#decided to make it a comic this morning | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

earthtooz · 9 months

Text

x : NOT JEALOUS ! :*+ﾟ

in which: alhaitham isn't jealous, he doesn't get jealous, so what is this suffocating feeling in his chest that only happens when you're talking to another man that isn't him?

warnings: 5.4k words, jealous!alhaitham x gn!reader who has loads of rizz, university!au, fluff with angst but happy ending, pining!alhaitham who doesn't realise that he loves you, kaveh is there, mention of cyno, ooc at some bits?, swearing, alhaitham is a little bit of an asshole at some parts sawry. he's bad with feelings.

a/n: inspired by @danijaci's jealous jealous boy comic with alhaitham! hi dani if you're reading this pls don't perceive me... hides... but i hope you all like it :,)

Alhaitham isn’t jealous.

The uncomfortable feeling obstructing itself in his throat is just because he’s beginning to develop a sore throat- that’s all. It is flu season after all, who knows what kind of bacteria are in the air? Ones capable of lathing an uncomfortable oil that burns inside his chest, the smog crowding its way into his heart, sickening him to his core as Alhaitham can’t help but eavesdrop on the conversation happening beside him.

“I’m free friday,” a voice besides you confirms.

“Okay!” you cheer, sounding a little too happy for Alhaitham’s liking. After all, it’s 9 am, who has this much energy in the morning? “lets do Friday then!”

“Sounds good, I’ll see you then. Bye Y/n.”

“Bye, see you!” Alhaitham watches from the corner of his eye as you wave to the random stranger you’ve decided to associate yourself with before finally taking the seat beside him with a sigh.

He doesn’t say anything to you, feeling your eyes glance at him expectantly as he stares stubbornly at the lecture board instead of acknowledging you or the jumble of feelings clogging up his diaphragm.

“Hello, you,” You lean over slightly, careful to not invade his personal space whilst waving at him, hoping to catch his attention. He glances at you, nodding in greeting before returning to his book, the pages and rows of words only fuelling his unease he suddenly felt. He doesn’t even know where he left off, the book’s events a blur in Alhaitham’s mind.

How bothersome. What’s happening to him?

“Talkative today, aren’t you?” Your tone is playful despite his cold attitude and Alhaitham sneaks another look in your direction, noting the way your lips curve upwards. “So, how are you?”

“I’m fine,” he murmurs, inserting a bookmark between the pages before slamming it shut, an indicator that you could keep conversing with him.

“Cool.” You tap your nails on the desks of the lecture hall. “Oh, I finished my essay the other day.”

“The one for your elective?”

You hum in agreement, “I hope I never get it back. Submitted it ten minutes before the due date.”

“You know you wouldn’t have been stressed over it if you just started it earlier-”

“I know, I know,” you huff, “spare your productivity lectures for another time, I’ll be needing them later in the semester.” The grey-haired shakes his head as you laugh, but his gaze returns to the front cover of his book as he solemnly thinks about the interaction you had with another man, right in front of him.

(What right did he have to see you smiling so earnestly like that?)

“Who was that?” Alhaitham coughs out, barely choking down his pride in time to make space for the question.

You murmur some guy’s name that he doesn’t bother to remember. “He’s a friend of mine in the same discussion group for this course and we decided to do the assignment together. He bumped into me on the way in so we were just planning when to meet to do the research.”

“Oh.” Your answer doesn’t calm the churning in Alhaitham’s gut. Not even one bit, in fact, it makes it worse.

But it’s not jealousy, Alhaitham doesn’t get jealous because he’s above petty feelings of inadequacy. He’s merely concerned for you, worried for your brainpower by the end of the project because your partner seems less-than-incompetent. If you’d picked someone like Alhaitham (or better yet, just picked Alhaitham), you would’ve aced the class without even blinking an eye.

(The two of you are friends, so why didn’t you pick him? It’s literally been proven that the two of you are compatible working together since you were both executives of Sumeru’s Cultural Society, and amidst all of the activities the club has run, you’ve collaborated many times to make each event run flawlessly. So why not him? Why would you pick another man over him?)

“You know you could have picked me, I wouldn’t mind working on the assignment with you,” he grumbles, words soft but very clear.

Alhaitham misses the way your eyes widen in shock as apologies scramble out of your mouth. “I’m sorry! I automatically assumed that you wanted to work on it by yourself. Next time I’ll ask you.”

The lecture begins before he could say anything in return and like a robot, he sets his thoughts aside and begins listening, notes document up and cursor blinking at the ready.

A mundane two hours pass by, one powerpoint slide after powerpoint slide before the lecture is finally over, much to your pleasure. Alhaitham notices the way you eagerly jump out of your seat to stretch, grabbing your bag. On the other hand, your grey-haired accomplice takes his time in packing up, forcing you to wait for him.

“Would you like to get some coffee before the meeting?” You ask.

“Sure, we can find a seat there and join it together,” he adds and you beam at him, expression bright and so enchanting that it makes him forget about all the perplexities he felt before the lecture.

The two of you make your way to one of the many campus cafés where you practically wrestled Alhaitham to stop him from paying for both your orders (losing in the end) before sitting at a booth, your laptop set up with a pair of Alhaitham’s earphones shared between you. The meeting begins to fill up with almost all committee members, even Kaveh, who resides in his room of his and Alhaitham’s shared flat. Upon noticing him, you go to text him, with the grey-haired peeking over your shoulder from time to time to see your conversation- not that he cares that much.

(Perhaps if Kaveh glanced up from his phone, then he’d see how close Alhaitham had gotten with you, breaching the distance that he prefers to keep around others. He’d also notice the headphone sharing despite how he generally tends to keep them out of anyone else’s hands.)

You’re tasked with the role of taking notes for the meeting since Alhaitham, in your opinion, is not at all a reliable scribe. His notes tend to just include vital information and never what everyone else needs to know, yet each time you scold him for it, his unbothered expression never falters, waving your complaints off with a shrug.

“Hey, Kaveh and I are going to go for lunch tomorrow after our classes. Care to join?” You ask, smiling at him hopefully as your messages with Kaveh sit open on your screen. Alhaitham doesn’t think twice before agreeing.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“It looks like it’s about to rain,” you murmur, pulling out a chair as Alhaitham and Kaveh take their seats opposite you.

“So it does,” Alhaitham notes, not caring to look too long out the window before returning his gaze to you. “You have an umbrella, right?”

“I, uh, didn’t think I needed one today.”

“Do you not check the weather before you leave?”

“Not everyone’s like you, Alhaitham.” Kaveh teases. “It’s no problem, Y/n, if it rains I can walk you back to your dorm.”

“Only if you are okay with it,” you insist, “I have no problem walking home in the rain. I love the rain.”

Alhaitham intervenes with a raise of his hand. “Nonsense, you’ll catch a cold. We’ll walk you home.”

A soft but genuine ‘thank you’ slips from your lips, neither of you wiser to the way Kaveh eyes his roommate suspiciously, not missing the use of ‘we’ in his sentence and the implications the collective pronoun has. For it meant that Alhaitham is willing to take precious time out of his day to perform an act for someone that he is not indebted to do. Not that Alhaitham is inherently selfish, per se, but he is a man of routine. He wakes up every morning and takes five minutes to scribble on his stupid whiteboard in the kitchen what he has to do for the day and strictly abides by it, not even straying two minutes off schedule.

Willingly volunteering his minutes? Kaveh finds that suspicious.

“So, how’s your architecture assignment, Kaveh?” You ask, breaking the blond from his daze whilst Alhaitham pours glasses of water for the table, starting with your cup.

“A nightmare,” he sighs, sinking into his chair. “I still have so much to do, you know my professor didn’t like my blueprint? How ridiculous! I hope that man steps in a puddle and wets his sock.”

The grey-haired pipes up with a remark. “I can’t wait for it to be done, our living room is a mess right now.”

“Hey, I am the one that cleans that living room, thank you very much. Your bookshelf is still a mess even though I’ve asked you to clean it five times.”

“If it bothers you so much then why don’t you do it yourself?”

“I’m the only one who-”

“-I’m going to go to the bathroom,” you murmur, cutting the conversation before shuffling out of your chair, seemingly eager to do so.

Kaveh turns to the grey-haired again, “and you just scared away Y/n.”

“Sorry no one wants to hear about your architecture project.”

“Y/n literally asked, asshole.”

A rebuttal sits on the tip of Alhaitham’s tongue- as it always does when it comes to bickering with his roommate, but it dies out when an intruder comes to the table. “Excuse me, I hate to interrupt,” he begins, “but the person who just got up, is that your friend?”

“Yeah, why do you ask?”

“Oh, I just wanted to drop this off, mind passing it over for me?” The piece of paper he was holding lands in Kaveh’s hand. “Thanks, bro.” Is all he says before strolling away, out of sight but definitely not out of mind.

The blond does not hesitate to open it up, chuckling in amusement when reading the content. “’Hey you’re cute, here’s my number’ it says. What a bitch! You didn’t like his vibes either, right, Alhaitham?”

“Hold on, what does the note say?”

Grabbing (snatching) it from Kaveh, the grey-haired has half a mind to rip the note apart, a certain sense of distaste washing over him that intensifies the long he stares at the guy’s handwriting. His eye is twitching. Why is his eye twitching?

“Hey!” He hears Kaveh call. “Don’t scrunch it, that’s Y/n’s-“

Alhaitham stuffs the ball of paper into his bag where he’ll recycle it later even though something irrational within him tells him to burn it. “Y/n won’t miss it. You said it yourself, he’s a bitch.”

“Sure, but why are you doing-“

“Hey!” You interrupt, sliding back into your chair with a grin on your face. “So, what did I miss?”

“Nothing,” the grey-haired murmurs, assuming his crossed-arm position. Kaveh side eyes his roommate before agreeing with a hum. “Let’s order something now. We want to beat the rain, right?”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

This meeting for the Sumeru Society might have been one of the most important ones of the year thus far, with almost every committee member expected to attend. After all, the annual ball was a big event that always had the largest turnout, and the amount of planning that goes into it to ensure its success is almost triple that of its other events.

So why weren’t you here?

“Why did you leave the meeting early on Friday?” Alhaitham asks as soon as he sees you.

You pause briefly, eyes widening and eyebrows raising. It must have been the way that Alhaitham’s voice raised a pitch towards the end of the question, demonstrating a nervous break in character that was not at all typical. Cool and collected would be the defining words to describe Alhaitham, as well as someone who does not care for the menial activities of others, so what is he doing asking you? And why does he care so much?

“I, uh, had dinner with someone,” you confess, continuing to grab your books and laptop, missing the way his features contort into something un-cool, and very un-Alhaitham.

“Whom?”

You murmur the name of some other guy, who he vaguely recalls to be your project partner.

“What?” Alhaitham snaps.

“I didn’t think missing out on some of the meeting would be a big deal! I got another committee member to explain what I missed,” you justified. “Besides, there’s no big events going on right now, so I thought-”

“-That you could abandon your tasks and go have fun with someone else?”

Alhaitham’s not really sure why he said that. He’s not angry that you skipped a meeting; there are larger things in the world to worry about, he’s angry because you spent time with another guy that wasn’t him.Why not go to dinner with him instead? He spends it every night with Kaveh, and you are far more favourable than Kaveh.

“Is it really something to get mad over? I already told you, I got the meeting notes and everything-”

“-You’re an executive of the society, Y/n, more is expected from you.”

“Seriously?” you ask, “how come you didn’t bat an eye when the vice president wasn’t there the other day?”

“Because she was sick.”

“Okay, fine! what about the subcommittee? they’re not always there either!”

“They’re subcom. Whether they miss a meeting or not is not crucial.”

“So, it’s just my business that you care about?” You ask, eyebrows furrowed, disbelief clouding over your expression like a mask.

Again, Alhaitham doesn’t know where these punches are coming from and why he’s throwing them against you so viciously, but his heart is tightening defensively with a burning emotion that he’s been feeling more and more recently, and his first instinct is to lash out, to protect himself from it.

Perhaps it’s because foreign things that he can’t understand terrify him and you, all you ever do is make him feel things that he’s never felt before and he can’t understand why.

“You’re not that special.”

A flash of hurt gleams in your eyes and Alhaitham knows now that he’s royally fucked up. “You’re an ass,” you grumble, about to walk away when he intercepts.

“Listen to me!”

“Fuck off!”

“Y/n-”

You’re gone before he can get another word out, retreating figure stomping away whilst his chest weaves into knots; something that no amount of deep breathing can calm. It doesn’t help that the minute he returns home, Kaveh is onto him like some sort of parasite, curious over the tense air surrounding his normally-composed roommate.

“Hey, welcome home- whoa, what’s gotten into you?” The blond asks.

“None of your business,” Alhaitham grumbles through gritted teeth, taking his shoes off and throwing them aside haphazardly. Kaveh doesn’t miss the way Alhaitham’s jaw is clenched, or the strain in his hand when he brings up a hand to run through his hair, or the very subtle and minute twitch in his cheek.

The blond ignores all signs that he wants to be left alone, and instead, follows the grey-haired to his room after he swung the door open.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on, let’s talk about this-”

“Talk about what?” Alhaitham growls.

“Who pissed in your black coffee today?”

“No one. Now get lost.”

“Aw, come on, you know what they say. Getting things off your chest is always beneficial.”

“There’s nothing on my chest, go away.”

“You sure? no stress, no deadlines, no love interest making you tear your hair out-”

“-No, no, none of those!”

“Then what?”

Alhaitham steadies himself by resting his elbows on his thighs, hands clasped together as he exhales loudly. “I got pissed and took it out on Y/n, who’s mad at me now.”

“Huh? Why so annoyed?”

“Because Y/n went to dinner with another man.”

It’s silent for a while. The sassy quip that he expects from Kaveh does not happen. Instead, the blond merely smiles, a satisfied, knowing grin that slightly irks him. “You know, I’ve been waiting for the day you realise you have feelings for Y/n.”

“What? Where did you get that conclusion from?” Alhaitham sits up straighter. There are a lot of things he knows, and he knows for sure that he does not like you in any way beyond platonic. He doesn’t have any time to spare for love. There are scholarships he still needs to apply for, internships to be interviewed for, research projects to submit- nowhere amongst the minute hand of the clock is there space for love.

“Oh come on,” Kaveh sits down on the bed beside his roommate, leaning back on his hands. “You’re not as smooth as you hope to be sometimes.”

“I’m serious, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Y’know the sooner you accept you have feelings for Y/n, the easier life will be.”

“Life is already easy and there is no sooner because I don’t like Y/n like that. Now get lost. I have stuff I need to finish.”

Kaveh shrugs, standing up with a soft ‘suit yourself’, taking seven steps before he’s out of the room. Alhaitham lets out a sigh that has lodged itself in his throat for too long, and the feeling of reprieve he gets is short-lived before he’s flooded with a certain tightness again. Maybe he did have a weight on his chest after all, not that he’d ever admit it to himself or Kaveh.

He gets up from his made bed with a grunt and decides to push aside all distractions. Time is unforgiving, and if doesn’t finish his assignment by this Friday then he’ll be a little less than pleased.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Alhaitham feels like he can’t breathe.

You’re sitting alone at a library desk, all focused and concentrated on your laptop screen with your headphones on, blocking out any outside voice as you type away. He wonders if he should say hi, maybe try apologising for the way he acted last Monday- who is this guy that’s approaching you and why does he look so familiar?

And why are you smiling so happily?

You beckon to the seat beside you and the guy readily complies, taking the chair beside you like he belonged there, like there weren’t other candidates that should be there instead (he’s not talking about himself. definitely not).

He hands you one of two coffee cups he’s holding. What kind of right does this guy have to give you a coffee? Does he even know your order?

He feels like a bit of creep keenly watching you interact with someone else from a balcony of the library, but the book and laptop in front of him lies forgotten, and in a rare moment of weakness, Alhaitham can’t find it in himself to return to his tasks, pursuit of knowledge momentarily forgotten. He can’t push aside the bile that threatens to rise, he can’t loosen his grip on the couch’s armrest, and he can’t blink for a second in fear of losing you from his sight.

(You’re laughing. Why are you laughing? How can you look so pretty laughing and why doesn’t he ever get to make you laugh like this?)

Alhaitham is losing his damn mind. So much so that the first thing he does when he sees you again is corner you.

“You shouldn’t talk to that guy anymore.”

You’re backed against the brick walls of the time-worn building that your shared lecture always takes place in, and Alhaitham, spotting you like a hawk, put you in this precarious position as soon as the two hours were over.

He can’t breathe. It’s been almost three weeks since you last spoke to him and you’re staring up at him like you’ve done nothing wrong, blinking once and twice at his uncharacteristic display of subtle aggression.

“Who?” you mutter, shaking your head to try and grasp reality once again. you hug your laptop closer to your body. “What’s this about?”

“I said you shouldn’t talk to that guy anymore.”

“What guy?”

“Your project partner.”

“Really?” you mutter in disbelief.

He nods, teal eyes shining at you firmly. “Really. The project’s over, you don’t need to talk to him anymore.”

“I don’t recall ever giving you the right to dictate who gets to be in my life or not, just like how you can’t tell me what to do with my time.”

“I’m looking out for you, so stop trying to make me sound tyrannical.”

Your mouth hangs open as you furrow your eyebrows, growing more and more frustrated with each second. So much for thinking that he wanted to resolve the awkwardness between the two of you. “I’m not even going to argue with you,” you murmur a quick ‘jerk’ under your breath before brushing past him.

Alhaitham, however, is not willing to let you go as easily as you wish, quick to chase after you. Not that you go far anyways, turning around to face him again in the spaciousness of the vacant hallway. “Why do you care?” You ask, exasperated. “You’re Alhaitham, you don’t let trivial things like who I hangout with bother you, you’re cool and collected and rational, and I just don’t understand why you’re acting like this.”

He doesn’t understand either, not the erratic beating of his heart, the stubbornness of his mind, nor this undisputable urge to keep you all to himself. Is it normal to want to hide someone for selfish reasons?

Trailing off, Alhaitham is slightly humiliated that for the first time in his life, someone has witnessed him coming short of an answer. No logical conclusion, no explanation, not even a satisfying quip, just plain, suffocating silence.

“Right. When you do have an answer, let me know.” You walk away.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Your last rebuttal still weighs heavily on Alhaitham’s mind, even two days later as he and Kaveh are seated for a lecture in a shared course. His thoughts are scrambled like never before, the messiness of it all making him feel uneasy because for once, he doesn’t have an appropriate answer to a question.

Why was he acting like a temperamental teenager? What you did with your life was up to you, and indeed he has no right trying to change that. More importantly, why was it so hard to apologise for the stuff he said-

“So, how’s everything between you and Y/n?”

Kaveh turns to him with widened eyes whilst Alhaitham’s poker face doesn’t move an inch, deceivingly apathetic.

“Good, we’ve been hanging out a lot more recently,” the other guy says, who Alhaitham quickly recognises to be your project partner and distaste rises in his stomach like bile.

“Aye, good for you, man! So when are you going to ask Y/n out?”

“No way, bro, not yet. I’m such a wimp, but I hope I grow the balls to ask soon because I really like-”

“-looks like you got some competition!” The blond nudges Alhaitham, and if it were anyone else, they would not have glanced twice at the grey-haired who seemed unmoving and uninterested. However, Kaveh is not anyone else because he noticed the darkened look in Alhaitham’s eyes instantly, anger seeping into his composed gaze as his nose scrunches in disgust.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“So, you and Alhaitham still aren’t talking?” Kaveh asks, leaning on the table of the restaurant with curious ears, hoping that he can grab some answers out of you as to why there was a stalemate between you and his roommate.

“Nope,” you sigh.

“Why not?”

“I’m just-” you pinch the bridge of your nose, “I’m just waiting on an apology from him.”

“An apology? Why? What did he say?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“You know how he is. Always insufferably secretive, so no, I don’t know anything that happened.”

“Alhaitham just said some hurtful things to me, and he was being weird when I told him I was going to dinner with a friend of mine. Just kept being in my business.”

“Really?” The architecture student quirks a brow, confusion plastered on his face. “That’s not like Alhaitham at all.”

“I know, right? He kept trying to be like ‘don’t hang out with him’ and ridiculed me for not playing my part as an executive of the Sumeru society,” you complained, “like sorry I have other things I want to do.”

Kaveh nods in understanding as the conversation briefly stops when the waiter comes to drop off utensils at your table. As soon as they were gone, however, you begin again.

“And even though he was all up in my business, trying to tell me what not to do, he then said that I wasn’t special, which is so confusing because like-”

“-hold on. Alhaitham said that you weren’t special?” You nod at his parroted claim. “To him?”

“Yeah. Stung like shit when he said that, especially since I thought we were friends but guess not,” you murmur sadly, fiddling with the fork.

Later that night, almost immediately after meeting you over dinner, Kaveh barges into his roommate’s room, not even changing out of his outside clothes. The sudden intrusion shocks Alhaitham who was busy typing on a document, textbook splayed open beneath him but momentarily forgotten as the blond takes a seat on the bed.

“What the- not even a hello?” The grey-haired asks, confused by this uncharacteristic silence of Kaveh’s. It’s pretty normal for the blond to barge into his room without notice, but it was not normal for him to be so quiet, practically brooding on the mattress. “Whatever. Where have you been? Have you eaten yet, because I made-”

“When will you just confess to Y/n?”

The mention of your name causes a spike in Alhaitham’s heartbeat and he swivels around instantly, attention fully directed towards his roommate. “Where is this coming from?”

“Y/n told me everything that happened between you two by the way-”

“-what, when?”

“Tonight, we just met for dinner.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“What would you have done if you knew? Showed up and made things worse?” He doesn’t say anything in retaliation, merely shutting his mouth and furrowing his eyebrows. “Why did you say that Y/n wasn’t special to you?”

“I didn’t,” Alhaitham sighs, very loud and very perplexed. “I didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did.”

“Don’t you miss Y/n? You two used to hangout so often.”

“I do, of course I do!” He exclaims, burrowing his face in his hands.

“So why aren’t you apologising?”

“Because whenever I’m around Y/n, I’m not who I normally am,” he mutters, “especially everything whenever that project partner is around-”

“Jealous, much?”

“I’m not jealous.”

“Oh come on, you’re ridiculous. Stop pushing away your feelings and just be honest with yourself, Alhaitham! Y/n is not just a friend to you and you know it.”

“But, we are just friends-”

“So you mean to tell me that if I hung out with someone else- like if I hung out with Cyno, you would be pissed?”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Then why is it different with Y/n?” Once again, Alhaitham doesn’t have an answer to the question, sitting as still as a statue hunched over his desk. “Fine, I’ll spell it out to you. You like Y/n, more than just a friend!”

The silence leftover from Kaveh’s outburst is tense and full as the grey-haired lets the words sink in.

“I’ll let you think about it,” the blond murmurs, voice softening dramatically as he stalks out of the room. Before he closes the door, however, he leaves a few final words. “Just- be honest with yourself, Alhaitham, and I wouldn’t delay trying to talk to Y/n.”

A sharp click rings through the room.

Alhaitham is no stranger to being alone, for who needs the company of others when you are happiest by yourself? Yet, in the weeks that you have not been speaking to him, a cardinal urge as been growing each and each day, wanting him to do something so atypical of him: to reach out and make the first move. Every passing day doesn’t lessen the thoughts that plague his mind, rather, they make him more and more impatient, because what if you get swept away by your project partner?

(What if he’ll be too late? What if you won’t know of these powerful emotions that are steering through the storm in his heart? What if you won’t know just how badly he was been wanting you- wanting to see you, wanting to apologise, wanting to see you beam at him like you always would.

What if you won’t know that he adores you, especially now that he’s figured it out?).

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

A rain droplet falls and lands on your nose, another lands on your forehead, then another lands on your lip then more and more keep falling from the cloudy sky, falling through the leaves and landing on the bench you were currently sitting on. Goodness, you should have checked the weather before leaving your dorm. Why was it now out of all times that it had to rain, what would Alhaitham think after he finally decided to reach out to talk?

Taking your phone out to message the grey-haired about relocating, an umbrella is suddenly held over you, stopping the gentle drizzle from falling onto you. Looking up, you’re greeted by a familiar face that you have been missing too much recently.

“Hello, you,” you breathe, voice gentle and quiet and Alhaitham feels like he can finally breathe after so long, the scent of rain washing away all perplexion.

He nods at you in greeting before offering you the bouquet of flowers he was holding. A gorgeous arrangement of pink of white stare prettily at you and a man even more gorgeous expects you to accept it.

“For me?” You ask.

“For you.”

“Thank you, they’re so beautiful,” you take his gift with gentle hands, holding it close to your chest.

“I want to apologise,” he firmly states, getting straight to the point; very Alhaitham of him. “For treating you the way I have been recently.”

You beam at him, so bright and so gorgeous that it renders him speechless, a feat pretty difficult when it comes to someone like Alhaitham who has a whole dictionary of words, in multiple languages too. Somehow, they all flock out of his mind the second you smile at him.

“I accept your apology, thank you for reaching out, must have been hard for someone like you, huh?” You tease, standing up from the bench.

“Well, I had do for someone as special as you.” The grey-haired’s voice is deceivingly confident and assured, but you know better, especially when he looks away to hide his expression with his neatly styled bangs.

“No need for the flattery, you know, I’ve already forgiven you.” There’s a moment of silence that occupies the air, caused by Alhaitham’s hesitation as he fishes his brain for the courage to ask you out. You speak before he can get a word out, however. “I got asked out the other day.”

“By your groupmate?”

“He has a name, you know, but, yeah. I rejected him, though,” you laugh awkwardly, almost like you were trying to cope with it by playing it off. “Did you know that he would do that?”

“Yes. I did.”

“Is that why you were so adamant on me not hanging out with him?”

“I guess you could say that. We can talk more about it another time,” he tells you, voice gentle and caring to mask the subtle hit of jealousy he feels in his chest, scolding himself for letting someone else confess to you before him. However, it’s a minute sensation in comparison to the triumph Alhaitham feels knowing that you rejected the other party.

“We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

“We do, but I want to ask you something first.”

You nod, hugging the bouquet closer to your chest, anticipation heavy in the air as you spur him to continue.

“If I asked you out, would you reject me too?”

A mere second passes by where you don’t respond, yet the second stretches out to what feels like eternity as Alhaitham’s stomach churns. Patience is something he doesn’t lack, but how can he be patient when his heart wants you so bad?

Then, you take his hand, and the heavens sing at the feeling of your hand in his. “I wouldn’t, but are you asking me out?”

“Are you free right now?”

“I am. Why?”

“Let’s go out then. On a date.”

“I'd love to.” You rise up to place a lingering kiss on his cheek, one that has his heart racing with joy rather than frustration.

The smile you earn is gentle, shy, but says more than Alhaitham's words ever can.

#i didn't edit this btw don't judge #alhaitham x reader #al-haitham x reader #alhaitham x you #al haitham x reader #genshin impact x reader #fluff #alhaitham fluff #al-haitham fluff #genshin fluff #genshin x reader #alhaitham fic #genshin fic

9K notes · View notes

fayes-fics · 11 days

Text

Mirror, Mirror

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: When Benedict's wife tries on his clothes, things happen...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, cross-dressing, clothing kink, light biting, breast play, a smidge of intercrural sex, very mild exhibitionism, mirror sex, vaginal sex.

Word Count: 2.2k

Authors Note: Request fill for @d-caryophyllus (HERE) about Benedict being aroused by his wife dressing up in his clothing. I hope this fits what you were hoping for, my dear. Thanks as ever to @colettebronte for the beta read. Yes, the title is a nod to Season 3, lol. Err, enjoy! <3

It’s early in the morning on a mundane Thursday when a somewhat daring idea forms in your mind.

Fresh out of your morning bath, you dismiss your maid quietly when usually she would assist you with dressing for the day. As the double doors click closed discreetly behind her, you glance through the open archway into your bedroom; heavy curtains still drawn there, obscuring the sunlight. In the darkness, you can just decipher the outline of your husband sleeping soundly after a late night of carousing with his brothers.

With a little secret smile, you decide that, yes, now is the perfect time. He is asleep, and you have a few hours to spare until your first social engagement - a ladies' luncheon - so why not use the time to satisfy your curiosity?

You stride to your husband's side of the dressing room, opening his wardrobe doors and running your fingers over the items within—a symphony of wools, silks and cotton, all luxurious to the touch. While he is arguably one of the more flamboyantly dressed men of the Ton, with eye-catching jewel-toned waistcoats and colourful cravats, the basics of his outfit are mostly the same every time: dark trousers and a white shirt. A large part of you is envious of that easier choice. Sometimes, it feels like a veritable minefield being a woman during the social season, the looming threat of an unintended fashion faux pas simply by wearing the wrong colour to the wrong event.

Upon a chair, you spy the outfit he discarded when he came home in the early hours, not yet tidied away by your staff. You decide this shall be your choice, a frisson that they are already worn.

Dropping your bathrobe from your shoulders, you grab the pair of his trousers and pull them on. The finely woven wool feels plush on your skin, and there is an undeniable novelty in having fabric between your thighs. They are, however, almost comically long for you, and you have to bend to roll them up a few times around your ankles. Bemused, you briefly catch sight of your reflection in the full-length dressing room mirror, topless in oversized trousers.

You snatch his white shirt and pull it on, pausing to tug the ruffled lapels up to your face and inhale deeply, enjoying the flood of scent there. His woodsy citrus cologne, yes, but also that undercurrent that is all him. That tang you cannot help but bury your face into, be it upon his pillow when he is away or his body while you cling to him, moving together in ecstasy.

You fasten a few buttons, then tuck the shirt into the trousers and loop the braces hanging loose around your hips up onto your shoulders, once again inspecting your reflection in the mirror with a wry smile, twisting this way and that, admiring how different you look dressed in his clothing.

“Wife, what are you doing?”

You almost jump out of your skin as that velvet tone, slightly roughened by sleep, calls out from across the room. You twist to see Benedict leaning casually upon the archway into the dressing room, shooting you a look that is pure menacing intrigue while looking like sin himself—all riotous bedhead, and, as your eyes slip further down, gloriously naked. It makes you swallow hard.

“I… I was trying on your clothes,” you stumble sheepishly, a blush creeping over your cheeks being caught doing something perhaps rather bizarre.

“Any reason?” he queries, bemused, that crooked smile claiming his features.

“They just seem so much more practical and comfortable—especially trousers. I would like to wear such things…” you confess, turning back to the mirror to appraise your appearance again, watching him prowl towards you in the reflection. “Are… are you vexed with me, husband? For taking such liberties?” Your words petering out, mildly abashed.

A large, warm hand wraps around your shoulder, yanking you back almost roughly, making you gasp as your shoulder blades collide with his chest.

“The precise opposite,” he rumbles, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror, a sudden burning intensity that makes your lungs feel tight.

Long fingers spider down his brocade brace, draped down your chest, lingering where the strap rests over your nipple, swiping his thumb in a deliberate tease, his face triumphant as you swoon back into him from just this simple touch.

“My clothes look much better upon you than me,” he opines duskily, his lips tracing your temple as his fingertips push the brace aside to capture your nipple through the thin cotton shirt, making you inhale sharply. “Perhaps we should attend a party with you dressed like this?”

“That would be a scandal!”

There is a vault in your stomach at the idea of attending a social event dressed in his clothes, even as you melt under his questing touch.

“Not in the more… bohemian… circles that I know of…” he contends; his breath is a warm gust in your ear as his other hand does the same, fondling both nipples now.

He waits until you meet his gaze in the mirror again, then lowers his lips to your neck and bites gently. His incisors a faint scrape, immediately soothed by a wide, wet lathe of his tongue. A little crest of victory as something sizeable stirs against the cleft of your bottom.

“If I were dressed as you, then what would you wear, husband?”

“Whatever you would like, my darling,” he offers between soft, damp kisses, a tingle running up your neck from his lips to the top of your scalp. “I could wear your clothing should you wish it. Or perhaps just your corset and underwear?” He nuzzles into you, taking a deep breath. “Our little secret…”

Something about his tone, the images he concocts, makes your blood run warm, your hand reaching up and diving into his luscious hair, tugging gently upon his roots so again he feels compelled to use his teeth, a groan bubbling up from within as he does. With a flick of his wrists, the braces fall from your shoulders, and he cups your breasts through his thin cotton shirt. It makes you sigh his name, asking for more, arousal coursing thickly through your veins—a yen to be taken right away.

“The thought arouses you, does it not?” he correctly surmises, trailing his touch down over the shirt, brushing your ribs and belly to the fastening on the trousers, making short work of the buttons.

You nod demurely, biting your lip as you watch his dextrous hands in the mirror, his arms encircling you; it is almost as if he is removing them from himself. The air feels heady as he pushes the loosened fabric from around your frame, and it hits the rug with an audible thump.

Standing before him in just his ruffled white shirt with only a few buttons fastened, you feel his weighted stare in the mirror, lingering on the patch of hair at the apex of your thighs peeking out between the shirt sides.

“I shall prefer you keep this on…” he asserts, popping open a button over your chest so the fabric opens enough for him to slide a hand inside, tweaking your nipple and pulling you back into his frame, rutting his now solid cock against your bottom.

You turn your head to press your lips to his, imploring for more of his touch in a fervent whisper before seeking a kiss. His mouth is hot on yours, rolling his tongue with yours, endless caresses of your breasts as you burn so hot you rub your thighs together in delicious anticipation of more, already more than ready for him, your clit pulsing with each tease of his tongue.

“Here?”

You know what he is asking—if you wish to have sex right where you stand, in front of your dressing mirror, his shirt loose around your body, him naked behind you.

“Yes. Yes please…” you murmur into his mouth, rolling your body against him, telegraphing unmistakable need.

“The window is open,” he points out with a smirk, nodding towards a high window that allows in light to the dressing room but affords you not to be seen; it is open this morning to let in the summer breeze. “What if we are heard?”

“I care not,” you confess, exhaling jaggedly, knowing he likes you in this state, desperate and debauched, uncaring if you may be overheard in your pursuit of pleasure.

Rubbing yourself upon him akin to a feline in heat, moving so his cock passes teasingly between your thighs now as you writhe. He groans and tells you not to stop, hissing his approval. So you squeeze your legs together tightly, allowing him to rut between them, the pass of his cock glancing maddeningly over your engorged clit.

His touch becomes heavier, hands mapping your body as his hips surge, and you see the red, weeping tip of his cock emerging and disappearing in the mirror, an intoxicating sight. You moan lightly with every pass, a tantalising swipe, not enough to bring you real pleasure, just notching your want higher.

He finally takes pity upon you, angling his hips differently and driving into you; you, moaning at the invasion so deep and encompassing, rocked up onto your tiptoes. Every time he has entered your body, it's always the same: a force that steals your breath and makes your eyes roll. His hands are a firm grip around your waist as he withdraws slowly back, then surges in again, capturing your earlobe in his teeth as he does.

As your eyes meet in the mirror, you idly wonder how many other wives are watching themselves being fucked by a handsome husband like this; a bright weekday morning, birdsong wafting in on the scented breeze, body wrapped only in his shirt. You suspect none are quite so lucky.

You moan his name and arch back against him, wrapping your hands around his neck and watching yourself being taken, relying on him to keep your stance steady as he starts to fuck into you in earnest, large hands sliding up to cup your breasts, engulfing them in his warm palms.

Unable to stop the noises you make, each pass hitting all the spots inside that make your toes curl into the thick pile of the rug beneath your feet, your pussy clenching around his invasion, making him growl and move faster, taking you harsher, an onslaught that is as pleasurable as it is powerful.

His mouth is a breathy litany of praise into your cheekbone, your eyes fluttering closed to focus on the carnal moment - the sweat, the skin, the ragged breaths, the meeting of your bodies so primal and glorious, but he has other ideas.

“Look at yourself,” he purrs dulcetly, your eyes reopening to do as he asks, to watch this unrestrained moment of passion, to see the little marks blooming on your body from where his fingers dig into your flesh as he pounds into you now, a flourish of colour on your neck from his thorough attention.

You plead for more throatily, pushing back as best you can against his thrusts, wanting him to make you scream, uncaring of any audience inside or outside your townhouse, only craving the sweet, blissful release he always provides.

Abruptly, he wrenches open the shirt you wear, one button pinging forward and tinking against the mirror before skittering across the floor, your naked body framed by his crisp white shirt, the ruffled lapels tickling the sides of your breasts, catching sight of his handsome face in the mirror contorted in a passionate tempest.

Then one hand slides down your front, you feeling it rippling in your belly and seeing it in your reflection before you until those fingers slide between your legs and hook over your clit with a force that steals the air from your lungs, a sharp stab of pleasure that makes your knees buckle, him pausing in his motions briefly to brace your weight, keep you upright.

Then it is a blur as he restarts his motion, his fingers dance on your swollen pearl, slipping silkily over his touch as he grunts encouragements. It feels like you are circling for so long, so close to something mind-blowing, but then he flicks harshly with his fingernail and bites your neck, and you are hurtling. Everything is loud and quiet at once, no doubt your voice calling his name as you tumble over the edge, clenching hard around him as your whole body shatters and rebuilds in a blissful puzzle. Dimly, as you float, you feel his entire body tense, and with a roar, he follows you over, a warmth blooming inside you as he reaches completion.

There are a few moments of panted breaths as you both recover from the intensity before he spins you around and sweeps you into his arms, carrying you back to bed. There, he lays you down gently and proceeds to turn you into a molten, quivering pile, mapping your body with his lips and fingers until you are begging for him again, which he more than obliges. So much so you are almost late for your social engagement.

If there are a few derogatory looks as you swan into the ladies' luncheon with a blissful smile and a burgeoning mark on your neck from your husband's amorous intentions, well, so be it. You wouldn't change it for the world.

And it is also most definitely not the last time you dress up in his clothes…

Benedict taglist pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton smut #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton imagine #1k notes #1k notes omg you guys!

2K notes · View notes

ode2rin · 7 months

Text

there sure is never a dull day in your life ever since you somehow bumped your head somewhere and decided to marry gojo satoru.

he was, without a doubt, the most dramatic man you'd ever known.

“why aren’t you obsessed with me?”

and here he goes again making your marriage life comically interesting from his never-ending theatrics that you can’t help but adore.

he isn’t gojo satoru if he wasn’t dramatic, after all. it was all part of the deal, one you gladly accepted, promising to be by his side in sickness and in health.

“good morning to you, too, baby,” you responded, a smile tugging at your lips. “what’s got you worked up this early?”

leaning against the bathroom door frame, his eyes fixed on you as you diligently performed your morning skincare routine. sunlight streamed through the window, casting a soft, warm glow, making your features radiant as you applied your cleanser. and for a moment of sight, he got too lost in your beauty and almost forgot his plan of interrogation.

but still, he needs to get to the bottom of this. “listen, i’m not looking for an argument, just understanding.”

“okay, then,” you said, still attending to your skincare routine. “let’s hear this seeking of understanding.”

gojo’s gaze remained fixed on you as he considered his words carefully, “why aren't you obsessed with me like how i'm obsessed with you?”

“i’m in love with you.” you replied instantly, without a second in waste. because that’s how it has always been, loving gojo satoru and declaring it to the world was as easy as breathing.

you threw a side glance to your lover only to be met with glassy sky blue eyes looking at you and a pout telling you it wasn’t the right answer to the question.

“but you’re not obsessed with me,” he mumbles. “while i think about you every single minute of the day – in my sleep, in my lunch – i think about you, and i don’t think you think about me at all.”

“and where could this be coming from?”

“i was gone for 13 hours, and you only called me once. once, baby. do you even care about me?”

you attempt to explain, “you were on a mission—”

“i could have an injury,” he interjects, “i could have bumped my head somewhere, had amnesia, and forgotten about you.”

you couldn’t help but laugh at the possibilities he laid out just because you only called him once. finishing your skincare with a swift application of lip balm, you make your way to your lover, who is now resting his left temple against the doorjamb while earnestly watching you with the same look in his eyes from when you walked down the aisle.

“i think that’s fairly impossible, though,” you muse. your hands naturally find their way to his neck. “my husband is the strongest.”

strongest in the eyes of sorcerers and curses, perhaps, he is. but here? with you pressed close to him like this? he was nothing of any sort the strongest.

“what your husband right now is not the strongest but an unloved husband who couldn’t get his partner to call him to check on him,” he teases, putting great stress on ‘your’ because he was, in fact, yours.

“aw, must have been hard for him, huh?” you coo, going along with his teasing, “what can i possibly do to make up for it?”

“you can start with a kiss here,” he gestures to his lips, and you gladly oblige with a soft peck.

“too easy. what’s the next step?”

“and i want you to be obsessed with me. call me multiple times a day. text me. email me if you want.”

“okay, done. do you want me to write you a letter as well, like we’re in the '80s?” you sarcastically replied.

“sure, i’d love that,” he says with a chuckle before pulling you close enough to rest your head in the crook of his neck, his jaw resting on your temple as he caresses your back.

you closed your eyes, finding comfort in his warmth, and relishing every soft little kiss planted on your temple, until you felt his head drop onto your shoulder.

“i think about you every second of the day,” he whispers right in your ear.

jokes of being obsessed with you aside, it was truly a confession.

you could be beside gojo, peacefully slumbering, and there would always be that wave of need threading in his chest to be closer to you.

and behind his theatrics, none of his words held any bite of hoax. because after all these years, it still wouldn't sink in to him that there was someone who could take him for a husband.

but you're here – waking up next to him, doing your skincare next to his own set of toiletries, roaming around the house wearing his shirt, gracing the quiet corners of his soul with your laughter.

you're here, and it's everything and more that truly matters.

as you reach to cradle his face in your palms, you feel a squeeze in your chest from how he closes his eyes as if melting in your touch.

“even after all this time? you might get sick of me, my love.” you ask, a smile so evident behind.

“never,” he declares against your lips, a boyish curl of his lips slowly showing. “you, on the other hand, might get sick of me soon. seeing that you couldn't even call me twice after those long hours i wasn't home.”

you playfully roll your eyes at his accusation, of course he wouldn't let it off that easy. “i promise to call you twice and text you as much as i can. how's that sound now?” you hum.

“promise?”

“i promise,” you assure, sealing it with a kiss on the tip of his nose, “and what do you mean, get sick of you? that’s nonsense. i told you right? it’s you for me.”

you for me. oh, how he likes the thought. sheepishly, he whispers in question, “even after all this time?”

“until the end of time, toru.”

until the end of time. oh, heaven and earth, how he loves the thought.

note. i miss him... terribly, i'm afraid. btw, here's a payback for all the angst..

#☁️ my ode to you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru fluff

3K notes · View notes

missmatchablossom · 15 days

Text

summary: you finally got hired to work as a teacher for your dream school, jujutsu high. everything was perfect until you ran into gojo satoru, your first love and heartbreak.

a/n: angst + fluff, female reader. this is the first time I've written a story more on the angsty side, so please let me know if you like it : ) I was feeling angsty after listening to eternal sunshine and bam this story suddenly came to me

tags: @kenqki @sad-darksoul

When you caught a glance at that familiar shade of blue, you froze. That specific hue was a color you avoided at all costs, the color of heartbreak and dreams you never followed.

He looked at you, and suddenly you were 18 again. It was simultaneously the best and worse year of your life; the year you fell in love with Satoru, and the year he left you.

Your heartbeat felt sickening in your own chest as he walked towards you, his eyes widened and jaw slacked as if he were in a trance. Like he hadn’t expected to see you again.

It’s not like you thought you’d see him again either. You had told yourself that even if you did, it wouldn’t hurt, because you’d moved on. It had been years since you gave up on him, so you should be feeling nothing as your first love came to a halt in front of you, gazing at you as if you were the only thing that mattered to him.

It didn’t feel like nothing, though. It felt a whole like despair, relief, and joy warring with each other, causing your fingertips to tremble as if your body couldn’t decide which emotion to settle on.

“Long time no see, Gojo,” you said, attempting to offer a warm smile. Though the tremulous note to your voice must have betrayed how you were truly feeling.

He frowned ever so slightly when you said his name, like he wasn’t used to you calling him by his last name. It was formal and cold - when things between you two used to be anything but.

“You’re here,” he said, though it sounded like he was saying it to himself rather than talking to you.

“Ah, Gojo. I see you’ve met our newest hire. She’ll be working with your students for the summer, I imagine you two will be working together closely,” the principal said. But Gojo wasn’t looking at him. You still felt the heavy weight of his gaze, like he was scared you’d disappear if he looked away.

“Why don’t you two grab lunch together? Gojo can catch you up on his students,” the principal said. So why did your body go rigid at his harmless suggestion?

“Sorry, I have to make a phone call during lunch! Gojo, feel free to email me any details I need to know,” you said quickly, smiling before you darted towards the courtyard.

You cursed yourself for running away, like a coward. What was there to be afraid of? He was someone you loved years ago, and time washed away any lingering feelings you had for him…right?

At least that’s what you’d always told yourself. But maybe deep down, you feared some of those feelings would never go away. And that they’d definitely resurface if you let yourself be near him, if you let yourself remember how much he used to mean to you. How badly he hurt you.

You shook your head, hoping the crisp morning air would wash some sense into you. This position was your dream job, and you weren’t gonna let your past demons take that away from you. You could be civil, you could work with him like the mature adult you were. It would be okay.

“I wonder if our new teach would tell me where she gets her lipgloss?” Nobara asked aloud, walking in step with Yuji and Megumi as they filed out of the classroom.

“She’s really pretty,” Yuji said, smiling cheesily. It was a buzz amongst all the students actually, how beautiful the newest teacher was. The students warmed up to her quickly, captivated by her knowledge and how easy she was to talk to.

“Gojo always looks like he’s in a trance whenever he sees her,” Megumi said, making his two companions snap their attention to him.

“Do you think they’re dating?!” Nobara nearly yelled, her eyes widening comically.

“Maybe not. They both look kinda sad when they look at each other and they think the other person isn’t looking,” Megumi noted, looking deep in thought.

“Woah, you’re so observant. Maybe they’re exes, I heard they knew each other when they were younger,” Yuji said.

“Eh? No way sensei could pull someone like her,” Nobara said.

Two weeks have passed since you began teaching, and you loved it. Plus, you’d managed to have as minimal contact with Gojo as possible. Things would be fine after all.

You stepped into the teacher’s lounge, eager to grab your bag and head back home now that the day was over. But your bag wasn’t on the hook where you usually hung it up. When you turned around however, Gojo was leaning against the doorframe, taking up nearly the entire frame.

“Can I help you with something, Gojo?” you asked politely, willing your heart to settle down at his proximity.

“Can we talk?” he asked, and there it was again. The inexplicable feeling that swarmed your senses whenever you heard the sound of his voice, no matter what he was saying. Your traitorous body responded to it no matter how much you told it not to.

“Um, tomorrow might be better during our free period! I’m actually looking for my…” you began, stopping your sentence as Gojo used two fingers to effortlessly lift your heavy bag.

“I’ll give this back to you when you agree to have dinner with me. Tonight,” he said, flashing a boyish smile at you that was oh so painfully familiar.

“You can’t be serious,” you said, crossing your arms as Gojo took another step towards you. He was so close, and much taller than you remembered. He seemed to take up the entirety of the room you were in, making it harder to breathe and think clearly.

“I thought you knew me better than that, tea. I absolutely am,” he drawled, and the butterflies in your stomach swarmed at the mention of his old nickname for you. Hearing it used to fill you with love and light, because he began calling you the endearment after learning how much you adored tea. He’d often show up at your door with your favorite drinks, happily indulging in your obsession.

You blinked the memory away, refocusing your gaze back to the man in front of you.

“This isn’t funny,” you said, reaching towards your bag. He lifted it up and out of your reach easily.

“What isn’t funny is how you’ve been avoiding me since you got here. Why can you barely look me in the eye?” he said, the slight hurt in his voice hitting your heart. Your eyes darted around the room in a panic before you answered.

“Can you really blame me? We don’t have the best history,” you said, your voice coming off harsher than you intended.

“That’s what I want to clear up. Just hear me out this once, please,” he said, his tone softening as he spoke. You hated it, how quickly you could feel yourself giving into him. After a beat of silence, you spoke.

“Just this once,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

There it was. That familiar, triumphant upturn of his lips.

You second guessed your choice as you walked towards Gojo’s car - a sleek, navy luxury car you remember he’d gotten for his 18th birthday. But there was no way he didn’t have other cars by now, so you couldn’t help but wonder if he picked this car today on purpose.

He swiftly opened the door to the passenger seat, allowing you to slip in before he slid into the drivers seat.

There was something undeniably intimate about being alone in the car with him. Being in such close quarters meant you could smell the cologne clinging to his skin, the minty remnants of the mints he always carried with him. You felt bespelled watching his long fingers wrap around the wheel, blushing as he wrapped his arm around your headrest and leaned towards you to look behind him as he backed out of the spot.

A memory flooded towards you. Of a freshly 18-year old Gojo excitedly picking you up in his shiny new car, nearly getting you into a car crash as he carelessly spun the wheel in his excitement. You’d given him a firm talking to about him being careful, and he smiled at you sheepishly before he walked you to get ice cream.

The sound of buttons clicking pulled you from your reverie. You watched wordlessly as Gojo set the seat warmer to the lowest setting and turned the ac up to 71, the exact settings you used to switch them to whenever you were his passenger princess.

“Is that still how you like it?” he asked, casting you a quick sideways glance before returning his eyes to the road. You wondered if you imagined the hopeful note to his voice.

“Yes,” you answered quietly.

Oh , I definitely still like it, you thought, eyes roaming across Gojo’s figure as he drove. His seat was leaned back to make room for his long legs, and he kept one hand on the wheel as he drove with the elegant ease he must’ve developed in your time apart. It was stupid, how attracted you still were to him.

You didn’t miss the way Gojo glanced at you ogling him, the corner of his lip tipping up like it so pleased him.

You followed Gojo into a gorgeous restaurant that you were undoubtedly underdressed for. A smartly dressed man greeted the two of you immediately, leading you to a table right in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. It offered you a gorgeous view of the skyline, the soft glow of the sunset making the silverware sparkle.

You couldn’t help but look around in confusion at the quietness of the restaurant - save for the nice host, you were the only ones there.

“I booked out the place for the night. So we could catch up in peace,” Gojo said easily, as if that were something normal to do. You couldn’t say you were too surprised though, as he had the same penchant for spending and the fortune to back it since he was younger.

“Of course you did,” you said, shaking your head as you smiled to yourself.

Gojo leaned forward in his seat, studying you like you just performed magic.

“I’ve missed that smile of yours,” he said softly. It wasn’t fair, the way the last bits of sunshine of the day lit up the gold flecks in his eyes. The way his hair nearly shone silver, making him look otherworldly as he told you he missed you.

“I don’t know what to say to you, Gojo,” you said, forcing neutrality into your tone. But as soon as you spoke the words, you could hear how sad they sounded.

“Do you hate me?” he asked, sounding like his younger self once more.

You met his eyes, releasing a deep breath as you did your best to offer a smile.

“I don’t think I could ever hate you,” you admitted, watching the way his shoulders eased ever so slightly.

“But you hurt me,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

“I was ready to stick out long distance when you moved away. You stopped answering my calls, responding to my letters. I tried reaching you for months before I gave up, Gojo. There was no goodbye, no explanation. What was I supposed to think? How do you expect me to greet you with a smile now as if nothing happened?” you said, your voice cracking towards the end.

“I know we were 18 and stupid, but I…”

I loved you. You were everything to me. And no matter how much time had past, how much you dated around, no one ever compared to you.

You shook your head, unable to get the words out.

It would forever be fresh in your mind, the day you found out Gojo was being shipped off to a different country by his stupid family to train.

The devastation was overwhelming. You curled up in your room, crying into your pillow as Gojo sat silently on the edge of your bed.

“Do you really have to go?” you sniffed, though it didn’t sound like that, with your throat clogged with tears.

Gojo laid beside you, pulling your back to his chest as he held you and buried his face in your hair.

“I don’t have a choice, tea. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking off at the end. You turned around, wrapping your arms around him as he held you brusingly tight. You rubbed his back as you felt his tears hit your shoulder.

After the cry you both needed, you faced each other silently, as if you were committing each other to memory.

“I won’t give up on us. I’ll call you everyday to bug the hell out of you,” he said, giving you the first lopsided smile of the night.

“For how long, though?” you said sadly, feeling the hope leeching out of you with each word you said aloud.

“For as long as it takes for me to become the strongest. And for you to become the teacher you’ve always wanted to be. I’ll come back for you,” he promised, lacing his long fingers through yours. There was hope alight in those eyes of his, convincing your own hope to stay.

“You promise?” you asked, sounding so much more like a young child than you wished.

“I promise.” he said, and you kissed him then. There was something so magnetic about him, the type of person that made you want to believe anything was possible. But you hadn’t known that would be the last time you kissed.

You had no way of knowing that your boyfriend would keep up with his promise for a month, and then suddenly leave you with nothing. He stopped responding to your letters, stopped his calls, stopped reminding you how much he loved you. The only time you ever heard about him was when the news featured his growing talents.

The sound of Gojo’s voice ripped you away from the memory.

“You have every right to be upset with me,” he began, his cerulean eyes betraying his grief.

“Was there someone else?” you asked before you could think better, cursing yourself.

“No,” he said forcefully, wincing like it hurt him for you to think that.

“There was never anyone else. Never,” he said, and you couldn’t help the relief flooding your chest.

“They got in my head about you. Convinced me that I was holding you back, that you could never focus on school enough to become a teacher good enough to teach at Jujutsu High if you were in a long distance relationship with me. I thought I was doing what was best for you,” he said, his voice low and regretful as he spoke.

The man across from you blurred as tears filled your vision. You spent months agonizing over the possible reasons he would abandon your relationship, and your young, heartbroken self was convinced it had something to do with you. That he found someone, and suddenly you weren't his cup of tea anymore. Never did it cross your mind that he thought he was doing you a favor by ghosting you.

“God, Gojo. Why didn’t you just talk to me?” you cried, doing nothing to mask the grief in your voice.

“I knew you’d tell me that it was incredibly stupid of me. And I know it was now, but back then I thought it would be easier if I made the choice for you. You deserved to have your full focus on pursuing teaching,” he said solemnly, lifting a hand towards your face as if he were going to wipe your tears, but laying his hand back down like he thought against it.

“You’re right, that was incredibly stupid of you,” you said, heaving a deep breath as your swiped the last of your tears.

“But I get why you did it. I just wish you would’ve included me in that choice, because you know what I thought? I thought if you could discard me, discard us that easily, that I must’ve not meant as much to you as you meant to me. That you didn’t love me as much as I loved you,” you said shakily, a single traitorous tear falling down your cheek.

Your emotions overwhelmed you as you saw his eyes begin to shine with unshed tears - a sight that hurt you as much as it did when you were both 18.

“I never stopped loving you,” he said, his voice hushed as he made the confession.

It felt like you were no longer in your own body as emotions assaulted you all at once. Happiness, relief, confusion, devastation. They warred with each other, and you didn’t know if the burst of nerves you were feeling was panic or excitement.

“You don’t mean that. Maybe you still love who I was when I was 18, but things are different now. I’m different,” you said, watching as Gojo shook his head softly.

“You’re right. You have become even more beautiful than I remember,” he began, and you knew you had lost. This wasn’t a game, but somehow you still lost.

“I’ve seen the way you work with the kids. I’m in awe of how confident and capable you’ve become. But I’ve also seen what hasn’t changed,” he said, leaning towards you with the light back in his eyes.

“Your tenacity. Your kindness. Your intelligence. Your drive. The way your eyes light up when you teach, the way you see the best in people. That’s how I fell in love with you, and I know thats still there,” he said, looking at you with the kind of reverence you forgot existed.

You closed your eyes as you failed at calming your thunderous heart.

“I can’t do this, Gojo. I can’t put myself in a position to be hurt by you again,” you said, casting your eyes down in your lap. You couldn’t bear to see defeat in his eyes.

You jolted as you felt the soothing, painfully familiar touch of his hand over yours.

“Look at me,” he pleaded softly, coaxing your eyes back towards his. When you met them again, they were filled with warmth, and you believed it. That he still loved you.

“You don’t owe me anything. I’ll stay out of your way if that’s what you want. But I’m not taking back what I said. I’ve loved you since before you were mine. And I always will.” He finished you off by lifting your hand to his lips, a gesture you were still a used to be a sucker for.

In the days that followed, Gojo consumed your every thought. It didn’t help that you worked so closely, and it especially didn’t help to see how good he was with the students. He goofed around with them more than a normal teacher would, but he taught them earnestly. No matter how much they complained about his antics, you could tell your students loved him.

It also didn’t help when he began leaving your favorite milk tea on your desk before the start of every school day, earning you a “wow teach, you must really love that tea shop,” comment from Yuji.

It was slightly embarrassing, but you couldn’t deny how much it brightened your day to see that cup of tea sitting on your desk, knowing how much Gojo still thought of you. And it didn’t stop at tea.

Over the course of the next month, your favorite flowers began showing up with your tea. Sometimes, instead of flowers it was your favorite candy. Gojo never lingered around to hand them to you himself, just giving you sweet smiles and waves whenever you locked eyes. You knew it was his way of giving you space to choose, and no matter how cheesy it was, it was working.

It was about 3 months after that dinner that you found yourself sitting with the principal for your quarterly one-on-one. You were pleased to hear the praises of your work and the positive feedback he’d received from students regarding you, but something in particular he said had you shaken up.

“I knew you and Gojo would work well together. You both had very moving reasons for wanting to teach here,” he said casually.

“Moving reasons?” you pressed, feeling like you were on the verge of something.

“Oh, yes. I was highly impressed by your years of dedication and experience, you were an obvious choice. But Gojo didn’t have much teaching experience when I hired him, it was really his reason for teaching that sold me on him,” he answered. And you didn’t know why, but your pulse grew uncomfortably quick.

“He told me that teaching helped him feel close to someone he loved. And that person taught him how powerful a good teacher could be,” the principal said. There was a beat of silence, followed by the screeching sound your chair made and you sat up suddenly. You apologized and excused yourself, rushing towards a certain office door.

Your movements were too quick for your thoughts to catch up. You just knew you had to see him.

He wasn’t in his office. Not in his classroom, not in the teacher’s lounge. That sickening panic began invading your senses, reminding you that it wasn’t the first time you desperately searched for Gojo and couldn’t find him.

But you pushed past it and kept walking. You walked until you reached the outer edge of campus, spotting a flash of silver hair atop a hill that overlooked the school.

You ran towards it like your life depended on it, huffing and puffing until you finally locked gazes with the most beautiful eyes you have ever seen. Though the eyes that normally regarded you with warmth were unusually widened with concern as Gojo ran towards you.

“Hey, whats going on-”

“Why did you become a teacher?” you said, struggling to catch your breath. Gojo looked stunned for a second, staring at you silently as he waited for you to continue.

“Why did you decide to work for Jujutsu High, out of all the high schools in Japan?” you continued, watching as his expression turned pensive. But his eyes shone with all the words he’d yet to say.

“I didn’t intend on becoming a teacher. I just gave it a shot one day, because I knew how passionate you were about it. And I loved it,” he said, staring out wistfully towards the lecture halls.

“As for why I picked Jujutsu High,” he began, turning his body towards you again. He walked to you, stopping until there was barely a step of space between your bodies.

“I picked it because I knew this was your dream school to work at. I hoped I would see you again if I worked here,” he admitted, smiling sadly. You shook your head in disbelief.

“This was my dream school when I was 18. What if I changed my mind and worked somewhere else? What if I didn’t even become a teacher?” you said frantically, searching for a crack in his resolve.

Gojo reached out, cupping your cheek in his hand. You had no choice but to tilt your head up to meet his, feeling new emotions flooding you at the look in his eyes.

“Doesn’t matter. The thought of seeing you again is what has kept me going all these years. Even if I mean nothing to you now,” he breathed, removing his hand from your cheek. He stepped away from you, giving you the space you realized you no longer wanted.

You didn’t know if you wanted to laugh or cry at this new revelation. But you did know one thing; you wanted Gojo Satoru. You wanted another shot with him.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you launched yourself at him, wrapping your arms around him tightly and burying your face into his chest. He smelled like mint and summer and everything good with the world as his arms immediately came up to hold you to him.

He released a shaky breath as he held you, like he couldn’t believe he’d get to do it again.

“Of course you still mean something to me,” you whispered through tears you didn’t realize you were shedding. Gojo gently pulled back from your hug, capturing both your face between his hands. He swiped his thumbs gently against your tears, that reverent, warm gaze back in those eyes of his.

“What should I make of that, tea?” he asked, tucking an errant strand of hair behind your ear. You realized how much you missed his touch, how you’ve longed to feel his smooth, porcelain skin against yours again.

“You’re gonna have to work reallyyyy hard if you want me to fall in love with you again,” you said, smiling as his eyes widened and his jaw slacked.

Liar. It wouldn’t take much at all.

“You’re giving me another chance?” he said incredulously. You nodded shyly, smiling as Gojo awarded you with the most brilliant, heart-stopping smile. The kind that crinkled his eyes at the corners, the kind that stretched his cheeks, the kind that you had no choice but to mirror.

The breath left your body as Gojo lifted you up by your hips, swinging you around in a circle like the last scene of a Disney movie where the prince and princess reunited.

It felt like a weight was released from your shoulders as he spun you around, the two of you laughing like teenagers again.

“Thank you,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“They have to be dating, there’s no way they’re not!” Nobara exclaimed, walking to get food with the other first years after class.

“Gojo sensei follows her around like a puppy. I could actually see hearts in his eyes when he looks at her! I swore I even heard her call him Toru,” Yuji said, him and Nobara nodding to each other intently.

“Maybe. Our new teacher has been looking really happy lately,” Megumi said.

867 notes · View notes

angelbarelywrites · 2 months

Text

♡ slashers scenarios | sharing a bed

♡ fandoms; The Boy, Halloween, Texas Chainsaw Massacre (original + 2006), House of Wax, Dead by Daylight, slashers (general)

♡ characters; Brahms Heelshire, Micheal Myers, Thomas Hewitt, Bubba Sawyer, Vincent Sinclair

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡ cw; very suggestive content, implied smut

♡note; swapped out billy in this one bc i can’t imagine him sharing a bed with someone and not getting literally pornographic

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Brahms Heelshire

> Once he decides he wants to share the bed, he finds the biggest guest room bed and brings all of the comfiest pillows and blankets he can to make it perfect

> For you more than him, but he doesn’t feel too hurt when you push half of them to the foot of the bed

> It was a lot even for a king bed

> You’re reluctant at first, not used to sharing a bed

> But you find he’s very hard to say no to once you’re in that deep

> He tries to give you space, but it’s not long before he’s wrapped around you, clinging for dear life

> And he almost immediately falls asleep like that, head tucked into your chest

> You sigh and try and relax, petting his hair

> And you fall asleep with your hand still tangled in his black locks, holding him close to you

> You wake up to him nuzzling your neck and practically whining

> “Baby…wake up…”

> You’d ask him what the problem was…if you couldn’t feel it against your leg

> You spend most of the morning still in bed, lazily fixing his predicament

Micheal Myers

> He doesn’t get why you want him to do this

> You know he doesn’t cuddle

> You know he usually gets restless and wanders at night

> But there’s no reason to say no, and even he can’t stand how sad your pout is

> You hum and stretch, tucking yourself in and look at him expectantly

> He takes off his boots and lays on top of the covers beside you, stiff as a board

> You have to coax him to even take the mask off, but he still won’t relax

> You quickly realize he’s used to high security psych ward bunks, not big comfy queen beds full of stuffed animals

> “…do you…wanna sleep on the floor?”

> He pauses.

> Shakes his head and closes his eyes.

> After you finally fall sleep, he sits up, intending on leaving

> But you look so peaceful…he can’t help to stay and watch you. Just for a little while.

> When he touches your cheek, you press into his hand. Maybe a while longer.

> When you wake up he’s still staring at you, hand long gone from your cheek

> But once you blink awake, it creeps somewhere else..

Thomas Hewitt

> He’s almost nervous of the idea

> Y’all are certainly intimate with each other - just as intimate as you would be if you were married like his mama was planning

> But what if the family noticed you were in there? He’d kill Hoyt for calling you anything nasty-

> When he sees you in skimpy PJs, he immediately forgets his worries

> He has a huge bed because he’s a huge guy, so when you curl up in it alone, it’s almost comical

> He’s staring at you as he climbs in after you, cautiously removing his mask

> His shoulders relax a little when you smile up at him, still so amazed you can stand to look at him

>“Hold me?”

> He grunts and takes no time in pulling you flush, spooning you. He’s more relaxed than he’s been in a while, sure he’ll fall asleep in no time

> Until you give a tiny sigh and shift your hips, innocently adjusting

> It doesn’t take much for you to set him off- he’s touch starved and obsessed with you.

> Along with feeling him against your ass, you can literally hear his breathing change.

> “…Tommy baby? Want me to take care of that?”

> It takes another two hours before you fall asleep, both sticky with sweat and sated, your head laying on his broad chest.

Bubba Sawyer

> He’s so happy to have a sleepover- even if you live right down the hall in the same house (I cannot imagine you dating him and being allowed to leave the farm tbh)

> He gives you an updated tour of his room- he’s very happy to show you the collection of polaroids of you he hung up.

> You were wondering where those went

> Finally he drops you on the bed, giggling quietly

> It’s old but comfy, and he has plenty of stolen pillows and blankets, and even some stuffed bears

> He strips right on down to his heart boxers, leaving his mask on for last

> He takes it off slowly, giving you that shy look he always does

> You grin and open your arms and he’s more than happy to scoop you up with a coo.

> By the time you’re settled, you’re curled around his back

> He loves being the little spoon, even if he’s a big brute

> When you wake up he’s bursting back into the room with some slightly burnt toast for breakfast

> It’s a sudden wake up call, but a welcome one

> And you repay him in tons of kisses, all over

Vincent Sinclair

> Like some of the others he’s hesitant

> But you want him to relax, he’s been working so hard- so you take him away from the studio, and into your room

> You’re not even letting him so much as sketch until he sleeps

> He tilts his head and is almost pouting, trying to guilt you - even more so once you help him remove his wax

> Until you coax him into his stomach so you can massage his back, that is

> You’re clumsy and certainly not a professional, but your hands on him is enough to melt away the stress

> He suddenly rolls over and grabs your hips as he hears you yawn

> It’s your turn to pout down at him

> But eventually you relent and let him cradle you close to his chest as he hums a nonsense lullaby

> You keep him trapped in bed the next morning as revenge, again straddling him before he can get up to leave

> But this time, you’re most certainly not yawning

1K notes · View notes

biteofcherry · 1 year

Text

Nature’s beauty

mountain rescuer Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: Your teasing comment about staying home barefoot and pregnant makes something in Steve snap. He’s now eager to turn it into reality.

warnings: consensual; barebacking; breeding kink; housewife kink; light bondage; dubiously consensual taking of risky pictures; lots of filthy talk (not even dirty, just nasty filth); mention of cumplay; established relationship; Steve’s a rescuer but who will rescue us from Steve’s hotness;

*no squirrels were harmed in the process of writing the story

“Come on. Get out of there!” You huffed, tapping your fingers against the wood of the small birdhouse installed high on the tree trunk.

It was a birdhouse - and just this morning you saw a small, colorful bird check it out - but some sneaky, red squirrel decided to squat inside it. How did it even fit through the tiny hole, you had no idea.

You noticed it as you returned from your little hike, seeing a flash of an orange fluffy tail as the squirrel stuffed its tiny butt through the hole. So you tried climbing the tree, not much successfully, and scare the intruder out.

It wouldn’t be a good house for a growing squirrel anyway.

To prop yourself, you used one of the wooden crates Steve built you for the vegetable garden that you planned on starting. Since it wasn’t enough to reach the birdhouse, you stuck another crate on top of it. The construction swayed a little, but you braced yourself against the tree trunk and reached your hand up to knock on the small wooden house.

“Your nuts won’t fit in there with you!” You called, though it was doubtful the squirrel would understand you.

The crates wobbled, but before you had a chance to stabilize yourself with both hands on the tree two strong hands gripped your hips and easily lifted you up.

“And what do you think you’re doing, sweetheart?” Steve’s steady voice calmed your initial panic.

You melted into his embrace as he set you down on your feet on the ground and spun around to face him. Your immediately wrapped your arms around his neck, straining on your tiptoes to greet him with a kiss.

He’s been gone for nearly two days - his usual shift stretching longer due to a crisis his team had to react to in the higher parts of the mountains.

“Steve.” You breathlessly whispered his name, smile stretching on your lips.

So close to the way you looked and sounded when he woke you up with his mouth between your thighs.

“You’re back.” You pecked his lips once again then grinned. “Just in time for eviction.”

“Eviction?” Steve’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

“A squirrel locked herself inside the birdhouse. We need to chase her away. For her own good.” You pointed up at the tree where few weeks ago Steve installed the birdhouse.

With a shake of his head and an overly dramatic sigh, Steve went to his truck to get his backpack with the climbing gear. He put the crates away - sending you a warning glare for coming up with a dangerous idea of putting your safety on top of them - then tied a rope around the tree to have a leverage for climbing. He reached the birdhouse exceptionally quickly.

Once he brought it down, you opened the front panel and shooed the squirrel away. It looked at you indignantly, holding a nut in its tiny paws, then scrambled away onto another tree near your house.

“I see you got into serious animal real estate business, even though you only got back home yourself.” Steve chuckled, pointing at your small backpack and the camera placed a few feet away.

“I went to the valley to take some shots of the early crocuses.” You beamed, picking up your things.

“But!” You kept close to Steve as you both walked up the porch and into the house. “I prepared a stew earlier and some garlic bread slices that are ready to pop into the oven.”

“Wow. You’re organized like a proper housewife.” Steve snickered, patting your ass.

“Yeah?” You glanced at him over your shoulder, waggling your eyebrows comically. “You gonna keep me barefoot and pregnant?”

“We can have that arranged.” Steve wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you to him. He kicked the door shut behind you and dropped his backpack to the floor.

“Ah-ah!” You quickly slipped away from his grasp.

You turned around with a grin, mischievous sparks lighting your eyes. You lifted the camera and clutched it protectively to your chest.

“Gotta put the fragile goods into safety first, before you go all patriarchal on me.”

“You’ll never forgive me that vase, won’t you?” Steve hung his head in shame, but he couldn’t suppress the proud smirk on his face.

The pretty, pink glass vase became a collateral damage when the two of you resolved a minor argument with hot, angry sex.

Steve bent you over the table and fucked you so hard that your hands flailed helplessly around and you knocked the vase off the table. As the glass shattered all over the floor, you gushed around Steve’s cock with a scream that surely carried through the mountain range.

“That orgasm was worth the sacrifice.” You laughed, disappearing into the bedroom.

“But my camera is too precious to risk it!” The cottage you and Steve were living in wasn’t tiny, but small enough that your voice easily reached other parts of the house if you raised your volume a bit.

“Duly noted!” Steve called back.

He walked into the kitchen where the faint smell of stew lingered in the air. He sat down on one of the chairs and bent down to unlace his shoes, smiling to himself as he thought of you cooking and dancing around the kitchen.

You were quite messy when you cooked, even worse when you baked. But there was no hotter sight than you naked on your knees on the tiled floor, with smears of flour on your face and then his cum dribbling down your chin.

Suddenly, provoked by your recent words, an image of you walking around the kitchen pregnant flashed through Steve’s head.

He saw you glowing and round, cutting strawberries with a smile as he whisked the batter for pancakes. You’d snack on the strawberries, claiming to be hungry and impatient to wait for breakfast. He’d take the fruit from you with a laugh, lick the sticky juice off your fingers. Then go on his knees to pleasure you until you can’t stand upright anymore.

He imagined you bent over the sink, hands in soapy water from washing dishes, as he fucked you slowly from behind - unable to keep his hands away from your pregnant belly, needing to take you as soon as he comes home from his shift.

He easily pictured you carrying a toddler on your hip, bouncing the kid lightly as you walk barefoot around the house, the swell of your belly growing with another baby.

You’d take the kids to the meadows, play with them and take stunning photographs of the nature and of the kids exploring its beauty. You’d chase away squirrels and tend to your vegetable garden - happiness radiating off your faces. You’d cook meals and try new baking recipes, and you all would eat together.

And later in the evening, when he puts the oldest kid to bed and you nurse the newborn baby to sleep, he’d take you again.

Fill you full through your needy cries, letting the nature take its course with your body as well.

Steve was so deep in this unexpected rush of craving he didn’t hear your soft footsteps at first. Only when you called his name upon entering the kitchen did he look up.

There you were - feet bare on the floor, your pants replaced with soft, cotton pajama shorts, and in his t-shirt which you liked to wear around the house.

All that was missing from the fantasy was your pregnant belly stretching the fabric of the tee.

Steve crooked a finger at you, wordlessly calling you over.

You noticed the heat in his gaze, how wider his pupils got and that his lips were slightly parted on a quickened breath. It was a look signaling some mindblowing pleasure coming your way, though you weren’t exactly sure what caused it at the moment.

You walked over, straddling Steve’s lap and placing your hands on his shoulders. His palms spread over your ass, fingers kneading your flesh and forcing you to rock against him.

Against his undoubtedly growing, impressive erection.

“I feel that you’re really happy to see me.” You grinned at Steve, but couldn’t help yourself from rubbing against him.

“Always.” Steve muttered and kissed you.

His lips were soft, but the way he used them was anything but gentle. He took possession of your mouth, tongue slipping between your parted lips to tease a moan out of your throat.

Your fingers weaved into his hair, fingernails scratching his scalp and causing Steve to purr.

He gave your asscheek a smack. Not exactly painful, but firm enough to elicit a squeak out of you and have you buck against him.

“I want to fuck you bare.” Steve growled, hips pushing up into you.

“Wha-” your mouth was still chasing his lips, your mind not yet fully catching up with his request.

Steve gave your ass another slap and tilted his head back, so your gaze focused on his eyes and what he was saying.

“I want to fuck you bare.” He repeated, his voice low and raspy with dark need.

“I want to fill you up and breed you.”

You shivered at his words. Your nipples tightened into hard peaks and your clit throbbed.

“You’re serious.” Your voice came out breathless, your throat suddenly dry.

Steve and you talked about having kids before, but it was all vague; nothing beyond agreeing that you wanted to build a family together, sometime. In the far future.

Since it was a unspecified future and your health didn’t allow for you to take pills or hormonal shots, Steve always had a strip of condoms at hand. Even in the spur of the moment quickies on your hikes, he always sheathed himself. You never took him bare.

Never felt him fill your pussy with his cum.

“What’s that thought, sweetheart?” Steve leaned forward and nipped your bottom lip when you let out an involuntary moan at the thought of being full of him.

“We’ve never done it bare.” You rubbed your heated core over his clothed cock. “I only had your cum in my mouth, or on my body.”

Corner of Steve’s mouth tilted in a smirk. He slid one of his hands to grip the back of your neck as he licked a wide stripe from your throat over your chin and up to your lips.

“I promise to still let you play with my cum from time to time, doll.” He kissed you again.

With your big eyes full of wonder, you always liked him to paint your body with white streaks of his spent. You stuck your little tongue out, swallowed him greedily, and scooped up every drop from your skin.

“But from now on, we’ll mostly fill your sweet cunt with it.”

You felt his dick twitch beneath you as he said those words. You felt your own panties and shorts dampen with your growing slick.

“What do you say, sweetheart?” Steve nudged the tip of your nose with his affectionately. “Want to get pregnant?”

“Pregnant and barefoot?” You huffed a breathy laugh, realizing it was your own words from earlier today that spurred Steve’s desire.

“Well, some days are really cold out here, so I think we can skip the barefoot part.” He smiled against your lips. “But we’re definitely doing the pregnant part.”

You were constantly grinding against him, your breasts pressed and rubbed against Steve’s chest. Growing heat consumed you and you wanted, needed, Steve to sate the fire he ignited. You felt as if your body wouldn’t calm down until he spilled inside you, like he promised.

“Yes!” You captured Steve’s mouth, clinging to him even closer.

“Yes, Steve!” You head fell back as he kissed and bit down your throat. “Fuck a baby into me!”

In rushed moves, surprisingly efficient considering how both of you were trembling with impatience, you undid Steve’s pants and took him into your hand. He pushed your shorts and panties to the side.

You both moaned as you slid down his cock. The feel of his hot flesh without the latex cover made your toes curl.

It was quick and brutal, really; your thighs burned as you bounced up and down on his length. A tearing sound, as Steve yanked on your t-shirt, didn’t falter your pace.

Your climax came as dizzying, filling the house with your scream and Steve’s loud groan following soon after.

Nothing but the pounding of your hearts and heavy breathing, as you sat tangled and spent. A little mewl of surprise bubbled on your lips when you felt Steve’s cock twitching and spurting more of hot come inside your fluttering walls.

It was hotter and wetter than how it felt ever before; and the thought of Steve’s cum filling up through your cervix made your pussy clench around him.

When you slid off him a while later, a thick dollop of cum dribbled out of you. Steve put your panties back in place, cotton quickly filling and staining with the mixture of juices.

“That won’t do.” Steve frowned, as he pulled the waistband of your panties and glanced at the mess between your swollen folds.

“You’re dripping it all over and it has to take.”

Before you had a chance to ask what he meant - your brain fuzzy from the aftershocks and bliss - Steve picked you up.

He carried you to the bedroom and dropped you onto the bed. He got his t-shirt over his head in a split of a second, then moved your pliant body around, getting rid of all of your clothes as well.

“Stay here.” He pointed at you and walked out of the bedroom.

You did enjoy the view of his naked ass moving. As well the way muscles in his back flexed.

When Steve returned, he had three climbing ropes in his hands.

“What are you planning mister rescuer?” You arched a brow.

He merely winked at you, joining you on the bed and straddling you. He weaved the blue cord around your wrists, binding them to the headboard. One of the red ropes tied around your left ankle; the other around the right.

You expected Steve to tie your legs to the foot of the bed, but instead he bent your legs at the knees and pushed them up toward your chest and slightly to the sides. The ends of the rope he tied to the headboard as well.

Once he was done, your breath was quickened again, as your vulnerable exposed position registered.

“Now,” Steve knelt back and ran a finger up your ass, “all my cum will stay nicely snug in your pussy.”

He scooped whatever dribbled out of you and pushed it back into your quivering cunt. He was right. In this improvised bondage version of a mating press, your hips were tilted up enough for the gravity to work in favor of impregnation.

“You’re so beautiful.” Steve looked at you, love and desire shining in his eyes.

From your gorgeous face, hair sticking to your sweaty skin; your breasts shaking with each breath and your lovely legs strained and bound; to your gorgeous ass and glistening, swollen folds.

A thick trickle of his cum lingered just below your leaking hole. He moved his hand slowly up your ass, reaching up to push that one drop back inside you.

“I wish I could preserve this image forever.” He murmured.

Then paused.

Slowly, Steve’s gaze shifted from your pussy to your face. His eyes darkened and a naughty, evil really, smirk curved his mouth.

“What are you thinking, Steve?” You asked warily, partly scared of his wicked idea and partly excited.

Steve got off the bed, but returned rather quickly.

With your camera in his hands.

“You can’t be serious.” You squeaked, squirming against your bonds. But they were fucking secured top notch, you were unable to even pull your legs closer together.

“Why not?” Fingers of his left hand returned to your heated skin while he held the camera in his right hand. “You take photographs of nature. What’s more natural than this?”

He traced one of your swollen folds and pulled it slightly to the side, exposing your hole and the white cream filling it.

A shutter clicked. First photo of your pussy saved on the memory card.

Steve took a few more photos, from different angles. Some close-ups of his cum, some a wider perspective including your stretched body visible between your spread legs.

He moved closer, kneeling up and positioning his hardened cock between your sopping folds.

He moaned as he watched his dick slide back and forth; looked up at your face and held your gaze when you whimpered as the head of his cock bumped against your swollen clit repeatedly.

“What’s more natural than a pretty cunt serving its purpose?” Steve rasped out, guiding the tip into your opening.

He angled the camera again, snapping a picture of your pussy opening up for him. Then a series of photos as he slowly pushed inside.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re taking me so good.” Steve bit down on his lip as he thrust deeper. “Such a fucking beautiful sight.”

He flipped the camera function to video, recording as he buried himself in your wet cunt. Your wrecked moan at the stretch, too. And the squelching sound of a filled pussy.

Steve’s free hand rested on your mound, thumb drawing the hood over your clit up and then resting on the hardened nub. Your hips bucked when he started rubbing.

He tilted the camera up, making sure to register all of your body before focusing on your face. You whined his name aloud.

When you noticed the camera pointed at you, you closed your eyes and turned your head to the side embarrassed.

“Don’t be shy on me, sweetheart.” Steve cooed, maintaining a steady pace. “You’re stunning. Absolutely fucking gorgeous. And your pretty, little pussy-”

He returned the lens between your spread thighs, recording every detail of his cock driving into you.

His dick shined with your juices and remnants of his cum. Your folds were puffed and darkened, and your clit crushed under his big thumb. Your wetness smeared around, glistening on your ass and thighs, as well shimmering on the hair above Steve’s cock.

“She’s swallowing me, doll. Greedy, little pussy.” Steve growled, picking up his rhythm.

“What she’s hungry for, sweetheart? Huh?” Though his hand was shaking slightly, he managed to move the camera so it was recording your face again.

“Tell me, what she’s hungry for?” He delivered a firm smack atop your clit that made you squeak and clench around him.

“It’s hungry for your cum!” You cried out.

You felt the heat engulf you whole, felt it almost burn the skin off your cheeks from the inside.

Steve always had a penchant for dirty talk, but it wasn’t always as nasty. Just a few lines here and there. Something about fucking you bare, trying to knock you up, made him wilder. And he forced you to interact along with him.

“Wants to be filled?” Steve’s raspy voice prompted again, another slap stinging your clit.

“It wants to be filled so bad!” Your need overcame the embarrassment.

With your eyes still closed, you babbled all the filth you were shy to admit, but everything you knew Steve wanted to hear.

“Wants you to fuck it hard and come inside. Please, Steve. Need you- Need you to make me take it! Fill my belly and make it swell!”

“Fuck, sweetheart.” Steve nearly came at the sputter of your dirty words. “My sweet, fucking, dirty girl.”

He put the camera down on the side of the bed. He didn’t bother to switch it off.

It recorded a slightly blurred angle of Steve’s hips driving into you, his balls slapping against your butt as he leaned fully on top of you and bottomed out.

It recorded the sounds of your bodies - wet squelching, skin slapping, Steve’s heavy groans and your high pitched cries; and filthy demands.

“I know you’re close, sweetheart.” Steve stretched himself over you and propped his weight on his forearms on both sides of your head.

“I am! I am, I’m so close, Steve!”

Your body wanted to move along with his, to rock up into him and touch him, but your tied limbs prevented you from doing so. You could only lay there and take whatever Steve gave you. However he gave it.

“I’ll get you there, I promise.” He nipped along your jaw, lavishing each sting with a lick of his tongue. “First, though-” he paused to kiss you fully.

A surprisingly thorough kiss, considering how frantically his hips were pumping you.

Steve’s voice turned into a low, gravelly growl.

“Tell me your purpose, my sweet fuck doll.”

So close to the edge that your toes were curling, you weren’t resilient enough to fight for more dignity. You knew what hot, humiliating words Steve fished for.

And you knew you could scream them out, because once he untied you and you left the bedroom, Steve would respect you like he always did. He would worship the ground you walk on and cherish you. Give you the stars, if he could.

“My p-purpose-” your voice choked on a moan as Steve angled his hips, driving his cock into that spongy, oversensitive spot inside you.

With a whine you dropped your gaze down, unable to look right into Steve’s eyes as you cried out the words.

“To be bred! Fuuuuck. To be bred and have your babies! Be y-your, ah, little housewife. To serve you, serv- Fuck! Steve!”

“I got you, sweetheart.” Steve groaned, leaning his forehead against yours.

He slowed his pace, but each snap of his hips drove his cock into you deep and rough. Skilled, coarse fingers maneuvered between your bodies, finding your clit.

A few strokes over your nub combined with the incessant pounding into your sweet spot were enough to push you over the edge.

You clenched your hands around the ropes that tied your wrists to the headboard as you shattered. Steve’s choked, low moans lost in the sound of your keening, as he came right after you.

Steve dragged his lips across your cheek toward your lips. Kissed you slowly, and wet. Your ragged breaths mingled, a string of saliva stretching between your mouths and popping.

He remained buried inside you, his cock twitching and spurting more cum into your clenching channel.

“I fucking love you.” Steve breathed heavily, a huff of chuckle at the end of his confession.

“Mhmm. I love you, too.” You opened your eyes halfway. “You perv.”

You both laughed, a quiet, intimate sound between lovers that knew each other to the tiniest bone.

With a displeased groan, Steve pushed himself up. He was careful as he sat back, not wanting to slip out of your pussy too quickly.

His gaze focused on your joined bodies as he withdrew inch by inch. His cock glistened with thick cream; your walls fluttered at the friction. He admired your open hole for a moment then squeezed your puffed folds between his fingers.

“Gotta keep it in, sweetheart.” Steve tugged on your folds lightly, keeping them pinched between his fingers.

“I could make you come again. Help your pussy swallow more of it into your womb.” His eyes, still hazy with desire, drifted back to your face.

You groaned. Your cunt clenched at the mere idea of another orgasm shattering your body.

“How about we leave it as it is for now?” You wiggled your butt as much as you could in your restraints. “You can do more nasty things to me in the upcoming days.”

Because you knew if you allowed Steve to make you come again now, he’d use his mouth. And if he used his mouth, he would switch into the overstimulation mindset - he always did that when he went down on you.

You were plenty ruined today without that.

“As you wish.” Steve sighed, with exaggerated disappointment.

“But I’m keeping your legs tied up for a bit longer.” He announced, releasing your folds and patting them less than gently.

You squeaked and glared at him, but it only made him grin.

“Better untie my hands.” You said, making a comically frowny face. “So I can call for the mountain rescuing service to save me from a brutal bear’s captivity.”

Steve laughed and plopped down on his ass, then stretched himself on the bed crosswise. He reached for the camera and finally turned recording off.

He did switch to a browsing mode, though.

“Stop working yourself up again!” You reprimanded him when you realized why Steve moaned suddenly. “Untie me and bring me food.”

“Isn’t it your purpose to serve me food, little housewife?” Steve propped himself on his elbows and looked at you with a cheeky grin.

“Can’t do that while I’m bound.” You smiled sweetly.

Steve moved up and leaned over you, untying the ropes around your hands in two swift moves. He rubbed the skin on your wrists then placed a soft kiss on each.

“Hmm, brutal bear has to think of ways to keep you full and still able to do your housewife duties.” He winked at you.

“Yes, yes, can you think of that while we’re eating?” You rolled your eyes.

As on cue, your stomach rumbled.

“You stew here.” Steve moved down your body and kissed your abdomen, then hopped off the bed. “I’ll reheat everything. Want some wine, too?”

Slipping his pants back on, Steve left the bedroom. And you inside it.

With your legs still up and spread, your hips tilted up and cum brewing in your cunt.

“Are you fucking serious?!” You yelled after him.

His response was an impudent snicker.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #chris evans x you #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers smut #chris evans smut #mountain rescuer steve rogers #mountain rescuer steve rogers x reader #steve fic: nature's beauty

7K notes · View notes

mawrmyy · 3 months

Text

sugar 'n cream

Joel Miller x f!reader

word count: 2.4k

warnings:

18+ !!! minors dni please !!! smut, messy blowjobs, f!masturbation, tooth-rotting fluff, writing soft!husband!joel has become my brand at this point, pet names (angel, baby, perfect girl), lmk if i missed anything :)

You’ve fallen into a routine of waking up to the smell of brewing coffee every sunday morning.

Today is no different. Your eyelids flutter open gently, the burnt, earthy smell climbing upstairs to your bedroom.

You linger in it, let yourself sink deeper into the white sheets as the scent envelops you, the familiarity of it feeling like a warm embrace.

You can’t help but smile. You know he’s downstairs, probably pouring the dark coffee into two separate mugs; one for each of you. He knows exactly how you like your coffee, but he never gets it quite right.

You love him for that.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes with the back of your knuckles, you begin to get up, the sheets rustling and twisting beneath you as you do. The floor tiles are cool against your bare feet, jolting you further awake as you tiptoe downstairs, hand lightly grazing the railing.

He’s there— broad shoulders facing you, muscles moving beneath his shirt as he pours the last drops of coffee into one of two mugs on the counter. You see him eye the sugar, contemplating whether or not to attempt sweetening your drink just how you like it. It makes you smile.

You decide to help him solve the dilemma, walking towards him.

He’s so warm. You feel the heat he radiates before you even wrap your arms around his waist, pressing a sweet kiss between his shoulder blades before resting your forehead there. He hums, and the vibration of it sends shivers throughout your whole body, you’re sure you feel him in your bones.

“Mornin’, Baby,” Joel says softly. You hum in acknowledgement, unmoving from your position against his body, whining in protest when he tries to change positions. He chuckles, gruff and hearty, and you give in, loosening your grip on him. He turns over in your arms as he leans his back against the counter, and you lean your chin on his chest, looking up at him. He’s smiling at you, and it’s so soft and sweet, you’re sure your heart is going to burst out of your chest.

Joel ducks his head down and kisses you, one big hand coming up to cup your cheek. A content sigh leaves your throat, and you feel him smile against your lips as his thumb softly caresses your cheekbone.

You miss the warmth of his mouth as soon as you break apart. You grumble, your head nestling against his chest, ear against his thrumming heart.

“Wanted to wake you up with coffee in bed,” Joel says. “Been workin’ real hard this week, Baby. Thought you could use the extra sleep.” He’s right, of course. He always is. He knows you so well, your Joel, always attentive, listening to your constant rambling and ranting as he holds you close to him on the couch after every long day. He’s so sweet, so good to you.

You lean up, kissing him once again, this time shorter and sweeter.

“I love you,” You tell him, because it’s true. He smiles, tugging you a little bit closer to him.

“Never know how much sugar to put in your coffee, Baby,” Joel tells you. You huff out a laugh, reluctantly pulling yourself away from his body to pull out a milk carton from the fridge. You feel Joel’s gaze on you, burning a hole through your head as you pour the milk into your coffee, the dark brown shade of it softening to a lighter, caramel-like color.

Before you can reach for the drawer to pull out a spoon for the sugar, Joel’s handing you one. It’s a normal teaspoon, but it looks comically small in his large hand. You take it from him, mumbling a thank you, Baby as you sweeten your coffee. His hand, the one that was handing you a spoon a moment ago, falls to the small of your back, and you revel under his touch. The two of you take a sip of your coffee simultaneously, and you smile into the mug as both of you find the other’s eyes.

__ __ __

Joel likes his coffee black, black, black. You don’t understand why someone would choose to drink something that tastes like charcoal and burnt shit out of their own free will, but right now, as you kiss him, your tongue against his, you think you might not mind the flavor.

He’s got you pushed up against the counter, marble digging into your lower back as he trails open-mouthed kisses up and down the column of your throat. His hands rest on either side of your hips, thumbs drawing circles on your waist. You’re breathing him in, holding the back of his head in the palm of your hand as his mouth nips and licks at your throat, kissing every sliver of bare skin his lips can find. Lost in the moment, you let your mind go completely blank with nothing but Joel.

Your man.

Your big, strong, capable man, always so good to you, so selfless. You know for a fact that he’d give you the world— he’s just waiting for you to ask him to.

Your body moves on instinct, sinking to your knees before you even realize what you’re doing. Worshiping Joel is muscle memory at this point. Your hands travel up and down the outsides of his thighs, the fabric of his jeans rough and dry against the palms of your hands. You had asked him once, who the hell wears Jeans on their day off? He’d just huffed out a laugh and kissed you sweetly, and that was the end of the conversation.

Your fingers work at his belt, shakily unbuckling it, pulling it loop by loop before letting it fall to the floor beside you. Joel is looking down at you, eyes wide and dark and full of love and everything else that’s unsaid. His hand cups your face and you melt into his touch, nuzzling against him like a housecat basking in the warmth of a fireplace.

“Baby,” Joel says from where he stands above you. His voice rasps around every vowel, lust dripping from it like honey. “Y’don’t gotta do that, c’mere. I’ll make you feel real good, Darlin’. Let me make you feel good.” You smile up at him, at your man, always putting your pleasure before his own. You shake your head softly, unbuttoning his jeans.

“Wanna make you feel good, Joel.” You say as you work the zipper down. His eyes never leave yours. Not as his pants fall around his ankles, or as you plant a kiss on his tan thigh. Not even as you palm his half-hard cock through his boxers, cupping him through the fabric.

“Always taking such good care of me,” You say as you begin to pull his boxers down, kissing the newly revealed skin of his soft tummy. “Let me return the favor.” You keep tugging his boxers off slowly, pressing your lips softly to every inch of bare skin your greedy mouth can latch onto. You smile to yourself as you feel Joel’s breath hitching, the uneven rise and fall of his stomach against your curled lips. Your own breath catches in your throat as soon as Joel’s boxers fall to his ankles, his cock standing hard and proud before you, a bead of precum on the tip.

This isn’t anything new. You and Joel have been together for a long time now, finally tying the knot last autumn after dating for five years. He takes such good care of you, showing his love in ways that range from sending you pictures of every heart-shaped object he comes across, to fucking you deep into the mattress until you’re screaming out his name. But still, you almost never get to love on him like you wish you could. He’s always so preoccupied with making you feel good, he doesn't realize that seeing him come undone for you has your sweet cunt clenching around nothing.

You reposition yourself on your knees, making yourself as comfortable as the cold tile will allow, before taking Joel’s cock in your hand. He groans at the contact, your warm hand closing tightly around the thick base of him. The sound spurs you on, and you lean in to press a sweet kiss to the leaking tip. Joel’s hand flies to your hair, fisting it tightly.

“Shit, Angel,” His voice is deep and gruff. You keep pressing feather-light kisses along the length of his dick, riling him up. “Fuck, go easy on me, Baby. Don’t tease me— shit,” You take him into your mouth, lips wrapping around the tip of his cock, tongue rubbing the sweet spot right beneath the head. The groan that Joel lets out is so primal and animalistic, you’re sure it’s been brewing in his chest for a while now. His hips stutter as he holds himself back from fucking your throat, and you take him deeper, mind hazy with the need to make him feel good, craving his sweet moans and groans.

Joel is muttering about your perfect lips, and about what a good girl you are, taking him so well. His praise spurs you on, has you moaning and humming around his cock.

But it’s not enough. You need more of him.

You pull your lips off of his dick with a wet pop! sound, spit dripping down your chin. Joel loosens his grip on your hair, confused.

“Want you to fuck my throat,” You blurt out bluntly. Joel’s eyes go wide at your request.

“Fuck– R’you sure?”He asks. You nod enthusiastically. “Don’t wanna hurt you,” He says, a little softer. His hand comes to rest on your cheek, his eyes wide with affection and worry. You hum, nuzzling into his touch, a smirk gracing your lips.

“Someone’s self absorbed,” You joke. Joel snorts, rolling his eyes.

“Goddamn smartass,” He replies, and you laugh. You press a light kiss to his lower tummy, his pubic hair scratching against your skin, before looking back up to him with a soft smile.

“M’serious,” You tell him. “Want you. Want all of you.” Joel inhales deeply.

“My perfect fuckin’ girl,” He says, and you beam. And after a moment– “Shit, yeah, okay.” It’s all the confirmation you need before taking him into your mouth once more, cheeks hollowing as you relish in his bitter flavor. Joel’s hand finds the back of your head once again, pulling you closer to him until the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat. His nostrils flare as he grunts, eyes never leaving yours. You can’t help but moan at the intimacy of it, at the warm weight of him against your tongue.

You can tell your sounds spur him on, giving him more confidence as he bucks his hips against you, making you choke around his cock.

He looks so beautiful like this, with his tousled hair and his coffee-brown eyes watching you in awe, you can’t help but let your hand slide down beneath the waistband of your panties, fingers running through your slick folds, drawing small circles on your clit.

He looks like an Adonis, like an ancient Greek statue carved from the finest marble. You run a hand up and down his thick thigh, your other hand still toying with your cunt. You sink a finger into your dripping hole, making you moan even more enthusiastically as you bob your head up and down Joel’s cock. He’s close and you know it, the rhythm of his hips uneven as he fucks into your mouth. His eyebrows are furrowed and his mouth slightly agape and yes, he looks so handsome like this, you feel yourself clenching around your finger before slipping another one into your tight hole. Joel’s always been better at this than you, his fingers thicker and longer, hitting all the right spots inside of you. You can’t help but wish it was him, fucking you deep and slow, thumb circling your clit while two fingers pump deep inside your pussy, making you gush and cream around him. But no, this is about him, now. You swirl your tongue around his heavy cock, pulling your head back slightly to suck at the sensitive tip. Joel lets out a broken moan before pulling you against him, your nose against his soft belly. It’s a sweet burn. He’s so big, you feel tears beginning to blur your vision as you breathe deeply through your nose.

He finally lets you break away, and you gasp for air. You smile up at him, practically glowing, the hand that was previously buried between your plush thighs comes back up to stroke him, the mix of your spit and your juices coating his dick as your hand tugs at him.

“Want you to come in my mouth,” You say, before pressing a soft kiss to the side of the shaft. “Wanna taste you.” Joel curses under his breath, something you can’t quite make out. You smirk, before taking him into your mouth again.

“Girl of my- fuck- girl of my fuckin’ dreams,” He says, and you hum around him. He gives two hard thrusts into your tight throat, before his hips still completely as he comes. You’re pressed against him, your eyes screwed shut as you focus on breathing through your nose, not wanting to break away before you get to taste all of him, every last drop on your tongue.

Joel’s hips jerk as his cum paints the velvet walls of your mouth. The flavor of him is bitter and salty, something you can’t quite put into words.

Something that’s all Joel, all yours.

You slowly pull your mouth off of his softening cock, swallowing every last drop of his release, all while never breaking eye contact. Joel’s breathing is heavy and his eyes are wide, watching your every move with utter fascination and adoration. You give him a small smile as he brings his thumb to the corner of your lip, swiping up a leftover drop of his come and pushing it slowly into your mouth. It’s a welcome intrusion, and you wrap your lips around the finger immediately, tongue circling the pad of it. Joel grunts, before helping you up so that you’re standing again and kissing you deeply, has hand on the back of your head. You can’t help but smile into the kiss.

He still tastes like coffee. He tastes like coffee and Joel and a hint of you, reminding you he’s all yours.

“I love you,” You tell him, and he smiles.

“Love you too, Angel,” He replies. “Fuck, love you so goddamn much.”

__ __ __

whew! this one took a while to write cause i was sick for the longest time and couldn't really think about sucking dick...

thank you for reading!! i'd love to hear what you thought, and constructive criticism is always appreciated :)

picture I -- Spotify on Pinterest picture II -- TheLastredemption on Pinterest picture III -- вишневый котик on Pinterest

#smut #joel miller smut #joel miller #joel smut #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #joel miller fanfiction #fanfic #the last of us 2 #fanfiction #the last of us smut #tlou smut #joel miller tlou #pedro pascal #tlou2 #joel miller x you

1K notes · View notes

seattlesellie · 10 months

Text

e. williams — moonflower.

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

synopsis: it’s ellie’s birthday, and you have three gifts for her. a moonflower bouquet, the latest savage starlight, and a pin from joel. maybe, you even have a fourth one.

warnings: smut (mdni), established relationship, dom!ellie, sub!reader, inexperienced reader, loss of virginity (r!), first time everything, loads of praise, loads of romance, cute little slaps, and as weird as it is to include this in these warnings; mentions of joel and ellie’s complicated relationship.

an: finally finished it. this is very very fluffy, as smutty as it may be. if you love flowers this one’s for you <3 i truly could have made this longer but i was super self conscious so i might post a little blurb instead!! constructive criticism and all comments n discussions are very much appreciated. thank you for being patient and sweet i love u 💗

enveloped up in a baby blue ribbon, it sits pretty on top of your duvet. the latest edition of “savage starlight” — ellie’s favorite comics series, and a bouquet of flowers. when you picked them out just for her— forehead glistening under the radiant june sun, you noticed a singular flower that set itself apart from the others. blinding white, trumpet shaped— it’s lemon fragrance wafted through the thick air. it's petals were curled up, but you decided to keep it nevertheless. you’ve never seen one quite like it. when you brought it to your house, along with the fresh daisies and the garden roses, you noticed something bizarre, and oh so beautiful.

the odd flower bloomed underneath the moonlight that snuck itself inside the big window of your room. as the white petals unfurled, there you stood— awestruck.

⋆˙⟡♡

you decided to bring it over to louisa, the frail old lady who ran the jackson community garden.

“s’quite beautiful, isn’t it?” you told proudly, taking a whiff of the flowers creamy white petals. louisa ran her fingertips delicately over the flowers green stem, and just like you— louisa was awestruck.

“oh dear, it certainly is. how did you… manage to find it?” louisa probed, and your heart skipped a beat. your relationship with ellie was new, and fresh as a daisy. your face flushed, but you told louisa— your precious confidant, nevertheless. “ellie’s birthday’s coming up soon… so i, was picking up some flowers for her. s’not much, i know… but,” you scratched your arm, feeling extra timid. “i think ellie will like them. i… hope”

louisa smiled soft heartedly, the aged skin around the sides of her eyes folding itself and forming three little lines. somehow, it felt like the old lady knew more about you two than you did. “she’d be a fool not to”, she assured, and pressed tightly on your shoulder.

“i would have asked you if you were in love… but, no need to.”

“how come?”

“it simply shows, pumpkin’”

louisa sighed deeply, and began guiding you towards the humble old basement, where she stored all of her gardening books.

ipomoea alba, the tropical white morning-glory, jimsonweed, or for those of us who are a tad scatterbrained— moonflower. the moonflower, is the most romantic flower of all. it is dreamy, and mysterious, and it yearns for the warm embrace of the sun, but it also requires a cold caress of shade. it slumbers amidst the daylight, closing and hiding its delicate petals up, but during the night— it blooms, and it’s magnificent. as wispy and precious as the moonflower may be, the bloom may also be deadly.

it reminded you of her.

⋆˙⟡♡

ellie and you had numerous conversations about things that were… hypothetical. if you were a planet, which planet would you be?, if you were an animal, which one suits you best, would you say?, make it more specific, even— if you were a bug, what bug would you be? ellie told you were a butterfly, and that she would be a spider.

“don’t… spiders eat butterflies?” you probed, your head resting on top of her shoulder. it was a quiet, chilly night in jackson, and for some reason, being around ellie made you feel scorching. ellie huffed and chuckled, “yeah, think they do”

“well… that sucks” you noted, as a loose strand of ellie’s auburn hair tickled your cheek. ellie thought for a while, and then chuckled again. she did it quite a lot, chuckle to herself without saying a word. “i wouldn’t… eat you though. i’d… build a little web around you. protect you from the other spiders. you could be my personal butterfly… pet, thing”

you hummed, being caged in ellie’s spider web didn’t actually seem all that bad. in fact, it had a certain charm to it. but, wait… “wouldn’t being around me make you hungry?”

ellie’s breath caged in her throat.

it already does.

“guess i’d have to fight against my urges” she rasped, and you nodded.

if you were a butterfly, ellie would be the brave spider who protects you.

if you were a lily; who blooms during the daylight, the resurrection of spring, the goddess oestre, enlightened and wise, ellie was your missing piece. the moon to your sun, and the darkness to your light. the universe thrives because of it’s harmonious balance, and so do you.

⋆˙⟡♡

sugar, flour, cocoa powder, salt, two fresh eggs, a cup of milk, and one cane of sweet vanilla. the chocolate cake was damn near perfect. writing her name on the cake with a thick layer of vanilla icing was extremely precious and necessary to you. woefully, the can was nearing on empty, so— the cake read; “happy birth, el”

you impishly giggled to yourself. sounds like ellie’s going to give birth. with one more dip of your finger inside the rich ganache, you came to a firm and final conclusion— it was heavenly, the perfect balance of sweet and chochlaty bitterness. the secret ingredient that must have made it as amazing as it was, was the espresso powder you traded for a bargain. or maybe, maybe it was love.

“ugh, quit it. cheesy” you silently mumbled to yourself.

⋆˙⟡♡

the weather was hot, and the air felt thick. you always deemed it funny, ellie being a june baby and hating the heat. the town bustled with noise of chatter on a busy monday mornin’, and maria stood with her arms crossed against her chest in the corner. she seemed to be in the midst of scolding a guilty looking tommy, and next to them, were a handful of children giggling in the background.

balancing the chocolate cake, alongside with the gifts sitting inside the brown paper bag (with the pretty blue ribbon you clasped onto it), and the flower bouquet was hard. waddling around the town, on your way to ellie’s house, no wonder you nearly dropped it all on the floor when you bumped into a large man, that hit your front like a stone.

“oh— uh, easy there, kiddo”

you could recognize that rasp and that texas twang everywhere, even when your eyes were squinted, avoiding the rays of the sun.

joel.

you hastily managed to balance it all together again, apologizing profusely to the middle aged man— whomst you almost smashed the entire cake onto. he wore a black button up, it seemed… festive. huh. “headin’ to see ellie, i assume?” joel rasped.

you nodded and smiled politely. you’ve never been completely alone with joel, and most importantly, you’ve never talked to him about ellie. things between them were… complicated. you didn’t know why, and sometimes— you were too afraid to even ask. it all seemed too sensitive. ellie would nearly wince when his name was mentioned, and her eyes would fill with something that seemed like sorrow, or regret, or anger. usually, all of those emotions— all at once.

“that her gift?” he pointed towards the brown paper bag.

“mhm! savage starlight. s’the latest edition… i think”

joel smiled softly, and hummed in response. his eyes too, were filled with something that seemed to hold a droplet of sorrow and regret, but no anger though. different than ellie’s.

“she’s still into it, huh?”

“she’s obsessed” you giggled. truthfully, she had a good reason to be. savage stralight was fucking awesome, you grew to realize. it was even more awesome when she read it to you in the dark, cuddled up in her squeaky bed, holding a flashlight to illuminate the written words. when you dozed off, she’d continue reading out loud, maybe to herself, or maybe for your subconscious to absorb.

“i have… this, thing, uh—“ he shifted awkwardly, and began searching for something in his pockets. joel took it out, and showed it to you while holding it in his palm. the thing he mentioned, was a golden, diamond studded pin of the fallen apollo 1. it was beautiful, highly detailed, it’s unmistakable shine reflecting the rays of the sun.

“found it last week while i was patrollin’”

“it’s… woah” you marveled, running a delicate finger over the polished metal.

“is she… still into the space thing?” the stony man asked with a slightly shaky voice. something in you had to physically fight the urge to pull him into a warm hug.

“yeah… we… well, we went to look at the stars the other day”

joel placed the pin in your hand, and wrapped your fingers around it. “could you give it to her? don’ gotta say it’s from me. tell her you found it”

you nearly choked up.

“joel… you should come with me”

joel sighed, and smiled softly again. joel wasn’t into smiling, but you made ellie smile, and that made joel smile.

“maybe next birthday, kid”

joel, just like louisa, knew ellie loved you before she did. and joel, saw his girl turn from a sulky, sullen teenager, to someone who looked like she had something, someone, to live for.

⋆˙⟡♡

12:00pm, and exactly three knocks on ellie’s wooden door. you’d be lying if you said you weren’t filled with anxiousness. being anxious around ellie wasn’t a strange new feeling. you had butterflies swarming around your belly when she looked at you, had butterflies when she talked to you, especially when she used that one tone, when she got out of the shower with only a small towel wrapped around her glistening body, you had butterflies, or better yet— a painfully lage bee colony growing in your tummy. when she kissed you softly, the bees calmed down and were a little more subtle, you could imagine them having black oogly heart eyes— but when she kissed you roughly, forcefully against the wall (or against the concrete floor that one time), the bees buzzed uncontrollably, and somehow flew down to a lower part of your body. when she grabbed your waist and gave it a squeeze, as she ravished your mouth with her wet tongue, they went even lower and…

well, anyways— ellie made you nervous. handing her her gifts made you nervous and having her first birthday with you made you even more nervous. you were a fuzzy ball of nervousness and anticipation, and now ellie opened the door and you nearly dropped the cake on the ground.

again.

usually, ellie would greet you with a shy “hey”. exactly a week ago, she added a “babe” to it. (the belly bee colony buzzed and they were tremendously loud, you thought ellie could possibly hear them — so you had to hold on to your tummy) today, ellie greeted you with blown out eyes and a gasp. “oh…”

“happy birthday” you mumbled adorably as if it was a hushed little secret, too shy to look her in the eyes. ellie was too shy too, a coy smile painted on her lips, rosy cheeked, with her hands clamped in two fists inside her oversized grey sweater (it’s june, she would not let that hoodie go). her pupils were glued to the “happy birth, el” written in white icing.

when she felt bold enough to look you in the eyes after not speaking (just staring) for one whole minute, as soon as she caught your gaze— your orbs began dancing around everything you saw, purely avoiding her look but with a huge grin plastered on your sweet, overly excited face.

would it be stupid for ellie to tell you that she loved you right now? because it was getting incredibly hard not to.

instead of a (perhaps) misplaced i love you, ellie decided a pure “thank you” would be have to suffice. she held the door for you, and you shyly tiptoed in. when you placed the chocolate cake on top of the oakwood counter along with the paper bag, you felt ellie’s hands shyly creeping up to your waist, pulling you in a tight hug. “you really… really, shouldn’t have” she whispered. her voice was still groggy, lazy, raspy.

it was her morning voice.

funnily enough, this was your first time hearing it. you never stayed over past 2am— the night was dangerous in your eyes. the night meant going to sleep, it meant staying in her bed, and it meant sleeping with her inside of it. the idea of a night with ellie felt as if the bee colony in your stomach was about to erupt and explode and splatter everywhere.

“you know i don’t… celebrate these things” ellie rasped again, breaking you off from your idle thoughts. you placed your hand over hers, and giggled. “s’not a thing, el… it’s your birthday”, ellie hummed in agreement, and you continued. “besides, it’s an—“ she planted a soft, chaste kiss on your neck. it made you shudder and it made your voice break. “an… excuse to eat some cake”

“just cake?”, ellie sighed, her raspy voice tickling your cheek.

“mhm” you nodded, distracted as ever.

“whats in that paper bag then, huh?”

the flower only blooms during the night, and savage starlight was meant to be consumed with the help of a trusty ol’ flashlight, under a thick blanket. the sun was still out, so the moonflower slept. for the comics, you wouldn’t need a flashlight, and that would simply demolish all of the fun.

the sun was still out so unfortunately, ellie will have to sit and patiently wait.

you pull yourself out of her hug, and waltz away slowly. “well… paper bags for later”, you tilt your head, drawing out your words just to tease her and then some. “so, not gonna show you what’s in there”

ellie raises a brow, a slight half smirk creeping up on her face. saying ellie was a patient girl, would be similar to saying a cat doesn't walk on four. technically, it could… be biped, but— well, wouldn’t quite work. so similarly, patient and ellie couldn’t quite work either.

“you gonna say no to me on my birthday?” she jests, pulling her arms and crossing them over her grey hoodie ridden chest.

“oohh…” you nod twice, “so now you do celebrate these things?” you teasingly raise an eyebrow, mirroring her stance. ellie chuckles and it comes out from deep within her throat. she squints her eyes, “you’re such a tease”

she must not know one of the bee’s just stung the insides of your own stomach and dropped dead. or maybe it’s not dead yet, because you can still feel it’s erratic buzzing and the venom makes you feel as if you’re about to pass out.

“mhm… it’s okay, i’ll wait, babe” — there’s that babe again, and the little bee is definitely dead by now.

“can we eat the cake outside? s’nice, warm… we could do a picnic!” you chirp, each and every single one of your words laced with that syrupy sweetness that makes ellie melt.

ellie smiles and feels a little blush creeping up on the apples of her cheeks. “could do… whatever you want, it’s your cake” she states, and you roll your eyes at her sweet humility. “s’not my cake, it’s yours” you mutter serenely as you point towards the vanilla icing. “see? has your name on it and all”

ellie tries plunging a slender finger into the icing, a foolish attempt to taste it, but you slap it away, a faux pout forming on her face.

“can’t taste my own cake?”

“nope. outside” you speak, popping the p’.

“yes ma’am”

⋆˙⟡♡

you take a sip of the freshly squeezed lemonade, a droplet of sour and sweetness flowing down from the corner of your lips. ellie— propped up by her elbow, brings her thumb and wipes it away. “so messy” she jives playfully, putting the pad of her thumb in her mouth and joyfully sucks on it. she’s squinting her eyes, attempting to avoid the rays of the sun, and you giggle impishly. “can i finally taste my cake now?” she drawls.

impatient as ever, ellie doesn’t even bother pulling out the white plastic fork. instead, she shoves her hand into the cake and takes a big bite. her eyes shut as she devours it, humming at the taste. with her mouth full, she utters “happy birth, el, huh?”.

you breathlessly laugh and nudge her arm away so she almost falls on the checkered, red and white picnic blanket. “sounds like… mmh, fuck, this is good”, she licks her finger — “sounds like m’giving birth”

“i didn’t have any more icing left!” you raise your tone brightly. ellie looks you in the eyes and swallows a sly smirk. this time, it’s your turn to wipe some residue off the corner of her lips. you taste it, and god damn was she right— it’s finger lickin’ good.

“i think that like, when we have babies, you’d be the one to give birth… not my thing. don’t want some… little intruder in my stomach”

before you have time to answer, ellie bites the insides of her cheeks and feels like slapping herself in the face or burying herself 7 feet in the ground. she’s talking about having babies with you?!

she’d smack herself so hard right now if she could.

for you, however, it’s becoming insufferably hard not to start jumping up and down and ripping your hair off in excitement.

“let me get this straight…” you begin, and ellie’s convinced you’re about to tell her that she’s too much and leave. “an intruder, as you put it, can live inside my belly for nine whole months, but not inside yours?”

ellie has to stop herself from breathing a sigh of relief. “it’ll suit you, is all i’m sayin’”

ellie manages to eat half of the creamy chocolate cake all by herself. she was never one to have a big appetite, did you sneak something inside of the batter, perhaps?

maybe it’s love, ellie wonders. she scolds herself internally, quit being such a sap. it’s definitely the espresso powder her taste buds managed to pick up on.

laying face to face with her eyes closed, you manage to count some of her splattered freckles. one… two… fifteen…, some of them grew darker, tanner. ellie’s chest rises up and down, and you almost think she must have dozed off like a little kid having a post—dessert nap, until;

“hey” she whispers.

“hi” you whisper back.

ellie opens her eyes, a soft, lazy half smile adorning her face. she bites her bottom lip, “can i open my present now?”

impatient.

you shake your head softly. “nuh uh, sun’s still out. sorry, els”

she wants to scoff but she loves it when you call her by that little nickname. “but…” you look down shyly, reaching out for your pocket. “i ran into… joel, on my way here” you speak quietly, afraid of saying the wrong thing. ellie blinks twice, and clears her throat. taking it out of your pocket, you place the little precious pin in between ellie and you. ellie only looks at it, doesn’t touch. you can’t quite describe the expression on her face. surprised? dreadful?… doubtful, maybe, and a tad curious perhaps. “he wanted me to give you this… s’the fallen apollo eleven, i think”

ellie let’s out a quiet chuckle.

“apollo one”

she lifts herself up, taking the pin in her hand. her green eyes begin examining it, brushing her fingers on the golden metal. you sit quietly for a while, allowing ellie to be one with her thoughts. she doesn’t know what to think, what to feel, really. sorrow? regret? tears threaten to fill the brim of her eyes, so with her back to you, she sighs deeply and swallows them up. you bring your hand to lay a small caress on the small of her back, and ellie gazes to the side. she grabs your hand, and plants a small kiss on to your fingers. “ellie…” you silently whisper, and ellie sniffles.

“it’s alright, m’okay” she assures, and lays herself on top of the blanket again. her hand still holds your fingers, and you bring them around her thumb and squeeze. “thank you” she voices. before telling her that you’re not the one she should thank, a small tear flows down her cheek. you’d wipe it away, but ellie grabs your other hand and interlocks her fingers with yours. “sometimes it… fuck—“ she laughs, it occurss to both of you you’ve never quite seen her cry. “it’s okay” you comfort. keep going, you got her. ellie deeply sighs, “feels like i don’t deserve any of this”. the tear is hanging from her chin now, then flows down to her neck. you don’t ask her why, because now is not the time, but you’ll ask her one day. for now, all you do is assure her that she does. and for once in her life, she actually might start to believe it.

⋆˙⟡♡

apparently, chocolate cake, raspberry jam and some bubbly champagne (that you stole borrowed from the tipsy bison) can really get you two going. after hours of aimless giggling, tummies hurting from all of the fine delicacies, it’s time for your favourite past time— ellie and yours hypotheticals corner. naturally, with your head laying on top of her firm chest, you’re the one who starts. “okay, so… plants”, you gush. “mhm, so plants” ellie repeats, her fingers tracing lazy circles on your half covered shoulder. “which plant would i be?”

ellie thinks for a while— you two really take this seriously. she hums before responding, puffing some air from her nose. “chocolate plant, for sure”

interesting. you thought she’d say a certain flower, a delicate one, a soft one, one that blooms in the day. chocolate plant. “intersting… why chocolate? — ellie doesn’t quite know either. perhaps it’s because she loves chocolate and she loves you, and the champagne is making her feel giddy and silly and you’re her little chocolate bean, plant thing.

“cause it’s tasty” she responds, and you almost settle on that except… you seem to have an important anecdote you have a blinding urge to point out.

“well, it makes zero sense. you’ve never even tasted me”

that she hasn’t. yet.

ellie’s breath hitches inside her throat and she nearly chokes on her spit. do you know… what you’re doing? you muttered that sentence so innocently, so absentmindedly, and of course she hasn’t tasted you, but did that thought occur in your mind like it did in hers? you’re still smiling, patiently waiting for her response, and ellie can’t help but feel so… well, she couldn’t quite put her finger on what she was feeling. her cheeks however— light up in a shade of dusty pink.

“imagine if you like, ate me! i’d probably taste so…”

sweet? intoxicating?

“gross!” you exclaim, exaggerating and blowing your eyes out. ellie’s cheeks calm down a little, the pretty pink diminishing slowly. “thank god you’re not a cannibal…”

nah, she thinks she might be something worse.

slowly, ellie pushes her body closer to yours. you feel her faint breaths on the tip of your nose. “tickles…” you murmur, and ellie huffs out and smiles. it’s that smile she gives you before saying something. the way her eyes dart from your lips to your eyes… it makes you feel vulnerable, coy, and it’s as if she’s studying you, taking in your features one by one. perhaps, she loves seeing the way your eyelashes flutter like small butterfly wings when you feel her gaze on you.

“i have tasted you though” she rasps, her voice low and husky. her eyes are focused on your lips now, as hers slightly part, and then close up again. “you have?” you mumble, shy under her gaze. she hums, bringing the pad of her thumb to your lips again and pulling on your bottom one slightly. this time, you don’t have lemonade juice running down your chin. this time— the gesture is truly just for her. those lips… she thinks.

“you taste… good. and sweet, like…”, your lips curl up to a smile. “chocolate?” you complete. ellie hums again, her palm cupping your cheek. you feel warm, how are you always so warm? — even when you’re shivering cold, warmth is all she can feel.

“and vanilla… and coconut” she caresses your cheek with her thumb. you giggle, “you’ve never even had coconut”

“nah, but i can imagine…” — and oh, imagine she can. is this the champagne talking? it must be it, because that fizzling bubbly voice in her head would not let her go. funny, she doesn’t even feel drunk. “you taste sweet too” you state, nearly purring into her hand as she keeps delicately caressing your skin. she chuckles, “no i don’t” — and she’s right. she doesn’t taste sweet, in fact, she tastes minty and earthy and it makes you feel dizzy each time.

slowly, ellie gets her face even closer to yours. she sees your eyes twinkling, and she swears they shine brighter than every star she’s ever seen. back in the old times, nasa would have a field trip exploring your orbs. they might even find new galaxies in there, and ellie wishes she could explore each one. she really should have been an astronaut.

“ellie?” you quietly whisper. ellie nearly gets lost in the way you say her name, but responds to you nevertheless. “yeah babe?”

“can i taste you? to prove how… sweet you are?” — she knows you mean her lips, regardless, that dusty pink turns a deeper shade of crimson. she thinks it’s absolutely adorable, how you still feel the need to ask. however, she forgets that she asks you that question each time as well. can she… kiss you here? right below your ear? that feel good?

she doesn’t respond with words, but with actions. she cups your cheek harder now and with fervour, and she knows she needs to be romantic but she’s famished, so as soon as she feels your lips part— she plunges her tongue deep inside and you surrender to her domination. almost like a waltz, your tongues dance together, swirling around each other and tasting— and she still doesn’t taste all that sweet, but you do, and it makes her brain feel like mush. you whimper into her mouth and it almost sounds like your “els”, and she knows she needs to come out for air soon and break off the kiss but how can she? how can she when you’re so damn sweet?

her hand dips lower, placing itself on your throat, and she gives you that little squeeze (that she realised must have made you feel good, because you always had chills when she did and she could feel them), and this time— you really did whimper out her name. ellie groans, but you abruptly break the kiss, holding on to your stomach. she pants slightly, before releasing your throat from her grasp. “did i do something?“ she asks quietly.

thing is, she truly didn’t. in fact, it was that damn bee colony that did. she must have heard them buzzing and flying into each other and bumping into your stomachs walls and dip even lower and— “can you hear them?” you question— and you’re panicking slightly, she can tell.

“hear who?”, ellie looks around, but nobody’s there. intruders? clickers? you must have drank too much, but you really hadn’t so…

“it’s so fuckin’ stupid…” you whine, lowering your head and hiding your face in the crook of her neck. ellie still thinks you must have heard something for real— and by all means, it is real, just not… like that. “hey” she encourages, placing her hand on the back of your neck. if she dares to even move it to the front of it, you’d panic again and be totally screwed. ellie notices you’re holding on to your lower stomach, “does it hurt?” she questions, worrisome.

“no… no, s’not that…” you voice, an octave higher than a whisper. “just when… when you kiss me? like, when you kiss me like that, you know?”, you hide your face again, and ellie’s worried sick— oh god, you hate it. you hate it when she kisses you.

you take a moment to gather your thoughts, you can explain this.

you breathe deeply, and ellie still holds the back of your head. “you know how people say… that you have… butterflies, when you’re around someone you like?”

“uh huh” ellie sighs. she gets it now. you don’t have those butterflies. you get sick when she kisses you, it makes your stomach hurt and you hate it and hate her and she knew you were too good for her and fuck.

“well, mine feel more like… well, they feel violent. it feels like i’m going to explode. i call them my bees, my bee colony, it’s so fucking stupid and i feel like they’re everywhere—“

oh.

ellie laughs (finally), breathlessly so, and she giggles and squeezes your body closer to hers and you continue to ramble, your voice slightly muffled by the fabric of her hoodie. she’s going to squeeze you so hard you might die, and you start banging your hands on her chest and you’re embarrassed, mortified at your little confession and the bees are so mad! they're calling for a conference call and you nearly explode.

“babe, babe—“ ellie calls out, forcing your head out of her neck and nearly begging you to look at her. you don’t though, you shut your eyes tight as she looks at you and thank god you do because she looks so amused but so enamoured she nearly doesn’t even want you to look.

“you wanna know what i have?” she probes, and you finally open one eye to take a peak. “no!”, and immediately— you shut it again. “i don’t have butterflies either” she calmly states, playfully pressing on your nose so you can huff out and look at her. when you do, you expect to see a smile— but instead, you’re faced with a serious expression, ellies eyebrows furrowing.

“i have wasps”

“wasps?” you doubt her quietly.

“mhm…” her lips part and she licks her bottom one before she speaks. “more like… tigers, or like, lions. way worse than yours. i mean, i’m in terrible condition”— she chuckles, and she just might be.

her words don’t comfort you, in fact, they make you buzz even louder.

doe eyed, you look up at her. “lions?”

“mhm” she nods. lions that might just tear you apart on the grass if you keep on looking at her like that.

this time, when she kisses you again— you don’t hold on to your stomach, you place your hand on hers. as the bees grow even louder, crashing into each other and ruining your slippery insides, you swear you can nearly hear her own lions roar alongside with your buzzing. she grabs your neck and squeezes it again, you nearly shriek, and ellie groans into your mouth and she’s the one to stop, but for an entirely different reason now. “inside?” she murmurs, staring at your glistening, kiss swollen lips and at the drool that runs on one corner. “please…” you whine, and ellie’s eyes nearly roll to the back of her head. please…? she repeats in her mind— and oh fuck.

⋆˙⟡♡

so she takes you inside, your hand in hers.

with the chocolate cake and the bottle of champagne and it’s glasses far forgotten, the sweet raspberry jam slowly melting away, the chocolate cake growing into a chocolate… pudding, the ants are sure to come. how pitiful, that bees will always triumph over them, and the wasps— or the lions, well, they triumph over everything.

what ellie wants to do right now, is take you up to her bedroom and ravish you in all your glory, but you’re no forgetful fool. with everything else washed away, how dare you forget her presents?, her moonflowers?

“ellie!” you exclaim, squeezing on her hand. “it’s nighttime! your birthday presents…” you wiggle out your eyebrows.

shit— she nearly forgot, she’s pretty sure that if someone placed an actual living and breathing dinosaur in her living room she wouldn’t even notice because you keep on rendering her a distracted mess.

besides, its your own fault, because how do you do that? how do you go from driving her crazy and making her want to eat you on the grass, to making her heart flutter and burst inside of her chest the moment after? you’re a magician, a witch, what the fuck are you? not a fairy— that’s for sure, fairies are scary.

“so… you wanna open them up or not?”

she wants to open you up. no, no! bad ellie! that’s definitely the champagne still talking (it’s long gone.)

“fuck yeah”

you grab the paper bags (with the little blue ribbon), and drag her upstairs. you physically drag her, because for some reason, opening her presents is making her incredibly nervous. you expected her to be more eager, to snap the bag out of your hand as soon as you allowed her, but instead— she sits on the bed and just waits. she’s waiting for you to hand them out to her.

the nervousness seems to eat you up as well, tummy aching (still the bees, but also some normal excitement)— and as you hand her the bag, a few questions start to arise.

what if she hates it? what if she hates flowers? what if she’s allergic to the ipomea alba, what if she starts sneezing and coughing and dying?! or what if she already managed to get over savage starlight? (in a matter of two days…) what if the cake sucked and she was lying all along and you’d disappoint her and she dumps you and—

“HOLY FUCKIN’ SHIT!!!!!!!!!” — she yelps, you didn’t even notice she opened the damn bag!

“this is…..” her eyes are bright and she smiles so big it nearly damn hurts the apples of her cheeks. “savage fucking star— fuck! s’the latest fucking one! how did you even manage to, fuck— gotta fuckin’ kiss you right now or i’d die”

ellie practically pounces on you, kissing you all over your face. cheeks— two kisses on each one, your nose, your forehead, your chin, both of your earlobes, “close your eyes, gotta kiss ‘em too”, your jaw, your neck…

“are you into me or something? cause it looks like you’re super into me, giving me this fuckin’ gift… dude. if you have feelings for me…”, she places her pointer and her middle finger on your chin and makes you look up at her. you stifle a giggle, “you gotta just tell me, might be into you too” she pecks your lip slowly and you instantly melt.

“we have to read it today… but only eight pages! gotta save it up”

she nearly buries her entire face in the comic book pages. she sniffs, “shit… even smells new” — a layer of fine dust adorns it, so you know it doesn’t.

“rented it from the library!” you chirp, the concept of libraries being one you merely only read about.

“there’s… something else in there too…” you begin. for some reason, giving her those flowers you picked makes you even more nervous. she curiously looks up at you. “there's more?”

you bend down to grab the paper bag off of the wooden floor. the moonflowers’ petals opened up, and there you were— awestruck again. “you can’t give me more things… it’s too much i don’t…” deserve it? you know she thinks so. regardless, she looks up at you adoringly, as your hand tremors and you lift the flowers out of the brown paper bag. you look at them, trying to decide if maybe you were just being delusional, maybe they’re not nearly as pretty as you thought they were when you came across them for the first time. perhaps they’re…

“woah…” ellie gazes at them, wide eyed. she doesn’t even know the meaning of them but yet she is nothing but mesmerised. “wh… what flower is this?” she asks, running her fingers on their dark green stems. when she reaches their creamy white petals, she moves her fingers even more delicately. caressing it, her knee nudges yours.

“moonflower” you reply silently, watching ellie’s digits adoring the bloom. “it’s… it’s really pretty”

you take a deep breath. “i picked it up cause… it reminds me of you”, you exhale, fiddling with your fingers. when she notices, she puts her hand, the one with the flowers in it— on top of yours. the room is quiet, except for ellie’s shallow breaths.

“it um… well… first of all, it’s beautiful, like you”, you flush, and ellie flushes as well. she swallows deeply, and involuntarily, a small “fuck” escapes from her throat.

“and… they’re not supposed to grow in jackson. it was purely by accident, so they’re special… like you, and uh… well, they only bloom during the night, which is why i waited. they’re strong, and they’re deadly, i mean— the venom is… so don’t… eat it, i guess.” you chuckle, and you barely even notice two fat tears streaming down your cheeks. “they remind me of you because they’re the prettiest flowers ive ever seen, and when i saw them… i was kinda of like… woah, just like what happened when i saw you for the first time, remember?” — ellie sniffles, and ellie’s crying. “so… you’re my moonflower”

ellie doesn’t know what to do. she looks up, covering her face with her hands. she wipes away a stupid tear, and then wipes away your precious one.

one whole minute passes.

“if i ever…” she begins, swallowing hard. “if i ever lose you? i think i might die” — because the moonflower needs sun to live, and you’re her sun, her lifeline.

you take her face in between your shaky palms. ellie’s lips hold a slight tremor, and then she laughs.

“i’m in love with you”

you don’t have to say it back. you really don’t, because again — actions speak louder than words. your soft lips meet her slightly chapped ones, and ellie hums into the kiss. different than the one before, this one is gentle, dim, the lust hasn’t disappeared— it’s still there, but it has something more to it, not diminishing it, just hovering above. could you guess what it is?

“i love y…” you whisper out, attempting to break the kiss, just if you could simply say this one thing, but ellie knows, she knows. she pulls you by the back of your neck more forcefully now, deepening the kiss. because you couldn’t finish your sentence, you pout— but ellie suckles on your bottom lip and wipes your silly pout away. her hand goes lower, from the back of your head to hold on to your waist, and she squeezes the covered flesh. you moan into the kiss, tasting her spit and her tongue, and oh god— the bees. you think you might have just another precious gift for her. one she’s been waiting for, one she’s been fantasising about, one that you’ve been fantasising about. when you moan into the kiss, ellie breaks it. she’s staring you down, panting again. “think i… have… one more gift” you whisper, and ellie— her lips parted, nods once. “one more?” she rasps, squeezing your waist again and pulling you up to straddle her. “mhm”, you hiccup as you feel yourself snugly pressed up against her.

she places one hand on your thigh, simply caressing it back and forth. the more up she goes, the more your breaths become uneven and so do her’s. it’s not entirely an unfamiliar territory— you've been seated on her lap a few times before (seven, but whos counting? she is), but this is… different. “whats your gift, huh?” she teases. you? are you going to be her gift? you always have been…

you whine when she traces small circles with her slender fingers on your clothed inner thighs. you whine and it makes ellie throb— you’ve never quite made that noise before, and she yearns to pull every single noise you could possibly make out of you. a whimper, a moan, god— a scream. she feels like she’s about to explode and christ, you’re still fully clothed.

like a hunter examining it’s prey, ellie moves her face forwards, and then downwards, towards your neck. she places a few chaste kisses, “ah! tickles…” ellie chuckles darkly, yearning to “tickle” you once more. she plants two more delicate, tickling kisses before suckling on the flesh. at first, her tongue meets your skin and she laps up at it. then, her teeth bite into it, and you nearly jump. “sorry… that hurt?” she asks, and really, she’s not sorry at all. “feels…” ellie cuts you off and sucks again. this time, she’s determined to leave a mark. “oh… feels…” you continue, shuddering in her arms like glass. she hasn’t even touched you, not really, and yet everything feels damp. your face, from your tears and from her tears and from spit, to the flesh of your neck that’s being sucked on and played with, down to the small wet patch inside your panties that you’d be mortified if she noticed.

when she finishes the assault on your neck, she moves up to your lips again and grunts when she sees how your lips were already parted, just for her. the kiss is slow, wet, her tongue kitten licking your own. it’s nasty, really, wet smacking and sucking noises filling the air. almost involuntarily, your hips start moving and grinding up against her thigh. ellie moans deeply. “mmph… yeah?” she teases, or at least tries to, because her voice is shaky and turned on to the max. she helps you move slightly, and my god she needs to take your pants off and feel your naked heat against her like this. when she thinks about what it must be like for you— she imagines your fat pussy lips squished up inside your panties, grinding on her thigh and she nearly loses it. she wants to help you grind harder… could she make you cum just from that? cum inside your pants whilst using her thigh? “fuuuck”, ellie groans and lifts her hand up, nearly smacking your ass but it ends up just landing on her own leg.

“s’not fair… what you’re doing…” she murmurs in your ear, “what did… what did i do?” you respond back, your voice high and needy. ellie doesn’t even know what she meant to say. all she knows is that it’s not fair. it’s not fair how you make her react and feel like this, the way your eyes glisten isn’t fair, the way you grind up on her thigh and make those sounds isn’t fair, the way you make her feel sticky and mushy and wet — without even taking your clothes off, isn’t fair.

still moving with fervour on top of her legs, her hand is dangerously close to where you need her the most. she nearly cups it, flips you over and ravishes you whole, but she stops herself. “can i please… take your fuckin’…” she rasps, running her short fingernails on your sides. she’s not scratching, but it’s not an entirely gentle movement either. she doesn’t know where to start, should she ask you to take your top off? your pants? — maybe she should just ask you to go completely naked. she settles on the little top, however.

you lift the fabric up slowly, but you do it out of nerves. as much as ellie wants it off, she lets you take it slow. you peel it off, exposing your skin inch by inch— do you even know how bad you’re teasing her right now? “ah, fuck” ellie groans out. when the shirt meets the top of your head, it gets stuck there for a second. you giggle nervously, your lacey bra on full display, and ellie considers just leaving you there to struggle by yourself. if your eyes are covered by the material, maybe you won’t notice how hard she’s staring. “need some help there, babe?” she teases as she leans back on her elbows. your laugh is muffled, and ellie chuckles. how are you so goddamn sexy and adorable at the same time? after ten whole seconds of struggling, ellie lifts it up for you. “there, good girl… wasn’t that hard, right? just needed my help?” she teases, and god is she mean— that little twinkle in her now much darker green eyes making you feel like your ears are about to melt off.

swiftly, ellie begins planting soft kisses all over your collarbones. her hand isn’t touching your breasts quite yet, but it’s hovering on top of them, and then you realize— she’s waiting for your approval, for your yes. you put your hands around her neck and push her forward, which makes her hands land on top of your breasts. ellie moans as soon as she feels them, and even though they’re covered by fabric — the lace is thin and she can feel your hardening nipples. she runs her thumb over the swollen buds and you shiver. “knew you’d be sensitive…” she murmurs to herself against your skin. “what did… uh, what did you say?”, you stutter, and then she looks up at you. “said…” she flicks it and you buck your hips. “fuck… knew you’d be sensitive”

she knew… you’d be? “you’ve, uh… thought about this before?” — and ellie chuckles, fully laughs nearly. if you only knew how many times she’s thought about this you’d probably crumble like a danish biscuit. “too many times” ellie confesses, and she almost gets too embarrassed to admit, but she swears she can feel a little wet patch on her jeans so she knows you must have thought about this as well, perhaps more than she has — but not likely. “i have too” you murmur shyly, and there it is.

“oh, really?” she asks, kissing right in between of your tits and making you jolt. if her lips feel this good on your chest… your eyes roll back to the top of your head. “so you’re just as filthy, huh?”, her right hand lands on your ass with the smallest smack, she knows she could make it hurt if she wanted to (and she does), but not yet. you jump and squeal, and in a random burst of confidence — “m’filthier…” you whisper.

with that, ellie grunts and takes your tits in her palms, she kneads the swollen flesh, pushing both of your breasts together and kisses right between the formed cleavage. “bet you’re filthier…” she whispers, opens her mouth so her tongue can stick out and lick between your cleavage line. when she does so, she brings her hand to your back and unclasps your bra with just her two fingers. she lets it cascade down, and she notices how shy you get, trying to bring your hands to cover yourself up. ellie is faster than you, and grabs both of your wrists so you can’t. you’re fully exposed, and ellie’s all pants and heavy breaths. when you try to wiggle yourself out of her grip, your tits move and bounce in the slightest, and ellie’s in trance. “you’re so… fuckin’ pretty” she takes your hard nipple in her mouth and you wince as soon as you feel her pink muscles wetness. “that feel good huh?” she takes your other breast in her hand and toys with it, palms it and making it shake.

with hungry kisses, she lays you down on her bed. you buck your hips forward, and ellie parts your legs with her own. she runs her hands all over your body, and before kissing you again, she stops. “els?” you ask, but ellie ignores you. ellie takes her top off, and fuck you’re nearly drooling. she wasn’t even wearing a bra, and her pretty pink nipples are just as hard as yours. you’re staring, and it’s ellie’s turn to go shy. “you like… ‘em?” she giggles, “shit, nevermind”

you don’t expect it, but ellie grabs the brown paper bag and pulls the moonflower bouquet out of it. “wh… what are you doing?”

“don’t worry about it” — she places the flowers on your chest. for some reason, your ears start to burn. “hold ‘em like that for me?” she asks, and you do. with ellie straddling you, it almost looks like she’s about to pull out a camera and take a picture. “perfect…” she murmurs, “feels like i marked you. s’over for you, you’re mine, y’know that?”

you think you’ve always known. “yours” you whisper coyly, giving her that toothy grin that makes her melt into a puddle. she leans forward, kissing the tip of your nose. “yours who?” she kisses your cheek, and then below it, and then on your jaw. “yours… ellie” — and she must be smiling, because you can feel her lips curl up on your skin.

she kisses you everywhere, on every scar, every blemish, sometimes she bites, but then soothes it with her tongue. you’re growing impatient, the pressure down your panties becoming insufferable. before she unbuttons your pants, she unbuttons her’s. she pulls them down, to sit right below her boxers covered ass. she comes up again, kissing on your tummy, and then — she puts her ear to it. “m’hearing them…” she murmurs. “they're… talking to me, the bees are begging me to fuc—“

“ellie!” you call out, embarrassed. you try and muffle your giggles with your hand but it’s all for nothing, because when she pulls your pants down you gasp. she takes a moment to stare, she could just stare at you forever, she thinks. ellie toys with the waistband of your panties, running her pointer finger on the line. she’s breathing heavy, and you’re nearly wheezing. she bends down to kiss your sopping covered cunt, “oh fu— wait!” you call out.

“i’m… i feel, i’m too shy i can’t…”, ellie smiles and kisses it again. she knows you are. “feels like i might—“ you cry out, feels like you might what?

“explode!”

“you might… but i got you, yeah?” ellie coos, and this time, she doesn’t kiss it, she runs her tongue along the wet patch. she wiggles it from side to side and fuck, she can taste you already and she thinks she might be addicted. your thighs tense and they involuntarily wrap around ellie’s head. she chuckles, and parts them apart. to soothe you, she runs her fingers on your inner thighs and caresses you gently. she kisses your clothed clit and she swears she just felt it pump. “awh… yeah?” she coos again, and it feel like she’s talking to your pussy and not to you. you whimper and drop your head back, and she sucks on it. she’s making the fabric grow nearly sheer with her tongue, and when she sees the outline of your pussy lips she moans deeply. “so wet…” she murmurs to herself, “this all for me, huh? did i do something?” she looks up at you, and your eyes are tightly shut, not even in a place where you feel like you can talk.

you’re fuzzy everywhere.

“can you answer me?” she warns, but chuckles when she sees your back arching as soon as she pulls your soaking wet panties to the side. you hum, “all f— for you”, but ellie doesn’t even hear it, because she’s faced with the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

your glistening folds, the tiny swollen button on top, and your hole practically clenching in and out over nothing and she thinks she might just die. she spits on it with a small “ptu”, watches as her warm saliva cascades down from your clit to your inviting hole. when you clench, your hole absorbs some of her spit and she groans deeply. “fuck that’s cute”

you’re panting, a sweet harmony of “please, ellie!” escaping your lips, and when you accidentally muttered a pathetic, squeaky “puhleaseee!” ellie scratched the idea of slowly, butterfly kissing your cunt till you’re begging and began placing an open mouthed kiss on it.

as her tongue meets your clit for the first time, you clutch your thighs around her head. it happens twice before she forces them open, “quit that, gotta see you” — she warns, and you listen because you just do. “look at me” she instructs, her voice muffled by your sweet pussy in her mouth. her tongue laps up the wetness from your hole, brings it to the top of your clit and sucks. ellie hums, she was right — you really are fuckin’ sweet. “so good…” she murmurs, “doin’ such a good job”, truly, you aren’t even doing anything, just squirming and whimpering under her touch. she moves her tongue around and you swear you just felt her spell something with it, “ellie!” you cry, and ellie’s breath hitches down her throat so she comes out for air and spits on your cunt again. she rubs the wetness with her fingers, then separates your pussy lips with her thumbs so she can see all of you.

you’re just like a flower, she thinks. slowly, she places her tongue on your clit again, but with her fingers on it still, she begins toying with your tight hole. she merely teases it, probing your entrance with her ring finger. “gonna put it inside, that okay?” she asks, but you’re unresponsive, a blabbering mess who doesn’t even remember her own name. ellie chuckles, she could probably do anything she wanted. she slips it inside, feeling your gummy walls squeezing her in, and she moans right when you do. “oh… gosh, ellie!”

“so fuckin’ tight” she whispers, returning her mouth on your clit and suckles deeply. she adds a second finger and now you’re gone, fully consumed by this filthy, pleasure filled monster. “i think m’gonna!” you cry and ellie whimpers out, nearly going cross eyed when she notices you’re toying with your nipples just like she did. “explode?” she breathlessly says. “c… cum!”

“good fuckin’…” she wants to complete that sentence, but instead her tongue dips lower and her hands push your thighs so your knees are pushed up against your chest. it goes even lower, licking your tightest entrance, the one that’s never been explored, not even by your own hands, and when she flicks her tongue upon it and then immediately goes back to your swollen clit you’re—

“cum’… m’cumming! m’cumming!” and yeah you are, ellie thinks, and slaps one of your thighs. you're jolting when you do, her name leaving your mouth like a prayer, and pray as much as you want but heaven will not be the one that accepts you, perhaps it’ll be purgatory, but with her in it it’s more than perfect. “uh huh… cum for me”

when you do, you see stars, and ellie sees moonflowers.

she laps up your saccharine juices, sucking them off her fingers one by one. you’re feeling faint, buzzing everywhere, from the tips of your toes to the top of your head. ellie looks up at you, eyelids half shut. when you see the index finger that was deep inside of you just a moment ago, go inside her mouth, her pouty pink lips around them and she’s lapping it up and she’s greedy— you cringe a little. she’s tasting and tasting and humming, “told you… you’re sweet”

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #ellie x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams x you #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams x fem!reader

3K notes · View notes