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incognit0slut · 4 months

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Since hearing Streets by Doja cat (silhouette remix) I always thought if I ever had the chance to striptease for someone, that would definitely need to be the song playing in the background, the rhythm is so sensual. So can I request a smut with Spencer centered around this song?

Love your blog and tiktok edits, and congrats for reaching 3k! You deserve it!

tysm lovely hope you enjoy this🫶 (wc) 3.1k!

warnings: (MINORS DNI!) Reader is a stripper, lap dance, pantyjob, a lot of grinding lol

Play our fantasies

The FBI agent visiting your workplace wants more from you than answers to his questions.

…we play our fantasies out in real life ways…

"THE FBI IS WAITING FOR YOU," your boss said the moment you stepped down from the stage, his voice a low murmur amidst the pulsating beats of the club. Your clients varied from politicians to well-known celebrities, but you never had the chance to entertain an authority before.

Your boss rolled his eyes as he gripped your arm, navigating you to the VIP lounge. "He's not here for that."

"Oh?"

"He's here to ask some questions," Teddy explained as he released his hold, motioning you to follow him. "Said he wanted to know about one of your regulars."

"My regulars? Who?"

He gave you a sideway glance as you both strode to the back area of the club. "Dennis."

You raised an eyebrow. "Dennis Meade?" You asked. "That lawyer? He hasn't even been here for over a month."

Your boss shrugged. "Maybe that's why the FBI is looking for him, only god knows where he is."

"It's always those quiet ones, huh?" You jested, your heels clacking on the marble floor. You stopped for a moment when you passed a wall that was covered with mirrors, fixing your hair through the reflection. When your boss noticed he was walking alone, he turned around and gave you a disapproved look.

"He's only here to ask you questions."

"I know." You smiled, delicately smearing off the subtle lipstick mark that had smudged over your lip line from the dance routine you performed on the pole earlier. Satisfied with how you looked, you made your way back to Teddy.

"Is he cute?" You asked playfully.

"Y/n."

"I thought we weren't supposed to use our real names on the clock."

He sighed, the ambient lighting casting a soft glow on his exasperated expression as you both continued to walk down the hallway, the distant thump of music reverberating through the walls.

"Angel," he pressed sarcastically, emphasizing your stage name. "Doctor Spencer Reid is keeping his identity discreet, so don't attract any attention to him."

"Doctor?" You mused. "Thought he was a cop."

"FBI agent," he corrected.

"Tomato, Tomahto." You finally stopped at the entrance of the VIP area, a line of doors covered in drapes separating each private space. "Which one is he in?"

"Corner left at the end." He gave you a pointed look. "It's better to stay with him according to your usual private session, lessen any suspicion."

You smirked. Spending half an hour in a room with an authority sounded intriguing. Teddy rolled his eyes as he saw the look you gave him. "No funny business, Angel."

"Of course not, Teddy," you assured him, giving him the most innocent smile you could muster.

He shook his head and took a step back. "You're trouble."

With a playful wink, you pushed open the door to the VIP area and stepped into the dimly lit space. The ambiance shifted from the bustling energy of the club to a more intimate setting. The smell of burning wax filled your nose in the form of vanilla-scented candles as you made your way to the corner suite.

A man stood in the middle of the room, his scrutinizing eyes scanning the small platform in the corner with a pole planted on top of it, but as he heard your footsteps, he turned around and met your gaze.

Your eyes slowly assessed him. His features were sharp, his gaze piercing, and an air of confidence surrounded him. There was something magnetic about his presence, an unexpected allure that contradicted the stereotypical image of an FBI agent. You were never this close to an FBI agent before, but were they supposed to be this attractive?

As the door closed behind you, the muffled sounds of the club outside were replaced by a peculiar intimacy. Especially when his eyes roamed your body, taking in the lingerie top barely covering your breasts and the thin silk panties you chose to wear today.

"You must be Angel," he greeted, watching you intently. The dim light accentuated the subtle nuances of his expression.

"And you must be Doctor Spencer Reid," you replied, injecting a subtle hint of playfulness into your tone. "What brings the FBI to our humble abode?"

"Spencer, please." His lips then curved into a faint smile. "I'm here on official business. There's a matter I'd like to discuss with you."

"About Dennis Meade, I presume?"

His eyebrows raised slightly, acknowledging your astuteness. "You're well-informed."

"It's part of the job," you responded with a casual shrug. You took a moment to assess the situation before nodding towards the plush seating. "You should take a seat, Dr. Reid."

He did as he was told, but his eyes went wide when he noticed you stepping onto the platform instead of following him. "What are you doing?"

"I was told you didn't want your identity to be known," you said as you gripped the pole. "There are cameras everywhere; I'd say it would seem suspicious for the security to see I'm only talking when I should be working."

He watched as you started to move around the pole, your movements deliberate and gracefully controlled. The ambient lighting cast a subtle glow, creating a surreal atmosphere within the room. The pulsating music from the club outside, its tune slow and seductive, provided an unexpected rhythm in the closed space.

"This way, it seems like just another part of the show," you continued as you swayed your hips seductively. "Now, what did you want to discuss about Dennis?"

Spencer's gaze followed your every move and you watched as his tongue flickered along his bottom lips. "We believe he might be involved in something that requires our attention."

You leaned back, arching your back in a sultry pose. "Dennis hasn't been around here for a while. Why the sudden interest?"

"It's not the first time he's come under our radar," Spencer explained, his tone measured. "We're trying to locate him to gather more information."

"I can't say I know much about him," you replied. "There wasn't anything particularly noteworthy about him, at least not that I'm aware of."

Spencer absorbed the information, his expression thoughtful. But it was hard to keep his mind on the case he was supposed to be investigating when your moves became more daring as you leaned down, actuating your luscious hips that were barely covered with that thin string of fabric covering your sex. Then his mouth dried up as you turned around in front of him and fully bent over, exposing the delicious curve of your ass.

He tried to steady his breathing. "Any peculiar behavior… conversations, or associations you might recall might help."

You twirled around the pole again, a moment of contemplation before you spoke. "He kept to himself mostly. No unusual conversations that stood out. As for associations, he didn't seem to have any close ties with the regulars here. Just a quiet guy who enjoyed the performances."

"Especially yours?"

"Well, who wouldn't?" you teased, your gaze locking with his. "I do put on quite a show."

You threw your head back as you moved again and god, it was criminally sensual, the way you danced, unlike anything Spencer had ever seen before. He couldn't put into words the allure you possessed. When you ran a hand over your skin, dipping into every curve, he was unable to hold back any longer, drawn to you like a moth to a flame.

"It seems that way," he murmured, his voice dangerously low as he leaned back in his seat.

His jaw then slacked open, heavy breaths being ragged out as he got a better look at you when you started to approach him. Your hair shone under the lights, red-painted lips ghosting upon your lips as you straddled his lap. You leaned into him, placing a knee on each side of his thigh to press into the thick, leather chair.

"Is this also part of the show?" he softly asked.

You chuckled, the sound low and sultry, matching the tempo of the music. "Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't." The palm of your hands slid over his arms, sending warmth along his skin even through the fabric of his shirt. "Depends on what you want it to be, Dr. Reid."

You swore you could see his muscles tense when your fingers glided over his shoulder, and with a sharp inhale, his head fell against the seating. He was even more handsome up close. He had soft skin, a sharp jaw covered with a soft stubble, and brown-colored eyes that shone underneath the fluorescent lights.

His breath caught as you moved in closer, the distance between you diminishing rapidly. The proximity between you two grew more intense, and his initial purpose of discussing the case became a distant memory.

Your lips hovered close to his ear as you whispered, "Do you want me to continue?"

Spencer's mind raced as he struggled to maintain composure. The unexpected turn of events left him breathless, his professional facade gradually giving way to your seduction. It was as if his fantasies were playing out right before his eyes. Having you perched on his lap, the intimate proximity, the charged atmosphere—all of it seemed to align with his imagination.

Then a low, almost invisible, "Yes," escaped his lips.

The single word carried a weight that hung in the air as if the room itself was holding its breath. It was enough of an answer as you slowly lowered your hips. Your thighs parted for him, and you pressed your center against him, letting out a low gasp when you felt how hard he already was.

It shouldn't have surprised you, after all, it was the usual reaction to every man you had to entertain. Maybe it was the unfamiliar setting that had you growing hot; to be on someone's lap who was a high authority, someone who was here for work, someone who wasn't even paying for your time. Yet you couldn't help it, especially when his hands found your hips, urging you to move.

You obeyed, beginning to press your aching cunt against his bulge, rocking your hips softly back and forth. As you do, your silk panties slid over his pants, earning a hiss from his parted lips. You couldn't help but smirk as your palms pressed to his shoulders, offering stability as your hips rolled against his body.

You felt the warmth flooding between your thighs as you grind your folds against him, earning a few twitches of his hips in return. You would normally call in security if any of your clients touched you inappropriately. The club patrons could touch, but there was a policy of grabbing, holding, or leaving marks.

And what Spencer was doing surpassed all the rules. One, he wasn't even a client, and two, you would be in trouble if you were caught enjoying this. Your job was to entertain people, not be entertained. Yet you were far too gone to think of the consequences. The fear of getting caught still weighed on your mind, but with your throbbing clit pressing to him as you rode him, the worries diminished faster than they could build.

You couldn’t deny the bliss that filled your body. Grinding against him had you lost in the moment, legs beginning to quiver as his fingers pressed into your hips harder, head falling back, curses pouring from his lips. His nails began to press to your flesh and it should have inflicted you pain, but instead, you were even more drawn to him that you reached for his belt.

"May I?" You whispered, eyes locking with his. He wasn't sure it was the wisest idea to submit to whatever plan you had in mind, but he found himself nodding, and a few moments later you were already busy undoing his pants.

Your fingers hook into the band of his briefs next, urging the fabric down with assistance from him as his hardened cock spring free. He bit down on his bottom lip, anticipating your every move a second before your fingers wrapped around his girth. Slipping your grip to his swollen, reddened tip, a hiss spilled from his parted lips, and then your palm slid back down his length as his hips pushed forward into your grasp.

"That—" He struggled to say, too focused on the way you dragged your palm up and down his length. "That feels good."

This earned you a smile. He felt thick and warm in your grip and your eyes instantly took in the sight; of his hard cock pulsing in your hand, of his brow creasing as you continued your movements. You watched as his tongue swiped over his lips again when your other hand reached for your panties, slipping the silk to the side, enough to ease his cock between your folds before adjusting the fabric back in its place.

You both let out a gasp at the feeling of him pressed to your flesh, trapped by the tight fabric holding him in place. You nearly lost your mind just as he did the moment you began to rock your hips once again. Juices dripping from your center made it effortless to slip back and forth over his cock, and with your arousal coating his flesh on the underside, and your silk panties caressing him on the other, he couldn't hold back any longer.

He held you in place as his hips met yours frantically. God, you were such a dream; Spencer couldn't believe this was happening. You were such a fantasy. Every moan escaping your lips seemed to cast a spell that held him captive. It was wrong of him to fully enjoy this, yet he couldn't help but be mesmerized by you.

The way you moved along his throbbing cock was such a sight to see. Or the way your head fell back as you satisfied yourself, your jaw slacking as you looked at him through hooded eyes. Your soft whimpers begin to flood his ears, and it urged him to give you more as he told you how fucking good you felt, how fucking wet you were, and how fucking beautiful you looked, even with your hair sticking onto your face from all the sweat.

Fingers brushed loose strands of hair from your eyes and it took so much of your self-control not to kiss him. Kissing your clients was another one of the policies, and it was something you shouldn't even consider of breaking, so instead you focused on the growing heat that stretched along your core.

Your hips increased their pace, rolling against him to offer the both of you relief, your clit swelling with a need for release as you felt his cock pulsing between your wet folds.

Your thighs began to shake around him, giving him the courage to pump his hips a few times, catching you off guard. Gasping, you arched your back, continuing to move your hips over his, using him to find release as his cock rested between your folds and the fabric of your silk panties. You felt yourself growing hot, needy, aroused, dripping along his length, making the sensation all the more electrifying.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, your entire body trembling. “I-I’m gonna come.”

“Come,” he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. “Come on my cock, Angel. Let me feel you.”

His words sent a rush of electricity through your body, out to every tingling limb and curled toe, and there was nothing you could do but lose the last shred of control you were holding onto. Your moans poured from your lips louder than before, but you had a hard time caring as the bliss swelled within you.

You called out his name, again and again between desperate whimpers and gasps, thighs tightening around him as you rode out your orgasm, not slowing your pace until the wave washed over you.

When you relaxed against him, he took hold of your body, wrapping his arms around you as he began to thrust from below, fucking himself between your soaked folds and silk panties. After a few moments, you grew completely weak, allowing him to take control, allowing him to hold onto you, allowing him to use you to get off until the moment a sharp inhale filled your ears.

Thick ropes of white spilled from the hem of your panties, soaking through the fabric and coating your flesh. His breath stalled for a moment before he released another exhale, head falling back as his hips attempted to keep thrusting, yet he lost all momentum as the pleasure took hold of him.

You sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, surprised by the way his hands brush delicately over your hips, skimming across your lower back in a soothing motion. "What time do you get off tonight?"

You met his gaze. "Late, as usual," you replied, a hint of a smile playing on your lips. "Why do you ask?"

Spencer hesitated for a moment before answering, his hands still tracing soothing patterns on your back.

"I was thinking... maybe we could continue this later," he admitted, his voice a low murmur. "In a more private setting."

You raised your eyebrows. "Is that part of the investigation, Dr. Reid?"

"It could be," A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Or maybe I'm far from done with you."

“Oh?” Thoroughly amused, you hummed. "Is that so?"

He nodded and looked at you through half-lidded eyes. "Tell me what time you get off."

It wasn't a question anymore; it was a demand, and a shiver ran down your spine.

God, you wanted to kiss him. You wanted to taste him, no, you needed to taste him. You had never craved someone as much as you did now. Maybe it was the unmistakable glint in his eye or the way he spoke to you then that had you caving in, or maybe it was the thought of his cock buried deep inside your cunt that your answer slipped off your tongue without much thought.

It was too easy for you to tell him what time your shift ended when all you wanted was for him to fuck you senselessly.

"I finish at two," you quickly responded.

Spencer's half-lidded eyes seemed to darken, his features betraying a hunger that mirrored your own desires. "Meet me at the back exit at two, then."

A coy smile played on your lips as you met his intense gaze. Honestly, you would let him fuck you right there and then, but you had to be patient. Time couldn't move faster than you wished.

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inthelquvre · 4 months

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just the sweetest thought of drawing on luke’s back…

warnings: use of y/n once, barley any dialogue, flufffff

a/n: oh lord… this was meant to be very short but i got carried away😭i hope to improve my writing skills in the near future! pls lmk how you feel abt this and pls pls sent requests!!!

sneaking out past curfew was against camp rules, everyone knew this. but luke was a counselor, couldn’t he get a free pass to see his girlfriend? you and him thought yes. there were countless nights the two of you had either snuck out to sit by the lake or venture to each others cabin for the night just to have to sneak out early the next morning.

of course, all this sneaking around had its moments of regret. once you had comfortably situated yourself beside luke when a kid woke up claiming she had a headache. in the dim lighting of the cabin at night all she could see was the unfamiliar silhouette of a woman in luke’s bed. she let out a scream, calling for luke, claiming there was a “scary lady” in his bed only to find luke laying next to said scary lady. the two of you tried your best to keep her from waking the others, but it was too late. the once calm hermes cabin was bustling with fearful campers. you were quick to jump out of the bed and assured everyone that you were not there to hurt them, the girl raised an eyebrow at you.

it was unfortunate, but you and luke were forced to reveal your secret to the hermes children. on the bright side, neither of you had to worry about someone seeing you now.

tonight, you drug you slippered feet over the dirt path leading to the hermes cabin wearing a sweatshirt that wasn’t your own snd that smelt like campfire smoke and wood. it was a size too big for your frame, but like has left it over in your cabin too many times to be an accident so you decided to keep it.

everyone was already sleeping, everyone but luke. he sat on his bed impatiently waiting for you to show up. it had become second nature to the two of you, and luke could barley lay down without the comfort of you beside him. his ears had become ultra sensitive to any sounds, waiting to hear the familiar gentle knock on the window closest to his bed; yet the only noise was the soft snoring or the rustling of bedsheets from the other hermes children sleeping soundly.

his hands found their way to a battered and bruised notebook sitting on his bedside table. you, apollos daughter, the artist, had left your notebook in luke’s room once again. to you, it was a simple and annoying show of your own forgetfulness. but to luke it was so much more. at lunch in the mess hall you would often sketch, but you didn’t let anyone see it. to be honest, luke did really want to see what you were up to all this time but he respected your decision for privacy. but this, your notebook in his room meant (at least to him) that you trusted him. and that’s what mattered most to him.

a short and simple sound of three knocks on the glass window made luke immediately jump up. your figure stood outside the window and his face got red and hot upon seeing his big hoodie over your body. his hands move almost like clockwork as they unlock the window and slide it up, taking a moment to look down at you. you smiling up at him, you who already knows what he’s about to say.

“the doors unlocked, y’know.” he says in a hushed tone as his hand reached out to you. “always is for you.”

you smiled up at him, taking his and in yours. “i know,” once inside luke didn’t waste anytime before pulling you into his strong and comfortable embrace.

“i missed you.” he mumbled into your hair, pressing ghosts of kisses against your skin. his delicate hands expertly traveled down your body to rest on your waist. “i’m literally like, crazy for you, girl.” in between his words like couldn’t stop pressing kisses to your forehead as he pulled you down to the mattress.

a muffled groan came from only one bunk down, causing you to stifle your breaths. luke’s love struck eyes looked up at you as he situated himself on top of the thin sheets. “i’m crazy for you, too.” you pressed a kiss onto the space where his skin and think shirt met, a silent gesture that luke immediately followed up to, peeling the material from his body.

even after months of dating luke still fell victim to the way your eyes graced his body. he felt as if he was one of the gods the children at camp worshipped from the way you kissed all the right spots and told him all the right things. son of theives, and yet you were still the one who stole his heart.

luke went to lay on his stomach, the way he always did with you. but instead of you under him, he frowned when you didn’t lay next to him. “baby,” he whined in a sleepy voice and you felt your heart flutter.

“you trust me, right?” you fingers gently traces the muscles around his shoulders. truth be told, luke trusted you with his life. if the world was crumbling to the ground you would be the one luke would run to. the stars could fall from the sky at any moment and luke would grab them and give them to you. if he had the power, he would make you a goddess. he trusted you to be a better immortal than any of them ever had.

he nodded. “of course, always.”

you hummed a soft response. luke wanted to stay awake, he wanted to see what you had in store for him, but with sleep threatening to plague his mind and the comforting feeling of you sitting on his back was enough to knock him out for the night.

there was no such thing as sleeping in while living in the hermes cabin, so luke rose as the sun did. not to his surprise, you had slipped out the door before he could kiss you good night.

if it weren’t for chirons glares or the endless jokes from the hermes kids and your half-siblings, you would spend every night with luke, really.

and yet this morning luke woke up to the right side of his bed empty and a post it note stuck to his forehead. the yellow paper read: “you fell asleep before i left, see you tomorrow xoxo” reading it made luke feel weak with admiration, he carefully folded up the paper and slid it into his pillowcase.

sun shone through the tallest tree tops down onto camp half blood as the early risers began to scatter themselves across camp, participating in multiple activities. the weekend were always dullers, yet far more calm then the usual routine of the regular week. one of the preferred activities for some of the older campers was the occasional weekend getaway to the lake. there was a secluded lake clearing just a small walk off from the path, hidden deep in the woods; but the older ones liked to take their own days off, basking in the sand or wading in the cool water.

today, both you and luke had been invited by clarisse to spend the day together at the clearing. you obviously agreed, and you spent the whole morning packing a day backpack for yourself and luke, filled with water bottles and snacks and towels, not forgetting luke’s favorite bikini of yours wore under your camp shirt and cutoff denim shorts.

just before the clock struck 9am, luke found himself waiting for you to finish doing your hair before heading out for the day. “i dunno,” you continued you rambling to your boyfriend as he admired you through the mirror. “maybe sword fighting isn’t for everyone. especially not me, i mean, archery i can do. hand to hand, yeah sure. but sword fighting.” after making sure your hair was suitable for swimming and sitting in the sun all day you turned to luke, who looked at you as if you had just graced him with the blessing of the sun.

“i think your good.” he shrugged, picking up your backpack and slinging it over his shoulder, his hand locking with yours out of instinct as you began to walk.

you shoved his shoulder playfully. “you’re my boyfriend, you have to say that.” he sent you a grin back.

the walk to the clearing was peaceful. birds singing to each other while butterflies told secrets to the flowers. as you got closer you could already hear the joyful sound of your friends laughing and already playing in the water.

walking out of the forest onto the rocky ground you and luke were immediately greeted by chris, dean, and clarisse with smiles and laughter. while you hugged your friends hello luke took the liberty of taking your light yellow beach towel and lay it out for you for later. of course, he knew you better than you knew yourself, and he knew that right after you exited the cool and refreshing water your body would shiver and he would be the one to wrap you in his arms to warm you up.

leaving your tee shirt and shorts of the rocks you patiently waited for luke to do the same. he made a silly face then shed the layer of cloth covering his chest.

much to his surprise, chris and dean burst out into laughter. luke’s brow furrowed. “what?” he looked to you for reassurance, and you just smiled.

“i think you got a little something on your back, luke.” chris snickered while clarisse shoved him roughly, that shut him up. luke craned his neck, trying to see what was on him.

you grabbed his shoulders and turned his back to you. his skin was tan from the summer sun, but on top of that was an array of doodles and drawings that covered him from his shoulders to lower back. his muscled back was now delicately traced over with by flowers and stars. the sun and moon kissing each other good night. in your mind it had been you and luke.

luckily, your friend blair came equipped with her own digital camera. “oh! y/n, luke, smile!” she exclaimed. you smiled at the camera with a hand on luke’s shoulder, his back was to the camera but the tattoos decorating his skin were radiant in the sunlight leaking through the trees. it hadn’t been your intention to draw on luke’s back, but once you started you couldn’t stop, artistic mind letting all your emotions fade onto luke’s shoulders and spine. you drew you and him as flowers, as trees, as stars. there was always an invisible string tying the two of you together throughout every universe, every life time.

blair was convincing enough to have chiron to let her print the photos from that day at the clearing. she gifted you and luke the best photo of you posing next to your art, luke’s hand in yours and you grinned happily. after spending another night in luke’s bed, you left the photo on his nightstand.

he hung the photo on his wall next to his pillow to remind him of not only how talented you were, but how much you loved him, to be able to grace him with your talent.

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #percy series #luke castellan x you #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan fluff

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love-that-we-were-in · 21 days

Text

pretty as a vine (sweet as a grape)

pairing: luke castellan x reader summary: luke castellan might be everyone's favorite councilor over the summer. he might be a little too sweet for you in the fall. word count: 1.7k warnings: none

authors note: thank you to @wlntrsldler for letting me steal this concept from you even if making luke a real tried and true loser was a struggle. hope y'all enjoy!!

It was rare to see Camp Half-Blood’s golden boy without his signature smile on his face; always ready to help, always ready to please.

You’d only had a handful of conversations with Luke Castellan, passing words in the height of hectic summer heat. Most of them in the middle of the night, when all the campers should be tucked away in the cabins, but you’d take the brief moments of quiet to wander the grounds with a lit cigarette hanging off your lips.

Luke would approach you every time, always the same way, a pink flush on his cheeks and a quiet, timid voice telling you that he had to enforce the rules, that he had to send you back to your cabin because it was past curfew.

You’d roll your eyes, lick your lips, wave the smoke obscuring your view of him away playfully and promise to head back after this one. He’d nod and walk away, and you’d pretend not to notice his silhouette hidden behind one of the trees, not quite obscured enough by the lack of lighting to go wholly unnoticed, waiting for you to make your way back to where you’re supposed to be.

He was sweet, too sweet, sometimes. Making sure you were safe, that nothing bad would happen to you even after taking his supposed leave. It was cute, really, how he acted around you underneath the starlight, always so nervous and flustered, like he’d never seen a woman before. You supposed, confined to the parameters of camp for so many years, he really hadn’t seen many of them.

It’s something you carry with you this year, watching as summer fades into fall, how camp suddenly empties. You’re not sure what to make of it, how still everything seems now, how the usual noise dampens into almost nothing and you itch for the hurriedness of July to return.

You’re lucky, really, to have spent so long exploring the world beyond camp, seeing what growing up had to offer as if it were normal. A lot of the kids you see now, they haven’t experienced a half of what you have, trading high school for battling dragons at someone else’s request, and it shows each year like clockwork.

If you’re honest, hidden behind the treeline near the lake, camp makes you uneasy like this. Less busy, less extreme - walking the thin line between a place to train and a place to live - and it has you more on edge than before. It could be that you’ve grown accustomed to the bustle of the Boston streets. It might just be that Luke has been hiding just beyond view since you lit your cigarette.

“I know, I know,” you say when he finally approaches. He stumbles, familiar flush blotching the skin of his neck, climbing the tips of his ears. “Just let me finish this one.”

He nods and you wait for him to walk away, follow his usual path back into the forest. He doesn’t, standing on the damp grass nearby without saying a word, and you look at him again.

You’re used to seeing Luke Castellan in different forms - it’s part of how he lives. Nervous and unsure and so confident with a sword that it’s a little insane that he’s the same person during training as is standing in front of you now.

He’s got this little dip to his shoulders, fingers tapping against his own thigh as you stare at him. His curls are slightly longer than when summer started, curling around his ears and resting just above his brows. He’s got a sweatshirt on, dark green and oversized, and his teeth sink into his bottom lip the longer you take to look away.

“You can head back,” you say eventually, flicking ash to the ground at your feet. “I promise to be good and go straight to bed.”

It’s not meant to be anything, merely an assurance. But there’s this way Luke reacts to it, how his fingers stop tapping in favor of clenching his first, how he breathes deeper for a few breaths, how he swallows around nothing, that ignites something under your skin. Makes you want to push that little bit further.

“You really need to stop coming out after curfew,” he mumbles in the end, tucking his hands into the front pocket of his sweater. It’s soft and a little warm and you wonder if it’s the humidity or Luke himself that’s responsible. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“You’re sweet, Castellan,” you crush the butt of your cigarette out, brushing past him to start the trek back to your cabin. “It’s kind of adorable.”

You hear him suck in a breath. You don’t hear his footsteps directly behind you as you walk through the foliage. You kind of wish you’d turned around to see the blush rise on his cheeks.

Maybe you will next time.

Next time doesn’t come for weeks. It gives you space to observe Luke now, when he’s being pulled in fewer directions, when there’s lower expectations. You learn that neither of those things exist where Luke is concerned; that he has this inability to not be helpful, to not put himself forward when no one else will. He somehow takes up more responsibilities as fall gets underway, smiling wide when you know you’d be stretched thin.

It’s admirable, to a point, and you want to know how he does it.

A few years ago, you convinced yourself Luke was only on when the sun shone brightest. Watching him demonstrate a throw to a young Athena kid, you think he might be the sun itself.

“Nice arm,” is what you greet him with when the little girl runs off, ball in hand. He pauses his hands where they rest on the fabric of his pants, still slightly bent at the knees from helping and lips parted as he glances up at you. “She seemed happy.”

“She just needed some help with the technique.”

He shrugs and stands to actually face you.

Mid-afternoon at camp has never really sat well with you. Always slower, sun burning and campers left to fill their own time before dinner. You’ve never really known what to do with it; Luke squints at the grounds before you as if he’s searching for who needs him next.

“Do you ever take a break?” Is what you say when the silence drags on for too long.

Luke blinks, lips parting. A group of Hephaestus kids laugh from down by the lake. You wait.

“I go to bed at midnight.”

“And what time do you wake up?” You kick at the grass below your feet, taking in how Luke stumbles for an answer, brown eyes darting each way as if it’ll fall from the sky.

“The apollo kids really love watching the sunrise,” he chokes out in the end, digging his hands into his pockets. You wonder if he thinks it makes his nerves less obvious. “It’s a really nice sunrise.”

“Come watch it with me tomorrow.”

You say it partly for the reaction itself. That same quick breath Luke takes each time you say something that shocks him, the red tint to his cheeks, the tip of his nose, the harsh movement of his adams’ apple. You kind of also really want to see how Luke Castellan changes between day and night - if it’s a version of him you just haven’t read yet.

You don’t mention that you’ll have to force yourself out of bed, unused to early rising.

He nods, three quick nods like he thinks you’ll take it back if he’s not enthusiastic enough.

You smile then. “I’ll see you later, Luke.”

He meets you where he usually does, further north than anyone tends to go at any hour, let alone this early. There’s less hesitation to his steps than a few nights ago, your invitation dangling between you both something like a promise.

“I’m not gonna bite,” you say when he stops just short of the rock you’ve claimed. You glance over at where he’s just feet away, bright orange camp tee peeking out from his grey hoodie. “It’s too early for that.”

“Oh.”

There’s some shuffling before Luke is perching himself on the stone next to you. He’s close enough to touch from here, the makeshift seat just barely big enough for two people to share, and you take in how he tucks his hands into his pockets, makes himself take up as little room as possible.

Outside of his swordsmanship, you’ve never seen Luke take up much space at all.

“This is nice,” he says eventually, the sun starting to peer over the lake.

There’s something almost beautiful about what the sunrise does for him, you realise. Neither of you have moved, Luke’s gaze still locked on the horizon, but you’ve transferred your attention to him. You’ve seen the lake enough times. You’ve never seen Luke Castellan’s chest rising and falling with each steady breath, or the way his eyes turn a little gold when the sun hits them just right. How he relaxes in the autumn chill.

“You’re really pretty, Luke.”

It slips past your lips before it fully forms in your mind. His head snaps to the side, cheeks flushing and lips parted. You hadn’t meant to say it, too caught up in the slow start to the morning, but it’s out there and you don’t want to take it back.

“Such a pretty boy,” you mutter, shaking your head.

“I-“ Luke starts, before clearing his throat. You see his hands twitch in his pockets. “What?”

You twist on the rock underneath you, lifting your legs so they’re crossed, knees brushing the edge of Luke’s thigh. His eyes drop at the movement.

This should feel weird at camp. You’d fallen into the habit of flirting back in Boston, something to fill the gaps and score you a cigarette when you really needed help to get them. Never like this though - like the moment was delicate and its shattering was solely in your hands.

The ability to shatter Luke Castellan, Camp Half-Blood’s golden boy, rests on your shoulders in an early sunrise.

When his breath hitches as you push yourself closer, you think you’d like to watch him shatter in the sunlight.

Pretty doesn’t even come close when it happens.

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #percy jackson and the olympians #luke castellan x you #🖊️ abi writes…

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musicforastylesrestaurant · 10 months

Text

Airport Chaos.

masterlist || ask me anything <3

blurb masterlist is here.

authors note - seeing how agitated that harry looked when he was just trying to get out of the car actually made me so cross, just be grateful that you got to see him, learn to give people personal space.

word count - 2.5k

in which, harry’s just finished his show in barcelona, and is en-route to madrid, but there’s one more hurdle that needs to be jumped when fans bombard him, you and your one year old son finley. this results in a very agitated harry, a tearful toddler and a wife that’s claustrophobic.

As the car glides through the vibrant streets of Barcelona, a serene ambiance envelops you and your family, casting a veil of tranquillity over the world around you. The bustling energy of the city has retired for the night, leaving behind an exquisite symphony of solitude.

As your car glides along the deserted thoroughfares, the city unveils its timeless secrets. The ancient buildings, guardians of Barcelona's rich history, stand tall and proud, their façades adorned with intricate details and ornate balconies. Illuminated by the soft glow of streetlights, their colors dance in harmony with the moonlit sky, creating a spellbinding kaleidoscope of hues.

The streets, devoid of the usual crowds, are yours to explore, each corner leading you deeper into the heart of this vibrant metropolis. The gentle breeze whispers through the leaves of towering trees, lending a symphony of rustling whispers to the nocturnal symphony. Their branches reach out like gentle arms, swaying gracefully overhead, creating a celestial canopy above the cobblestone lanes.

Occasionally, you catch glimpses of life seeping through the silence. A few solitary figures make their way along the sidewalk, their silhouettes casting elongated shadows upon the ground. Some are still adorned in the attire of a long workday, their weary steps echoing the rhythm of a day well-spent. Others, just beginning their nocturnal duties, are cloaked in the promise of a vibrant night ahead. Their presence adds a touch of mystique to the ethereal scenery, reminding you of the shared humanity that underlies the city's nocturnal tapestry.

The intoxicating scent of the sea lingers in the air, carried by the zephyrs that dance through the city streets. It mingles with the aromas of nearby cafés and restaurants, teasing your senses and igniting a hunger for adventure. The distant echoes of laughter and faint strains of music beckon, hinting at hidden pockets of life that come alive when the sun sets.

The drive continues with you cradling your sleeping one year old son, Finley, in your arms. His tiny mouth remained gently attached to your breast, having drifted off while nursing in the backseat after Harry's exhilarating concert. The rise and fall of his contented breaths provided a soothing soundtrack to the journey ahead.

You, Harry, and Finley were en route to Barcelona–El Prat Airport, preparing to catch a flight to Madrid. The excitement of the concert still lingered in the air, yet a hint of apprehension crept into your thoughts. The prospect of manoeuvring through a bustling airport with a sleeping baby nestled in your embrace weighed on your mind. Your nails became the focus of your nervous energy, as you absentmindedly picked at them, a telltale sign of your discomfort in crowded spaces.

Aaron, the driver, broke the silence, his voice cutting through the air with concern. "There's quite a crowd near the parking area," he informed you and Harry. "It might be a bit tricky to navigate through when we arrive."

The words sent a ripple of anxiety through your body, tightening your grip on Finley. You couldn't help but feel a sense of vulnerability in the face of such a boisterous crowd. The conflicting emotions swirled within you, knowing that your partner, Harry, thrived amidst the adoring masses that followed his every move.

As if sensing your unease, Harry's gaze shifted from the passing scenery to your nervous gestures. His touch was a lifeline, lifting your spirits and grounding you in his unwavering support. He reached out and gently grasped your hand, lifting it to his lips.

With a voice filled with reassurance and tenderness, he murmured, "M’love, don't worry. Everything's going t’be fine."

His words echoed in your ears, resonating deep within your heart. Harry's touch, warm and comforting, conveyed a sense of security, reminding you that you were never alone in facing your fears. Even though he was accustomed to crowds, he understood your anxieties and was always there to offer solace.

A soft smile danced upon your lips as Harry pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles, his lips grazing your skin with tender affection. In that moment, the outside world faded away, leaving only the connection between the two of you—an unbreakable bond forged in love, trust, and understanding.

And as the car continued its journey towards the airport, you clung to the strength and reassurance Harry provided. The touch of his lips upon your knuckles served as a soothing balm, instilling you with a renewed sense of courage and confidence.

The car slowed down as it approached the bustling parking area, the clamour of the crowd growing louder. But in that moment, with Harry's kiss lingering on your skin, you felt a surge of determination. The chaos outside the car could not overpower the love and support that encompassed your little family.

Gently shifting Finley off your breast, you carefully disengaged him, causing him to let out a soft whinge in protest. Worried that he might fully wake up, you quickly began to sway and soothe him, hoping to lull him back into a peaceful slumber. As your soothing motions took effect, his eyelids fluttered, and he settled once again into a deep sleep.

Glancing up from Finley's serene face, you caught Harry's attention. His eyes met yours, and you could see the concern etched in his features. Taking in the scene outside through the tinted windows of the Mercedes, he turned back to you, his voice filled with determination and care.

"I'll get out first, sign a few things, and then I'll come back t’help you and Fin," Harry explained, his unwavering support shining through his words.

As he prepared to step out of the car, a surge of fans already surrounded the vehicle. They clamoured for a glimpse of their beloved idol, desperate to show their adoration. Harry's body shifted, one leg still anchored inside the car while the other extended towards the crowd, his calm demeanour serving as a shield of tranquillity amidst the chaos.

With a graceful balance of firmness and kindness, Harry skillfully kept the fans at a distance, ensuring their safety while maintaining his own. He exuded a rare sense of composure, navigating the sea of adoring faces with a genuine smile and a genuine touch, making each person feel seen and valued.

As Harry prepared to fulfill his promise of signing an album for a dedicated fan, the crowd's energy buzzed with anticipation. He stepped out of the car with a gracious smile, navigating through the throngs of adoring fans who eagerly stretched out their arms, hoping to catch a glimpse of their idol.

Amidst the excited voices and outstretched hands, one fan appeared particularly adamant about getting close to Harry. They pushed forward, disregarding personal boundaries, driven by an overwhelming desire to be near him. Sensing the fan's persistence, Harry raised a hand, creating a barrier between them.

"Chill out, mate," he spoke firmly, his tone laced with a mix of assertiveness and exhaustion.

You observed the situation unfold from the comfort of the car, your heart filled with concern. As the encounter unfolded, you could see glimpses of Harry's fatigue creeping in. The long hours of performing, travelling, and constant interaction with fans were undoubtedly taking a toll on him.

His initial patience and composure began to waver, replaced by a growing agitation. Lines of weariness etched themselves upon his face, and his eyes betrayed a longing for a moment of respite. Despite his efforts to maintain his poise, the relentless demands began to chip away at his stamina.

And as the crowd's clamour continued, you sent a silent message of understanding and support to Harry, hoping he would find solace in your presence. In that moment, you yearned to offer him the calm and tranquillity he deserved, to shield him from the world's demands and allow him to simply be himself, away from the spotlight.

The image of Harry, his hand held up in a gesture of boundary and weariness, remained etched in your mind. It symbolised the delicate balance he maintained between his role as an artist and his own need for rest.

With a resolute expression, Harry addressed the persistent fans surrounding him, his voice carrying a blend of urgency and determination.

"I need to get m’wife and m’son out of the car," he asserted, hoping to convey the importance of their privacy and the need for a moment of respite. “Could y’please step back a little please.”

Some fans responded to his plea, relenting and creating a bit of space, while others continued to plead for photos and autographs. Recognizing the challenge at hand, Harry turned to the security team, issuing a request for them to create a pathway, guiding you and Finley safely through the crowd.

After ensuring that the security team was in position, Harry returned to the car, a mix of concern and weariness etched upon his face. Sensing his presence, you looked at him, seeking his guidance and reassurance.

"Is it okay for us to get out?" you asked, your voice filled with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety.

Harry's gaze met yours, his eyes reflecting the immense love and care he had for his family.

“As okay as it can be," he replied, his voice holding a gentle understanding of the challenges that lay ahead.

Reaching out, he took Finley from your arms, his touch filled with tenderness and protectiveness. As Finley nestled his face in the crook of his father's neck, the exhaustion and overwhelm washed over him, causing tears to well up and spill forth. The flashing lights and the cacophony of the crowd became too much for the little one to bear.

Harry's embrace tightened, one arm wrapped securely around your waist, the other ensuring that Finley was cradled with care. His fatherly instinct kicked in, providing a sense of security amidst the chaos.

As the crowd pressed closer, their excitement reaching a fever pitch, one fan extended a hand towards Finley's tiny arm in hopes of capturing Harry's attention. But the innocent gesture had an unintended effect. Finley recoiled, pulling his arm back with a sudden jerk, his wide eyes filled with fear and uncertainty.

Witnessing your son's distress, a surge of protectiveness welled up within you. Your heart ached for Finley, his innocence disrupted by the intrusion of a stranger's touch. At that moment, the proximity to the airport entrance offered a brief respite, as the number of fans thinned out. However, the incident had stirred something within Harry, a mix of concern and frustration that flickered in his eyes.

Harry, usually known for his composed demeanour, could no longer suppress his emotions. He addressed the fans, his voice tinged with a touch of agitation.

“Please, don't touch m’son," he implored, his words a plea laced with a protective urgency.

Rubbing his hand up and down Finley's back, Harry sought to soothe his distressed son. His touch carried a mixture of tenderness and firmness, a comforting gesture aimed at calming Finley's frayed nerves.

In that fleeting moment, the world seemed to pause, the weight of the situation resting heavily upon Harry's shoulders. The love he had for his son radiated through his touch, as he tried to ease Finley's unease and offer a sense of security amidst the unexpected turmoil.

As you finally made your way into the airport, the bustling atmosphere shifted to a slightly calmer pace.

“I’ve just got to go to the loo, quickly.” Your fiancé told you and the rest of the security who nodded their heads as he quickly handed Finley into your waiting arms. Fatigue and weariness were evident on his face, etched by the demands of the day.

In a tender exchange, Harry spoke softly to Finley, their bond evident in every word.

"I'll be back soon, little one." he murmured, his voice filled with affection and a touch of exhaustion. Finley looked up at his father, their connection palpable even at such a young age.

You couldn't help but feel a pang of empathy for Harry as you observed the tiredness etched on his face. He had given his all on stage, then faced the excitement and challenges of the crowd. Yet, even in his weariness, he remained attentive and loving, making sure to reassure Finley before attending to his own needs.

Leaning in, you pressed a gentle kiss to Harry's cheek, a gesture of support and understanding.

“We’ll be waiting here for you," you whispered, letting him know that you were there, ready to provide the stability and comfort he deserved.

Harry swiftly made his way to the restroom, seeking a momentary escape from the clamour and demands that surrounded him. He entered a closed cubicle, the solitude offering a brief respite from the outside world. The heavy door closed behind him, enclosing him in a quiet space.

Seated on the closed toilet seat, Harry took a deep breath, his thoughts swirling in his mind. The facade of composure he wore for the public began to crumble, revealing a vulnerability that few had the chance to witness. He reached into his pocket, retrieving his phone, and with a trembling hand, he unlocked it.

The screen illuminated with a picture that held his heart captive—a snapshot of you and Finley when he was just born. The memory flooded his senses, the pure joy and love captured in that moment forever etched into his soul. The time displayed on the phone read 12:06 am, a reminder of the countless sleepless nights he had spent caring for his family.

Overwhelmed by a surge of conflicting emotions, Harry's composure shattered, and he silently sobbed. His tears fell in solitude, unheard by the world beyond the closed cubicle. He held his phone against his chest, clutching it over his heart, seeking solace in the tangible reminder of the love that anchored him.

The weight of his responsibilities and the unrelenting demands of fame bore down upon him. Despite his unwavering love for his fans, a sense of suffocation enveloped him at times. Guilt gnawed at his heart as he grappled with the fear that his son, the embodiment of his deepest love, had been placed in harm's way due to the adoration of his supporters.

Feeling the weight of his emotions and the need for comfort, Harry pulled his phone away from his chest and dialled a familiar number. The phone rang, each passing second heightening his anticipation.

Finally, the call connected, and he heard his mother's voice on the other end.

"Mum... I'm sorry. I know it's late, but I just needed to talk to you," Harry spoke softly, his voice laced with a mix of vulnerability and relief. Despite the unwavering support he found in his partner and in you, he longed for the familiar embrace of his mother's understanding.

His mother was one of his best friends, and he knew it was late over in England but he just needed to hear her voice. He knew you would always listen to his thoughts and feelings but there was something about hearing his mothers voice that made him feel better.

Don’t get Harry wrong, this was undoubtedly one of the best tours he had ever done in his life, but he desperately needed a break.

He was craving the feeling of his own bed, with Finley laying against his chest and you laid asleep in his arms.

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famwhy · 11 months

Text

Inconsistent

Spiderman: Across the Spiderverse

Hobie Brown X F!Reader

Synopsis: In which, Hobie Brown confuses the shit out of you.

Note: following up on my last post, here is how I would write Hobie's speech patterns.

"What are you doin' up 'ere?"

Your lids fluttered open, eyes flitting to the side.

He stood there, hands stuffed in those ridiculously high pockets you always criticised with a click of your tongue; criticisms he would respond to with a light, airy laugh that never failed to melt your insides and turn you into a pile of mush.

The glow of the billboard lit him up, coating his silhouette in a warm orange that complimented him so well—bringing out his piercing, dark eyes in ways you had only ever dreamt of.

"I just felt like the ground was getting a little boring." You shrugged, forcibly tearing your gaze away from his intoxicating form to bring it back to the twinkling city below you.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Your peripheral caught the sight of those familiar, heavy boots appearing out of nowhere to swing beside your own and, all of a sudden, the bustle of the sparkling street below you was the least of your worries.

Ultimately, you found your eyes trailing back up to his form—breath hitching in your throat as you gazed at him once again.

He was close; much closer than usual. His knees were practically touching your own and the piercings that littered his face glinted under your gaze. Half-lidded eyes stared back at you—a smirk sly enough to make you gulp situated on his handsome face.

"What you sayin'?"

"Hm?" You blinked.

"C'mon, love, I know when some'in's goin' on in that pre'y likkle head of yours." His leg nudged against your own, instantly sending warm tingles through your whole body. "You can chat to me; 'bout anything. You know that."

You almost couldn't help the fond smile that stretched across your lips at his words. "Yeah, I know."

Hobie had always been tender and caring; sweet and kind. He knew exactly what to say, when to say it, and how to put it. It was one of the reasons why your legs turned to jelly when around him; one of the many reasons why he absolutely floored you.

He was just so vocal about everything he believed in—held such strong opinions that he was never afraid of voicing out; that he would yell and scream at the top of his lungs about—you had almost found yourself envious of his confidence.

Even his clothes were loud; bold and so incredibly out there. You couldn't ignore his presence even if you wanted to—

—and to be honest, you never really did want to.

"How's the youngen?"

"He's fine, still on my arse about not needing his big sis to coddle him—" you rolled your eyes, "—how're yours?"

"They're 'opeless," snickered the guy, "man's out 'ere lookin' at 'er like she's the only person in the world and they're still not together."

He threw his hands up in his exasperation and you found yourself giggling slightly—you always did at his antics, no matter how ridiculous.

"...what about you?"

He rose a brow. "What about me?"

"You, uh, you have anyone you're thinking about that way?" A sudden rush of nervousness hit you all at once and you found yourself wondering why exactly you decided to open your damn mouth. "Y'know, like a— a girlfriend or something?"

"I don't believe in labels."

He said it—plain and simple—and your heart felt like it shattered in your chest, pieces of broken shards getting stuck to your insides to sting you even further.

"Oh..."

He didn't believe in labels. You probably weren't even on the list of potential lovers for him. Of course, how could you have let yourself hope for anything more?

"There's this one girl though."

You blinked, the rapidly growing pool of salty water in your eyes being desperately put to a halt. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. She's a nice one—nice personali'y—" he placed one arm against the rough stone of the building, leaning in so close, you could feel the light puffs of his breath against your skin, "—'m thinking of goin' for it."

You wanted to be mad at him, to loathe him for liking another girl while you were so obviously head over heels for him—but in that moment, all you could focus on were his lips and the shockingly short amount of distance between them and your own.

Your heart was beating right out of your chest and you were just so confused. Here he was, talking to you about some girl he was interested in; shattering your heart in a million pieces like some worthless, glass vase—and then he was somehow making the useless shards continue to beat pathetically at just his proximity right after he broke them.

He was just so—

"Mm?!"

Your eyes widened a little, disbelief rendering you unable to move; to respond to the sudden feeling of lips on your own—of his lips on your own.

You. He was talking about you.

Warmth bubbled inside of you—coating your whole form in a lovely sheen of bliss—and soon, your lids fluttered shut as you pushed back against him—reciprocating his passion with your own.

The kiss was sweet and tender, but it soon grew into something more than that. His arm wound around your waist as soon as you kissed back, pulling you flush up against his form and allowing you to feel the heat of his body against your own.

Your fingers made their way to his wild locks, tugging on them as you felt his hands trail down, landing on your arse and pulling you onto his lap—as though just having you right up against him wasn't enough; as though he had to have you closer.

The electricity that ran through your body was enough to coax a smile out of you—one you knew he could feel through the kiss; that you hoped he would reciprocate with just as much love.

And he did, pulling away to rest his forehead against your own—dazed, half-lidded eyes staring straight at you with a mixture between a suggestive smirk and a genuinely joyful smile on his face.

You almost forgot to breathe as you looked at him with just as many pink clouds littered in your gaze—just as much adoration written clearly in your eyes.

"How about it, love?" He asked against your lips, "wanna be mine?"

You giggled dreamily, almost like a little school girl with a crush. "I thought you didn't believe in labels?"

"I don't believe in consistency."

It was official—

—Hobie Brown was the most confusing man you had ever met.

#hobie brown #female reader #hobie x reader #hobie x you #spiderman across the spiderverse #hobie brown x reader #x reader #hobie brown x you

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dear-bunnyboo · 4 months

Text

𝐒𝐎 𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐎𝐄𝐒... || 𝐉𝐎𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖 18+

a request from @joeburrowshottestwife 🤍 I got a little carried away and wrote a mini smut if you may…

I recommend listening to the song while reading and I hope you guys love it!!

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Joe Burrow x Reader

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: 𝐒𝐨 𝐈𝐭 𝐆𝐨𝐞𝐬... - 𝐓𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐭

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Who would’ve thought that seeing the prettiest blue eyes would lead to a lifetime of love and passion and so it goes…

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ mature content, cursing, smut, sex, sexual tension, drinking, flirting, hickeys, oral, gossip, quickie, lowkey public sex, against the wall, fluff, infatuated!joe, partying, strangers to lovers?, slight jealously, some cute moments

If you are below the age of 18 and or you are not comfortable with the warnings above, please don’t read this!

𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐜. 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

See you in the dark

All eyes on you, my magician

All eyes on us

You make everyone disappear, and

Cut me into pieces

In the dimly lit bar, you and your girlfriends revel in the atmosphere of a girls' night out, surrounded by laughter and chatter. The bar is an intimate yet lively space, bathed in a dim glow that emanates from strategically placed low-hanging lights.

The walls, adorned with eclectic artwork and vintage posters, create a unique ambiance. The air is filled with a blend of laughter, clinking glasses, and the deep sound of the music playing from the speakers.

The dance floor, though not too expansive, beckons those eager to showcase their moves. Rustic wooden tables and plush booths provide comfortable seating for groups of friends, creating pockets of shared moments.

As you sip your drinks, the room suddenly hushes when Joe Burrow, the famous NFL quarterback for the Cincinnati Bengals, appears in a dark corner with his friends.

It's in one of these shadowy corners that Joe Burrow and his friends have claimed their spot, inadvertently becoming the center of attention as his fame draws glances from all around the room.

As you took another sip of your drink, your attention is stolen once more by the magnetic presence of Joe Burrow tucked away in the dim corner.

His fame precedes him, and the way he effortlessly commands the attention of the entire bar pulls you into a trance— it was like magic, you were hypnotized.

Your friends continue their chatter, but your focus is drawn to Joe.

In the low light, his silhouette exudes an intriguing allure, and you find yourself captivated by the subtle confidence in his posture.

Your heart quickens.

Your gaze locks onto Joe, and in that moment, the crowded bar seems to vanish. It's just you and him, a magnetic connection that cuts through the surrounding noise.

His back against the wall, Joe holds a drink in hand, mirroring your intrigue.

The bustling atmosphere fades into the background, leaving only you and him in this shared moment of unspoken connection.

His eyes, carrying a certain intensity, seem to cut through the crowd, reaching you even from a distance. Each glance feels like a subtle incision, dissecting every part of you.

There's a flutter of excitement and nerves as you contemplate making your way toward the bar.

The air is charged with anticipation, and as you decide to approach, you can't shake the feeling that this might be a moment where the ordinary collides with the extraordinary.

"I'll be right back," you announce to your friends, the excitement building within you as you decide to approach the bar. With each step, you can feel Joe's eyes following you, a magnetic pull that seems to intensify as you make your way through the crowd.

The soft glow of the dim lights casts a warm hue on your gold slip-on dress, catching Joe's attention.

You could practically feel his gaze, he was cutting you into pieces as if he's unraveling your every layer with his gaze.

The atmosphere is charged with anticipation as you reach the bar, the heartbeat of the music syncing with your own.

Before you can even order a drink, a deep voice, unmistakably Joe's, interrupts. "Let me get that for you," he offers, his baby blue eyes meeting yours. He gracefully places his hands on either side of the bar table, enclosing you within his captivating presence.

In that moment, the world seems to fade away, leaving just you and Joe, locked in a magnetic connection.

The bar, once bustling with activity, transforms into an intimate stage for this unexpected encounter, marked by his confident gaze and the subtle thrill of a newfound connection.

Feeling like you're being dissected by his eyes, you can't help but be captivated.

Joe leans in slightly, a playful smirk dancing on his lips as he says, "Allow me to be the magician tonight. What's your poison?"

You meet his gaze with a teasing smile. "Well, if you're the magician, surprise me with your best trick. Maybe something with a twist of mystery."

He chuckles, a low and melodic sound. "Mystery, huh? How about a classic, then? How does a whiskey sour sound? It's got just the right amount of intrigue."

You nod approvingly. "Sounds like you know your way around the bar. Whiskey sour it is."

As he signals the bartender, Joe turns his attention back to you. "So, what brings you to this corner of the bar tonight?"

You playfully twirl a strand of hair. "Just out with my friends, enjoying the night. But then I spotted the you in the dark corner, and curiosity got the better of me."

He raises an eyebrow, the charm in his eyes unmistakable. "You spotted me, huh? Well, it seems curiosity works both ways. What's your name?"

You extend a hand. "Y/N. And you're Joe, the attraction of the night, I presume."

He takes your hand, his grip firm yet gentle. "Guilty as charged, Y/N. So, are you a fan, or was it just my irresistible charm that lured you in?"

You laugh, the banter flowing effortlessly. "Maybe a bit of both. Your eyes have a way of making the ordinary feel tempting."

Joe smirks, leaning a bit closer. "Well, I must say, your gold dress is doing its fair share of enchanting tonight."

The conversation continues, a dance of words filled with flirty exchanges and charming wit, creating a magnetic connection that goes beyond the confines of the bustling bar.

As you and Joe take to the dance floor, a subtle shift in the atmosphere becomes palpable. The pulsating beat of the music seems to synchronize with your movements, drawing the attention of the surrounding crowd.

All eyes gradually gravitate toward the two of you, creating an invisible spotlight on this spontaneous dance. The initial curiosity transforms into a collective recognition– Joe Burrow, the NFL quarterback, sharing a moment of connection with a stranger on the dance floor.

The dimly lit bar becomes a stage, and you and Joe the unwitting performers. Whispers and glances follow your every move, and the music seems to amplify, encapsulating the shared energy of the room. The air is charged with a mix of admiration, surprise, and perhaps a touch of envy as the ordinary night transforms into an extraordinary spectacle.

In that moment, the dance floor becomes a canvas, and your connection with Joe, the brushstroke that paints a captivating picture. All eyes are on the two of you, caught in the rhythm of the music and the chemistry that seems to transcend the boundaries of the crowded bar.

Gold cage, hostage to my feelings

Back against the wall

Trippin', trip-trippin' when you're gone

'Cause we breakdown a little

But when you get me alone, it's so simple

'Cause baby, I know what you know

We can feel it

The night unfolds with a seamless transition, and before you know it, you find yourself in a secluded corner behind the bar with Joe. The distant hum of the crowd and the rhythmic beats of the music create a cocoon of intimacy around the two of you.

Your back rests against the wall with you arms wrapped around the tall man in front of you, and Joe, with a casual yet confident demeanor, has his hands all over you.

“Fuck.” Joe breathes out against your lips.

Your lips molded against his, clashing and sloppy as Joe caressed your body all over before pushing you harder against the wall.

"Fuck, you're so fucking beautiful.” Joe says as he kisses down your neck and chest.

"Touch me" you practically purred, but this time it's a plea. "You want me to touch you?" Joe asks as he kisses down your neck and chest. You nod and gasp as his hand reaches up to cup one of your breasts through the fabric of your dress.

"Mmmm, you're so fucking sexy" Joe says as he starts to squeeze your breast. You moan and arch your back, pushing your chest into his hand. Joe moves his hand down to the hem of your dress and slowly slides it up over your hips.

You feel his hands on your thighs, massaging them as he pushes the dress up further. You feel his breath on your skin as he kisses down your stomach and then back up to your breasts. He takes one nipple into his mouth and sucks it hard, causing you to moan loudly.

He switches to the other nipple and gives it the same treatment. "Oh fuck, that feels so good," you moan as he continues to suck on your nipples. Joe moves his hand down to your pussy and starts rubbing it through your panties.

"Mmm, you're so wet for me, baby," he says as he slips his finger inside you. You moan even louder as he starts to finger you. "Fuck, I want to taste you," Joe says as he pulls your panties off. He licks his fingers clean and then starts to lick your pussy.

You moan and writhe against his tongue as he eats you out. "Oh god, yes, yes, yes," you moan as he continues to eat you out. “Please, more, Joe.” You gripped his hair, you could practically feel him smirking against you.

"Mmm, yeah? You want more, baby?" he asks as he slips his finger back inside you.

"Fuck, yes," you moan as he starts to finger fuck you. He adds another finger and continues to fuck your pussy with his fingers.

"Oh god, please don't stop," you beg him as he continues to eat your pussy out and finger fucks it at the same time.

"I'm not going to stop until you cum for me," he says as he starts to finger fuck you faster. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to cumming. "Oh god, I'm gonna cum!" you scream as you cum all over his face and fingers.

He keeps fingering you until you've finished cumming and then he stands up. "Can I fuck you, please?," he whispered against your ear as he placed more kisses against your neck.

“Please.” You breathed out impatiently.

Joe unbuckled his pants before lowering it along with his underwear showcasing his big hard on. You watch as he strokes his cock and then lifted your leg to wrap against him. He lines up his cock with your pussy and then thrusts into you.

"Oh fuck, you're so tight," he groans as he starts to fuck you. You wrap your legs around him and start to meet his thrusts. "Fuck, you feel so good," he says as he continues to fuck you. He picks you up and pounded you against the wall.

"Just like that. You’re so good for me, baby," he says as he pounds you harder. You can feel his cock throbbing inside of you as you bit the love of his ear, a whimpering mess, “Joe, harder.”

Joe did just that.

“Take it. Take it.” He slammed into you harder and harder, your nails digging into his back, you both moaned as you threw your head back in ecstasy.

"Fuck, Joe," you say as he continues to fuck you. "You're so fucking good." Joe started to fuck you harder and harder, his cock throbbing inside of you. He could feel himself getting close and he knew that he was going to cum soon.

"I'm going to cum," he says. "Do you want me to pull out?"

"No, just keep fucking me. I’m on birth control," you shook your head. "I want your cum inside of me." Joe smiles and continues to fuck you harder and harder. He can feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge, his cock throbbing inside of you.

"I'm going to cum," he says again. "I'm going to fill you up with my cum." You moan and push him closer against you, urging him on.

He can feel your pussy clenching around his cock, and he knows that you're close too. "Cum for me," he says, thrusting harder and faster into you.

You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, and then you finally let go, crying out as you cum all over his cock. Joe groans and follows suit, filling you up with his hot cum. He holds you tightly against him as he continues to pulse inside of you.

"I can’t believe we just did that," you say, kissing him softly. "You wanna get of here" he says, smiling down at you.

"Yes please."

You both get dressed and head out the door. You can't help but feel a sense of euphoria. You've just had amazing sex with someone who you just met but someone who makes you feel safe and comfortable.

And all the pieces fall

Right into place

Getting caught up in a moment

Lipstick on your face

So it goes

Leaving the enchanting sanctuary behind the bar, you and Joe walk out hand in hand, the cool night air providing a refreshing contrast to the warmth of the shared moments.

As you step into the night, you can't help but notice the subtle aftermath of your little moment and the whispered conversations. Joe's lips are tinted with a faint red hue, a playful smudge of your lipstick from an impromptu moment of closeness. You, too, wear the evidence on your lips, a charming reminder of the shared laughter and connection.

The onlookers can't help but whisper and gossip as you navigate through the lingering crowd. A few conspicuous lip marks on Joe's face and neck become the talk of the night, adding an air of mystery and intrigue to your departure.

Despite the whispers, you and Joe continue walking hand in hand, oblivious to the outside commentary. The city lights cast a gentle glow on the scene as you embark on the journey home, the echoes of the night's magic lingering in the air.

I'm yours to keep

And I'm yours to lose

You know I'm not a bad girl

But I do bad things with you

So it goes

A few months into the relationship, the dynamics between you and Joe have seamlessly woven together.

You, typically labeled as the good girl since childhood, have followed rules diligently, excelled at school, and cultivated a high-paying job. However, with Joe, a transformation has occurred. He's managed to unlock a side of you that, until now, had been carefully tucked away

In his company, you let loose, embracing a freedom that transcends the boundaries of the familiar. The structured life you once led now coexists with moments of spontaneity and laughter. Joe has become the catalyst, bringing forth the ‘bad’ side– a side unapologetically liberated and carefree.

The dichotomy between the good girl exterior and the liberated spirit within becomes a harmonious dance in your relationship. Joe appreciates the layers, the depth beyond the conventional labels, and you find joy in the uncharted territories of letting go.

I make all your gray days clear and

Wear you like a necklace

I'm so chill, but you make me jealous

But I got your heart

Skippin', skip-skippin' when I'm gone

The morning sun bathes the charming streets in a warm glow as you and Joe step into a quaint restaurant for a brunch date. The air is filled with the tantalizing aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the gentle sizzle of brunch delights.

The restaurant exudes a cozy ambiance, adorned with rustic decor and soft, ambient lighting. Sunlight filters through lace curtains, casting a gentle pattern on the checkered tablecloth. The gentle hum of conversation and clinking of cutlery create a soothing backdrop.

Seated at a corner table, you and Joe peruse the menu, the anticipation of delightful flavors adding a spark to the atmosphere. The waiter arrives, and you both share playful glances as you place your orders.

As you wait for the food to arrive, the conversation flows effortlessly. The ambiance encourages intimacy, allowing you to share laughter and stolen glances, creating a shared world within the confines of the cozy restaurant.

The dishes arrive, each plate a work of culinary art. The flavors dance on your palate, and the occasional clinking of your utensils against the plate becomes a rhythm that accompanies your shared moments.

The scene is painted with the colors of love and the promise of the day ahead. The brunch date unfolds like a story, each bite a chapter in the narrative of your connection, as you and Joe savor both the delicious food and the joy of being in each other's company.

Amidst the delightful brunch spread, you and Joe find yourselves immersed in a conversation that effortlessly weaves between shared memories and future dreams.

Joe smiles, his eyes locking onto yours. "Remember that time we tried making pancakes together and ended up with a kitchen covered in flour?"

You chuckle, a warm nostalgia enveloping the moment. "How could I forget? We turned a simple breakfast into a floury battlefield. Good times."

The conversation takes a turn toward upcoming plans. "Speaking of which, any thoughts on that weekend getaway we've been tossing around?" Joe asks, his gaze filled with excitement.

You nod, enthusiasm mirroring his. "Mmm hmm. A change of scenery sounds perfect. Maybe somewhere with a beach or a cozy cabin in the mountains?"

Before Joe can respond, the waitress arrives, interrupting the conversation with a flirtatious demeanor. She directs her attention towards Joe, her smile overly friendly as she takes a moment longer than necessary to place the water glasses on the table.

"Hey there," she says, a hint of flirtation in her voice. "Anything else I can get for you?"

You exchange a knowing glance with Joe, and as the waitress lingers a little too close, you can't help but feel a twinge of annoyance at the unwarranted interruption.

As the waitress hovers a bit too long, a subtle pang of jealousy tightens within. You've always been secure in your relationship with Joe, understanding that his charm might attract attention. You've been chill, confident that his heart belongs to you.

Yet, in this moment, an unexpected wave of possessiveness creeps in. It's not about doubt, but an innate response to the realization that your boyfriend, undeniably attractive, draws attention from others. The jealousy is fleeting but palpable, a twinge of discomfort you hadn't anticipated.

The waitress continues her lingering presence, focusing most of her attention on Joe. "So, Joe, do you come here often? I haven't seen you around before," she says, a subtle flirtation in her voice as she refills his water glass.

Joe, trying to be polite but sensing the awkwardness, replies, "Oh, well, it's our first time here for brunch. Heard great things about the food."

She smiles, leaning in a bit too close. "Well, I'm glad you chose to spend your morning here. You know, we have some special desserts today. Maybe I can tempt you with something sweet?"

You, sitting there, feel the tension rising, your jealousy now mingling with irritation. Despite Joe's efforts to redirect the attention back to you, the waitress continues to engage him, seemingly oblivious to your presence.

Reminding yourself of the love you share, you take a deep breath, letting logic override the momentary surge of jealousy. It's a reminder that even in a secure relationship, occasional pangs of possessiveness can surface, only to be soothed by the assurance that Joe is yours, heart and all.

Joe, maintaining his politeness, manages an awkward chuckle. "We'll have to check out those desserts, but for now, we're pretty set with brunch. Thanks."

As the awkward encounter with the waitress concludes and she finally leaves your table, Joe lets out a relieved sigh. "Sorry about that. She was a bit... persistent."

You smile, appreciating Joe's acknowledgment of the situation. "It's okay. People can be a little forward sometimes."

Joe reaches across the table, gently taking your hand. "You know I only have eyes for you, right, baby?"

Your gaze meets his, reassured by the sincerity in his eyes. "I do, but it's just one of those moments, you know? Sometimes, even when you know, a little reminder helps."

Understanding your sentiments, Joe smiles warmly. "I get it. And speaking of reminders..." He nods toward your neck.

You look down to see the delicate necklace, the chain adorned with a small pendant bearing Joe's name. It's a subtle yet meaningful piece he gave you, a constant reminder of the love you share.

"Remember the name you wear," he says, his voice gentle but filled with conviction.

As you trace the pendant with your fingers, you feel a renewed sense of connection. Joe's name against your skin serves as a steadfast reminder that, despite occasional external distractions, your bond is unshakeable.

The brunch may have had its awkward moments, but the shared glance and the necklace serve as anchors, grounding you both in the warmth of your relationship.

You smiled at the thought.

You did a number on me

But honestly, baby, who's counting?

I did a number on you

But honestly, baby, who's counting?

So it goes

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shidouryusm · 7 months

Text

Im not coming home

Gojo Satoru x reader

Content- angsty angst, just a lot of pain, reference to recent manga,

A.N -> i wrote this in a bus all teary faced with a concerned old uncle looking at me. I need my blue eyed boyfriend so bad. This is me mourning I haven’t been able to do it properly all day. Im sorry pls dont kill me. Not proofread this is a heat of the moment writing literally 😭

“See you guys tomorrow”, you say softly before sprinting out of the building. As if your body clock instantly knows when to chime in and draw you back to your nest.

You briskly get out of the room, offering a small wave to Shoko who just entered. Her concerned eyes following your trail.

The sun was floating in the horizon, the ground painted asphalt from the dying colours of the twilight and the air filled with intangible thickness of cold. In the midst of it, you walked. You walk with a rising tornado of emotions bubbling inside you, contrast to the drying winter.

You walked through the bustle of Roppongi. The town was back from the shambles it was two months prior. Always finding a way to bounce back into its original upheaval.

Amongst the skyscrapers decorating Roppongi, you eyes wander to the little sweet shop- selling the ever famous kikufuku — sweet cream filled mochi with Zunda paste. Satoru’s ever favourite.

“baby, this isn’t just a sweet.” Satoru gasps indignantly upon hearing your allegations of getting a cavity from it — “It’s a delicacy. Zunda and sweet cream— a work of culinary that you need to appreciate by savouring it as much as you can”, you roll your eyes as you watch your boyfriend plops another mochi in one bite. “Well that doesn’t mean you can double it up as lunch , Toru. you need to eat some actual meal”

“In that case, I can eat yo— I’m sorry” gojo quickly moves away as you swivel the huge cushion towards him, sweet chuckles erupting from his chest as you look at him poutedly.

The little playback of the memory cracked a little smile on your face — the shop ever so reminiscent of your little late night trips with Satoru whenever you both feel insomniac.

You walk over to the shop, feet reflexively carrying you towards the whirlwind of memories you have with him.

The sun had already settled beneath the darkness when you arrived home. The huge compound of area void of any presence. You enter the room, turning the lights on as you settle on the table. The small bag of kikufuku carefully placed on it.

“I’m home” you say without any conscious thought behind.

How can you? When these words never failed to emerge a 6’3 white-haired nuisance, his large hands encircling your waist, his nose breathing in your scent as you get slightly levitated into the air from the insane height difference. The small whispers of “I love you”s and “I miss you”s exchanged in the small gap between your faces — as if it were eternities since you both met each other. Those cerulean eyes of his mirroring your pools with affection and love that ran miles after miles.

Followed by little kisses pressed to your cheeks, then to your eyes and lastly placed on your lips. Those soft rhythm of his lips like promises of eternity.

Your chest twists in pain like you hugged a teddy bear fashioned with sharp daggers, slicing through your soul.

A sharp throb of your heart against your ribs as if it’s begging to be freed and chase the one it’s destined to beat for always. Your body turns numb, the tears like rivulets against your cheek— while you let them flow freely after a day long facade. Your shaky hands wander aimlessly into the air, pleading to find the silhouette, the comfort, the warmth of his body.

A part of your soul seemed to die everyday since then and today another sliver of it withered into nothingness.

Your voice broken like the shards of mirror reverberates across the large room that no one but you occupy, “im home, ‘toru. Where are you?”

The bag of kikufuku lays on the table as it is but Satoru hasn’t arrived home.

A.N 2 -> Yall pls dont be mad this is my way to cope. Even though I wrote this Im clutching on to the littol hope that he will return. If not then understand gege snuffed the life out of me as well

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xtra7s · 3 months

Text

𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥 𝗪𝗜𝗟𝗟 𝗟𝗔𝗦𝗧 (𝗪𝗟𝗪) ──── 𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘱 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

Synopsis: Renee and y/x broke up a few years ago, falling out of contact instantly. Y/n is a photographer, and went to an event for a job, unaware it was for her ex girlfriend, Renee Rapp.

Content: Renee Rapp x female reader, pure fluff. Enjoy lovies.

Word Count: 955

masterlist

The glow of city lights danced on the horizon as Renee Rapp stood on the rooftop of a chic restaurant, her silhouette framed by the ambient glow. She was in the midst of a lively gathering, a celebration of a successful movie premiere where her talent shone both on-screen and through her vocal prowess in the film's soundtrack.

It was a night of accomplishments, a night she couldn't help but savor.

Amidst the bustling crowd, Y/N found herself in attendance, drawn by the allure of the event. As a photographer and a presence in the pop culture, she couldn't miss the chance to witness the culmination of the star's talents. Little did she know that the evening held more surprises in store, especially the fact that the event was centered on her ex girlfriend.

The night air carried a sense of anticipation, and as Renee moved gracefully through the crowd, she caught sight of a familiar face – Y/N. The years apart had done nothing to diminish the spark of recognition in Renee's eyes. There, amid the glamorous backdrop of the city, memories resurfaced like echoes of a familiar melody.

Renee could almost see the last interaction they had when she closed her eyes, the spilled maroon staining her dress, the anger in your eyes.

A cautious smile played on Y/N's lips as Renee approached. "Long time no see," she greeted, her voice carrying a blend of nostalgia and warmth.

Renee's smile mirrored Y/N's, and she replied, "Indeed. It's been a while."

The two stood there, caught in a moment suspended between the past and the present. A world of unspoken words lingered in the air, memories of laughter and shared dreams that had once defined their relationship.

"You look amazing, Renee," Y/N complimented, her gaze appreciating the elegant ensemble that adorned the actress-singer.

"Thank you," Renee replied, her eyes not veering away from Y/N's. "You look stunning, as always."

As the night progressed, the two found themselves drawn into a conversation that flowed effortlessly, dancing around the edges of the past without delving too deeply. They spoke of their respective journeys over the past two years, the highs, the lows, and the lessons learned along the way.

The rooftop offered a breathtaking view of the cityscape, the twinkling lights below creating a romantic backdrop to their reunion. Amid the laughter and animated chatter of the celebration, a sense of ease settled between Renee and Y/N.

As they shared stories and caught up on lost time, a gentle melody began playing in the background. The strains of a familiar tune filled the air,

'American Wedding' by Frank Ocean returning them both to the nights they spent moving around her living room in sync.

Renee's eyes twinkled as the music played, and she extended her hand to Y/N. "Care for a dance?" she asked, a playful glint in her eyes.

Y/N hesitated for a moment before accepting, allowing herself to be led into a cultivated dance under the starlit sky. The world around them faded into the background as they moved together, a silent conversation unfolding in the dance.

"It's surreal, isn't it?" Renee remarked as the faded out when her gaze fixed on Y/N's eyes.

"What is?" Y/N inquired, her heart beating in tandem with the gentle rhythm of the music.

"Being here with you, under the stars, like we're back in that apartment all those years ago," Renee confessed, a soft smile playing on her lips.

Y/N couldn't help but smile in return. "Life has a way of surprising us."

The dance continued, a seamless blend of shared memories and unspoken promises. In that moment, surrounded by the city's lights and the gentle embrace of the night, it felt like time had folded in on itself, bringing them back to a familiar space where the world seemed to pause.

As the music reached its final notes, Renee and Y/N found themselves standing close, the distance between them bridged by shared glances and the unspoken understanding that had always lingered beneath the surface.

"I'm glad we ran into each other tonight," Y/N admitted, her voice soft.

"Me too," Renee replied, her hand finding its way to Y/N's, their fingers intertwining. "Life is unpredictable, but sometimes it brings you back to where you're meant to be."

Y/N nodded, a warmth spreading through her. "Maybe we needed this."

The night continued, the celebration unfolding around them. Renee and Y/N remained in each other's company, navigating the delicate balance between the echoes of the past and the possibilities of the future.

As the event came to a close, Renee turned to Y/N with a sincerity that mirrored the sparkle in her eyes. "Can we do this again? Grab a coffee, catch up without all of this?" Renee asks hopefully, gesturing to the party happening around you.

Y/N smiled, feeling a sense of comfort in the simplicity of the suggestion. "I'd like that."

And so, against the backdrop of a city that never slept, Renee and Y/N embraced the notion of a fresh start. As they walked away from the celebratory scene, the echoes of their shared laughter and the gentle melody of a serendipitous reunion lingered in the air, their voices fading from the scene behind them.

"There's an old song I wrote for you, 'forever will last', I think it went something like that. It would've played every wedding night."

#renee rapp #wlw #renee rapp x reader #lesbian #bisexual #female reader #leighton murray #leighton murray x reader #the sex lives of college girls

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martyrlamb · 6 months

Text

✶ let the light in / leon kennedy

pairing: leon kennedy x gn!reader

summary: early mornings are hard and leon loves you.

tags: sfw, fluff, a bit of angst when leon thinks about his life, no use of y/n, complete self indulgence i want to wake up next to him, cuddling, kissing, established relationship, any time period leon!!, leon being clingy and adorbs, leon is absolutely whipped for you

note: ummm title based off the lana song. it’s so waking up and being all soft and cuddly in bed with ur s/o coded and i know leon is so clingy on the mornings he has off so that’s what i wrote :P enjoy

word count: 1.3k

He’s used to sleepless nights and early mornings.

Been used to them. Leon lived in a group home, kids got loud before breakfast—incessant laughter and whines of hunger he couldn’t tune out by smothering his ears in the fabric of his pillow. Training had a rigid schedule he couldn’t get past even if he tried.

Falling asleep was harder than it looked, and he spent most nights staring at the back of his eyelids wishing he could fade away from consciousness. Every creak of the floorboards made him jolt and the wind that whistled through a crack in the window frame produced cold, clammy hands.

When he did float off to dreamland, he usually didn’t last very long.

The last few hairs on his dad’s head. A string of pearls snapped on the floor. His mom’s manicured hand, stained with blood. Every set of eyes he’s ever known going dull. Losing himself. Desperately—desperately holding onto something solid for dear life. It’s all there, and it plays over like freeze frames of a movie.

He pretends it doesn’t stick. There are no bad dreams he’s startled himself awake from, he doesn’t shake like the alley strays in the middle of winter under his blankets, his skin is not damp with sweat.

He knows the routine when he wakes up: lie there until he isn’t allowed anymore. Only, when he opens his eyes all heavy and groggy, unable to shake the itchy sleep deprivation from his tear ducts, he’s with you.

You, with that peaceful expression of yours while your head rests against the pillow. Your chest rises and falls in soft hills under the bit of blanket Leon hadn’t managed to steal during the night. He traces the bridge of your nose with the shadow of his finger; he thinks about counting the number of eyelashes that ring your pretty eyes so he never forgets the shape.

It’s tooth-achingly sappy, and it makes him feel like that giddy kid late for his first day as a police officer again. A little brighter, a little more saturated. Before he saw the worst parts of the world—at least on mornings like these.

Between work and the general hustle and bustle of life, he doesn’t get many of them. A crime, if you ask him.

Sunlight filters through the crack in the curtains that you picked out. It’s peering over the horizon and it beats down in streams on the bed and makes a silhouette of your face. You’re backlit like something angelic. God, he’s getting poetic but he can’t help it; you’re you and you’re in his life, so yeah, it’s innate in every way possible.

He takes it in: the birds chittering through the screen of the window that you always leave open an inch, the squeak of the old fan he pulled from storage as it oscillates, your warm skin against his. Leon’s room isn’t very picturesque (your doing; when he started seeing you, your things began to crop up everywhere and now they’re strewn about the apartment alternating: yours, his, yours, his.), but he thinks this morning could be put in the Louvre.

You stir in your sleep and Leon goes still, watching your breathing as it speeds up. He doesn’t want it to end yet.

Okay. Leon might be the villain for this, but he rolls right back over, partially on top of you, and puts his head on your chest with one of his arms draped over your stomach. When he hears the gentle thrum of your heartbeat, he shuts his eyes and pretends to sleep.

Words that fade to nothing escape your mouth in a sigh as you squint yourself awake. He can picture the face you’re making right now: all bleary-eyed and softly disgruntled, the slight furrow of your brows as you regain consciousness. He’s seen it a thousand times, and he’s going to see it a million more if fate wills it.

You struggle under his weight to check your phone and he can tell you’re moving as slow as possible so you don’t wake him. Something about no good deed going unpunished—he’s not planning on going anywhere anytime soon even if he could for the sake of your mobility.

When you place your phone on the nightstand again, it’s a bit more aggressive, a bit rougher, and you grumble. Must be work. Your fingertips creep up and palm at Leon’s hair gently, an attempt to coax him awake that doesn’t work. His breathing stills, and he listens to you whisper his name sweetly into his ear.

“I know you’re up, Leon,” you mumble finally, he can hear the smile in your voice.

Damn, caught. He doesn’t budge.

You continue, stroking his hair with one hand snaked behind his head. “I have to go to work.”

With his gig up, he merely buries his face in the crook of your neck and inhales like it would somehow attach you to him. The hairs on his arms rise when he catches the smell of your shampoo. You giggle and squirm under him from the sensation. His name falls from your lips in a playful complaint, dragging out the last syllable.

Leon can feel the vibration of your throat and he smiles against your skin. Shhh… he thinks when he peppers kisses along your collarbone. You’re ticklish under his feather-light arsenal and you laugh, grabbing the sides of his face to tilt his head up slightly to look at you. Your hands are soft and warm and he could probably draw out your fingerprints from memory by now, but he still relishes the feeling like he’ll forget at any moment.

“I have to go,” you insist, your thumb strokes circles on his cheek when he starts on your waist. There’s no real urgency in your tone.

He groans and lets his head fall forward, forehead against your chin. “No.”

“You don’t know how much I want to stay.” Your reply is wistful; considerate—he’s got you right where he wants you.

“Then stay,” he mutters quietly, and he looks up, glancing at you through his lashes. Bingo. He watches your persistence dissolve on your tongue.

“What about work?”

“Call in sick.”

You hum in response, a cute little tone that means nothing in the long run. Your mind is already made up, Leon can see it in your eyes, but you like to pretend to put up a fight for responsibility’s sake.

“Oh, fine,” you finally reply and snatch your phone from the nightstand. It only takes a few minutes for you to finish tapping on the tiny keys and when you do, you discard it and rake your fingers through Leon’s hair.

The sensation of your nails against his scalp sends goosebumps down each column of his spine and he shuts his eyes, leaning his head on your shoulder. You simper when you say, “You’re a terrible influence.”

“I’ve been told.” It comes out more like a sigh.

You press a kiss to the crown of his head, a small, loving movement that might have brought him to tears a few years ago. It was so plain and domestic, a type of subtle affection he’d never had the privilege of experiencing until he met you. He thought it wasn’t real for the longest time, something of romance novels and shitty rom-coms, but you made it so easy. You made everything so easy.

He wraps his other arm around your waist and rolls both of you over, him on his back and you on top of him. You laugh his name, tangled in a mess of blankets and limbs as you wrap your arms around his neck. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head, now, and he hopes it feels the same for you as it did to him.

A ray of sun beats against his eyelids, enveloping the darkness in an obnoxious white light. Bah. Leon can’t even find it in himself to complain; he loves you. He’s in this bed, and you’re in this bed and he loves you so much he can’t think of anything else.

#leon kennedy #resident evil #resident evil 4 #leon kennedy oneshot #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy re4 #re2 leon #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader

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sleekervae · 5 months

Text

New York Romantic .1

Masterlist

pairing: Tom Blyth x ballerina!oc

summary: a young actor moves across the hall from an aspiring ballerina. (college au kinda)

word count: 1562

a/n: i've had this idea knocking around in my brain for a few days and finally got to penning it down -- enjoy!

August 2016

The sun stretched its golden rays across the morning sky in New York City, the last embrace of summer's fading heat lingered in the air. The city bustled under a whispering breeze that carried the promise of change, as tree leaves, once adorned in vibrant green, began their slow transformation into a canvas of crimson and gold. Amidst the streets, a serene anticipation filled the air, capturing the essence of a city transitioning as the summer activities came to a close and the kids were dreading the return to school.

The wheels on Tom's luggage clacked against the cracks and bumps in the concrete sidewalk, bleary and tired eyes scanning between his phone and the address placards on the various condos. He knew he should've taken a cab, but the bus was so much cheaper and Google indicated it was only a five minute walk to his new living quarters anyway.

He finally stopped in front of a brick building, the address placard worn and rusted from the elements but the numbers matched up with that on his itinerary. The other cue that gave it away was the variety of art pieces in windows and hung over bannisters and fire escapes. Tom lugged his bag up the three stone steps and ducked inside.

The lobby was pale, dingy and in dire need of a fresh coat of paint; not to mention the air held hints of mothballs and burnt microwaved popcorn. An older woman was sat behind a desk, reclined in her chair while glazed eyes were focused on her computer screen. Tom approached slowly, hoping his smile could cover the exhaustion hiding in his face.

"Hello,"

The woman's eyes were the last to focus when she turned her head, blinking over her glasses and a warm smile graced her face, "Oh, hello! You must be... erm..." she suddenly grabbed a clipboard and scanned the tiny text, "... Jacob Nielson?" she spoke in the classic Brooklyn accent with exaggerated vowels and nasally undertones.

"No," he shook his head politely, "My name's Tom. Blyth," he replied.

She scanned her list with her pen, gasping aloud when she found his name, "I see, now! Very nice to meet you, my name's Doris -- I'm the super here. You're my renter from London, right?"

"Yeah. Well -- Yorkshire specifically,"

"I didn't do so well in geography, honey. Have mercy," Doris replied as she stood up, heading for the wall of cubbies behind her, "So tell me, which insane asylum are you checking into?"

" -- Excuse me?"

"What school are you attending?" she asked again, her fingers flourishing across the cubbies.

Tom nodded, "I'm starting at Julliard next week. I'm an actor," he replied.

Doris scoffed, "Yeah? You and everybody's dog, honey," she pulled a key from a specific slot and returned to the desk, "But you got a nice face, maybe you'll luck out,"

Tom wasn't sure whether or not he should've taken that as a compliment, so he simply smiled back and accepted the key, "Um, thank you,"

"You're on floor three, room 14. Your roommate should already be moved in, he can give you a tour of the place," she explained, "If you need anything, leaky faucets fixed and whatnot just come down and see me,"

"Thank you, Doris," he took his bag and started for the elevator on the right of the room, but Doris called out to him again.

"Hold on, handsome! Elevator's broke! Hasn't worked since Giuliani was mayor," she pointed to the left, "Stairs are over there,"

Tom huffed under his breath; he was tired and the last thing he wanted was to lug his suitcase up three flights of stairs. Nevertheless, he gave Doris one more polite grin as he started for the staircase.

The sun cast stark patterns across the stairs, the skewed silhouettes of the window panes interrupted by Tom's own shadow as he made his trek up. He hadn't at first registered the thundering of footsteps above him until a group of kids rushed passed him.

"C'mon! We're gonna miss the bus!" The stairwell was relatively narrow, arms and bodies knocking into Tom until he nearly slipped and his grip loosened on his suitcase. The suitcase went tumbling down the stairs, smacking hard against the opposing wall and the latches burst open. His belongings spilled everywhere.

Tom grumbled to himself, trekking down the stairs again to clean up the mess. One of the kids however hung back, trailing behind her group but she'd witnessed Tom's misfortune. She double backed up the stairs, staring in astonishment at the clothes and knick knacks, then at him.

"Jesus, I'm so sorry! Are you okay?"

Tom was crouched over the ground when he looked up, coming face-to-face with the concerned expression of a young brunette. She was lean and petite, dressed down in denim shorts and black tank top. Her converse had two different coloured laces, one red and one yellow. He found that peculiar.

"I'm alright," Tom assured her, "If this is the worst thing that happens to me today, then it's not such a bad day, right?" he tried to laugh it off.

The girl simpered, "Sure," nevertheless she crouched down to help him. One of her friends called out from below.

"Noelle! C'mon! We're gonna miss the bus!" she shouted.

The girl -- Noelle -- shouted back, "Go ahead, Bianca! I'll catch up with you guys!"

"But the movie starts in an hour! It's take forty five minutes from here, man!"

"It's twenty minutes of previews, anyways!" she turned back to Tom, her cheeks tinting bashfully, "Sorry about that,"

"Don't worry. You should go with your friends, I'll be fine," he replied.

Noelle scoffed, "Can I trust you with a secret?"

"Sure,"

"I hate horror movies,"

Tom smiled, "And lemme' guess: they're going to see a horror movie?"

"Don't Breathe. Some kids break into a blind guy's house and he ends up killing them all and quite frankly -- I can go my whole life without more nightmares," she replied, a coy smile playing at her lips.

"Don't half blame you. I'm not the biggest fan, myself," he said, "Do you live here?"

"Yep. That nutcase shouting at me was my roommate," she replied, "Sorry, I didn't get your name,"

"Tom,"

"Very nice to meet you. I wish it was under better circumstances," she chuckled back.

"Don't worry about it -- Noelle," he grinned.

She helped him clean up and pack his things, leading him back upstairs to his room. He assured her he could manage but Noelle insisted, saying it was the least she could do for his trouble.

"Room 14?" she cocked a brow when he told her, the corners of her lips pulling back to bare her clenched teeth.

"Yeah. What's wrong?" Tom asked apprehensively, "I don't have a serial killer for a roommate, right?"

Noelle shook her head, "No, no, you get Sunny. And he's just like his name -- absolute sunshine human being,"

"... I sense there's a 'but' coming," he trailed.

"He's a scholarship violinist, he's brilliant. And he's so brilliant because he practices at all hours of the night," she explained, "... All hours. You might wanna invest in some noise cancelling ear plugs,"

Tom nodded, relieved that at least his new roomie didn't sound like a dickhead, "Thanks for the advice,"

They stopped in front of the door, a worn brass 14 glinting subtly in the light. Tom fished out the key from his pocket, "I guess this is me,"

"Oh, damn," Noelle huffed, glancing at the door across from them, "You get the insane neighbours,"

His eyes flitted between her and the door, "... Whatcha' mean by that?"

Noelle pulled a key from her pocket, "Well, they're dancers for one. So they're always playing music, talking shit, burning their instant noodles because they're half-daft," with that she shoved the key into the lock and twisted, and sure enough the door opened.

Tom glanced at her, sheer amusement crossing over his face. He simpered under his breath, "You're my half-daft dancer neighbour who burns her instant noodles?"

"Unfortunately for you," she confirmed, half smirking.

"And how does one burn their instant noodles?" he asked.

"Don't worry about it," she closed and locked the door again, "But I'll let you get settled in. If you need anything at all, you can just pop over,"

"Thank you, Noelle," he smiled, "And thanks again for --" he stopped suddenly when he heard a faint violin melody from the other side of his door. It was a beautiful melody nonetheless, and it had him intrigued, "I suppose that's my roommate?"

Noelle nodded back, "Yep. I promise you, he's a sweetheart," she started walking backwards towards the stairwell, "I'm sorry again about earlier,"

"Don't give it a second thought. Have fun at your movie," he replied.

She giggled sardonically, "Oh trust me, I'll have a blast. I'll see you around, Tom,"

Tom gave her a small wave, watching her until she disappeared around the corner, could hear her shoes squeaking as she trotted down the stairs. He couldn't deny he found her quite a looker, a small part of him giddy with excitement at the prospect of getting to know his new neighbour. The violin melody continued to play on the other side of the door, and taking a deep breath for confidence, he pushed the key into the lock and opened the door...

#tom blyth #tom blyth x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #tbosas #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus imagine #the hunger games #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #ballad of songbirds and snakes #original story #original female character #imagine blog

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