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symbiomancy · 6 months

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movie —getō suguru

—summary: You can't decide on an outfit to wear to the movies.

—cw: f!reader, brother x sister, p in v sex, creampie, foreplay // AO3 ver

—wc: 3,8k (send help)

Suguru leans against your doorway, arms crossed over his chest. He takes a moment to survey your room, the clothes strewn across the floor, even more clothes piled onto your computer chair, a mountain of makeup items on your desk. With any luck you’ll clean up before he plans to vacuum tomorrow afternoon but knowing you, he’ll end up sorting through everything and cleaning up for you.

Ah, the things he does for the sake of your company.

His eyes snap up from the floor when you step out from behind the closet, pulling a shirt over your head, the zipper of your skirt fisted in your free hand to keep it from slipping off.

“We’re going to be late,” he says and you visibly jump, tug the shirt over your head, hair sticking out in every direction. You frown at him, grab the first shirt off the floor your hand finds and throw it at his head. He catches it with ease, stares at you with an unamused look.

“Pervert,” you say, turning to the full-length mirror resting against the wall. “I can’t get these stupid socks to stay up.” You lift a leg to show off your white over the knee sock; its’ top curls into itself with the movement, slides down your knee.

“C’mere.” Suguru pushes off the doorway, beckons you along with the sweep of his hand. He piles your array of decorative pillows and stuffed animals to one side of the bed, just enough to give himself room to sit, and pats his thigh. You pull the packet of double-sided tape from the nightstand next to your bed, press it into his waiting hand, and sit on his lap. Suguru raises a brow at the back of your neck but doesn’t say anything, busies himself with peeling the strips of tape from the glossy paper to not be distracted by the way you squirm in his lap, his cock pressing against your ass.

He presses the pieces of tape against your thigh, then tugs the over-the-knee sock up. “Press down,” he says, breath ghosting against the shell of your ear. You clear your throat, let him adjust your fingers, and do as he says. Suguru places the tape onto your other thigh, pulls the sock over it and presses down, hands cupped around your thigh so everything adheres.

They’re warm, large. Sturdy. He cooks, he cleans — he folds your knees over your shoulders with them. Simple black rings adorn his fingers. His nail polish is chipping; you’re not sure if you have any black left. You make a mental note to grab a bottle from the store on your way home from the movie.

“There.” He tentatively releases his hold on your thigh. The ghost of his touch lingers, thrums beneath your skin. You peel yourself from his lap and skitter over to your mirror, do a twirl, lift one leg and then the other, drop into a crouch and stand again. The socks and their tape stay in place. You flash him a grin from the mirror, blow him a kiss that he catches, presses against his cheek. Warmth blooms in your chest.

Suguru lets himself flop onto his back, fishing his phone from his pocket to check the time. If you manage to get off your ass and get dressed in the next 15 minutes you might actually make it to the movie. 10 minutes, if you want to grab something from the concession stand. He navigates to the cinema’s homepage to check if and when there are any screenings for tomorrow. Then again, cleaning with you in the house is a day-long activity.

You frown at your reflection. Now that the socks stay up, you realize the pretty lace at the top doesn’t go with your skirt. It drops into an unceremonious pile on the floor as you unzip it and beeline over to your closet to flip through the skirts piled on their shelf. Maybe you should do a thorough try-on one day and get rid of everything you haven’t worn in a while or will never wear again. Bet your big brother would like that. You conjure an image of his heavy, heated gaze, staring at you through lidded eyes, a finger raised in a signal to give him a pretty twirl. The mere idea of it sends a jolt of excitement through your very being and you bury your face into the smooth fabric of a white skirt and squeal.

“You weren’t any more or less dressed when I got in the shower. Half an hour ago.” Suguru glances up from his phone just as you’ve stepped into the white skirt, tugging the zipper up.

“Yes, I was.” You stare at your reflection in the mirror. “Fuck, I need a new shirt.”

“What did I say about swearing?”

Heat erupts in your cheeks, in your ears, rolls into your torso and spreads into your extremities.

Suguru tucks away his phone, looks at you from his spot between the round migrating plushies, swats one away with his hand. It rolls off the bed. When you lean forward to grab a shirt from the ground, Suguru gets a full view of your ass, the curve of your cunt just barely peeking out. He places a hand over his half-hard cock, palms it through his pants. “The fuck are you wearing? That’s not underwear; that’s silly string between your ass.”

“Is so.” Your hand shoots to your behind, tucks the skirt hem against your cheeks. “You can see it through the fabric can’t you?”

“That too.” Even if there’s barely anything to see, he thinks, but doesn’t bother verbalizing it.

You frown, brows furrowed, and turn your lower body to check your reflection in the mirror. It’s not noticeable unless you know where to look, but if you lean forward… The skirt hikes up when you test it and you make an indignant noise in the back of your throat, stand up ramrod straight.

“Seriously?” You tug on the back of your skirt again, lean forward. It hikes up again, pussy on full display.

Suguru has tucked his phone back into his pocket, now upright again, sitting on the edge of your bed, elbows resting on his knees. He eyes the flimsy fabric, the way you flash your pretty little cunt at him every time you try to bend over and the skirt hikes up. A warmth curls at the base of his spine and his cock jerks in his pants, tenting the material. He stands.

You don’t even notice he’s moved at all until he stops behind you, swings an arm around your front, pulls you flush against him. He rolls his hips against your ass, cock straining in his pants. You push back against his body, delight in the little gasp it elicits from him, so breathy. “See what you do to me?” He mutters, words muffled against the side of your neck. “Are you going to take responsibility for getting your big brother like this?”

You hum, a denial on the tip of your tongue as you lean forward to adjust your frilly socks, and Suguru’s body follows, arms still tightly wound around your waist. His cock presses against your barely-covered pussy, drags the fabric just enough to send a jolt to your core, heat pooling between your legs. You take an even breath in, ignore the heat of his breaths against your skin.

“That’s a you problem, pervert.”

Suguru releases his grip on you, tilts his head just enough to catch your eye in the mirror; one which you immediately turn your gaze away from to stare at your socked feet, hands working on smoothing down the wrinkles in your skirt. Maybe this one won’t do, either. You very pointedly don’t look up when his hands rest on your shoulders and he coaxes you to turn around to face him.

He leans forward, wraps his arms around your thighs and throws you over his shoulder. You squeal, hands finding purchase in the back of his black shirt, and his own hand smacks against your ass with a crisp smack and you nearly squeal again. Suguru turns, stalks across the room and drops you onto the spot he’d cleared on your bed, although it has once again been overtaken by your round forever migrating plushies. They bounce with you, several dropping to the ground and rolling away.

You barely have enough time to reorient yourself when his hands close around your ankles and tug you over to the edge of the bed. He leans in, one knee placed on the very edge of your bed, just shy of your cunt, hands on either side of your head. His hair is messy, strands falling out of the half-up style he’s sporting.

“Now is that any way to talk to your big brother?” He brushes a strand of hair away from your forehead with a hum. “I cook for you, clean, help you with your homework, let you climb into my bed because you’re so afraid of the dark—”

Your hand strikes out, aiming for his side but he catches it, fingers wrapping tightly around yours. He lifts it to his face and presses a kiss against the inside of your wrist. “S-Sorry,” you croak out with what must amount to a grimace, not an attempt at a smile.

“I take care of you… I spoil you rotten, and you call me a pervert.” He tuts. “I can look at you if I want to; you were made for me. These hands,” he spreads your fingers, laces them with his, “this face,” his eyes land on you, half-lidded and smoldering, and heat erupts under your skin, blooms in your face and you have the sudden desire to shy away from him, burrow between the blankets and never look at him again. “This body — this pussy.” He brings his knee forward, presses it against your cunt, smears your arousal against the jean fabric. Your mouth falls open, back arching, hips bucking into him. “Everything about you was made for me. Just me.”

The world swims. You breathe in, nearly choke on it when Suguru adjusts his knee, the coarse jean fabric dragging against your throbbing pussy. He’s so good, always knows how to take care of you, better than anyone.

“Say it.”

“What?” You blink, mind fuzzy, composure fraying at the edges.

“You were made for me.”

“I was made for you.”

“Good girl.” Suguru leans in, presses his face to the crook of your neck, lips ghosting over the sensitive skin. A shiver strikes down your spine, into your core, wetness pooling between your legs. His lips press down into a chaste kiss against your neck and u whimper. He gains courage from it, brings his lips flush against your skin in featherlight open-mouthed kisses. They trail up the column of your neck, over the curve of your jaw, to the corner of your mouth. He pulls back with a grin, pupils blown, eyes half-lidded.

You pout up at him, bring a hand to the back of his neck, the soft strands of hair splayed between your fingers, and pull his lips onto yours. His tongue surges forward, pries your lips apart and wraps around your own. There are large hands in your hair and on your throat and on your jaw, fingers pressing down against your cheeks, cupping your face. He tastes like mint, like that gum he likes, the one that’s so overwhelmingly minty it makes you sneeze every time you chew it. But on his tongue, it’s a pleasant aftertaste, something you could easily get addicted to.

Suguru adjusts his stance, leans on one hand to bring the other one away from your face to explore your body, fingers ghosting over your skin. They graze the underwire of your bra and he pulls back abruptly, a string of spit connecting your lips, to frown at the offending garment.

You follow his gaze, prop yourself onto your elbows, fingers attempting to undo the hooks at your back. Suguru stares at your exposed throat and leans in to press a chaste kiss against it. Then another and another, trailing down as you frantically attempt to dislodge the bra hooks, heart thundering in your chest. He grazes his teeth over your skin, bites down and you mewl at the pain that erupts in your flesh. Suguru mutters an apology against your throat, presses his tongue flat against the bite. It soothes the pain, but does little to calm your pulse in your ears.

Your hands are shaking, a sob stuck in your throat. This stupid bra and those stupid hooks, bent out of shape and always getting stuck, ruining everything —

“Breathe,” Suguru mumbles as he resumes his movement, inching closer to your breasts. “You can do it. Take a breath.” His hands glide down the length of your torso, grab a handful of ass each, and squeeze. “You’re okay.”

You swallow around the panic clawing up your throat and run your fingers over the hooks behind your back. Two are loose, just the one remaining latched. Suguru’s lips return to you, bite down at the skin pulled taut over the collarbone. He suckles on the blooming bruise, runs his warm tongue over it to soothe the ache.

The bra finally — finally — releases and you claw the straps from your shoulders, discard the item onto the floor and tangle your fingers in his hair. Suguru snatches your free hand, pins it against the bed, continues his assault of open-mouthed kisses over the expanse of your skin. He nibbles on the plush of your breast.

His tongue circles your nipple, glides over it and you buck your hips voluntarily. His hot mouth closes around the stiff peak and he chuckles. It reverberates against your skin, in the very cavity of your chest. You shiver, too warm and too cold at once, and grind down on the knee between your legs.

Suguru releases your breast, huffs a cool breath against it and you inhale, sharp and high-pitched. He tuts. “So impatient.” His grip on your thighs slackens, moves across the skin, fingertips leaving goosebumps in their wake. They stop at the hem of your skirt, lingering there for just a moment and you whine, tug on the fistful of hair in your vise grip. His mouth falls open in a barely audible gasp, eyes fluttering shut, a notch between his brows.

Fuck, you think, that had to have hurt. You untangle your shaking hand, wince when a few strands stick to your sweaty fingers and tug his head along. Sorry, sorry, sorry, you chant in your head, angling your hand between your bodies to tug at the skirt’s zipper. One of his hands swats yours away, then pushes under the white fabric. His fingers ghost over your underwear — fuck, there really is barely any fabric to it — over your clit and you buck against them.

“Keep it on,” he says, voice smooth and rich. His fingers burrow under your underwear — really, you’re never wearing anything like that out of the house, period, he’ll make sure of it if he has to — and slide through your folds, circle your clit. His thumb comes to rest against your entrance. He pulls your lips apart, gathers your essence onto the digit.

“Suguru…” You whine. He hums, takes a breath to ease the horrible discomfort rearing it’s ugly head in his pants. “Stop teasing and put it in already; you’re gonna ruin it if you keep being mean.”

He laughs, low and honey-like as he withdraws slightly, places his hands onto your thighs to push them apart. He snatches a decorative pillow from the foot of your bed to prop under your hips. It leaves him nearly at eye-level with your weeping cunt. The non-existent underwear is drenched and he pushes the sopping fabric aside, stares at the threads of slick connecting it to your swollen pussy. He pauses, watches you clench around nothing and fuck, it sends a jolt straight to his dick. It presses against the crotch of his jeans, so hard it aches. At this pace, he might cum on the spot.

“You’re going to kill me like this, baby,” he says as he hooks his fingers over your ruined panties and tugs them down your thighs.

“You gotta make up your mind; do you want my legs open or closed?”

He sends you a playful glare and pulls his shirt over his head, drops it onto the pile on the floor. His belt buckle clangs against the wooden floor and he almost trips over his pants and boxers when you let your thighs fall open, a hand spreading your pussy. You clench around nothing, so desperate for your big brother’s cock.

Suguru spits into his hand, gives his cock three quick tugs because that’s all he can handle; he might really bust in his hand like a loser if he doesn’t get to be inside you right now. He lines himself up, drags the tip through your folds, gathering your arousal on his tip and you moan, low and just barely there but it sends a fire spreading under his skin and he can see his cock jump at the sound.

He presses the head of his cock against your dripping cunt and pauses just as he’s about to breach it. “Breathe,” he instructs, “relax. I take care of you, don’t I?” You nod frantically, take a deep breath in to quell your racing heart. Suguru nudges the tip of his cock inside and slides in slowly, inch-by-inch, breath by breath. When he bottoms out, pelvis flush against yours, he pauses and you both release a long breath. He’s so big, so thick, fills you up so perfectly — fuck, maybe you really were tailor-made for him — and you clench around him — fuck, you can barely clench those muscles with him inside — and he exhales, quick this time, nothing but a low hiss of pleasure. You’re so warm, so tight, he’s going to lose his mind, and he decides that yes, this is the only pussy he wants out of this life, yours, always yours because fuck, you take him so well.

You reach out, place your hands onto his shoulders, slide them across the skin until your fingers meet at the nape of his neck.

Suguru leans down, presses a kiss to your lips, tongue wrapped around yours. He swallows your wanton moan, sinks his teeth into your bottom lip. You clench around him involuntarily. “Shit — you’re gonna fuckin’ castrate me like this, baby. Are you that desperate for your big brother’s cock?” His hips twitch and he pulls back slightly, agonizingly slow but the drag of him is so sweet you see black spots in the edge of your vision. He fills you up so well when he bottoms out, tip nudging so deep you almost see stars.

He picks up the pace, hips jerking forward faster, harsher, and your eyes roll back and you’re merely working with Suguru’s motions now. He’s rutting into your poor pussy like an animal in heat, heavy breaths escaping him, caressing your sweat-slick skin. Heat coils in your stomach, you’re so close to the edge, ready to tip off and dissolve into a gooey, mindless, weightless bliss.

“Suguru, I’m—”

“Do it.”

Heat flushes through you, pussy clenching around him as your orgasm crashes into you, knocks the breath from your lungs. The world becomes blurry, you can barely register your own ragged breaths as the warmth travels through you, and white sparks behind your eyelids if you try to close them. The euphoria of it races through your veins, sets every nerve ending alight, tapering at your fingertips. It laps at your thoughts, submerges every possible thought in a sea of Suguru, how good he is to you, how good he makes you feel, how well his cock fits into you, and how well you fit around his cock, like you’re made for each other.

Suguru’s hips speed up, it’s too much and you want to cry but it’s heavenly, too much and too little at the same time, you want to push him away and pull him in at the same time. He’s pistoning into you, rhythm almost sloppy, and then—

He stills abruptly, presses himself deep into your still-spasming cunt, so deep it draws another mewl from your lips, and spills inside. Warm, he’s so warm, he fills you up so well. You wrap your exhausted, shaking, legs around his waist, hook your heels together to keep him in place. Every muscle in your body is sore, screaming for rest as he drapes his torso on top of yours, forehead resting against your shoulder, chest heaving.

He becomes dead weight on top of you all at once. His skin is sticky with a sheen of sweat and you place a hand on the back of his neck, card your fingers through the sweat-slick strands of what has remained of his hairstyle. The world stands still for a few moments, the rev of an engine and bird chitter filtering in through the cracked window. This is nice, you decide, you could stay here, like this, with your big brother, the moment frozen in time forever for you to keep.

Then Suguru groans, braces his hands on either side of his hips and pushes himself up with shaking arms and pulls out. His cum dribbles out of you as he leaves and you almost sigh. This is a nice set of sheets. He stays as he is, hunched over, arms slowly regaining their strength, and stares, transfixed, as his cum oozes out of you. He eases himself onto his knees in front of the bed and scoops some of the escaping cum up with his fingers, pushes it back into your puffy cunt. You whine low in your throat and his gaze snaps up.

“I’m sticky ‘cause of you.”

He sighs and dissolves into a short, low laugh. He pulls his fingers out, wipes them against your thigh. “C’mon,” he wraps a hand around either ankle and pulls you closer, “bath time.” He unzips your skirt and tugs the socks free of the tape — hey, they survived you getting railed by your big brother — and discards them amidst the piles of clothes on the floor.

“But we’re missing the movie.”

“We can go tomorrow. Or…” He stands, slides one arm under your knees and the other behind your back, lifts you up. You cringe when your body is jostled with the movement and something slips out of you, glance over your shoulder at the glob of cum that’s splattered on the floor. “We could just make our own movie. When you’re older.”

note: iirc this is my first actual p in v smut, we can only go up from here, lads

divider/banner credit: @/cafekitsune

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk imagines #jjk smut #geto x reader #geto x you #getou suguru x reader #getou suguru x you #geto suguru x y/n #getou suguru smut #geto suguru smut #getou suguru x y/n

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bitchyycapricorn · 1 year

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Draw Me Like One of Your Italian Girls

Peter Parker x Artist!Reader

Masterlist

Wordcount: 2k

Synopsis: During a school trip to Venice Italy, Peter finds himself in his classmates room.

Warnings:Smut!, unprotected sex, consumption of alcohol (reader and Peter are 18+ legal age), intoxicated sex, nude artwork, could be considered dubcon

AN: not edited. This has been in my drafts for over a month.

Your eyes flicker from the reference on your laptop, then back down to your paper. Your pencil sketches smooth charcoal lines across the off white paper. Furrowing your brows, you shift the image slightly to get a better look at the image displayed on your screen.

“Hey Y/N, what are you up to?” Peter asks, popping his head into your room.

Stopping your movement, your eyes drift up to where he’s leaning against the doorway. “Drawing,” you reply with a small smile before going back to your sketch.

Peter shifts awkwardly at the door, “Like a picture?” The words come out before he can fully think about what he was saying. And as soon as they came out, he wanted to drown himself in the canal.

Another smile appears across your face, this time it stays for a moment. “No, I’m drawing up a plan to murder the rest of the class before fleeing the city to live as a fugitive in Rome.”

He gives a small laugh before nodding. “O-oh yeah, that makes sense.”

You catch the nervous twitch in his voice, the way his body appears to be more tense than usual. “You can come in and shut the door.” You say after a moment of silence.

He nods quickly, stepping into your hotel room before closing the door. “So uh, where’s your roommate?” Peter asks after fully shuffling into your room.

“Brads room.” You shrug.

Another “oh,” escapes his lips knowing that your roommate wouldn’t be back anytime soon. You give a small nod before patting the spot next to you on the bed. “So um, what are you drawing?” Peter asks finally.

A blush spreads across your cheeks as you tilt the picture for him to see. His eyes scan the drawing and he immediately recognizes him and Ned near the docks.

“You were actually in the way when I was taking my picture, but I decided you both were cute enough to make the cut.” You tease.

Peter could feel his face starting to flush again, “cute enough?” He laughs.

Giving a simple nod, you continue your work. “So what brings you to my room Parker?”

Peter debates whether he wants to be honest or not. On one hand, he could say he had a question about tomorrows tour. On the other, he could ask you to go on a walk with him along the canals. Mainly so that he can confess his feelings for you, which he’s been bottling up since as long as he can remember. “Would you like to walk with me?” He asks quickly, deciding it was worth a shot.

“Mm, but that would mean I’d have to step out of my artistic zone.” You hum, finishing the last of the sketch and setting it on your nightstand.

“Y-yeah of course, I’ll just-“ Peter replies as he moves towards the door, assuming you were politely turning down his advances.

Panic quickly floods your brain as you watch him begin to leave. “Wait!”

Peter pauses, turning to face you. “Yeah?”

“Stay, let me draw you.” The words tumble from your mouth in a hurry, as you pray the brunette boy won’t exit your room, at least not yet.

Peter’s body seems to stiffen even more before slowly relaxing ad he looks around the room for a moment. “You want to draw me?”

A hum leaves your lips as you gaze hopefully at Peter. “I enjoyed drawing you in this one,” you nod to the picture on your nightstand, “you have a nice figure.”

Another blush spreads across Peters face as he takes a seat on the small bench in your room.

“Is this good?” He asks, trying to sit up straight for you.

“Yes, just stay still…”

+++

You had been drawing and posing Peter for the last four hours. Somewhere around 11 you had both found the ‘complimentary’ drink assortment stored away in the little cabinet.

You weren’t really sure which glass of wine/alcohol you and Peter were on now, just that you were stumbling slightly and giggling like crazy.

Peter’s shirt had been discarded to the floor some time ago and you were still busy ogling over his toned chest. His defined muscles and hard abs that were otherwise hidden by his clothes made the butterflies in your stomach twist and turn.

“Take your pants off now,” you slur, running your hands down Peters chest as you both stumble around the room.

“My pants?” Peter quips, equally as drunk.

“Mhm, I wanna draw you neeked,” a giggle escapes your lips as your fingers fumble around with the zipper of Peter’s jeans.

It takes a moment for Peter to understand exactly what you want, but once it hits his jeans and boxers are discarded on the floor in a small pile. “Like this?” He coos, throwing his arms in the air to show off his now very naked figure.

You clap your hands together and squeal, “Good good, now pose for me.” Peter stands there with his hands on his hips, puffing out his chest. Your eyes scan his body up and down, taking in the sight of not only his hard chest, but his hard dick as well. “God you’re built like a Greek god,” you breathe, quickly beginning to sketch.

Peter hums before giving you a smirk. “Or Roman god since we’re in Venice.”

“Modeled after the Greek gods sweetheart,” you snicker, making the outline of his abs with your pencil.

“Are you as turned on as I am right now?” He asks after a few minutes.

“Yes.” You say without hesitation, moving your pencil downwards to sketch his throbbing cock. “After I finish this I’ll suck your dick.” You giggle again.

“Oh god,” Peter moans, feeling his cock twitch at the thought. “Are you done yet?”

“No silly. I’m still drawing your penis.” Another snicker leaves your lips as you delicately sketch out Peter’s lower regions.

Peter lets out a groan, shaking his hips slightly. “Look it moves!”

You look up to see Peter swishing his dick back and forth causing you to let out a loud shriek. “You have to stay still so I can finish!” A wheezey laugh leaves your chest as you move down to draw his legs. “I’m almost done I promise,” you grin.

“Well hurry,” Peter whines, staying as still as his drunk little body could.

“Shhh you can’t rush perfection.” You hush, moving as quickly as you could through your sketch. It took a few more minutes before you turned the drawing around to show Peter. “Look. You’re like the statue David.” You beam proudly.

He gives you a lopsided grin before quickly scampering over to your bed. “Take your cloths off too and I’ll draw you!” He ushers as you add the sketch to the many others from that night.

“Okay okay,” quickly getting up you strip completely, kicking your cloths off to the pile of Peter’s clothes. A low hum escapes his lips as he takes your sketch pad and pencil.

“Pose!” He grins, watching you get into the same pose as him. You place your hands on your hips and stick your chest out proudly.

“Boobs…” Peter mumbles, sketching out a big circle for your head, followed by a stick body, stick legs, and stick arms. He then adds your hair, eyes, and a smile. Looking at the photo for a minute he realizes what he’s missing. “Boobs,” he says again as he draws two boobs onto your stick body. “Perfect!” He cries as he turns it around to show you.

“Oh! Oh! You’re an artist! A sexy sexy artist,” you cry, wobbling over to Peter so you can throw yourself into his arms. Your legs straddle his hips, hands going into his soft curly hair. His lips press sloppily to yours as he tosses the notebook to the ground. His hands move up to your hips, squeezing the plush skin.

“Fuck you’re so hot.” He moans against your lips. “The reason I asked you to walk with me earlier was because I wanted to tell you how I feel. I wanted to kiss you in front of the bridge.” His lips press against yours again before continuing. “But this is so much better.”

“Is it because we’re naked?” You moan, grinding your hips into his. You’re slick gliding over his hard cock as you rock your hips.

“Fuck, yes.” He groans, eager to be in you.

You let your another moan as you continue to move your hips against his. “Can I put it in me?” You beg, as if you could read Peter’s mind.

He nods as he kisses you again “please,” he groans as he helps lift your hips up. You quickly reach between the two of you so you could line him up at your entrance. Peter helps you ease down onto his throbbing cock. His tip barley enters you before his hips involuntarily buck upwards. You let out a small cry as he bottoms out into your sensitive cunt, eyes fluttering shut as his hips drop back down onto the bed.

Another gasp leaves your lips as Peter begins to bounce you up and down his shaft. “Fuck you feel so good Y/N,” he growls in your ear. His fingers digging into your skin as he helps guide your sloppy, drunken movements as you grind on his dick.

He’s so deep in you that you can practically feel him bulging in your stomach. “Peter fuck, you’re filling me so well,” you gasp as his hips thrust up into yours now. A feeling in your stomach begins to grow as Peter continues his brutal attack, his cock going deeper into you with every thrust.

Stars begin to form in your vision as you press your chest into Peter’s face, his hands keeping your hips still so he can thrust up into you. His hips snap up to yours again as the feeling in the pit of your stomach grows, slowly spreading all over your body. You let out a strangled cry, feeling yourself come undone, cunt clenching around Peters dick making him moan. Your orgasm spreads all over your body like a hot fire, Peter helping to grow the flame as he keeps thrusting into you.

His hips falter for only a moment before he gives one last deep thrust into you, filling your cunt with his cum. Your body goes slack as you fall forward into Peter. His brain and body going completely blank as well as he falls backwards, bringing you with him.

+++

Your eyes flutter open to the sight of Peter’s face only inches from yours, his hot breath fanning your cheek. You can feel his hot skin on yours as you go to unstick yourself from his sweaty grasp. Your head is pounding and your whole body feels weak. As you sit up it becomes evident that Peter had stayed in you the entire night. As your hips shifted slightly you could feel his dick hardening in you again, filling you up like he had the night before.

A small groan escapes Peter’s lips as he shifts on the bed. His eyes peel open, looking around the unfamiliar room. A small shriek escapes from his mouth when he notices you sitting naked on his lap, his dick buried inside your cum filled cunt.

“Sh sh, what the fuck happened?” You groan, holding your head as you look around your now destroyed room.

“Shit, I think we had sex!” Peter groans, memories slowly coming back to him.

“Oh fuck,” you mumble, noticing the the abundance of empty bottles discarded around the room. Your eyes travel over to the nightstand where an assortment of drawings lay spread out. All of them are Peter, some with his clothes on, some with his shirt off, then the one of him completely nude… Oh, and the one Peter drew of you.

“I’m so so sorry, this is all my fault,” Peter sputters, guilt building up in his stomach as he realizes what truly happened last night.

You let out a long sigh before laughing. “Why are you apologizing? I had a blast, even if some things are a bit fuzzy.”

Peter stops his profuse apologizes, eyeing you carefully. “You aren’t mad?”

You shake your head, letting out a small hum as you eye the pictures again. “No, I’m glad you came into my room last night.”

+++

Taglist

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kamisama1kiss · 4 months

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How would they ask you out for the first time? {Ninjago Addition}

~~~

~ Lloyd Garmadon ~

He was teaching you new tricks he had learned, smiling proudly, but yet he had been more bashful with his ears red, which was unusual for him. This moment is interrupted to him being a hero, yet again, "We can continue later on, yeah." He says out loud to you but stopping at the door for a short second longer. "Let's call it a date, how about that?" Rushing down the hall after with a boyish grin on his expression.

~ Kai Smith ~

Of course, he had been the most confident about it. Wrapping an arm around your shoulders to pull you closer, reaching a hand out with your favourite flower handed to you. The infamous grin on his lips and a raised brow. "If you're free anytime soon, I could take you out. Hmm? What you say."

~ Cole Brookstone ~

Taking both your hands on his wishing on your whole attention as his face warmed up, "I've been thinking for a while.." Pausing as he himself needed to take a breath before continuing eye contact. "We should go out? Sometime in the upcoming free time, if you want." Laughing nervously, squeezing your hands carefully knowing his own strength.

~ Zane Julian ~

He had decided to go somewhat 'simple' with asking you out. There had been silence for a while with only you two standing on the deck of the ship. "I believe we should go on a date." Sounding more like statement than a question, deep down he was too nervous to even make eye contact at that very moment

~ Jay Walker ~

Simple. Simple as he walked up to you with a whole handful of flowers, chocolates, and a teddy. Wearing a black suit and a tie smiling sweetly standing there looking handsome as ever, "I hope you consider a date with me, on Friday at 6pm? I'll pick you up." Cocking his head to the side feeling as if a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

~ Nya Smith ~

Not only did she have a speciality with water and machine crafting, using what she knows of her water powers to write out her date proposals for when you joined her along the walk down the beach for a moment to relax. Doing her movements as a dark blush appeared on her face before looking back at you. "So?" She muttered nervously.

~ Morro ~

Often, was he grumpy, he seemed oddly less unpleased this evening. "Let's go out, I'll pick you up at 6." Crossed arms and a head turned to the side, not wanting to look weak in front of you, a scowl to be miss-matching how he actually felt. Especially since he thought so highly of you again, enough to even take you out.

~ Skylor ~

A few days before, she previously asked you to show up at the restaurant, saying she wanted you to try out a new recipe. When making sure she was the one who served your table, giving you a playful wink before leaving you alone. There laid a paper next to the bowl which was placed in front of you, which read, 'Taking you out on Friday at 6 xoxo Skylor.'

~ P.I.X.A.L ~

Knowing very well that you like, so she took time to get your favourite chocolate, which had been placing it in your hands with a simple tiny smile on her metal face. "I like you. Does thursday work for you?" Feeling as if her harddisk is about to overload.

~ Princess Vania ~

Sitting in the garden at her own palace, watching the sunset next to you. Reaching her own hand and placing it on your hand, with a soft squeeze gazing at you softly. "We should meet up another time, perhaps at night under the stars for stargazing?" Shuffling some golden hair behind her ear. Smiling softly.

~ King Benthomaar ~

There, he stood with flowers he had collected from the water searfice before meeting you. Toothy sharp grin with a blue soft blush as he voided eye contact, scratching the back of his neck and swallowing down the nervousness creeping up his features. "Hey, uhm... Would you want to maybe.. uh, go out? With me.. maybe." he chuckled quietly.

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pinkwright · 9 months

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⋆｡𖦹°‧. only echoes that i wait for. —

ellie williams x black female!reader

inspiration ᧓ delresto (echoes) by travis scott w/ beyonce.

authors note ⌅ i actually currently have four works in progress but they're all turning out 2 be way longer than my usual pieces so obvi in turn they're taking longer (plus i mean its literally december i'm not at home lmfao) so here's an older drabble from the drafts lol.

warnings ⌅ 18+. afab!reader, mentions of reader being a passenger princess (i can't drive), lotsa playful teasing, cocky!mean-ish!ellie (yum x2), fingering (reader receiving), dingy party and weed mentioned like once barely, i don't know what kinda kink this is tbh.

.𖥔 716

ellie definitely tells you to "be a lady." whether its jokingly, voice laced with a low chuckle, scarred brow raised amusingly as you keep insisting on rolling your own weed, her head shaking as she seals the paper despite your half-hearted protests, taking the opportunity to light it for you too while she's at it. or when you're attempting to order your own food and she's quick to halt your words with a roll of those pretty evergreen orbs, an action that has you scoffing, a smitten smile tugging at your plump glossy lips when she smoothly recites the dish to the amused waitress.

or when your passenger princess heart decides to take a temporary, unannounced leave that coaxes out a simple murmured, "lemme drive, el." already stepping to the driver's door of her banged-up truck (courtesy of joel), platform heels clunking against the gravel before her large hand is grasping your waist, fingers firmly digging into the pillow of your skin as she brings you to a halt, spinning you to face her before she looks you up and down, tongue darting out to wet her pretty pink tinted lips.

before she deadpans, "nah," pausing at your offended pout, seeming to think back on your request before her face is scrunching like her ears have just been awarded the most hilarious slew of words, deep laughs reverberating within the cozy bubble of your domesticity, ellie cooing the vacationing heart of her beloved passenger princess back to with a deep, "get in your fucking seat, babe." gently rocking you as she uses her body to walk you back to the passenger seat, hand on the back of your thigh as you climb into the vehicle with a scoff of disbelief. and without doubt, in every instance, a hoarse scoff escapes her lips, a drawled-out rasp teased from smirking lips.

"be a fucking lady, damn."

other times it's less playful but all the more cocky, diminishing in its tease to head its more, taunting nature; ellie having you pinned to the door of some bathroom, head vibrating under the pulsing bass of the music beating through the walls of the dingy house party you can't recall how you ended up at. the atmosphere tense, skin searing under wandering hands, branding across your skin, and whispered filth, breathed into your skin.

dexterous fingers finding home under your tiny skirt, your quivering plush thighs tightening around her tatted forearm as the devil-haired girl digs into your aching cunt. broken gasps tear from your throat, your hands wrapped around her corded forearm in a plead for more, and she's mercifully sliding her thumb across your thrumming clit, cooing into your ear as you cry out for her, to her, blood rushing through your ears, "shh shh, baby... so fucking loud." the hushed whispers against your ear, prompt a whine from your glossy parted lips, hips bucking against her relentless movements when the touch of her chapped coral lips stretches against your skin in a mean smirk, teeth skimming the heated skin.

in a useless attempt, your teeth sink into your bottom lip to tame the sinful noises punching their way from the fudge-filled canal of your throat and ellie laughs, groaning into your ear as she feels the warmth of your walls fluttering around her fingers, scoffing in that low, rasped tone of sultry cockiness as your essence drips into the channels of her knuckles, "messy fucking pussy... still can't be a lady for me, baby?" a cruel coo that has you choking out a sob, whimpering so pathetically that ellie's pussy clenches in anticipation, a greedy act of indulgence in the pleasure that was you, slurring out a dizzying, "fuckkk, baby, i got you, shh..."

your lashes wet, clumping together, when you blink your glazed, dark eyes to meet her coddling gaze, thighs trembling around her arm when your orgasm rips from your throat,– and god the grunt ellie grates out has your spasming pussy fluttering around her fingers, embrace warm as it sucks her digits in and so, who could really blame the auburnette when it coaxes her digits back into motion, gentle shushing against your ear as she husks at the sloshing of her pretty pussy, "god, baby she's just aching for more isn't she? desperate little thing... think she needs a lil' reminder on how to be my pretty lady again, hmm?"

౨ৎ.tags... @abenomeiiii @naomis-daydream @littlegingerperson

#pinkwrighting ⊹ ۪ ᖭི༏ᖫྀ.#ellie williams #ellie williams x black!reader #ellie williams x fem!reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams drabble

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abiiors · 7 months

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cherry // ross macdonald x reader

valentine's week - day 1: secret admirer

a/n: before you say anything, yes there will be a part 2 that's literally just a nasty fuck fest. i just wanted to get the plot bits out of the way and it got way too long as you can see. cw: age gap (10-12 years), highkey ooc, incredibly self-indulgent btw, ummm kinda dom/sub? hand kink, kinda corruption kink also wc: 7.8k

it’s been twenty minutes that they’re all sat in this room—concrete walls, a little like matty’s house honestly, simple furniture and minimalist decor. it feels anything but sparse though—there’s the mic guy and the cameraman and a few assistants. there’s the host, a cheery, fresh faced woman dressed to the nines. but ross can’t stop staring. which is a problem because he really should stop staring and focus on his actual job. except the girl in front of him is distraction personified.

next to him matty babbles on about the cultural and political significance of their latest album—all interesting, thoughtful stuff. ross, however, stares at the girl transcribing it all. and that’s what she is really, a girl. all softness and innocence, gently rolling the end of a pencil between her perfectly pink lips in a room full of lecherous men. unaware. aloof. or maybe he’s projecting. maybe he’s the lecherous one for staring at a girl who’s most definitely in her early twenties; at the pencil between her lips, at her cherry red dress.

every now and then she pulls the pencil away from her mouth and scribbles a few notes—something in neat, curving handwriting that is a little too far for him to read properly. every once in a while she also types something on her laptop, long, painted nails clacking so softly on the keyboard that the mic probably won’t pick up any of the sounds.

on her notepad, ross can see little doodled flowers—a bit janky and uneven petals, underneath it she’s doodled a box. thin, pencil lines tracing the same shape over and over again until the paper almost rips.

he tries not to be so obvious—tries not to stare at her face so much, at the curve of her cheek and the long lashes almost touching it, at the sharp line of her jaw, and the claw clip holding her hair up and out of her face. a few strands escape though, blowing gently against the air blasting from the aircon.

he tries to keep his attention back on the interview. and he tries to give himself little goals—he can only look at her if matty says a certain word. he can only look at her every time the host laughs—all trivial stuff that goes out the window every time she shifts in her seat and he catches the movement from the corner of his eye.

more than a few times, he catches her staring back—big eyes lingering right on his face with a distinctly interested expression. every time it happenes, he straightens a bit more and runs his hands through his neatly trimmed beard.

the girl follows the movement with her eyes and ross wonders what she makes of him.

“ross?” someone calls out for him. the host stares, expectant, and he stifles the urge to curse. searching his memory for the question that was just asked is useless; it’s not like he was listening to a word that was said in the last two minutes. but now everyone’s eyes are on him and the collar of his shirt feels tighter than it is. his cheeks grow warmer but ross laughs it off.

“yeah, agree with what matty said,” he replies quickly and clears his throat. he has no idea what matty said last but the host seems satisfied and moves on to the next question. the girl looks up at him again and quickly presses her lips together. still, he sees the slight quirk of them, almost like she’s trying to stifle a smile or a laugh.

this time he stares back just a bit longer, meets her eyes with intention and raises an eyebrow almost in challenge; just to see if she’d keep staring so blatantly. her eyes widen a fraction and the pencil stills on her lips. her teeth graze its end and almost dent her soft lip.

ross sees the movement of her iris, unsure where to look. she fidgets in her seat, shifting again and crossing her legs. then she averts her eyes entirely and goes back to scribbling on her notepad.

“your head’s in the fucking clouds,” george deadpans the moment they step outside on the balcony. there’s already a cigarette dangling between his fingers and smoke curls around his head.

ross groans. “haven’t slept properly.”

it’s not exactly a lie. he was up pretty late last night but ross lights a cigarette of his own if only to avoid looking at george. they stand there in comfortable silence for a bit, letting the smoke settle into their lungs and blowing it out. matty’s boisterous laugh floats outside and ross thinks back to the shitshow of an interview.

there’s a reason he hates doing these, there’s a reason matty always speaks on all of their behalf. but ross knows big publications want all four of them and it’s good to create hype and get the fans excited. and he knows it’s just necessary—

the balcony door open with a creek.

at first, ross doesn’t turn. it’s probably adam who’s bored of the conversation or matty who’s managed to escape it but out of the corner of his eye, he sees george turn around and straighten imperceptibly.

and so he follows suit.

the girl clears her throat. “uh… sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt you.” there’s a slight tremor in her voice and she looks up quickly from george to ross. she’s shorter than he’d realised before, only coming up to the base of his throat, fucking tiny compared to him and george and he pointedly ignores what it does to his brain to see her staring up at him, craning her neck just to meet his eyes.

“ross…mr macdonald. sir.” she comes to a stop in front of him, all wide-eyed and flustered and calling him sir for fucks sake. he can almost feel the laugh george is trying to hold in. this isn’t the first time a nervous fan’s approached them and he’s had far weirder interaction. still he plans to smack george later for making him lose his composure

“just ross,” he corrects on autopilot then gestures for her to continue. he expects the usual—a selfie or autograph on a vinyl. to his surprise she holds up a phone in front of him and ross almost gapes before reigning it in.

“your phone,” she says. “you left it on the set.”

quickly, he taps his back pocket and feels nothing.

up close, he can see the tiny smudge of mascara under her eyelashes and the precise shade of red on her lips. up close he can smell her perfume too—sweet and warm, something that definitely suits her.

the girls stares up at him expectantly, still holding out his phone.

“thanks,” he mumbles, voice almost gruff and takes his phone back. his hand brushes her for just a moment—the pad of his finger against the back of her hand. but ross swears he feels a little jolt. quickly, she drops her hand and looks at his chest.

“you’re welcome,” she says and this time her voice is a bit steadier than before. he’s about to ask her more. anything to make her talk more when george steps forward.

“thank you, darling,” he says and gives her a winning smile, “he would have made us all search for it later.”

the girl blushes furiously under all the attention, trying to maintain her bravado from before. ross stifles the urge to roll his eyes but takes the time to quickly look at her again. her hair’s down now, falling over her shoulders and hiding half her neck that was exposed to him before. he has the sudden and visceral urge to touch it, to run his fingers through it and tug on the strands until her chin tilts up to him. until she’s looking right at him.

what the actual fuck is wrong with him!

he steps back and takes a deep drag of his cigarette untilt he smoke burns, until his eyes water. the girl nods and stammers a goodbye. then she quickly scurries back inside.

george snorts and ross shoots him a death glare.

“head in the fucking clouds,” george singsongs under his breath and puts out the rest of his cigarette. then before ross has the chance to respond, he opens the balcony door and disappears inside.

ross stays back on the balcony and groans in his hands. then he lights another cigarette.

there’s a rot in his brain, gnawing at his neurons and eating through the organ until everything is replaced by a single image of her sucking on the end of her pencil absentmindedly. ross has been through this scenario a dozen times now. it was fine when he was busy, staving the thought away by replacing it with work related things.

a million things he’s got on his schedule…

but in the comfort of his home, his bedroom, he can’t stop picturing the hollow of her throat—delicate and unmarred skin in direct contrast to her dress, her voice calling him sir. god, she’d even looked at him like a fucking fawn—all wide-eyed and unsure. he would have fucking loved to trace his finger over her bottom lip right then, if only to steal a sweet sound of surprise right out of her.

he’s going straight to hell for this, straight to the fiery pits for doing what he’s about to do.

ross props himself up on the pillows, delaying the inevitable, or trying to at least. but the ache in him won’t subside, the throbbing between his legs, the dizziness as all his blood rushes south. the tent in his joggers taunting him as if he were a teenager in heat. he groans. the sound echoes around the room.

shame courses through him, already overshadowed by the heat that flows through his veins at the speed of lightning.

he needs to stop thinking about her, this girl who he has barely said two words to. maybe this is how he gets her out of his system. instinctively, his hand creeps towards his thighs.

he wastes no time dipping a hand in his pants, the other arm supports his head; nothing he hasn’t done a million times since he hit puberty. somehow this feels more electric than ever before.

ross palms himself, eyes fluttering close and muscles pulled taut. he’s aware of everything—from the stretch of his soft cotton t-shirt against his skin, to his head touching the bedframe. he needs to keep what little sanity he has left, trying to sort through all the depraved and deviant thoughts racing through his mind. what would she have done if she could read his thoughts, if she could see him like this—a mess at the mere thought of her? would she kneel down and crawl towards him, hunger clearly written all over her face, her big eyes hooded with lust.

ross groans loudly, letting out a string of curses, imagining that it’s her hand wrapped around him—small and inexperienced. stroking him up and down with unsurely; long, tentative, languid strokes making his head swim with deluded thoughts.

his cock is painfully hard. ross knows for a fact that he’s never wanted to fuck someone with this intensity before, never before has his brain reverted to its most basic instinct like this.

thoughts of taking her all over his house makes him fuck his fist faster and faster. gone are the gentle, sensual strokes from before, now his hips buck as he thrusts into his hand. his mind plays a slideshow of made up images—her bent over on his kitchen island, the marble biting into her hips as he pounds into her. he would speak the dirtiest and filthiest words to her as he watches her squirming with want; her pussy swollen and wet. his brain conjoures up the phantom feel of her silky tresses between his fingers, gripped tightly in his hands.

ross chokes out a gasp that turns into a broken moan.

this is wrong, this is so wrong and sinful and every other synonym there is for it yet his mind refuses to move on from her. rather, it conjures up more images—her jaw slack with pleasure, eyes rolled back in her head as she rides him at her own pace, figuring it out along the way. he would flip her at the last second, of course, looming over her like a dominating presence, wrenching another orgasm from her after she’s already cum on his tounge, his hand, his stomach. but she would let go for him again. she would do anything to be his good girl.

his pumps grow rougher and more erratic, gasps leaving his mouth, echoing around the room.

fuck. fuck. fuck.

ross wonders if she’s doing the exact same thing he is, hand buried between her thighs, his name spilling out from her perfect lips. he wonders if that would absolve him of his guilt, his shameless act. it’s the thought of her soft sounds that tips him over the edge until he cums so hard, his vision goes black.

his strokes slow down, back to slow and sensual as he watches his cum flow out of him; milky white ropes splashed on his stomach, on his thigh. his hand is a mess, the tissues he had tried to grab at the last second are nowhere near enough to contain all of it.

with her, ross wouldn’t need any of that. he would fill her up with his cum, fucking it into her, watching it drip out of her mixed with her own release, making a mess of her thighs that he could clean with his tongue.

fuck it. he was damned already. he might as well enjoy the ride.

somewhere in this city, she has no clue about all the dark and wretched things ross wants to do to her. and maybe he could get her out of his mind now, have her out of his system.

he could just as easily fuck someone tomorrow. and someone else the day after.

yes. yes, that’s what he should do. he should forget about the girl he’s known for less than twenty-four hours. that’s what he should do.

he settles on it too, making a mental note to text one of his old flings who might still be in the city. he feels very strongly about his resolve too. the interview is done, he’s likely never seeing her again.

until she shows up at the studio the morning after.

the day starts like any other. he drives up to the studio, one of the assistants tells him that the band will be shadowed for a magazine profile—some prolific publication that’s going to document their entire process ahead of the release. he doesn’t worry about it too much, talking is matty’s job. sometimes george chimes in. ross and adam speak only as a last resort.

besides he has his to-do list cut out for him.

last night—the entire day really—was a momentary distraction. now he’s back on track and focused. the track playing on his headphones is all he is thinking about. all he should be thinking about. until jordan taps him on the shoulder.

“need you for a few photos, mate. and the magazine people are here,” he turns around to leave, almost walks up to the door too then turns back to ross to mouth something. someone new! followed by a waggle of his eyebrows.

ross shakes his head, sets his things aside and walks out with jordan.

everyone’s out in the lobby, and ross hears matty laugh before he sees him. then he hears another familiar laugh and turns the corner to a familiar face. he knows tobias, who shakes his hand and gives him a friendly pat on the back. he’s met tobias before—the man is soft spoken and has a keen ear for good music, a quality ross admires and the thought of him documenting their recording process makes him happy.

tobias goes around making the rounds, hugging george and joking with the sound engineers. then he stops and turns to look at them.

“oh i almost forgot!” he claps his hands together, “need to introduce to a fresh face.”

behind tobias, ross catches a movement. and it’s then that everything around him fades away instantly.

there is no mistaking it. it’s her. it’s the girl, stepping out a bit unsurely from behind her boss and smiling tentatively at the room. he observes how she doesn’t look at him—no, rather she doesn’t look at anyone, cleverly staring at a spot just near them. but never direct eye contact and never more than a few seconds.

unlike yesterday, she’s in a simple jeans and a t-shirt—grey with a faded queen logo on it—but it fits her like a glove regardless. and when she introduces herself in a lilting voice, ross feels his thoughts from yesterday threaten to make a comeback.

this cannot be happening… behaving like a horny teenager once was enough. he doesn’t need her working here and being close to him constantly, doesn’t need her to constantly be a presence in his thoughts. thoughts that are already way too focussed on the way her eyes light up after seeing him. it’s a trick of the light and nothing else. he’s sure of it.

she introduces herself—her name, the fact that she’s here to transcribe and take notes and assist tobias. she tells them she really liked their last album and that it was her introduction to them. matty teases her about not being a fan and she blushes deeply, barely making eye contact with him.

ross, in a world of his own, burns with irrational jealousy. of course, it would be matty who makes her blush and gets her to open up. matty’s a flirt—charming and confident and knows how to get people to come out their shells, even the shy ones it seems. in contrast ross feels about as subtle as a boulder.

but she seems slightly relaxed after that conversation, even throwing him a look once (and only once) when he plucks on his bass string a bit too loud. ross doesn’t look at her for the rest of the day though, not a single time. no matter how tempting it is. even when she’s buried deep in her transcripts, murmuring to herself and listening to a recording of something adam said over and over again.

even when she crosses and uncrosses her legs, sucks on the end of her pencil again—clearly a habit, he’s come to realise. not when she stretches and the hem of her t-shirt rides up, exposing a sliver of smooth skin and the hints of cherry coloured lace. not even when she asks him where the espresso machine is.

the rest of the day ross spends hunched over his bass, glowering at the floor. and he doesn’t manage to focus even once.

day two he’s in the studio bright and early, gasping for some very strong coffee after tossing and turning the whole night (quite honestly, he’s gasping for something stronger but it’s 8 am and becoming an alcoholic now is not an option)

every time he closed his eyes, his brain would haunt him with images of soft skin and lips caught between teeth and sucking on the end of a pencil. every time his brain sent his body’s supply of blood to one organ and one organ alone and ross has had enough of it.

starting today he’s focused. he’s serious!

that is until he walks into the tiny kitchen and sees her on her toes, stretching and struggling to get a coffee mug down. a red one. the same one she’d used yesterday. with some amusement, he also notices that there are at least two mugs near the coffee machine—one plain black and one with a swirly pattern. but she hasn’t cast either of them a single glance.

she’s stubborn, someone who knows what she wants.

shamelessly, he staggers to a stop at the threshold, watching her lean against the counter and wiggle her fingertips in the air as if that would magically summon the mug. her calf muscles are pulled taut and visible in the dress she’s wearing. each time she stretches, he sees a flash of her thighs.

his fingers twitch by his sides, desperate to what what it would feel like to drag his knuckles against the inside of her thigh, trailing them up and up and up until he reaches her hip. how she would react if he pinched the skin between his fingers, if he marked it with his teeth.

“need some help?” in the early morning stillness of the kitchen, his voice comes out a bit too loud and a moment later she startles, whipping her head to look at him and hand coming up to her thudding chest.

“christ!” she gasps loudly, closing her eyes and opening them again to look at him properly. “ross–shit! sorry, you scared me a bit is all.”

he can’t help the way his eyes linger on her face—big, wide eyes and scarlet mouth parted open as she blows out a breath. when he starts walking towards her, she stays in her spot, practically transfixed on him as he comes closer. ross stops right in front of her, their bodies so close that another inch and he would be pressing into her, or rather pushing her body back against the kitchen counter. with some satisfaction, he also realises how he towers over her—almost a head taller and practically twice her size.

her breath catches in her throat when he reaches for the mug, pulling it out and setting it next to her. but he makes no move to step back, not until she finally looks up at him instead of just staring at his chest.

her throat moves, her pupils dilate. almost as if she’s doing it involuntarily, she quickly looks at his lips and back into his eyes.

for perhaps the hundredth time, he’s blown away by how beautiful she is, how fucking perfect. and everything he’s thought about her comes rushing back to him, all the times he’s pictured her mouth and her hand, her soft sounds and the feel of her hair between his fingers. his train of thought runs him over so thoroughly that ross actually staggers back a bit, averting his gaze and pointing at the mug.

he has to wait a beat and clear his throat before he can speak.

“there.”

“thank you…” she trails off unsurely, voice barely above a whisper. “did you want some too? i was just about to brew some fresh coffee.”

all he can do is nod. and when she moves around the room, getting other things out and making coffee, all he can do is watch.

by day ten, they talk a few more times, each time being interrupted by someone or the other—first it’s tobias, assigning her frankly trivial tasks (in ross’ opinion anyway) that she agrees to happily. then it’s matty coming over to shamelessly flirt with her which honestly makes ross want to deck him with his bass even though he knows it’s harmless.

but at least with matty she opens up slightly—telling him she’s been working for tobias for almost two years now and that it’s her first adult job. ross finds out that she’s not from london, instead she shares a flat with a friend.

day ten is also when she stays at the studio much later than anyone else, even when the skies outside darken and turn grey and flashes of lighting burst through every few minute. ross watches her anxiously stare out the window once it starts drizzling a little before she buries herself into work again, sorting through the video and audio footage of that day and making her notes that tobias seems to praise so much.

and so ross does the same, putting on his headphones and focusing of the actual music instead of the tip of her nails digging into her jaw, creating slight crescent moons. this time, he even manages to stay focused for ten whole minutes until he hears unsure footsteps walking towards him.

ross looks up at her, nervously playing with the ring on her index finger and takes off his headphones.

“you need anything?”

she shrugs, looking at him and then around him briefly. “yeah i just needed a little break from work and, uh… barely anyone else seems to be here?”

barely anyone. he’d rather there was no one here at all. and even then, the urge to seduce her into the little soundproof recording booth weighs strongly on him. it would be just him and her and the tiny cramped space and all her sounds would belong to him and only him—

“ross?” he jerks back to her looking expectantly at him before her eyes widen. “uness you’re busy, i don’t want to be a bother. sorry.”

he quickly dismisses her apology, motioning for the chair opposite him before ross smirks at her. “so you’d like to sit there and stare at me huh?”

he feels a little evil for enjoying the way she sputters, trying to come up with a retort or just plain denial or whatever else but he gets a little distracted by the faint red tinge to her face…

what else would make her blush like that? he can think of a few thing for sure.

“what? no! no, i just…” she scrunches her eyes shut, trying to gather her bearings. “i like watching you work.”

oh that’s certainly interesting.

“just me? not the others?”

“uh, well.” she leans back in her chair slightly, getting a bit more comfortable than before and catching her bottom lip betweem her teeth for a second. just long enough for ross to go entirely rigid.

“you’re really still when you work,” she continues, “it’s quite calming.”

oh he’s still alright. if only so he won’t give into the urge of constantly looking at her and following her every move with his eyes like some creep. he has to stay still if he needs to stop himself from going to up to her to try and flirt and like matty does, when he will inevitably end up making a fool out of himself.

but she’s entirely unaware of his inner conundrum. she’s all too absorbed in her analysis of the band.

“matty bounces and paces around and it makes me slightly nervous. i like watching george when he’s on the drums or the piano but lately he’s been doing more production work so he’s always on his laptop and well, that’s slightly… boring”

“boring?!” he laughs sharply. “i should tell george that.”

and then he finds it even more amusing when her eyes widen and she scrambles to backpeddle. there’s nothing to salvage it though. so she just sighs in defeat.

“you wouldn’t! would you?” she looks at him with those big, round eyes and juts out her bottom lip and fuck! she could ask him to sign over half his possessions right now and he would say yes.

“no,” ross laughs again, softer this time. “your secret’s safe with me.”

this time he sets the bass aside, all pretenses of work gone as he leans back on the sofa, one arm behind his head. “what about adam? why not him”

she contemplates her answer for a bit before speaking. “i don’t think he likes other people watching him, he looks a bit uncomfortable.”

“love, half our job hinges on other people watching us…”

“no, not like that!” she straightens, gesticulating wildly, “not when you’re playing songs you’ve already played hundreds of times. i’m talking about when he’s experimenting and writing new stuff. i don’t think he likes to be watched then.”

and once again ross is impressed by her astute observation skills. he knows how young she is—younger than him by a decade, yet here she is, reading his best friend of twenty years perfectly in just ten days.

so he leans forward, properly interested now and scans her face for a bit, trying to get a proper read of her, of what she might say next. “and is that what you like to do? watch people?”

“sometimes,” she shrugs, “when i find them really interesting.”

“so you find me really interesting.”

he expects her to blush and stutter again. it is a bold statement after all and yet again she surprises him. “yeah… yes, i do.”

this time she’s the one with her eyes roaming over his face, maybe a bit over his arms too (something he observes with an immense level of satisfaction) and the way they strain against his t-shirt.

“good,” he smiles. “now i know i’m not the only one dying to know more about you…”

he tries not to flirt with her too directly but they talk. he tries not to ask anything and everything all at once and freak her out before she’s entirely comfortable with him but with every question she relaxes even more, leans forward and places her chin in the palm of her hand while he’s explaining something inconsequential about his bass.

it’s only the muscle memory that keeps him going when the strap of her top slides away and a sliver of lace peaks out.

his fingers still on the strings and she frowns. “no, play! i like the way your fingers move.”

the words slip out before she even realises it. in fact, it doesn’t dawn on her until he freezes completely and she goes bright red!

“i– no, that’s– i didn’t–”

but ross laughs it away, if only so he won’t fucking dwell on it until his head feels like it’s going to explode.

“let’s go outside for a bit,” he offers and she accepts gratefully.

the air on the balcony is cool—the sort of breeze before a thunderstorm—and he’s itching for a cigarette. ross looks at her again as she stares out at the trees outside, swaying with the wind. one strong gust and she shivers. her skin erupts in goosebumps.

“you’re cold.”

she quickly shakes her head. “it’s fine, it’s so nice outside. i don’t mind that much.”

he wishes he was wearing some kind of a jacket that he could give her. the though of her in his clothes does something absolutely primal to him to the point where he has to physically stop himself from grabbing her by the waist and kissing her till she’s dizzy and moaning in his mouth. and she doesn’t help matters by moving a little closer to him, until they’re almost touching, until her arm is almost pressed up against his chest.

“you’re cold,” he says again, voice tinged with roughness but she clicks her tongue.

“‘s alright. you’re warm.”

“am i?” he chuckles deeply and takes a hold of her by her arm. “come here then. have a cigarette with me.”

it’s about as bold as he’s been with her. she whips her head up to look at him, and ross doesn’t miss the way her gaze dips to his mouth. just for a moment, maybe even half a second until she quickly looks away and at his chest.

“i don’t… i don’t smoke.”

“ever?”

that makes her giggle. “no ross. i don’t smoke. ever.”

he wants to say something but the words don’t come out easily. the palm of his hand feels electric just from touching her arm, just from being so close to her. and the breeze all around them makes it impossible to escape her sweet perfume.

“i’m not opposed to trying though,” she continues shyly and ross quirks an eyebrow.

“you could try with me…”

“i’d like that.” he studies her face for a moment, looks at her big eyes staring up at him with a mix of sincerity and interest.

“do you know what to do?”

she mulls it over for a moment, pinching her lips together until they’re in a kissy pout. “sure, i’ve seen people do it. i’ve seen you do it.”

“have you now?”

“mmhmm, seems easy enough.”

so ross pulls out a fresh one from the pack and places it between her lips. his finger grazes her bottom lip, the touch electrifying, making him linger there until her gaze dips to his mouth again and a light flush covers her face. she shivers again and steps even closer to him than before.

“should i light it then?”

she nods tentatively, and ross flicks the lighter on. the flame wavers, almost goes out until he shields it with his palm and brings it up to her mouth. the fire casts a warm glow on her face, in her eyes. and she’s somehow even more breathtaking than he’s ever imagined.

once the cigarette lights, she takes an unsure inhale and breaks out into a cough until there are tears brimming on her lashline and she’s pushing ross away lightly for laughing at her.

“you’re helpless,” he teases. “here. let me.”

his hands graze her lips once again as he takes the cigarette from between her lips. it’s smudged with her lipstick, something sheer and pink. then he places it in his mouth, lazily taking a drag.

“watch.” she obeys instantly, pupils dialating when her eyes linger on his mouth until her lips part and she swallows visibly. he takes the moment to blow the smoke out, bending down so he can blow it in her parted mouth without startling her too much. her eyes widen and she sucks in sharply but this time she doesn’t cough. instead, she bunches her lips together and tries to blow out some of the smoke she inhaled. it comes out in broken wisps and disappears on the wind.

“there we go, darling,” he speaks roughly and watches her blush all the way to the tip of her ears. “should we try that again?”

she nods. he takes another drag. this time, he grips her chin between his fingers, tilting it up until her mouth is so close to his and he can practically feel her breath on his skin. her pupils are so blown out, her eyes almost look black. then he lightly brushes her lips to his and blows the smoke out again.

ross stays where he is. he even pulls her closer until she’s pressed against him and her eyes flutter shut. her breath hitches, her hands move up to his biceps, gripping onto him until she exhales again and smoke caresses his mouth before dissipating once more.

“a-again,” she whimpers but he’s already taking the cigarette out of his mouth and putting it out on the railing.

“yeah?” he challenges just to see if she’d move away but her hands move up from his biceps, fingers traliing up his arms until they’re at the nape of his neck, nails softly trailing down his skin. and when she shivers again, it’s definitely not because of the cold.

“yeah,” she nods and presses her lips onto his.

his heart skips at how unsure it feel, how she has to stand on the very tips of her toes and hold onto his just so she won’t lose her balance. he doesn’t give her a lot of time to overthink it though. as soon as he’s over the initial shock, he wraps and arms around her until she’s fully pressed against him, effectively trapped between him and the railing. the light drizzle of rain starts again. ross grabs her face in his hands, keeping her still so her can kiss her properly—the kind that leaves her gasping when he grazes her bottom lip with his teeth, the kind that has her leaning against him entirely for balance when her knees almost buck under her. the kind that makes her moan involuntarily but ross doesn’t let her pull away in embarrassment. instead, he pulls her up until her legs are wrapped around his middle, her thighs pressed against his waist and his hands under her ass. and then he carries her back inside.

just like he predicted, he fills up the tiny little space of the recording booth. the mic stand clatters and she moves it aside with a ferocity that’s unlike anything he’s seen from her before, it’s a nice surprise, to see just a glimpse into her feral side.

ross groans into the kiss and slides his hand under her ass. his fingers snake up her neck, gripping her jaw in a grip that’s almost too tight. it’s tempting to mark her up, to leave behind bitemarks and fingerprints everywhere for people to see. she responds in kind and bites his bottom lip just hard enough to make him hiss.

“someone’s going to hear us”

“it’s a soundproof booth darling, no one’s going to know a thing.”

his hand that’s been cupping her jaw slowly moves to her throat and she lets out a whine so desperate and needy that all the blood rushes straight to his cock. she’s practically begging for more at this point and he hasn’t even properly touched her yet.

he thinks back to all the times he’s thought of her like this, so malleable in his hands—thought of the feel of her hair between his fingers that damned bottom lip that’s driven him so crazy over the last few days. he can’t resist nipping at it and the sting makes her breath catch.

“i’ve nev-i’ve never done this.”

his heart thuds in his chest and for a second he worries she’s entirely inexperienced. not that he’d have a problem being her first… but he’d be damned if he let her first time be in a fucking recording booth.

“done what?”

“hooked up.” she clarifies almost through a gritted tone, almost like she’s trying not to be ashamed of it. “outside of relationships i mean.”

“no? do you want to stop?”

she takes a beat to think then shakes her head. “no, i-i just really want you.”

ross hums in approval. it does stroke his ego immensely if he’s being honest and he can’t help but see how far he can push her buttons. “do you now? what do you want about me?”

just like she had outside, she blushes furiously, to the point where she has to stare right at his chest and take a moment to compose herself. her hands never let go of his chest though. and it’s safe to assume she can feel his racing heartbeat just like he can hear hers.

“your hands are… i like your hands.”

“do you think about my hands a lot?”

“i don’t–i d—” her eyes go round again, wide as saucers, almost like it’s impossible for her to lie.

“no lying, sweetheart.” he tsks, and then bends down just until his mouth caresses her earlobe. “bad girls don’t get what they want.”

she makes a stragled noise, somewhere between a moan and a sound of protest but ross cocks his eyebrow and that shuts her up effective. a beat later, she tries again.

“fine. yes. i think about your hands a lot. all the time…”

“and what are my hands doing when you think about them?”

he enjoys it very much when she stutters, trying and failing to meet his eyes, to say the dirty words in her head out loud. that alone is enough for his painfully hard cock to throb again.

“go on,” he breathes over her skin and lets his hands trail up and down her body, “show me what my hands do.”

she places her palm on the back of his hand, so much smaller in comparison, and moves it down her body. he lets his fingers trail, lets the callouses pads of his fingers brush over every inch of skin he can until she stops just at the waistline of her jeans and looks up at him again.

“i want you t-to…to touch me. use your fingers on me.”

“that what you think about hmm?” slowly, the slowest he possibly can without jumping out of his own skin, he undoes the button of her jeans. then he pulls down the zipper, all the while letting his knuckles drag across her skin. she shivers at the smallest of touches, so responsive and perfect.

“words, darling,” he taunts again. “i’ll stop touching you if you stop telling me what you want.”

“ross,” she whines, and tries to grind against his hand, tries to push it deeper in her pants but he quickly gathers her wrists together and tuts at how little strength he needs, how easily he can hold both her wrists together with just one hand while using the other to feel her up through her underwear.

it’s soaked and he can clearly feel her clenching and unclenching, desperately trying to move her hips and grind shamelessly against his hand but he won’t give her what she wants until she forces the filthy words out.

“please!”

“you’re soaked, sweetheart. i can give you what you want but only if you ask for it.”

her eyebrows knit together and she almost looks… angry, about as feral and threatening as a little bunny. “fine…” she huffs, “i want–i want you to fuck me. with your fingers.”

the crass words sound filthier from her mouth, like she shouldn’t be saying things like these to lecherous old men in dark corners on even darker nights. “see?” he grins at her, all sharp teeth ready to almost rip into her, “was that so hard?”

when they kiss again, ross pushes his tongue inside her mouth until all he can taste is her, until all her can smell is her. his fingers move faster against her clothed pussy, making the fabric soak more than it was before and her legs spread wider, her hips move faster until she’s soaking his hand and practically rutting against it.

she’s shaking, clenching around nothing and looking at him with tears in her eyes—so frustrated now, constantly whining for him to push his fingers inside her. slowly, ross pushes the underwear aside and circles her entrance with his middle finger. before she has the chance to whine again, he plunges the fingers inside and swallows her cry with another kiss.

she clenches around his finger desperately, slickening his hand every time he pushes into her, more so when he adds another finger and thrusts into her faster. as a reward he lets go of her wrists and she immediately latches onto him, pushes her hands inside his shirt and lets them greedily roam all over his body. she traces his chest and down his stomach, she lets her nails trail up his back, scratching and digging into his flesh every time he thrusts his fingers deep inside her.

her breathing quickens and she starts pressing kisses to his jaw, tracing the golden chain around his neck with her tongue. every so often she tries to nip at his skin, to leave some of her own marks behind. once or twice he lets her… but it’s more fun to hear her gasp and mewl and cry out his name.

“good girl,” he coos at her, “taking it so well, sweetheart.”

“feel so good,” she whispers and lets her head fall back. under his hand, her thigh spasms lightly and his pulse pounds all over his body—his chest and throat and stomach and fuck even his cock that so hard and leaking with precum now.

he needs her so bad, bad enough that he entertains the idea of pulling his fingers out and bending her over right there.

but this might be his one and only time with her and he needs to make it memorable.

he needs her to feel him between her legs for days and taste him on her tongue for weeks.

he needs to bottle up her gasps and whimpers and the feel of her cunt around his fingers and keep it hidden away forever.

so he needs to make her cum over and over again until she can’t remember any other name but his.

and he’s not about to do all that here of all places.

“‘m so close,” she moans out, rutting her hips faster now, almost trying to match his thrusts and ross increases his pace, presses his thumb against her clit harder than before. “kiss me.”

instantly, he obeys, getting lost into the kiss and the way it sends little currents through his blood. she’s no better either, exploring the inside of his mouth with her tongue and riding her fingers until he can practically feel her dripping down his hands and wrist. until she lets out a string of curses and her eyes roll back. she lets out a broken moan, louder than all the ones before and he feels her squeeze around his fingers harder then before.

then he feels her release, gushing onto his hand until he has to hold her up so her legs won’t give out on her.

ross doesn’t stop though, he pumps his fingers in and out of her, each time earning himself another cry or hiss or groan until the tremor in her body subsides to a slight shiver and she presses her face into his chest, sweaty and barely coherent.

“that was–” she tries and breaks off. “you were–”

“have i left you speechless, sweetheart?” he teases pointedly. “look at me.”

when she manages to open her eyes, ross pulls his fingers out of her and brings them to her mouth.

“suck,” he orders. to his surprise she obeys without hesitation. her mouth closes over his fingers, taking them all the way in until her lips are around the base of his fingers. then she swirls her tongue around them and licks them clean. every inch, every crevice.

she lets them go with a slight pop and ross almost gets on his knees right there.

“you are not what i imagined,” he whispers, not trusting his voice at all.

“am i better?”

he only nods in response and kisses her deeply, tasting her on his tongue, tasting the tang of her release mixed with her saliva.

“let me take you home,” he offers. “i want to fuck you. but not here. i want to fuck you properly.”

“like a gentleman,” she giggles.

he worries she might say no. but she only pulls away to button her jeans properly.

“let’s go then,” she smiles mischievously and hooks a finger through his chain, eyeing it with intent. “i have thought of loads of other things apart from your hands.”

lemme know what you think <33

taglist: @scooby-doodoo, @partoftheairforce, @justgoatsbreakinghearts0855@beachesgetpeaches, @you-muppet, @mcabister, @alexmarie29, @at-her-very-foreign, @hfkait, @squishysoupy@sierraeslaprincesa@harrie-fic-center @alien-girl-violet@thereisaplaceintheheart @kennedy-brooke @lolidontknowanymore @theoriginalwhatsername@celestcies @sugarkane1001 @ari-turner @thewaywewereinsaigon @daphnesutton @beliefandsayingsomething @ros3chu @nothingrevealedeverythingdenied @zzzhealy @mattymybeloved @fck-off @indiaamars @sofaritsalrightt @k4tie75 @wondersecret @humptyhoran @indierockgirrl @hanbiior @moreyoulove-moreyouknow @rossgirly @if-my-heart-bleeds @little-lovely-darling @abriefnirvana @renitypoem @sinarainbows @lady-may-targaryen @love4agesss @angrylittlebaldman @oneluckygirl

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#this is the longest. the others are not going to be this long #well it's already past midnight when i'm posting this so i'm already a day late but shh you didn't see that #valentine75 #valentine's week #ross macdonald #ross macdonald x reader #ross macdonald smut #minors dni #the 1975 fanfic

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flxrartsstuff · 2 months

Text

Oh, I wish to be…

LevixfemReader!

Authors note: Something short again, to get back to writing! ^^ And how much Levi would love to kiss your lips. No Nsfw this time, I guess, only him starving like a hungry man while you’re sitting in a meeting with Erwin and drinking your tea.

Oh, how much he wished to be that cup in your hands.

His eyes were fixed on you, since your presence entered the room. It was a casual meeting with Erwin like any other. You took place at his side, holding a notepad and pen in your hands to write. Your back was straight, one leg over the other, a cup of tea in front of you on the table. Your hair half tied up, some curly strands framing your face. Although the last days and weeks were exhausting for everyone, it seemed nothing had any effect on you.

Levi’s eyes followed your every movements, as your hand grabbed after the cup of tea and pulled it over to your lips so you could take a sip. You knew it was him who made it and you were always the only one on those meetings that actually drank his tea. Even the small act of drinking looked so elegant on you. You held the cup with two or three fingers, elegantly and fancy as if you never did anything else. You didn’t drink too much, just a little amount, so you could continue with writing immediately. As you placed the cup back on the table, he saw the little prints of your lipstick on it. The small hint, that revealed your pretty lips had touched the cold porcelain. How he wished to be that cup. To be the one, that would have your lips to taste.

You had pretty lips. Soft, pink to red, slightly glistening of the natural colored lipstick you put on today. A little, very unnoticeable scent of peaches drifted into his nose, making his teeth clench together so painfully. As he forced himself to look away, look at the wall in front him, he almost went crazy as he heard your voice suddenly speaking. That beautiful and innocent melody left your mouth and filled the air. It was such a simple question you asked Erwin about the next expedition and how they would prepare. Something so irrelevant for him but when it came from your mouth, it seemed like the most precious information he ever heard.

So without even noticing it, his grey eyes went back to you, roaming over your figure and soaked up every detail of you. He didn’t care what you said, goddamn you could have been talking about bread and he would still find it fascinating. You leaned back in your chair as you finished your sentence, nipping again on your tea cup before taking another sip. Levi gulped so hard, his arms crossed in front of his chest, helped him to control himself in this stressful situation. It was so unusual for him to get that nervous, feeling his heart beating so fast in his chest that it almost wanted to jump out of it. It became even worse, as your eyes met his. It was a quick glance, while you were drinking, but he couldn’t deny to see that very tiny sparkle in your eyes. It was enough to make him breathe faster and forget anything what was happening around him.

The meeting finished, your notepad full of important writings and your cup of course empty. Only your lipstick remained like a pale shadow. You already left to head over your tasks, as he went over to pick up your cup. Usually to tidy up and bring the empty cups to the kitchen but this time he definitely used it as an excuse to hold your cup in his hand. Dragging it closer to his eyes to see the prints of your lips more detailed. Like an unique painting, the smell of peaches still there, he was about to kiss the porcelain like a dreaming idiot.

»When are you finally going to ask her?« he suddenly heard the familiar voice of Erwin who was still sitting behind his desk, collecting some papers. The black haired man looked at him, puzzled but irritated.

»What do you mean?« he didn’t want to let him notice anything, unfortunately it was definitely too late for that now. The blonde smiled slightly and nodded at the cup in his hand.

»I mean you were staring at her like a madman the whole meeting. And there are only two options, why.«

»Shut it, Erwin.« he cut him off through gritted teeth. It really made him more than uncomfortable that his staring had been that obvious. But it seemed, that the one that attention really belonged to, didn’t noticed anything about it…right?

#levi ackerman #attack on titan #levi aot #levi #captain levi #leviackerman #aot levi ackerman #aot levi #aot x y/n #aot x you #aot x female reader #female reader #tea time #Levi tea #teacup #levi x y/n #levi x reader #levi x you

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lets-try-some-writing · 1 year

Note

what if optimus was a human teacher?

Well here is an interesting concept I am 100% going to go crazy with. This is a long one though so I'm going to break this up with a read more and a warning that this isn't going to go the way you might think.

Not So Normal Teacher

The Archivist in Optimus was bored.

Megatron had been quiet for over a year and not a spark had a thing to do until the Decepticons made a move. He had already reorganized the Autobot database three times and he couldn't exactly go wandering off with how much energon he used. He was stuck at base handling communications and mission assignment, and Primus, even the Matrix was antsy. He wanted something to do, anything really. And so after months of sitting around being driven half mad by lack of stimuli, he came up with an idea.

The Archivist in him wanted to teach, to preserve history, and to collect data. What better way to do all of that than by taking up a position as an educator? It was rather outlandish considering he was a Prime and from another world, but there was a school in the nearby human settlement hiring. He had no need for human currency nor was it particularly wise to go sign up as a teacher when the Decepticons could resurge at any moment. However he reasoned that if nothing else he would gain greater insight into human capability through his endeavors.

Ratchet was against his idea from the get-go but allowed Optimus to go through with it after he gave his reasoning and pointed out that he would actually use less energon if he kept his frame at base and worked elsewhere. Thus with Ratchet's begrudging assent, Optimus made himself a whole forged identity for his human holoform, plopped his real frame down in his berth, and got to work.

Orion Pax turned up to the interview looking his best, but despite his efforts there were still a few little things that set him apart. He was indeed professional in wearing a simple turtleneck sweater and jeans with a belt. However that was not what made the interviewer a little concerned, no it was fact that Optimus's hair looked like the American flag with the mixed red white and blue alongside the little markings on his face just under his eyes along with scars that had also transferred over. There was also the fact that his eyes were a little too bright, his movements a tad too stiff, and the way his voice seemed nearly melodic in nature.

However since Orion Pax managed to answer the interview questions perfectly, had a clean record, and was the embodiment of politeness and patience, he was accepted in short order. Thus Optimus got himself a job at Jasper Nevada Memorial High School as history teacher.

Orion Pax befriended the entirety of the teaching staff by the end of week one with his kind disposition, patience, and wisdom beyond his years. He assisted the math teacher in grading papers and even taught him a thing or two with all the patience in the world when the teacher began to struggle. He aided the English teacher by bringing her a cup of coffee and pointing out a small error in her class prep work. He helped the gym teacher get the court set up for the lesson that day and helped him organize the various equipment in record time. He stopped the science teacher from accidentally creating a deadly gas when the teacher passed out from exhaustion halfway through an experiment, leaving Pax to carefully clean up and then grade the teacher's papers for him. Then to top it all off, he assisted the music and arts teacher in her efforts to decorate her classroom for the school year.

The staff loved him, especially the school cleaners since Pax would always stay up late to help them clean despite their protests. He was the perfect co-worker, and quickly found himself as the most loved teacher once the school year started. His students were skeptical of the teacher who looked like he crawled out some sort of cosplaying event and had an American flag for hair, but they swiftly warmed up to him due to his manner of teaching.

Optimus hadn't actually done any real research on human methods of teaching, instead relying on his own experience. In a school as out of the way as Jasper Nevada High School, the regulations were not as strict and so long as students passed their exams, he was allowed to teach as he wished. He did have to adapt a few of his methods to account for human biological limits, but he quickly garnered the students interest with how he went about his teaching.

Using a holoprojector he adjusted to look more like a human one, Optimus, or rather Pax gave the children a more interactive experience. He was passionate as he showed them history in simulations and introduced them to old battles in complicated holographic maps. His classroom was covered in star charts and old documents, studies, and artwork. Every student was urged to find something historical that interested them and dive into it with all their passion and enthusiasm. No students were left unheeded and all their issues were accounted for. The social students were grouped together and given specific historical figures to study in a manner similar to what the archivists of Cybertron did. The less social were given special homework, being required to study a specific event and bring in all they had gathered.

Students with disabilities such as dyslexia and other reading or information processing impediments were personally tutored and grouped. Those who had issues reading were given a partner who would do the reading while they took notes and sectioned out data. Those who had trouble paying attention to certain subjects were given work in areas that had their interest. A child who found warfare to be of interest would be given to mission to look into the Art of War and compile an alternate battle plan for the assault on Rome. A child who preferred the more domestic texts was to come up with a whole biography that was time period accurate for a fictional character living in their chosen era.

Every student had their education specialized to suit them best alongside the general education Orion had them listen to.

Orion was not harsh, he didn't give homework in the manner of other teachers and instead gave the students one big project to complete over the year and smaller personal research projects to complete once a month. A good archivist doesn't rush his research, no, instead time and dedication is given to ensure everything is correct and proper. He did everything in his power to instill this into his students, never putting stern deadlines on anything and instead focusing on fostering interest and a desire for truth.

He wanted his students to love history, not despise it. He wanted them to learn from the mistakes of their ancestors and move forward. And most importantly he made sure to remind them to not be angry at the past and instead see it as an example of another time. For his efforts his students loved him.

It certainly helped that he tended to tell his students altered stories of Cybertron's history, changing bits and pieces to make it seem like a legitimate but long dead human civilization. His students were enraptured with his tales and the battles he made come to life with his projector. Even other teachers would come to listen if they had free time. However to keep his students on task, he only told them stories when the completed their other class's homework before his, thus leading to other teachers finding more success in their lessons too.

After particularly good performances from his students, he would quietly teach them pieces of his culture. He told himself it was just because it was something for them to do, but deep down he knew the real reason why he did this. He didn't want everything of his people to be lost if he were to lose the war. He didn't want everything his people did to be forgotten and washed away by the tests of time. If he was to fail... he wanted something to remain with his students.

Thus he taught them everything he could. He told the other teachers that it was from an ancient culture long forgotten that he was personally studying and come up with some forged documents to prove it. Then his students were introduced to the Ancient Cybertronian language and received extra credit for every work they submitted written in it. He altered the manner in which the glyphs could be processed and spoken while still keeping it as true as possible so that his students could speak it and read it. Then he offered them even more extra credit if they spoke the language in class.

It brought him no end of joy when one Rafael Esquivel made it his mission in life to learn and speak Ancient Cybertronian. If he wasn't long used to having to remain on task even while under increadible stress he would have devoted a great deal of his time to ensuring the boy understood everything perfectly. However he abstained and kept his focus, teaching all his students equally and making sure they were still learning their own history. If Rafael came to him after school to learn more, Optimus never rejected him and taught him happily, more than a little pleased when the boy's glyphs came out as perfectly as they could considering his biology when he spoke.

He also showed his students old dances from all across Cybertron. He altered them as much as he could and gave students different dances based on personality. Students got extra credit if they could perform a dance perfectly by the end of the school year. He never really expected any of them to do it, but by Primus he was surprised when Miko Nakadai turned up guns blazing and performed three different dances from different castes as perfectly as she could considering her biological restraints. She was a terrible study, but evidently her interest in dancing was increadible. Optimus may or may not have taught her a few more dances a little later just to see if she could do it, only to be shocked beyond words when she could indeed do it.

Lastly he introduced his students to Cybertronian art which had a heavy reliance on story telling. It was an end of the year project since his students managed to burn through the curriculum in less than six months and get mostly through the next year's work before the Principle asked Pax to slow down and teach them something else for a while. Optimus thought slowing his student's growth was ridiculous, but he complied and taught them how to engrave and paint in the manner of Cybertronians. It was shortly after he began teaching this that he was yet again surprised to find Jack Darby of all his students to be the one to perform best.

The boy was an excellent engraver, to the point where if Optimus were the kind of mech he might have even let Jack engrave his outer plating. He could get the glyphs nearly perfect every time and had a gift for painting that surpassed more than a few artists from Cybertron during the golden age. It shocked and awed Optimus more than he cared to admit, and much like with his two other exemplary students, he may have slid Jack over a printed copy of some other examples of Cybertronian art from the Autobot database.

He was a proud teacher, and a fragging good one too by any standard. But that was not all, he also cared deeply for his students and got to know all of them. Bonds were a serious thing on Cybertron, especially the ones found between mentor and student. Optimus took the time to understand every student he taught, to learn their likes, their dislikes, and what their situations were. By the end of his first year teaching he already saw his students as his little archivists. He stayed out of their personal lives as much as he could considering his place, but when needed he would answer a call for help.

A student who came in hurt would find their cast covered in loving little glyphs that spoke of wishes and prayers from Cybertron. A student who had a mental illness would be given plenty of small gifts and attention to help them look on the bright side. Students with body image problems were welcomed with love, always receiving a compliment when they entered. Every student was seen to and cared for, especially in the odd case where they came to him for help.

He said he wouldn't get involved, but he was a Prime, he couldn't leave anyone in need of aid. During the singular instance where a student called him in tears at the end of the school day weeping because of their abusive parent, Optimus didn't even hesitate. His holoform was reabsorbed and his real frame moved out. He transformed and drove as fast as he could until he reached the student's residence, at which point he remade his holoform, called authorities, and may or may not have busted down the door to get his student out of there before they could be hurt further.

Not a spark touched one of his little archivists. And while he did get a fine for trespassing and property damage, Optimus had no regrets. It certainly made him feel like his actions were justified when he found a small bundle of flowers on his desk a few days later from the student he saved.

The team slowly began to get a little worried for him when he began gushing about his students around base and keeping their little gifts. When questioned he had nothing but praise for his students and in the end the team just let him be. Optimus still did the work that was needed of him around base, so why argue with him when he was far happier than any of the team had seen him in centuries. Ratchet did warn Optimus not to get attached, but by that point it was far too late if the small pile of thank you gifts and other assorted thing piled on Optimus's workstation was any indicator.

His students didn't know, but he adored their gifts. Gifts were special on Cybertron, and so for every gift he received, he returned. His little archivists were in his own mind, the best. As such when Megatron made his reappearance two years later just as his first batch of students were graduating, Optimus was actually angry.

How dare the fragger turn up and put his little archivists in danger!? It was unforgivable, especially when because of Megatron's actions, three of his students turned up at base and Optimus had to try not to sputter. Jack, Miko, and Rafael, his three most invested students when it came to Cybertronian culture. What started as a harmless little subject quickly had the children connecting the dots when it came to the team.

They thought what Mr. Pax was teaching them was rooted from Cybertronian influence, perhaps from him unearthing something from Cybertron long ago. They didn't know that Optimus was the one teaching them and still turning up to classes part time every other day after Megatron returned. How was he supposed to not get attached even more when he lived two lives, one as Mr. Pax the history teacher and one as Optimus Prime, the leader of the Autobots, both of which interacted with the children?

Optimus: Jack, have you turned in your school work for the week yet?

Jack: No... I've been having some trouble with glyphs.

Optimus: Oh? What are you learning?

Jack: My history teacher Mr. Pax has been teaching up about a long dead civilization that seems to have been influenced by you bots. He's been teaching us the language they used.

Ratchet: *glaring at Optimus* Oh really? I would love to hear more about it.

Miko: Yeah! The glyphs are boring, but Mr. Pax also taught us dances! See, look! *proceeds to perform a dance from central Iacon*

Bulkhead: Wait, isn't that a dance used by the-

Optimus: *holding a servo over Bulkhead's mouth* The ancient civilization I assume?

Miko: Yep! Its super fun!

Rafael: Mr. Pax also taught us how to speak the old language. I think I am fairly proficient. *proceeds to speak fluent ancient cybertronian*

Arcee: What the frag!?

Ratchet: I do believe we need to have a talk Optimus.

#maccadam #transformers #transformers prime #optimus prime #team prime #tfp kids #miko nakadai #jack darby #rafael esquivel #teacher au #Optimus may or may not get carried away when it comes to his students #he adores them #its been too long since he's had the chance to just teach #touch his humans and he will fight you

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starliights-shining · 1 year

Note

Hello! I was wondering if I could request a TFP with Optimus prime, wheeljack and Knockout and a reader who’s desperately horny but also stressed but they has have 4th year exams (uni sucks) but they notice just how tense reader is and try to get rid of worries by fucking or teasing reader for each question they gets right? Hope this makes sense English isn’t my first language 😅 thank u

Hey, hope this can distract you from uni for a second. I hope this is what you were looking for I also hope uni gets better or easier for you and don't stress to muchh. Enjoy :)

Pairings: TFP! Optimus Prime x Reader, Wheeljack x Reader, Knockout x Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Fem useage for reader, no use of Y/N,

Optimus Prime

He’s so proud of you, answering questions right and actually learning something, he’s the type to pump his digits in you for every correct answer, and if you get through an entire assignment he’ll let you come on his servo.

“Now, answer number two.”

He had you sitting on his lap, legs spread and your back pressed against his front chassis, A servo between your legs, while the other helped you hold the paper up. The words blurring together form the tears in your eyes, you were frustrated. Unable to focus on anything but his digits resting inside you, waiting, waiting for you to get a question right. You opened your mouth, a sigh coming out after you attempted to answer number two. You couldn't get anything out but ‘the’, your question lost in your mind everytime you attempted to speak.

“Come on,”

His voice was gentle, servo giving a little wiggle for encouragement. Which didn’t help, you threw your head back, a tear falling down your cheek. You didn’t want to, you couldn’t actually, you were far to horny to think about anything other than riding him after classes, and now you're here, his digits deep in you, so close to your original thoughts during your classes. You were doomed, he gave you one simple task, answer number two and you couldn’t, your own hands betraying you and letting go of the paper.

“I can’t, I can’t, I just want you.”

Your hips moved to get some sort of friction down there, a simple movement that spoke for you. Your own hands are going to grab at his wrist, trying to move them yourself. You looked up at him, his optics scanning the paper he was still holding, before moving to scan your face, their blue whirling and light glow, causing you to clench around his digits.

“Please, I’ll finish it after.”

You were just trying to get leverage, something that will get him to put the paper down and let you ride him like you're a cowgirl.

“Answer number two, and I'll consider it.”

How cruel, the Leader of the Autobots, being so cruel to you, his lover. You sighed, looking back at the paper and reading the question, you even looked at the next few questions to see if they gave you some hint to what the answer was, but after reading question five, he moved his digits. His thumb moving to circle you clit. You let out a soft moan in response, he was just giving you a little bit of what you wanted, showing you ‘finish this and you'll get what you wanted and you did, answer the questions correctly and given more then two seconds of moment. That was all you needed for motivation, you answered every question and finished the assignment, he let you have it. Digits moving in and out, he brought his other servo to your clit, rubbing slow circles around it. Giving you the perfect amount of friction and penetration, you came in less than five minutes of being done. You would normally be ashamed, but you spent most if not all of your time with his digits just sitting on you, so when given what you wanted you knew it was going to be good. Well, it wasn’t what you originally wanted, but he’ll give you that for passing your upcoming exams. Which to you is enough to study, sleep well, and pay attention in class.

Wheeljack

The type to cockwarm you, Keep you right on the edge, bouncing you every now and then, but giving you a few pumps after every correct question, and won’t let you cum until you know the material or finish everything for the night.

“Come on SweetSpark, I know you know this one.”

A servo on your waist and his spike resting inside you, you were bent over the table, the overhead light casting your shadow down on your papers. The colored out periodic table and the chem book, that cost hundreds, opened to the pages you needed. You had a pen in your hand while your other gripped the edge of the table. Knuckles white on both the pen and the edge of the table. You couldn’t focus on your work, the feeling of being full taking over your mind. You could no longer focus on the basic chem questions for your homework, you had two more whole sections of questions. Jackie had promised you, with each section of questions completed he’d fuck you. He’d pull your waist from his and then slam it back, tightening the knot in your tummy and weakening your knees.

You answered the question, he picked up your answer sheet you gave him. Optics scanning the paper for the question you just answered and then reading the answer to you, you nodded to confirm that's what you had on your paper. He chuckled, servos grabbing at your waist, and pulling you away from him and then pulling you back on his spike.

You registered your forehead on the table, eyes closed tightly as you just let everything out. Moans, whining, gaps, begs, anything that can and will get you closer to finishing.

“Ya almost there Sweetspark. Almost ready to come all over my spike?”

He didn’t let up, pushing you forward and then harshly slamming you back on him. All you could do was nod and let out a muffled moan from biting your lip. You weren’t trying to get a noise complaint from your neighbors, but god did he feel so good.

“Please,”

Your beg trailed off into a moan, your hands gripping at the pen, you last thing grounding you here, to this very moment.

“Yeah? That's so?”

You moved one of your arms, resting your forehead on it instead, while your other hand left the pen in front of you, grabbing at his servo on your waist.

“Come one, You got it, no need to hold back now.”

So you didn’t, two more pumps of his spike and your let go, you rode your high, hips wiggling to keep your high for a little longer, until it died. You let out a soft sigh, you had caught your breath just enough to raise your head up, the reflection of Jackie caught in the window. His optics staring at your body impaled on his spike. Your hands went to p[ick up the pen, ready to do your next section, but he had other plans. His servos moved up from your hips and pulled you back. Your back now pressed against his chassis.

“I don’t think I wanna let you go that quick, Sweets.”

Well, you guess you won’t be finishing your ‘homework’ tonight.

Knockout

I think Knockout is more of a helm resting between your thighs while maybe a digit in you. He mainly sticks to just eating you out. Every correct question he’ll pump his pointer finger in and then give your clit a little suck and a few licks.

“I’m listening, keep going.”

You were reading the chapter to him, the cover of the book being all his optics could see, if he cared to look up from the mess he made of you below. With every few words you'd take a second to breathe. Eyes closing as you attempt to stop them from rolling back constantly. This all was getting out of hand, when you asked him for something to get you to study, you never thought you’d be. You thought maybe he’d just say something about finishing it and then you can watch a movie or get your favorite food, not have him between your legs.

You continued on your reading, the paper with your questions to your right. The word on the book seemed to be getting jumbled, you started to stutter over them, you lifted your free hand to point at the words, your last attempt, before you break down and just ask him to fuck you. It worked, you got the words out and you finished your paragraph, which only took you 15 minutes. You put the book down and picked up your question sheet, reading the last question.

“Why did,”

You paused, giving a dreamy sigh. You were starting to feel like you were on a cloud, head leaning back on the couch.

“Continue or I’ll stop.”

You blinked, picking your head up and going back to reading your questions out loud. You pick up your pencil and start writing out your answer, until you feel him move. Digits moving and a glossa moving over your clit. You gripped the pencil, a whiney moan coming from you. You had to keep writing, the knot in your stomach seeming to be getting tighter and tighter. Your hand moved the pencil in a tight grip, your other hand moving to flip through a few pages and write some more. You wrote your final word and placed a period behind it, releasing a deep sigh as you threw the paper and book to the side.

“I’m done, please, I’ll do anything.”

His movement doesn’t stop, in fact the pace picks up, digits wiggling while his glossa. Your hips buckle towards his movement, chasing your high. You were in this situation for longer than four hours, god did it finally feel good to be able to chase that high. Your hands flew to his helm, trying your best to pull him closer to your pussy. It didn’t seem to last longer than thirty seconds. Your high came like a tsunami, and it was worth it. Finishing your work, simply so you can get off. A great decision, if it didn’t make you so distracted.

#transformers #transformers prime x reader #transformers prime #transformers x reader #tfp x reader #tf x reader #optimus prime #optimus prime x reader #tfp optimus prime #tfp optimus x reader #tfp wheeljack #wheeljack x reader #wheeljack #tfp wheeljack x rader #tfp knockout #knockout #tf knockout

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rizzyu · 11 months

Text

▵▿— Sorcery Class

Pairing: Shu Yamino x fem! Reader

Category: Suggestive, hints of the saxophone dance at the end

Warning: Sussy sussy you straddling Shu, sussy sussy Shu giving you hickeys, just sussy sussy

Summary: Shu was teaching you about sorcery and potions but when you were starting to doze off, he thought of a way to help you stay focused.

A/N: Hardest part was trying to figure out what question about sorcery I can put in lol

no actually the hardest part was pressing that “post” button and showing this to the world 💀

“Alright, show me what you’ve been practising on.”

You sat on the tatami mat opposite Shu in his sorcery room. You had always been captivated by his ability to use sorcery and had been practically begging him to teach you some. For the past few weeks, you had been practising some simple sorcery skills that Shu had taught you, and today he wanted to see your progress.

With a quick circular movement of your wrist and a flash of flames, you summoned a Shikigami. The thin sheet of paper the shape of a doll was clamped between the two fingers you held out. “How’s that?” Shu gave you a smug smile. “It seems that you’ve perfectly mastered summoning Shikigamis.” You beamed happily at your achievements. “So what will you teach me next?” “How about I teach you how to make some basic potions?”

So here you are, stuck in his room, trying not to fall asleep as Shu rants on and on about the chemical properties of each potion. You were at first excited to earn about this, but the way Shu was explaining everything for hours on end like a speaking encyclopedia was not really enticing. Your eyes started feeling heavy as you leaned your cheek against your palm. You were starting to give into your tiredness when you felt your chin getting lifted up. Your eyes darted open to see Shu leaning close to your face. “Hey… are you sleeping during my class? Weren’t you the one all hyped up about me teaching you sorcery?” You felt your cheeks heat up due to the close proximity. And by “close proximity” I mean close enough for you to count his long onyx-coloured lashes.

You tried to look anywhere but his face as you tried to reason your way out of this. “Sorry… I just didn’t get enough sleep last night… And you had been talking for a long time now…” Shu looked at you with his amethyst eyes. “Well, whatever the case is, I’ll be testing you on this tomorrow, so I’d recommend you stay focused… Or if you can’t stay focused on your own… I can make you pay attention.”

That offer caught you unprepared. You turned your head to face him, eyes staring at each other. What did he mean by “I can make you pay attention”? You didn’t really know, but if it would help you get these chemical properties of the potions into your brain, it was worth a try.

…

You had never thought you’d experience straddling Shu’s lap as he teaches you sorcery, but here you are. Every time Shu sensed that you were starting to space out, he’d give you a kiss on the neck or shoulder, leaving you all flustered. To think Shu would be able to do something like this… What in the world did Vox teach him?

Before long, it was already nighttime.

“Alright let me ask you one final question before we take a break. Why do we need to use special flames with sorcery embedded in them instead of normal flames when making potions?”

“Because the special flames can work the effect of the ingredients?”

Then, without warning, Shu pressed his lips on your shoulder. And you were biting your lip to suppress that embarrassing noise in your throat threatening to come out as Shu worked wonders on your shoulder. By the time he lifted his head up, your shoulder was covered with little red spots. “Good girl, you did so well focusing in my class.” Shu gently pushed you backwards, till your back was pressed against the tatami mat and Shu was above, pinning you down as his knees were stationed between your legs. Shu bumped his knee towards you, earning a small whimper from you.

As he looked down at you with a mischievous smile on a face and lust in his eyes, he spoke. “Now that class is over, how about we take a break…?”

#riyugu writing #yorutenshi riyugu #nijisanjien #nijisanjien x reader #luxiem #luxiem x reader #nijisanji #nijisanji x reader #shu yamino x reader #shu yamino

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blueberrypancakesworld · 7 months

Note

May I request Dead x reader where they both just randomly stare at each other and play with each other’s hair/hands/face etc.

Soft touches

warning : fluff, kissing, no use of Y/n

masterlist

Info : Of course you can request such a thing I hope it's okay that it is not that long and you still like it. Have fun reading :)

Disclaimer : I don't want to gorify anything, it's about the actors who play a tole, not the real events.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Many things are possible in a relationship, such as dates, a movie night or choosing new furniture for the apartment. But in the case of the blonde's room in the worn house, it was a little different.

The singer of the metal band was working on a new cover and his girlfriend was sitting on the mattress and strumming her guitar.

But her eyes kept going back to the other one, they had been together for a while and they had done some crazy things together, but with the abdn elrbet those simple moments like she could do it.

She could see his eyes darting over the paper, his hair falling into his face as he tucked the strands that had fallen out behind his ear. The hands that closed around the pens made drawn lines and shapes on the paper. The small movements on his face.

And the thought matured in her mind that she wanted to touch him, of course they were holding hands, but that was something else.

She got up to sit with Dead on the desk in front of his picture. ,,What is it?" he asked, mumbling and looking up slightly at her, disturbed by the picture.

,,Wanted to touch you," she replied almost dryly that the blonde wasn't quite sure what she meant until she gently ran her fingers over his face.

She saw how irritated he was at first until she smiled as he reached out his hand almost curiously and began to braid something in her hair that he was really good at.

,,Just like that?" he asked and raised an eyebrow, which she replied with a nod, ,,Well, I thought maybe it would help against stress or something, but it's pretty cute".

The two of them got involved with each other and she found that it was actually somewhat pleasant as his fingers ran over her almost like a massage, caressing her skin.

The tension receded and she vaguely remembered a quote about how people needed physical contact in order not to become entangled and hugs could even save lives, but it seemed to work.

,,Sweet only you're sweeter than death," Dead grinned and moved closer to her, running his fingers down her cheek before giving her a soft kiss. The nervousness they both had from trying so hard to create a new album cover evaporated, their cramped fingers relieved.

,,Maybe we should do this more often…especially when I get a kiss," she emoted, letting out a free laugh as her boyfriend took her in his arms and gave her more kisses. Oh yes, they should definitely do that more often.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

#lords of chaos #lords of chaos movie #loc dead #jack kilmer #dead x reader #loc dead x reader #lords of chaos 2018

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five-rivers · 5 months

Text

Cracked Clay Cup Chapter 4

Phic Phight Phic! @greatbigolhampuckjustforme

“Ughh,” said Danny, falling onto Clockwork’s couch.

Yes. Danny. Despite Jazz lying to him a lot, the name had grown on him. She wasn’t bad. Just. Bad at lying. And sort of… constantly suspicious. And definitely not his mother. He was pretty sure she cared about him. No one who didn’t care about him would push schoolwork that hard.

Unless she’d been trying to harvest his brain.

Yeah, he’d sort of decided that wasn’t what was going on by the end of the second day. It was still kind of fun to say. Jazz’s face had made some very funny movements when he brought it up. It was kind of… endearing. Yeah.

“Hello, Daniel,” said Clockwork. “I take it you had a good time with Miss Jasmine.”

“It was… A time. I think she did know me before. She had a lot of funny stories from when I was a kid. And she had a really nice bedroom for me. They do their own decorating, right?”

“They acquired and furnished the homes you will be staying in from their own resources, but they may have hired decorators.”

“Okay. She had very strong opinions about schoolwork.”

“You will find that many of your potential guardians have strong feelings regarding your education.”

“Great,” said Danny. He rubbed his face. “Now what? Do I just jump right into the next one, or do I get, like, a grace period or something?”

“You can take as long to recover from your experience as you’d like.” He sounded amused. “You don’t need to push yourself.”

“Mhm,” said Danny. He stared up at the ceiling. “Can I see the list again?”

Clockwork set the folder gently down on his lap.

“Thanks,” said Danny, opening the folder. “I was thinking about going to the other extreme this time around. The oldest. Which page are they?”

“Green,” said Clockwork.

Danny looked up. Clockwork’s tone had seemed… off. But his expression wasn’t any different. What Danny could see of it, anyway. He’d turned slightly away, so he only saw the edge of his face.

He looked back at the manilla folder and the green piece of paper.

“So,” he said, “ do you know this… Oculus and Orbis? Those are kind of weird names. Maybe not too weird for ghosts, though. Oculus and Orbis. Eye… and also eye. Wow. Wonder if I’m going from someone who wants to steal my brains to someone who wants to steal my eyes.”

“They won’t try to steal your eyes.”

That sounded unconvincing in the extreme.

“Are you sure?”

“Relatively so.” That actually sounded rather threatening. Danny gave him another look, but, again, he seemed fine. Mostly fine.

“So… Married couple. That’s different. Maybe they’ll be more like grandparents? Interests… Coloring. I guess they mean, like, adult coloring books? That’s pretty cool, I didn’t mind drawing at Jazz’s. Watching… I think they must have left something off here, it just says watching. Watching… Sunsets? TV? Movies?”

“You will have to wait and see,” said Clockwork as he adjusted a painting on the wall. It was of something generic and pastoral, but it was nice.

“And… ew. Astrology. Do they really like astrology?”

“I can only refer you back to the information sheet.”

“Okay,” said Danny. “Fortune telling isn’t real, right?”

“It depends on your point of view.”

“You can time travel, right?”

“That is within my powerset, yes.”

“Huh,” said Danny. “So, you could see the future.”

“I could,” said Clockwork. “To some degree.”

“So, you already know who I will pick.”

“Not exactly,” said Clockwork. “Time follows a somewhat more complicated path than that of an arrow.”

“An arrow’s path doesn’t have to be simple, anyway. It bends, because of gravity. Unless you’re in space.”

“Indeed. Have you eaten dinner?”

“Not yet,” said Danny. “But shouldn’t you already know that?”

“It is polite to ask.”

Danny laid awake in bed. He missed the stars in the bedroom he had at Jazz’s. The blankets were comfier here, though. And there were more pillows. Tradeoffs. He still hadn’t asked Clockwork if he’d done his own decorating.

Yeah. It wasn’t at all bad here. But he wondered if he had, maybe, acted too quickly with leaving Jazz.

It was a little too late to doubt his decision, though. He couldn't undo it. Not without Clockwork cooperating. He didn't really want to undo it, anyway. There were all the other people to visit and figure out and whatever.

Hopefully, by the end, he'd be able to figure out enough to understand himself.

He held his hand up over his head, fingers splayed, and tried to reach for the spark of transformation that Jazz swore up and down existed. Nothing happened.

He sighed and rolled over in bed. He'd think about it in the morning. Or never. Never sounded good.

Danny bounced down the stairs two at a time. “Breakfast?” he asked, hopefully.

“Potatoes o'brien with gravy and eggs,” said Clockwork. “I must confess, I’m surprised you aren’t flying down the stairs.”

“Haven’t really figured it out properly yet,” said Danny, throwing himself into a chair. “I kept trying at Jazz’s, but I kept running into the walls and ceiling and stuff. And where would I fly to, anyway?”

“I see,” said Clockwork, sounding vaguely amused.

“Not what you expected of me, huh?”

“Not particularly.”

“Well, that’s just what happens when you erase someone’s memory and throw them into weird situations with redheads that are a little too obsessed with brain surgery.”

Clockwork’s answering hum was definitely amused.

“Would you like juice with your breakfast?”

“Do you have hot chocolate?” asked Danny. “With whipped cream?”

“I do,” said Clockwork. “Would you like some?”

“Please.”

Clockwork pulled an enameled teakettle from one of the cabinets and set it on the stovetop. The enamel was purple, of course.

“Are you still set on visiting Oculus and Orbis next?”

“I mean, I’d have to visit them eventually, anyway, right? That’s the rule, isn’t it?”

“Technically speaking, no. If you feel a strong enough connection with one of the candidates, you can forgo meeting the rest of them.”

“Wow,” said Danny. “You really don’t like them.”

“I do not want my feelings to influence you.”

“That’s not a denial.”

Clockwork set the plate down in front of Danny. “I do not want my feelings to influence you, negative or positive.”

“Sure,” said Danny. He started to shove food in his mouth. “So, Jazz told me something weird when I was over there.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Something about me being half ghost.”

“Ah, yes.”

“Yes? Yes? You mean that’s a real thing?”

“To some degree, yes,” said Clockwork.

“What does that mean?”

“You have a variety of extremely rare abilities,” said Clockwork. “Whether those are the results of being half ghost, part human, a superb but singular transformation ability, or something else… That is a matter for debate.”

“Okay, so, transformation. How?”

“Alas, for all that I can see, I cannot see into your mind. I do not know how your transformations felt to you, nor how you accomplished them.”

“Oh,” said Danny, pushing around a stray piece of egg on his plate. That was unhelpful, but he supposed it made sense. “There’s not anything going on like, um, you’re keeping me from transforming on purpose? Like how you said you’ve changed my appearance.”

“No,” said Clockwork.

“Okay,” said Danny. He scraped together the last of the potatoes. “I’m going to go get ready before I go. I’m still going to Oculus and Orbis.”

“Mm,” said Clockwork.

Yeah, Danny could definitely tell Clockwork didn’t like those two. This would probably be short, compared to his stay with Jazz. He went upstairs and brushed his teeth before changing. Jazz had gotten on his case about that more than once.

What to wear today… hm… He flipped through his closet. Hm. How about the skirt… It was a nice silvery green. And what to go on top? That jacket was about the same length as the shirt. And, hm, he didn’t feel like going pants-less… Or stockings. Maybe capris? He could do capris. Those were cool. Then he could show off the socks Jazz had given him.

Were those here? He looked through the sock drawer. They were. Huh.

He really wished Jazz had been honest with him. He really did. And maybe a little bit less crazy about school. Because he was absolutely sure that what she’d had him doing was over and above what schools would do.

He pulled on his solar system socks.

Okay. He was ready.

He went downstairs. “I’m ready.”

“I see that,” said Clockwork. “Your socks are very nice.”

“Oh, thanks!”

Clockwork tilted his staff to the side and a portal formed. “As before, press the button when you are ready to return.”

Danny nodded and stepped through. Once the blue rush of the portal cleared from his ears and eyes, he found himself in a massive marble foyer. Circular decorations in black and gold were inset in the stone. Waiting in the center, holding on to each other’s elbows, were the strangest couple Danny had ever seen.

Well, they were the only couple Danny had ever seen. They were tall, robed in rich fabrics trimmed in gold and black. Their skin was a textured, vivid green, and they were totally bald. Well. They were wearing wigs, but they were very obviously wigs. One wig was blonde and long, the other was silver and short. Both of them covered their eyes. One was also wearing a long skirt and delicate jewelry. The other wore bulky jewelry, gloves, and some sort of black sheath over its tail.

“Phantom,” they said, simultaneously, spreading their arms wide.

“My dear,” said the one in the skirt in a surprisingly high-pitched voice, “it is so good to see you again.”

“You haven’t had any problems with the riff-raff harassing us with this ludicrous custody dispute, have you, son?” asked the other, in a surprisingly low-pitched voice.

“No?” said Danny, dodging a hug. “I haven’t had any trouble.”

“Excellent news! But now you’re back with us,” said the deep-voiced and vaguely masculine one. “So you don’t need to worry about it anymore. All our worries are over. From now on, we have all our days ahead of us, full of joy and light!”

Danny… was pretty sure that last sentence didn’t make sense.

“Yes, yes,” said the higher-pitched one. “We will care for you now and forever. Your days will be filled with the luxury you so richly deserve.”

“Luxury, huh?”

“Of course, love,” said the high-pitched one. “Luxury, beyond the dreams of the masses. Not your dreams, of course.”

“Um,” said Danny.

“The best foods, the best clothes, the best games– Everything those other fools would deny you!”

Danny had the distinct sense he was being bribed.

“Okay,” he said, “but, um, what are your names?”

They looked at each other. “I am Oculus,” said the low-pitched one.

“I am Orbis,” said the high-pitched one.

“Right,” said Danny. “And who is Phantom? Is that some kind of ghost pet name?”

“It is your name,” said Orbis.

“Oh,” said Danny.

“Did Clockwork not tell you?”

“He told me my name is Daniel.”

“Hm,” said Orbis.

“Hm,” said Oculus. “Be that as it may, your name is most certainly Phantom. You have no other.”

Yeah. Danny wasn’t buying that.

“Okay,” he said, out loud. “So, um, how do I know you guys?”

“Well,” said Orbis, sniffing slightly, “we rescued you from those awful ghost hunters, didn’t we? They treated you so terribly, we couldn’t help but intervene, and then, well, we fell in love with you. Who couldn’t?” They started laughing. The laughter went on for… a while.

Danny smiled tightly and nodded.

“But enough of that!” said Oculus. “We must give you the grand tour! Show you all the things that are now, and will forever be, yours!”

What followed was a lengthy hike through an absolutely enormous, almost castle-like mansion. There was so much stuff. So many things. Toys, furniture, games, computers, decorations, flowers, perfumes, food. It was dizzying.

“And,” said Oculus, gesturing grandly at a set of rooms larger than Jazz’s entire place, “these are your rooms! There’s an ensuite - with a pool of course - and your favorite video games, and we can’t forget your mini-kitchen, completely stocked–”

Danny sort of tuned them out as they went down the list of things in the rooms, eyes sliding over various accouterments and accommodations. It was all very nice. But it was also, somehow, empty.

Well, the stuff was cool. He didn’t understand what was going on with the people, but… He could stay here a few days.

Danny wandered the frankly enormous house, looking for his supposed guardians. He was pretty sure it was in the middle of afternoon, and he had yet to see them. This, he thought, was not conducive to actually getting to know them.

So, he was searching as methodically as he could, given the nonsensical layout. There was a swimming pool in the middle of a ring of kitchens, for goodness sake. There was a library in the basement.

But finally, he did it.

“Uh,” said Danny. He was pretty sure this one was Orbis. Long haired wig, light jewelry. Yep. “Orbis?”

They didn’t turn around.

“Orbis?” he repeated. He came close me. “Excuse me? Orbis?” He tapped their shoulder. They jumped about a foot.

“Goodness, child! Why didn’t you say something if you wanted my attention.”

“I… did,” said Danny. “Are you not Orbis?”

“I,” said the ghost. “Yes.”

The other ghost glided into the room. “Did I hear someone calling me?” they asked. They were dressed identically to the first.

Danny looked between the two of them as they started gesturing emphatically at each other. He knew that ghosts could be weird, and there were a number of different lifestyles that could result in… whatever this was… but he sort of didn’t think that was what was going on. Actually, he didn’t– Were these ghosts shorter than they were yesterday? He hadn’t been paying all that much attention to their dimensions…

The gesture battle they were having, as if they thought he couldn’t see them, was definitely suspicious. Was there a ghost version of sign language?

Yeah, this was escalating. He edged closer to the arguing ghosts. He was about to do something that could be considered socially crass, but…

His hand flashed out and grabbed the wig of the nearest ghost. He pulled it loose.

Without the wig, the ghost was completely bald. They were also obviously one-eyed. They turned to stare at him, that one, huge, eye wide and alarmed.

Now, Danny didn’t remember all that much, but he knew who the Observants were.

“Yeah,” he said, grabbing the pocketwatch. “I’m out.”

#danny phantom #phic phight #fic

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