bow on top. It's a bit strange to think the Macaque would actually give you a gift, but nonetheless the gesture is sweet, especially when he seems very proud of himself to even wrap your gift unlike the Monkey King.

You accept it with a smile and allow your rock to sit peacefully in your pocket. You try to take care in tearing the paper, but give up when it tears unevenly.

“Oh? A doll?” You blink and look up at Macaque, who is smiling, but a little more nervously this time.

Even Wukong looks impressed, eying the container with a whistle. “Didn't know you got better at making those. It looks realistic.”

Macaque looks surprised at the compliment. You knew they always had bad blood ever since an incident in Wukong's journey, and yet to think Wukong still seemed to remember his old friend's hobby makes even you surprised.

Macaque coughs in his hand, nodding. “Yeah, I practiced a bit,” he admits and looks at you with a sheepish smile. “I hope you like it. Sorry it's not the best.”

A daruma doll sits in your palm, round as a squash with your brows and a smile to imitate your excitement. It wobbles with any movement, and it's really, really cute.

“It's beautiful,” you say, a smile on your expression as it wobbles. “I love it!”

You pause, and look at Wukong. “Not anymore than I love yours, Wukong. It's not a competition.”

Wukong grins, “But if it was, I'd win, right?”

Macaque rolls his eyes and remarks, snidely, “You painted a rock. Not sure how you'd win with that, dumbass.”

“It's better than yours at least. Suck my dick.”

“You should suck mines cause mine is bigger.”

“Shut up you gay ass!”

“Says the walking fruit―”

They bicker, as they usually do, but you don't stop them. Not when you're admiring your gifts, both made with you in mind, with care and consideration.

A smile adorns your lips later that night, the daruma doll and painted rock sitting on your bedside table.

“Mine's better.”

“Dude shut the FUCK up!”

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sentientgolfball · 11 hours

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Same Old, Same Old

if you couldn't tell I've been possessed by these two recently

Read here or on Ao3

Pairing: Zephrit

Word Count: 3730

Tags: pup as a nickname, Zeph is kinda(?) mean...a little?, so much nipple

Summary: Ifrit takes a trip down memory lane by playing dress up with his old uniform. Zephyr catches him and makes the most out of it.

A bored ghoul never meant anything good. Ifrit had been sitting in his room all day, bored out of his mind. No chores to help with, no Siblings looking for him, no call to action. He laid in bed for an unreasonable amount of time, alternating between texting Zephyr and scrolling on his phone. Another hour passed before he huffed and tossed it on the bed next to him. There were only so many cat videos he could take.

He heaved a sigh before standing, stretching with a pop in his shoulders. He figured a walk will do him some good, anything to get his blood pumping. Fire was an element of energy and Ifrit could not stand the thought of staying still any longer. Maybe he would even find something to do while he was out and about. Even if he did not, at least he would not be laying around anymore.

He thinks about where he will go as he changes out of his pajamas. His phone buzzes, another text from Zephyr. From what Ifrit could tell, they have been having a day. They have been helping a new Sibling tasked with sorting through the older books in the library which is not a problem on its own, it is a certain Sister. Sister Gracie. She has been the problem in all of Zephyr’s workday stories recently. She checks out hoards of books and keeps them well past their due date. On multiple occasions, Zephyr has had to go directly to her and ask for them back. They were at their wit's end for today though. Apparently, she actually returned the stack she checked out on time, but when Zephyr went to collect them from the bin they had been damaged. All of them were either soaked or had some mystery stain on the pages. So all day it has been running between helping the new Sibling, talking with Imperator and Sister Gracie, and trying to salvage the books.

Another ping from Ifrit’s phone.

If I see her in here ever again after this I will be more than tempted to break that stupid human rule they can send me back to Hell it’ll be worth it to claw her eyes out

He stares at the message and quickly decides he will make the library his destination for his walk. It was on the opposite end of the Ministry from the ghoul den, so surely it will be enough to get some energy out. Plus seeing Zeph right about now sounds nice, for both their sakes. He sends them a quick text telling them he is stopping by before lacing up his boots and leaving the den.

The halls aren’t as filled as they usually are, he passes a few pockets of Siblings and ghouls filtering about but that’s it. He greets them all with enthusiasm, a bright fang filled smile. It seems to be a lazy day for the entire Ministry, though the heat from the late spring sun might have something to do with that.

He decides to take the longest way possible to the library, taking every twist and turn he can. He can feel his fire crackling just under his skin. Now that he’s finally moving around he feels ready to burst. When he passes the doors to the practice room he pauses though. He stares at the metal doors, out of place against the stone architecture of the ancient building. It’s been a long time since he’s gone inside, since he’s been on this wing of the Ministry. He hasn’t needed to, when Dew changed guitars Ifrit took the fantomen to keep in his room. When he gets that itch to play all he has to do is take it off the wall.

He opens the door just to peek inside. When he sees the room is empty he figures a quick trip down memory lane won’t take too much of his time. He steps in, lights and air conditioning coming to life when the sensors pick up movement. He takes a deep breath, it smells of artificial cold and polish. Underneath all that though, the dull scents of various ghouls filter through. Quintessence and fire smell the strongest. Ifrit briefly wonders which combination decided to lock themselves in here for a few hours. Omega and Alpha? Dew and Aether? Phantom and Dew? Or maybe it was Swiss? The multi ghoul’s scent was always hard to pinpoint unless it was fresh.

Ifrit shrugs, not too concerned with the details. He bounces around the mini rehearsal stage; eyes closed to let muscle memory take over. He bends backwards, throwing a hand into the air to show off to a ghostly crowd. If he’s quiet he can almost hear the cheering. He misses the energy of performing, misses the pleasant ache in his body after a ritual. Even so, he would not go back. Nothing would stop him from being where Zephyr is. Nobody had asked him to leave, but when Zephyr said they couldn’t handle it anymore it wasn’t even a question. Reliving the memories is enough as long as Zephyr is with him.

Oh shit Zephyr!

He pulls himself back to the present with a shake of his head. He already took too much time by stopping, Zephyr is probably waiting for him outside the library doors. He jumps off the mini stage, bounding towards the exit when a light catches his eye. One of the soundproof practice rooms has a light on. He thought he was alone. He can’t help it when he turns, heading down the short hallway. He peers into the window when he’s close enough only to find it empty. Well not empty, all of the spare practice rooms were being used as storage while the band wasn’t actively preparing for a tour, but there was no one inside.

He goes to open the door, but it hadn’t been closed all the way. He pushes it open and steps inside, surveying the space for any signs of who the mystery ghoul may have been. Whoever they are, they left in a hurry. Uniform bags are open, a mask box sitting on one of the few chairs in the room. Ifrit moves to clean up the small mess, but seeing the glint of the mask has him stopping. It’s not one of the helmets like he was expecting. Its silver, no opening for a mouth, curling horns, and sculpted hair. Empty eyes stare up at him. His eyes. His mask.

He doesn’t think as he takes it out of the box, bringing it up to his face to look into the eye holes. It’s surreal to hold it again. The only one who stills wears this version is Omega; feeling the cool metal feels wrong but almost right in a strange way. This was his face for his first few months Topside and now it just sits in a box.

An idea crosses his mind. One that would surely get him in trouble if he was caught. Whoever was in here before him clearly thought the same thing, only Ifrit didn’t stop. He put the mask back into the box, closing the lid and picking it up before his conscious could catch up to him. His eyes quickly scan over the rack of costume bags until he finds the right size. If he was going to steal pieces of Ministry history he needed to do it quickly before someone else wandered in.

He shuts off all the lights in the practice room before slinking out of the metal doors. He figures if he goes the short way back to the den he’ll make it to his room before running into trouble. The library is all but forgetting as he scurries back with his contraband. He won’t have it for long, just the evening. He’ll return it first thing in the morning before anyone notices it’s missing. It’s been a long time since he’s seen this uniform, he just wants to taste it again.

He makes it back to his room in the den with no trouble, suddenly very thankful for the slow, lazy day. He has the uniform out of the bag; still on the hanger but laid across his bed. He stares at it.

“What the fuck am I doing?” He runs a hand through his hair.

Despite his conscious finally catching up to him, he shrugs his leather jacket off before pulling his shirt over his head and dropping it to the floor. He discards his pants next, adding to the pile of clothes next to the bed. He stares at this old uniform in nothing but his underwear for a moment long before grabbing it. He puts the pants on first. It’s a little tighter than he remembers, meeting a bit of resistance as he pulls them over his thighs. After a bit of tugging he gets them all the way up to sit around his hips. The waistband slightly digs into his skin. The top comes next. He unbuttons it with practiced ease before sliding it onto his shoulders.

“Oh shit,” he says with a mix of surprise and panic.

It’s already tight around his shoulders and he hasn’t even rebuttoned it yet. He turns to look at the floor length mirror that sits in the corner of the room. The fabric is pulled taut and he briefly worries about the seams bursting if he moves too fast. He didn’t risk stealing this for nothing though. He begins to close the buttons one by one. It becomes a struggle once he’s halfway up his abdomen. He has to suck in deep breaths of air just to be able to pull the edges close enough to slip the button in. It’s a fight once he gets over his chest. No matter how he moves he can’t close it. He breathes, he relaxes his shoulders, he hunches forward, yet nothing gets him closer to his goal. Did he really get that much bigger since his summoning?

He stares at his reflection, the uniform so close to being all the way on. If he could just get the buttons over his chest closed. He ponders any possible solution, so lost in thought he doesn’t hear the door open.

“So, this is what you did instead of coming to see me?” Zephyr leans against the doorframe with their arms crossed.

Ifrit whips around, a slight flush to his cheeks as he tries to stammer out an explanation, “Zeph! No you see I was coming to see you, swear on the Lords, but I…well you see it’s funny really—“

“Save it,” Zephyr holds up a hand “I can see you’re having lots of fun playing dress up. Please, don’t let me stop you.”

They watch him, waiting for him to continue. Yellow eyes look him up and down expectantly. Ifrit almost flinches under the intensity.

“I can’t.” He bows his head, looking at his feet.

“What? Too shy now that you’ve got an audience? Come now Ifrit, I thought you loved the spotlight.”

He shakes his head. “No that’s not…I can’t Zeph.”

He tries to pull the buttons over his chest once more, showing Zephyr what he means. They watch him struggle for just a moment before it clicks. Their eyes scan over his figure again, only this time they notice how tight the uniform is on him. It's clinging to him, no wrinkles or extra space in sight. The way his chest bulges out of the unbuttoned front. They can see the outline of his nipple piercings. They can see everything. When the silence stretches on for too long, Ifrit lifts his head to look at them, guilt and shame written all over his face with how deep that blush has gotten. Suddenly Zephyr couldn’t care less about having to walk back to the den all by themselves.

“Poor little pup can’t fit into his old uniform?” Zephyr pushes off the doorframe, stepping into the room and closing the door behind them.

Ifrit’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline at the tone of their voice. Zephyr stalks over to him, running their hand over his shoulder and down his arm. They can feel the muscle ripple under the featherlight touch. They can’t help but squeeze his bicep, feeling the solidness through the fabric. Ifrit shudders, watching a small grin appear on their face. They meet each other's eye for a moment before Zephyr slips one of their hands into the opening of the uniform to grab at one of his pecs.

“Why bother trying to button this thing? Leave it open so everyone can see your perfect tits.”

Ifrit chokes on air when Zephyr pinches one of his pierced nipples harder than what could be considered pleasurable.

“This is certainly an improvement. Could never touch you like this backstage.” They fondle his chest, squeezing as much of him as they can with one hand.

Ifrit allows himself to be pushed until his back hits the dresser, hand shooting out behind him to keep his balance. Zephyr presses themselves tight against him, standing in between his legs to cage him in. He stares down at them as they start to mouth over his chest. The whiplash of Zephyr catching him to having that cool tongue gliding over heated skin makes his head spin. He isn’t sure if he should stop them, telling them to wait so he can take it off lest he rips it, or let them continue to grope his sensitive tits.

When he feels them bite close to his nipple his brain shuts off, hand flying up to stop the whimper that catches in his throat. Zephyr does it again. And again, and again, and again until his chest is covered in purple. His hips grind forward against them when their other hand tweaks his nipple at the same time they suck the other into their mouth. They squeeze their tail around his waist to stop the movement of his hips.

“Not yet pup, I want to take my time with you while you’re like this. Don’t want it to end too early.”

“Zeph, Birdie. Come on, we…you’re going to rip it,” he struggles to form a coherent thought with the way they’re rolling that sensitive bud between their teeth.

Zephyr pulls off of him slowly. They stand from their hunched position to stare at him, hands still roaming over his chest. “Are you telling me no?”

“‘No!” He says in a hurry “, that’s not what—“

“Then shut your mouth. You’re the one who wanted to play dress up, so let’s play.”

Zephyr steps away from him before reaching up to wrap their hand around one of his horns. They drag him to the bed, tugging and pulling at him to get him to lay flat on his back. Ifrit’s helpless to it, he allows them to move him however they want with nothing but the grip on his horn. When he’s down, Zephyr straddles his hips. Ifrit stares up at them with wide eyes, waiting for them to make a move so he can figure out how to not burst every seam on the uniform while they use him.

They tilt their head smiling at him; something sweet and simple before spitting directly onto his tits. Everything moves quickly after that; they unzip their pants just enough to pull their cock out, jacking themselves a few times before sliding up farther on Ifrit’s abdomen. They reach into the uniform to squeeze his chest together, moving their hands in quick circles to smear the salvia around before letting up on the tension just enough to shove their cock between them.

They squish his tits together until they’re hissing with satisfaction before slowly rocking their hips. He itches to replace their hands with his, do something other than stare slack jawed up at Zephyr, but every thought dies when he sees the tip of their dick peek out from his cleavage. His hips twitch up searching for friction when he watches a bead of pre drip so close to his chin he could lick it up if he craned his neck just a bit more.

Zephyr laughs at the hazy look in his eyes, at the way he’s just staring at the way their tip glides closer and closer to his face with each roll of their hips. The laugh is cut off when his brain finally catches up and he flicks his tongue out to swipe over the slit, drinking down the pre pearling at the tip. Zephyr shudders with a groan, hips bucking forward to get closer to the heat of his mouth.

“Not as dumb as I thought you were.” They huff, resuming a more rhythmic grind albeit it faster than before.

Ifrit is craning his neck to keep his tongue out, licking over their cock as they fuck his tits. He can feel the drool running down the side of his mouth, dripping onto his collarbones only to slide down and pool in his cleavage.

“Making a mess of yourself pup,” Zephyr groans.

Ifrit doesn’t respond, doesn’t have the brain power to. His senses are flooded with the taste of them, with the sight of their flushed cock, with the breathy little sighs that fall from their lips each time Ifrit flicks his tongue. He wants to get them in his mouth, properly suck them off until they cum down his throat. He moves without thinking, trying to grab their hands and surge forward to flip their positions. He doesn’t get that far. The moment he lifts his shoulders a deafening pop accompanies the sound of skin gliding on skin. Ifrit is slammed back into his body when the tension around his shoulders suddenly feels lighter, less constricted.

“Birdie shit wait. Stop, I think it ripped.” He panics, squeezing Zephyr’s wrists.

“How is that my problem? You stole it now you’ll live with the consequences.” They huff, doubling down. They squeeze his chest tighter, rocking their hips faster.

Ifrit could easily throw them off, truly ask them to stop, but he can’t find it in himself to move. He’s paralyzed by the realization he damaged the uniform, but also by the ache between his legs and the weight of Zephyr on his chest. Caught between his want to stop and his need to continue.

His mind is made up for him when a particularly hard thrust from Zephyr pushes the tip of their cock against his lips. His hands fly to their hips, urging them to do it again. They oblige, pressing closer to his face. Ifrit shifts just enough to be able to wrap his lips around the head, sucking and licking over it. Zephyr’s head falls forward, cursing under their breath. Their thrusts turn into quick little grinds, shoving more of their cock into that hot, wet mouth.

Ifrit lets the weight of it rest on his tongue as drool runs down his chin. The awkward angle makes it difficult to take more than an inch of them, but he doesn’t care. He’s content to run his tongue over them, licking at their slit and the sensitive spot on the underside. Ifrit sucks, working his lips around them and Zephyr is unable to stop their talons from digging into the meat of his chest. Ifrit moans, eyes fluttering and hips bucking into the air from the prick of pain.

Ifrit does it again. Instead of talons tearing tendering flesh he feels Zephyr go rigid. They cum without warning, coating the inside of his mouth. He instinctively swallows around them and they shudder as another glob squirts over his tongue. Ifrit suckles on his dick until it’s too much and they’re pulling away from him in overstimulation. They’re both panting, staring at each other with flushed cheeks while they catch their breath. When Ifrit runs a hand through the mess on the chest Zephyr groans.

“Get out of that thing before I ruin it.” Zephyr slides off of him, knees cracking when they stand.

Ifrit sits up to sit on the edge of the bed, turned to stare at his reflection in the mirror. He runs his hands over the deep marks littering his chest. His brain supplies him with memories from backstage closets and hotel rooms as his eyes rake over the disheveled uniform. That is, before he remembers where he’s at. Why he has the costume to begin with. His head snaps to Zephyr who’s just smiling at him.

“Don’t worry I’ll fix it before someone has your horns.”

Ifrit sighs a breath of relief. “Thank you birdie.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time and I certainly hope it isn’t the last,” they press a kiss to his temple ,” now strip.”

He stands, taking off the top as carefully as possible to not make the tear worse. The seam on his right shoulder is ripped down to the armpit. He cringes at the sight, handing it over to Zephyr before shucking the pants. Zephyr nearly doubles over at the sizable wet patch on the front of his boxers. The fabric clings to him, outline the shape of his now soft cock. They palm at him, squeezing him through his underwear and smearing the mess around. Ifrit shudders at the feeling.

“Filthy,” Zephyr muses.

“You’re one to talk,” Ifrit huffs a laugh.

They shrug, gathering the discarded uniform and folding it neatly before putting it on the desk to work on later.

“You’re the one who put it on. I’m not to blame for my actions.”

“Hm,” he thinks for a moment, “maybe next time I’ll wear the mask.”

“Oh so suddenly you have no reservations about stealing Ministry relics?” They eye him with a grin, something dangerous glinting in their eyes.

He grins back, “Not when it makes you like this, birdie.”

They hum, pressing kisses along his jawline “Good.”

There’s a moment of silence before Ifrit feels their hand wrap around his throat, “But if you ever leave me waiting like that again I’ll make sure you suffocate, understood?”

Ifrit swallows and nods. He shifts the weight on his feet, feeling his cock try to kick back to life. Zephyr grins at him. With the uniform gone he had no protection from their talons. He almost hopes they’re still upset with him.

#the band ghost #ghost bc #nameless ghouls #the band ghost fic #zephyr ghoul #ifrit ghoul #zephrit #18+ mdni #golfball writes

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maryrouille · 2 days

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Tips for good studying

I must admit that I am shocked at how helpful the post about Toxic romanticization of studying was for you, so I decided to expand it with a second part. Here I will talk a little about examples from my own experience with studying.

1. Take small steps

Even tiny, but keep moving forward. I know it's a very clichéd phrase, but it really works. Especially in the case of very complex theories or extensive material. Then it is worth starting by understanding the basics and expanding this knowledge based on the information that we can best learn first. This way of learning looks like creating increasingly wider circles around one dot (which was our basis).

My practical advice: when I learn very difficult things, I start by finding starting points and writing them down on a small piece of paper (e.g. names or dates). Then I try to combine it in any way possible. When I find connotations, I look for more information about them, which I transfer to a larger piece of paper. This creates charts of varying levels of connection and complexity.

2. Clearly divide time for studying, rest and fun

Of course, studying can be fun, but sometimes we need a moment to relax and do nothing. It's good to divide these moments, which will allow us to either focus completely on work or on rest. Combining learning, especially the kind that is a burden for us, with some form of relaxation makes both activities ineffective. And we still get tired of all this.

My mistake: the countless times I've worked on something and wasn't happy with the results that day. And the evening came, and instead of letting go and resting, I tried to combine "relaxation" with further work. It ended up that I didn't do anything productive, nor did I enjoy a glass of wine or a movie that I watched because she stubbornly tried to do something else.

3. Stimulants are always harmful

In this case, stimulants can be understood in many ways. It may be coffee, alcohol, nicotine or even illegal things. Culturally, we don't see anything wrong with another cup of coffee when we need to concentrate. Or another cigarette, or champagne when we need to relieve stress. However, it should be remembered that all these substances affect our perception and brain functioning to a greater or lesser extent. And isn't it great and healthy to know that we can achieve a lot without these boosters?

My weakness: as I mentioned earlier about a glass of wine, It's nice, but it doesn't help me study. However, I read undemanding books with a wine in bed for pure pleasure.

4. Take care of your neurons

First of all, you need to understand that our brain is responsible for studying. And the brain is an organ and our will is not always enough for its proper functioning. We need to take care of our neurons so that they continue to develop and expand their connections. How to do it? In addition to maintaining overall health, you also need to get enough sleep, have access to fresh air and sun, discover and experience new things and take care of your diet.

My tip: discovering something new every day seems to be an extremely difficult challenge, but it may just be tiny things done in a different way. Changing the place helps me gain a fresh perspective when studying. Sometimes I go to another room, sit by the open window, move everything to the floor or go outside.

If you have any examples of mistakes, good advice or similar problems with studying, you can share them below. There is nothing better than exchanging experiences and having a joint discussion that can bring new solutions to problems!

#studying tips #healthy studying #study inspo #study motivation #studyblr #dark academia #light academia #studyspo #study inspiration #study aesthetic #study blog #studying #productivitytips #studyblr community #tips and tricks #studying inspo

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pb-dot · 2 months

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I find the way Fantasy High Junior Year treats religion to be fascinating, and evolving in an interesting way in the last couple of episodes. Like episode 14 makes it pretty clear, through Kristen's parents and Bobby Dawn that the helioic faith, ironically isn't much of a faith. There's no need for faith or belief there, they know who their god, Helio, they know he's a force interacting with their lives and their world, and they "know" that he is the only correct god to follow. This is in part a character flaw on their part, but is in a way also a logcial extrapolation of the cosmology of the D&D universe, or at least the particular branch of it in which Fantasy High resides.

Kristen stands as a stark contrast to this, where faith is all she has. Nobody knows whether Cassandra is alive, dead, or something in-between, and Kristen has chosen to believe that Cassandra is out there, somewhere. In a way, Cassandra is a better diety for doubt and mystery now than she was when she had a physical form one could see and interact with.

This is why the confrontation between Bobby Dawn and Kristen is so interesting to me, because while Bobby is technically correct in that Kristen's god is dead, it should tell him something that Kristen is still able to do the works of a cleric in Cassandra's name. That's not a fail state, that's a level faith that really justifies Kristen's sainthood, hell, we may be past the level of a saint at this point. This is the kind of stuff religious movements gets started off of. This is the kind of stuff that you only read about in ancient histories. It's happening in Bobby Dawn's classroom, and this corn pone televangelist motherfucker is too blinded by bitterness of Kristen ditching his religion, too drunk on the certainty of following The Right Way, to see this real life miracle unfold in front of him. This man shouldn't be a cleric teacher. Even if he managed to teach without biasing towards his Mean Girls crew of divinities and their followers, which I have no faith (heh) that he is able, or willing, to do, he still fails on a fundamental level. Bobby Dawn is beholding a wonder of modern faith, a messianic figure in the making, and opposes it. Not as a matter of conviction, but because is unable to comprehend it because it's not happening on "his team."

It's really interesting stuff, and it's shaping up to be one hell of a character arc for Saint Kristen Chillis Applebees as long as she doesn't get expelled.

#d20 fhjy #fantasy high junior year #Kristen Applebees #in which I ramble about faith and belief #you know Book Of Mormon (The Musical) often gets called “An Atheist's Love Letter to Religion”#and I never quite knew what to feel about that #but I will gladly call Junior Year a worthy claimant to the title #or maybe “Agnostic's Love Letter to Religion”?#I don't know the faiths or philosophies re:God of the people involved #but as an atheist-agnostic myself I will say that this plotline is really cooking #and it has a lot of clever things to say about religion at least in the D&D-verse #which is a whole situation in and of itself frankly #Honestly good on Brennan and the IH for going into depth on the religion angle a bit #it feels like an underutilized part of character building most of the time #and it's nice to see it get its day in the sun here

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monstersflashlight · 25 days

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Gym slut but they meet again the next day and the reader is awkward af

Hi! I don’t know if this is awkward or embarrassed or what to catalog it really, but I had a ton of fun writing it, that’s for sure. Hope it fits your request, tho. Enjoy!

Gym slut: the day after

Orc x fem!reader || Humiliation, blowjob, public sex (nobody sees, tho) (part 1 in case you hadn't read it)

You were exiting your car when you saw him, trying to ignore him as he passed. He didn’t let you. “Hey you! Not even a hello today?” You turned around, his smirk so big you could almost feel it in your body. His green skin looked so soft under the rising sun. Dang he was attractive…

“H- hi.” You choked out, your face blushing as you looked down. “You look… strong.” You said, mentally chastising yourself for being so stupid. Who the fuck says that? Strong? He looks strong?

He laughed really hard. “Thanks?” You walked next to each other, your face getting more and more red by the second. You felt so embarrassed and you didn’t even know why. “You weren’t so shy yesterday, darling.” He said as he held the door for you. You passed him, mortification making your embarrassment worse. He chuckled as he looked at you. “You look awfully uncomfortable today. Sore?” He teased. You flushed harder. You didn’t even know how you were still up with all the blood rushing to your face.

“A little.” You whispered, your voice barely audible, unable to meet his eyes as he chuckled.

“What a bummer. I was hoping to leave you filled and dripping again.” You looked around rapidly, making sure nobody else heard him. You breathed out as you saw you were completely alone, like usual.

You kept walking in front of him on the way to the changing rooms. “Yeah… bummer. Sorry.” Sorry? The voice inside your head was screaming at you to get it together and start acting like the normal you, the girl who didn’t shy away from flirting orcs. You kept going, his body close behind you, not touching, but close enough that you could feel the heat of his body against you back.

“Daaaang, your ass looks nice in those leggings.” He said, slapping your ass as you passed, making you jump and let out a screech. For fuck’s sake, get it together. “Look! It even jiggles.” He slapped you again. You moaned out loud as he laughed. You felt beyond mortified but hot, so fucking hot. You didn’t know what to say. He was so carefree and so easy going and you were still trying to process the pounding he gave you yesterday.

You entered the changing room before answering, mortified and confused. What the fuck was happening to you? You weren’t like that. You had to hide in the locker rooms for a few minutes before you could calm yourself down enough to go back out and start your workout. He was already there, lifting an ungodly amount of weight. Dang, no wonder he could lift you up so easily yesterday. You had to swallow a moan as you remembered.

Your lower back still felt sore, your pussy still raw. You could barely walk this morning, but you dragged yourself to the gym to see if you could see him again. You were hopeless, your pussy having a mind of its own. You knew you couldn’t even fit a finger inside your pussy today because of how raw it felt. You went home yesterday with his cum dripping out of your pussy and your leggings completely ruined. And you still couldn’t help yourself when you dressed this morning, not putting on panties under your leggings. You were the slut he called you, and that filled you with equal parts embarrassment and heat.

Your eyes locked as you stretched, he smirked at you, tusks shiny under the fluorescent lights. You looked down, feeling embarrassed beyond belief. “Where is the little slut who let a stranger creampie her sweet pussy yesterday?” He called out to you, his words made your pussy tingle and your and butterflies of nerves fly all around your stomach.

You squared your shoulders and answered: “Still here.” You bent down, your hands touching the floor as you heard him approach you.

He was closer than anticipated, when you stood up, his body was barely a foot away from you. His grin so big it felt like he was teasing you. Why was he so okay with all that happened? Why were you so awkward today? Ugh. Normally, you weren’t like that. He fucked the awkwardness into you. Maybe it was his cum. Maybe his creampie had some kind of magic that made you awkward.

“Doesn’t feel like it, darling.” He teased, the challenge clear in his voice. You could be mortified, embarrassed or any other thing, but you never backed down from a challenge. Something inside of you raised to the provocation, making your blood boil. Anticipation boiling inside you already.

“Don’t I? How would you know? You are a stranger.” You threw back, getting all up his space, your erect nipples touching his torso as you breathed hard. You had to look up to see his eyes. (How the fuck were orcs so tall?) The joy and mockery you found there made your anger rose, obscuring any other feeling inside of you. You wanted to prove him wrong. You wanted him to be the one being awkward around you.

He bent down, his mouth inches away from your ear as he whispered: “A stranger who fucked you so well you cried, slut.” You couldn’t have avoided it even if you tried. One second later, you were kissing the shit out of him as he groped your ass when he lifted you. You made out like teenagers as you ground down on his cock, whimpering when your pussy made contact with him. “Guess you weren’t joking about being sore, were you?” He chuckled.

“Nope. I’m very sore.” You blushed, hiding your face on his neck and biting down hard. He grunted, kneading your ass like it was a stress ball. Your mouth kept biting and sucking on his neck, probably leaving a bit fat hickey. You didn’t care, and guessed he didn’t either because he didn’t stop you.

“Good.” His growl was so deep that made your insides turn into jelly. “I like knowing you can still feel me.” Good lord his mouth. He had the filthiest mouth ever and you were all for it. He ran his fingers through the seam of your leggings. You knew the second he realized you weren’t wearing anything underneath. His hand stilled as he groaned. “You are not wearing panties.” It wasn’t a question and you nodded shyly. “You are a slutty, slutty woman.” It was your turn to groan. “You like that, don’t you? You like being a slut.”

“Yeesss…” You moaned, throwing your head back as he licked your neck. You felt the movement as he moved, your body still wrapped around his. He sat down on a bench, you on his lap.

“Tell you what. Because your pussy is still raw and I can’t use it, I’m gonna use your mouth. And you are going to let me, because you are a filthy girl who likes to be a slut for me, don’t you?” He was right. Him calling you a slut was completely true, you were a slut for big cocks, and you couldn’t deny it when he was supporting an erection as big as your forearm and your pussy was dripping thinking about it.

You groaned, disentangling yourself from his hold and kneeling between his legs instantly. You were taking his cock out before he could laugh about how eager you were. He fisted your ponytail and pulled, making you stop. “Nice and easy, don’t be too eager, slut.” He directed your movements from there, shoving your face against his dick, spreading precum all over your face. You opened your mouth, tongue out and looking up at him. He groaned. “I wish I had my phone so I could take a pic of you like that.” You shuddered, the thought of him doing just that making you hot all over.

He whispered praises and filthy words as he called you his slut while he pushed the fat head of his dick in and out of your mouth. You couldn’t take much more without choking, and he knew that. You tried to push him deeper, but his hold on your hair was too hard for you to do anything but to let him control the pace. You were, once again, a hole for him to fuck as he pleased. Yesterday he used your pussy, today he used your mouth. Either way, your pussy was quivering and you never felt so alive and so aroused.

“Touch yourself, slutty human.” He ordered. You complied, hand rapidly going into your leggings. Your pussy was dripping, probably soaking your leggings. They were going to get ruined, again.

But at that moment, with your knees hurting, your jaw stretched and your finger rubbing your clit, you didn’t care about clothes or about anything at all. You just cared about the green hunk in front of you and the way his fat cock felt against your tongue, almost hitting the back of your throat when he lost the pace he had going. He was close, you could sense it.

You moaned around him, catching him off guard and taking him deeper. He moaned, pressing a bit further, not caring about you anymore, just about his release. “Take it.” He said as he came deep down your throat, almost choking you. He pulled out enough for you to breathe as he kept coming on your tongue, filling your mouth to the brim. Some of it spilled out as he pulled out, jerking off over your face to make the last spurs land on your face. “So pretty like that.” He whispered. You flushed, feeling self-conscious. “Make yourself come.” He instructed, his eyes not leaving your face.

He took his fingers and slowly feeding you the come that landed on your face, pushing his fingers down your throat every single time. It was the single most erotic thing he did to you. Not the creampie, not the sharing with another, not the blowjob… Him looking intensely at you as he feed you his cum made your legs shake and your insides turn into mush. You came. Just like that. With his eyes on you and his fingers down your throat. Your own hand down your leggings, rubbing furiously at your clit. The soreness adding a nice edge of pain to your pleasure.

He grabbed your ponytail again, which was probably ruined at that point, and pulled you up from your kneeling position. It hurt, but it made your pussy convulse with aftershocks. “I gotta go. See you tomorrow, little slut.” He whispered against your ear as he kissed you deeply, his tongue seeking the last remains of his cum inside your mouth. You groaned and kissed him back, fervently. You made out for a couple more minutes, your body completely spent against his.

Your knees gave up when he let go of you. You landed on your ass, feeling the uncomfortable fabric of the soaked leggings rub the inside of your thighs.

Yeah, definitely ruined them.

Part 3 can be found here

#part 2 #orc #orc x human #monster #monster x human #monster fucker #monster imagine #teratophillia #monster boyfriend #monster x reader #orc boyfriend #orc x reader #terato #requests

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hoseoksluna · 1 month

Text

ROSÉ | jjk

pairing: boyfriend!jungkook x wine!oc

genre: smut

word count: 5.7k

summary: on your first dinner date, your boyfriend brings you a small gift—too bad you're too horny to appreciate it.

pinterest board: wine

warnings: a bit of drunkenness, a mention of inner child healing, oc teases jungkook and oc is horny as fuck, dom/sub dynamics, wine!jk, provider jk..., daddy issues, punishment, spanking, food used during intercourse, oral sex (f. and m. receiving), dirty talk, a mention of a sex toy & a mention of a plushie in a sexual context, raw sex, brattiness, jk and oc smoke together

note: OH GOD—IT'S FINALLY HERE. SLFJSLDFJS. A REQUESTED DRABBLE about wine!oc and jungkook. this was so fucking fun to write and i was so hot and bothered from this that i had to take a break............ yeah uhm anyways, I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS. ENJOY READING AND LEMME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK ANONYMOUSLY IN MY INBOX. I NEED YOUR THOUGHTS. PLS AND THANK YOU. ₊˚⊹♡

side note: jk in the first pic made me fucking die. and other things....

The rosy pink nectar has, undeniably, gone to your head.

Your empty wine glass is illuminated by the setting sunlight spilling past your shoulder, reaching its yellow, warm fingers to the tips of your boyfriend’s that rest lazily on the white cloth of the table. You’re woozy, in a lighthearted mood—so much that even the world has lost its heft and all you can sense is the sluggish process of your absorption. You’re engrossed in the way the spring coalesces with the beginning of summer—in the warm evening wind ruffling your curls, tickling your bare shoulders, in the darkening hues of the sky, pinks and violets, in the gray smoke of Jungkook’s cigarette interlacing with the slightly sultry air. You can see it in his eyes, the unfolding of it all. And perhaps you’re tipsy or perhaps you’re just brazenly and foolishly falling in love, because you’re aware that if the man weren’t sitting in front of you, none of these things wouldn’t have caught your attention in such a devastatingly profound way.

He has made you feel so safe. By simply and beautifully laying his feelings bare. To you and for you. Created a haven for you to dwell in, for you to grow in and explore all the dark and light corners of you that have merely seldom seen the face of the sun. How could you not indulge in a little bit of alcohol, when you’re protected in that place of security? Let your girlishness swim a little, refresh herself, enjoy herself?

You’re glowing. You always had been, but your shimmers have gained a new intensity to their twinkles, keeping Jungkook’s liquid stars warm and taken care of inside of you. Their blunt points have carved you into someone else entirely, too. Joyous, cool-headed and absolutely and irrevocably self-assured. Fearless. And his hands have reached deep within and caressed the head of your inner child, healing her and washing her clean, giving her everything she ever lacked. Love, attention, care and validation. Whenever you remember that you never wanted him to get a glimpse of your soul, bile rises in your throat and your stomach hurts.

He saved you. Healed you. Through and through. Gave you his control.

It stirs your never-ending awe that he has managed to do this in a month, and you want to celebrate it. You think now is quite the perfect occasion for it as it’s your first dinner date since you’ve become exclusive. Having spent most of your time at each other’s places fucking, partying and fucking some more, it’s nice to be out, alone with him, that is—and it’s nice as fuck to be out with your boyfriend. The sex has become so different with the label and the rawness of his feelings. And the thing about Jungkook that gets you the most, that strengthens the realm he invented for you, is that once his emotions overflow, the stream of its wine doesn’t stop pouring. The moment he confessed his love for you, ever since then you sense it expressed in everything he does—in the way he greets you in the day, in his tight, burning embrace, in the tenderness with which he holds your hand or kisses it, the relentless, great thought and consideration he puts in the choices he makes for you on the daily. Whether it’s the fatuous things he buys you that mean the world to you, the way he never neglects bunny and incorporates her in everything you do together or… the sex.

Fuck, the sex alone has taken over your life so vividly and drastically that it consumes your brain. There, in that environment, is where the wine of his emotions is the raciest. He’s not ashamed to cry, letting those liquid pearls trickle down your collarbones, quenching the thirst of his liquid stars as he fucks you dumb and enjoys every second of it. He’s not afraid to be loud either. To talk you through your orgasm with even more care and detail than you were accustomed to in the past.

He’s become boundless. And it’s the most attractive thing you’ve ever seen in your life.

God, you’d be crazy not to let yourself fall for him—

“I got you dessert,” Jungkook husks, digging his fingers into the pocket of his pants while his other digits draw close to his mouth. He takes a drag of his cigarette, crinkling his eyes so the smoke wouldn’t get into them and you beam at him with a fire that’s more scorching than the sun’s ever been in centuries, heart doing somersaults at the thought of him thinking of you and spending money on you again. And, also, at how hot he looks while he smokes.

Your love language must be gift-giving. You don’t know what else to connect it to, the joy that envelops your entire being whenever he gives you something. It doesn’t even have to be expensive, nor does he have to pay for it at all. Drawings have become your favorite keepsakes—drawings of his Miffy bunny, drawings of flowers, of you. You’ve hidden them away in a box along with everything he’s ever brought you, except the white bunny ring because you wear it daily and one small, particular drawing that you’ve put inside your glittery phone case.

A cutesy marker sketch of him and you. His arm around your shoulders. Bunny sitting on your laps in the middle, as if she were your own child. Cheeks big and bubbly, pink and twinkling. Your curls the way you wear them; his mullet. A perfect depiction of the pair of you. You gaze at it every single day—prefer to now put your phone face down because of it.

You’re tracing it now with the pad of your finger as you wait for him to reveal your mystery gift to you. The bulby heads, the cheeks, Miffy’s ears. Jungkook puts out his cigarette, puffing out the smoke, away from you, and once he’s done, he taps the back of your hand. Turns it over and spreads out your fingers, inserting, at a snail's pace, something round but slender at the same time, smiling adoringly at you.

What a sight to behold. It steals, fleetingly, your attention away from his hand.

Slicked back mullet, twinkles taking laps in his soft eyes, blushed cheekbones and stretched, pouty mouth, shiny with his liquid love. Long neck that you’d like to devour now, the broadness of his shoulders and chest that could come second as a plain, dark beige shirt accentuates his hard work at the gym.

Oh, fuck. Your nipples pebble against your carmine tube top.

Jungkook withdraws his hand and with blurry eyes, you look at the thing he placed in your palm.

Chupa Chups. Strawberry and cream.

Your mouth parts and it’s a concoction of a gasp and a sound of endearment when the realization that he got you a lollipop sinks in. Your heart flips and does a head stand. Lips round into a pout, drunk eyes softening, its twinkles growing in size and light. It’s like he gave you something golden, when in fact it costs a few wons, but to you it’s exactly that. Something so precious.

You give him an air kiss, bouncing in your seat in joy, fingers already destroying the wrapper. “Thank you so…”

Your brows furrow as the wrapper remains intact. You do a bad, bad job of picking at the tape around the slender stick, your long manicured hands absolutely useless—and the cause of your frustration. You puff out an angry gust of breath, trying harder to get to the sweet delight and it’s at that moment that your boyfriend takes it from your hands with a deep chuckle.

“You silly boo, this is how you do it.” Jungkook pinches the wrapper around the stick and he merely, in a few swift motions, twists the ball until it lets go. He scrunches it in his fists and throws it away in the ashtray. Smirks smugly, leans his elbows on the table, draws close to you. You mirror his position, get to him almost nose to nose, and his smirk deepens, tongue darting out to lick across his lips. You do the same, eyeing the round pinkness in his hand, the sexual attraction and its tension soaring high between you.

Without your hands, you could put it in your mouth, mimic the way you do it on his own tip and make him lose his mind a little bit. It’s right here, an inch away and you dip your head towards it, a magnetic pulling drawing you naturally to it. Sense his gaze on you, sense his delight, sense the flashback glimmering across the wholeness of him. But before you could wrap your lips around it, he moves it out of your reach.

“No,” Jungkook murmurs, breath slightly ragged, holds it up in front of your face, watches as you go cross-eyed a little bit. Hums at the sight, quietly enough for only you to hear. “If you want it, ask for it nicely.”

His puffy lips being so close to you, you desire to kiss him—cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink, his oh-so-loved dominance fucking with your drunkenness and your brain, body altogether. You tip your head to the side, flutter your lashes, make your eyes big and smile at him as sweetly as you can.

He coos, validating you, and it is a force that makes you feel safe enough to submit to him like a small animal to its father. Safe enough to want to get under the table and make him feel really, really good, too.

“Can I have the lollipop, please?”

He groans, still quietly, and your panties drench immediately. You widen your eyes at him, feeling your slick, pursing your lips to scold him silently. He just laughs, amused by it all, and the sound of his joy fills you with elation.

One that darkens, when he asks, “Where?”

You lick your lips, taking in the question, struck by it. Letting your mind wander, the places where you want it, except your mouth, is on your nipples and your clit. Nicely sweet and sticky—for him to clean up, for him to enjoy. Your dewiness soaks the material of your panties and your body begins to yearn for any kind of friction. You’re not sure whether you’re able to stick around in your chair, acting as if nothing’s wrong—acting as if you’re not stupendously horny.

“In my mouth.”

Jungkook makes a noise of appreciation and you’re so frustrated by all those sounds he makes that you want to dig your nails in his arms and make him pay for it. Even more so, when he plunges the lollipop into his mouth and his lips pucker around it, inciting the butterflies in your tummy to go absolutely fucking berserk. You place your hand on his bicep, nails ready to attack, but then he pulls out the treat with a pop, angling it at your mouth.

“Open.”

You thought he stole it from you, but he did no such thing. He wetted it for you, like a father for its child. You’re stupefied to the point that you don't even realize that you’re leaving a mark on the linen material of your seat.

You do open your mouth for him, however.

He twists the ball on your tongue, expecting you to close your mouth around the stick, but you don’t. No, you swirl that muscle around the candy, deepening your gaze, smirking. Jungkook stills, clenches his strong jaw. Darkness flicks across his eyes and he narrows them. First warning.

You pretend you don’t see it.

Closing your mouth and encasing your hand around his, you move the lollipop to the side of your cheek, acting as if it were his dick. And when you bob your head once, Jungkook tugs on the stick, wanting to pull it out, but you don’t let him, keeping it caged between your teeth. It only drives you to bob your head again.

“Stop,” he says, voice calm, deep and serious—terribly deadly. Withdraws his hand and leans back, watching you with a predatory gaze, one that makes you even wetter. “Or we’re going home.”

That’s exactly what you want. Instructions clear.

You open your mouth and do a show of swirling your tongue around the ball, only this time you flick the muscle against it. Jungkook grips the table, knuckles white, and you laugh, which you soon realize was a grave mistake.

“You think it’s funny?” he questions you, staring you down with a look that should frighten you, but it merely turns you on. You suck on the lollipop, the dulciness of strawberries suffusing your senses. “I’ll bend you over this fucking table, lift up that slutty little skirt and spank you in front of everyone.”

You pull out the candy with an exaggerated pop. Scowl at him. As though his words didn’t affect you the way that they did—as though you’re not squeezing your thighs together, trying to gain that friction you so desperately need. “Why are you so angry?”

He looks away for a moment, laughing silently. Nods his head at your wine glass. “You finished with your wine, baby?”

It’s this pleasantness that you hear in this voice that spreads goosebumps across your skin. Feigned sugariness—the sunlight right before the clouds come in and thunder strikes; the calm before the storm.

Good thing you’re dressed for the rain and ready to sing in it.

You nod your head and Jungkook clicks his tongue, grabs you by your hand whilst he pulls out his wallet. You accompany him as he walks over to the bar, black card ready between his fingers. Waits to be noticed. Gives you a look over and fixes your skirt, pulling the hem down.

Pays for you. Smiles down at you as he pockets his wallet.

And then, he drags you to his car.

Perhaps it’s the fresh air, perhaps it’s the briskness in his walk and the tight hold around your hand, but all intoxication evaporates from your body, leaving only your stained elation and neediness. You can’t help your smile. Think it must be sewn in at this point. By his own diligent fingers.

A wind blows in, pulling your hair to your front and Jungkook pins you against his car. Tits squished against the passenger side, elbows pressed together. Eyes wide, you check your surroundings and find no one in sight. Only swaying trees, buildings of apartments, lamps illuminating the dark street. You relax right away, trusting Jungkook that he’s on the lookout and knows what he’s doing.

He grinds his hips against your backside and you moan at the feeling of his hard length. With his free hand, he brushes your hair to one side and begins to pepper kisses along the curve of your neck, nuzzling his face in. Hovers his lips above your ear when he says, “You feel how hard you made me with your little show?” You nod, quickly, wanting more of him, wanting him inside of you. Push your hips back; twirl them in slow circles. Jungkook hisses. “I guess you really do want that spanking. Where’s your lollipop?” You show him your hand, where your treat remains uneaten and dry. He takes it from you and you turn your head in time to see him sink it into his mouth, placing it on the side of his mouth like you did. “Get inside the car.”

Jungkook opens the door for you and forces you in, closing it with a harsh thud. As he rounds the vehicle, he makes eye contact with you and your tummy flips in response.

Fuck.

Nothing happens in a millisecond once he’s seated, but then he grabs your cheeks, squishing them in the way he likes, and kisses you hard, lollipop in hand. Moving his mouth against yours, his tongue only briefly greets you before he pulls away. “Naughty fucking girl. You’re lucky that I love you because otherwise…” He doesn’t finish his sentence with words, but with another kiss, breathing against you, grunting when it’s you this time that slips the tongue inside, playing with him the same way you played with the dessert he got you. “Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me. I’m gonna put you in your fucking place, make you remember how to behave in public. You’ve forgotten, haven't you?”

You don’t have time to react, you merely bite your lip so hard that it aches. Jungkook pushes you back and yanks your leg between his, lifting your skirt. Then, he hovers his palm above your ass, the other forearm resting on the top of the seat, lollipop dangling near your head. He hides his smirk behind his effort to flatten his lips.

And when he spanks you, you don’t roll your eyes back and rasp like your body naturally wants you to. No, you hold the eye contact and you take the pain, letting it course through your body, reveling in it. He doesn’t say anything as he keeps going, alternating between slapping your now reddened cheeks and the back of your thigh. Doesn’t even stroke the skin to alleviate the burn. He solely bores his gaze into yours, his cock rock hard against your leg. Another set of words are exchanged, silently, deeply, teaching you your lesson in tandem with the hits, burying it to a great depth inside you.

And then he finishes with a nasty kiss, but his hand resumes causing you pain. You’ve lost count of how many spanks you’ve taken.

It’s like you’ve woken up from a trance. It reverberates throughout your entire body and it’s now that you allow your body to vocally react. You whine, rounding your mouth in a pout, so different from the one on the dinner date. And you remember your manners—perceive how wrong it was to tease him, even though a good half of you still takes delight in it.

“It hurts,” you whisper, nudging your lips against him and he gives you your last spank—the hardest of them all. The infliction makes you flutter your eyes shut and Jungkook brings them back to him by caressing his knuckles down your flushed cheek.

“Good, you remember how to behave now?” he asks, halting his movement, such piercing intensity in his irises that drive you to nod your head. “That’s my good little girl.” Taps the side of your thigh. “Let Daddy make it better now.”

You open your legs for him and Jungkook pushes your soaked panties to the side, revealing your little bedewed seashell. He hums at the sight of her, pops the lollipop back inside his mouth. Collects your arousal by swirling the pads of his middle and ring finger around your hole, eyes flicking from your pussy to your own, groaning when he comes into contact with your swollen clit, rubbing slow circles. You whimper, bucking your hips, needing him to go faster, needing to come.

Jungkook shakes his head, disapproving. “You take what I give you or I’ll stop.” Lifts his hand to express the gravity of his threat and you help, wrapping both hands around his and putting it back on your bundle of nerves. He chuckles at your desperation, giving you the same circles, though now firmer.

Waves the lollipop near your lips. You open your mouth, instinctively, and he plunges it into your mouth for a mere second before he pulls away, growling at the sound that comes out. He does it again, fucking you with it in a way, just to hear that pop and he’s so pleased with it that he sinks those two fingers inside your heat, fully, in one ego. Keeps them there. Teases you. Hovers the lollipop out of your reach and you decide to fuck with him back. Darting out your tongue, you whirl it around the flat side and he swears, moaning, giving to you at last.

He latches his mouth onto your neck, starting the drill of his fingers. “Fuck, you’re so hot.”

He picks up the speed so rapidly that you scream, squeezing your eyes shut, the pleasure permeating your body so vastly that you quiver all over. Grab a hold of his hair, pulling on it and then—

Then, he withdraws his fingers. Ruins your orgasm.

You pant, trying to catch your breath. “Please, Jungkook, please—”

He nudges his nose against yours. “What, baby?”

“I need to come, please.”

Jungkook tuts, kissing you once. “I thought we could play.” Plunges the lollipop into your mouth to wet it. Shows it to you, just to see you go cross-eyed again. Moans. “Where do you want it, hm?”

Ever the angel that makes your fantasies come to life. You wrap your fingers around his hand, butterflies swarming in your tummy. Lead him towards your still clothed breasts. “Here.” Take him to your drooling pussy. “And here.”

Jungkook makes a sound of approval. Descends his fingers a little lower, to your other hole, circles it. “What about here?”

You giggle, but you shake your head. The idea may be intoxicating, however reality is much different. There’s a risk to putting any sweetened food inside, one you don’t want to deal with.

Jungkook smiles at you, pushes your seat back and slides it in the same direction. Crawls over you and you feel so feminine, so sexy underneath him. Nipples perked under your top, breasts full and spilling. You arch your back towards him and Jungkook drags his thumb from your bottom lip, to your chin, neck, the dip of your collarbones until he reaches the hem of your Tom and he tugs it down so harshly that you can’t contain your very own concoction of a gasp and moan.

Lollipop in mouth, one hand propped by your head, the other squeezes your breast hard, nearing it, fingers pinching your nipple. Makes the flesh as red as your ass. You can tell he likes the view by the way he coos, but then he wipes all your thoughts away, when he sucks hard on the candy and swirls it around your stiffened nub, gaze flicked to yours to watch your reaction.

The pleasure is so vivid, so dizzying—and for him, you let it paint your face in all its colors. Brows scrunched, bedroom eyes, mouth parted, puffing out desperate breaths. Jungkook sucks it again and smears his saliva around your other nipple, taking his time, slapping the ball once against it, making you hiss.

“It feels so good,” you murmur, sinking your fingers into the longer length on the back of his hair, bringing his mouth to yours. You kiss him with a verve that causes him to groan. You swallow that sound, satisfied.

He grins at you. “I bet.”

Dips his head and envelops that sugar-coated nub with his warm lips, sucking it hard. His groan spreads there, deepens there and you arch your back even more, pulling his head to your other nipple so he can do the same thing. Join your other hand to his hair and do whatever you please—turn his head side to side, from one nub to the other—and he lets you, giving you, momentarily, his control. You feel your essence soaking the seat beneath you and you thank the heavens that the fabric is one of leather. You lift his head and try to push it down, but he won’t budge. Stares you down instead, lustfully.

“Where do you want me?” he asks, a wrinkle between brows. “Be a good girl and tell me.” Pops the lollipop back in his mouth.

You sigh, kissing him once on the side of his neck, using your tongue. Make sure you’re looking at him as you reply, “On my clit.”

He moans, eyes woozy, finger on the stick as he sucks the candy, clefts of dimples on either side of his cheeks. You palm his length, your own digits rounding across his tight balls and he whisks his irises back, grinding into your hand. “You want a lickie?”

“Yes, so bad, please.”

He hums and kneels before you, kissing your clit once in greeting. Then, he flattens his tongue and licks a fat stripe across your whole femininity—from your slit, to your swollenness. Hands on your hips, index curled around the lollipop, he holds you steady, prevents you from meeting him, as he stimulates you like this. Up and down, tongue rolling, eyes fixed on you, devouring you. And when he stops to suck your clit, he taps your mouth once with the ball of the lollipop. The act of sucking on something while you’re getting pleasured like this almost throws you over the edge, your body coated in a layer of sweat, but Jungkook withdraws in time. Presses the delight in the middle and rubs small circles, just to prepare you for the big thing. You become so whiny, so loud that his eyes grow in size, watching you in awe.

To reward you for such beauty, he rapidly strums it from side to side, causing you to nearly levitate, but he pins you down. Wetting it and placing it back down, grunting at the aftertaste of you mixed with the sweetness.

And he can’t resist. Can’t hold back. The wrinkle between his brows deepens when he tastes you, licking you all over, tongue stopping occasionally its feast to flick at your clit before he swallows you whole. Grunts, sucks, licks. Eyes closed to savor the taste. The pressure in your core heightens, even more so when he lifts your legs, greedy for the side dish in the form of your other hole. You’re so close that you might burst.

“You taste so fucking good, baby. So sweet. Come on my tongue, please, I want more of you.”

He wants more of your taste.

You come so hard that your orgasm takes you to an open sea, your body floating on calm waves, to and fro, eyes rolled to the sky—to the sunroof—seeing nothing but the elegance of the twinkling stars and deep purple clouds.

“That’s it, baby, so good. That’s my little girl.” He slaps the side of your thigh, bringing you back to him. “Listening so well, learning her lesson, coming so hard. I’m proud.”

His words alone could make you come again, but you’re distracted.

Jungkook unbuttons his pants and pulls out his manhood. Stroking himself, he lines his tip at your mouth. He doesn’t even have to tell you to open up—you do it yourself. Holding it at the base, he stuffs your throat right away, a guttural chuckle emitting out of his mouth when you gag. He pulls out to where you’re comfortable having him and you begin to bob your head, like you did with the lollipop.

“Yes, suck it like that, my love. Daddy loves it when you do that.”

His precum on your tongue, the way he’s holding himself, the position and his words—you moan around him, so out of your mind, so fucked out. And when he fucks your mouth, it turns you on so much that you go cross-eyed.

Jungkook pulls out quickly, as if the sight of it alone was about to make him come. A string of your saliva from his tip drips onto your chest and he slides into your mouth again just to poke your cheek, just to mimic what you did with the lollipop. You whine, liking it so much, to the point that he drills this tender place of yours until he can’t take it enough.

“Turn around.” You try to, but your legs are jelly. He manhandles you to the position he wants—on your knees, tits against the leather, arms around the headrest, the formerly abused cheek against it. “Hold onto it. Too bad we left bunny at home, huh?”

Jungkook runs his cock across your pussy and you grind against it, needing the friction after the way he used you. You whimper for him. “She’s probably wondering where we are right now and why we’re taking so long.”

“I’ll make it up to her.” He presses his length against your clit, encouraging you to use him back. “Rub your pussy like that on me, fuck.” He moves so it’s his tip that stimulates you. You ride him harder, moaning loudly against the leather. “You can make it up to her, too. Can ride her like I know you can. With a vibrator between your legs and hers, hm? How you like the sound of that?”

You’re so close you could come in a second, but you don’t want it like this. You need him inside of you. “Shut up, I’m literally gonna come like this. Fuck me.”

He fists your hair. Pain shoots up your scalp and he ruts into your heat. Fully. Until his pelvis collides with your ass. You scream.

Lips by your ear. “Is this how you talk to your Daddy?” He begins to pump into your little tight hole. Mercilessly. The leather squeaks, a horrible, rapid sound that you can only faintly hear because all that your senses can focus on is his cock. “Your Daddy that loves you so much?”

You come, pathetically. Sea and waves, palm trees that sway. Your legs tremble, but he keeps going, mouthing the shape of your ear.

He tsks. “I’m gonna tell bunny on you. Maybe I’ll be the one who gets to fuck her while you watch.” He gives you a hard stroke, one that is followed by rapid thrusts that scramble your brain. “She’ll be so disappointed to hear how bad you’ve been, but I’ll make sure to tell her how hard I fucked it out of you.”

Lifting you from the leather, he kneads your breasts, placing the lollipop in between and holding it up by squishing them.

“Come on, get your lollipop.” He bounces your tits in his hands, signalizing you that he wants you to do it with your mouth.

But you can’t do it. You come, majestically, your senses leaving you and wafting in the stuffed air of the car. Boneless, you sag in his arms.

Jungkook coos. “You come so well around me that I’ll be good to you. You’re just a cockslut, aren’t you, baby? You just can’t help it, hm?” He puts the lollipop inside your mouth, chasing his so-needed release.

It doesn’t take long for him to find the footsteps into that bliss that you left in your wake. He holds you like this, against him, tits spilling over his forearms as he jackhammers into you so hard that your whole body bounces, shakes and reacts to each grunt, to each whimper, to each kiss he presses onto your skin.

With the little of the brain you have left, you decide to talk him through it—because he fucks you so good.

“Come for me, Daddy, yes, please, fuck. Fill me up with your cum. I want it so bad, I want to feel you—” His cock twitches in you, but he continues, sloppily. “Yes, so good. That’s it. Come for your little girl, Jungkook.” A loud groan. A tight hold. A spurt of his cum inside your walls. You whimper and he fucks it deeper into you, giving you more of his liquid stars. “Jungkook, oh fuck, Jungkook, oh yes.”

And it’s that never-ending litany of his name that helps him chase his high to the fullest. He kisses your neck hard in gratitude for helping him come, marking you, marking this memory.

You stay like this for a little while. Sweaty, sticky, spent, breathing hard—lungs synced.

A warm announcement sneaks to your heart, one that screams it into the drowsy skies once Jungkook pulls out of you, turns you around and, stealing your candy, kisses you.

An announcement that you’re deeply and irrevocably in love with him.

“You sounded just like me.” He finishes your lollipop for you, chewing the small bulby head as he dresses you and his cum spills onto your panties.

Your smile is dopey, satisfied and you’re ready for sleep to take you, but Jungkook gets out of the car for a smoke. You think you need one, too, after what you’ve experienced together, and so you follow him out into the night on wobbly legs.

He leans against his car, a cigarette in his mouth, one hand cupping the fire as he flicks his lighter to life. You wait until he puffs out the smoke into the air before you fold into the side of his body, stealing his cigarette and inhaling it, giving it back to him.

Jungkook pats your head, rubbing your scalp, chin propped on it. “I didn’t mean what I said. You were perfect. I’m not telling shit to bunny, I promise.”

You smile, fondly. Didn’t take his words seriously, not at all, but you’re grateful for the reassurement regardless. It’s just role-play, nothing else.

“I know, baby,” you say, softly, massaging his stomach, going as far as under his shirt to feel his bare skin—ever so innocently.

“I wanted to fuck you the moment you sat down. You’re just my little helper and because of that I’m glad we’re going home with my cum in your panties,” he whispers, placing the cigarette on your lips, so you can take a drag. “You deserve every drop.”

You feel that familiar ache rooting in your core again, but you don’t think you can take another round. Jungkook lifts your chin, making you look at him. Twinkles, bigger than the ones of the stars up above, living in his soft eyes. That cute nose. Those pouty lips. His silky, dreamy heart that looks out for you and puts you first.

The three words that you’ve never told him before rise up your body and you think now is the perfect occasion to say them.

“I love you.”

Wetness coats his eyes and the twinkles broaden, saturating them with an unfathomable, fulging light. He flicks his cigarette away, presses you closer to him and with his now free hand, he cups your face. Kisses you. For a long, long time.

“I love you.”

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#jungkook x oc #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #btscreatorscorner #kpop smut #jungkook one shot

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familyvideostevie · 6 months

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steel drum weight of me

joel miller x fem!reader, 18+ mdni

summary: joel comes back from his wall shift with hands in need of some serious tlc. but why stop there? | 3.2k

warnings: fem!reader, fluff turned to smut, a tender blowjob, p in v sex, unprotected sex, riding, creampie

a/n: this could be in the same universe as come care about me and watching you with wonder but who knows. what matters is it's a post-part i jackson au and all is well. this is my first fic in a while and i hammered it out today so hopefully it's coherent. <3 series masterlist here.

Jackson looks its best in the winter.

You've always thought so with its endless skies gone white, blending in with the grey clouds carrying the constant threat of snow. The peaks you never tire of, such ethereal beauty in a world otherwise gone to shit, looming over town with a steadfastness that you can fool yourself into thinking means protection, means safety. In reality, they're just something nice to look at when you have a free moment.

It's also fucking cold.

But you can deal with that. You've spent more winters in the last twenty years than you'd like to remember mostly outside, freezing your ass off, fingers so numb you could barely pull the trigger. But when it counted, you did.

Winter now means a town full of children laughing and having snowball fights. It means big pots of stew and your pick of hats, scarves, and a good pair of boots. It means a warm house to go back to every night, a bed to crawl into, and a man you love to hold you.

Things could be worse.

You're home first today. Joel and Ellie are on the wall and have been since mid-morning. The light is already going, the sun dipping behind the Tetons, sky that winter mix of purple and pink that makes the breath catch in your throat no matter how many times you see it. There's a flu going around and taking people out for a few days at most but it means fewer bodies free for the wall and for patrol. You're pulling a double tomorrow and you're already looking forward to the hot bath you'll take after.

Today, though, you change from your work clothes to something softer, a sweater that travels between your drawer and Joel's, thick socks Dina gave you for your birthday last year. It's hard to heat houses like yours the way you used to but it works well enough to fight the chill so long as you layer. That's the name of the game these days: adapting.

You set the kettle to boil and forgo thinking about dinner for a few hours. Joel won't drink tea with you but if Ellie stops by she'll have some. Maybe you can convince her to watch the movie you pulled from the library this week. You love him, but Joel just doesn't appreciate comedies.

The front door creaks, the bell you have hanging from the doorknob jingling.

"S'me," Joel calls into the house. "You home?"

"Making tea." The kettle isn't steaming yet so you lean against the counter and wait.

The sounds of his return are familiar even though you can't see him. He locks the door with a click, shrugs his jacket off with a sigh. He sits down on the bench you put in the entryway so he can take his boots off. The thunk of one and then the other. He'll tuck them next to yours under the coat rack. When the weather is bad you try to come in the back door so not as to track snow through the house but you don't want his back to get any worse so a bench in front makes sense.

The kettle screams. You pull it off quick and pour the water into your mug -- a chipped green one with a dinosaur holding a cookie that you find endlessly amusing -- and leave it to steep. The floor creaks under your socked feet as you make your way into the hall. Joel still sits on the bench digging into the meat of one palm with his thumb like he's working the feeling back into them.

He looks up and his jaw softens a little. His cheeks are rosy from the cold and his hair a mess from the wind. "Evenin," he says.

"How was the wall?"

"Fine." He stops messing with his hands and rolls his shoulders back with a grunt. "Ellie swears she saw a moose on her last patrol. Said to tell you. I think she's fuckin' with me. How was your shift?"

"Fine," you echo. "Is she coming for dinner?"

He shakes his head. "Game night at Jesse's."

You cross the remaining distance between you and he parts his legs automatically so you can stand between his knees. You run a hand through his hair, pushing the greying fringe back from his eyes. He looks up at you and finally smiles, just a little. You drag your hand down the side of his face and enjoy the feel of his beard on your skin.

"Maybe she did see a moose." He rolls his eyes and brings a hand up to cover yours. You lean down to kiss him but something catches your eye and you pull back, tugging your hand from beneath his to circle his wrist.

"Jesus, Joel." He makes a surprised sound.

"Hey now, what --"

You pull his other hand from his knee and hold them both close to your face, turning them over in the light of the entryway. "You didn't wear gloves, did you?"

He just shrugs. That means someone else on the wall -- probably Ellie -- forgot theirs and he handed his own over.

The skin of his knuckles is dry and cracked, the rest of his palm dry and cold to the touch. You've seen them bloody, broken and bruised, and compared to that, this is tame. Welcome, almost. But you know he won't do a damn thing about it, let himself bleed rather than take a second to make things better.

And you've never minded this part. Taking care of him, making him slow down and rest for even just a little bit. You both know you'd get your hands dirty or worse for him and he for you, but this is the part he has trouble with. So you take the reigns.

It's part of how you fit together -- part of how you look after each other.

"We've got something for this." Joel looks unamused. You press a light kiss to one of his knuckles and his nostrils flare. "Go sit on the couch," you say.

"I'm fine --"

"Joel, they'll bleed if you don't let me --"

"I said I'm --"

"Hey," you say. He hears the finality of your tone and lets you have it, sighing your name in one long breath.

"Alright," he says. "Move, then."

You press a quick kiss to his lips and release his hands to step back. He stands with his usual grunt and you have to stop yourself from leaning into the width of him, from wrapping your arms around him and slotting your nose in his neck and never letting go.

"It's that salve Dina brought over last week," you tell him. "The new one for the winter. Smells nice. Good for this kind of stuff."

Joel makes his way to the couch and you fetch the tin from the kitchen.

"What's it made of?"

"Uh -- oil? And some flowers, I think? Wax, maybe."

He's settled into the cushions when you return, smirking. "It's okay to say you don't fuckin' know."

You sit next to him and unscrew the top, folding your legs so you're facing him. "Well then, I don't fuckin' know." You're sure to imitate his drawl.

"Cute."

"Gimme those hands, big guy."

The salve smells faintly of lavender and it's cold on your fingertips. Joel extends his right hand and you work it into his skin slowly, extra careful around where it's cracked and split. You feel his eyes on you but you let him look.

"Feels good, huh?" He hums. "If you'd wear your gloves then --"

"What was I gonna do, let her freeze?" So it was Ellie, then. You flick your gaze up and find his brow furrowed. If you have a free hand you'd smooth the crease with your thumb.

"No," you say. "Guess it's a damn good thing you have me here, then."

He chuckles, a throaty, rusty sound. "Guess so."

You finish the first hand and motion for his second. He gives it to you and you dig your thumbs into the meat of his palm. Joel lets you touch him whenever you like, for the most part. Pressing into his side when you walk down the street in town, trailing your lips down his neck until he whines just a little in your bedroom. You've worked knots out of his shoulders and cleaned blood from surface wounds. You can never get enough of him, of his warmth, the expanse of his tanned skin all yours for the taking.

And, boy, he touches you back.

So you take your time. You rub the salve between his fingers, over the ridges of knuckles split so many times you don't even know about. His hands are rough even when they're not dry and cracking, callused from years of hard work. From years of violence and playing guitar, shooting a gun and holding the people he loves. Dotted with scars and nicks, hands that have touched every part of you.

Joel's slightly slimy finger taps your chin. "You okay?" You've been stroking the same bit of his hand for who knows how long.

"Yeah," you say and mean it. You rub your own hands together to soak in some of the salve before putting the lid back on the tin and standing. "Need to let it soak in."

"Feels soaked in already," he grumbles.

"Stay there." He purses his lips. "I mean it, Joel."

"Bossy today," he says. "There's wood that needs choppin'." You ignore him since he's just being annoying. The salve goes back in the kitchen and his voice trails after you. "And I told Tommy I'd --"

You turn on the tap. "You gotta let that soak in," you say again from the sink.

"What? Can't hear over the water."

You turn off the tap and dry your hands. Joel is still on the couch when you return. "Sorry," you say. You run your hand through his hair again and settle back down next to him. "I said be patient."

"Don't think that's what you said."

"It's what I meant."

And he looks at you in that way that always makes your face feel hot. Like he's seeing right to the bone of you, like he's laying you bare on the floor in his mind. Like he never wants to stop looking at you, next to him on the couch, leg pressed to yours. Like he loves you.

"Alright," he says.

You get an idea, the flames licking at your belly and your hands itching to touch him again, to touch him differently than before. That idea has you grabbing a pillow and tossing it to the floor, has you getting up and drawing the curtains before you sink to your knees before him.

Joel only looks mildly surprised, eyebrows raised, mouth tugging up at the corner. "Now, I ain't gonna complain but --"

"Then don't," you say. You tug his shirt from his waistband and start working on his belt. "Gotta pass the time somehow. And I don't know what we're doing for dinner yet, so maybe I'm just stalling."

"Hell of a way to stall." He reaches for you to touch your face, maybe, or help you with his belt, when you click your tongue. "We can just go to the community hall--"

"Don't touch," you remind him. "You have to let it--"

"Soak, Jesus, yeah, yeah." Joel tips his head back along the sofa and takes one deep breath. If he really wanted to he could ignore you and you'd let him get away with it, but if there's one thing you and Joel have solidified, it's trust. He trusts you to take care of him, to handle him with hands that love him.

So you do. He lifts his hips just a little so you can tug his jeans down, zipper undone and button popped. You pull out his cock, already half-hard at the promise of what's to come. You spit into your palm and stroke him once root to tip and he hisses. More blood flows and he stiffens in your hand.

"You just gonna look at it?"

You give him a squeeze for being a shit. He laughs but it sounds punched out, on the edge. Frankly it's an effort not to take him in your mouth right away. You've always loved this -- the exchange of power, the trust. You're the one on your knees but you're calling the shots. And he's mouthwatering. The way his cock curves a little, the vein that runs along the underside. The mushroom head a little pinker than the rest, the wiry hair at his base. The hefty weight of his balls in your hand, on your tongue. You know how to make it good for him and it's good for you, too.

Joel opens his mouth to no doubt say something else annoying so you finally drag your tongue along the vein, swirling a little at the top before taking just the tip of him in your mouth. His precome is salty. You work your hand along the rest of him as you start to suck in earnest, hollowing your cheeks and taking a little more each time.

"Look so pretty, baby," Joel says. His voice is gravely, broken in his throat. You manage to take almost all of him and you swallow, just once. Your reward is your name spilling from his mouth in a groan.

It's messy. Spit beads at the corner of your mouth and drips a little as you work him, breathing through your nose when you take him all the way. So good, takin' all of me, keep goin'.

Joel has clearly forgotten your directive as he winds one hand in your hair and pulls just a little, just enough to make you moan around him. You don't scold him for it, instead keeping your eyes on his face. His head is tipped back just a little, lips parted at he gazes down at you. His other arm is stretched along the length of the couch, his fingers digging into the fabric as you bob on his cock.

You know he's close. You can feel how he's trying hard to keep his hips down, trying not to fuck your throat cause usually he asks first. So it's only a little surprising when he pulls you off him, eyes a little glazed and some color high on his cheeks.

He wipes spit from the corner of your mouth with the pad of his thumb. "Why don't you c'mere?" he says. "Let me fill you up."

"Joel." This was supposed to be about making him feel good. You know even if he comes in your mouth he'll ask you let him touch you, so frankly you don't mind if he fucks you or not.

He smirks, presses his fingers into the side of your neck a little. You swallow so he can feel it. "We both know you can take it," he drawls, eyes dark. "Always gets you goin', my cock in your mouth."

You can feel the heat between your legs, the arousal pooling in your gut. He's right but he's also an asshole. "You're annoying," you tell him.

"So is that a no?"

You drag the flat of your tongue up his shaft one last time as punishment before standing, using his knees as leverage to get off your own. He shucks off his jeans the rest of the way as you drag down your pants, letting them pool with your underwear at your feet before stepping out. Joel holds out a hand for you to balance on and you take it, putting your other on his shoulder.

"Feels softer already," you mutter. Joel snickers and you straddle him. He uses one hand to drag his fingers through your cunt and you fail to swallow a gasp.

"Well, look at that," he says. "I was right." He pushes two fingers into you and they go easily, your hips jerking as he pumps them in and out once, twice, and then you're empty again.

"Smug bastard," you manage. He brings his hand to his mouth and takes a long lick before surging forward to kiss you. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it makes you even wetter.

Joel licks into your mouth and you kiss him back sloppily, desperately, in the way you know he likes. You're so busy with that hands on his face, his beard scratching your skin deliciously, that you don't notice what else he's doing. His hand presses into the bare skin of your back under your shirt and you lift up a little on instinct and then --

The head of his cock nudges at your entrance and his hand presses again and you meet the movement of his hips with your own and he fills you with just one stroke.

You moan in unison, Joel's arm wrapping around your back as you curl yours around his neck, mouths not so much pressed together as hovering as you pant, as you adjust. Even with how wet you are Joel is a stretch, a welcome one, but a stretch regardless. You shift your hips, roll them back and forth a little.

"Go on, then," you tell him. "Fuck me."

He laughs.

His lips leave yours and trail down your chin, sucking spots onto your neck and on that spot that makes you keen as he does what you ask. He goes slow at first, letting you meet him thrust for thrust. One hand snakes up your shirt, thumbs at your nipple when he finds no bra in the way. You wing your fingers in his hair and tug, tug until he picks up the pace, until all you can hear is the smack of his flesh against yours.

"Joel -- Joel -- right there --"

"M'not gonna -- I -- fuck --"

"Said you were gonna fill me up, didn't you?" you pant, managing to find a bit of cheek in the haze of your fucking. "C'mon, Miller. Don't keep a lady wait--"

His hips pick up the pace, his hands pressing into you hard enough to bruise. You give up trying to tease him and hang on for dear life, managing to snake a hand between your legs to rub at your clit as he pounds into you. The only thing you can say is his name over and over as you feel the hook pull taught, feel the head of his cock brush against and then pound that spot that makes your vision blur.

Joel comes just before you do, his thrusts stuttering and his name on your lips. You feel it, the heat inside you and it's enough to send you over the edge, your cunt squeezing him as he empties inside you.

You press your forehead to his and catch your breath. He palms your neck, your jaw, slides his thumb lazily under your eye and kisses the corner of your mouth.

"Hell of a salve," he manages.

You slot your lips over his. "Wear your damn gloves." Joel laughs and it shifts him inside you. Even softening it makes you both hiss a little. "Just gimme a second."

His hand drags up and down your back, pressing into your spine. "Take your time," he says. "M'clearly not goin' anywhere."

"You never stop, do you?"

Joel kisses you again. "'fraid not."

You laugh into his neck. "Good."

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction

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sinning-23 · 23 days

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Bikinis On Top (OPLA Bikini Headcannons)

Seeing their bbygrl in a bikini opla headcannons

THis gets a lil RISQUE soooo 18+

Hey youguys i know its been a while lol I've been s swamped with work and Enjoy this in honor of hot girl summer approaching lmao I promise I'm getting back into eh groove of writing!

alos pls excuse spelling errors yall know me lmao

Luffy

-It’s hot and his shirts are open 9 times out of 10 so

-He was a bit stunned to see you with one of Nami's bikini tops adorning your chest with a nice pair of jean shorts.

-Boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs

-He's really trying to act normal but you can always tell when those big brown eyes start shifting from your face to your chest. And he always has that goofy grin on his face

-Strongly believe he's the type to impulsively bite them. lmao like literally grab two handfuls and CHOMP.

-He always was more of a boobs guy.

Zoro

-"Where's the rest of your shirt."

-He’s got his eyes skillfully flickering from your chest to your eyes then to you collar bone and again.

-“You don’t like me showing them off?” You question, slipping past him with a smile

-the funny thing is, you’re not talking about your boobs. You’re talking about the bites and hickeys he skillfully placed along them

-crazy how near the end of the day, the only thing the crew can seem to find as a trace of you is the discarded bikini top

Sanji

-He helped you tie it this morning when the sun had first been shining to brightly into your room, heating both of you up.

-personally, Sanji likes it when you wear the full piece, the straps of your bottoms just barely peaking out from the low-rise jeans you've got on.

-He also is one to pull your strings when you're also so the top just falls down to reveal the girls

-Is the type to lift you up out of the pool and set you up to sit on the steps like the goddess you are and just admire.

Usopp

-matching swimsuit set matching swimsuit set matching swimsuit set

-He always likes seeing you in a nice brown or sage green two-piece.

-won't say anything but wow when he sees you and smiles.

-Keep it polite but just know his hugs from behind will always end with him pulling at your bottom straps and letting them snap against your skin.

"USOPP!" You yelp, narrowing your brows at him while you massage the spot.

"Ok ok, i'm sorry mommas" He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the affected area, his large hands massaging the flesh of your thighs.

Nami

-Strictly a bikini gf and wifebeater+swim trunks gf duo lmao

-This can go either way actually. If she feels like a bikini kinda day it's gonna be a bright orange or a pure white with a sunhat and a nice flowy cover-up

-A she can't and won't make it easy for you to keep your hands off her,

-If YOU are in the bikini and she's in the swim trunks she REFUSES to keep her hands off you. She knows her girl looks good asf.

-Expect to have your ass smacked.

Shanks

-Is definitely keeping you on his lap while everyone else is splashing around. It was a pretty chill day and everyone decided hey why not go for a swim

"Can I please get in the water Shanks?" You sigh, pulling the strings of his swim trunks as he smiles and gives a quick "Nuh-uh"

-"Your ass looks too good. Just stay here a little longer hm?" he asks, squeezing your thighs, pressing kisses to your shoulder.

-He doesn't waste time taking you somewhere secluded to pull those bottoms to the side, somehow loving the way your ass looks in those bottoms every time he thrusts

Mihawk

-He personally likes it when you wear one of that cute pinup like 50's monokinis? And some wedges with a bandana. UGH he's gonna be right there with you avoiding the sun under the umbrella (that pale ass skin lmao)

-Will 100% lather you in sunscreen and just paper your shoulder with kisses.

-He's not taking you to eh pool he's taking you to the beach and you're just sitting together, enjoying one another company

-"I'm fucking you within an inch of your life after this." H admits in monotone, skin already starting to darken in a tan

-"Yes splendid." You reply still resting, enjoying the faint heat of the sun.

Buggy

-HAHAAAAAA this man will tear it off and then feel bad and get you another one...just to tear that off too

-is a sucker for the bikinis with anything on the boobs lmao he thinks they look like targets

-I like to think that ocean water is the only thing like that is an issue lmao so it is safe to say he's in the pool every summer, roughhousing with you and the rest of his crew

-I mean just a bunch of fucking kids lmao, macro polo, chicken fight, pretending to be a shark, you name it

-accidentally caused a nip slip tho and yelled for everyone to look away while shielding his girl.

743 notes · View notes

cherry-leclerc · 1 month

Text

so long, london ☆ ln4

genre: angst, toxic relationship traits, fluff, humor, established relationship, one-sided, smut

word count: 7.3k

You've never been read so easily by someone until he entered your world. All is good, all is true love, but realistically, that all comes crumbling down. Leaving you with a series of doubts. The kind you ignore because why not?

nsfw warning under the cut!

18+...penetrative sex, m!receiving, f!receiving

inspired by this and this !

To be completely fair, the accent wasn’t all that familiar to you. It’s odd, then alluring, then it makes you curl a brow. Australian? British? Irish—no, that’s too far off, ridiculous, really.

It’s the end of spring, which means it’s also the start of summer, which also means your job is in full force. Which is good if you’re still considering transferring to London to study abroad. You were, thank you very much, which is why you needed a shit load of money.

Being a waitress isn’t all that bad; the view was breathtaking. Laguna Beach has always been and always will be. It’s impossible to take away its charm.

The diner is small, yet crowded, so it’s hard to get through with a stack of breakfast plates atop one another. A piece of bacon slips past you as you let out a curse, mentally noting to clean it up on your way back. “An order of pancakes, french toast, two hashbrowns, bacon, four freshly squeezed orange juice—shit. I forgot, it was grapefruit, wasn’t it?”

Setting down the plates as carefully as you can with their assistance, you let out a sigh. “I’ll be right back—”

“It’s fine, mate. Orange juice is just as good.” His voice is soft and rough, all at once.

You halt, fixing your apron, awkwardly. “No, it was my mistake, I’ll fix it—”

Mmm, delicious, his friends chime in as they take a sip from the fresh beverage. The blue eyed boy signals with his dark brows. “Told you. Don’t worry about it.”

“Cool,” you mumble. “Enjoy. Oh, and let me know if you need anything.”

They don’t, which is quite upsetting since you were slightly curious to find out if you were right. Smoking a joint, you hear a loud cough. The mysterious brunette waves. “Tough shift?”

“Of course not, I love it.”

He nods. “I’m sure you do, but I’m also sure that’s not the complete truth.” He sits. “You’re on your break, I presume, which means you're not on the clock, which means I’m no longer a customer, but rather just a stranger. A stranger whom you will most likely never see again, so…”

A puff expands through the blue sky and yellow sun. You squint. “I’m worn out. Down. Worn down? Both.”

“You’re good at hiding it.”

A chuckle. “But you were able to notice which obviously means I’m not much of an actress.”

He motions over to the cigarette. You hesitantly hand it over to him as he sucks sharply and releases. Bemused, you make a face. “I was because I go through the same thing, oftentimes. More like all the time.” Another hit. “I understand.”

“I’m not sure whether I should feel seen or scared…” Humor laces your soft voice as you quirk a brow. He laughs.

“Seen, definitely.” A beat. “I’m Lando. Foreign visitor.”

Shaking his hand, you ease up, smiling, gently. “Nice to meet you, Lando—foreign visitor.” A pause. “Resident.”

“Really, now?” He plays along, teasing. You can hear it.

“Lucky, I know. Been here my entire life. Can’t complain.”

“I bet.”

“Yourself?”

Lando winces. “England. Bristol, specifically. Ever been?” Nope. A toothy grin. “Don’t—rains all day long, gloomy all year. It’s depressing, but…” He relaxes. “It’s home.”

Staring off into the waves, you cover your face from the strong breeze. Salt air splits your tongue in half as you wipe your mouth. “Your accent. It’s captivating. As soon as I heard it, I grew jealous.”

The Brit frowns. “Your accent is much better. Clean,” he adds and you let out a snort. Accent—what accent? He rolls his blue eyes. “That one. You might not consider it one, but it is. Very…pretty.” A rosy tint flourishes onto his cheeks. Summer heat, summer breeze, perhaps.

Retreating the roll from his hand, you stomp on it, letting the light die. “Thank you, Lando from England. You made my day.”

That’s the end, really. Just a nice encounter that still doesn’t make much sense, but you’re glad it happened. Normally, after a tiring shift, you borrow Benny’s surfboard and rush towards the killer waves. The soothing water releases a lot of the built up tension that lies between your shoulder blades.

Today isn’t much different. After getting yelled at for— “getting the fucking order wrong, bitch” —and— “my toddler just threw up, yes, oh, nevermind, had a…teensy accident” — you don’t second guess it. As soon as your skin connects to the warm temperature, you sigh in sweet relief.

“I need to get out, I need to get out, I need to—”

“You just got here, though. Plus, the water feels nice, don’t you think?”

Startled, you sit up on your board, rocking back and forth. With what looks to be a painful tan, Lando smiles, sheepishly. “Hello…again.”

“Are…” You look around, but the ocean is practically empty. “A-are you stalking me?”

His smile drops. “W-wh—no! Of course not! I saw you from afar, and I just thought…” He grimaces. “I should go.” Except he can’t. Every chance he tries to tread away, the waves only push him back. It’s comedic. “One sec…crap. One more—shit. Okay, two, two sec—”

“Ah, forget it, stay. Land of the free, no?” Rubbing your nose, you pull his paddle closer. “What brought you out here?”

“Heard it was a good day to attempt to surf. Tell you what—it’s not.”

A giggle escapes, then lessens. You furrow your brows. “Hold on a minute; are you teaching yourself? As in, no instructor? Just you? Alone? Solo?”

“Yeah, what about it?” he grumbles. “I can do it.”

You’re wheezing at this point, stomach clenching. “That’s nearly impossible! I’m mean, sort of, sort of not.” When his eyes don’t switch from being offended to getting the joke, you quickly snap your lips shut. “Can I teach you? It’s not that hard.”

He gapes, curls grow more and more. They’re cute, the way they bounce when he shakes his head. “And if it’s so easy then why can’t I just do it myself?”

“How long have you been trying?”

He burns up. “That’s not the point.”

“No, that’s exactly my point. You need a mentor, and lucky for you, I’m a surf instructor on the weekends. Come on.”

The twenty-four year old is not sure he even wants to be here, suffering from an overdose of embarrassment. Every single attempt ends up with him splashing straight into the clear water. He groans for the millionth time, clutching into his board. “I think I’m done for the day.”

You don’t fight him on it. His bruised nose makes you feel bad, and his chipped lip makes you want to giggle, so yeah, that’s enough. He can taste the salt water as he smacks his lips, trying to get rid of it. You click your tongue. “That doesn’t really do anything. Not until you bathe and brush your teeth. Or rinse. Either or.”

He invites you to the mansion he’s rented for him and his friends, declaring that there would be endless amounts of alcohol, but when you decline, he rubs his jaw and grimaces. “Yeah, I’m not in the mood, either. Craving tacos?”

So, that’s what you two do; converse over an amazing meal. You can already note his skin shedding, but for some reason, it’s endearing. You even spot a couple of moles. Chewing rapidly to try and forget about the spice, he pants. “London, eh?”

“England,” you correct. He deadpans you.

“That’s basically the same thing. It’s along the same lines. Just like Monaco and Paris.”

You shrug. “London—yes.”

Sniffling, he reaches for his can of Coke. Gasping left and right, he winks to the best of his ability. “You’re a smart girl…I think. And you’ll get in…I think.”

“Gee, thanks, I think.”

He laughs. “I hope you get in. I really do, Laguna Resident.” You roll your eyes. “You won’t miss all of this, though?” The warmth, the people, everything. A bittersweet feeling runs through your veins, momentarily, before you wave him off.

“Nothing is holding me back, forcing me to stay. I’ll be just fine.”

Finally, he calms down, occasionally sneezing. The way he excuses himself makes him look very polished. Lando licks his lips clean, drumming his long fingers against his lap. Later you would find out this would be his nervous tick. A teller. A good one, at most.

“Call me? When you get there, I mean—if you want to, of course. No pressure.”

And while you may not have a reason to be a part of SoCal anymore, something else seemed to tug you to the other side of the world. “Might have to take your word for it.”

“Good.”

You grin, looking down onto your lap. Later he’d know this was your way of avoiding his stare. Butterflies, for the meantime. “Good.”

“No, no, no! You were supposed to—forget it, nevermind. Did you at least—” The stream flatlines and Lando is left speechless, headset drooping down, inch by inch. The way his eyes furiously twitch is enough for you to peck his cheek.

“It’s late anyways. Come on, let's go to bed.”

There’s utter nonsense, and mumbo-jumbo that he spills as he reluctantly follows. If Max had done this, and if Max had done that. Pouting, you cradle his face, forcing him to look at you. “You’re telling me you wish you would still rather be playing than spend time with me?” You gently slap his face and he smiles, sheepishly. “I’m hurt.”

“No, no, you’re right. Of course I want to spend time with you.” When you peck his nose, he sighs. You can faintly smell the cheap beer, courtesy of said Max, so you let out a screech, creating a distance.

“Never mind. I don’t want to spend time with you, you reek.” His smile drops and you pinch the tip of your nose. “Reek, I tell you. Go brush your teeth!”

The McLaren driver snarls, then makes his way over to your shared bathroom. “I remember when you used to be fun. Seems like a decade ago.”

“And make sure to floss!”

If you’re able to remember, you could openly admit that you did make that call. Actually, text. You got cold feet and sent a text last minute. You met up at the pub just around your dorm, the one that is only busy during the weekends, so is practically empty during the week. Hence, Wednesday night.

Wow. Your tan is gone, is the first thing he says when he sees you. It’s true. Being away from the California sun has completely changed you. A bit, but it did. Giggling, you accept his hug, finding warmth. London weather. “How was the move? I want to hear all about it.”

Oh, the move was as good as it could get. The airport lost two of my luggages, but it’s fine, I didn’t really need many dresses, because yes, you were right, it’s always gloomy. I miss Benny like a baby, but we always keep in touch—I’m actually going to visit him for his birthday. Which is in January? Yes…yes! January third.

“What about you? Work?”

First of all, can’t really consider it work when it’s fucking fun. Second of all, it’s quite swell. I’ve got a new teammate, which sort of sucks, but he’s nice. The car is a bit wonky, but I’m sure that’ll change throughout the course of the year. Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.

Conversations switched from having them on a steady stool in the pub, to having them in the comfort of his flat. Plus, you two were more open and honest with one another.

Benny, yeah, it’s pancreatic cancer, and no, I’m not okay.

The team is fucking shit. My arm still hurts from last week's crash, but I’ll be fine. Please, don’t you worry, love.

Lando is an absolute angel. He pays for your tickets back home, along with Benny’s treatment. He declines the help at first, but as soon as he meets your smiley boyfriend, he accepts. I’ll pay you back. Once I’m better. Lando laughs with a muppet dive. Of course—of course, Ben.

You take care of him and his injuries. Follow doctors orders. Ice at least twice a day. Don’t forget to take your pain meds. No, for the love of God, they’re not candy, sweetheart.

It’s the best and the worst. And it’s all yours.

He’s very much obsessed with Mila as soon as she’s born. He congratulates his brother and his sister-in-law once, and off he goes, straight to the newborn. It makes you fall in love even more, which you didn’t know was possible, but here you were.

“I say give it a year or two.”

“More like five. Come on, honey, be realistic.”

“I am! Can’t you tell he adores her?” Oliver scoffs. “He’s my brother. I would know.” His wife rolls her eyes, then moves on to snap a few pictures of Lando and Mila, then a thousand videos.

“Crap. I want one,” he mentions on the drive back home. He gently rubs his thumb over your leg; you shudder. “You saw me, you were a witness, I was a good enough babysitter!”

“Babysitter? You’d be a dad, not a babysitter,” you retort, though your wobbly grin is a dead giveaway. A long finger pokes at your ribs as you laugh, scooting as far enough away as the McLaren allows you to get. “One day. Just not now.”

And he knows that’s true. He’s busy with racing, you’re busy with school; it's irresponsible. Your confirmation was sweet though—it was enough. The Brit hums, continuing the drive with a bright smile.

“One day, then.”

Baby talk was a fun thing to dream about. To think, daydream. Marriage talk? Now that’s serious.

It started on a Sunday morning; a non-race week. He’s finally back home and you're ecstatic. He was too, but that slowly goes out the window when you rush him to the room. I like where this is going, he starts when you drag him along. You bite back a smile, waiting for his noise. “What the shit?” he yelps, pulling on his curls. Spinning to face you, your boyfriend groans. “Where’s all my gaming—sweetheart,” he softened his voice, softened his eyes. “Sweetheart…”

“It’s gone! Bye-bye, adios!” You twirl around the empty room. “You don’t need it, Lando. It was rotting your brain.”

The color from his vibrant face fades, leaving him to let out a delirious laugh. “No, no, it wasn’t. Wh-why would you do that?” He doubles over. “I’m going to be sick.”

After a while of letting him drown in a puddle of self-pity, you snicker. Blue eyes look up at you; furrowed thick brows. What? “They’re in the guest room. I just needed us to paint the walls.” Releasing a scream, Lando plunges for you, picking you up and spinning you around until you flop against his arms.

“Asshole!” you yell, smacking his arm. After a series of instructions, you both fall into a pattern. He focuses on the left side of the room and you focus on the left and the right. It just makes sense.

“Stick to your side,” he mumbles, pushing you away. You burn a laser to the back of his head. “I can feel you killing me—stop it.”

“Then quit drawing, you’re ruining it!” There’s a cat, a dog, a house, his racing car, you—you presume— and Mila for good measure, but he serves her no justice as she appears to be more of a blob. Going over it with a thick layer of paint, he curses to himself. As soon as he picks up the thin brush once again, you immediately set your foot down. “No, Lando, think before you commit.”

But he must not hear you—or ignores you—because suddenly he’s drawing something unrecognizable. You almost laugh when you guess it must be a donut, but when he draws the familiar rock, you come to a halt. “Stellar, no?”

“Hardly. Looks like more of a neck guard—next!”

But he pushes you away as soon as you reach over to cover it up. “I’m being serious. I’m mean, not now, but someday. Are you…” His voice drops, slowly, and he drums his fingers onto his thigh. Your lips turn upward. “...open to it? Getting married?”

“Well,” you start and his breath hitches, nervously tapping, awaiting for your response. Pressing your lips against his, you breathe out, and he groans. “I love you, Lando. I’m more than open to it.”

He sighs in relief, kissing you harder this time, with more emotion. “Good.” A beat. “Thank you.”

Slowly, but surely, you’re celebrating your three year anniversary—in Japan, a race week—but still. Yuki specifically gives you two a list of places to visit, so it makes everything a thousand percent easier. Fifth, he grunts, throwing his helmet onto the tiny bed in his motorhome. Screw it, I’m blowing my brains out.

“Hey now, quit talking like that.” A kiss. “I don’t care if you’re upset, I happen to be super duper proud.”

“It’s Super Trouper,” Oscar yells from the other side of the wall. “Don’t disrespect ABBA like that.

“Yeah,” Lando hums, pulling you in. “Don’t.”

“I’ll pull the trigger,” you warn.

He gasps, theatrically. “You wouldn’t dare…”

“Try me.”

“I already have—sweet.” His dirty implications makes you heat up and the Australian groans as he turns up his music. Lando snickers, changing quickly. “Happy Anniversary. It’s not everyday, you know?”

“I know,” you cheer, playing with your promise ring. You beam up at the bubbly Brit. “I just wish we were home. Celebrating in the comfort of our own place.”

He doesn’t mention it, but you considering London your home—despite not growing up there—makes him crush on you harder than ever before; it's sickening. Clapping loudly, he stands up, reaching for your hand. “Then let's go back home. What’s keeping us here?”

“Yuki,” you grunt, taking his open hand. “We’d be breaking his heart, Lan. We need to do these twenty-one things.”

“Ah, he’ll understand.” A pause. “If he doesn’t then we’ll just buy his next meal to make up for it.”

Cackling, you peck his face, over and over until he pushes you away in a jokeful manner. “This is why I love you, Lando Norris!”

And he’s content, admiring the way you pack happily. He’s never seen someone so giddy to spend fourteen hours on a plane just to curl into the comfort of their bed. He’s just never seen or met anyone like you.

It was perfect.

As soon as he picks up his own digital camera, he’s in love. Part of you would be jealous, definitely, if it weren’t for him stopping to take a thousand pictures of you. One in the McLaren garage, next to his car. One where you balance yourself on a swing, eventually falling straight onto your face. One of your newly bruised nose, due to the fall. One where you’re sleeping, drooling like a—

“Delete that, I don’t even want to see it!”

Shaking his head full of curls, he runs away. “No! I happen to love it!”

“Lando!”

“You look adorable.”

“Fuck you, I’m leaving. Spend the night alone, loser.”

You don’t end up keeping your word. You get your revenge, eventually, when you pie him in his sleep. He nearly chokes, but it’s all in good fun, according to you.

But neither of you would have it any other way. You just happen to be his muse.

His greediness starts to show overnight, nearly. It catches you off guard, leaving you like a lost dog. The worst part is that it’s not directed directly at you, per se, but it felt like it. Most of the time, you’d deal with this by talking to him until he calms down, by making him a cup chamomile tea, because—

“It doesn’t help!” He paces the small room, throwing his gloves harshly against the wall.

“Studies prove—”

“Studies my ass.” An angry huff. “I just need to be alone. For a while.”

And it also catches you off guard how you don’t fight him back on it. Instead, you’re glad, fleeing out the door, straight to God knows where. Strolling, you twist and turn the thin band.

Where are you going?

“You said you wanted to be…” Except it’s not Lando. George quirks a dark brow. You gulp, forcing a smile. “I’m sorry. I thought you were…” A painful pause. “I thought you were Lando.”

“Must be the accent.” He laughs. “Don’t worry about it. Carmen actually made me chase you down. Said she wants your opinion with something about the wedding. You know her—perfectionist.”

“Oh. Yes. Of course.” Throwing your hair over your shoulder, you beam brighter this time, though it doesn’t quite meet your eyes. “I have plenty of time.”

He’s rude when he finds you. Well, not really, but even your friends notice it. I’m telling him to wear a simple black and white suit. A bow or a tie, he can decide, but he’s insisting on wearing white and I’m like hello? You giggle, orbs moving to find George with a playful glare.

“Why can you be the only one wearing white? It’s this some kind of rule or?”

“No, but it’s weird!” Carmen turns to face you, desperate eyes begging for backup. “Come on! Tell him it’s weird.”

Plump lips flicker upward. “I don’t know, George, it is a b—”

“Awful. You’re going to steal all the attention away from Caren and you’re going to look horrible. Just go with a traditional suit.”

The Mercedes driver doesn’t pay any attention to what was just said to him, but you and Carmen do, and that’s probably worse. You can tell she’s bothered by your boyfriend's unwanted opinion and for him going after her fiancé, so you briskly stand up. “Sweetheart, are you, um…ready to go?”

The Brit nods, fixing his bag that lays over his shoulder. “That’s why I’m here, no? Could have let me know you were leaving, too.” There’s tension in his voice; annoyance. “Also, I forgot your bag. I’ll wait for you here.”

His implication makes you queasy. You blink hastily. “Of course.” Turning to the older couple, you smile politely. “Um…text me, yeah? Let me know what you two decide on.”

Once you rush off, Carmen narrows her usually kind eyes, hard. George is quick, placing a steady hand onto her lap, and clears his throat. “You know, just because you didn’t place a podium for once doesn’t mean you get to act like a jerk. Seriously.”

Lando chooses to ignore his comment, bidding goodbye, and strolls over to find you, flustered. “Now I’m ready,” you confirm with a weak smile. The Brit laces his fingers through yours and brings it up to his mouth, pressing a warm kiss.

“You know I love you, right?”

“I do. I do know.”

He’s trying to be more gentle, you can tell. With his words, with his actions. It reminds you why you chose him. He had apologized after a quiet night, settling with what he had done. How he had treated you and his friends. George is quick to accept his apology, and you were too.

“I didn’t mean it,” he groans quietly, chest pressed against yours as you ride him. “I s-shouldn’t have—fuck.” The way you clench around him tightly makes his head spin. A whine escapes your swollen lips as you nod, fast, then slow, then staggered. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you pant, finally opening your eyes to find him already looking up at you. He squeezes your hips harder, keeping you firm. “You were upset, that’s all. I get it.”

She gets it, he remembers thinking, considering himself lucky for having a girlfriend who understands. His highs. His lows. His wins. He loses. This—this is why you were the one.

But once again, his lack of display is what reluctantly pushes you away.

Then back in.

It’s been three months of him not even picking up his camera. Maybe he’s just too lazy to develop his pictures, so you do it for him. There’s really no excuse. That’s what you say with light humor when you push it towards his chest, but he only cocks his head to the side. “I never asked for you to do that.”

Your stomach churns. You lick your chapped lips. “You don’t need to. I just…did it. Thought it might help get you out of your slump.”

This pushes something in him as he narrows his brows like a set of sharp knives. “Slump?” A scoff. “What? Because I haven’t been able to get a win?”

“What?” You’re dazed. “No.” You’re confused. “No, why would you say that?”

“I don’t know—why would you?”

“I mean it because you’ve been down, that’s it. Not because…” When his eyes don’t change, and your heart continues to pound, you flip him a smile. “You’re right. My choice of words weren’t the best. I’m sorry.”

The blue eyed boy clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth once, then sets the camera to his side. “Whatever, it’s fine, I guess.” And suddenly he’s making his way to his gaming room, leaving you with wide eyes and a bruised heart.

“Wait!” Carefully, you pick up the small camera, extending it out towards him. “Wh-what do you want me to do? Should I pack it into your suitcase? Or maybe I could—”

“Pack it, yes, but into a box and put it in the attic.” He continues his march. “I lost interest a long time ago, either way.”

You’re not dazed. You’re not confused.

You’re broken hearted.

You would think that you would have learned by now. He loves you, damn it. He’s just having a tough time proving it, but it’s fine, stuff like this happens all the time.

“Hello, darling,” Carmen greets, pulling you away from your trance. The camera pans over to Lance, Carlos, and Lando. She gingerly takes the spot next to you. “Feeling alright? Lost a bit of weight and color.” Her concern can’t be hidden behind even the tallest mountain.

Been working out. London is gloomy all day long. Haven’t gotten proper Vitamin D. Looking down onto your lap, you twirl your fingers. Over and under, over and under, over and un—

Her hands feel warm against yours and you can’t help but flinch, instinctively needing to pull away, but she holds on tighter. Not even your boyfriend's hands have felt as warm as hers; not in a very long time. “You can talk to me. Anytime.” Eyes remain downward, watering, so, like most nights before bed, you blink them away. Hard, fast, and cruel.

“Have you chosen the song you want to be for your guys’ first dance?”

She remains still for a second, focuses directly into your soul and you blink faster before she has a chance to decode you. She always did. “We have. My Funny Valentine. Hear this, Daniel wants to sing it. With a band and the whole thing. Nightmare.”

And you’re glad for having her stories to distract you from your feelings, because silly is what they are. Childish. False. It’s only until the end of the race where you two realize you hadn’t been paying attention. As soon as George walks in through those doors, he jumps up and down. “Hey. Top five!”

“That’s my boy!”

You feel like a creep watching them kiss with sweet emotion you can’t help but miss and crave. Your eyes flicker over to the flat screen T.V. and you’re shooting up from your seat. “Shit! I have to go!”

He’s in the middle of a speech of some sort when you rush in gasping for air. Sheepishly, you wave, then scoot closer to Zak who gives you a quick side hug. Everyone claps and then he’s making his way to—

Not you.

First it’s Zak, then he squeezes by. Then it’s his entire team. Then it’s Oscar. Then it’s Carlos, which is the last straw because he’s not even supposed to be here. “Mind if I squeeze in?” you squeak. The Spaniard shakes his head.

“Be my guest. I should leave anyway.” “Are you sure?” Lando quips. “Why don’t you stay?”

Brown pity eyes dance over to where you look down, then settle with a wobbly smile. “I, um…I actually have a few emails to respond to. Stay, Carlos.” It’s pathetic and embarrassing how he’s the only one who convinces you to stick around. Not even your own boyfriend. Though his hand remains by your side, it feels all for show, which it is because as soon as a few fans take a couple of pictures of you two, he finally retreats his arm.

Once the Ferrari driver finally jogs away, Lando turns to face you. “Where were you?”

“I was watching the race.” Your heart beats faster.

“Liar. Your lips just did the thing.” A halt. “What thing?”

“There! There it is again! You didn’t watch it, did you?”

Taking his palms into your own, you kiss them, feverishly. “I was, but then Carmen came over, and we started to talk, and then one thing led to another and…” Blue eyes stare down, empty. You grimace. “I’m so sorry, Lando. You got second place and I wasn’t there to celebrate. I’m so sorry.”

And perhaps he feels he already made you suffer enough with his ignorance, or maybe he was still high off his accomplishment, but it surprises you when he leans down to peck your forehead. “Just don’t let it happen again, yeah?”

You let out a breath of relief. “Pinky swear.”

He laughs, ruffling your hair. “Ah, see, I don’t believe in pinky promises.”

“Take my word for it then.”

He winks. “Good enough.”

I can’t believe we haven’t had a sunny day in weeks! Flipping over to face him, you pout. Weeks! That’s bonkers.

The Brit hums against his blankets, against you. It’s officially been a year since you two have been dating and it honestly felt surreal. Especially in moments like these. The kind where he was just yours.

I tried to warn you.

You groan, pressing your cheek against his firm chest. His heartbeat is slow and steady, indicating he’s half asleep, indicating you were too awake. Indicating you should probably go to sleep, too.

Guess I’ll just have to learn to live with it.

Guess so.

You know…I sort of love it.

You say so because you haven’t lived here your whole life.

I could easily, you want to confess. If it’s with you, then yes, I can. But it’s too soon and you don’t want to scare him off. Not when things were a dream. Cloudy, sunny, rainy, sunshine—I don’t care. I have a good enough reason to stay.

He vibrates due to his chuckle and you giggle due to his chuckle. Look at you being all cute.

Not trying to be cute, just speaking my truth.

In one motion, he flips over you, hovering. You love it? Like truly?

I love it. I truly love it.

Make me believe it.

Are my words not enough?

He grins, eyes crinkling. I’m more of a pinky promise type of guy.

You lift your small finger and he’s fast to wrap his own around it. Pinky swear. I love you and London.

And it was true. It was true for a while.

It all came crashing down on you, really. It was alarming, yet you had expected it. It was lonely, but survivable. It came in phases. You first noticed the doubt a bit after your third year anniversary, but no, he loves me. I know he does.

But you were good at pushing it all away; far, far, and further. Until you couldn't think about it anymore, even if you tried. His acts were a suck punch, though. Everytime you started to heal and stand up, he only sent a new one. A stronger one. But, hey, no—he loves me. He only says it every night.

Like last Monday night. When he fucked you in his hotel room.

Or last Thursday. When he went down on you under the table.

Or Friday. When you sucked his cock in the shower.

All right before bed.

God, I fucking love you so much. Hot cum shoots down your throat and he groans like a madman. Love you so, so much. You can’t even begin to imagine.

So, when your friends ask and check up on you, that's what you say. Yes, he reminds me everyday. He means it. Don’t worry, we’re doing better than ever.

The second comes in like a slap to the face. He had just done what you consider a low blow, but no—he’ll make up for it. He always does.

“Bullshit.” You blink your hot tears away. Carmen never—ever—curses. She’s too classy for any of that, so it’s almost funny to hear it now. But it’s not, not really. She sighs, rubbing her temples. You and your problems were stressing her out, God, how could you be so selfish?

“Forget I said anything. I’m being a fucking crybaby—”

“No. You’re not.” It seems like she’s choosing her choice of words, delicately. “You have every right to be upset. Every. Single. Right.”

And for the first time in a while, you feel completely seen. Heard. Understood. And that was a lot, but it must have been what you needed, because suddenly, you were spilling the ugly truth. The reason why you didn’t attend the last race. Or the one before that one.

The reason why she and George found you clutching onto your chest that night in Vegas. Forgot my keys, you giggled. You two have fun! Don’t worry about me.

Carmen is older, wiser, and so fucking mature. You love it. But you hate it because now that you sit here with more of an open mind and less defense, you blink like a lost kid at the grocery store. “You love him.”

A whimper. “I adore him.”

“A lot?”

“Infinitely.”

“But?”

Another whimper, louder this time, more wet. “He makes me sad sometimes. Is that normal?” “It is—” And it’s the delusion that always makes you stay. You’re quick to swallow it down, eager and fast. It’s all you need to hear. Carmen shakes her head. “But not to this extent. You get sad over them forgetting your favorite drink order, or when they forget to pack your heels.” An unwanted pause. The kind that gives you the room to overthink. “Not because they locked you out. Or because they forgot your anniversary.”

And she won’t admit—not when you were already so broken—but Lando hadn’t forgotten.

She likes wine, fuck, she’s obsessed with that sparkly shit. Wine testing! We could go wine tasting and I could do it there. He twidles with the ring box. Is that good?

George raises a playful brow before releasing a laugh. It sounds great. As long as you have a nice place to take Instagram pictures, then you’re set to go. Chicks love that. Isn’t that right, love?

But she pinches her lips, forcing a smile to the younger Brit. Lando lets out a shaky breath. It’s about to be our four year anniversary—it’ll be perfect. I’ll make sure.

So, yes, she knows he loves you. But that still doesn’t make the way he treats you right. What kind of love was that? Sobbing loudly, you push your hair back. “But you don’t get it! When he’s good…” Her eyes soften and yours grows more glassy. “...he’s so good.”

“Is it worth the pain, though?”

The third one is the breaking point you had been avoiding for so long. The day started out gray, either way, and not just because of the dark London weather. Dragging your feet to the end of the bed, you tremble. You got the call at four a.m. and those are never good, so why were you shocked to hear from Benny’s son?

“Oh, baby…” He pulls you atop his lap, kissing your temple. “I know how much he meant to you.”

“I still owe him a surfboard. The expensive kind, too.” He quirks a confused brow, but you continue staring off into space. “They stole the last one. The one he always lent to me. His mom had gifted it to him.”

“When did this happen?” he questions, trying to keep you talking because that sounds like a good idea. To get your mind off things.

You hum. “Last January; his birthday weekend.”

“Birthday weekend? I don’t recall—” “You weren’t there.” He doesn’t have to remember to know that’s true. It's become a habit of his nowadays and now he’s feeling guilty. Another hum, this time sadder than the prior. “He was going to teach you how to grill steak, just the way I like it.”

His stomach churns. “And how do you like it?” A beat. “I don’t remember. Ask Benny.” Then you’re crying like a newborn.Worse, actually. But he holds you through it all. So maybe this was do-able. He was nice, after all. You could stick with him forever and you’d be grateful. After what seems like a decade, you finally calm down, though your nose keeps runny. “The funeral is later this week. Are we going?” You were, with no fucking doubt, but you just wanted him to say it. There— on the tip of his tongue. You can spot it and he could taste it.

“Sweetheart…you know I have a race.” You didn’t expect him to drop everything and venture off with you, but this cut deep. Still, you understood. Plus, the proposal was ditched the moment you got the eerie call. So, yes, everything was unbalanced, but it wasn’t your guys’ fault. It was just a twist of fate. Nothing you couldn’t handle; you’ve dealt with worse.

“Right. I can go by myself.” He feels bad—you know he does—but anything, really? “You can write a letter, maybe? Just a couple of words for his family. I know it’ll mean a lot.”

He chuckles. And you should have known at that very moment because it wasn’t one you’ve heard before. “Why would I? I barely even knew the guy.”

“Excuse me?”

The Brit continues tracing shapes onto your thigh. “I’m just saying! It sounds a bit weird coming from someone who spoke to him once. Twice at best.”

And you’re no longer dazed, no longer confused, no longer heartbroken.

You’re just angry.

Pushing yourself off him, you glare coldly. “Barely even knew…the guy? We Skyped with him over dinner! You paid his bills! You fucking attended his sons wedding! How could you be so…fucked.”

“Sure… He was a sweet lad, but do you really think they want to hear from me?”

“Maybe not, maybe they don’t give a flying fuck, but I do. Remind me why I loved you!”

He’s up now. His heart quickens, pierces through his skin. “Loved?”

You sigh, clutching your chest. “Love. I said love.”

A huff. “No, you definitely spoke in past tense—do you not love me anymore?”

“Lando…” “No. Just be upfront with me, I can handle it. Tell me now so I don’t waste my time any longer.”

Every uncertainty you ever had, every word of advice Carmen has given you comes crashing down. She was right. He’s keeping you around for good fun. For his benefit. “Your time? What about mine? You’re the one who’s been blocking me out these past couple months!” “That’s not true—”

“Fuck, you’re right—this past year. God Lando! Haven’t you noticed how good I am at apologizing now? My zombie appearance? You left me out in the hallway! All because of what? Because I didn’t tell you I was going out with the girls?” A sour laugh. “Wake up—it’s 2024. Since when are you a shitty masochist?”

His jaw clenched. “I was worried about you! It was fucking Vegas, what was I supposed to do? And for the love of God, this again. I. Didn’t. Hear. You. Knock.”

A peach seed forms onto your chin. Skin is flushed and tears stream down your face. But he’s fine. He’s tall and firm Hard headed. Without an ounce of regret. And you want to do it. You want to make him feel what you’ve felt.

“I got my degree…”

“Woo-fucking-hoo, we’re not talking about that right now.”

“I lived a few good years, filled with pure happiness.”

He pauses.

“But I see it now. Past all the gray clouds, I see it.” He can feel it coming and he’s desperate for you not to say it aloud, but you shrug it, face downward. “Nothing is holding me back to stay.”

His tone washes away like the Laguna waves as he gets closer to you, cradling your face. “Yes. Yes you do. You have me…”

“Lando, quit lying—I haven’t for a while now. I was just a trophy you didn’t want. One you got bored of.”

“That’s not—” “True?” A beat. “It is. And you know what also is? I don’t love you anymore.” The light in his eyes gave out, pitch black. He feels as if he’s going into cardiac arrest and you…you look at ease. Peaceful. Free. With a soft smile, you push his hands down. “I don’t think you love me anymore, either.”

“Don’t say that,” he pleads. “Please, don’t say that. Of course I love you.” Rushing over to his nightstand, he pulls out a box you only ever dreamt of. “You want proof—here! Take it! It’s yours anyways.”

“Where was this a year ago?” Opening the velvet box, you’re left with an inaudible gasp because of course it was gorgeous. And he feels a gist of hope when you place it onto your ring finger, but he slowly pales when it doesn’t fit.

“No. No. That’s your size. I know it is.” He takes it from you, analyzing it in an accusing manner. “I swear it was, I pinky…” The heater kicks on. “I swear.”

“It’s alright. This is the right ring…just not for me.” It shouldn’t affect you to see his cheeks grow splotchy, to hear his voice tremble like a kid who just skinned his knee against the pavement. But he was once your other half, so it does.

“I don’t want you to go…”

“I don’t either. I loved being here.”

“Then stay.” You purse your lips, then scrunch your nose. “It doesn’t love me, though. And I can’t go unwanted.”

If we start saving enough money then we could buy the house—you know—the one close enough to drive to your parents? Sweet, no?

Won’t they hear us fuck?

Ew, gross. No. I’d tape your mouth before I let that happen. You pinch his ear. This is your home.

And SoCal is yours, so why don’t we move there?

Because I don’t want to. I want to be with you and the people you love, in the place you love. Because I love you and I love the people you love, and I love London.

You’re quite literally perfect. I hope you know.

You make it clear everyday.

And I won’t ever stop. Because you deserve to know.

“This place is cold, the way you said it was. This place is gloomy, the way you said it was. But this place isn’t a home to me anymore…the way I once thought it was.”

Should he have been more careful—more caring—then he wouldn’t be here. This wouldn’t be happening, but it is. And it’s no one’s fault but his.

Sniffing, you rub your swollen eyes. “I’m going to pack my things and go to Benny’s funeral.” It's a declaration. He nods, attentively. “And I’m not coming back. Is that okay?”

No. It wasn’t okay. You’re tearing him in half, you’re stabbing his heart over and over again. You’re telling the truth and putting yourself first. Something he was awful at doing. What brought you two to this very moment in time.

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I treated you the way I did.” I love you. “But if that’s your decision, then go on. Do what you need to do.” I love you.

“Good.” I love you. But I can’t say it aloud if not I’d stay forever.

You smile and he smiles back.

“Good.”

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asuyaka · 6 months

Text

Gojo-Sensei has a husband?!

★ - drabble s part of m' first Satoru oneshot !!૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

☆ - Gojo Satoru x Househusband! Reader

♡ - f m' manga readers, how we feelin' 'bout nurse kenny ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡ (she's m wife m callin' it rn!!)

Gojo [Name], the loved and unknown husband of The Strongest, Gojo Satoru.

Satoru was at work, most likely teaching the first years he loved to talk about. You were at home. Cleaning the house and making preparations for dinner when Satoru got home like the good husband you were.

You brought out a chicken broth cube from the cupboard, brushing the slight dust on your pretty light-blue apron that Satoru brought for you (then ended up fucking you in but that's on days when you're being a brat).

Your eyes scan the countertop, looking for the knife holder until they land on a sage-green bag dusted with flowers that you hand-painted. It was Satoru's lunch bag that he had forgotten.

You weren't a sorcerer, but you're able to see curses. Ironically, that's how you and Satoru met. A younger you (who just got unemployed) was walking home when something you couldn't describe stopped you in the alleyway you took sometimes as a shortcut.

It was tall, with eyes running along its skinny, dark-red arm. You were only twenty-two at the time and have only ever seen things like that in shitty horror-flicks. You never thought they were real.

As if you were in a cliché love story, a patch of white hair stands in front of you. He has sunglasses on despite the sun being nowhere in sight.

Due to you being (obviously) weaker than the average sorcerer, Satoru always discouraged you from going to Jujutsu High unless it was an emergency.

You huff diligently, grabbing the lunch bag and putting your shoes on. You'll make sure Satoru gets his lunch. What kind of husband would you be if you didn't?

Turns out, the people at Jujutsu High are either scary or odd. There's absolutely no in-between.

You've only been at Jujutsu High a handful of times. More times than not, it was to help Megumi.

You make your way to the main school building, holding the bag close to your chest for safekeeping. You didn't bust your ass making cute shapes out of food just for Satoru to go eat fast food instead.

Reaching the door of Satoru's class, you knock softly. It’s quiet, and you guess Satoru must be out training with his students. You turned around to try and find just where the training grounds could be on this huge campus.

All of a sudden, the door opens and there he is. Your beautiful husband, wearing his black blindfold and Jujutsu uniform. “Baby? What are you doing here?”

Baby. That’s right, you’re his baby. No one else's. “You left your lunch, so I…” Your voice trails off as you gesture toward the bag in your hands. Satoru smiles, opening the door wider and pulling you in.

He keeps your hands intertwined, softly pushing you against a chair. “You’re so nice, baby. Going out of your way to bring me my lunch?” His hands are on your cheeks now, still smiling sweetly even with a saccharine voice.

Your face flushes and your hands are stiff. You don’t know where his students are, but you’re sure they’ll be back soon. This is risky— irresponsible even.

“Satoru, ‘s risky..” You mutter under your breath, your hands cupping his. They’re warm like they always are when you two are close. You wish you could see what his eyes looked like, but they’re for his comfortability, you’re aware.

“You know I love you, right baby?” He leans closer, to the point you can smell the cologne on him. It’s the one you bought him a few weeks ago because it smelt like home.

Satoru smells like home.

Shakily you nod. “Are you sure this is safe…? I don’t want you—”

“Shh… let me worry about all that.”

And with that, he closes the space between your lips. Satoru’s strong– dominant even; and no matter what he does, it always manages to show through his actions.

His tongue breaches past your lips, slotting perfectly against yours. You can hear the clicking of teeth as Satoru sits across your lap. It’s hot and you can feel your cock start to rise in your pants.

“Wore this cute fuckin’ apron all f’me–” He plants a kiss on your cheek, your face flushed and breathing heaved.

“Satoru– sir, I need—”

“But baby…” He whines.

He fucking whines.

His face is pouty and it looks like he’s getting off your lap. Is he denying you? You haven’t done anythin’ wrong– did he give you instructions and you didn’t see them?

“I’m at work, and as much as I want to fuck you ‘till you can’t think– you can’t have my students seein’ you all messed up like that, can you?”

Satoru’s words bring your attention to your appearance. Your apron is messed up and so is your hair (most likely from Satoru gripping on it). Your lips are slightly swollen and your cock is half-hard.

Embarrassment brings you back to your senses, your arms covering what's between your thighs. If you stood up, your apron would cover it (hopefully), but your pants weren’t going to do you any justice. “‘M sorry ‘toru…”

Satoru cocks his head, sitting on his desk and crossing his legs. “It’s okay baby, I know you just can’t help yourself when I’m around.” His tone sounds mean like he’s mocking you. It’s condescending.

“But that’s what makes you my good boy, isn’t it?” His foot brings the chair closer to the point where your body is sandwiched between his legs. “Always so plaint f’me to fuck you, right?”

God. You can’t do this, and it isn’t helping your slowly growing problem go down.

Satoru must sense your nervousness (he knows you and your emotions like the back of your hand) because his expression turns soft again. “Just wait till I get home, okay baby? Relax for me.”

His fingers caress your cheek gently. It’s lulling you, pulling you in. Like he’s a siren, and you’re a plaint, very easy sailor.

You nod because you’re his good boy and you want it to stay that way.

Satoru smiles before pulling you in again for a kiss.

It’s gentler this time. There’s less kiss and more gentleness behind it. It feels like the kiss you shared at the altar. It makes you calmer, it makes you happy.

All of a sudden, the door slams open. Revealing three, very surprised teenagers.

“Gojo-sensei!?”

“Gojo-san?”

Satoru breaks the kiss, briefly smiling coyly at you before looking at his students. “Hello, my favorite first-years! I didn’t know lunch had already ended…”

A boy with pink hair and what seems to be two sets of eyes stares at you, then back at Satoru. “Lunch ended five minutes ago. Nobara stayed to eat more watermelon.”

The girl, who is shorter than all of them and who you assume is Nobara, kicks the boy in the knee. “Shut it Yuuji! Not my fault somebody decided to eat all my food while I was gone!”

“Gojo-san, I thought you’d be at home.”Megumi looks at you with a confused expression. Your heart tugs in fondness when he says ‘home’ like all three of you share it together (legally, you do but Megumi would never admit that).

“Why would Gojo-sensei be at home? He has to teach us, stupid.” Nobara rolls her eyes, before pointing at you accusingly.

“All I wanna know is why this random man and Gojo-sensei were kissing!”

Satoru steps off the desk, grabs your arm, and pulls you up as well. He slings his arm around your shoulder, slightly leaning on you with a bright smile on his face. “Yuuji, Nobara, this is my husband, [Name]!”

“Husband?!” Yuuji and Nobara parrot, staring at each other before staring back at you.

Nobara notices it first, the sleek ring on your finger. There’s an initial that she can’t make out but can only assume it’s the one that belongs to her teacher.

“Why would anyone date you?” She says suddenly, causing Yuuji to laugh.

Megumi rolls his eyes. “I thought that at first too. Gojo-san is too good for him.”

Satoru gasps. “Rude! You cried during our wedding, or do I have to ask [Name] to pull up the photos?”

“Wedding?! Why wasn’t I invited?” Nobara looks at Satoru like he committed a war crime.

You don’t notice it, but somehow Yuuji is right in front of you. “Hello! I’m super glad Gojo-sensei has someone to love!! He’s always saying something about how he misses his ‘hubby’ randomly during class but we never thought he was being serious!”

You smile bashfully. You never thought Satoru would think of you during work, and for him to call you his “hubby”?

Megumi stands beside him, handing you a book. “That’s because Gojo-sensei can’t shut up. They’re so lovey-dovey behind closed doors it makes me sick.”

Yuuji smiles. “That’s ‘cause they’re in love Megumi! Shouldn’t it be sweet that your dads love each other?”

Megumi frowns. “They aren’t my dads.”

“They totally are! You called Gojo-sensei dad one time during a mission, don’t think I’d ever forget that!” Nobara teases, holding Satoru’s ring in her other hand to presumably examine it.

Satoru claps his hands. “Okkayy! I appreciate that you two love my husband, not as much as me of course, but he’s got stuff to do! And we have to learn about the boring sorcerer families. Ew.”

His students groan but make their way to their seats. Satoru walks you to the door of the classroom, a small apologetic smile on his face. “I can’t walk you all the way to the door, Yaga would kill me, but I’ll see you at home?”

You nod with a soft smile on your face.

Satoru kisses you one last time. It’s more of a peck than anything, then leans into your ear. “Prep yourself for me before I get home okay? I have to reward you for being so good today.”

Blush rises up to your cheeks as you nod again. Pushing your hands down to your lap and turning away from his classroom door. The blush gets harder when you hear a loud “See you at home baby!” from the door.

Satoru watches you until he can’t anymore. A relieved sigh leaves his face as he closes the door and sits on his desk. Legs crossed and a ring adorning his finger, with your initials on them.

“Ask away, and I’ll show you any pictures you want.”

Yuuji and Nobara visibly light up and begin asking questions about where he met you, how long you’ve been together, and how long you’ve been married, plus the pictures of Megumi crying.

He shows them every photo and answers every question without hesitation.

After all, they’re all questions about you, his husband.

And he knows you’ll be home waiting for him with dinner, and dessert.

Your ass (that he loves to watch jiggle every time he fucks you), and ice cream.

He loves you, and he’s glad his students (and son) love you too.

#writin' shit.#jjk x male reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x male reader #satoru x male reader #jjk fluff #gojo #gojo satoru #male reader #x male reader #megumi fushiguro #itadori yuuji #nobara kugisaki #gojo satoru x male reader

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mostly-imagines · 24 days

Text

Scenes From an Afternoon Odyssey

jason todd x fem!reader

aka a day in the forest

3 in 1 blurbs

warnings: reader wears a bra

middle picture art by spaceboykenny

You’ve nearly reached the peak of the slope, the uphill trek putting quite a toll on your legs. Jason insisted on holding your hand because his longer stride tends to put him several steps ahead of you. The sun beats down on your backs, the uptake in the heat of the day actually feeling quite nice compared to the chill that’s swept over Gotham recently.

Upon arriving at the flat plane, you take in a pretty array of sunflowers and a thoughtfully placed bench.

Jason halts his steps, looking back at you. “You need a break?” He asks, noting the way your breathing has become a bit labored.

You hum, taking a deep inhale. “Just for a second,” you say, plopping down on the bench.

He reaches behind him to fish the water bottle out of the pocket of his backpack. “Drink some water.” he says gruffly, holding the bottle out to you.

You don’t particularly feel like you need water again just yet, but you know better than to try and fight him on something related to taking care of yourself. It’s a losing battle and he’s proved it time and time again.

You take the drink from him, taking a couple sips. He eyes you with disapproval, bringing his hand up to tilt the bottom of the bottle up more. You down a few gulps, trying not to smile.

He takes the bottle back from you, taking a couple gulps of his own. Once the water returns to its pocket, he sits down next to you, hand massaging your thigh. In turn, your hand moves up to the nape of his neck, playing with the short hair there.

Despite your claim, you sit for longer than a second, listening to the birds chirping and the leaves rustling in the wind. It really is a beautiful day and Jason knew a great trail that’s hardly ever busy. It’s aways away from Gotham, but any excuse he can take to get the two of you out of the smog filled city, he’ll take.

Between the serenity of the scene in front of you and the warmth of his touch on your thigh, your breathing steadies pretty quickly.

You peer at the path ahead, taking note of how level and easy it looked. Your hand flattens on the base of his neck as you turn to him, “I could beat you in a race.” You say decidedly.

He huffs out a laugh, meeting your eyes with a glint of amusement shining in his own. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” You smile, nodding, “Been waiting for a chance to prove it.”

You stand up, turning around to take his hand and pull him up with you. He does most of the work for you, pulling his weight up himself.

“You wanna go?” He smiles, looking down at you.

“Do you wanna go?” Your smile grows impossibly, and Jason decides right then and there that he’d do absolutely anything to see you light up like that again.

You figure a sprint is your best chance, you’re not willing to bet that you can beat out a vigilante when it comes to endurance. Especially considering the uphill incline almost took you out.

You settle on a finish line about 30 feet away, and as you position yourselves to start, you feel your overconfidence begin to cave back in on you. His stature swamps you out, and it's becoming clear that you’ve got no real chance here. In any case, you’ve committed and this is happening.

“Ready…set…” both of you have the idea to start before you say go, taking off with haste.

You’re laughing as you run, which isn’t doing you any favors with keeping ahead of him, though you’re able to maintain a pretty neck and neck match.

Did he let you win? Yeah. He’s a gentleman, of course. He’s right on your tail though, and lifts you up from under your arms as you cross the finish line, nipping at your neck as you giggle.

He sets you back down gently, “Alright, fast girl. You need a drink?” He tucks some stray hair in your face back behind your ear.

“No, I’m...” You pause, scanning around. You point at a big tree along the side of the trail ahead. “You see that tree right there?”

He glances over, “Yeah?”

You take off sprinting for it without another word. And apparently cheating is a quick ticket to him dropping the act and beating you without an ounce of mercy.

You’re sitting on a relatively level branch in a tree next to Jason, one of your legs resting on top of one of his. You swing your free leg back and forth, biting into your sandwich.

There’s a couple juice boxes balancing in the small space between you, both half empty. He’d laughed at you when you picked them up from the store on the way there, but he drinks it all the same.

He holds your ziplock bag of chips out to you and you take a small handful, popping them into your mouth. When your hand moves to return to your side, he takes it in his own and presses your knuckles to his lips gently.

With a sly smile, you watch butterflies dance around each other and listen to birds singing their offbeat songs. And you think about Jason. You think about how he held you in his arms last night so you could fall asleep while he read. How on the way up here he’d held your hand as you balanced across the stones, forcing him to walk at a much slower pace than he’d probably prefer. You told him he could walk a little ahead, but he’d insisted on holding your hand so you didn’t “slip and bust your head open” in his words.

You wouldn’t know it, but he’s combing through his own set of memories of you too. It’s a bit silly to spend so much time dwelling on these warm memories about someone that’s only right next to you, but you’ve both found it’s hard to stop.

It used to scare Jason, how often you occupied his whole mind. He’d never felt such intense adoration and devotion before that he’d nearly mistaken it for fight or flight. It was foreign and strange, and it felt like danger. But it didn’t take long for the effects of his love to kick in like a drug, and now he can’t get enough of you.

But you don’t feel like a drug, you feel like a cure. You make him feel like himself again, like death never got a hold of him and like he’s an innocent soul anew. You treat him like it, at least.

Maybe it’s silly to fall into such a deep pit of thoughts about you when you’re right there, smiling so bright over at him and gleefully pointing out a couple of squirrels that are fighting over an acorn. But he’s happy to let you take up as much space in his head as you want.

You sit with your legs dangling off the pier, shoes cast aside so you can enjoy the cool water. Jason sits a few feet behind you, laying down against the wood of the dock, the sun beating down on his face.

The water is a beautiful blue marble reflection, and the sun radiates down on your skin, sending warmth throughout your body which combats the light breeze handily. You lean down and dip your hand into the water, letting it run between your fingers like thread.

“Can we swim?” you pipe up, looking over your shoulder at Jason.

He raises his eyebrows at you, “You didn’t know there was a lake up here.” He means he knows you don’t have a swimsuit under your clothes.

You shrug, “There’s no one up here.”

He scans around mildly, before looking at the water. “Yeah, okay.” He tugs his shirt off his back, coming to a stand.

You grin, pulling up the material of your own shirt from your waist. Once it’s swept over your head, Jason’s left in just his boxers and not a moment later you’re in a similar state.

He smiles at you, wrapping his arms around your waist and it takes you no time at all to realize where he’s going with this. He lifts you up off the ground and dives off the dock, submerging you both in the water.

You bob back up out of the water, not even trying to suppress the glee on your face. And somewhat to your surprise, neither does he.

You’d had dinner at the manor with his family last night and you were still a bit attuned to Jason’s closed off, stoic mood that he gets in around them. He feels something akin to insecurity when he openly emotes around them. Vulnerability, maybe. Either way, you know he hates the feeling and will avoid it at all costs so it’s nice when it’s just the two of you and he gets to act like himself.

Unlike Jason, you can’t quite touch the floor of the lake, so you tread with the water wavering at your neck. The water barely reaches the start of Jason’s shoulders as he stands before you.

He closes the small space between you before his arms make their way under your thighs, lifting you up out of the water slightly. He looks up at you with a lazy smile as you wrap your legs around his body. Your cheeks warm and you hold his face in your hands, leaning down to kiss him with heat.

He deepens the kiss, thumbs rubbing at your thighs as his head tilts back. Your thumbs stroke at his cheek in turn, smiling against his lips.

He actually whines when you pull away, chasing your lips. You rest your hands on his shoulders, simpering down at him.

“Alright, slow down, hotshot. We’re not doing anything in a lake.” You laugh, pushing the dripping white streak back with the rest of his wet hair.

He huffs, “If there was anyone around here I promise you would not be half naked right now.”

You push yourself off of him, dropping back down into the water. “Other people are the least of your concerns,” you say, grinning and splashing him in the face, backing away with haste.

He blinks the water out of his eyes, laughing. “That’s how it is?”

You bite your lip as he approaches and you continue to retreat. “Can’t have you losing focus.”

He raises his brow at you, wearing a smile that says that you should know that was a mistake. He proves it as he dives after you, lifting you up over his shoulder and tossing you into the water with an unfair amount of ease.

You’re a bit hidden away in the tall grass, the scent of lavender flowers placing you in repose. You’re laying with your head in his lap, eyes closed as he pages through his book.

He’s reading out loud, though if you’re being honest, you haven’t fully processed a single word he’s read in at least ten minutes. He’s good at making you relax with his voice, and the amount of exercise you’ve gotten in today is doing nothing to slow it down.

You can’t think of when he started playing with your hair, but it feels soothing and frankly it’s making you very sleepy. Between the gravelly lull of his words and the rustling of the flora throughout the field you’re about to pass out.

“I’m gonna fall asleep.” You mumble, eyes shut.

His hand stills and he extends his book away from his body so he can see your face. “Sweetheart, there’s not a chance in hell you were awake that whole time.”

“I was,” you say, blinking up at him blearily. “I was just resting my eyes.”

He looks down at you skeptically. “How long have we been here?”

You click your tongue, “Like fifteen minutes.”

“It’s been an hour and a half.” he says simply, flipping his book shut from the last page as proof.

“It has n—” you look up at the sky and notice the sun is in a wildly different spot than it was when you’d first laid down. You’re almost completely in the shadows of the trees now. “Wh—why did you let me sleep for so long?”

He hums lowly, “You looked peaceful.” He pauses, “Pretty.”

He looks at the sky, squinting. He nudges you off his lap gently, coming to a stand. “Come on. The sun’s gonna start going down soon.”

You groan and he pulls you up to join him, your fatigue tailing after you. You lean your weight against him and rest your head on his chest, closing your eyes again. “Let’s just stay here.”

You feel him shake his head. “Can’t stay here, sweetheart. Who’ll feed the strays back home?”

He’s right. You can’t leave them to dumpster dive again.

You groan louder as you pull back and stand up straight. “You did not mention that the trail was so long.” You look down at your sore legs and try to stretch them out a bit to get energy back in them.

When you look back up at him, he’s swinging the backpack on, but he stops midway, dropping it to his side again.

He slugs his backpack over your shoulders, turning his back to you and bending down a bit. You take the hint and jump up. He catches you with ease, hoisting you up higher.

He starts down the grassy path out of the field, sidestepping flowers and bumblebees as he goes. Your head lulls to the side and ends with your cheek resting on his shoulder.

He bobs you up, “If I’m carrying you all the way back to the car you have to stay awake.”

“If you’re carrying me all the way back to the car, what difference does it make?” you grumble, eyes fluttering.

“Keep me company.”

You pick your head up and press a kiss to his neck. “I can do that. What do you want to eat tonight?”

He hums thoughtfully. “You wanna get pizza?”

You nod, pleased. “Big day for us.”

You have one arm draped loosely over his shoulder and the other lags by your side. “Are you going on patrol tonight?” You ask him.

He peers back at you haphazardly, “Uh, no—will you hold onto me, please?”

You’re nowhere near falling, but you know that’s not why he wants you to hold onto him. You’re happy to oblige though. You wrap your arms around him, crossing them over each other so you can hold onto his shoulders.

Seemingly content, he continues, “No, I’m not. Wanna stay in with you.”

“Aw. Going soft on me?” You rag.

He hums deeply, “Or maybe I'm just sick of being around Dick.”

You scoff, “Well, if you’re gonna be mean.”

“I’m literally carrying you right now.” He shrugs you up a bit in emphasis. Fair enough.

You look up and can see the pinking hues of the sky in between the leaves of the trees, glowing down softly on you. Your mouth twists into a contemplative frown. It takes you a moment to piece together where you’re at, but you eventually realize you’re only halfway back to the car. “I don’t think we’re gonna make it back before sunset.”

“That’s okay.” He tells you.

You rest your shoulder on his chin, a bemused pout on your face. “You hate it when I’m outside after dark.”

“I hate it when you’re alone outside after dark.” He corrects.

“Ah.” You nod, thoughtfully. “But now I’ve got my strong boyfriend to protect me, right?”

He scoffs but you’re just upset you can’t see the flush on his cheeks that you’re certain is there.

Though he shows no signs of struggling, you’re beginning to feel guilty that he’s spending his day off lugging you around.

“I can walk.” You offer, pushing yourself up a bit, ready to jump down.

“I know.” He says simply, shrugging you up higher.

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wynnyfryd · 8 months

Text

Trailer Park Steve AU part 3

part 1 | part 2

(tw: guns, accidental death)

Robin’s already in full panic mode by the time Steve pulls up to her place, flinging the passenger door open and throwing herself into the car with so much force that the car bounces on its wheels a little. “Drive!!”

“Jesus Christ, good morning to you, too.”

“Steve!”

Steve starts to drive.

Beside him, Robin flips the visor down to look at her reflection; groans and scrubs her hands down her face in misery at whatever she sees. Steve doesn’t really get it. He thinks she looks beautiful, with her hair gently moving in the breeze from the open window, with her freckles lit up by the early morning sun.

“Ugh,” she says, turning to look at him, “I can’t believe I look like a zombie and you’re gonna make me late to the first day of school.”

“Wow.” Fuckin’ ingrate. And when he was just being so nice to her in his head. “How about a thank you, huh? ‘Thanks for picking me up, Steve. Thanks for bringing my backpack, Steve. Sorry you almost got shanked by your neighbor, Steve.’”

“You what???”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Um, yes it very much does matter, what the—”

“—I’m just saying, a little gratitude? Wouldn’t hurt you.”

He licks at the corner of his mouth, spritzes wiper fluid to clear the bugs off the windshield. Robin’s eyes are bulging out of her head, but he really doesn’t want to talk about how he still feels the ghost press of steel against his throat, so: “You’re not even right, by the way; I don’t know why you’re complaining.”

“Huh?”

“School started yesterday. I’m making you late for the second day of school.”

“Yesss,” she draws the word out like he’s stupid, rolling her wrist in a hurry up and get it motion, “but everyone knows that syllabus day doesn’t count. The first pep rally is the real first day of school.”

Ah, there it is.

Steve steals another peek at his best friend while they’re on a straightaway, notes the nervous twitch of her hands as she goes back to fussing at her reflection; the way she’s clumping her lashes together with seven coats too many of some drugstore brand mascara. She’s wearing lipstick. “This is about Vick—”

“—Don’t talk about—”

“—It’s about Vickie, isn’t it?”

“Ughhhhh.” Robin folds forward and thunks her head against the dash. “Fine, okay? Fine! Yes! This may have something to do with a distressingly cute fellow marching band member. Are you happy now?”

“Ecstatic.”

“Oooh, big word for you, Steven.” She swats him on the shoulder, face all twisted up in offense. “Stop laughing!”

“Stop hitting me,” he laughs. “I’ll dump your ass out on this highway.”

She gasps and narrows her eyes at him. “You wouldn’t.”

Steve eases his foot onto the brake.

“Okay, okay! Mercy! I’m being an asshole, alright? I’m sorry. I’m just— I’m stressed! Being gay is very stressful.”

The knife incident pops back into his mind. “Yeah,” he mutters, “I imagine it is.”

—

He catches himself slouching down into his seat a bit when they pull up to the school. Has to force himself to sit upright, hears his mother’s tutting in his ear about bad posture and the message it projects to the world.

It’s not that he’s embarrassed to be here; really, he isn’t. He’s just hoping to avoid being spotted by the nuggets now that they go here, too, lest he be accosted for evading his chauffeur duties.

God.

Dustin’s nerd shit is infecting his brain.

Robin grabs her bag out of the back seat, plants a parting peck on Steve’s cheek as she gets out of the car. “See you later?”

“Yeah, I’ll pick you up for work.”

“Love you, dingus.”

And then he’s alone again.

With Robin gone, Steve finds himself driving. Wandering and aimless, like a ghost who doesn’t know he’s gone. It’s not like he has nothing to do — he’s supposed to be out finding a second job, finding a way to support himself and his mom, because he’s the man of the house now. Because his life has turned into one of those shitty, overcomplicated word problems from math class.

If a recently widowed mother works no hours and her minimum-wage son works as many as Family Video will allow, how much mold-riddled dogshit housing can they afford?

Not much.

Inevitably, he finds himself circling the scorched bones of Starcourt, driving tired loops around the barbed wire perimeter. His ghost likes to guide him here; can’t shake the place where he shook off the mortal coil.

He didn’t know it at the time, but Steve Harrington died the day the mall burned down. Embarrassing, to not hear the death knell as his family name went up in smoke.

It was hard to hear much at all that night, between the concussion and the fireworks and the shrieking of a monster being torn apart, but the memory caresses his mind now in cruel whispers: the headrush of victory; the blood and the sweat; the relief that they’d won, they’d done it, it’s over, they won.

Steve tugs at his bad ear ‘til the ringing subsides.

Some fucking grand prize.

The thing is, you can’t go around exploding an eldritch horror without alerting the US government, and the US government can’t go around letting major investors in a hostile commie invasion keep their assets once they find out about their treasonous schemes. It happened fast: the arrest, the bail, the impending trial and the seizure of property. Richard Harrington was once a small town god on an invisible throne, making deals with devils in shadowy boardrooms, and suddenly he was looking at life in a cell.

Maybe it was a blessing he died before his reckoning was due. Maybe it was no accident at all.

The second, and perhaps more important, thing is: stray bullets don’t care about your looming court date.

Dad had a habit of cleaning his guns while he was drunk, nursing a whiskey in one hand while he polished the gleaming barrels with the other. Pointless, really, because the guns were always pristine to begin with. Dick Harrington didn’t hunt. Didn’t shoot. Claimed the pistol was for home defense, that he kept it loaded in case anyone ever tried to hurt his family, but Steve knew the truth.

His dad just liked to flirt with death. Liked to handle pretty, deadly things, stroke his fingers over ruthless metal and feel the rush of power when he walked away unscathed.

He didn’t walk away that night.

Didn’t even face death standing.

Sliced through his femoral artery and rolled right out of his chair.

They found him lying on the ground in a dark, sticky puddle, gasping like a fish as blood spurted from his thigh. Crazy how fast it happened. Steve had been in his room when the shot rang out, and he barely managed to reach the bottom of the stairs before the gurgling noises stopped. Just boom! whizz! bang! and Dick Harrington was gone.

Maybe it’s a good thing, too, that they lost the house.

The image of his mother in the hallway that night — shellshocked in the doorway, one pale hand shaking in front of her open mouth, features wide and wet with waking horror as she stared into the room — was enough to make him never want to step foot in the place again.

So now they live in a rundown piece of shit on the wrong side of town, with hideous burnt orange carpet and wood paneled walls, with cracks in the ceiling and cigarette burns in the walls, some parting gifts from whatever feral hick lived there before them, and it feels like another cruel, cosmic joke. Like the universe is delighting in the Harringtons’ comeuppance; like the blackened beams and brick rubble of Starcourt are all twisting to form one great, mocking mouth; the better to smile and laugh at their misfortune.

You bought your bed, now you have to lie in it.

He didn’t even know that the Harringtons owned Forest Hills until it was the only asset left to their name.

He’s pretty sure his dad bought it more as a joke than a genuine investment. Meant to teach Steve a lesson, like how he used to bring home Waffle House applications whenever Steve got a C on a report card. This is your future if you don’t straighten up, son.

Kill yourself, dad.

Oh, wait.

You already did.

—

part 4

#trailer park steve au #steve harrington #robin buckley #platonic stobin #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #my writing #my fic #tw: guns #tw: death

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luveline · 14 days

Note

Hey Jade!!! I was just wondering if you could do a soulmate au with Spencer please? Maybe something along the lines of those cheesy ones like the first words are tattooed on or they have the same tattoo idk, whatever you u feel like 😊

—Spencer meets his soulmate. You’re as lovely as he’s always pictured. fem, 1.3k

Someone will love me one day.

Spencer must think it a thousand times. When he has to put his mom in the sanitarium and he feels more alone than he ever has in his life, he knows one day someone will love him anyways. When he gets called ugly, too skinny, nerd, dork, and a handful of words that are even worse, he knows one day someone will say the opposite. He won’t be alone forever.

He was two when they appeared, dark black cursive words tucked against his pulse. Spencer felt ugly nearly every day of his life, wrong and weird, but the words on his wrist have never changed, ‘You’re so handsome I can’t believe it’s you.’

One day someone’s gonna look at him and see handsome.

Today, he feels pretty good. He’s back home in Washington, D.C., the grocery store he loves is open again after a long reconstruction, and they had a bunch of fruit from South America that he’s never tried before. He carries a white plastic bag full of fruit, bread and cheese back to his apartment, each step in the sunshine, the kiss of it warming his cheeks. A busker plays music near the mouth of the subway station. Nobody has yet to scowl at him for being in the way.

He’s wondering what he forgot when he sees you. You’re smiling, the sun on your face and arms, which are strangely full. Books slide against your chest, but besides a little huff and a shift of your elbow, you don’t seem to notice the slim paperback working its way through the crowd in your arms. It drops down onto the sidewalk but you keep walking. You must be in a hurry.

Spencer darts forward to your dropped book, thumb under the title. Charlotte’s Web by E. B White. The spine is flaking and soft from use.

He should call out for you. You’re already getting too far away.

Spencer crosses the road and dives deeper into the city with you. Washington, D.C. isn’t without grandeur —it’s the capital of the USA— and so he finds himself surrounded by potted trees and stretches of well tended grass. School’s broken for the day, children weaving around on bikes and scooters or holding hands with their parents taking up altogether too much space. He loses you in the crowd.

Spencer stops in defeat.

Maybe if he puts the book back in your path you’ll see it on the way back.

He’s not sure why he doesn’t. Spencer keeps your book and starts to walk home. This isn’t how he’d usually get there, but he can manoeuvre around the park.

He keeps an eye out for you. Ridiculously, he’d thought about giving the book back to you and making you smile. He hasn’t talked to anyone who wasn’t a cashier in two days.

“Hi.”

Spencer looks down. “Hi,” he says, spooked by the little girl in front of him.

“Is that for the library?”

He shakes his head regretfully. “No, I– I found it. I’m trying to give it back.”

“Okie dokie. I never read that one before.”

“I’m sorry, it’s not my book to give away… Where’s your mom?”

The little girl points at a mom and a younger child playing on the grass near a circle of benches. There’s a huge dark cabinet with its doors skewed open in the middle, and when he squints he realises it’s full of books. “Oh, is that the library?” he asks.

“Yes!” the little girl insists.

“Okay, well, here’s what we’ll do,” he says, looking desperately for you, disappointed when he can’t see a sign of your nice blue shirt or your sunny smile, “let me go see if I can find the lady who dropped this book, and if she says it’s okay, I’ll keep it for you to have. But you can’t run off from your mom again. Deal?”

The girl grins, thick hair shiny in the sun. “Deal!” she says, running in a burst toward her mother, who startles when she realises she’d left in the first place.

Spencer creeps toward the library. He can’t leave the book here now, he’s promised he’ll try to find you.

You come around the back of the library cabinet with a smile. Free Library, the sign says. Take one if you want, leave one if you can.

You stop in your path when you see him. You smile again, you’re prettier for it, lovely with the sun on half your face, your slight squint. You open your mouth to speak.

Spencer beats you to it. “Hi, I’ve been trying to catch up to you,” he says, raising your copy of Charlotte’s Web to his chest. “You dropped one of your books.”

You take a half step back.

Spencer grimaces. “I promised a little girl I’d ask if she can have it, I’m so sorry. I get stuck and I don’t know how to say no.”

Your eyes flash down to your hands. “You’re so handsome,” you say, and Spencer’s heart stops dead in his chest, your lips shaping each word without measure and somehow the prettiest anyone’s ever looked as they move, “I can’t believe it’s you.”

His shoulders sag with a deep breath.

You raise your arm to show him the contrasting font laid against your pulse. Hi, I’ve been trying to catch up to you.

Spencer shows you his. You’re so handsome, I can’t believe it’s you.

“It’s you,” he says.

You press your hand to your mouth. “I was walking too fast, right? When I was a kid I thought if I made everybody chase me that eventually somebody would have to say it, but then it stuck, and I rush everywhere I go.” Your voice turns breathless. “But you’re the person who was supposed to catch up to me.”

He smiles softly. “I think so.”

“And I just told you you’re handsome. I’m sorry, I bet that was embarrassing to… carry around, all this time.”

“It’s the best gift anyone’s ever given me,” he says honestly.

“I didn’t think you’d be so pretty,” you explain.

“I knew you would be.”

You hold your hand out. He’s about to tell you he doesn’t shake but he finds he really wants to, and you’re not shaking his hand anyways, you’re holding it, looking at the cursive on his arm with a disbelief he echoes in his own smile. You rub the tip of your thumb over the word handsome.

“Do you like books?” he asks.

You nod distractedly. “I love them,” you murmur, looking up.

His entire arm is alive with tingles.

“Do you read much?” you ask.

Every word you trade with one another has this shy longing he’s never felt, like you’re desperate to know about one another but worried you aren’t allowed to ask. Spencer’s about to tell you all about it, how he’s always reading, how books have been with him through everything, but there’s a tug on his shirt that stops him.

“Hi,” the little girl says.

Spencer laughs. “Hi.”

“What did she say?” the little girl whispers.

Spencer looks to you for guidance.

“Of course you can have it. It’s an amazing book,” you say.

“Thank you!” she says, holding out her hands.

Spencer doesn’t mind handing it over. If she didn’t ask him for it earlier, he might’ve never had the courage to look for you. He could’ve left the book in the cabinet and turned around, but he didn’t. And now he’s met you.

You step into his side. “Did you– do you want to get coffee?” You peer down at the bag now slipped from his elbow down to his wrist. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Do you want to have a picnic with me?” he asks.

You nod for so long he has to laugh. “I’d love to,” you say, offering your open hand.

Spencer threads your fingers together. That one day he always dreamed of seems a lot closer than it did before.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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brodieland · 16 days

Text

.˚ 𓈒 ࣪.𝝑𝝔 Royal Rivalries !! ´ˎ˗

Luke Castellan x Fem!Zeus!Reader Synopsis: wedding dress try ons go... wrong? Tag(s): ROYAL AU, cursing, smut I fear.., masturbation, fingering, fem!receiving oral Word Count: 2805

╰➤ MASTERLIST pt3

"Finally you're back," you groaned as you pulled your sister in a soul crushing hug. "It's been treacherous here without you."

"I know I know, I'm beautiful and amazing, and its hard to live with me as your amazing-"

"Buffer," you cut in. "Your an amazing sister, but an even better buffer between me and father."

"Well, I wouldn't have put it like that but if you insist."

"Come here," you grabbed Thalia by the wrist and ignored her questioning you on where you were taking her. Once you reached your room, you rushed Thalia in, shutting the doors, and running to your bed and screaming into your pillows.

"Feels like we've been here before.." she joked, referring to the night you got engaged as you screamed in anger into your pillows like you were just now.

You looked up at her and glared. "I get married in three days, and your having a laugh at my expense?"

"Three days," she exclaimed, with her eyes wide as she held up three fingers. "Like this many days??"

"Yes, I haven't even gotten the chance to pick a dress," you complained. "Not even a better husband!!"

Thalia chuckled at your annoyance. "Yeah, I knew it. Living out, fighting and hunting, is definitely what I was made for."

"Yeah, good for you," you slow clapped. You and your sister continued to catch up before Margaret, your favorite servant, walked in.

"Princess Y/N, your father is requesting your presence in the dressing chambers."

"Oh okay, I'll be going now," you nodded. "Please, come with me."

You dragged your sister with you as you made your way to the dressing chambers. Normally you liked it there, trying on new clothes, the beautifully dresses and jewelry, it was just so much fun. Now your father was calling you there, and right now you two weren't feeling very friendly with one another. He didn't like hearing his lowly servants gossiping about how the king's daughter had a boy in her room while he was away. Not like anything really happened though!!!

You opened the door and both you and Thali's eyes widen as you peered inside the room. "That's a lot of white," she commented.

"You can say that again," you agreed. There were so. Many. Wedding dresses. You and Thalia quickly picked your jaws off the floor as Margaret came back into the room to assist you with the dresses.

You tried on all types of dresses as Thalia helped you cycle through them. It was very 'Say Yes to the Dress' style. She sat in the couch in front of you as you put on every style dress under the sun. From straps to strapless, from lace to sparkles, from modest to backless, it was here. After a while, Margaret left and it was just the two of you.

"How are there still more dresses," you groaned as you sat down on the mini podium you were currently standing on. "It been well over an hour for sure."

"Can't you just pick one, there's no way you haven't liked any of the ones you've tried on," Thalia complained.

"I need to make sure its a perfect dress, you only get married once y'know."

"Well-"

"Father will only let me get married once," you corrected. "Sorry, is that more clear for you?"

You both laughed as you heard the door open behind you. Turning around, a familiar curly head popped through the door. "Someone looks nice, this for me?"

"Excuse me, but it's bad luck for the fiancé to see the wedding dress before the bride walks down the aisle," you quickly rolled your eyes as Luke walked into the room.

"Wow, didn't think you wished good luck on our marriage, I feel honored," he just chuckled at his joke while you shot a serious look to Thalia. One that read, 'I think I'm going to kill this man.'

"Your impossible."

"You're one to talk, my sweet princess," You groaned and turned around, facing the mirror, with your back to Luke. "Not a very modest dress, hm? Has father dearest seen this one?"

"Not a single one. I had a thought of finding the skimpiest dress in the room to make him angry, though I realized you might find it a little too appealing," you sighed. "I truly just can't win, can I?"

Luke chuckled as you he stood behind you in the mirror. Shortly, Margaret came into the room. "Miss Thalia, your hunters have requested your presence elsewhere."

She just nodded as she walked out. She turned back before leaving, shooting you a look saying she was sorry as you glared at her. "What? Can't be in a room alone with me?"

"I'd rather you were home, but I suppose you can stay," you looked at him through the mirror. "You're already here."

The dress was kind of heavy under you, so you shot a small gust of wind to help you float to your feet. "Always feel the need to show off?"

"If it makes you feel inferior to me? Always," you smiled. "Anyways I didn't think you'd be back till the wedding, my father was furious."

"As much as he wants to, he can't stop me from seeing my fiancé."

"Wish I could stop you, though alas I seem powerless," you shook your head and fanned your face. Your dress was backless, but you still had sleeves, and the ac seemed not to reach the room.

"Sweating there, princess?"

"Sweltering," Luke walked over to you, standing behind you as he had his hands on your waist while he examined your dress. "No funny business, Castellan."

He placed his head on your shoulder, looking into your eyes through the mirror as he unzipped the side of your dress. "Wouldn't dream of it."

He helped slide the sleeves off your sticky skin and dropped them like they were nothing. You were feeling hot as you held the dress over your chest. "C'mon princess, nothing I haven't seen before."

You turned around, dress still in your hands. "Oh fuck you."

"Fuck who," he leaned closer into your face, and you just grunted. Disregarding the dress in your hands, you grabbed Luke by the collar and smashed his face onto yours.

"You, fuck you," you breathed out before putting your lips back on his. You felt him smirking as he slightly bite into your bottom lip, you whimpered at the feeling and he slid his tongue in your mouth, tangling it with yours.

He had one hand tangled with your hair, while the other one was gripping onto the side of your hip so hard, that if the dress wasn't there then he might've drawn blood. As he slid his hands down right beneath your ass, you took the chance to jump into his arms. Moving your arms around his neck, you arched and moved even closer to Luke as you both deepened the kiss.

You were tangling your fingers through Luke's hair as he started walking forward, probably toward the couch where Thalia was just sitting to help you sort through dresses. Poor couch. Of course you knew where this was leading, but you weren't going to make this easy for Luke.

As he set you down on the couch, you planted your foot into his chest and slowly extended your leg, pushing him away. "Slow your roll Castellan."

You smiled smugly while Luke just stared at you, with a wild and hungry look in his eyes. "What?"

"Well, I have more dresses to try on of course," you laughed as you held your dress back up and gloated from your seat. "And, I don't know if I've said it but, remember, you can't see my dress before the wedding. Bad luck."

"Your going to kill me one of these days."

"And I'll wear a big smile at the funeral," he continued to look at you, in your eyes, as you both stared at each other while panting. He was a really good kisser, and while the thought made you grimace at his obvious practice, you still more.

Luke beat you to it when he bent back down, one hand gripping your jaw while the other gripped the couch behind you, and kissed you again. He slid his knee between your legs, as far as it could go, causing you to close your legs and start squirming for some friction. Luke started sliding you downward on the couch, now on top of you. He kept his knee between your legs while his other foot stayed planted on the floor, keeping him steady.

Luke started kissing down your neck, and basically tried ripping the rest of your dress off, which for someone as muscly as him, light work. As the cold air hit your chest, you felt goosebumps rise all over you.

Luke left a trail of sloppy kisses while you let out breathy moan, "Fuck, Luke," after breathy moan. "Oh my fuckk."

"Like that," he smirked against your skin, sounding as cocky as ever.

"Shut," you felt him start sucking on spots on your collarbone. "Up."

"Oh really," he started moving lower, down to your breasts. "Here I am makin you feel good," he kept planting wet kisses and sucking small spots on your skin in between his words. "And your there telling me to shut up."

You sat up, leaning on your elbows. "Do something about it."

You stared at him through your eyelashes as he ran his fingers down your chest, your breathing and heart started accelerating at his actions, "Then I will."

He slid his thumbs over your nipples as he pinched down, causing you to bite back a whine. Luke just laughed at your reaction while he sat and pulled you onto his lap. You captured his mouth back on yours and continued to share sloppy kisses, both your saliva drowning each other while you were grinding back and forth on his lap.

You felt him groan against your lips and you smirked as you felt him poke your inner thigh, "I knew you were happy to see me, but this is blasphemy."

"You think you're funny, don't you," he questioned as he started slowly sliding his hand under your dress, and against your skin. "Hm?"

"Hilarious," you breathed out. His hands slowly made it to your underwear, sliding his two fingers along your clothed cunt, causing your breathe to hitch.

"Hilarious, huh," he played with the hem of your panties. "Here's something really hilarious."

He moved your panties to the side, moving his fingers along your wet pussy, before sliding a finger in, "fuckk."

You let out quiet moans as he slid and curled his finger inside of you. He smiled at your reaction, sliding in a second finger. You shut your eyes and gripped onto Luke's shoulders as he kept doing curling and scissoring motions. Your moans slowly got louder as you laid your head down on his shoulder, grinding more on his fingers.

"Never took you for desperate, princess," he whispered in your ear. "Riding my fingers? Hm.."

"Luke," you wanted to sound assertive, but you couldn't help but whine out his name. You ignored his laughter and attacked his neck the way he did to you, unbuttoning his top buttons and leaving dark marks along his collarbone. After a few moments pass, he pulls your hair, pulling you back into a searing kiss. You felt a knot building in your stomach, knowing you were getting close, when you quickly felt a cold emptiness, and your panties shifting back in there place. "What the hell?"

Again with the whining, but to be fair, you couldn't help it. You were just soo close! "This is me, um, what were your words? 'Doing something about it?'"

You were breathing heavy as you pushed his chest back into the couch, "Really?"

"If you want me that bad, just say it," he teased. Something that always aggravated you about him was definitely his over confidence, and you knew as a fact you weren't gonna beg for him.

"I don't think I will," you chuckled as you slid off him. He looked at you confused, then raised his eyebrows as you kicked off the rest of your dress onto the floor. "You think so highly of your self, never understood why."

Before he could come back with an equally snarky comment, he watched as you laid back, slowly moving your hands inside the front of your pretty pink lace panties, ones he hadn't gotten to actually see till now, and started rubbing circles on yourself. Luke felt the saliva in his mouth run dry at the filthy sight, but the worst part? You were still moaning his name.

"Oh Lukeee." "Fuckkk." "Mmmh, I feel soo gooodd," he had enough watching you, the way you bit your lip, the way you arched your back, the way you kept one tit cupped in your free hand, and the way you did it all without breaking eye contact.

Luke creeped back over, grabbing your hand out from your panties and quickly pulling them down. You started feeling a little nervous, since now he got a full view. Yeah, you seemed confident and hot just a second ago, but you were still a virgin with no experience, LOL!

This time, he sat himself on the floor in front of you, moving your body to face him, eye level with your cunt, staring wide eyed and licking his lips. You looked as him as lick straight up your slit, you threw your head back and moaned, not even bothering to hold it back anymore.

"No idea what you do to me," he said against you, causing you to shiver as he went back to sucking on your clit. You found your fingers pulling at his curls, moving him in closer, as you tightened your legs around his head.

"Just like that, fuck," you'd been swearing like a sailor today, but that wasn't your problem. Luke continued eating you like he was a man starved, until he again added his two fingers, causing you to press yourself even closer to his face. The poor boy probably couldn't breathe, but he was completely fine to be swallowed by you. Minutes keep passing as you feel the same knot from earlier keep building in your stomach. "Please don't stop again, I'm so close."

Just as you finished your sentence, Luke curled his fingers for the last time as you felt yourself come undone on him, smearing his face with, well, you!!

You let out a loud sigh as you laid back on the couch, falling to your side as you caught your breathe. Luke sat on the floor licking his lips and wiping his jaw. He watched as you stretched out on the couch, butt naked while your inner thighs dripped.

"Here, lemme just.." he trailed off as he wiped you down with your discarded wedding dress.

You chuckled, "it's ruined now. What if I liked that one?"

"No you didn't, wasn't you."

You sat back up, hands covering your chest. "You think so? Then what is me?"

Luke passed you your underwear as he stood up, looking through the racks of dresses. After a few minutes, he pulled one out. "Isn't this the designer you like?"

"Hm, yeah, Vivienne Westwood, I love her clothes," you smiled, grabbed the dress from the floor and walking over. "I got to see one of her shows before she died, it was beautiful."

"Whats with the..," Luke gestured over to you and the way you wrapped the dress around your upper half.

"Its cold, you keep catching me mostly naked these days you know."

"Yeah yeah," he chuckled. "Here, this one."

You grabbed the dress, "Camille, this one's my favorite."

"I know you better than you think I do," he smiled as he guided you back to the podium in front of the mirrors. Luke slid up the dress, getting whatever buttons and zippers resided in the back. He stood aside, letting you stand alone in the mirror. You softly smiled as you slowly spun, getting every angle of the dress.

"It's beautiful, gods I hate it when your right."

"Oh I'm sure," you laughed as you heard the door open behind you, Thalia was back. "Why hello Ms. Thalia."

"Luke," she greeted. "Wow, Y/N that ones beautiful."

"I know, that's what I said," you smiled at the compliment, "this is going to be my dress."

"Bad luck for him to see the dress you know."

"Why Thalia, for I'm the one who picked the dress," he taunted.

"Not too much now, Castellan."

Thalia just watched as the two of you went back and forth, definitely remembering to ask you later what had happened while she was gone.

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