#kind of jean x reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

221bshrlocked · 1 year

Text

interesting indeed

Pairing: Tech x Fem!Reader

Words: 8901

Warnings: Tech wearing jeans. Female Masturbation. Tech watching reader masturbate so throw in a dash of accidental voyeurism. Consensual foreplay. Slightly rough manhandling, just like a little bit. Thigh riding because jeans! Dirty talk...or how I think Tech would sound if he were to talk you through riding him. Fingering. Squirting.

A/N: Not going to lie, this is a surprise even to me. Never thought I'd write for this cute nerd but I can't get over the fact that he's wearing jeans now so here you go. Also, this is totally in reference to this post because I wholeheartedly believe this is going to be a thing...if it isn't already. If Tech's character/vernacular doesn't seem right, do let me know how I can improve. Please and thank you.

No one was commenting on it, not that they should of course. They were all adapting to sudden and quite terrifying changes, and this was not on the list of important things that should be talked about. If none of them discussed the change of color in their armors, which was probably one of the last things still connecting them to Crosshair, this was definitely not going to make it to the evening chat. But it was still strange though, and you weren’t sure how to handle it.

It occurred to you after several rotations of simply being incapable of thinking of anything else why you were so hung up on it. On him.

He looked good, really good. You always found him attractive, more so than the others if you were being honest. But now that he was out of the confines of his armor and those rather tight blacks beneath the heavy protective gear, you couldn’t help yourself, groaning and swearing beneath your breath any time he so much as walked past you to fix something or discuss the mission details, again, with Hunter. His form was still hidden from your eyes, with parts of the armor still covering his torso from your hungry gaze, but you could see him clearly now, at least his lower half.

Sith hells, his thighs were more muscular than you thought, and each time he stretched to fix a part of the ship out of reach, or even shifted in his seat, the holsters wrapped tightly around his thighs would tug against the fabric of his jeans and show you just how meaty and thick they are.

Fuck, the jeans. That’s how you got into this current predicament. The day Tech started wearing those karking jeans was the day you cursed and thanked the maker for allowing such an invention to take place. He was tall, and you were always aware of how much shorter you were than him whenever he stood beside you or leaned down to show you whatever it was he wanted you to see on his holopad. You were so used to the plastoid armor that when you saw him walking out of his private room—eyes staring into the datapad, and hands clicking away as if he wasn’t wearing the most revealing fucking pair of pants to exist—you choked on your breath and had to walk away to avoid suspicion. Gods above, he somehow looked taller in those jeans than in his armor, and the knowledge that his slender form would now be available to your eyes all day every day made you sigh in irritation. It was already so difficult to attend to the tasks him and Echo handed you, and this just made it worse. So much worse. Then there was the matter of Echo and Hunter already teasing you about your little crush that everyone was aware of except him. It was enough as is, so you didn’t need to give them more ammo to use against you whenever he was around, even though he was oblivious to your longing gazes, and their irritating remarks.

Almost on queue, the man walks past you and leans over the bar to grab a drink for himself. Your eyes roam down his tall, slender yet muscular form, stopping to appreciate how perfectly the jeans fit around his ass. You shake your head at the sight of him. It was so unfair for him to look this delicious in such a simple article of clothing. Did his butt always look so round and plump? Or were the jeans giving him all those “assets”? So far gone in your inappropriate thoughts, you don’t notice Hunter pulling up a seat next to you and leaning a little forward to follow your line of sight until he speaks.

“Stare any harder and he might actually notice you checking him out this time.”

The rough sound of Hunter’s voice snaps you out of your haze and you flinch rather dramatically when the comment comes off louder than you’d like it to be, spilling half of your drink all over yourself and groaning in irritation when Hunter laughs at your obvious distress. You stand up and swipe across your shirt, only to run right into Tech as soon as you turn around to walk away from Hunter, in turn spilling both of your drinks over Tech’s armor and jeans. He hisses when the cold liquid runs down his clothes and you apologize profusely, grabbing both bottles and setting them down before looking for anything to hand him so he can dry himself.

You see Hunter from your periphery reaching out with something for you to take, and you narrow your eyes at him in warning as you snatch the towel from his hand and immediately pat down the sticky liquid on Tech’s armor.

“Did you know it takes approximately 12 hours for the smell of spotchka to come off of plastoid? Unfortunately, the same cannot be said regarding the stains, which I believe will take much longer to be removed.” You sigh in relief as soon as Tech does the usual and goes on with whatever knowledge he knows about the predicament at hand. When you glance at Hunter though, you find him smirking at you, and you hate the eyebrow he raises at you as he sips from his drink and watches your flustered reaction.

“I’m so sorry Tech, I was so distracted and- kriff,” you wipe at the chest armor to the best of your abilities, incapable of looking up at Tech out of fear of his reaction, or worse, your own. He swipes at the datapad several times, and you find it cute that he cares more about the technology on him than his attire, which he clearly stated would take a long time to thoroughly clean.

“It is in your best interest to constantly be aware of your surroundings, Y/N, regardless of distractions. Having said that, what could possibly be distracting here? Wrecker and Omega are quiet, which is rather alarming now that I think of it. Echo is reading, and Hunter is,” he stops checking the holopad and looks up at Hunter, roaming his eyes across his brother’s presence before returning his attention to the task at hand again, “well, he’s doing nothing.”

“I- I was just thinking that…umm,” you trip over your words, unsure of how you were supposed to respond. When he doesn’t bother to ask you to finish your response, you shake your head and continue wiping his armor.

“Funny you should mention your armor, Tech. She was just thinking about it.” Hunter says from behind you, making you turn around quickly and pout at him. He chuckles at your response, again, shrugging his shoulders at you when you mouth a few swears at him as you fiddle with the towel in your hand.

“Whyever would you be thinking of my armor?” The question catches you off guard, and you look at Tech with wide eyes, parting your lips to try and offer him some reply that would get him to ignore you again. Before you do, however, Hunter beats you to it and provides another, equally-irritating, suggestion towards Tech, one that instantly sends your heart rate through the roof and makes you wish you were in the comfort of your bed.

“Perhaps the lack thereof?” This time, you don’t bother looking at Hunter, knowing that he would only make things worse if you begged him to shut up again.

“We are not currently on a mission; naturally, there is no purpose for the remainder of the armor. However, now that we are no longer required to wear it all, I find myself more aware of the constraints it offered than before.” Tech gestures with his hand as he looks down at his form and presumably thinks of the several parts he was not currently wearing. You, on the other hand, can’t focus on anything, choosing to ignore everything he said except the word ‘constraints.’

“C-constraints?” You didn’t need to think of any type of constraints with relation to Tech, you really didn’t. But your mind decides to go off the rails, as it normally does whenever Tech is involved, and think of every naughty action the man can do to your body if he were to put you in constraints. Kriff, you would truly let him do anything he wanted with you, and you wouldn’t complain for a moment. You’d thank him for his attention, ask him what else he wanted to inflict upon you, and then beg him to put you out of your misery and do it already.

Tech’s response doesn’t come immediately, and when you finally make eye contact with him, you find him staring intently at you, eyes shifting from your tense jaws to your tight neck to the rise and fall of your chest as your breathing increases by the second. You turn away from him, fidgeting with the towel for another moment before getting on your knees to get the lower part of the armor on his chest. As you continue to clean the plastoid on his body, you can’t help but let your gaze roam a little lower, but you get back to focusing on the armor again, unsure of what you would do if Tech were to notice you openly ogling his crotch.

“Yes, there are several aspects of the Republic armor that hindered our movement. For example, it was difficult to remain seated for long periods of time. The plastoid dug into all the muscles of the body, thus making us more fatigued. Shoulder rotation was hindered at times due to the solidity of the back pieces, which, while advantageous during battle, were not useful on planets with more bodies of water, which required us to swim. Undoubtedly, the most unfortunate part of the armor was the codpiece. It made it near impossible for-” you were doing your best to focus on his ramblings, knowing that it would distract you from letting your mind run away with thoughts of touching him under more intimate circumstances. But as soon as he mentioned the codpiece, your brain went haywire and you started rubbing the damp spots on his inner thighs. Perhaps a part of you was aware of what you were doing, but you weren’t in-tune with the little bit of coherence still left in your neurons, already conjuring up the filthiest images involving yourself and the man above you.

“Kriff,” he swears beneath his breath, instantly looking away from Hunter to your kneeling body as you begin to touch closer to where the blood was rushing down his form.

“That will not be necessary, Y/N. I can- ahh,” he tries to stop you, he really does, but before he can reach out to your shoulders and grab your attention, your hand ascends up his thighs and makes a rather harsh pass across his crotch and the very visible tent in his jeans. Time stands still as soon as the sound of Tech’s moan hits your ears, and you widen your eyes in horror at what you’ve just done to him, in public, in front of his brother. You look up and notice a blush forming on his cheeks and neck, and you bite into your cheek when you see his hands shaking slightly while his chest expands rapidly with each short, harsh breath he takes.

“Oh maker, I- I didn’t mean to…I was paying attention and- I have to go.” You throw the towel on the table and run out of Cid’s parlor, ignoring Tech as he calls your name along with what you were sure were Mando’a curses.

“Mesh’la wait!” Tech takes two steps towards you before he notices that you won’t listen to him, and he throws his head down in defeat as he makes his way back to Hunter, who is now joined by Echo.

“Well that’s new,” Hunter comments, glancing at Echo with a grin on his face as he watches his brother fix his goggles and take the towel you were just holding.

“It was a slip of the tongue, I-” He knows neither of his brothers will buy the excuse, he doesn’t if he were being honest with himself, but he wants to avoid whatever conversation he was sure was about to commence.

“Hmm, sure it was. Bet you want to slip that tongue somewhere else.” Echo says, and if it weren’t for the fact that Tech was now thinking of every single twitch of your body language as you cleaned him up, he would have maybe decked him and walked away. But he was in no mood to fight, let alone argue with his brother.

“Grow up, Echo. This is hardly the time to be crass.” He looks up at the two men in front of him, only to drop the irritated expression when he notices them staring at him with disbelief and annoyance in their eyes.

“What?” He asks, grabbing the datapad from the table and shoving it back into his belt.

“Go after her you di’kut.” Echo growls, shaking his head as soon as Tech frowns at him and begins to tell him why he shouldn’t.

“She is clearly in distress, and I highly doubt the awkwardness of this moment will-”

“For kriff’s sake, Tech. Go. To. Her.” Hunter interrupts him before he can say anything else, and when Tech realizes that neither of them were planning on letting this go any time soon, he looks to the floor and shakes his head, grudgingly listening to them and heading out of the parlor.

“Fine.”

He almost reaches for the holopad as he walks to your place, but he stops himself before he turns it on, knowing that there was nothing on there that might help the situation now. He thinks back to what happened moments ago, recalling your reaction to the proximity between the both of you as well as Hunter’s responses. There was something missing in the whole ordeal, and if Tech didn’t know better, he’d think there was a meaning behind everything that was said. It’s moments like these that Tech understood he would have to read in between the lines, a task that he didn’t prefer attempting and was frankly not interested in. If you were dealing with a personal problem, one that you would rather share with Hunter than him, then Tech would respect that. Granted it made him uncomfortable, or perhaps annoyed was the right word here, but he wouldn’t dream of forcing you to tell him.

But maker if he wasn’t still interested in your behavior. There was a clear shift in your body language when he walked over to your table, little gestures that changed rapidly when you began cleaning his armor and as soon as Hunter shared his thoughts on your reasons behind being distracted.

Tech halts in his steps when he looks up and sees that he’s reached your place. He stares at the open windows and feels relieved when he sees that the lights are still on. Heading up the stairwell, he thinks over what he should say when you open the door. Should he mention the reason behind you leaving, or should he apologize for becoming erect when you were only trying to help? Should he tell you that he wasn’t bothered by your touch or should he explain why he was aroused to begin with? The last thought makes him stop in his tracks, and he meditates for a long while on why such an option would come forward in his mind to begin with.

“Hmm, that is rather interesting.” Tech comments out loud before he continues his ascent to your place, and once he reaches the door to your apartment, he knocks on it and waits for you to answer it. When you don’t make an appearance, he knocks once again, his nerves beginning to get to him. As the silence of the night fills the stairwell, Tech decides to push in the combination to your door, only to find that you had left it unlocked upon your arrival.

That is strange, you were always so careful on the Marauder. Surely you would be as careful when it came to your own home?

He walks in slowly and takes a quick look across the empty space, finding you nowhere in sight. Before he takes another step further, he hears the faint sound of your voice emitting from your room, whimpering and groaning as you cursed beneath your breath.

“Oh fuck…fuck, ahhh-”

Tech is on high alert instantly, and he takes his blaster out without thinking twice, slowly approaching your room as quietly as he can so he doesn’t alert the intruder clearly present in your bedroom.

“Please…just, I can’t. I- need to…”

He hears you again, but this time, you’re almost sobbing quietly, your voice muffled by an object being held to your mouth. Perhaps the intruder was asking about him and his brothers, or maybe, just maybe, you had managed to get yourself caught up with the wrong people. His heart is beating loudly against his chest, and he fears whatever might happen if he were to barge in there right this moment to try and save you.

“F-fuck…ah fuck, that’s- hmmm, please…so close.”

Taking the last few steps to your room, Tech inhales deeply, preparing himself for whatever may happen before looking through the slightly ajar door.

And then he stops breathing altogether.

There was no intruder in your room, there wasn’t anyone as a matter of fact. You were the only one in there, and from the looks of it, you were not struggling at all, but rather, enjoying the privacy of the moment.

Well, the privacy that was taken away from you now that he stood still at your doorway, incapable of turning away from the beautiful sight of your naked body as you touched yourself, face contorting between pain and pleasure the harder and faster you shoved your small fingers into your-

“Please, Tech…I need you. I need you so badly, just- oh maker, keep going…right there.”

If Tech wasn’t absolutely sure that your eyes were closed, that you were unaware of his presence, he would have thought you were asking him to join you. But you were both too far gone in ecstasy, with your eyes shut tightly the quicker your ministrations became, and completely ignorant to the standing figure at your doorway, with your face shoved into your pillows as you rolled your hips into your hand.

“That is interesting indeed.”

Never in his life did he ever speak without intending to. Granted, he often spoke when he didn’t have to, definitely when his opinion wasn’t sought out, but he never accidentally blurted out anything. So, when you scream at the top of your lungs and drag the covers across your skin, Tech flinches and nearly slams his head against the bedroom door.

He quickly pushes the blaster back into the holster on his belt before fixing his goggles, and for the first time since he can remember, he doesn’t know what to do.

“Tech what- what the fuck are you doing here?” He glances at you briefly and as much as he hates to admit it, the sight of your heaving chest and your damp skin shoots all blood flow in his system downwards. He was sporting a semi when you were wiping him, but after the show he just witnessed, he doesn’t bother looking down to know if his hardness is visible. He knows it is, and when he notices you looking down, he groans to himself and immediately places his hands in front of him to hide his erection.

“I- Hunter and Echo told me to find you.” An apology would be better, that Tech is sure of, but his mind is suddenly filled with the image of your desperate limbs and shaking muscles as you searched for release. And maker in heaven, he could not get the sight of you out of his mind’s eye, at all.

“What?”

“When you left, they suggested I come and find you. Technically, they swore at me and told me to speak with you. So…here I am.” Tech clears his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as you continue to glare at him.

“Tech, I cannot stress this enough but what the actual fuck?” Your voice is growing in pitch, albeit a little hoarse from how harsh you were breathing moments ago, and Tech forgoes the apology and decides to ask you the obvious question.

“Is there something wrong with your hearing, Y/N? I will happily look into that for you, or perhaps-”

Well, what he thought was the obvious question in this case.

“Nothing is wrong with my hearing, genius. My question isn’t so you can repeat to me how your brothers fucking forced you into coming here when you didn’t want to. I’m asking about why you were standing there without announcing yourself…watching me while I- umm,” the rest of the sentence trails off, and Tech tilts his head to the side when your sudden outburst turns into nothing but an embarrassed shift of your fiery gaze away from him and towards your fingers.

You’re angry, that’s obvious enough for Tech to see. But he doesn’t understand what exactly is the source of your anger. Is it your misunderstanding that he didn’t want to seek you out, or that he was probably asking about something irrelevant to the situation at hand, or maybe it was because he was watching you without your consent? He sets all of that aside when you trip over your words and refuse to say what you were clearly doing.

“Matsturbate?” He finishes the rest of your thought for you, and frowns instantly when you yell at him again.

“YES!!”

“It is nothing to be ashamed of, Y/N. It is completely natural to seek release when under an extraneous amount of stress. As a matter of fact, the numerous endorphins secreted within the brain and the central nervous system upon climax tend to-”

“Oh my sweet god Tech, please…please, just stop.” The exhausted tone of your voice snaps him out of his haze, and he quiets down when he looks up and sees you rubbing your forehead a little harder than you should. Kriff, he really doesn’t know what to say right now, and as the silence grows between the two of you, it occurs to Tech that maybe he should cross the bridge of awkwardness himself and coax you out of our shell.

“I am confused. Not a moment ago, you were asking me to “keep going,” but now, you are requesting I stop?” It must be the right thing to say because that seems to get your attention rather quickly. Your eyes shoot to him not a second later, and Tech watches as understanding dawns on you, followed closely by shame, guilt, and embarrassment. Hmm, maybe this was the wrong thing to say then.

“You…how long have you been standing there?”

“Not too long, but I did hear my name once, hence the outburst that, I presume, led to your discomfort.” You say nothing, and Tech refuses to break eye contact with you, wanting to see how your body and facial expressions react to his words.

“I thought you had seen me, but your eyes were shut, making you completely oblivious to my presence. I- I was wondering, outloud as you know, why you could possibly call for me while you were masturbating but I-” His inner monologue is on his lips, the only way Tech knows how to process information that is shocking to him. He doesn’t mean to make you wince or shudder the longer he goes on, but as he stares at you now, with your naked thighs clenching tightly, and your lower lip pouting rather attractively to him, it finally hits him.

There was only one meaning behind your actions. And the shift in your body language earlier in the parlor. And all those times you thought he didn’t hear you groan as he walked by you or whispered something to yourself when he leaned down to fix something.

Oh.

“You were fantasizing about me.” It’s not a question, more of a comment really, a very crude, straightforward, conclusive comment. The thought of being the one to bring out such a need from you makes him twitch in his pants, and he tilts his head to the side again as he roams his eyes across whatever skin available for him to see, watching as you throw your head down and hide behind your palms.

“Ugh, fuck me.” You breathe out into the night air, shaking your head at the absurdity of this whole ordeal.

“I cannot see how that could help the predicament we find ourselves in. But…if you believe that is the solution to our problem, I will oblige, rather enthusiastically as a matter of fact.” The response comes instantly, making you look up with wide eyes at the man currently standing at your door.

“W-what?” You can’t help but ask, wanting to be sure that you heard him right, that this wasn’t another one of your fantasies where he breaks through the door and fucks you into kingdom come.

“Honestly, Y/N, there must be something wrong with your hearing if-”

“Tech.” You say his name once, urging him to stop for a moment and try to read your reaction to his words.

“I am not too sure what you are asking about at the moment. Are you asking me to repeat myself or explain my words?” He takes two steps closer to you, hands still covering his crotch from your sight out of fear of you misunderstanding him, or worse, making you feel even more uncomfortable.

“Explain please.” You request rather shyly, and if Tech wasn’t preoccupied with finding the right words to respond to you, he would comment on how beautiful and erotic the sound of your voice was to him right now.

“You just asked me to “fuck you,” rather vulgar if I may say so myself-”

“It was a form of expression…I- I didn’t ask you to…you know.”

“Semantics…regardless of how you intended those words, I said that I am unsure as to how that could help. However, seeing as you have yet to reach climax, the fault of which is mine, and I am more-than-willing to offer you my aid, I would happily follow your advice and do whatever it is you think would resolve our predicament.” He says matter-of-factly, and with each word he throws at you, you feel yourself growing wetter. His response is too technical to your liking, but something about the way he phrases those words, and how adamant he is on not minding one bit sleeping with you, makes you suddenly experience a similar sense of desperation to what you always feel whenever he’s around.

“Assuming you forgive my untimely and inappropriate intrusion… and consent, of course.” He adds as he takes another step and looks around the room briefly before returning his focus on you again.

“And you do?”

“Of course I do.” He furrows his eyebrows at you, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think he is close to calling you an idiot for asking such a question. It’s only a second later that you begin to understand why he’s behaving this way, or rather, answering you with such a direct response.

“Why?” You ask, wanting to make sure that he was saying what you think he was.

“Why do I consent to having sexual intercourse with you?” Tech asks, and you hate his need to repeat whatever question is asked of him, but you quickly remember that this situation was probably new to him, and his mind was returning to what is comfortable for him so he can process it thoroughly, and without misunderstanding.

“Yes.”

“Is it not obvious?”

“N-no. It isn’t.” You take a deep breath, reminding yourself that it was your return to meet him half-way.

“I am attracted to you, have been since we first met. You are exceptional in what you do, quite intelligent for a regular human…and y-you are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid my eyes upon.” His confession steals your breath away, and you stare at him in disbelief when your brain finally catches up with what he just revealed to you.

You want to say so much to him. You want to thank the maker for his blunt demeanor because he finally put you out of your misery. You want to jump and scream at finally knowing what he thinks of you. You want to ask him why he’s never made a move on you since he’s shared your level of attraction for perhaps as long as you have. But none of those wants make it to the surface, and you swallow the lump in your throat when you finally decide how you want to break the silence washing over you.

“Fuck me.”

“Is- is that a form of expression, or are you asking me to have sexual intercourse with you?” You’ve never heard him trip over his words this many times in one conversation before, let alone sound so reluctant when asking such a simple question. The thought of being the one who makes him nervous enough to stumble over such a simple question lights a deep heat in the pit of your stomach, and you don’t think over what you’re about to do, knowing you might backtrack quickly if the reality of your words and body language sets in.

Taking in a deep breath, you drop the covers from around your body and kick them aside, revealing your nudity to Tech in hopes of driving your message across without yet another misunderstanding.

“I am asking you to fuck me, Tech. Fuck me until I lose my voice. Fuck me until the only thing I can remember is your name. Fuck me until I can’t feel my legs from how hard you slam your thick cock into me. Fuck me until I feel you for days. Fuck me…until you cum so deep inside me that I feel you leaking out of me…and then fuck me some more.” You slowly get on your knees as you speak, lightly trailing your fingers across your breasts and down to your aching cunt, unable to hold back from smiling when you notice the blush adorning Tech’s cheeks move down to his neck. His hands are shaking lightly, and you crawl to the end of the bed without breaking his gaze, wanting him to see the depth of your hunger for him.

“I see,” you thought he’d say more, but it makes sense that he isn’t inclined to be more talkative now. You wait for him to take the lead, not wanting him to feel the need to please you at his own expense. When he takes those last few steps towards you, you can’t help but lean forward into his space, wanting to feel overwhelmed by the heat of his body and the natural musk of his scent. Tech finally removes his hands from his crotch, but you don’t look down immediately, afraid he’d be embarrassed by your shamelessness.

He stretches out his hand but stops midair, and you blink at him expectantly, unsure of why he wasn’t already touching you.

“Mesh’la, may I touch you?” His voice is softer, and you make a mental note to ask him later what that word meant. You’ve heard it from him when you were making your escape, thinking that he was swearing at you, but as he whispers it to you now, with his eyes silently begging you to allow him to be near you, and his hands fidgeting and itching to extend a little further to trail across your damp skin, you realize it might mean something completely different.

“Yes, please.”

As soon as he registers your response, he reaches out and cups your neck with one hand, slowly slithering his other arm around your waist and tugging you into his chest until there was no space in between the two of you. The cold of his plastoid makes you shiver, but you can’t find it in yourself to care, sighing his name with a whisper as he extends his fingers and rubs your lower lip with his thumb.

“You are a marvelous creature,” Tech coos into your ear, teasing you with soft kisses across your heated cheeks, until he reaches the corner of your mouth, “and it would be my absolute pleasure to, as you put it so eloquently, fuck you until you lose your voice.” You nearly throw your head back but Tech grasps your chin and tilts it back to his mouth, looking one last time at the ecstasy etched on your features before sealing the night with the most breathtaking kiss.

You’ve thought of this moment for so long, wondered how his lips would taste and feel against your own. You imagined him to be reluctant, unsure of what to do due to his lack of experience. But as Tech leans over you, once again reminding you of how much taller he is, you can’t really picture the kiss being different. He’s dominant, more so than you thought he’d be, swiping his fingers against the corner of your mouth until you part your lips for him. But he’s also gentle, a bit playful even, as he slips his tongue inside your mouth and gives you a taste of what you’ve begged him for.

You melt against him, fisting your hands into the fabric of his shirt as he deepens the kiss and takes control of your body. It must please him, the way you cling onto him for dear life as he continues to steal your breath away, because he groans deeply into the kiss and dips his fingers into the hair at the nape of your neck. You can’t help the pornographic moan that fills the space between you as soon as you feel him tug harshly on your hair, and you shut your eyes to enjoy the moment as Tech hums with satisfaction, immediately attacking your neck in hopes of ensuring he has your undivided attention.

“Ah Tech-” You moan as he spreads his hand across your lower back before digging his fingers into your skin.

“Tell me mesh’la, what were you thinking of when I rudely interrupted you?” You can hear the smirk in his question, and although you wish you can find the smugness irritating, you shiver at the tone of his voice and the touch of his hands as they grow more desperate and rough by the minute.

“I w-was thinking of…of you.” You barely manage to say, vaguely feeling one of your arms release from underneath his hold. You stretch your arm down and grasp onto the edge of his jeans, gasping lightly as he rolls his hips against your inner thighs and gives you a taste of what you’ve been craving ever since you laid eyes on him.

“I am well aware of that, sweet one. I want you to tell me the images your filthy mind conjured up as you touched yourself…with details if you please.” He pronounces the last word with a nip to your shoulder, making you shudder in response and try to grab onto his shoulder again so you don’t fall backwards.

“I pictured y-you coming after me…after I left the cantina, and- ah ffuck-” You scream out as soon as he lowers his hand and squeezes your ass once before holding onto your waist again.

“Focus.” He warns with a light pull to your hair, and you open your eyes for a moment to look down at him, almost sobbing when you see how far dilated his pupils are as he trails kisses and nips down your chest. Tech narrows his eyes at you, not caring for how overwhelming he might be making you feel as he wraps his lips around one nipple and sucks harshly on it.

“And pulling me into the alley, and- fuck please, I need to-”

“Do go on.” He orders again, this time with a little less patience in his tone. You want to know what he might do to you if you disobey him, but you figured he’d most likely wish to discuss your limits, and his own, before diving into that sort of relationship.

“I’m sorry…I- I imagined you slamming me against the wall, and pushing one of your thighs in between my legs, so I can- so you would…” You should have known he would fixate on parts of your body when he recognizes how sensitive you are, but you never imagined him to be so consistent in his handling of you. But here he was, promising you indescribable pleasure while holding off from actually pushing you over the edge.

“Hmm, I thought I noticed that earlier.” Tech raises his eyes to look at you, waiting until you meet his gaze before licking a stripe across your sternum. You try to grab his hair but he quickly grips your wrist tightly, twisting it slowly so he doesn’t hurt you as he brings it behind your back. He holds you against him then, expertly moving your body as he pleases so he can mark your skin with his lips.

“Please…I’m so- kriff, I need you. You don’t have to…”

“As gratifying as it is to know you do not require me to prepare you any further, I will have to disappoint.” There’s something about hearing him string a proper coherent sentence that drives you mad with lust, and you hate how easy it is for him to make a complete mess of you. But you say nothing, wanting to give yourself to the sensations he was bringing upon your body.

Then he lets go of you all of a sudden and steps away, leaving you dazed and confused as to why he stopped touching you and pulled from your body.

“Tech?”

“You must know by now that I seldom leave a job unfinished.” He claims matter-of-factly, fixing his goggles once before moving around your bed and standing near your pillow. He looks down at the state of your covers, then turns his attention to your damp, heaving chest as you try to gasp for air. Your confusion makes him twitch in his jeans, and he doesn’t bother to hide the shameless way he roams his gaze down your stomach to your wet folds. He stares at your thighs for longer than deemed appropriate, and hisses to himself as he fixes himself through the tight fabric of the jeans. You groan at the sight of him, gulping nervously when he leans down and removes his shoes, setting them aside neatly before doing the same with the heavy bag across his back.

You watch in silence, not knowing what you should say in return. You don’t really understand what he meant by those words, and before you can ask him why he was stretching this out longer than necessary, he moves across your bed and moves all the pillows aside, perching himself up against the headboard of the bed and stretching his legs out until they almost touch your thighs.

Tech doesn’t say anything else, and when you continue to remain immobile and silent, he raises a curious eyebrow at you before tapping his thighs twice.

“Well, would you rather stare at me all night long or come and take your pleasure from me?”

His question snaps you back to reality and you look down at his thighs when you notice his fingers tap quickly across his jeans, the mere sight of his impatience forcing you to move towards him.

“Come on, little one. The night is filled with hidden pleasures, ones desperate to be revealed.” You’re certain you’ve never heard his voice sound so lewd and inviting before, and as you crawl to him again, you can’t help but maintain your gaze on his legs, breath hitching suddenly when he parts his thighs to make space for you in between them. As you settle yourself against him, Tech reaches for your hips and pulls you against his chest.

“And here I thought the mere sight of me offering you what you desire would make you less shy.” He comments passively as you continue to keep your hands to yourself, something that clearly bothers him because within the blink of an eye, he’s putting your arms on his shoulders before slipping his hands down to take hold of your thighs. You call for him, a sound filled with surprise and desire, ones brought upon by the ease with which he continues to handle you.

You can’t look at him, afraid of how your body will react if you saw the way he was already staring at you. But as you settle on top of him, straddling his thighs much to his content, you decide to throw all your anxiety out the window. Leaning down, you hover your lips across his own, waiting until he gives you a sign that he wanted to kiss you as well. He smiles at you then, raising your chin up so he can take a better look at you. You blink once as you finally meet his eyes, and you’re amazed by how much brighter the brown around his pupils appears now. You’re not sure if they’ve always been this lovely color or if the circumstances were making them even more beautiful, but you meditate on them briefly as you close the last bit of space between the two of you.

Unlike the first kiss you shared with Tech, this one is much more controlled, softer and sweeter, allowing you a better chance to commit the feel of his lips to memory. He tilts his head as he deepens the kiss, making you sigh against him and open your mouth so you could swallow his moans in turn. His hands knead your hips, sending a jolt of pleasure down your spine until you begin to move atop him. As one of his arms moves across your back to apply the slightest of pressure against you so you can move even closer to him, you wrap your arms tightly around his neck and break the kiss, gasping for air dramatically as he moves you back and forth against the tent on his jeans.

“Fuck,” he swears against your neck, lightly nipping the skin of your jugular as grow more needy with your movement, rubbing your clit against the rough fabric of his jeans as you always imagined.

“You feel so good Tech,” you moan breathlessly at him, chasing your long-abandoned orgasm with a newfound desperation, hoping that he can bring you there faster than your own hands.

“This will not do,” Tech mutters to himself, once again pushing you around as he pleases until you’re only straddling one of his thighs. He brings you down harder on him, this time raising his thigh a little off the bed so you can ride him as you please.

“Oh maker, ff-fuck.” You throw your head back, body shaking with excitement as Tech takes over and moves you against him, flexing his thigh muscles to the best of his abilities as he pushes you hard and fast against the damp material of his jeans. He looks down and feels his heart skip a beat when he sees the clear, wet patch adorning his clothes, squeezing your skin even tightly to ensure that this was, in fact, real.

“I- I can understand why you would call me that, but it is only me, sweet one. If you will reach climax whilst using my thighs, I would greatly appreciate it if you were to call for me…as- kriff, as you promised.” Tech is aware of the way he continues to trip over his words, and he looks up in time to see you smirking at him. He knows exactly why you are smiling so teasingly, and he files the information for later, mostly so he could ensure to have a response ready if and when you decide to jokingly provoke him. He can tell there is something on the tip of your tongue, and before you can retort with probably humorous sentiment, he brings you back and forth harshly against his jeans, licking his lips as you offer him the desired response in return.

“Tech, I’m so close…please baby.”

He groans then, his breathing growing more erratic as you continue to beg him to ease the fire settling in your stomach. He never thought he’d appreciate a submissive partner, let alone whispered pet names during such a moment, but he hisses as you continue to say those few words, his cock pushing painfully against the fly of his jeans the faster you ride him.

Tech inhales deeply, the scent of your warm, wet cunt managing to distract him momentarily from the job at hand. He bites into his lower lip to regain some bit of control, and when he thinks he has a good grip on his desires, he wraps one arm around you before using his other hand to pull and push you against him.

“You are awfully close, my dear. Perhaps if I were to assist,” he doesn’t elaborate any further, and it’s not long before you feel his expert fingers reaching down and slithering their way in between your cunt and his thigh. As soon as you look down at him, Tech is sure he will never get the image of you out of his mind.

Glazed eyes. Wet lips. Flushed face.

“You are positively sinful.” He claims as he leans up and takes your lips in a mindblowing kiss, swallowing your moans with ease as he shoves two of his long, thick fingers past your wet folds and curls them inside your walls. Had he given you a chance to break the kiss, you’re sure you would have been screaming his name until all of Ord Mantell who was making you come undone.

But he doesn’t let go of you once, shoving his tongue into your mouth as he fucks you with his fingers while rubbing your clit with the palm of his hand. Your eyes are shut tightly, fingers digging into his neck as he shows you the stars with his tongue and his hand.

Tech remembers quickly what you promised him moments ago, and he does break the kiss then, wanting to hear you moan his name as he aided you through your orgasm. He tilts his head back to take a better look at you, and as he meets your eyes, he winks once at you before looking down to watch where he was disappearing inside of you.

“Tech, I’m-” You can’t finish the thought, the feeling of his fingers consistently hitting your tight walls pushing you over the edge and forcing you to melt against him.

“Come for me, Y/N.” He orders once, and if you had half a functioning brain cell, you would have asked him where he learned how to talk like that. But you don’t care enough, and you scream his name like a prayer as he continues to coax pleasure out of you. There is a vague sound filling the night air as he continues to finger-fuck you into another little high, and when you open your eyes and look at Tech, you find his own curious gaze zeroed in on where he was pleasuring you.

But just as you follow his line of sight, he begins to slow down to a stop, making you shudder on top of him now that your body was being offered some respite. It’s only when he breaks the silence and fixes his goggles that you realize what you’d just done.

“Fascinating!” He calls out as if it is the most normal comment to say after making you come the hardest you’ve ever experienced in your entire life. Tech doesn’t care to remove his fingers from you, and without a warning, he curls the tips of his two fingers once, watching with interest as your entire body jolts forward and your voice breaks in a rather pornographic moan.

“The actions your body performs in response to the stimuli I deliver to it are most impressive, mesh’la.” You shouldn’t be surprised by him, and it’s endearing how careful he becomes as he slips his fingers out of you while soothing your back with the other hand. Once again, you’re about to respond to him with something snarky about where his priorities are, but you don’t find the words when you see him hold his fingers up and stare at them.

“Interesting, I was well aware of how messy this act could be but I did not expect to be this-”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know I could…I know how much you dislike stains and-”

“You misunderstand me, cyar’ika. I was merely attempting to inform you of how much I thoroughly enjoyed you drenching my hands and my clothes.” Tech interrupts your thoughts from running away from you, and you stare at him with wide eyes as his words finally settle in your mind. You weren’t sure how to deal with this new bit of information, because the last thing you ever expected to hear was Tech telling you that he enjoyed you squirting on him. You can already feel your chest tighten as his confession reignites the need you have for him, which is made even worse not a moment later as he raises his fingers to his face and wraps his lips around them.

You forget how to breathe as Tech shuts his eyes and hums approvingly at what he’s tasting, the action and sound so lewd that you attempt to clench your thighs above him to relieve the growing pressure.

“I must admit, the taste of you does not compare to my imagination.” Had you not known the man beneath you for so long, you would have thought he was doing this on purpose. But you knew Tech, and you were sure he was only speaking his inner monologue out loud as he always does. Whatever is next on his lips is interrupted when he looks down and watches as you not-so-subtly try to touch yourself again.

“You are quite needy, aren’t you?” He takes his fingers out of his mouth and places his hand back on your body, roaming both his palms across your skin so he could feel the effect he was having on you.

“Tech…I need you.” You beg shamelessly, leaning into him in an attempt to rile him up with another kiss.

“I believe you sweetheart, but I do owe you an apology.” Tech nudges your nose with his own, smirking to himself when your expression changes into a pout and you furrow your eyebrows at him. He would tell you later that he absolutely adored the look on your face when you were confused, but he had another, more pressing matter at hand, and he did not want to drag this out any longer.

“You wished to use my thighs to orgasm, but I- well, I became greedy and used my hands instead.” He kisses the corner of your mouth once, barely managing to hold back from shoving you beneath him and taking what he wanted from you in return.

“Maker, I don’t care Tech…I just want you. I want you to fuck me, with your cock this time. Please, we can…we can do that later.” You reach down to his jeans, cupping him through the wet fabric in an attempt to get him to put you out of your misery and give you what you’ve longed for. But he’s much quicker than you, and he snaps his hand to your wrist immediately, dragging it away from his hard cock so he doesn’t get distracted by your touches.

“Humor me, mesh’la. I desperately want to know if you can reach climax with such a simple action. You have taken what you wanted, and now I ask for this in return.” You know, as well as him, that he’s only doing this to torture you, that he’s only using his interest in experiments to disguise such his perverse need to make you suffer.

“But I-”

“If you do, I promise to give you my cock. Even better, I promise to fill you up all night long, until you are no longer begging for release but respite.” Tech breaks your train of thought, and he smirks down at you when he sees the gears shifting in your mind at his proposition. He didn’t need to read your mind to know that you’ve already agreed to his terms, and with one last quick peck on your lips, he releases your hands and rests his back against the headboard once more.

You readjust on top of him, placing the palms of your hands on his chest to keep yourself up.

“There’s a good girl.”

#tech bad batch #tech tbb #tbb #the bad batch #tech the bad batch #tech x reader #tech smut #tech/reader #tech x reader smut #the bad batch smut #tbb smut #star wars #tech wearing jeans is making me feel some kind of way #jeans #the sluttiest thing a clone can wear is a pair of jeans #besides their fucking blacks beneath their underarmor #i digress

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cptnleviackerman · 5 months

Text

jean kirstein boyfriend texts

content - f!reader(reader is referred to as a gir), modern au, college au, alcohol mention, jean gets jealous, period mention+cramps, drunk jean

#omg...you guys #i love him so much its kind of crazy #hes the cutest boy ever #want to give him kisses #jean kirstein x reader #jean kirstein x you #jean kirstein smau #aot smau #social media au #jean kirstein fic #sage.smau

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c-liffy · 1 year

Text

i haven't felt the sun in so long

Danielle x SixthMember!Reader

Notes: Reader is a few months older than Haerin | Reader is implied to not have much empathy | Reader's parents are not very nice

(wc: 3057)

Even if it was inevitable, you just wished you weren’t as young when it happened. You were sitting at your coffee table when your dad got the call. Your mother was at work while you sat at home with your father, coloring at the table, watching a movie with him. You remember how loud it was when he dropped his phone and took your hand; his fingers shaking as he grasped your wrist with a force so tight you cried out.

He took you out to the car and started it before you could even get around to the passenger side. You sat down in the front seat and looked at him for approval. You knew something was wrong when his face was ghostly white and he didn’t even protest you sitting in shotgun.

When you’re 12, he would usually repeat, then you may sit in the passenger seat. You understood why he held you to that age when he suddenly backed out so fast you had to brace yourself so you wouldn’t hit your head on the dashboard.

He sped down the road at speeds he would normally scoff at and drove with such reckless abandon that you were forced to grip your seatbelt and shut your eyes. You prayed it would soon be over. When he stopped, you opened your eyes and looked around in confusion. The hospital? Why would you be there?

You got out and struggled to keep pace and follow your father into the doors of the emergency room, “My son! Where is my son?”

“Sir, calm down. Who are you looking for?” A nurse came around from behind a desk,

“My son,” Your father began rambling out details about your brother.

The nurse was silent for a long moment before speaking again, “Mr. L/N, why don’t we take a walk?” His knees gave out as he fell to the floor with a wail.

You’d never seen him cry before that. It was like you were a ghost, watching an exchange that you weren’t privy to. You were an outsider, from that moment on, looking into a family that began to crumble.

Or, more realistically, you were the one on the inside watching what remained of your parents fade away. Your parents divorced; your mother spent more and more time at work and when she was actually home she was either sleeping or arguing with your dad and he was arguably worse. He worked from home, but he didn’t dote on you as he usually would. He withdrew into his home office where he gambled away your brother’s future college fund.

Gone were family dinners, holidays, birthdays, movie nights with your dad, your mom taking you shopping when she came home early from work. When you were finally 12, your parents took you out to dinner and put on happy faces.

Finally, after years of a cold silence covering everything in your home, which realistically felt more of just a place you slept and ate, something felt like it was defrosting. You were just too young to see that they were masks.

And then they told you they were sending you to a boarding school across the world.

At least, on the way to the airport, they let you sit in the front seat.

You didn’t like the boarding school. Sure, you learned, but you never made any actual friends. Soon you began seeing yourself in the same gray bleakness that you saw your parents in. Half of yourself screamed to fix it, the other half kind of just accepted it. And you really didn’t have the energy to do anything else about it.

That was until you were out shopping one day, taking a break from your studies, and came across a street dance crew. People were crowded around, cheering them on and smiling. You hadn’t grinned and laughed like that in years. Their energy was so contagious; you saw into another world where a brother took his baby sister to an arcade to play DDR for hours on end.

You weren’t sure where to even start; all you knew was you wanted to do that.

Sheepishly you went up to one of the members, a girl, after and asked her where she learned to dance. She gave you a card to a dance studio.

That night you held your phone between your ear and your shoulder and turned the card over and over as you called your parents. It was one of your routine monthly calls where you’d ask ‘how’s work? Remember Grandma’s birthday is on Saturday. Did you pay my tuition? Report cards are out, I sent mine to you. How’s the house?’

To which they would reply with ‘have you eaten? Do you need me to send another care package? How’s your allowance? Is it enough?”

It felt something close enough to caring; about as warm as they were since before you were ten. Though this time you hesitated before answering a question, your mother’s this time, and instead asked her about dancing.

She was silent and you nearly thought you accidentally hung up. You pulled the phone away from your ear to reveal that she was still on the line,

“You know you took ballet when you were about three,” You raised your eyebrows, stunned,

“Really? How come I don’t remember that?”

“You hated it. We practically had to pry you out of that damn car seat every time we pulled up to the studio,” She laughed, something you hadn’t heard in a while, and sighed, “It took us two months to finally let up and let you quit,”

“Oh… well, I was talking more like street dancing. Like hip-hop?”

“I don’t see why not. Text your father and send us a tuition fee,”

You really don’t get why you hated ballet so much.

Ok, maybe the competitiveness and all of the expensive shoes and dresses deterred you, but surprisingly you were good at dancing. It really wasn’t all that hard to you. Just letting the beat flow through you and moving along to it.

You made friends too. You expected most people to brush you off once you began moving up groups until you were in the highest group you could get into. These people weren’t your parents, you reminded yourself, and this wasn’t home.

It was when you were fifteen, and goofing off with your best friend, Haerin, in the studio on a break when your instructor butted in. You both were very loudly and obnoxiously singing the words to the song you were dancing to, Looking at Me by Sabrina Carpenter, and she walked over. You half expected her to begin lecturing you both on ‘noise control’ but instead she just nodded,

“Not bad. You two ever considered auditioning?”

“To where?” You asked with quirked brows,

“To a company, stupid,” Haerin’s explanation didn’t do much to help your confusion, “A pop company, like JYP or something,” She hit the side of your leg,

“Actually, I think Big Hit is hosting auditions next weekend, I may know someone to get you girls in,” You tilted your head in thought, “Let me know by tomorrow if you girls want in,”

“Ooh~ She has connections,” Haerin whispered to you once your teacher had walked away from you both. You laughed and lightly kicked her in the side.

You didn’t think much about it until that night. You laid on your bed, and like most nights, without sleeping that much, just letting thoughts go by in your head. The image of you standing on a stage singing and dancing in front of a crowd caused you to scowl at first.

Call it from your withdrawn childhood, but the thought of the attention of thousands of people on you made you nervous. It was something to overcome when maybe twenty people watched you dance in class. The fact that you would have millions of people commenting on your every move? Not something you really wanted.

But Haerin, oh Haerin, being the most annoying friend she could, nagged you every second you were together. It worked, as it did most times, and you went with her to audition. You huffed the entire way there and complained about every step, mostly about the copious amounts of paperwork, and when you were finally in the audition waiting room you thought about leaving several times,

And then the first girl stood to audition. And she tripped walking to the stage. You covered your mouth under your t-shirt and tried not to laugh audibly. Maybe this wouldn’t be that bad.

Hundreds of girls had to be there, and a lot of them looked like you. Though you kept this to yourself, you thought you danced better than most of them.

When it was finally your turn you cued the music with a smile to the judges. It was a fake one, but they seemed to smile back with genuine looks of hope. You danced to Loco by Itzy and smiled at the cheers of several of the other girls. You could only catch glimpses of yourself in some of the mirrors, but you knew you were doing great.

One you were done you turned to the judges and bowed before thanking them,

“And thank you, Y/N,” One of them smiled,

“You said you danced with a studio?” You nodded and told them the name and teacher,

“Oh! So you’re in Group One?”

“That’s right,”

“Very nice,” They all wrote a note of something on your paper, you hoped that you didn’t say something wrong, “Thank you Ms. L/N, we’ll let you know,”

You bowed again on your way off and hopped off the stage before hastily getting back to Haerin,

“You did so well!” She squealed. You only rolled your eyes,

“Yeah, I know, I know,”

You refreshed the page again with wide eyes. You were in shock. You actually made it. You were officially a Big Hit Entertainment Trainee. A text then came in from your dad. You groaned and rubbed over your eyes. Right, you kind of forgot to tell them you were in for a bit of a career change.

“I’ve never had a younger sibling before!” Danielle squealed while putting her arms around you and Haerin. Haerin just groaned however you quickly squirmed out of her grip and complained. You weren’t sure what to think of Danielle and your other members. Sure, you were older than Haerin and Hyein, but Daneille, Hanni, and Minji were all older than you.

You didn’t like what you were being reminded of,

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” You grumbled in English,

“Sourpuss,” Danielle laughed. The others joined in. You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms as the others began rolling around on the floor from their laughter. You turned away, but cracked a tiny smile.

“New Jeans has taken the industry by storm!” One of the MCs, Nayeon, smiled at your group. You, being in the front, smiled back and let Minji speak about your EP that had just been released.

You were excited and, for once, really happy. Everyday you came to the studio buzzing with energy. Obviously most of your energy was put into dancing rather than singing, but it was all worth it for the praise you were showered with from choreographers.

Your members began calling you “mirror” because of how fast you could pick up the choreography you were given. You mastered attention in a day and it took you just short of two weeks to practically master the entire EP.

Perhaps it was your solitary childhood that really helped you. It was almost a superpower for you to lock into yourself and pick out everything that needed to be changed. After all, you were responsible for only you, something you’d been telling yourself since that fateful date five years ago.

Then again, it was almost a superpower since that also caused countless late nights, which Minji always chastised you for returning to the dorms so late. Perfectionism, something you undoubtedly got from your parents, what a blessing and a curse,

“Y/N? You in there?” Hanni poked you shoulder,

“Oh? I’m sorry, I kind of spaced out,” You giggled,

“Ah, I do the same all the time, don’t worry about it,” Yoongi assured you,

“You know, now that I think about it,” Nayeon grabs you hand and pulls you near Yoongi, “You and Suga-Oppa look like siblings,” You members begin to chatter with agreements. You suddenly felt overcome with something you really couldn’t put your finger on. The unusual feeling transformed your expression to a flicker of a grimace before you forced a smile back onto your face,

“My little sister,” He cooed, poking your ribcage. You stepped back and frowned,

“Hey!” You put on a pout. Your members and the MCs laughed at you before continuing the interview.

You don’t remember the last time you’ve cried this hard. In fact, you can’t remember the last time you’ve cried at all.

Ignorance; why would he say such a thing? You felt like you were going to vomit from crying so hard. You let yourself enjoy the rest of the night before nearly collapsing when you got home. It was late, everyone’s probably in bed. You put a hand to your chest and felt it heave up and down as you choke out another sob.

You don’t remember much about your brother. You could only enjoy so much with an older brother with a six year age gap. You were still whining about dolls and toys when he got into the accident. He was preparing for university and in secondary school.

The small moments you treasured were few and far between; you suddenly felt so much guilt weighing on your chest. For someone you lived with you never really knew him. You let your head rest against the wall and wipe your tears with your sweatshirt sleeve.

In fact, after everything that happened you were more focused on your family, you never really knew yourself. You were your brother’s sister; your parents' daughter; a friend; a student.

Most of your childhood it felt like you mourned yourself more than you did your brother. Your parents were so obsessed with not forgetting him that he was everywhere. In your childhood house, he was more alive than you ever were.

They kept stock of his favorite foods, always played his favorite movies and television shows, made sure they visited his room at least once per day, and had photos of him in each room. Your house was just a museum of his things, like your parents were expecting him to walk through the door again.

Of course, he never did. You wished he did, but not for your sake.

It was only once, you caught it. You were making lunch on a Saturday when you were eleven. It was a ham and mustard sandwich. He used to make it for you every weekend and you just continued on making it. It wasn’t ‘in memory’ of him or anything, it was just a routine that you preferred to keep more than anything else.

You looked up from your sandwich and your mother was in the kitchen. She was looking at your food, you just thought she was hungry, but then you met her eyes.

There was such a deep disappointment swimming in them. It was gone almost as soon as you saw it, but she looked at you like she was expecting something. Like you broke a window and she was expecting you to fess up. But you didn’t break anything.

She was looking at you like you were supposed to be him. Like she wanted you to be him,

“Y/N?” You look up. You nearly expect your mother to be there again, with that shameful look in her eyes.

But it’s Danielle. And it’s more of a concern rather than shame. She doesn’t say anything else. She only slides down next to you and wraps you in a hug,

“I know, I know,” She rubs your back as you sob into her neck, your cries shaking your body against hers,

“No, you don’t,”

“I do, I-”

“Danielle, my brother’s dead,” You raise your head to see her reaction. Her eyes are wide and her mouth is ajar and struggles to form words. If you weren’t so upset, you would probably laugh at her expression, “And no one knows,”

In some vain attempt to get her to leave you scoot away from her and wipe your eyes once again. But Danielle, because she’s Danielle, grabs your wrist. You meet her eyes and they have such an understanding in them that it scares you so much more than anything your parents could ever express.

You’re so used to the cold, to the solitude that you struggle against her embrace,

“I’m sorry. We compared you to Yoongi. We shouldn’t have,” You try to mutter something else out but she continues, “I had no idea about your brother, Y/N,”

Neither did I, you think coldly,

“How long have you been holding this in, sweetheart?” The name makes your heart beat faster than you’d like to admit,

“Years, unnie, years,” You repeat, feeling more tears prick your eyes. She hugs you again and you somewhat settle down.

There was something off about Danielle to you. Whenever you were close to her there’d always be some alarm in your head that’d go off. You weren’t used to her mannerisms.

You’d gone from your parents, who you had barely been anything to, then to Haerin, who’d been a source of comfort in the sense that you could just sit by her and have a mutual understanding of what was going on. You’d never been outright comforted in so long.

But, maybe now it was ok to let yourself go. Bask in the warmth of another instead of relying on your own iciness,

“There you go,” Danielle whispers in your ear as you settle on her lap, “Take a deep breath for me, honey,” Just as she asked, you take in a breath and shakily let it out.

You had a long way to go and even more to learn about yourself. But maybe with at least someone on your side it wouldn’t be as bad this time around.

(AN: I really don't like how this turned out but I might possibly write a part 2 to this)

#danielle marsh x reader #new jeans x reader #new jeans imagines #new jeans oneshots #danielle marsh #mo jihye #i actually kind of hate this #danielle #written

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achenetype · 1 month

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What would happend if Raven reader never left the nest?👁️ Love ur writing

THIS SPARKED SOMETHING IN ME OH MG GOD

MDNI; implied sex, hand wavey consent, abuse, raven-typical cult behavior and stockholm syndrome, riko is his own warning, injury/violence

listening to: sea, swallow me by cocteau twins

you can’t leave the nest, for a multitude of reasons. some of the other ravens still see their families; they go home for a weekend or for spring break every once in a while. they cite living close to the university, their parents being concerned or overprotective.

your family lives thousands of miles away and they hate you, so you stay at the nest. winter break, spring, summer. you know how edgar allan university looks baked in heat, drenched in rain, blanketed in snow.

riko moriyama and kevin day become your lifeline. he never leaves either. you spend more time together with them than you do with any of the other ravens, running perfect laps on castle evermore’s perfect court until all three of you are out of breath. you suck sparkling air into your lungs and laugh on the way back to your dorm, riko’s arms around your and kevin’s shoulders. perfect, perfect, perfect.

riko becomes captain and that perfection turns icelike and cold. he pushes everyone to their limits, especially himself. you and kevin push back. most of the other ravens are too scared to, but the three of you are perfect perfect perfect, the three of you are brilliant and nothing can stop you.

nothing can stop you until riko shatters kevin’s hand and you spend hours picking up the pieces.

nothing can stop you until riko shatters at the same time as your arm, when he does the same thing to you.

you spend weeks in recovery. riko sits at your bedside, murmuring apologies. murmuring we had to make it look believable, murmuring im so sorry.

your arm heals. clean break. clean hole where kevin used to be. clean, perfect number one, riko moriyama.

you still love him, which you’re not sure is a fact or a weapon. he is too tangled in you to separate what you are from what he is, and who hasn’t been cruel, in the nest? who hasn’t broken someone else to get ahead?

you have. riko has. this makes you a perfect match.

neil josten, newly rechristened nathaniel wesninski and number four, leaves as soon as he appears. some part of you resents him for it but a bigger part is, selfishly, grateful for riko’s attention to be back on you. you want your place by his side back—you want your life back.

you can’t leave the nest even when riko beats jean within an inch of his life. you can’t leave when that girl from the foxes appears and whisks him away, when riko breaks a window and punches a hole in the wall and screams about how his perfect court is falling apart.

everything is falling apart, you want to tell him. everything is falling apart and we can’t do a damn thing about it.

(instead you kiss his knuckles and help clean the glass off of the floor. instead you murmur distractions: how good his form was today, how pretty he looks with blood in his teeth, how you want him to shove you up against the court wall and take whatever he wants. you’d give it to him anyways. you’ve given it before, given everything else.)

(you fall asleep that night feeling hollow. riko’s arms around you and his head on your chest are no comfort. you want to hate yourself in a new, sick way, something that sways in your stomach and makes you want to puke or slash your wrists open like one of the freshman backliners did last week.)

(you want to hate yourself, but you can’t.)

and you can’t leave, either.

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mueritos · 1 year

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The pipeline from character x female reader to omega au to being trans is real

i was erm like 1/2 of this pipeline, i read and wrote character x female reader fics at the ripe age of 11 and they got so popular but were also extremely sad and people were like???? you're fucking 11 writing this shit?? and then i submitted one for an application to a writing program at a charter arts hs and i got in but they called cps on me because the essay i wrote when i came in was too sad and i thought i wud be taken away but nothing happened but anyway im fine now im just trans now

#muertoresponds #it was aot jean x reader fanfiction #i was kind of insane

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latinokaeya-moving · 1 year

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here’s the thing right. i obviously know kaeya has a mean/crueller streak and a lot of very sad/‘angsty’ story potential like that’s a very real part of his character that im actually interested in and think abt a Lot more then i let on and i hate to think that i am like. ‘woobifying’ him bc i mostly talk abt him in a very specific cutesy way but tbh if you check the actual fanfic and fanart content out there rn the Overwhelming majority of it is just so persistently grim n focused on tragedy n sadness n pain that i just feel like i Gotta talk abt the sweeter/softer/more introspective aspects of kaeya bc if not it’ll just get buried beneath all that misery 😭😭😭

#x #gi posting #this is so unfunny but this thought came abt bc i actually decided to read a fic the other day that i found #rosakaebedo fic btw. very fun #and i was just so pleasantly surprised w the way kaeya was written in it bc it was sooooo overly sugary sweet to him #not even that he was acting in any specific way but the perspective through which the reader was being made to look at kaeya was so #obviously sweet n gentle n loving it got to me so bad. like the narration would refer to him as being gorgeous or a darling friend or a kind #man n i had to content w the shock i was feeling that i don’t think i have Ever read a fic sooooo intent on presenting kaeya this way #and again not in a weird infantilising or ‘woobifying’ way at all but just. you know. him being a character w issues n flaws n all but #who other characters still obviously cherish n hold dear bc of the bonds he’s created with them in mond ….#AGH i think that’s kind of the crux right like soooo many ppl write abt kaeya n the narrative perspective always tends to be himself or #diluc. n that just lends itself so much to thinking abt the tragedy n misery n pain of their internal worlds #but i think outside perspectives from characters kaeya is genuine friends n family with. like rosaria albedo klee jean etc etc etc i think #they have the potential to be soooo much more precious in their view of him…. n i really like that :’-)#i wish more ppl did that :’-)

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ohimsummer · 2 years

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Talking about marriage with Jean in a pitch-black bedroom, only illuminated by the flashing colors of the muted television, and you hesitantly bring up Marco to suggest you guys reserve a seat for him in the front row.

#was thinking of 1am talks with Jean and #I’ve read stories b4 where people save seats for their deceased friends and family #and I think Jean would really be into that and also he might cry a lil at the suggestion #but like a good cry kind of??#like he’s glad he can commemorate Marco at his wedding :)#Jean imagine #Jean x reader

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gojonanami · 4 months

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❝ 𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐄𝐌𝐎 𝐁𝐎𝐘! ❞

❝ COME ON, FUCK ME, EMO BOY!! ❞

✧ pairing: emo boy! choso kamo x f!reader ✧ summary: saw this boy at the mall last week. got the kind of look to make me freak. wanna fuck in the back of the hot topic? ✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, so much smut, emo boy! choso, sex toys (vibrators, clit sucker), multiple orgasms, semi-exhibitionism, public sex (sex in the back of hot topic, sex in a changing room), fingering (f! receiving), oral (f! + m! receiving), big dick choso (but honey, that dick was 11 inches), also mahito + yuji make appearances, art by @/SS_utr3n. ✧ wc: 5.3K

It had been a while since you had stepped into a Hot Topic (a while meaning three days or three years, take your pick). But this had been the third time this week you had been to this specific Hot Topic, and now you were sure the manager of the place had your badly taken picture and description scrawled in some notebook as a potential shoplifter.

But it wasn’t the merchandise you were looking to pick up.

It was him.

You saw him when you were browsing the clearance rack, knelt down, evaluating whether you needed another blind box item that will inevitably not contain the character you were looking for (but on the plus side, it was on sale?), when you heard a deep voice speak.

“Excuse me,” you glance up as you spot him — and you swear your breath gets stuck somewhere between your windpipe and your lungs, because you don’t breathe while this man kneels down next to you to place more items on clearance. Spiky black locks tied up messily on either side, fringe bangs falling in front of his face as he bent down, a tattoo across the bridge of his nose and was that — dark purple eyeshadow around his eyes — and his eyes — god, his eyes were gorgeous, a deep dark brown — and you swore, was that a hint of purple in his irises?

He was everything that your teen self had wanted — the same guys whose profiles you had looked at growing up and thought were so hot. You caught a glance at the My Chemical Romance t-shirt as he stood, in black jeans, as he catches you staring, “Can I help you find something?” His tone was casual, but he was curious — probably curious why you were staring at him with wide-eyed saucers.

“No, no, sorry, I—” no, don’t tell the hot Hot topic worker that he is hot — first of all its confusing, second of all— “I just wanted to say, I like your t-shirt,”

Fuck. out of all the things to say — I like your style, I like your fit, I like your hair — you had to pick the most generic ass comment.

He only nods, but you catch the barest upward twitch of the corner of his lip, “thanks,”

And that’s all it took — you now needed to see him smile.

Over the next few days innocently shopping at Hot Topic, you find out his name is Choso from one of the other workers, Mahito, calling his name. His hair is usually in those buns, but one of the days his hair was down, and you heard him complain that his hair ties had snapped.

And his hair looked so good down, his long inky locks fell past his shoulders, but this was your chance to talk to him — “i have some extra hair ties, if you want them,” you offer him a few hair ties, “I overheard you talking with the other worker, I hope you don’t mind,”

And he shakes his head, his lips quirked in that almost smile that makes your heart squeeze.

Fuck.

“Not at all, thank you,’ and his fingers brush yours as he takes the hair ties, and you turn to leave, but his voice stops you, “what was your name? I didn’t catch it last time,”

You tell him, smiling, “Your name is Choso, right? I saw it on your nametag,” and he’s biting his lip, tilting his head in question, as you flush, cheeks burning, “I’ve noticed you a couple times when I’ve come in— not in a weird way, I just—”

“I’ve noticed you too,” and finally he’s smiling — and you know he’s got you, you know you’re fucked.

And you do get fucked — in the back of Hot Topic during his break.

It had been a few weeks of you two talking and flirting, until finally, during his break he’s got you snuck into the back to show you the merchandise they haven’t put out yet. And you scoff when you come across a bullet vibrator, “you guys sell these?”

He shrugs, “They started to in the last few years, not a lot. They don’t want the parents to become too outraged, but just enough,” And you snort, turning the bullet over in your fingers curiously, “have you never used one before?”

And your cheeks burn, as you bite your lip, “No I never have,” and the next question stumbles out as a joke, “why? Wanna help me learn?” And you want to bite your tongue, but you’re too busy with the foot in your mouth to do so, and before you can apologize he speaks.

“I would,”

And your eyes snap to his, and you realize how close he’s standing, his eyes not filled with humor but something else — lust? — and his lips curled in a small smile.

Fuck.

“You’re gonna have to be a little quieter, love,” he’s murmuring in your ear, pressing kisses to your neck, as you’re pressed between his firm chest and the metal storage rack, fingers laced as you held on, the vibration between your thighs the only thing ringing in your ears.

But how can you be quiet?

The bullet vibrator is pressed right against your clit, and his thick fingers are parting your folds, so close to sinking into you, his deep voice whispering in your ear, hot breath against your neck.

And the coil in your stomach is only growing tighter and tighter, and your squeals only grow more and more insistent. His fingers sunk into your mouth, “suck,” he ordered, and your cunt twitches at the demand, as you do, sucking and licking messily on his fingers, “good girl,”

And he clicks the button of the vibrator again, increasing the vibration, making your eyes widen, a gasp around his fingers, “so responsive,” he groans, as your legs grow weak, and he’s stepping forward to steady you, but it also settles his dick between your ass.

He’s huge.

The bulge presses into you, drawing a hiss from his lips as you lean back against it, “Trying to tease me, sweetheart?” And he’s pulling his fingers from his mouth, a string of spit connecting from his fingers to your lips, “don’t forget who’s teaching you,” and he sinks his spit soaked fingers into your needy cunt, making your back arch into his body, “so tight, despite the vibrator,” he hums.

“Choso, please—” and he starts to fuck his fingers in and out, the squelch of your cunt ringing in your ears mixing with the buzz of the vibrator — you’re already so close, “I'm—”

“Cum for me,” he’s grunting, as his fingers reach even deeper inside you, dragging against your walls as he curls them, finding that one spot that has you seeing stars. And your moan as you cum is stifled against your own palm, as he only maxes out the vibration and fucks you through your orgasm, “one more for me, pretty, you can do it,”

“No, no, Choso, please too much, can’t—” and he only presses sweet kisses to your neck, and how are you already close — you just had orgasmed, but the coil in your stomach is growing tighter by the second, and you’re nearly crying when you cum again, your slick dripping down his fingers and the vibrator as he eases it from you, and then splatters onto the dirty tile floor of the backroom of Hot Topic.

“Good girl,” he murmurs as he’s tilting your head back and around for a kiss. And you catch a glimpse of the glint of your release on his black painted nails as he presses the pads into your mouth, your tongue swirling around his digits and sucking them clean, “that’s it, clean up your mess f’me,” and his other hand is wiping the tears from your eyes, “so pretty when you cry — can’t wait to make you do it again.”

Your cunt twitches at the thought, your cum still dripping down your thighs, “Again?” and he’s pressing another sinful kiss to your lips, “You didn’t think this would be our only lesson, did you?”

And it wasn’t — the next lesson was spent in the fitting rooms, during a particular dead early afternoon in the store — and he had you spread on the fitting room bench, your black jeans pulled down to your ankles, as his head found its way between your thighs. You could barely hold back your whimpers as he pressed all too hot kisses to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, burning already with his warm breath. It was too much.

He was too much.

“How’s that feel?” dark eyes flicking up to meet yours, half lidded with lust, as he watches your panting face, your head against the wall of the fitting room, “use your words, love,”

“Too good, Cho-so,” the last syllable of his names escapes your lips in a gasp, as your cunt twitches as his lithe fingers tease you through the soaked material of your panties, “please, please, need you,”

“What do you need?” and his fingers pull away, as his lips press a kiss to your puffy clit, pulling a whine from you, “what do you want me to do?”

“Please, just—” and he’s tugging your panties aside, cool air rushing over your all too hot pussy, “please just touch me — with your fingers or mouth—”

And his tongue drags over your messy cunt, and god, it feels too good — but a twinge makes you pause, and when you feel it draw a circle around your clit, you realize what it is — he has a tongue piercing. Your fingers thread their way in his black locks, resisting the urge to grab at his hair buns.

He grunts, vibrations against your wet cunt, as you pull him impossibly closer to where you needed him most, his nose bumping against your clit, “you smell so good — how’s that possible?” and your eyes squeeze shut as his hands press your thighs further apart.

That’s when you both hear the click of the entrance, and the door swinging shut — shit, the door — he forgot to lock it. Forgot when you had pulled him into a kiss right when he was ready to take a lunch break, all other thoughts had flown out of his brain once he let those doors swing shut and your lips had met his — well, left his brain and flooded southward. He also didn’t think a customer would be persistent enough to try the door and wander in when the doors were shut and the closed sign was hung up.

“Choso, should we—” and the footsteps draw closer — and fuck — did you get wetter? And tighter — his moan is muffled against your walls, “Choso, stop, we—”

“You don’t mean that,” he whispers, dark, half lidded eyes look up at you, your essence and his spit soaking his lips and dripping down his chin. And the footsteps are receding, the sounds of the shuffling and clinking of clothes hangers on racks in the distance, but all you can hear are the sounds of the wet, needy squelch of your cunt, “you aren’t being honest — but you are down here,” and his lips find your clit, sucking lightly, making your head jerk back, “want them to know how good I make you feel,” his lips leave your clit with a small pop, before murmuring against the soft skin of your thigh, “be quiet for me, baby,” and his tongue slips back into your cunt.

He’s nearly slurping your juices up, his tongue tasting every inch of you, deliciously dragging against your twitching walls with his piercing, as your toes curl and your mouth parts in a muffled moan, one hand clamped over your mouth, and the other digging into his scalp. How could the person not hear you? How couldn’t they hear the wet squelch of your cunt as Choso fucked it with his tongue? How couldn’t they hear your badly swallowed moans and the sounds of your heart pounding out of your chest — and if they did, they certainly didn’t care enough to stop browsing through the fucking store.

And you’re close, so fucking close, and you don’t hear the footsteps drawing close to the fitting rooms because your ears only can hear the wet suck of his mouth against your clit or the press of his tongue in and out of your folds, your thighs twitching under his grasp, fingers pressed into your flesh, “Choso, I’m so—”

“Cum f’me, need to feel you cum around my tongue,” he sucks on your clit hard, teeth grazing the sensitive spot, and you cum, hard, your hand forsaking your lips to find purchase on his head, squirting all over his face as you did, soaking him along with the bench of the fitting room. And you can’t help the whimpers and moans that left your lips, as he lapped up your release without a care.

And you slump against the wall of the fitting room, body still buzzing from your orgasm, as he finally pulls his tongue out, glancing up at you. Your chest heaves as you watch him lick your cum from his lips and chin, before wiping the rest away, and your eyes drift downward to the erection he was palming. And your fingers unconsciously reach for it, when your hear a door slam shut making your both jump.

You cover your mouth — the customer, and Choso’s eyes meets yours, as the two of you break out in a laugh, “Fucking lock the door next time,” you sigh, covering your burning face with your hands, as Choso chuckles, lips curled in a smile.

“So there’s going to be a next time?” he tilts his head, and you flush.

How could he go from eating you out like a desperate man without water to this innocent puppy? “Not if you don’t lock the door,”

“It’s their fault for coming in when the doors were closed and there was a sign that said closed in big letters on the door,” and you shake your head, as he draws closer, “now, I have twenty minutes of lunch left — so where were we?”

And you push him towards the changing room door, “Go lock the door first,” and he relents, chuckling.

“Just for that, I’m going to look for the clit sucker I couldn’t find before.”

~~~~

The two of you had fallen into a pattern.

And you had become a regular at Hot Topic. You hung around him as he stocked the shelves, did inventory, price re-labeling, and even as he spoke to customers. You watched other customers speak to Choso, even flirt with him, but he never cracked a smile. Two girls were very persistent, but they deflated as he walked away after answering their questions, brushing past you, his hand brushing against your ass discreetly. Heat rushes to your cheeks, your head snapping to him as his lips curl when your eyes catch his gaze. But even so…

You still were just as clueless of where you stood with him as you were when this started.

“You two have been pretty hot and heavy lately, huh?” you nearly jump out of your skin, as Mahito smiles knowingly at you, leaning against the counter with a shiteating grin.

“What are you—”

“Please, like we don’t know what goes on in the back during breaks?” he raises an eyebrow, as you bite your lip, “plus, never have I seen that gloomy guy smile, much less as much he does with you,”

“Really?” your eyes find him again, as he crouches and lines up blind boxes on one of the shelves — but you can’t help the nagging question circling in the back of your mind — why hasn’t he asked you out yet? The two of you have hooked up, in and out of the store, but he still hadn’t asked you on a date. Even in the last few weeks, the two of you hadn’t even spent any real time together, except for your visits to the store -- he hasn't even taken you into the back. For all you know, you’re one of many people he’s bedding. Even if he doesn’t seem the type.

“What? Trouble in paradise?” Mahito pulls you from your thoughts, head tilted and all too eager, “what’s wrong?”

“No, it’s—“ he cuts you off with a look, and you relent with a slight pout, “he just hasn’t asked me out yet, I’m just wondering what he’s thinking—“

“Well, I definitely don’t think he’s seeing anyone else,” he hums, “but he does tend to go straight home a lot when you’re not around. Maybe something is going on at home?” And then he’s pushing you towards him, “no time like the present to find out,”

“Mahito—“

“Choso! How about you and your favorite regular go for a quick walk and get us some drinks from the food court?” He grins, offering some money, “be a doll, won’t you?”

Choso sighs, “Fine,” and he brushes past you, taking the cash, before glancing back at you, “you coming?”

You glance between the two of them, before following him out of the store. You both walk in relative silence, slipping past customers, as you reach the food court. Choso orders, paying with the cash Mahito gave, as he passes you one of the drinks, “Choso, can I ask you something?”

His eyes slide to you, “Of course,” and god, his eyes stop your thoughts in their tracks — he’s so unfairly gorgeous, funny, sweet — you didn’t want to screw this up. You open your mouth to speak when you hear a voice.

“Big bro, that you?” A rush of pink hair and energy is wrapped around Choso all of a sudden, “I didn’t think you got off until later,” it’s a teen boy, maybe fifteen or sixteen, his arm wrapped around Choso, and a varsity jacket on — this was Choso’s brother?

Choso cracked his rare smile, “I don’t get off until later, Yuji, but I came to grab a drink for Mahito,” and Yuji’s gaze slides to you.

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t see you there,” he smiles a thousand watt smile, “I’m Yuji Itadori, Choso’s brother,” and he’s glancing between you and his brother, before his mouth falls into an ‘o,’ “are you his girlfriend?”

“Yuji—“ Choso starts, a hint of a blush across his cheeks, as you stifle a laugh, “I thought you said you were going to study at home with Fushiguro.”

“I wanted to see you when your shift got off — I thought we could have dinner together,” Yuji pouts, and Choso cracks in an instant, his lips curling.

This boy had his brother wrapped around his finger.

“Ok, but don’t goof off. Make sure to study,” and Yuji nods.

“Nice to meet you,” and he leans in to whisper, “treat my brother good, ok?” And you flush, before nodding, as Choso raises an eyebrow, out of earshot.

“I will,”

“Cho, tell Mahito to fuck off for me,” and he’s off again, gone as fast as he came.

“Sorry about that,” Choso sighs, still a smile on his lips as he watches his brother in the distance, claiming one of the food court tables for himself and his friend, as he sits down next to a black haired boy, assumedly Fushiguro, “didn’t know Yuji would be here,”

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” and he bites his lip.

“It’s relatively new — we’re half brothers, but he just came back into my life. He doesn’t really have any other biological family. His grandfather just passed, and he’s staying with a teacher whose decided to foster him,” the two of you begin to walk back to the store, his gaze fixed downwards at the tacky mall carpeting, “he’s been staying with me for the last few weeks, while his foster father went on a vacation to Malaysia,”

And now the pieces were clicking into place, “And that’s why you’ve been going home a lot lately,” and his dark eyes find yours with a tilt of his head, “I mean, you just haven’t had a lot of time lately,” you can’t meet his gaze, “it must be a lot to have a teenager staying with you.”

“Yeah, he eats everything in the house, and he’s staying in my living room, which leaves little in the way of privacy,” and you can still feel the prickle of his gaze on you, “but I could use a break,” and you finally look and see a soft expression on his face, the same insecurity you had reflected in his gaze.

No time like the present, right?

“Well, should we maybe go on a date?” and his cheeks flush a pretty red, all the way to the tips of his ears, “we’ve done plenty of other things that a couple would do, like—”

And he’s shaking his head, “I know, I know!” he’s the one who can’t meet your eyes now, chewing his lip, “I’d like that — I get off my shift tonight at eight, I told Yuji we’d hang out, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind postponing—”

“We can always do it tomorrow, I don’t want to keep you from your brother,” and his lips curl into a smile, “he’s a good kid,”

“He is,” and his fingers find yours again, “I can tell Mahito that I’ll lock up tonight, and maybe after I do, we could—”

“Have another lesson?”

And eight o’clock rolls around far too slow, but Choso definitely isn’t moving slow when it’s only the two of you.

He’s pulling you into the back again, the door swinging shut behind the two of you, his fingers tight around your wrists as he’s pulling you into a bruising kiss, forcing your lips to part with a gasp, his tongue flicking against yours. The smooth surface of his piercing grazes against your tongue.

And his fingers find the back of your neck, deepening the kiss impossibly, as his other hand slips down the curves of your body, pulling you against him, his clothed cock brushing against your aching cunt.

Fuck. You had almost forgotten how big he was.

And when you hear the zipper of his black jeans, you nearly melt against him, “Choso, please—”

“I have to get you ready first, love,” his fingers find their way to the front of your jeans and undo the button, tugging the fabric down to your ankles. Cool air raises goosebumps across your skin, the pads of his fingers press against the wet patch of your panties, and he’s groaning, “but maybe I don’t,”

“Fuck, so wet for me, aren’t you?” he murmurs, as he’s walking you backwards, into one of the racks, his fingers press into the soft flesh of your thighs. And two fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear, joining your jeans, pooling around your ankles, “nearly ready now, but I still have to loosen you up,” his fingers tease your outer lips, dripping with your release.

One of his finger’s slips in with practiced ease, making your hips jolt against his hand, your fingers curling around the metal bars of the rack in front of you. His finger was so much thicker and longer than yours, his digit toyed with your walls, teasing and stretching until he drew a soft groan from your lips. He was the only one who could make you this desperate, his lips pressed against your neck, the heat from his body has your mind reeling with pleasure.

“Mmm, Choso, more—" and he’s adding another finger inside your still all too tight entrance, making you whimper, as the intrusion is all too much after a few weeks of not having him inside you.

“So greedy,” he murmurs, the wet squelch of your cunt ringing in your ears, “you’re practically sucking me in, but it’s still not enough for you, is it?” his tongue drags against the outer shell of your ear, his piercing against your skin, before his mouth envelops your earlobe and sucks.

His fingers are fucking you open, your eyes screwed shut as the tips brush against that spot, heat flooding your body. And you don’t hear the shuffling of his other hand through a box, until you hear the sound of sucking, “Choso—“ and he’s pressing the sucker against your clit, your mouth falling open as pleasure rips up your spine, the sucking sensation with the lewd noises of your pussy being finger fucked is too much.

You cum all over his hand, your hand clamping over your mouth so no one hears your moans — and your legs quake as you come down from your high, as he eases his fingers from you, “so pretty,” he murmurs, and you can feel his dark, lidded eyes on your drenched cunt, watching your sticky release cling to his fingers, purple painted nails glinting in the low light.

And he’s leaning forward, kissing down your back, as he turns you around gently, so your back is pressed against the rack. You kick off your underwear and pants. You’re still panting, chest rising and falling as his fingers press to your chin, lifting it so you meet his gaze, as he sucks his fingers clean of your cum. Heat pools again, as his fingers undo the leather belt and he’s tugging his jeans and black boxers down to his knees, his erection springs out, slapping against his stomach.

Your mouth runs dry.

Fuck, he’s even bigger than you thought.

Ten inches? No, maybe eleven. How was that even possible? That shit would break you — but fuck — your cunt twitches — you kind of want it to break you.

“Like what you see, Princess?” you lick your lips in response, and in a trance, your fingers are reaching for him, curling around the base before you slowly start to pump him. You’re rewarded with a moan, a noise that goes straight to your cunt, as your fingers move faster, trying to find the right rhythm. Pre-cum leaks from the top, as you tease his tip, before stroking back up the length of it.

And he’s a beautiful mess, his pale features flushed a gorgeous red, as he presses his hand against his mouth so his moans wouldn’t resonate. And his pre-cum drips all over your fingers, slipping down your wrist even, as you lean forward to lick it off your own skin, while you meet his gaze.

His head lolls back, eyes screwed shut now, and your fingers drift to his sack, stroking and teasing while your lips find the tip, sucking lightly before your tongue drags over the length of his cock. And god, he’s going to blow his load now, if you keep doing that, from the way his hips rock against your touch.

His fingers weave into your hair, nails digging into your scalp, “Baby, ngh, it’s too good—fuck—” he’s so close, twitching in your mouth as you suck him from tip to base, tracing his slit with the tip of your tongue, “shit, I can’t—” and you suck hard on his cock, massaging his balls, and he’s gone — he’s pumping his cock into your mouth as his cum spurts down your throat, as you swallow it all too greedily. You pull away with a pop, a string of cum and saliva connecting you to his dick still, before you wipe it away.

He’s leaning against the rack, chest heaving as he watches you with lust blown out eyes, sweat sheen on his face, “Haa, baby, s’good f’me,” and somehow he’s still hard, as you rise to your feet, thighs pressed together, your eyes fixed on his cock, “you don’t have to—”

And he’s still so sweet — his eyebrows knit together as he’s examining you with concern, but you’re only shaking your head, as you press a sweet kiss to his lips, “I need you, Choso, please,” and he’s nodding, lips meeting yours in a heady kiss that steals your breath, and he’s made you brace yourself against the rack, fingers curled around the cool metal.

Your folds are exposed to him, slick and dripping, even wetter than before, “You liked sucking me off that much, love?” he murmurs, kissing your neck, before he’s dragging the tip of his cock against your needy cunt, “I’ll go slow,” he assures you, as you nod.

He’s sinking into you inch by inch — and not even halfway, you already feel like you’re ready to burst, “So big, Choso, I—” and he’s murmuring quiet reassurances, as he’s parting your folds, the pain drawing a gasp from your lips, as he finally bottoms out.

“S’good, baby, so tight,” he’s moaning, You’re taking deep breaths, pain ebbing with each second that passes. Choso pressing sweet kisses to your neck, his hands slipping under your shirt to tease your perked nipples, mixing pain with pleasure. Tears burn at your tear ducts, as you breathe shaky breaths, and finally pain ebbs away, and pleasure grows in its place.

“S’full, so big,” you pant, growing more needy by the second, he’s reaching places you’d only dreamt of — his leaking tip kissing your cervix, “move, p-please—ah!”

And he does as you say, pulling ever so slowly out before pushing back in, grunting as he does as your tight cunt adjusts to his size and length — bullying your insides in a way no toy could ever compare to. You swear you can feel every inch, every curve, every vein as he rocks into you.

“So pretty f’me,” he’s moaning, stifled by his bitten lip, as your walls only seem to pull him back deeper each time he pulls out, “so perfect, take me so well,” he’s murmuring, as he teases your tits between his thumb and forefinger, “pretty cunt made just for me, isn’t that right, Princess?”

“Yes, yes, Choso,” and his pace only grows faster, just as his groans grow louder.

“No one else can fuck you like this, make you feel this good, can’t wait to feel you cummin’ around me,” he’s panting, his fingers tweaking your nipples, squeezing, as he fucks you deeper and deeper, his tip hitting your cervix deliciously again and again, “feels s’good, so wet and warm for me—” his hand comes down on your ass now, making you gasp, your cunt squeezing around him.

Drool slips from your mouth, as you get closer and closer to cumming — the telltale flutter of your walls, “Choso, I’m coming, I can’t—”

“Cum for me, let me fill you up,” and his fingers reach around to press a vibrator to your clit, and you’re cumming, falling apart on his cock, as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm. The squelch of your cunt and the way you squeeze him has him falling apart, spurting and painting your walls.

The two of you slump forward, your legs nearly buckling, as you cling to the rack, before he’s easing both of you back onto a bench in the stock room. Your quiet pants fill the silence of the room, as he eases himself out, groaning as you both watch your mixed releases leak out of your cunt.

“I don’t think I can walk after that,” and he chuckles in your ear, pressing a kiss to your neck.

“Don’t worry, I’ll carry you,” and you laugh, his favorite noise in the world, as you slowly turn, making him groan as your soaked pussy grinds against his dick.

“So then you can lift me up when I drop it?” your lips are curled in that same smile that had him hypnotized from the moment he saw it, and he can only reply with a bruising kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth, as you sunk yourself onto his dick again.

God. He needed to buy you tickets to Warped Tour.

~~~

The next time you show up to Hot Topic, you weren’t showing up to buy any merchandise.

“Hey emo boy!” you call out, making Choso turn with a smile on his lips — the one especially reserved for you.

“Hi baby,” he murmurs, kissing you softly, his arm around your waist, “I’m almost done. I just have to punch out.”

You lean in, words whispered against his ear, “And then you’re gonna come fuck me?”

You were picking up your boyfriend.

He smiles, wrapping an arm around your waist, before kissing you again, “You know I will.”

note: i couldn't find who made this incredible art that i used after searching and searching, so if anyone knows, please let me know so i can credit them above in the description. this fic has been a long time coming since that silly blurb i wrote after watching one too many thirst edits of choso. edit: i found the artist: its @/SS_utr3n on twt!!!

tag list: @uroldall, @jlovesfrogs, @existential54321, @staryukis, @samistars, @chosoilysm, @astroholic, @emii4evr, @rose1238, @butterflieskeepcominback, @divinely-yourz, @fishii28, @seresukuin, @misalsmistake, @xkaidaxxxx, @cappric, @famebydefinition, @theatergeek, @sousblogga, @averagelonelypotato, @timesnewreader, @chrvstxl, @darylthekidd, @merelydaydreaming, @notafan77, @naughtygobbo, @smiley-babe, @butterflieskeepcominback, @entirelytoooobsessed, @acenanxious

#sab [mlist]#choso kamo x reader #choso x reader #choso kamo smut #choso kamo fanfiction #choso kamo x you #choso smut #choso x you #choso kamo fanfic #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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thexsilentxwordsmith · 7 months

Text

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Simon desperately eating you out after a rough day.

***

The door slammed shut, making you jump and bump against the edge of the counter that you stood at before the sink, finishing up a few stray dishes that had been left from the night before. You turned to see Simon standing there in the doorway, stiff as a goddamn board with only his eyes clocking the room to find you and locking on to your form like a beast ready to pounce.

"Pants off...now," he demanded, his voice metered and firm as he removed the mask covering his features.

"Well, hello to you too," you chuckled as you crossed your arms over your chest, but he was not in a picking mood. "What's up?"

He took a calming breath; it wasn't your fault his mood had been soured today and he didn't need to upset the only person that could turn this all around. "It's been a fuckin' day, luv. Need something to take the edge off before I send someone to the goddamn morgue. So, again, pants off…please."

This wasn't the first time you'd encountered this specific Simon before; his short, gruff sentences were an obvious indication that he has had an absolutely rotten fucking day and was completely over it already. And because this wasn't your first time you knew what he wanted…

…what he needed to let all that stress go.

Slowly you undid the button of your pants, pulling down the zipper before slipping your hands inside the waistband and sliding your jeans down off your legs. Once you removed them from around your ankles you tossed them to the side and stood there in your panties and tank top, waiting for him to give you your next instruction. Like a flash he moved in and was now on top of you, enveloping you entirely with his hulking form as it fit against your curves until your backside was being indented by the edge of the countertop.

Hot, hungry lips scrambled to aggressively connect with your own, fighting for dominance as the back and forth of the dance continued with each passing second. He let himself go to become consumed by you, unable to find a pause to take a breath as he all but devoured you whole until there was nothing left in his mind but you.

Those large hands with their thick, rough digits pawed desperately at the warm, soft skin of your bare hips, grasping as much meat between them that they could hold. All those curves, all the smooth, voluptuous flesh ready to be caressed, it was enough to drive him insane; how fucking lucky he was to have it all at his disposal now to help cure his bad day?

God you were a fucking feast and he was starving.

The connection between your lips was broken sloppily and with haste, a sting of spittle connecting your lips sparkling in the light as he pulled away. Simon hurriedly grabbed the hem of your tank top and ripped it up and over your head, letting your breasts drop and jiggle with the reverb as they were set from their cage.

"Fuck," he groaned under his breath with a sharp inhale through his teeth as he latched those lips back on to your own. "That's a sight that could do me in."

On the move he leaned his tall head lower as those raw lips began to explore further down along the curve of your neck, the line of your shoulder, and finally coming to those beautiful breasts which he immediately sucked into his mouth. The suction was intense as he used the very tip of his tongue to circle those perky rosebuds until he felt them stiffen against the roof of his mouth and your body twitch from the tingly feeling it gave off that shot up your spine.

Whatever you were doing before this felt like a distant memory as his attention grew your arousal so that your body responded in kind to him just the way he wanted. He switched sides on your chest, not wanting the first breasts twin on the other side to get left out. Simon only moved on after your hips began to grind against the bulge growing at the front of his pants.

His lips continued down the line of your body as he knelt to the ground before you, ready to put everything into worshiping that sweet pussy he loved so goddamn much. Over your sternum and stomach all the way down to your pelvis his lips caressed until they reached a roadblock covering those last few inches to his destination. That was quickly dealt with as his fingers wrapped around the waistband of your panties to slide them down your thighs, letting his lips keep going all the way to the mound of your sex; only then did he pause.

"Spread," he demanded again as his hands tapped at your inner thighs, his message being short and sweet and to the point. "I'm fuckin' endin' this day on a high note. I'm not stopping' till I'm on the goddamn verge of death by suffocation, so don't ya even try to move, luv."

You widened your stance with the guidance of his hands until there was enough space to allow his face to fit between them. Hands back on your hips, holding them as handlebars so that he could incline his face against your cunt he dove in.

Your petals were so warm, so silky, and it felt good on his mouth as he kissed that other lovely set of lips a few times, sighing as he was finally able to relax in his favorite place.

"Here we go, baby," Simon breathed into you as he extended his tongue and drug it over the slit between your legs until he had split you open, rubbing the muscle through the small accumulation of your juices to coat his tongue.

Goddamn were you sweet tonight. "Mmmm mmmm," his deep, garbled hum vibrated deliciously on your clit as the taste of you filled Simon's mouth and tingled on his taste buds.

…And then he began to move the pad of his tongue…

Over and over his tongue engaged your core. "Fuck, Simon," his name fell from your lips as his tongue began to make you writhe against his face.

"Again," he said in that gruff growl as he pulled from your for only a second.

You knew exactly what he meant for you to do. "Simon," his name was beautifully moaned from you once more as he focused all his efforts on that small bead of nerve endings at the top innermost part of your cunt.

The sound of your soft, breathy voice calling out to him made the previously enraged Lieutenant fucking crack at the seams and any trace of that rage-inducing day was suddenly completely gone; replaced by a fire to make good on his promise to desperately lap at you for as long as it took until his skin was infused with your scent and he was fully satisfied.

He moved up even tighter against your core, locking on so that even as you bucked there was no chance he would fall off until he was good and fucking ready to let you go. Shit he was pushing you to the limit of what you could take, your body aching wildly as his strike hit precise and deliberate every time until you were right at the cusp of your pleasure. God, his pace was relentless.

Overwhelmed with the intense gathering of warmth in your belly, your toes began to curl together over top of the floor as you scrambled to keep your breathing steady through the growing euphoria. How were you supposed to force yourself to intake air when all your functioning had been redirected straight to that pleasure sensor in your brain?

That thought had little time to gain traction as that feeling of impending pleasure had reached its peak.

Suddenly you were spilling violently, crying out as you tried to move him from you, but Simon was in this till the end. He kept at it until you had ridden it out to completion and finally settled, your heavy panting becoming softer and more drawn out.

You thought that that was it; the finale had been reached and all was good right? You could not have been more wrong. A wet flash of a smirk crossed his lips as he stood back up before you.

Without even a verbal warning his hands were suddenly digging into your sides as he picked you up and threw you over his shoulder, carrying you out of the kitchen and into the bedroom where he sat you on the surface of the bed. Reaching with one of his hands over his shoulders he gripped the fabric of his shirt in his grasp and pulled until it came off over the top of his head, throwing the useless article to the floor before stalking towards the bed.

"On ya knees baby," he grunted as he hurriedly laid down on his back beside you further up towards the head of the bed. "Over my face. Now."

Simon pulled at your arm until you moved, his need to be smothered between your thighs causing him to rush. Grabbing on to the headboard for leverage you knelt over his head.

Your petals glistened with the sticky cum and saliva mixture he had just created as he ate his first course, but there was still plenty to get lost in and he was more than ready to dive back into it.

Greedy hands rubbed up and down the smooth skin of your thighs. "Sit," he commanded and you bent your legs until you were just above his nose, but that wasn't good enough; he didn't need you being gentle, he needed you to give him what he wanted - to let him drown in you.

"No hoverin', I said sit," he hissed as he quickly moved his hands to your hips and wrenched them down so that you had no choice but to lower yourself until your pussy was completely flush against his face like a chair.

His breath hitched not just from the instant lack of available oxygen, but because the feeling of being completely enveloped by your pussy was akin to being high; he was on cloud fucking nine just suffocating against you.

The headboard thumped against the wall from your arms shaking as full contact was made again along your core after just having come. The tears stung your eyes, your over-stimulated clit so sensitive it almost hurt. His grip on your hips didn't let up, keeping the pressure tight so that there was no chance of escape, even though you wriggled in search to ease up a little.

There was still some fight left in you; that simply wouldn't fucking do as it meant he hadn't finished the job and he was anything but thorough. Simon needed you completely spent and too exhausted to even move a goddamn inch.

"I-I can't…I can't," you pleaded with him as you squirmed over top of his stark features like anything you said would persuade him to give up.

You could hear his voice in your head, you knew what he'd say if he could talk at that moment. "Oh yes you can sweetheart. You're gonna fuckin' take it all for me."

I mean look at that big boy, he could eat and that meant all types of meals, you included most of all.

As if a nonverbal response to your mewling, his tongue picked up in speed, stroking wildly against your clit with reckless abandonment. Your fingernails were digging into the wood of the headboard, thighs vibrating against Simon's ears as each movement of that deadly appendage brought you closer and closer to your second harsh release.

"Bastard," you whined.

He gave your hips a hard squeeze. Call me what you like baby, he thought, you're still gonna fuckin' come as many times as I want.

So warm, so wet, so soft, gasping for air... He was in heaven.

Unconsciously your hips began rocking along with the thrusts of his tongue, riding him just as he worked and that familiar feeling in your stomach returned. Seconds passed…or was it minutes? Hours? Time seemed to pass differently when he was eating you out.

All of a sudden you stopped rocking, pressing your pussy as hard as you could against his face, and with a few more hard strokes you cried out as you came violently, slamming into the headboard as your thighs clamped down around Simon's ears.

"S-s-shit…" you whimpered as you ground out the last drop of your ecstasy until Simon tapped your thigh to be set free.

Legs shaking, chest heaving, eyes glazed over, cheeks flushed bright red, you fell down on the bed beside him, unable to move a muscle save for your head. Turning your face towards him you were met with a very happy and content man gazing back at you with those fiery auburn eyes, face absolutely drenched from eyebrows to chin in a thin layer of your cum.

He reached out to you, his palm cupping over the entirety of your cheek. "You did so fuckin' good for me sweetheart," he praised, thumb rubbing over the supple skin there. "So fuckin' good that I think ya deserve a break…but I don't think I'm finished quite yet."

"Oh?" you questioned back through heavy breaths, eyes wide. More?

He chuckled in that deep vibrato as he rolled over to kiss your forehead. "Well… ya see… it was a really fuckin' bad day."

You hadn't planned on dying today, but if Simon got his way he would be setting up your funeral later tonight, but there were worse ways to go…right?

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teamatsumu · 3 months

Text

purple and pink. (rafayel x reader)

summary: you and rafayel cover yourselves in paint and (redacted).

word count: 3450

warnings: porn without plot, smut, swearing, nsfw, mdni, fem!reader

tags: @keiva1000 @kindnessspreads @msbyomimi

a/n: my brain is rotting for this man so this is just self indulgent crap atp

You weren’t exactly an artistic person.

You just never indulged in art before. Of course, you admired the craft and thought it was extremely difficult to actually create meaningful art. But you didn’t think you were a particularly creative person, nor did you think you had an eye for such stuff.

Ever since you began dating Rafayel, you would say your appreciation for art had definitely improved. How could it not, considering he spent all day creating it, and in the time he wasn’t, his world was still colored by the lens of it. Rafayel saw art everywhere he went, in the gentle roll of the water where it rippled in fountains, or the timid but pinpoint light of a lone star in a dark sky. He loved describing it to you, and the way he put it would make you look around twice. He had really changed the way you viewed the world.

What you were about to do now wasn’t exactly the kind of art that made you think deeply of the universe, but hey, not all art can make you question your existence. Sometimes you need to create….. lighter pieces.

Stepping back, you stared down at the bed sheet sized canvas you had stuck to the floor, sure that you had used enough adhesive to keep it temporarily in place. The clock on the far wall of the studio told you that Rafayel would be home in a little while, which meant you needed to start the next phase of your plan shortly. But first things first, you needed lighter clothes.

After you had switched your jeans and button down shirt for a thin, short robe, you began pulling down buckets of paint from the storage closet connecting to the main studio. You chose only two, a light purple and a light pink. Both colors you knew Rafayel liked using in his pieces. You might not know a whole lot about art, but you knew him inside out. And you also knew he would love this idea.

You spent the next few minutes going over the canvas with the two buckets, pouring a few globs of paint over it. Small, but dense, with lots of blank canvas around them so they could be spread. You decided to only do two or three globs of each color. After all, wasn’t the art in how the colors would move and slide on the canvas? This should be enough paint for that purpose.

Your face was heating up at the thought of what was about to happen, and you felt almost giddy. When was he going to be home? You couldn’t wait to get started.

As if on cue, the door of the studio clicked open, not making a single sound as your boyfriend lumbered in, closing the door behind him. His white shirt was loose, black pants tight, and you couldn’t help but admire his ass when he turned around to shut the door with a light snap.

“Hey-” He stopped almost immediately upon seeing you, eyeing the half empty paint can you were setting down and the flimsy robe covering your body. A body that was definitely naked under it.

“What are you doing?” You saw his eyes flick over you and then behind to eye the massive canvas you had laid out, along with the little circles of paint looking fresh and shiny on it. You gave him a grin.

“I was hoping we could collaborate for your next piece.” You tugged at his shirt until you both stood closer to the canvas, taking special joy in how confused he looked. His eyes kept darting all over the place to try and make sense of what was going on, and you had to stifle a giggle.

You thought to elaborate on your suggestion by slowly unbuttoning his crisp white shirt. Rafayel raised his eyebrows but didn’t stop you, probably curious to see what you were cooking. You tugged his shirt off his toned shoulders, before going to work on his pants. His hand finally seized yours, tilting his head so your eyes would meet his.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” His tone was amused. You hummed almost in thought, pulling your hand away. You tugged on the belt of your robe until it slipped free, and the front fell open. You saw the tips of Rafayel’s ears turn red, and his expression blanked a bit.

“You have paint. You have a canvas. And you have me.” Your voice was a low whisper. You reached into the bucket next to you, palms stretched, until they were both covered in paint. Then you reached one hand up and dragged your fingertips over his bare abs.

The cool paint made them contract a bit, and you heard the way his breath hitched under the touch. Four long streaks of pink now stood out against his pale skin. Finally, you looked back up to meet his gaze, his face inches from yours.

Rafayel’s blush had extended from his ears down to his neck, but the corner of his lip twitched up into a slow grin. His hands were eager as he undid the button of his pants, and you felt a thrill run up your spine. You watched him undress quickly. He was slow, smooth, as he lifted one precise hand to tug on the shoulder of your loose robe until it was falling off your shoulders and pooling at your feet.

He looked around and his eyes caught the second can of paint. Purple. He dipped his hands into it, and you watched him walk back over to you.

“Where did you get this idea, baby?” His voice had lost its confusion, coated in honey now, sultry and low, nearly a whisper, and you shivered when his breath hit your bare neck. He took advantage of the fact that your hair was pulled up and away from your shoulders, tracing gentle lips over the slope of your shoulder. Instinctively, your hands smoothed over his torso, and you were reminded of the paint on them, still wet, now swiped onto the man before you.

Rafayel hummed at the feeling and proceeded to return the favor, his hands set on your hips. The paint was cool on your skin, and you almost jumped at the temperature if it weren’t for his warm hands taking the feeling away in the next second. Your boyfriend gave your naked bodies a gentle tug backwards until you were stepping on paper, slight crinkling noises hitting your ears.

Gentle lips now made contact with yours, and you sighed in relief. You had missed this, just the feeling of him kissing you. You had been thinking about it- and other things- all day, and you were so excited to start. Hands caressed over each other slowly but eagerly, and you couldn’t even begin to imagine how much paint you had managed to get on each other.

Your kisses became more hurried, more firm, and you could feel Rafayel’s body temperature rise a bit. His breath stuttered when you moaned into his mouth, tongues dancing together in a synchronized battle. He nibbled at your bottom lip and you arched deeply into him, nails digging into his biceps.

“Fuck, the paint is drying.” You managed to gasp out when your lips separated, his mouth finding the skin behind your ear immediately. He sucked hard on it, until you shivered and let out a long, shaky breath. Your knees were so weak, and you were glad for his strong arms wrapped around your waist, since it was the only thing currently holding you up.

He hummed against your skin, not letting up on the marks he was marring it with. You had discovered pretty early on that Rafayel was a biter, and marks on your skin was another way he created art. It just so happened that you enjoyed the feeling more than you could ever think to describe.

“Good thing you laid more out for us then.” He responded, referring to the globs just below your feet, before tugging you down until you were sprawled on the canvas below you. It was cool under your skin, and you felt something wet just under your shoulder. Oh. Your eyes met Rafayel’s before they finally traveled down his body for the first time since you two had started. You gulped in a deep breath.

His pale skin was covered in purple and pink streaks, like smooth color streaked over brilliant porcelain. The ridges and bumps of his muscles stood out even more under the paint, and you could tell in a few places the exact route your hands had taken, pink running over his waist and down his V-line. The remnants of the journey your fingers took stood before you, proud on his skin. You felt a thrill run through you at the sight, something stirred in your core.

“This is turning you on.” Rafayel observed, a light smirk resting on his face. You felt your body burn at the teasing lilt of his voice.

“As if this isn’t something you’ve dreamed of doing.” You retaliated, opening your legs so he could fit himself between them, resting his elbows on either side of you so your faces were a hairbreadth away. He hummed and sighed, lowering his body until his erection grazed right over your center, making you gasp.

“Believe me, I’ve dreamed of this.” He sighed, reached for the paint to the left and just above your head. You watched him cover his palm with it before he reached down, hooking a hand under your knee and pulling it up until it folded against your torso. The paint was wet on your skin, and you were learning to love the feeling more and more. His cock prodded your entrance, now on full display for him. He gave you another mischievous smirk.

“Baby I’m about to ruin you so bad.”

The first slide of him inside you had you crying out and arching into him, his cock carving its way through your unprepped hole and bringing with it a burn so delicious it made your head spin. When he bottomed out, he moaned unabashedly into your ear, hot breath hitting the shell of it and sending shivers through your spine. Your core clenched and unclenched rapidly, trying to adjust to the glorious intrusion. Your brain screamed at him to move, to slide in and out, do anything at all. You needed to feel him rock into you. Your hips twitched and jerked, making your boyfriend moan before he finally started moving.

His thrusts started out languid, smooth, gliding in and out of you at a reasonable pace. You sighed, head leaned back and reveling in the feeling it brought, leg tensing under his grip. Little tendrils of pleasure zipped up from where you were connected, heavy cock stretching you open until your pussy was adequately wet, ready to take the pounding you knew was inevitably coming your way.

And oh, did you receive it.

Slowly, steadily, Rafayel picked up the pace until his hips were smacking hard into your pelvis, knocking every breath from your lungs. You cried out, one arm thrown over his shoulder while the other seeked desperate purchase under you, used to the feeling of silk sheets but now met with nothing but smooth, stretched out canvas and the wet sensation of sticky color. Rafayel used the grip he had on your knee to twist your leg out further, inviting him to hit that one spot that made you see stars. A broken wail left your mouth and your back arched impossibly high, hearing a low moan hit your ear when you clenched tight around the cock pounding into you.

“F-fuck, Rafi-” His head lifted, just enough to connect your lips in a desperate slurry of rushed kisses, sucking and biting on your lips as his pace didn’t so much as stutter. Your moans dissolved straight into his mouth, little pornographic ‘yeah, yeah, yeah’s slipping out with every thrust. You didn’t bother muffling them, knowing exactly what the noises did for Rafayel’s ego, and with how he was ravishing you currently, you were okay with giving him a little ego boost.

(You would deal with the consequences of that later.)

“Gonna cum-” You managed to choke out just as your orgasm rammed into you with no warning, effectively silencing any other words as you cried and shook through it, muscles seized tight and legs kicking in the air.

“God- fuck,” Rafayel’s first words. “There you go. Fuck, that’s it.”

He fucked you through the last vestiges of your high before his arms slipped under your arched waist and lifted you up, rolling over until you were perched on his hips, throbbing cock still nestled inside you. The change in position made him slide in deeper, and you let out a broken moan. Your orgasm was still lingering around the edges, encouraging you to prolong the feeling, to chase after it again. And so you did. You rolled your hips, placing your hands on Rafayel’s abs as leverage to push your body up and down. You finally took a good look at your boyfriend.

His chest was heaving with exertion, shining under the glow of the lights above you, catching on the swirling mixes of purple and pink. Under the paint, his skin glistened with sweat, tensing and straining under his movements. The paint had reached all the way up the side of his neck, and even into his hair, blending with the purple tresses. The purple complimented his eyes, half lidded and heavy with lust, his lip was tucked under his teeth.

He was a vision.

“Baby, you’re so fucking beautiful.” His voice was fractured and strained, and in your staring you had forgotten that you were also the object of his gaze. You couldn’t imagine how you looked right now, slathered with paint and hot under the stimulation you were receiving, strands of hair leaving your bun and trailing down over your face and neck. You rolled your hips and tightened hard around his cock, watching the way his jaw slackened and eyes rolled shut. Another zip of pleasure ran through you, and you couldn’t help but keen, pushing yourself to go faster, to make him feel even better.

“I’m- I’m so close.” You could feel your vision swim, tears gathering in your lash line as his cock dug deep into your core, prodding into your spongy walls in all the right ways. Rafayel grabbed both your wrists off his chest, pulling them behind your back and then tugging you down until your body was pinned tight against his. You let him do as he pleased, planting his feet on the canvas before he started thrusting hard and fast up into your sopping cunt.

You screamed and arched, body tensing at the pace he set, chin resting on his shoulder and head thrown back as you let him carry you face first into another orgasm, gushing around him until the sounds of his thrusts grew impossibly wetter, sloppier than the paint around you and covering you, blabbering incoherent phrases and curses as tears poured from your eyes. With every thrust, the ecstasy prolonged itself, like an endless high that came with intense drugs, except all you needed was him, and he would get you there if it was the last thing he did.

Your perspective was shifting, Rafayel’s cock leaving you until you felt cold and empty. He maneuvered you onto your hands and knees, or rather, arms and knees since you felt that you couldn’t even hold yourself up at this point. A firm hand pushed on your back until it arched to his liking, spreading you until he could slide his massive length back into you with little to no resistance. You whimpered pathetically, eyes rolling unhindered in your head, cheek smushed into the paper beneath you. Briefly, you felt like you could almost taste the paint, but the thought left your brain faster than cigarette smoke dissipating on a windy day when Rafayel started moving again.

“Stop me if you can’t take it.”

You could never, would never stop him, not when your pussy keened at the feeling of his cock filling you up to fulfillment once more. Especially not when he planted a foot on your side that gave him leverage to thrust harder and stronger into you. Your body buzzed and reveled under the feeling of being used like this, basking in the sounds coming from Rafayel getting heavier and choppier as he finally chased his own orgasm instead of yours. You wanted nothing more than for him to warm you up, fill you with his seed until you couldn’t take any more of it. Your depraved mind was wiped blank of everything else except that crushing need.

“Cum in me.” You managed to whine, clenching hard around him. Rafayel moaned and his hips stuttered.

“Fuck. I’m gonna- I’m cumming baby, take it, take it, take it, take it-” Your body jostled at the strength of his thrusts, once, twice, and then he was slamming his cock deep into you and holding it there, hot spurts of cum hitting your walls. Painting your insides white like your bodies had painted your outsides purple and pink.

Your entire body collapsed on itself when Rafayel pulled out, dropping onto the paper heavily as you tried to catch your breath. Your vision was swimming and so was your head, unable to do anything but focus on the faint buzz in your muscles. You could hear shuffling somewhere behind you before you were being lifted into strong arms. You sighed and curled into them, seeking the warmth of your boyfriend after the beating your body just took. And he was happy to provide it- in the tub he ran for you while both of you settled into warm water.

You dozed in and out of sleep as Rafayel cleaned you up, giggling and humming along with whatever little anecdotes he was telling you. He knew you would barely remember most of it later, considering how dopey and spacey you got after sex. You pouted and leaned up to him every few minutes, stealing tiny kisses from his lips. And afterwards, you let him pat you dry and put you to bed in the usual “princess treatment” he gave you after one of your sessions. The only time he backed off from teasing you relentlessly and instead doted on you properly.

You couldn’t tell how long you slept, but you woke up feeling well rested. The bed next to you was empty but still slightly warm, and you could hear quiet shuffling outside in the studio.

Your muscles screamed when you forced them to move, your hips and thighs feeling like particular sore spots. You ignored the feeling in favor of pulling a shirt off the floor to throw over your body, realizing it was your boyfriend’s when it fell all the way to your thighs. You trudged out of the room while rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You saw him standing with his back to you, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. The muscles of his bare back shifted as he moved, now clear of all the paint you two had slathered on it. Oh right, the paint.

Your eyes shifted behind him to the canvas, which Rafayel had propped up against the wall now, and was observing silently. You walked closer to admire the streaks of pink and purple on it, watching it carefully. Somehow, the choppy strokes showed your desperation, your passion, and you felt your face heat up at the thought.

“Looks pretty.” Your voice was slightly rough. Rafayel turned around at the sound and gave you a soft smile, pulling you closer and wrapping his arms around you from behind as you both stared. You settled into his warmth as you swayed gently back and forth.

“Why’re you thinking so hard about it?” You asked.

You turned your head to watch as he huffed and pouted a bit. He looked so cute, you bit back the urge to squish his cheeks.

“Pretty sure there’s some cum in there somewhere.”

Aaaaaand the urge was gone.

You smacked his chest hard, making him jerk back and laugh, but not releasing his hold on you.

“You’re disgusting.”

“Not more than you.”

He kissed you before you could land another smack, hand cupping your jaw to tilt your head back. You fought to keep a grin down, but failed when you felt his lips stretch with a smile of his own, erupting into giggles.

#rafayel x reader #rafayel x you #love and deepspace #love and deepspace fanfiction #lnd #rafayel #love and deepspace x reader #rafayel smut #love and deepspace smut #rafayel x y/n

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heartss4val · 4 months

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𐑺 ˖ ࣪ ࿐ྂ I WANNA BE YOURS | percy jackson x gn!reader

percy jackson looks at you like you were the one who put the stars in the sky.

the son of poseidon gazes at you with so much awe and admiration in his eyes that most people would think you had just defeated a minotaur with your bare hands, or cured cancer or saved the world from total destruction, something that would be remembered for centuries to come. but in reality, all you did was toss a few nuts to the squirrels that scurried around camp. percy jackson looks at you in such a way that even aphrodite herself would point and squeal.

though, he'd never admit to that. the only telltale sign of his infatuation is the rosy tint that creeps up the tips of his ears every time you you pass by, and his lips that struggle to stay in a straight line whenever you flash him that smile—the one that makes his heart leap up and into his throat. even after four years of friendship, percy still hasn't figured out how to sit next to you and not be totally in love with everything you do.

it's as though you have some sort of magic power over him—a power that he's powerless to resist. and as much as he'd like to deny it, he secretly revels in the feeling.

but percy jackson would never confess his desires for you—not when kronos is still actively seeking to wipe out the demigod population. he can't afford to display any signs of weakness.

but it's worth it, he thinks, to risk everything just to wrap his arms around you and plant a kiss on your lips that would set the world on fire. yet he knows he can't—not without endangering you. not without putting you in harm's way. so why is it so unbearable to imagine life without you, when you were never really his to begin with?

and in those moments, when his mind is consumed with thoughts of you, memories of your touch and your gaze playing on repeat in his mind, he's left thinking, 'did i imagine it?' did he dream up the way your touch lingered on his arm as you adjusted his armor? the way you looked at him across the dining pavilion before turning away, as if you'd been caught in the act of something secret and sweet? he must have, right? because you would never look at someone like him with such tenderness. not at someone hot-headed and impulsive, someone with so many rough edges. no, you couldn't have looked at him like that. it must all be in his head.

you couldn't have looked at him the same way he looks at you.

despite his best efforts to conceal it, percy's convinced that everyone can see right through him. he knows that everyone can see right through him. the teasing from his fellow campers has been relentless—nicknames hurled his way, each one more unflattering than the last. romeo, hopeless romantic, loverboy..

loverboy.

he's no loverboy. not some kind of lovesick puppy at the mercy of some unattainable crush. no, that nickname is only reserved for the truly whipped, those who are wrapped around someone's finger, glued to their side at all times. he's no..

and then his head snaps up at the sound of your voice, suddenly alert. and there you are, all dazzling and gorgeous, a beacon in a sea of identical orange t-shirts and jeans. you stand out as though a spotlight has been trained on you alone. which is weird because to most people you're just another camper. albeit, an incredibly beautiful camper, but still, just a camper. so why is he so infatuated with you, specifically?

maybe he is a loverboy.

the realization hits him like a ton of bricks, and he almost groans out loud. can't he just carve his heart out and be done with it at this point? isn't that what the poets do?

but since he never really cared for those dead old men taught in school, like edward allan poe or whatever his name was, he'll settle for just daydreaming now. he'll settle for stolen glances across the room and the brush of your hands as you reach for a book. he'll settle for relishing in your little touches and how your lips shine in blueberry chapstick until he's ready. he'll admire the curve of your nose and the triumphant hugs you give him after your team wins capture the flag. he'll settle for it until it's not enough anymore. he'll settle for it until he needs more.

#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson #percy jackson x you #heroes of olympus #percy jackson x y/n #heroes of olympus x reader #hoo #hoo x reader #pjo x reader #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo #x reader #percy jackson imagine #percy jackson x yn #percy jackson fluff #pjo imagine #riordanverse x reader

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aphrogeneias · 7 months

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𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫, 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐞 — squirting

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

warnings: shy!reader (not "innocent" or inexperienced, just a little more reserved). penetrative sex.

Chrissy didn't know what she was doing.

It was an innocent question — as innocent as the questions being raised could be, that night. The conversation had quickly descended into more risqué subjects after Steve had gotten a little too tipsy and started complaining about his lack of luck on his latest escapades.

Nothing out of the ordinary, really. You were all used to talking about sex in one way or another. Eddie was famously loud about it, always having a story to tell, his or otherwise. Stories that made you imagine yourself on the receiving end of, guiltily wanting your friend to do those same things he was describing to you.

You kept those fantasies to yourself, though. Not wanting to be teased by the girls, maybe even worse, have them try to set you up with him. You wouldn't be able to live with yourself if Eddie ever rejected you, or dated you out of pity. There was no scenario where this would work in your mind, no "you and Eddie", just you and your thoughts of him, where he would never hurt you, where all he did was make you feel good, imagining it his hands on your body, roaming until they found that place between your legs, instead of your own.

That night, it was no different. After Steve started the conversation, there was no stopping it. You often listened more than talked — not due to lack of experience, you were just a little too shy to share too much, even among close friends — but when the talk switched to Robin commenting about making her girlfriend squirt, you slipped.

"Good for her."

Your reply may have sounded a little more bitter than you'd anticipated, because, one by one, all of your friends looked at you. Maybe it was the scoff that has left your mouth, maybe it was the alcohol that had loosened your tongue.

"What was that?" Nancy asked, raising a perfectly groomed eyebrow at you.

"Yeah. What was that?" This time, it was Eddie who repeated her question. He sat on the opposite couch with his legs spread, tight black jeans stretching on his lean legs, making you wish you sat between them. You avoided his eyes.

"Nothing. I mean…", you signed, already regretting having said anything, "it's good! Good for her. Robin is good to her, that's a good thing."

You cringed even before you could finish all those convoluted sentences.

"Honey, have you ever… you know," Chrissy asked from her place on the floor, sitting as delicate as a fairy. "squirted?"

"No." You said, simply. Scared to run your mouth even more. "It's not a big deal. Doesn't happen to everybody."

"Have you tried?" Steve asked from behind his beer. He got a myriad of answers ranging from "that's not how It works, dingus!" from Robin, "it's not a matter of trying" from Nancy and "don't ask that, dude" from Eddie.

"I don't even know where to start, Steve. And before anyone asks, yes, I have cum from sex. Just not… like that."

You wanted to crawl into the nearest hole. It was even worse when you could feel Eddie's eyes on you, like he could see right through you. He tilted his head, and you weren't able to handle the kindness in his brown eyes. You looked away.

Your friends' opinions diverged again, making questions and trying to get you to speak, but you couldn't deal with their scrutiny anymore.

"C'mon, guys. It's fine! Can we change the subject, please?" You tried to swerve them. "Like I said, it's not a big deal. Maybe I'm just broken like that."

They shrugged. You shrugged. They moved on — but Eddie's eyes stayed on you for the rest of the night.

You're on Eddie's passenger seat, right in front of your apartment building, later that night when he brings the subject up again.

"I don't think you're broken."

The two of you had spent the entire ride silent, which was odd since Eddie was the chatterbox between the two of you, always filling the gaps with anything that would cross his mind. Neither that, nor his music filled the silence between you.

"What?" You looked at him, still not believing what you'd heard.

"You said that maybe you were broken like that. That's not true, you're… you're perfect."

That feeling of wanting to hide came back tenfold, making your eyes fill with tears. "Eddie, forget about it, please."

"Hey," he brought your gaze back to him with a finger to your chin, delicately turning your head. "I meant what I said. You're perfect, it's just that no one's taken the time to treat you right. It takes patience, from both sides."

"Yeah, and?"

"I was thinking that maybe I could change that. If you'd let me."

One thing you'd always admired about Eddie was his strength of conviction. He never said anything he didn't believe in, and backed it all up. His voice never faltered, he doesn't shy away from speaking his mind — and you hated that you were forcing yourself to disbelieve him.

"Eddie…"

"Look at me." He pleaded, and in spite of your concerns, you did as he told. His eyes bore into your with a sincerity that was so painfully him. "You can say no. I'll go home and we'll forget about everything I just said. But, sweetheart… I'm dying to prove you wrong."

Eventually, he did.

After you'd gotten up the stairs to your floor kissing and tugging at each other's clothes, letting Eddie's tongue taste yours over and over, stopping to let yourself be cornered against the wall by him. Getting lost in the feeling of his solid body against yours, the smell of him — a strong, masculine perfume, cigarettes and beer — making you dizzy, his lips on your neck making you even dizzier.

After he took your clothes off halfway down your living room, reverencing your body with his rough hands, kneeling between your feet in the middle of your halfway. He made you cum for the first time that night with his mouth, kissing your pussy the way he kissed your mouth, sucking on your clit the same way he sucked on your tongue. You came as you pulled his hair, his strong arms around your hips preventing you from falling.

After he guided you to your bed, still craving a taste of you. Hands not knowing where to sit still while he pulled another orgasm from you, his fingers deep within you, curling and stroking your walls, his mouth still not leaving your clit. Your ears buzzed with the force of your climax, not being able to hear Eddie's praise. "That's my girl," he said, head resting on the plush of your thigh, looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky, "doing such a good job, but I'm not done with you yet."

After he made your eyes blur with pleasure when you finally entered you, rubbing the head of his cock on your sensitive bundle of nerves, once, twice, three times before putting it in, slowly bottoming out. Leaving kisses all over your face, shining with sweat. You didn't think you could take it, curling your toes and hugging his narrow hips with your spread legs, feeling each thrust with a tenderness you never did before.

After he filled and stretched you to the brim, pulling out only to push it all in again. Uttering against your skin, broken whimpers, your name on his lips like a prayer. You were beyond the point of forming words, kissing him to stop yourself from screaming. You could feel yourself dripping down your pussy, and into the sheets, soaking Eddie's cock.

After he pulled your thigh higher up his waist, and stood on his knees, pounding into you with measured speed. He hit your spot over, and over, and over — you grabbed the sheets with both hands, repeating his name like a broken record, music to his ears.

"Yeah? That feels good, baby? Am I making you feel good?" Eddie looked like a god above you. Wild hair down to his shoulders, pale skin slick with sweat, eyes drilled on you. You made the mistake of looking down to where your bodies met, watching his thick cock drenched with your juices, going in and out of you. His pubic hair, also matted with your wetness, creating a delicious friction against your clit. "Tell me. Who's making you feel this good?"

"You, Eddie." You whimpered. "You, you, you. Always you."

"That's right, baby. That's" a hard thrust, "fucking," a a squeeze of your thigh, "right."

You felt your orgasm approach with a deep pressure on your navel, building and building until you couldn't keep It down anymore. You let yourself go, the ringing in your ears louder and cleared, cumming with Eddie's name on your lips.

That's when you felt it. You were limp in your bed, with Eddie above you. You'd felt him cum too, dropping his weight above you, but still keeping himself steady by his elbows. but everything was distant, like it was happening in a dream. Slowly, you came back to yourself — to Eddie, gently coaxing you with sweet words, and to the warm wetness coating your thighs, your ass, and Eddie's lower half.

"Did I…?"

"Fuck yeah, you did." His boyish smile, so different from the confident smirk you saw not moments ago, made you smile too, weakly and still a little embarrassed, but too satisfied to care.

"Happy now?"

"Only when you do it again."

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fanfic #kinktober 2023

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moonstruckme · 6 months

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Dizzy

summary: when your roommate James comes home after a night out with his friends, he's acting even more affectionate than usual

cw: alcohol

modern au

roommate!James x fem!reader ♡ 2.7k words

You can always hear when James’ friends come over. The door opens and the sound of them comes pouring through into your flat, the boys always in the middle of bickering or joking or telling some incredibly animated story.

When you hear their noise late on a Friday night, you pause the movie on your laptop and head for the door, drawn towards their loudness. James’ friends are rowdier than anyone you hang out with, but it’s a happy sort of ruckus. They’re fun and hilarious and surprisingly kind, and you enjoy chatting when they come over.

“Hi, gorgeous,” Sirius sing-songs, spotting you as soon as you emerge from your room. You laugh at his scratchy, worn-out voice. He sounds like he’s probably been singing at the top of his lungs all night. Dark eyeliner has transferred to the skin under his eyes, but Sirius is the only person you know with his particular ability to make dishevelment look rock-and-roll instead of slobbish.

“Hi,” you say back, grinning at him. Your eyes search behind him to find Remus, just coming through the doorway. As always, he looks completely different from his other half; whereas Sirius has unmistakably just gotten home from a night out, Remus could just as easily have been at the library in his jeans and t-shirt, except for the faint black smudge where Sirius’ eyeliner has seemingly rubbed off on his cheek. Then you catch sight of James, drooping like an overwatered flower with his arm slung around Remus’ shoulder. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he’ll be alright,” Remus grunts, heaving your roommate through the entryway. He tries to send you a smile of greeting, but it’s more of a well-meaning grimace. “He just needs to drink some water.”

“I won,” Sirius says giddily, stumbling over and grabbing your arm. “I outdrank James Potter.”

There’s a nervous edge to the laugh that bubbles out of your throat. “That’s great, Sirius, congratulations.” You cast an alarmed look towards Remus. “You all had a competition?”

Remus shakes his head. “They had a competition.”

“I won,” James says suddenly, picking his head up as if revived from a deep sleep. “Don’t listen to him, Y/N, I’m the winner.”

Sirius makes a derisive sound. “You can’t even walk, Potter.”

“I can,” James defends himself, and slips his arm from around Remus’ shoulder. Both you and Remus put your hands out cautiously like when a toddler takes its first steps, but James totters safely to the couch, leaning against it like he’s just finished a marathon and directing a smug smile towards Sirius. “Suck it, Pads.”

Sirius’ lips curl impishly. His unsteady gaze settles on Remus, still hovering by the door. “Gotta get home to do that.”

“Alright,” Remus says quickly, stepping forward to take his boyfriend by the shoulders and steering him towards the door. “We’re gonna go home and get to bed—to sleep.” He’s blushing something fierce, and you do your absolute best not to smile. “Prongs.” James looks up from where he’s been toying with the fabric of your couch throw. “Drink some water, and then go to sleep, yeah?” Remus raises his brows, waiting for confirmation, and James presses a solemn hand to his heart.

“Your wish is my command, Moony-boy.”

Remus rolls his eyes but turns to go, sending you a quick goodnight with an apology embedded in his voice before he shuts the door behind him. You lock it, and turn back around to find James performing a lazy somersault over the back of the couch and onto the cushions.

“James,” you laugh, and he smiles up at you like he doesn’t know what’s so funny but is happy to be a part of it anyway, “do you want to come into the kitchen to have some water?”

James turns pensive. “Is that where you’re going?”

“Mhm.”

“Then sure.” He hops up a bit too fast, and has to put his arms out in front of him to regain his balance.

You take his forearm in your hand, knowing you won’t be able to support his weight if he really falls but hoping you can at least slow his descent, and begin walking him toward the kitchen. “Are you feeling dizzy?” you ask him.

James hums. “A bit. But in a good way, you know?”

You don’t, but you nod anyway. “Well,” you say with certainty you can’t feel, “that’s good. Chill here for a second, okay?” You prop him up against the counter, and James melts against it instantly in that easy way he has, leaning back on his elbows and crossing his ankles in front of him. The edge of the counter has to be digging into his back, but James makes it look like the most comfortable spot in the flat.

You start to grab a glass from the cabinet but then think the better of it, opting for a less destructible plastic cup. You fill it with icy water from the tap.

“Alright.” You pass it to him. “Don’t drink it too fast.”

James takes the cup with a smile that’s really much sweeter than your tiny gesture warrants. Then he proceeds to slide the rest of the way down the counter, until he’s sitting with his legs spread out in front of him on the floor. After a moment, you decide to join him, crossing your legs under you and letting your back rest beside his. The floor just seems like the place to be right now.

For the first time since you’ve known him, James seems content to sit in silence, sipping at his water. Neither of you are looking at each other, or really anywhere in particular. It’s definitely a Friday night, more of the noise of voices and traffic making their way up to your flat than you hear on most days of the week, but your home itself is quiet. The light in the kitchen is dim, coming in from the lamp you’ve left on in the living room, and your body relaxes instinctively in the peaceful dark.

James has nearly emptied the cup when he says, “Hey,” as if he’s just remembered something important.

You look at him. “What?”

“There’s no ice in here.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Did you want ice? I can put some in, I just thought you preferred drinks without ice.”

Even in the dim light, you can make out enough of James’ eyes to see the brown in them go absolutely molten. He turns toward you more fully, his shoulder and cheek squished up against the cabinets. “Aww, you knew.”

You laugh at him, his smushed cheek pushing his glasses up on his face and his bottom lip jutting out slightly. The effect is that he looks both worryingly drunk and decidedly endearing. “Of course I know,” you say. “We’re roommates. I’m bound to pick up on things.”

Your words do nothing to curb James’ adoration. “Still, you noticed,” he says, maudlin. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. The word resounds in your head like the happy chime of a bell. James is always calling you that, but usually it seems thrown away, a light little endearment he tacks onto his addresses without thinking. This feels different. It lingers on his tongue like caramel, soft and sticky sweet. Sweetheart.

“Of course,” you say again, and you’re grateful for the poor lighting that’s hiding your blush. “Ready to go to bed?”

James looks at you like you’ve asked him to solve a calculus equation, thick brows knitting together. Maybe it’s the endearment still ringing in your head, but you really want to smooth the crease from between them with your thumb. You don’t.

“I dunno,” he says after a moment. “Are you tired?”

“A little,” you admit. “Aren’t you?”

He shrugs. “I could be.” And then he’s hauling himself up, an overly complicated process that involves getting his feet underneath him while he’s already using the counter to pull himself off the floor. You have to bite back a smile as you watch, and when he’s done James extends a hand to you. As if you’re the one who needs help.

You take it but don’t actually put any of your weight on him as you stand, grabbing his empty cup from the counter. James’ hand is big, engulfing yours easily, and the condensation from the cool water still lingers on his palm. He doesn’t let go as you start towards his bedroom. You tell yourself it’d be mean to pull away on your own.

“Oh!” he exclaims, once again like he’s discovered something fascinating. “I haven’t even asked—how’s your night been?”

You laugh again. You can never seem to stop laughing around James. “It’s been good, thanks. Not as eventful as yours, I take it.”

James hums in unhappy affirmation. “Lucky you.”

“Well, seems like you got the true night-out experience.” You bring him to sit on his bed, bending to untie his shoes for him and setting them by the door. “Do you wanna sleep in that or change into pajamas?” you ask, fighting the urge to tack on the honey that pushes at your lips.

There’s no deliberation there. “Pajama pants, at least. I can’t wear jeans in bed, m’not a monster.”

You smile to yourself, locating a pair of pajama pants on the floor and holding them up for him to see. “These okay?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

You toss them to him. James starts to strip, and you turn around quickly, going into the bathroom. “So, aside from the drinking contest, did you have a good time tonight?”

“Yeah,” he says lightly. You fill the cup with water from James’ sink and find a bottle of ibuprofen in the drawer underneath. “It wasn’t bad. Remus is so busy lately, it’s good to get to see him at all, and beating Sirius is always fun.” He gives a little laugh. “He’s such a sore loser.”

“He seemed to think he’d won,” you say, your tone teasingly dubious.

A harrumph. “If Remus doesn’t set him straight on that, I’ll do it tomorrow.”

You chuckle.

“You’ll tell ‘em, won’t you?”

“For sure. Do you have your pants on yet?”

“Oh. Yeah.” You go back into the bedroom to find James comfy under the covers, smiling sheepishly. “I didn’t know you were waiting for me to tell you, sorry.”

“No worries.” You smile. He looks so sweet like this, curls splayed out around his head on the pillow the way a kid draws rays around the sun. You set the cup and pill bottle on his nightstand, using your proximity to study his face. His pupils are huge and unfocussed, and the smile he’s aiming at you is a bit too dopey for your liking. “You said you were dizzy…do you think you’re going to be sick?”

“No.” James starts to push himself up as if to make his point, then decides against it, resting his head against the edge of the mattress with a tiny grimace. “Maybe.”

“That’s okay,” you reassure him, grabbing a wastebasket from under his desk. “Here, I’m going to put this by the bed just in case, okay? And you’ve got water and ibuprofen on the nightstand.”

James doesn’t respond. He’s looking at you dazedly.

“James.” You tap his cheek lightly. “Do you understand? You need to use the wastebasket if you feel sick.”

His hand emerges from beneath the covers, fingers braceleting your wrist. “Stay with me,” he mumbles. You’re glad he’s definitely too out of it to feel the quick bumping of your pulse beneath his fingers. When you hesitate a second too long, James tightens his grip beseechingly. “Please, sweetheart?”

There it is again. Your brain buzzes in response.

“Alright,” you whisper, brushing a soothing touch against the inside of his forearm, and James releases you. “I was watching a movie before you got home. Want to finish it?”

He agrees, and you go across the hall, retrieving your laptop. You climb over him on the bed, pretending not to feel the brush of a big hand across your hip as though meant to steady you. You settle your laptop between the two of you and press play on the movie.

James leans over, resting his head on your shoulder. “You’re always watching this,” he murmurs. “You don’t get tired of it?”

“Not really,” you reply. “It’s my favorite. But if you are, I can change it.”

He makes a humming sound, and you feel the vibrations in your shoulder. “No, s’alright. Bet you can quote half the film, though, can’t you?”

You grin. “I’m scared,” you say, in time with the actress on your screen. “I don’t wanna get hurt.” You can feel James smiling, his cheek smushing against your shoulder. You lower your voice into a gruff mockery of the male actor’s intonation. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

James makes a soft sound of amusement. “Cute,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

You fall into an easy silence, blue light cast over your features as the familiar scenes play out quietly on your laptop. You keep sneaking glances at James, thinking he’s either about to fall asleep or be sick, but he’s watching the movie contentedly, head a solid but welcome weight on your shoulder. He’s evidently decided to discard the shirt he’d worn to the bar, and the skin of his bare shoulder is warm where it presses against your arm. He adjusts his head a little, and his curls tickle the underside of your jaw. You don’t know how he gets them so soft. Not through any strict regimen or product, apparently. One good thing about having a guy for a roommate is that he’s never the one who runs out the hot water; he’s in and out of the shower in ten minutes every time. And yet, if you look closely enough, you can usually find at least two or three perfect coils in his hair. Genetics, you suppose. James was blessed with a good lot of them.

The movie’s not half done before you’re yawning, your eyelids feeling like someone’s sewn fishing weights into them. You try not to shift, but your shoulders rise with the involuntary inhale, and James looks up at you. You yawn again, covering your mouth with one hand as a tear forms in the corner of your eye, squished out when you blink. You wipe it away.

“Wait,” James says. You go still, looking over at him curiously as he adjusts against the headboard of his bed, pushing himself further upright. He tilts his head. The back of his index finger brushes gently under your lashes. “You always get teary at night,” he says softly.

You know you should get out from under his touch, but you can’t make yourself. “I tear up a lot when I yawn.”

Just thinking about it has you yawning again, and James takes your face in his hand, catching the tear that falls from one eye.

“Don’t cry,” he begs you. “If you cry, I’ll cry.”

You take his wrist in your hand, giving him a small smile. “I’m not crying, James. I’m just tired.”

“Okay,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss, feather-light, just next to your eye. You freeze, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Okay, m’sorry. You’re tired? Wanna go to sleep?”

You have to clear your throat to make sure your voice comes out right. “Sure.” It’s still a bit hoarse. “Wake me if you need anything, okay?”

James takes your hand, a willing captive between two of his as he draws it into his lap. He settles his head back onto your shoulder. “Okay. You’re too nice to me.”

“I’m not,” you say, before you can think the better of it. “You’re the nice one.”

James only hums.

You swallow. “Goodnight.”

You’re waiting for a response, the movie on your laptop just now getting to the scene where the love interests give in and confess their feelings for each other, when you feel a wet spot forming near the collar of your shirt. Slowly, careful not to jostle him, you tilt your head to look down at the source of the drool puddle.

James already asleep.

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